She grabbed her phone. On the internet, she pulled up a crisp image of Queen Anne’s Lace. She flicked the pic to the chief with a brief text.
Crime scene flowers Queen Anne’s Lace?
There. She’d done what she promised Deanna. The police would have to take it from there.
And if any other clues happened to land in her lap?
She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
Chapter 6
“I love adoption days, don’t you?” Lara set out a covered plate of homemade sugar cookies. A tall pitcher of lemonade, wrapped in a dish towel, rested nearby.
Aunt Fran smiled, but her eyes held a touch of melancholy. “I love seeing the good we’re doing for our rescue cats, yes. But as you know, my heart breaks a little each time someone adopts one of our babies.”
Lara slipped an arm around her aunt’s shoulder. “I know it does. I feel the same way. But remember how far we’ve come, and what we’ve already accomplished.”
Nine months earlier, Lara’s childhood bestie, Sherry Bowker, had asked Lara to return to her hometown to help her aunt. Locals had been calling Aunt Fran the crazy cat lady because she’d taken in more strays than she could handle. And with two bad knees, Aunt Fran had been overwhelmed trying to care for them.
At the time, Lara had been living over a bakery in Boston’s North End. She hadn’t seen her aunt in sixteen years—an estrangement she still didn’t quite understand. A struggling watercolor artist, Lara had been making ends meet by working part-time in her friend Gabriela’s bakery.
So much had happened since then. Lara had reconnected with the aunt she’d adored as a child. A murderer had been caught. And the High Cliff Shelter for Cats had gone from vision to reality.
The door buzzer to the shelter jolted Lara out of her reverie. A balding, elderly man was peering through the screen door. “Are you open yet?”
Lara glanced at the cat-shaped clock on the wall. It was only twelve-thirty; adoptions started at one. She opened the door, put on her best smile, and invited him inside. “Of course we are. I’m Lara Caphart. Welcome to the High Cliff Shelter.”
“And I’m Fran Clarkson. You look familiar. Do you live in town?”
The man’s filmy eyes brightened. “Sure do. Worked at the fire department, such as it is, for many years. Also did home inspections for the cooperative bank. I’m retired now. Wife died nine years ago.”
“Have a seat, Mr., um…”
“Heston. Curtis Heston. Everyone calls me Hesty, so you might as well do the same.” Walking at a slightly bent angle, he went over and plunked himself onto the nearest chair. “That lemonade sure looks tasty.”
Aunt Fran sat, and Lara did the same. Lara poured a glass of lemonade for each of them. The man—Hesty—slurped down a mouthful and gave out a loud, “Ahhhh.”
“So, um, Hesty, what brings you to our shelter today?” Lara asked.
He looked around. “Thought there’d be cats here. You run out of cats?”
Aunt Fran quirked her lips. “No,” she explained. “On adoption days, we keep them in the house until we’re ready to open. This porch—we call it the meet-and-greet room—is where we greet visitors and invite them to get to know the cats that are ready for good homes. Have you had cats before?”
Without warning, Blue sprang onto the vacant chair. The Ragdoll’s blue eyes widened. Her chocolate-colored ears twitched in agitation.
Uh oh, Lara thought.
“Yep, I’ve had several of ’em,” he said. “All of ’em lived to a ripe old age. Can’t say I’ll do the same, but I’m trying.” He cackled at his own joke.
Lara fidgeted on her seat. “Did your cats live inside, Mr., um…?”
“I told you, it’s Hesty.” He scrunched one wrinkled eye as if it had a magic view into the past. “No, my first cat went out all the time. Back in the seventies, I think that was.”
“And after that?” Aunt Fran prodded.
“After that I got married, and my wife gave me what for, if you get my drift, for letting my cat go outside.”
Aunt Fran smiled. “She was a wise woman. She obviously knew that indoor cats are healthier, happier, and live much longer lives.”
“You’re right there, young lady. Anyway, my Tilly—that was my cat, not my wife—died seven months ago. She was seventeen. Sweetest little furry gal you ever saw.” A tear crawled down one furrowed cheek. “It’s time for me to have another cat.”
Blue turned around in her chair and sat at attention.
Feeling unnerved at Blue’s apparent distress, Lara hesitated. Then, unable to delay any longer, she rose and opened the door to the large parlor. Almost instantly, Munster trotted over to Hesty and wrapped himself around the man’s legs.
“Aw, look at this one,” Hesty cooed. He scratched Munster between the ears. “Can I have him?”
At that moment, Frankie strolled in. The cat’s eyes went large at the sight of Hesty. Ignoring Aunt Fran, he padded directly over to the man and leaped onto his bony lap. Frankie leaned into Hesty’s chest and buried his face in his polyester shirt.
“Oh, would you look at that?” Hesty said. “This one already picked me!” He bent and rubbed his stubbled chin on Frankie’s head. Frankie closed his eyes and purred, looking as if he’d found the mythical Shangri-La.
Lara bit her lip. Blue’s tail was swishing back and forth. What was wrong?
“Okay, I’m picking this one,” Hesty said. “How much is he?”
“Don’t you want to know his name?” Lara asked. She felt her aunt’s quizzical gaze on her.
“Sure,” he said, “but names don’t matter. I’ll change it if I don’t like it. Won’t I, sweetie?” He kissed Frankie’s pink nose.
“Hesty,” Aunt Fran put in tactfully, “we’re happy that you found a friend so quickly—that’s Frankie, by the way. But like all shelters, we do have an application process. After it’s reviewed and your references check out, we’ll contact you to pick him up.”
Hesty shrugged. “Oh. Well, no problem, I guess. My granddaughter can help me fill out the application. I don’t see so good these days.”
“There’s also an adoption fee,” Lara said. “All of it goes toward our shelter’s expenses.” She quoted the fee.
“Like I said, not a problem.”
Lara nodded. Her head was beginning to throb. “Would you like us to email you the application, or—”
“Email, shmee-mail. Just give me the dang form.”
A bad feeling gripped Lara. Blue had clearly given Hesty a thumbs-down. Yet Frankie had snubbed his beloved Aunt Fran and cozied right up to the man!
“Excuse me just a moment,” Lara said. “I’ll go print out an application.”
Lara quickly left the room, puzzled by Blue’s behavior. Could the Ragdoll cat be wrong about Hesty?
She returned with the application and set it down on the table in front of the man. By that time Blue had vanished—not a surprise.
As she started to reclaim her chair, she felt something push, hard, at her hand. Her lemonade glass tipped over, spilling pink liquid over the table.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” Lara said, wincing. The lemonade saturated the application and dripped onto Hesty’s trouser legs.
Hesty