Chapter Ten

Furry Godmother’s easy cure for ants in your pants: Wear a dress.

I woke with a headache at five o’clock the next morning. Sleep deprivation was getting the best of me, and I vowed to take a nap as soon as humanly possible. At the moment, however, I had to get over to Grandpa Smacker’s for my seven AM meeting.

My limbs were stiff with fatigue as I dragged myself upright and shuffled toward the shower. Jack had stayed only until midnight, but we’d covered a lot of ground in that time, and I’d provided the written statement he needed for Viktor’s murder file. I’d tried to think of every detail that could be useful later, but I’d been mildly distracted by the fact that there was a hunky detective in my kitchen.

I stepped into the steamy shower, praying for an epiphany about snacks that people would want to share with their pets while I washed as much sleep as possible down the drain. I didn’t have an epiphany, but I did look great in my new navy slip dress with a modest neckline and flirty hem. Once I’d added oversized white-framed sunglasses, a structured white leather handbag, and matching pumps, I was channeling my inner Jackie O. I headed for the front door with a stack of bakery boxes. “I’m sorry you can’t come,” I told Penelope, “but I have to visit Grandpa Smacker’s offices first, and I can’t bring you inside. No cats.” I made a sad face to show solidarity. “You’re a perfect kitty, but food manufacturers aren’t big on people seeing cats go inside, so you’ll be on your own today. Keep an eye on your little sister, Buttercup.” I gave the fish bowl a big smile, and Buttercup lowered slowly behind her little pink castle.

I paused at the home security keypad, where a small piece of paper had been wedged behind the panel’s edge.

Baking was fun, but I still owe you dinner. My place. Very soon.

—Jack

My smile grew as I tucked the note into my bag. Jack’s help had been priceless. He’d wisely suggested preparing all the doughs and batters while we waited for the first few rounds of things to bake, and it had worked perfectly, streamlining the process and accomplishing more than I’d imagined possible in just a few hours. Chase would have suggested we drink until the timer went off between batches, and left to my own devices, I probably would have spent the time rehashing everything I knew about Viktor Petrov and the moving pieces surrounding his murder. With Jack’s advice, all the prep work had been finished when he left at midnight. All I had to do was stay awake and swap trays in and out of the oven until everything had been baked. He’d even loaded and set the dishwasher before saying goodbye.

I opened my passenger door and stacked the bakery boxes onto the floorboards in front of the seat, where they would receive less direct sunlight and had no chance of flying everywhere when I turned a corner or got carried away with my gas and brake pedals.

My phone rang as I rounded the hood to the driver’s side. Mom’s face centered the screen.

“Cluck in a Bucket,” I answered.

“What?” Mom asked. She paused. “Lacy, I know this is you. I just checked my screen, and I didn’t misdial.”

I smiled as I dropped behind the wheel and cranked the air-conditioning.

“Lacy?”

“Good morning,” I said, still pleased at how easily I had flustered her.

“It’s your mother.”

I laughed. “Yes. I know. Hello, Mom. How are you?” I pulled onto the street with an even bigger smile and pointed the Volkswagen toward Grandpa Smacker’s offices.

“I don’t know why you do that,” she said. “It wastes time, and I don’t have any to spare. Do I hear traffic? Where are you? It’s six thirty in the morning. I didn’t even think you’d be awake.”

“How can you possibly hear traffic through my closed windows? And why are you calling if you thought I’d be asleep?”

“A mother knows,” she said, “and probably for the same reason you’ve started answering my calls with ridiculous accents and business names.”

Touché.

“You’re not the only funny one in the family,” she said. “You get your humor from me.”

I laughed. A genuine happy sound that rattled in my chest and wet my eyes. I hit my blinker and headed out of Uptown. “Is that right?”

“Quite,” she said flatly. “I’m hilarious.”

I swiped tears off my cheeks beneath my glasses. “What’s up, Mom?” I asked. “Or were you just calling to wake me up?”

A long beat of silence stretched across the line.

“Mom?”

“Oh! I remember,” she said suddenly. “Did you know there’s another group of chickens planning to set up a booth in the Tea Room foyer and collect donations? I couldn’t believe it when I saw them on the list last night. I thought I’d screened better than that.”

