Cat Scratch Cleaver Read online

  Just my luck. The potentially last witness to see Heather Kent alive has a memory of a goldfish swimming in a bourbon bowl.

  I swing my hips right up to him.

  “I’m getting thirsty!” I shout up over the music and both Juni and Macy do their best to block him from me. “For bourbon!” I roar to no one in particular, but Bates peeks over at me from above Macy’s shoulder and nods for me to follow him as he leads the way to the bar.

  Macy keeps pace alongside me. “Now look what you’ve done.”

  Juni shoves her elbow into my sister’s side. “Never you mind. Dancing is dandy, but liquor is quicker, if you know what I mean. I might get lucky and not even have to leave the premises to do it.”

  Macy shakes her head at the thought. “I have a strict no public restrooms, dark hallways, or senior centers policy when it comes to romance. I’ll have to make sure he doesn’t exceed my two drink maximum. I’ll need him conscious in order to get his explicit consent for the things I have planned for him.”

  I race ahead of the two of them before they each grab one of his limbs and begin to pull. I have a feeling things are about to get messy, and I need him intact for at least fifteen more minutes.

  I catch his eye with a wave.

  “Bizzy Baker,” I say just a notch above the music. “I work at the inn.”

  He tips his head back with a mild look of disappointment etched on his face.

  “That’s right. You’re in charge of the s’mores.”

  “Something like that. How about I buy you a drink?” I have a feeling his currency consists of either booze or a mattress, but I’m not interested in the latter. And I sort of wish neither was Juni or Macy. But there is a certain appeal to Bates and that baby fresh face of his.

  “Sounds like a plan.” He orders up a shot of bourbon and I order a ginger ale as we land next to one another at the bar.

  He’s out of breath, sweat beading along his upper lip as he unbuttons his shirt a few notches.

  “How do you like the club?” I try to sound enthused about it, but with a sign advertising milk of magnesia less than five inches from me, it’s hard to get too excited.

  “It’s good. I think with a little work it could be a very happening place. Heather and I were supposed to come out that night to check it out before it opened.” He shrugs as the bartender lands our drinks before us.

  “Heather Kent?” I ask, amused. “The night of her murder?”

  “That’s right.” He knocks the amber liquor in his shot glass back like a hero and shudders. “The guy who owns the place wanted me to check it out, invest in it. I thought Heather might get a kick out of it. I asked her to join me.” He shakes his head. “She may have thought I was about to propose. She blew a gasket.”

  Could this be the argument Darby overheard?

  “Wow,” I muse. “She must have thought the two of you were getting pretty serious to think that.”

  “We weren’t.” He shakes his head as if he were puzzled. “She had a phobia of commitment. She said she had a habit of hurting those she cared about. It was easier to live unattached. And believe me, I get it. Not the hurting people part, but the part about wanting to live unattached. No offense to Heather, but I’m not the marrying type myself.”

  She wanted to live unattached. I mull it over in my mind.

  A phobia of relationships?

  She had a habit of hurting those she cared about… Odd.

  It sounds as if it all stemmed from some deep-seated pain that had the time to take root in her life. And considering she wasn’t all that old, it probably struck while she was a child—in high school maybe.

  Rachel circles back to the forefront of my mind.

  “Hey, Bates?” I lean in until we’re shoulder to shoulder. “Did she ever mention that she had been to the cove before? As a bridesmaid, maybe?”

  His eyes widen a moment. There was some odd rambling about a drinking contest—about controlling people the only way she knew how, with liquor. Something about keeping her mouth sealed forever.

  He shakes his head. “Nothing that would make sense. Heather and I spent the night before drinking out by the water. I think the heat was getting to her.”

  “I see.” There’s no need to push it. I have a feeling Bates has told me all I need to know regarding that. “Bates, who do you think could have done this to Heather? After you had that argument with her, did she say she was going to talk to someone else?”

  He takes a breath and his chest expands twice its size.

