Furry Godmother’s secret to a happy life: Keep your friends close. Sometimes they have wine.
Everything about Miguel Sanchez puzzled me. Why move so far from home? It wasn’t a grand business opportunity. Surely, restaurant work in New Orleans was no better than what could be found in New Jersey. Why did some of his local friends call him by his real name? What use was an alias if he didn’t fully embrace it?
I adjusted a stack of bunny bonnets on my Alice in Wonderland display as I pondered the same questions. The white rabbit looked smart, as always, in his little vest and monocle. He’d know the answers. I patted his soft head and traced his little golden chain with my fingers. I’d admired his pocket watch since preschool, when I discovered the book on Mom’s overcrowded shelves. We’d read fairy tales together until the gilded edging rubbed off the pages.
I had tried to emulate the anything-is-possible feeling at Furry Godmother with every addition to my collection. Each Royal Package featured a different fairy tale theme. All concepts were spun with love, sprinkled with glitter, and executed with the fervent attention to detail with which the good Lord had saddled me. Alice was my favorite, but the display was admittedly faded, and according to my mother, it was time for a change.
I hefted the book from the display and wiped it with a soft cloth. The best place to read Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland was under the sprawling bearded oak tree in our backyard. The pages of my childhood copy were colored with evidence of my love—mainly water spots from sudden thunderstorms and a rainbow of fingerprints in shades from fruit popsicle to chocolate. Scarlet had her own copy, and we’d chased our share of rabbits under that tree.
I bit into the thick of my lip and rubbed a thumb across the screen of my phone. Scarlet was excellent at snooping and shenanigans, but I really should leave her out of my mess.
I dialed and pressed the phone against my ear.
“Hello?” The sound of her voice formed an immediate smile on my lips.
“Hi. It’s me. How are you?”
Silence.
I pulled the phone from my cheek and peeked at the screen. I hadn’t lost the call. “Scarlet?”
“Okay.” The soft click of a closing door sounded through the phone. “I shut myself in the bathroom. That gives you about two minutes before they come for me. Skip the small talk.”
Ah. The joy of motherhood. I laughed.
She didn’t. “Ticktock.”
“How would you like to go out to dinner?”
“Are you kidding me? If I can leave Carter and the kids at home, I’ll go anywhere you want.”
“Excellent.” Mischief was always more fun with an accomplice. “How about the Barrel Room?”
“A winery. Is that a taunt? Do you need a designated driver or something?”
Ideas rolled over schemes and plots in my head. “Something.”
“Fine. I’m in. I hear amazing things about their chicken. Can I meet you there at six?”
“Six is perfect.”
A choir of small voices lodged complaints at her door ten seconds later, and we disconnected.
I locked up at five with a head full of questions and no more patience for faux shoppers. I flipped the “Closed” sign in the window and wiped my brow. The scorching southern sun burned through the studio’s interior, illuminating dust motes suspended in the air and fingerprints pressed on my freshly polished glass. I puffed into overgrown bangs. Time to clean up.
I went to the back for my spray bottle and cloth.
Something niggled in my mind. Fingerprints. Everyone left fingerprints unless that person planned ahead. What crime would a person plan ahead for in my store? Could someone want to heist my inventory of beads and swatches? Did they long to illegally acquire miniature stage props and custom pet designs? I had everything from guinea pig wedding gowns to wigs for rabbits in the stock room. Maybe I’d been too quick to discount the possibility. Competition in the world of pet shows was stiff, but was it deadly? Even if robbery was the intent, breaking in to steal or sabotage my critter couture was a long throw from murder. The other possibility wiggled back to the foreground. What if someone’d come to hurt me and Miguel got in the way? Did I have a mortal enemy? A nemesis? A stalker? And if that were the case, why had Miguel been there? Did his visit yesterday afternoon have anything to do with his return last night?