“Who are they?”

“A local chapter of the FFA. How am I supposed to compete with a bunch of kids in overalls?”

I rolled the cuckoo question around a few times before answering. “For starters, you aren’t competing with them. This is all for charity, remember? Secondly, why will they be wearing overalls, and can I get in on that option?”

“Lacy,” she scolded. “Be serious. You’re a lady. They’re the Future Farmers of America. Of course they’ll be wearing overalls.”

Apparently my mother’s knowledge of farmers ended with the copy of Click, Clack, Moo that one of Scarlet’s kids had left in her parlor. I took a left through the Central Business District.

“I know I’m not competing with the FFA,” she said finally. “I’m competing with that dastardly Hams and her Llama Mamas, but think about it. If you walked into the event, planning to make a donation to some adorable chickens, who would you give your money to? The group of adorable youngsters in pigtails and cowboy boots, or a group of middle-aged women? Meanwhile, Hams will get all the money from people who love llamas. There are no other llamas, Lacy.”

I rolled my eyes until it hurt and affected my driving. “So, rent some decoy llamas,” I suggested. “Or better yet, let it go this time. You already have your hands full, and it really doesn’t matter who collects more money.”

Mom gave a raspy exasperated sigh. “You don’t understand me at all.”

Truth.

“Maybe we can put glitter on their beaks,” she suggested.

“No.” I shook my head at the windshield.

“It can be nontoxic glitter.”

“Let me think about it and get back with you,” I said. “Also, is there any chance you saw my pink tackle box before you left last night? I misplaced it while we were there, and I had to leave without it.”

“No, but I’ll have the girls look for it after breakfast.”

“Thanks.” I beat my thumbs against the steering wheel. “You know, maybe it’s not about making your chickens or yourself more appealing than the FFA group. Maybe you just need to make the collection process more fun or interesting. Like those giant funnels people love to put coins on and watch them go around until they meet their doom. I think you just need something too cute to pass up sitting beside your chicks. Then folks would have to stop to see it, and while they’re there …”

“They’ll put their money into my collection contraption. That’s brilliant,” Mom gasped. “We can make it so that people have to give to the Jazzy Chicks if they want to see the thing work. Then I’ll get all the potential chicken-lover donations and beat those blasted Llama Mamas.”

I appreciated her enthusiasm, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about plotting to steer donations away from children in overalls and pigtails. “Hey, I’m getting on the highway. I have to go, but we can talk when I get there after work. I’ll give the potential contraption some more thought when I’m not driving.”

“Perfect,” she said, “but promise me that you’ll be careful out there. Some drivers are maniacs.”

I agreed to her terms and disconnected.

I pulled into the lot outside Grandpa Smacker’s offices with hope in my heart. Maybe no one would ask me about the recipe I had yet to create for the Fall Food Festival. Maybe this would be more of a brainstorming meeting where the marketing team pitched ideas to one another while I ate fresh-baked breads smeared in Grandpa Smacker’s homemade preserves and drank coffee. Then no one would know I had nothing to offer them.

The receptionist buzzed me in, and I hurried through the Disneyesque waiting room, heavily decorated to look as if I’d stepped into another place and time, specifically onto a mid-twentieth-century farm, complete with bird songs piped through hidden speakers and apple pie–scented diffusers sweetening the air. A white picket fence was painted along the walls with tall grasses and wheat blowing in the background, while wide-paddled ceiling fans slowly churned the heavenly apple aroma through the building.

I stopped at the heavy-laden table of refreshments before entering the boardroom. Fifteen minutes later, ten sets of eyes were on me while I tried to swallow a hunk of apple I’d dragged through Grandpa Smacker’s organic peanut butter, then dunked in fresh-from-the-hive honey. The staring posse wanted to know all of my ideas for the Fall Food Festival.

“Um,” I said, fumbling to wash the apple down with a swig of insanely good coffee. “I didn’t bring any samples,” or ideas, “but I’m working on something organic and naturally sweet or savory so that pet owners can pack a picnic basket and have a date with their pets,” I said, rubbing my sticky fingertips against a napkin.