  “No.” He leans in so close I can feel the heat emanating off his body and smell the blast of liquor on his breath. “But she mentioned that she thought she was being followed.”

  “Followed?” I inch back to look into his glossy eyes. “Who did she say was following her?”

  “She didn’t know.” His cheeks flicker as he lands his lips close to my ears. “She thought it was a ghost. At one point, she said it was two ghosts. Heather said she was certain there was life after death, and that for many years, the ghosts had been trying to get her attention.”

  A chill rides up my spine. “Did she say who she thought those ghosts might be?”

  His Adam’s apple rises and falls, and I can tell he’s contemplating what to say next and yet not a single thought is being transmitted.

  He leans in. “One night after a bender, a couple of picture frames fell from the wall in her bedroom. Things started moving around on their own. She said it happened all the time. She said she’d wake up to the lights flickering. She’d come home to find the bathtub filled and she didn’t turn on the water. She also mentioned she found the toaster plugged in on the bathroom counter.”

  “Oh my God. Someone was haunting her, all right.” I’m just not convinced it was a ghost.

  He shrugs. “Another night I was over and her ceiling fan began to spin so fast one of the blades flew off and nearly decapitated her right before my eyes. She looked up, terrified, and shouted, ‘I’ve had enough. I hate you, Rachel. I hate you, Leeny.’ She kept lighting candles and burning sage in the corner of her room. She said it helped to keep the spirits away.” He blows out a bourbon-laced breath. “I don’t know who the hell she was talking about.”

  Juni latches onto him from behind. “And I don’t know who the hell you think you’re talking to. If it’s not me, your lips are moving in the wrong direction.” She jousts him out of his seat as they head back toward the dance floor and Macy does the same to me.

  “I hope your little investigation was worth it,” she snips. “Do you know how hard it is for me to see my brother out there getting more action than me?” She bops us into the crowd, and just as I’m about to make a break for it, a pair of strong arms wraps themselves around me from behind.

  I spin around to find the most breathtaking gray eyes staring into mine as Jasper pulls me close and we begin to slow dance to a rhythm all our own.

  “Careful,” I say. “My fiancé carries a concealed weapon. He won’t be happy when he sees you holding me like this.”

  His brows hike as he gives an amused curl of the lips.

  “In that case, we’d better not let him find out about the things I have planned for you later.”

  “I will be the last to tell him.” I pull him in close by the silver tie that matches his eyes. “But I can’t wait to tell you the things I learned tonight.”

  His expression grows somber as he glances behind me.

  “I saw you talking to Bates when I arrived.”

  “Are you spying on me, Detective?” A laugh bubbles from my throat as I say it.

  “Not nearly enough.” He nods that way. “Camila stopped me at the door a few minutes ago to tell me what she has on the case.”

  A groan evicts from me.

  Suddenly, I’m very interested in exchanging notes.

  I glance back to find Bates not only surrounded by my sister and Juni, but by Camila and Kiki Woodley, too. Camila looks as if she’s wrapped herself in tinfoil with an itty-
bitty silver dress on, and Kiki looks as if she’s still wearing the same jeans and tank top she had on earlier. Nonetheless, the fact two more women have glommed onto the Hollywood hunk doesn’t surprise me. Bates Barlow certainly doesn’t have a shortage of women wherever he goes.

  I pull Jasper close and spin him around so he’s not staring right at his wily ex who has decided to stick her nose into my case.

  I’ll make sure Jasper tells me every last bit of information that loose cannon has collected.

  And hopefully, whatever she’s gleaned will be enough for Jasper and me to nail the killer.

  That’s right, Camila. I’m leaving you out of the equation, now and forevermore.

  Chapter 12

  Later that night Jasper and I drove back to the inn and took a walk along the cove with Sherlock and Fish. It was dark, but we did our best to try to trace Heather Kent’s last moments as she walked from the café to the rocky crags at the other end of the cove.