I collected my supply bucket and scrubbed the shop furiously, removing fingerprints from the windows, door, and bakery display. I wiped the shelves, counters, and doorknob. Dust carried in from the streets clung to my floors. I drove my Swiffer around the room on a mental grid, careful to reach every nook and cranny, then set my Roomba, Spot, to work for the night.
I made one last trip around the stockroom, skimming my gaze along box tops and fabric bolts, begging the inventory for clues. Frustration coiled in my chest. What had happened to Miguel after I left last night? My phone buzzed, and I turned it over in my hand. A text message from Scarlet.
Carter’s home. The kids are fed. I’m on my way.
Thank goodness. I hit the light switches and jumped over Roomba-Spot on my way to the front.
I stopped short at the sight of unusual pink light filtering through my front window. “What on earth?” I crept closer, confused by what had happened during the few moments I’d been in the back room. There was something on my window. Had someone vandalized my store in broad daylight? Surely not.
I stepped outside for a better look and confirmed the disgusting truth. Sticky chunks of strawberry smoothie clung to my freshly cleaned window, sliding over the glass like a plague. I could practically hear the ants lining up for a party. An empty go cup rolled on the ground where I’d accidentally whacked it with the door.
Shoppers and pedestrians stared but didn’t stop.
A fly landed in the muck, and I gagged.
I texted a picture to Scarlet, then hustled inside for a bucket of soapy water and a squeegee. I was going to be late for dinner.
Twenty minutes later, I left for the Barrel Room with renewed vigor and the scent of sunbaked smoothie in my nose. Scarlet’s time would be limited by little ones in need of baths and bedtime stories. I slid behind the wheel of my VW and cranked the air conditioning.
Traffic poked down Magazine Street, blissfully unaware of the dark turn my week had taken. It’d been twenty-four hours of craziness, and I was ready to go back to my previous life’s troubles. Gossiping neighbors and a disappointed mother beat the daylights out of wondering if someone nearby wanted to destroy me or my boutique.
At the pace of a lumbering hound, I made my way to St. Charles Avenue, where I motored alongside the proud and stately streetcar in companionable silence for several blocks. The Barrel Room bordered Uptown, and it was already packed. I slid into the last available space in the lot and scanned the area for my best friend’s Escalade.
Scarlet waved from the sidewalk. Her opposite hand pressed against the small of her back, amplifying her distended silhouette. Wild, red hair mounted into a sloppy bun on top of her head. Flyaway strands stuck to freckled cheeks. She looked runway ready in a perfect orange wrap dress and matching Pucci headscarf. I tugged my humidity-wrinkled sundress and made a mental note to up my game.
I met her with an awkward hug. “Wow. You’re not easy to get close to these days.”
She raised a perfect eyebrow above oversized sunglasses. “Keep it up and you’re buying.”
“I’m already buying.” I tugged the glass door open and icy air poured over my shoulders. “What kind of person invites a pregnant woman to dinner and expects her to pay?”
“Pretty much everyone I know, unfortunately.”
A young woman in a pressed white shirt and black skirt interrupted with a smile. “Two?”
Scarlet shuffled forward, tipped slightly back at the hips. “Yes, please.”
The hostess gave her a sidelong glance. “I guess you don’t want to sit at the bar.”
She sighed. “Oh, no. I want to. Trust me.”
The hostess led us to a table dressed in maroon linens and set for two. “Your waitress will be with you shortly.”
Scarlet wiggled into her seat and leaned across the table on both elbows. “What happened to your window? That picture looked like my kids had been there.”
My mouth dried with the memory of hot strawberry goop on my rubber gloves and giant southern bugs running into the rancid mess. “Someone threw a smoothie, but the window’s fine now.” I waved a dismissive hand.
Scarlet made a disgusted face. “This district is losing its mind.” She steepled her fingers on the tabletop. “What are we up to tonight?”
I mocked offense at her question. “Can’t a girl buy her best friend dinner without an agenda?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
A fish-faced man in black slacks ferried two glasses of ice water to our table before winding his way through the dining room in the opposite direction.