Ten serious faces lining the big conference table nodded.

“We like it,” the man with a pear-shaped head said. He was the new director of marketing, but I’d immediately forgotten his name. “We can work with that. A date with your pet.” He shoved to his feet and rubbed his wide chin. “We can build a nice campaign around it. Man’s best friend. Take your best friend to the park or on a hike.” He looked at the ceiling as he began to pace. “What sorts of ingredients will we need to create a shelf-stable version of these products?”

I crossed my legs and took my time thinking up the answer. I had no idea what products we were even talking about. “All the basic ingredients we’re already using on the pupcakes and tuna tarts,” I said confidently. “The flours and fruits are safe across the board, but I’ll have to prepare some samples and find some willing test subjects to run the pet-friendly options past a more discerning human palette.” I didn’t envy the ones in charge of putting that test group together. Excuse me, sir, would you be willing to taste-test some dog treats for potential human consumption?

I left the meeting feeling heavier, both from the gluttonous breakfast I’d enjoyed and the renewed pressure to perform. I couldn’t show up empty-handed again. The sales and production team needed samples the next time I came, preferably ones they wouldn’t spit back into the wrappers.

Jack was at the coffee stand with a small blonde and two redheads when I arrived in search of a refill to go. One of the redheads was a natural strawberry blonde. The other had the kind of fiery vixen red that came only from the hands of a professional colorist. I admired her bravery. I rarely cut my pale blonde locks, and I never colored them. Too many bad things happened in the beauty parlors of my mind, like errant dye jobs that resulted in unchangeable wicked-witch green and bangs that barely reached my forehead.

Jack’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he noticed me, and the women all turned to see what had caused his sudden smile.

I waited while he brushed them off and made his way in my direction, looking like a million bucks in his tailored suit and black silk tie. “Good morning,” he said. “You look nice.”

“Back at ya.” I gave the tip of his tie a gentle tug. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the rich-guy look on you.”

“I’m always a rich guy.”

“Yeah, but there’s normally a badge right here.” I smoothed the tie against his chest where the detective shield usually hung and smiled.

“You prefer that guy?” he asked, a distinctly serious look in his eyes.

I chewed my lip, making a show of choosing my words, though they’d been ready since the moment he’d posed the question. “I think I just like you,” I said with a noncommittal shrug of one shoulder.

Jack rubbed a broad hand over his smiling lips. “Back at ya,” he said, repeating my words in a voice that made my knees weak. “How are you feeling this morning? You said you were fine last night, but a second threat in twenty-four hours is a lot to take in, and I didn’t want to press you. Sometimes things are a lot clearer in the morning.”

“I think that expression is supposed to mean we realize things are not such big deals once we sleep on them.”

He stared. “This is an enormous deal.”

I rocked my head side to side. “I know, but as far as threats go, I’ve had worse, and technically the notes aren’t threats. The first one only said STOP, and the second said I’d been warned, which wasn’t wholly accurate, and it also wasn’t a threat, just an incorrect statement.” I forced a tight smile, hoping the false bravado fooled Jack, but I knew it wouldn’t. Very little ever did. “I’m more worried about what to prepare for the Fall Food Festival than those notes right now. I’ve got zero ideas and the board wants to use the festival as a testing ground to gauge interest and opinion on a new line of pet-friendly products. I’m not convinced that anything I come up with will be as good once it’s been mass-manufactured, bottled, freeze-dried, or frozen. And if the flavor is lost in translation, I don’t want my name on it. Grandpa Smacker shouldn’t either. So, that’s a ton of pressure.”

Jack stepped a little closer. “You don’t have to worry about any of that anymore. I roped you into working here so we could catch a bad guy, and we did. You don’t have to stay. Your life is already busy enough without this place, and these guys can figure it out on their own.”

“I know,” I said, “but I like giving people safe nutritional options for their pets. In that regard, I’m helping to make animals healthier, and if I don’t make these products, someone else will, and the next person might not care as much about what goes into them.”