  I told Jasper all about the freaky supernatural stuff that Bates filled me in on. And Jasper told me that Camila filled him in on the fact Jane had just given Peter Olsen his divorce papers less than twenty-four hours ago.

  It seems she caught Peter trying to get friendly with Camila herself, and Jane served those walking papers with a smile.

  Figures.

  Camila doesn’t mind bragging about her time on the casting couch to Jasper, most likely because she’s trying to spin him into a jealous tizzy—although Jasper assured me he couldn’t care less.

  I try to brush all thoughts of Camila and those moves she was putting on my fiancé last night out of my mind.

  It’s the very next morning, and the sun is already searing a hole through the roof of the inn as the heat gives the air conditioner a run for its money.

  Fish and Sherlock are in top form, greeting every guest that steps into the lobby with a wag of the tail and a cheerful little hop.

  Fish jumps up onto the counter in one gravity-defying move.

  Why so glum? I haven’t seen you this grumpy since Camila tried to turn you into a pushpin for the government.

  It’s true.

  A while back, Camila tried to shove me in the direction of some government paranormal investigation agency and it was a big supernatural mess.

  “Funny you should ask,” I whisper. “I was just thinking about the wicked witch.”

  Jane Olsen strides through the doors, wrapped in a blue and white striped beach towel, her red bathing suit peeking out from underneath. She has a beach bag slung over her shoulder and a strip of zinc oxide slashed on the bridge of her nose.

  “Good morning,” I say, trying my best to sound chipper.

  “Good morning to you.” She laughs as Sherlock trots her way and she gives him a gentle pat. “You have the friendliest pets here. I never want to leave.”

  “I’m actually surprised”—I catch myself before it’s too late—“you haven’t hit the beach already.”

  She tucks a stray hair behind her ear and gives a playful frown my way.

  “Nice save, Bizzy, but I’m guessing you heard about the divorce papers.” She gives a nonchalant shrug. “It was bound to happen. But I’m not leaving the set. I don’t believe in giving Peter peace with his hussies. Besides, I’m financially vested in this film, too, you know.” She sinks a wide-brimmed sunhat onto the top of her head. “I’ll be on the sand if anyone comes looking for me.” She gives a two-fingered wave as she disappears in the direction of the café.

  Sherlock bounds from side to side and gives a cheerful bark. Let’s follow that woman, Bizzy. She’s headed toward bacon land.

  Fish swats her tail in his direction. She’s probably just picking up coffee before she hits the sand. Not everyone is as obsessed with bacon as you. I don’t care for the stuff myself.

  “That’s right,” I say. “Your drug of choice is catnip.”

  Catnip! Her ears twitch just as Camila runs in with her hair disheveled, that same silver dress she was wearing last night sits askew on her body, and Sherlock barks at the sight of her.

  Believe me, I’m moved to bark, too.

  “Bizzy! You have to help,” she pants. “Quick, call Jasper. There’s an emergency.”

  “Let me guess, you broke a heel doing the walk of shame from Peter’s trailer?”

  She groans hard my way as the veins in her neck pulsate.

  “No. I was about to leave when I found a cleaver sitting on the driver’s seat of my car.”

  “What?” My heart pounds against my chest as I quickly text Jasper. His truck was still in his driveway when I walked to the inn this morning. And considering that our cottages are just a stone’s throw from the entrance, he should be here any—

  “Bizzy?” Jasper speeds into the foyer at a quickened clip, his suit jacket latched over his back by way of his fingers, and you can see the gun in his holster sitting on his side.

  Camila wastes no time before tossing herself at him.

  “Oh, Jasper. It was horrible!” she shrills. “The killer is out to get me, and I’m terrified out of my mind.”

  A small crowd of guests gathers around and begins to whisper amongst themselves.

  Jasper and Camila speed out the door and I follow them all the way to the parking lot, where Camila’s sedan sits baking in the sun. And sure enough, gleaming on the driver’s side seat is a cleaver—identical to the one that killed Heather Kent—identical to the ones that were peppered around here at the inn.