Scarlet lifted a finger, effectively stopping my answer, and chugged her water like a woman lost in the desert.
I shoved my glass across the table in case hers wasn’t enough.
“Thanks.” She blew out a long breath and curled her fingers around the offering. “Better. Now tell me why we’re here.”
“You’ve heard what happened to me last night?”
“No thanks to you, but yes.”
I ducked my head and lowered my voice to a whisper. “The detective assigned to the case thinks I did it. Can you believe that?”
She matched my posture, leaning her belly into the table’s edge. “He died outside your boutique. You were there. Your prints were on the murder weapon. Honestly, I can’t believe you didn’t call sooner.”
Never underestimate the efficiency of a sturdy grapevine. “I didn’t want to stress you out, but it turns out I can’t process something like this on my own. My brain keeps rejecting it as reality.”
“Understandable.” She lifted my glass of ice water to her lips. “So, did you do it?”
“Hey!”
She smiled wildly, crushing a piece of ice between her teeth.
“That isn’t helpful. Paige says Miguel hung out with local kids home from college, specifically one who works here, Mack.”
“Those kids aren’t that much younger than us. Don’t make me feel old.”
“They are kids. If I could be twenty-one again, I’d make some serious alterations.”
“You regret your youth. Is that why you killed him?”
I shot her a droll expression. “Keep it up, beach ball, and I’m going to take your water away.”
“Mean. So we’re here chasing hunches and interrogating co-eds.”
“Exactly.” I set my forearms on the table and it wiggled. “Also, Detective Oliver confirmed Miguel wasn’t his real name, so I thought we could ask the staff some questions and see if anyone has any information that might tell me why he went by an alias or what he was doing at my shop last night.” I readjusted my arms and the table wobbled again.
“Fun.” Her wide, conspiratorial smile warmed me. “Do you have a plan of attack or is this a free-for-all?”
“Planned attack.” I flipped the table cloth up and located the issue. Two bolts holding the nearest table leg were barely hanging on. “The best way to solve a problem is by working out from the center. In this case, Miguel’s the center, so I need to know everything I can about him and follow leads from there.” I pulled a compact multipurpose tool from my purse and cocked it open to the screwdriver attachment.
“Are you fixing the table?”
“It’s unstable.” I cranked the tool until it didn’t budge, then gave the table a shake. “There.” I dropped the cloth and tossed the world’s handiest gadget back in my purse.
“You should leave a bill for that.”
I dusted my palms. “I think we can figure this thing out before the detective. Tater’s pulling my funding until my name’s cleared.”
The waitress arrived with menus. Scarlet chose grilled chicken. I ordered a strawberry and pecan salad, light vinaigrette, and a pitcher of water.
The waitress smiled. “Of course. Can I get you anything else?”
Scarlet smoothed the tablecloth. “Yes. I have a question. Have you worked here long?”
The waitress beamed. “Almost a year.”
Scarlet’s smile grew. “Did you know Miguel Sanchez?”
“Yes.” Her smile collapsed, and her gaze darted to me.
Silly of me to think the rumors of a local murderess hadn’t made it this far.
“Miguel came to a lot of after parties. He’s a really nice guy.” She clamped her eyes shut. “Was. He was a really nice guy.” When she reopened her lids, both eyes were heavy with crocodile tears.
I held back an eye roll. “Were you two close?”
Her head bobbed. “Oh, of course.”
Doubtful. “What’s an after party? Like after a concert?”
She screwed her face into a knot. “No. Like, after closing. We stay late to clean up and hang out.”
I inventoried the room. Most of the waitstaff looked her age. Early twenties. It made sense that they’d hang out after hours, probably to eat any unsold food and make up for lost tips with free drinks from the bar.
Scarlet tapped a fingernail against her glass. “I heard there were some thefts here recently. Is that true?”
The waitress rocked back on her heels. “A few.”
I gawked. Scarlet had heard that too? Sometimes I loved the Garden District grapevine. She was on a roll. I got comfortable and let her work.
