“Stay here,” I said to Waffle, in a soft tone. He didn’t take well to lecturing. He was a grown bunny, after all. Nobody could tell a grown bunny what he should or shouldn’t do.
Waffle’s ears perked up then flattened, and he ripped out a mouthful of grass from the front lawn. A good portent, in my books.
“I’ll be right back.” I let myself out of the yard and headed over to Angela’s place. Approaching the front door sent a chill down my spine.
Could it be that the murderer had visited Angela here? Or just a random connection? Angela had mentioned starting a business, right? And if it hadn’t been her boyfriend visiting her, and she had so few female friends then…
I tried the front door, and it was locked.
People in Star Lake were surprisingly lacking in the security department. They usually left something unlocked or a spare key in an obvious place.
I checked under the cutesy floral welcome mat. Nothing.
A hanging potted plant was my next target. A fake plant with no dirt, and, ah! What was that? I withdrew a key from its base. “Gotya.”
I unlocked the door and entered Angela’s home. It was cold inside, though it was a hot summer’s day, and the place smelled strongly of lemons.
The walls were lined with headshots that would’ve suited an acting portfolio, as well as a few from her cereal commercial as a child. I shut the front door, a little sad. Angela might not have been well-liked, but she would still be missed.
“Fluffles,” I called out. “Here Fluffles. Here kitty, kitty.”
I liked cats as long as they didn’t mess with Waffle.
A meow came from deeper in the house. Poor Fluffles. I’d have to get hold of Angela’s family members, if possible. That or Fluffles would need to go to the local cat foster mom for care.
“Fluffles, where are you? It’s OK. My name is Milly, and I’m here to help.”
A gorgeous, fluffy white cat meandered over to me and wound between my legs. I bent and petted her. “Hello, sweetheart. How are you? Have you been feeling lonely?”
A meow in response.
“Let’s get you something to eat.” And then I could have a look around Angela’s house. See if there was anything that could help clarify who had visited the victim on the night before her death.
If I wanted to solve this case, I’d need to go about it in a methodical fashion.
“Here you go,” I said, getting out a tin of cat food in Angela’s cold kitchen. I rooted around in the drawers until I found the can opener while Fluffles paced and meowed impatiently. I dished food into a clean plate then put it on the floor and checked that the litter box was clean. Thankfully, it was.
That left nothing but the search.
I brought my phone out as I walked through the house, jotting down the timeline I’d established already.
06:30 a.m.—Boyfriend, Peter Hannigan, sees Angela alive and well at her home. He brings her a cup of coffee.
Strange since Angela had wanted a cup when she’d entered the cafe. But then again, some people like drinking loads of coffee in the morning. Maybe one cup hadn’t been enough.
07:30 a.m.—Angela enters the Starlight Cafe and calls out to me. She dies within five minutes.
And that was it so far. I needed to find out what had happened during that missing stretch of time.
“But first,” I murmured.
It was time to search the place. I started with the living room and kitchen, rifling through the papers on the coffee table, checking behind the flatscreen TV, but there was nothing of note. I entered Angela’s small bedroom with its double bed, covered in a frilly pink comforter, and made for the dressing table pressed against the wall.
I withdrew a crumpled up piece of paper from within the bottom drawer on the right.
I flattened it out. “What do we have here?”
It was a note that had letters from magazines cut out and pasted on it. An old school, threatening letter, but the page appeared to have come from a blue, unlined notepad.
I know what you did. Pay up or everyone in Star Lake will find out the truth!
I read it three times over.
So, someone had been blackmailing Angela about… a secret. But what was the secret? And was the mystery blackmailer the murderer? I took pictures of the note, back and front, then crumpled it back up again and returned it to the same drawer. I shut everything carefully and exited into the combined living room and kitchen.
Fluffles had finished eating. She leaped onto the sofa’s arm and bumped herself into my side, purring happily.
I stroked her, going over the notes I’d made on my phone.
Someone had been blackmailing Angela. Angela had left her home at 06:30 a.m., as per Peter’s testimony, and arrived at the Starlight Cafe an hour later. Where had she been in the interim?
I tapped on the screen, writing my thoughts and notes.
Victim’s nails were chipped even though she had had them done the day before. Talk to ladies at the salon?
Different shoes. Angela wouldn’t have been caught dead in dirty sneakers.
The shoe collection in Angela’s closet proved that. All high heels in pinks, blacks, and creams.
So why had she wound up in the cafe in such horrible kicks?