Twenty-one

I honestly didn’t have a clue what John meant. “Stop what?”

“Please don’t make this difficult.”

“Mmm, okay.” I shrugged.

Clearly annoyed with me, he set his bag of kibble on the checkout counter. “I guess I should be flattered, but it’s kind of creepy.”

I blinked at him. Hank’s death was creepy, but I couldn’t imagine why he would be flattered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“This. Exactly what you just did by following me into this store.”

I was speechless and wishing I could think of a stinging retort when the store owner wheeled out a cart loaded with bags of dog and cat food and said, “If you’ll give me a second to help this gentleman, I can load these on the golf cart for you.”

His timing was perfect. I was just a little bit satisfied by the burn of embarrassment on John’s face.

“Thanks, but I can handle it.” I didn’t want to wait one second longer with John in the store. “Send the bill to the inn?”

“Sure thing, Holly.”

Feeling vindicated and just a little bit smug, I pushed the flat cart toward the door. It was heavier than I expected, but there was no way I was going to let them know that I was straining. I had some pride, after all. I lifted my chin and pushed like crazy, nearly slamming into a woman who was entering the store. Happily, I missed her and was out on the sidewalk, where I could breathe easier knowing John wasn’t watching me anymore. The nerve of him to imagine that I was following him around. I glanced down at Trixie. “This is your fault. And Oma’s. And Macon’s. I knew I should stay out of this matchmaking stuff, but the three of you had to go and introduce me to John.”

Trixie cocked her head at me.

“It’s okay. Cooper is very sweet. I can see how that might have been misleading.”

It took a few minutes to load the golf cart. Trixie roamed around while I fit everything in. I was just finishing when the store owner showed up to help. I handed over the empty cart, thanked him, and was off.

The temperature had crept up, but it was perfect weather for lunch outside in the shade of an umbrella. Along the street, lush red and pink roses bloomed against white picket fences. Masses of daisies stood out in the green grass, and geraniums in pots brightened porches.

A scream shattered my pleasant thoughts. It was followed by a series of short shrieks.

Trixie leaped off the moving golf cart.

Not again!

I pulled over in front of my Aunt Birdie’s house and ran after Trixie, who was a better judge than I of where the scream came from.

She yelped a few times before I made it into the backyard. I stopped short.

Aunt Birdie held her hands at shoulder height, her fingers splayed. Red smears marred her long-sleeved white shirt. She stared at something on the ground.

“Aunt Birdie? Are you all right?” I approached her with my eye on the grass in case there was a snake.

She held her hands out to me. “I don’t think this is paint.”

“Are you bleeding? What happened?” I looked for a cut on her hands.

“I went to the shed for birdseed to fill the feeder, but the hoe was in the way.”

My gaze followed hers down to a two-pronged garden hoe. An uneven film of dark red covered parts of the wood handle. Heavier red coated the two sharp prongs.

“It wasn’t where it was supposed to be. I always hang it on the wall, but it was propped up between the birdseed bag and the lawn mower.”

I pulled out my cell phone and called Dave. “Go wash that off, Aunt Birdie.”

“Do you think it’s blood?” she whispered.

I nodded. “Zelda’s ex-husband was murdered in her backyard last night.”

Aunt Birdie’s hands flew to cover her nose and mouth. It took only a second for her to realize she had spread blood on her face. Her expression turned to horror. “Ick. Ugh. Ugh!” She rushed to the house.

A scant three minutes later, Dave ran into Aunt Birdie’s backyard.

I pointed at the hoe. “Aunt Birdie found it in her shed.”

“Did she touch it?”

“Oh yeah. It’s still tacky. It smeared on her hands and shirt.”

Dave took a look in Aunt Birdie’s shed. He backed up and stared at me without speaking. “Is that your dog food out there on the golf cart?”

“Yes. I was on my way back to the inn when Aunt Birdie screamed.”

His mouth twisted to the side. He lowered his head and rubbed the back of his neck before looking up at me. “I want you to go back to the inn and stay there. Understand?”

I didn’t understand at all. “Are you saying someone dangerous is on the loose?”

I had known Dave for a while now and had never seen him quite so uncomfortable.

“I don’t know. Things are developing pretty fast. Just stay there, okay?”

“Should I take Aunt Birdie with me?”

He thought for a moment. “No. I need to talk with her.”

“Dave, what’s going on?” He had confided in me before. He had even asked me for help.

He shook his head and looked very disturbed. “Go home. I have work to do. I’ll see you later at the inn.”

Trixie must have picked up on my mood, because she no longer ran and sniffed with joy. She hopped into the golf cart and snuggled close to me. I drove back with one arm draped around her.

Our handyman spied me parking the golf cart, and walked over to unload it. I was thanking him when Trixie barked and ran to the front of the inn. I followed her.

A crowd had gathered outside. Everyone gazed upward. There were cries of Get a net and Can’t someone do something?

It only took a minute to see what they were looking at. Marmalade was climbing the stone wall of the inn. How could he do that? Granted, the stones were roughly hewn and uneven, but I had never seen a cat climb like that. He appeared to be headed to my balcony.

