Ghostly Paws (Mystic Notch Cozy Mystery Series) (18 page)

“Oh, yes. I wasn’t that far from him in the woods, and who could miss that big old car they have?”

The car must have been the same one Ophelia had seen. I’d seen the car myself earlier that day in the garage. There was no question … Derek had been in town at the time of Lavinia’s murder. Should I add him to the suspect list? The only problem was, I wasn’t sure if he met any of the other criteria. His family was rich as anything, so he certainly didn’t need money.
 

I thought back to earlier in the day … had he been wearing a ring? No, I was sure he hadn’t been. Since Lavinia had mentioned it, I’d programmed myself to look at everyone’s hands and I was sure I would have noticed.
 

But the truth was, he had been speeding away from town that morning. The only question was … had he been speeding away in frustration because he couldn’t find the cat shelter, or had he been fleeing because he’d just committed murder?

Chapter Twenty-Five

Pandora woke from a long sleep, stretching her legs out lazily. She slitted one eye open. Where was she? Rolling on her back, the soft blanket underneath cushioned her while she watched a rectangle of light play on the plywood floor.
 

Opening both eyes, she remembered chasing the mouse up into the attic where she’d promptly fallen asleep on the old blanket. The blanket had been Anna’s and she often came up here to feel closer to her previous human. It comforted her.
 

But now it was time to get up—she knew she’d been asleep for a long time. Catnip always made her so tired. And hungry.

She rolled onto all fours, pushed her front paws out in a stretch that elongated her back, then shook and trotted downstairs.
 

The smell of savory salmon feast tweaked her nose as she approached the stairs. Had Willa come home? Her heightened senses told her the house was empty now, but she did vaguely remember hearing Willa call for her while she was sleeping.
 

In the kitchen, she had her answer. Willa had been here and conveniently filled her cat dish. It looked like her training of the human was beginning to pay off.

Sticking her tongue out tentatively, she licked the top of the food. It was a little dry indicating it must have been sitting out for a while. Normally, Pandora would turn her nose up at such an insulting meal, but she was unusually ravenous, so she dug in to the mound with gusto.

A glow in the living room caught her attention. It was that
thing
again—the globe on the coffee table that was apt to glimmer at odd times. She tried to ignore it—thinking it quite impertinent that it thought it could summon her so easily.

Her eyes kept sliding over to the living room as she ate. So once she was done, she licked her paws, washed her face and then made her way over to see what the
thing
wanted.

Pandora slinked over to the coffee table, approaching it from the side, her gaze intent on the orb. It sparked with color, drawing her closer. She stood on her hind legs, reaching her front paw out tentatively to bat at the sphere.
 

Now that she was eye level, she could see what she thought were things moving inside. Movement like that was something no cat could resist and she leapt onto the coffee table—something Willa would not approve of—to get a better look.

She looked down into the orb, her eyes growing large, the pupils turning to thin slits as she stared inside.
 

There
was
something in here … it looked like the inside of Elspeth’s barn. Pandora could see the other cats gathered around. They looked up at her from inside the ball and she had an irresistible urge to go join them at the barn … she knew something was very wrong.
 

***

It took only a few minutes for Pandora to run through the woods to the barn. The other cats were inside, just as she’d seen in the paperweight.

“What took you so long?” Otis admonished.

“I was sleeping.” Pandora sat down and flicked her tongue over her back, washing herself as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “Did you want something?”

“Things are coming to a head and we must keep the evil ones from getting what they seek.” Inkspot’s baritone rumbled from atop a hay bale.

Pandora wondered why he had to always be so vague. What evil ones and what were they seeking? “And…?”

Pandora didn’t like the way the other cats were all looking at each other, as if they knew something she didn’t and were afraid to tell her.

Snowball trotted over and sat beside her. “We think your human may be in danger.”

Pandora’s stomach twisted. “What do you mean?”

“Willa has the key … they will try to take it from her,” Truffles purred.

“What key?” Pandora wracked her memory … had she seen Willa with a key?

“That’s not important now. They’re coming for it and we must come up with a plan to protect her,” Otis cut in.

Pandora shot to her feet. Willa was in trouble and she had to help her. “What do you mean? Where?”

“I’ve got intel that leads me to believe they are going to Willa’s house tonight,” Tigger spoke up from the back of the barn.

Tonight! Panic clutched Pandora’s heart. She had to get home and save Willa!

“Thanks!” Pandora turned and sped toward the barn door.

“Wait! We must form a proper plan!” Inkspot yelled after her.

“There’s no time!” Pandora shot back.

“Impetuous fool will get herself killed.” She heard Otis’s disapproving tone as she shot into the woods.
 

Ignoring his words, she raced toward home as fast as she could, stopping only long enough to sharpen her shivs on the bark of a tree—she had a feeling she might need them to be razor sharp tonight. Her feline instincts were on high alert. Trouble was coming and she’d have to do whatever she could to stop it.

Chapter Twenty-Six

After talking to Emma and Elspeth, I stopped in at
The Mystic Cafe
for supper. I wasn’t up for another English muffin jalapeño pizza and I didn’t have anything else at home. Pandora would be mad, but I’d left the food out for her at noontime, so at least she wouldn’t go hungry.

I sat by the window, watching the sunset and eating an Italian sub. If what Emma had said was true, I should add Derek to my suspect list. He was in town at that time, so he had opportunity … but did he have motive?

So far, I had been operating on the theory that the killer was after the bronzes for financial gain, but what if there was another motive? I wondered if the police had come up with anything else, which made my thoughts turn to Striker.
 