“Would you say the thefts began after Miguel came to town?” Scarlet was in takedown mode. No one got away with anything when she was like this.
The waitress blanched. “Most of those missing things were probably just lost. Dropped in the lot or somewhere else. This is a winery in New Orleans. Plenty of people leave here half crocked.”
The over-fifty crowd cluttering the tables didn’t strike me as the sort to go anywhere half crocked. The Barrel Room in Uptown wasn’t exactly a nightclub on Bourbon Street. The ambience was pure swank, and the location was premiere. Uptown was high rent, located upriver from the Garden District, and speckled with plenty of chic shops and residents.
Scarlet dismissed her with a smile. “I’m sure you’re right. Thanks for your time.”
“’Kay.”
I folded my hands on the table as the waitress turned and ghosted away. “Nice work. How’d you know there were thefts here?”
Scarlet dipped her head magnanimously. “I didn’t. I just figured if that guy was a thief and he hung out here, probably he took something. What’d you think of her answers?”
“I think she likes the attention Miguel’s murder brings her, but she’s lying about him. He was rude and demeaning. How could everyone like him? If he was Mr. Congeniality, why would he have been obnoxious to me for no reason?”
“What do you mean?”
“He came in yesterday, skulked around, taunted me, bought nothing, and left. Who does that?”
“Scary.”
I shook my head. “He was weird. Mrs. Neidermeyer called him a derelict.”
Scarlet smiled. “I would’ve loved to have seen Mrs. Neidermeyer’s face.”
“She was shockingly poised.”
“Well, color me impressed. New subject.”
“Agreed.”
“Carter’s brother’s back in town.”
“Chase?”
She nodded. A coy grin smeared over her face.
“Don’t.” Yes, I’d admitted to thinking he was gorgeous ten years ago, but we weren’t in high school anymore, and I had bigger issues to deal with.
“Fine, but he asked about you.”
“What happened with him and Courtney? I heard they were engaged.” Before he met Courtney, I was a sophisticated senior and he was a lowly sophomore. It would never have worked between us. He and Courtney were a much better match.
Scarlet’s expression softened. “You’re not the only one who can escape a snare. Her dad’s firm went belly up, and they planned to save the family fortune by marrying her into another one.”
“Ew.” Maybe we had one thing in common—we fell for jerks.
“Yep.”
The waitress returned with our meals and the check.
I dug in. “Whoever made this salad is an angel. I think it came directly from heaven.”
“I’m not eating salad in heaven. Calories had better not count there.” She sipped her water and scanned the room. “Ooh la la. I swear that man looks better every time I see him.”
I followed her gaze to a stool at the bar. “Ugh.”
Detective Oliver raised a glass in our direction and winked. He actually winked.
“Don’t look at him.” I clucked my tongue and impaled a lettuce leaf. “He’s following me. I should’ve known.” Get your own leads, buddy. I turned my attention back to Scarlet. “How often do you see him?”
“He turns up from time to time at local functions, fundraisers, luncheons.” She circled her fork in the air as she spoke. “I wouldn’t mind it if he followed me a while.”
I frowned. “Stop it.”
“Well, I’m married, not dead. Have you looked at him?”
Yes. “No.”
“Liar.” She sliced her chicken with more dutiful care than necessary. “Well, you wouldn’t regret the effort. He has the prettiest green eyes.”
“They’re blue.” I froze. Busted. “Fine. I’ve looked, but it’s not like I had a choice. He’s trying to pin me for murder. You know what else? He asked some really nosy questions and called me ‘kitten.’”
Scarlet gloated with an open-mouthed smile. “What sort of questions?”
I deepened my voice to mimic Detective Oliver. “‘Why did you leave Arlington to open a pet store?’ He makes it sound like I sell stray cats to questionable restaurants.”
“Everyone loves your work.”
I chomped on my salad. “See? What does he know? Maybe I left Virginia because I had an awful, terrible, very bad experience there. Maybe Pete’s cheating was my way out, and I wanted a fresh start. Am I not allowed a fresh start?”