Laura startled me when she seized my arm. “Holly! Call the fire department! They must have a tall ladder. Marmalade will fall!”

“Has he ever done this before?”

“Not that I know of.” She frowned. “He has jumped from my balcony to my neighbor’s a few times. She insists that he comes over to visit them a lot, but I thought she was exaggerating. Now I wonder if he gets out when I’m not home.”

“Wait here.” I dashed inside and up the stairs to a housekeeping closet, where I located an old fitted sheet on a bottom shelf. A box of disposable housekeeping gloves had landed on the floor under the shelf. When I set it where it belonged, I found what appeared to be a newly opened box. Hurriedly, I stacked them and rushed out and down the stairs. On my way through the lobby, I grabbed the handyman.

Outside, volunteers lined up to help hold the sheet to catch Marmalade in case he fell.

I ran back into the lobby and up the grand staircase to my apartment, Trixie on my heels. Panting heavily, I fumbled with my key, but finally swung the door open. I hurried through the apartment to my bedroom, where I discovered Twinkletoes locked out on the balcony. She stood on her hind legs, scratching desperately on the glass of the French doors to be let in. I flung open the doors and picked her up. I peered over the railing. Marmalade mewed at us but kept climbing.

Twinkletoes tensed in my arms and hissed at her friend.

The crowd below began to cheer. My heart pounded because I was terrified that Marmalade would fall. Fortunately, the roof of the porch would break his fall, so I hoped he would be okay. I had read somewhere that cats righted themselves and landed on their feet when falling a long distance. They didn’t have time to flip in shorter distances. But how long a distance did it have to be?

I set Twinkletoes down and knelt on the deck, ready to grab Marmalade.

To my complete astonishment, his front paws appeared over the edge, and he tried to pull himself through the bars of the wrought-iron railing. I grabbed him under his arms and helped him.

I didn’t know what he did to insult Twinkletoes, but instead of acting like Juliet greeting her Romeo, she was annoyed and spat at him. She clearly did not appreciate his courageous efforts to visit her.

I tried to stroke both of them, but Twinkletoes hissed and arrogantly stalked inside.

I picked up Marmalade. “Sorry, pal. I guess we’ve both been dumped.”

I was boiling mad that someone, most likely Ben, had locked Twinkletoes on the balcony. The poor baby must have been stuck there all morning.

“You are quite the friend to climb all the way up here to be with Twinkletoes,” I told Marmalade.

“Holly?” called a female voice.

“I bet that’s your mom. She’s very worried about you.”

He purred his acknowledgement.

I walked inside and made sure the French doors were locked so Marmalade wouldn’t get any crazy ideas about leaving the way he had arrived.

We met Laura in my living room, and I handed her baby over to her.

“Thank heaven he’s all right! I can’t imagine what possessed him to do that.” Laura switched to baby talk. “What was Marmi thinking? I don’t know what I would do without my wittle Marmi.” She looked up at me, let out a deep breath, and shook her head. “Thank you so much, Holly. Sorry to create such a big scene. From now on, Marmalade will stay in our room or be on his leash.”

I watched them go, closed the door, and turned around. Twinkletoes, the damsel in distress who had spurned her daring rescuer, jumped to her favorite armchair and nestled into it for a nap.

I spooned some Tunalicious cat food into her bowl in case she wanted a snack when she woke.

Trixie looked on with envy. Her ears perked, and she yipped.

“Not to worry, Trixie. I’m sure there’s something equally delicious waiting for us downstairs.

I wasn’t sure she believed me, but she raced to the door, which made me think of Randall. Trixie knew exactly what I had said.

From the landing of the grand staircase, I saw a young lady looking around. She held a newspaper in her hand, and her little dog looked like a white Wookiee peering from a fancy bag on her shoulder.

“May I help you?” I asked.

“Yes. Can you tell me what room Nessie Jamieson is in?”

Aha. The beautiful Celeste. Unlike her mother, she was slender, but I could see the resemblance.

Shelley was busy serving, but she turned long enough to say, “Holly!” and point at the terrace.

I led Celeste to the terrace and over to the table where Nessie and Sky were seated.

Paige from WAG was eating lunch with friends. She waved at me and smiled.

“Mom!” Celeste slapped the newspaper next to her mother’s plate. “Did you see this?”

I couldn’t help myself. I slowed my departure to a crawl, pretending to tend to a potted hibiscus. Craning my neck, I could see that she had the Snowball newspaper. Had they put out a special edition about Hank’s murder?

“Isn’t this your friend?” Celeste asked Nessie.

“No. Don’t be silly. Do you want some lunch?” Nessie looked up at her daughter.

Celeste pulled out a chair and joined them. “Hi, you must be Sky. Mom told me about the Sugar Maple Inn and her roommate last night after she embarassed me to death by dragging me out of a restaurant like a naughty child.” She shot her mother an annoyed look. “Mom, I’m sure it’s him. We met him at your class reunion. It looks just like him. I remember his name, too—Randall Donovan.”