I hadn’t seen him since I threw up on his shoes and I wondered if he had been avoiding me. Chances were he probably never wanted to see me again.
 

“Easy come, easy go,” I muttered to myself as I tossed out my sandwich wrappings and headed to my Jeep.
 

It was dark by the time I pulled into my driveway. The pitch-black moonless night enveloped my car as soon as I shut the headlights off. Ever since I’d reached my mid-forties, my eyes had been taking longer and longer to adjust to the darkness and tonight was no different.

Which was why I didn’t notice anything wrong with my door until it swung open on its own when I tried to insert the key.

***

I stared into the dark interior of my house, adrenalin shooting through my veins.
 

Was someone in there?

I strained to hear even the slightest noise, but the house was silent. Grabbing the baseball bat I kept next to the door, I inched my way in, flicking the light switch, then immediately lifting the bat behind my head, ready to swing at anything that came at me.

The house was empty. Or at least the kitchen was.
 

I’d left in a hurry. Maybe I hadn’t closed the door fully?

I crept further into the kitchen where I could see into the living room and the heart-thudding scene turned my legs to jelly and answered my question.
 

The living room was a mess!

My large floor-to-ceiling bookcase had been pulled away from the wall and rested on its back on the floor. Books lay strewn in piles around it, their formerly pristine pages torn and creased. The cushions had been tossed from the sofa and chairs and lay about the room.
 

My heart thudded against my ribcage as I ran back to the porch, my fingers tapping Augusta’s number on my cell phone.

Even though I was sure no one was still in the house, I sat on the porch and waited for Augusta to arrive. It didn’t take long and within ten minutes, I was back in the living room with her, my stomach sinking at the sight of my ruined book collection.

“Did they take anything?” Augusta frowned at the overturned bookshelf.
 

I studied the pile, the feeling of being violated blooming in my gut. “Impossible to tell.”

“What about the rest of the house?”

“I haven’t looked. I saw the mess in here and called you right away.”

“Okay, let me check it out.” Augusta headed toward the stairs, peeking first into the dining room on the other side, and then headed up.

I was about to follow her when another car pulled into my driveway.
 

Striker.

He jumped out of the car, bounding into the kitchen. My stomach lurched and I wondered if he was thinking about the last time he saw me—when I threw up on his shoes.
 

He didn’t seem to be holding that against me now. He rushed to my side and it seemed like he was going to hug me until he stopped short, just inches away. Probably trying to keep his shoes at a safe distance.

“Chance, are you okay?” My heart warmed at the concern in his eyes.

I ran my hands through my curls. “Yeah, I’m fine. I came home and found my living room in shambles.”

“Let’s see.” He led the way into the house and we entered the living room just as Augusta was coming down the stairs.

Striker eyed the mess. “Is that the extent of the damage?”

“I think so,” Augusta answered. “Nothing out of place upstairs or in the dining room or kitchen.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “What would someone want in here? I don’t have anything valuable or important. Do you think this has something to do with Lavinia’s murder?”

Striker and Augusta exchanged a glance. Did they know something I didn’t?

Striker shrugged. “You never know.”

“But I didn’t have any bronzes or anything on the shelf. Just books.”

“Were any of them valuable … or did you have any of those hollowed-out books that you can hide stuff in?” Augusta asked.

I shook my head.

“What about papers inside the books?” Striker asked.

“No, nothing.” My stomach sank as I bent down to pick up one of the books. Glancing at the pile, I could see most of them were ruined. They weren’t valuable, but I had kept them in pristine condition and now, with the pages folded and the spines stretched, they would never be worth anything.
 

But it wasn’t just about the value of the books. I loved books and seeing them treated with such disrespect grated on me.

I placed the book back on the pile and it seemed to sigh in disappointment.

“Did you hear that?” Augusta frowned at the pile.

“What?” I cocked my ear toward it and that’s when I heard it.

The faintest, most pitiful meow I’d ever heard.

“Pandora!” I dug at the pile furiously. I’d assumed she’d run off when whoever broke in had ransacked the house. Had she been lying underneath the books, hurt the whole time?

My heart twisted as I uncovered a lump of gray fur.
 

Pandora lay on her side. The end of her tail bent at an impossible angle. Blood matted the fur on the side of her head. I reached out to touch her and she stirred slightly, then sighed and lay still.

Tears burned my eyes as I gently freed her from the pile.
 

Striker had knelt beside me and he reached out, touching her neck.
 

“She’s alive!” He turned to Augusta. “Call Doc Evans, he’ll open the animal hospital up for me.”

Striker gently took Pandora from my arms and we ran for his car.
 

***

My heart crowded my throat and tears burned my eyes as I stared at Pandora’s still form on the stainless steel exam table. Her shaved arm stuck out straight to the side, IV lines running from the needles that pinched her tender skin in several places. The side of her head had also been shaved, the long gash closed with ugly stitches.

“She took a beating. Put up a good fight, too,” Doc Evans said. “But she’ll be fine. Just needs some rest.”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“She’s in good hands.” Striker put his arm around me and I nodded again, my eyes riveted on the still form of my cat.

I knew she was in good hands. Doc Evans was a pediatrician who had retired to become a veterinarian. He’d been a great pediatrician, but was even better with pets. Some said he had a calling for it. If anyone could mend Pandora, it was Doc Evans.

“You should get some rest, too. But I don’t think you should go home alone,” Striker said, turning me gently toward the door. “I called Pepper to come and get you. She said you could stay at her place.”

“You did?” I croaked the words out, my throat raw with emotion. I felt a stab of jealousy—when did Striker get Pepper’s number and how often had he been calling her?