“Did you tell him about Pete?”
I stuffed my mouth with strawberry slices and said nothing.
“I didn’t think so. He’s single, you know.”
“Shocker.”
Her satisfied expression irritated me.
“So what do you want me to tell Chase?” she asked. “He could help take your mind off the drama.”
A shadow fell over our table. “Evening, ladies.”
I choked. Water trickled from the sides of my mouth. Detective Oliver stood at the end of the table looking tall and inexcusably smug. “Everything okay over here?”
I dabbed the tablecloth with my napkin and wiped my mouth. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“I’m just checking in. Sounds like you’re getting set up for a date. Anyone I know?” The intensity in his stare made me squirm.
How did he do that?
Scarlet batted her eyes. “My husband’s brother. Would you care to join us?”
Detective Oliver turned to me. “I can’t tonight, but thank you.”
She lifted her hand to him. “Nice to see you, Jack. I’ll bet you didn’t know Lacy’s my best friend.”
He shook her hand, then offered me his.
I snapped my attention to his scrutinizing eyes. “You accused me of murder last night.”
He braced giant hands over narrow hips. The move created a gap between his jacket and shirt, revealing the shiny detective badge on his belt and sidearm at the ready. “I believe I asked you if you killed him. Politely, too, if memory serves me.”
“It does not.”
“Are you sure you can’t join us?” Scarlet repeated. I glared at her.
“Not tonight.”
I didn’t like his tone, as if another night was an option. “What were you hoping to accomplish by following me here?”
“I’m here to ask a few questions and pick up dinner. Seems odd for an innocent person to think I followed her.”
I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. “You’re doing it again.”
He feigned innocence.
I looked to Scarlet for help. “Did you hear him? He thinks I’m a killer.”
Detective Oliver rubbed his jawline. “Any particular reason you chose this restaurant for dinner tonight?”
“Yes.”
“You want to expound on that for me?”
“Not really.”
The waitress sauntered up to Detective Oliver and wetted her lips. “Anything I can do for you, Detective?”
“Nah. I’m just saying hello.”
She dragged her gaze from him to me. “I thought you’d want to know a few of Miguel’s friends are staying late tonight. If you want to hang back and talk with them, they’ll be here after we close.”
Detective Oliver’s jaw clenched and popped. He slid a sarcastic look my way.
Scarlet smiled. “I can’t seem to stay awake past nine. I’m out, but maybe the two of you . . .” She motioned at the detective and me.
The waitress perked up. “You’re welcome anytime, Jack.” She walked away with a swing in her hips.
I chuckled. “Jack? You and that very young, half-your-age waitress are on a first-name basis?”
He scowled. “Yes. It’s normal. Do you ask people to call you Doctor Crocker?”
I returned his sarcastic look. “No. I’m not a doctor.”
“But if you were, you’d expect that? Figures.”
“Hey.” My fingers curled on my lap. “I didn’t say that.”
He tipped an invisible hat in Scarlet’s direction. “Nice to see you again.” He shook his head at me. “Do us both a favor and go home tonight, kitten. Poking around in my investigation will only get you into trouble.”
I swiveled in my seat and glared directly at him. “You’d have to be doing an investigation for me to poke it. So far, you’re just harassing the victim. Me.”
He lumbered to the cashier station and shoved a toothpick between his lips.
From my vantage point, he seemed to be smiling.
Scarlet sighed.
I gawked at the swooning woman across from me. “Stop it. None of that. He’s the enemy.”
“If you’re right, the enemy just bought our dinner.”
I searched the table, my lap, and the floor. The bill had disappeared. “Dang it.” Now I owed him a thank-you. “I wish he’d stop stalking me and solve this murder before I’m out of business.”
Scarlet levered her body from the chair with a grunt. “You should tell him that. Then call me with the details.” She waddled off in the direction of the ladies’ room.
I headed toward the cashier to complain, but Detective Oliver was long gone.