A warm smile graced Jack’s face. He’d told me once that it was my passion that had drawn him to me, even before we’d officially met. He’d seen me admiring my artwork on the window at Furry Godmother and taken notice. Of course, it’s that same passion that has put me on his bad side regularly these days. “Have dinner with me.”

I smiled. “I thought the dinner invitation was a lure to get me to come over and give you a written statement. I already did that.”

Jack’s steady gaze raked over me. “Have dinner with me,” he repeated.

My toes curled in my vintage pumps. “Okay.” The answer came more softly than I’d intended, but his smile inched a little taller on each side.

“Okay,” he said, eyes heated with pleasure. “It’s a date.”

I tucked a long barrel curl behind my ear and traded my coffee for a bottle of water because it seemed to be getting warmer in the narrow hallway. “How’s your investigation coming along? Anything new come up since you left my place last night?”

“Actually, yes,” he said. “I was planning to share the details over dinner, but since you asked, I doubt I can keep it from you that long.”

I grinned. “Go on.”

“I missed your marketing meeting because I was on the phone with someone from my team down at the station. They pulled Mr. North in for questioning first thing this morning.”

“North?” I felt my eyes go wide. “What did he say? Was I right? Was there money in that envelope?”

Jack nodded. “It was a bribe. North called it ‘padding palms’ and confirmed bribery as part of the pageant culture. Apparently, he and Viktor had an arrangement for special treatment and placement of North’s cat. So, when Viktor died, North knew the money had been wasted, and he needed it back to try to make a similar arrangement with someone else.”

“North tossed the room because he was in a hurry to find the money before someone caught him in there,” I said.

“Yep, and he claims not to have known how much was in the envelope when he took it. He’d only expected to get the five grand back that he’d given Viktor.”

“Five? So others were paying Viktor too.” I’d assumed the whole thirty-eight large had come from Mr. North, but it made sense that no one owner would pay so much for the fifty-thousand-dollar prize, now that I thought about it. Though the sponsorships and opportunities that came with the win would’ve amounted to much more. How many other owners had Viktor lied to? “Wait a minute. There will only be three finalists, and one of those gets crowned as the pageant winner, but if each briber gave Viktor five grand, then why did he have more than fifteen in his desk?”

Jack watched me as I worked it out for myself.

“He was taking advantage of people,” I said. “As if taking bribes isn’t bad enough, he let more than three people bribe him knowing full well they couldn’t all be finalists, and no one could tell on him because what they’d done was illegal. This pageant is totally corrupt,” I said sadly. Why couldn’t people just be honest, do their best, and accept the results?

“I agree,” Jack said, “North and his cat were pulled from the lineup. They’ve been disqualified for unsportsmanlike behavior and banned for life. It’s a good start toward cleaning things up over there.”

“I’m glad,” I said. “Mrs. Smart will be happy to know that kind of thing won’t happen again, though I think she’ll be brokenhearted to know it happened at all. She’s nearly as uptight as my mother when it comes to her husband’s pageant.” I checked my watch. “I bet one of the more than five people who tried to pay Viktor off found out what he was up to and lashed out. I want to stay and talk, but I have to go. I need to fill the bakery display at Furry Godmother before I open, and I’m sure traffic has picked up by now.”

Jack wet his lips and shifted his weight. “There was something else I’d planned to talk to you about later,” he said, “but it’s probably best I let you know in case something happens between now and then.”

I froze, unable to imagine what had made Jack look so uncomfortable. “What?”

“The case we have against Eva is getting stronger the more we dig, and she’s not talking, which makes her look like she has something to hide. If she doesn’t fill in the blanks or find someone to corroborate her claim that she walked onto the balcony after hearing the crash, I might be forced to arrest her. Right now, all we have in her defense is her word, and it won’t be enough much longer.”

“I’ll talk to her,” I said.

Jack nodded. “See you later?”

“Yeah.” I capped my water bottle and hurried back through the lobby and into the beating sun. I’d been so preoccupied with the personal threats, the increased business at my shop, and my promotion to judge that I hadn’t taken the time to talk to the one person who could shed some light on what the heck had happened in that balcony.

My daily to-do list was already filled to capacity, but I was suddenly itching to add one more thing to the schedule.

I needed to talk to Eva.