  Jasper calls it in and a forensics unit shows up to take prints of the car and the cleaver. It takes a couple of hours before Jasper heads off to Seaview for the station with Camila by his side. I frown as I wave to Jasper as he takes off.

  I won’t lie. That cleaver seems to be playing right into Camila’s hungry clutches, and I don’t like it one bit.

  There’s only one thing to do. Solve the damn case and get Camila out of my hair, and Jasper’s, for good.

  Grady and Nessa have control of the registration desk, so I put on my bikini, grab a towel, and head for the water. Okay, so I haven’t exactly made a practice of going near anything that qualifies as a body of water ever since Mack held me under in that whiskey barrel and essentially told me to breathe. But Jane Olsen doesn’t need to know that.

  There she is. Sherlock barks as he heads in her direction.

  I let both Sherlock and Fish in on my plan to interrogate the woman while I was doing a quick change. I’ll admit, it was a bit odd talking to a couple of pets while jumping around in the nude, trying to wiggle my way into a swimsuit. Sherlock made a comment about me not having a tail like Jasper, and Fish let me know she wouldn’t discriminate against me just because I was hairless.

  Sherlock leads us to the canopy the inn has set out over the sand with rows of wooden lounge chairs laid out for those guests who prefer not to burn to a crisp. It’s still early out and the entire cabana is empty, save for Jane lying on one of the loungers on her stomach while reading a book. She looks happy, in a youthful way, with her legs kicking back and forth in the air behind her.

  “Is this seat taken?” I ask as chipper as can be while landing right next to her.

  “Not for you and your furry little friends,” she says, scooping Fish into her arms as she quickly sits upright. “Oh, I just love this little cat. Her glowing eyes are so expressive. I was talking to her the other day, and I’d swear she knew exactly what I was saying.”

  Oh, I did. Fish mewls. And now I know all about what a lying two-time cheat she’s married to. She told me to stay away from men, and to get lost in a good book once in a while instead.

  I nod at the advice Jane doled out. Bitter, but sage, I suppose.

  “They found another cleaver.” I shed my wrap and land on my stomach next to her while propping up on my elbows.

  The faint smell of coconut-scented suntan oil permeates the air, and that mingled with the briny sea air makes it feel as if summer has finally hit its zenith.

  “Another one, huh?” she
huffs at the thought. “You know it’s probably just Peter trying to hype his film. I bet if you head down to the local hardware store you’ll see him on the security footage buying out the store.”

  Security footage? Not a bad idea, and I tip my head her way to acknowledge it.

  “So I take it, the culprit wasn’t you?” I try to laugh it off, but it comes out as serious as a cleaver in the back.

  “Wasn’t me by a long shot.”

  Sherlock nudges her hand for a quick pat and she’s more than happy to oblige.

  Don’t worry, Bizzy. Sherlock whimpers. I’ll distract her with my cuteness. People say the darndest things to me. I bet I get a confession out of her yet.

  Jane purses her lips at him. “Who’s a good boy? Yes, you are. Just between you and me, I apologize for ever calling my soon-to-be ex a dog. It was clearly an insult to your kind.” She flashes me a look. “And no, I didn’t leave the cleaver. It’s not my style. I’ve never been one to be passive. If anything, I’ve been known to be blunt.” And use blunt force trauma when needed.

  I take a breath at the thought.

  “Jane?” I lean in. “You were on the beach the night Heather was killed. Did you see anything strange? I mean, you were walking on the sand—by the shoreline.” There’s no use in pretending. She already knows I saw her covered with sand.

  “I told you that night, I was just taking a walk.” She lets Fish jump down to the sand.

  She’s the killer, isn’t she, Bizzy? Fish lets out a razor sharp meow. I don’t want a killer holding me. I’ll have to lick myself for two days straight just to get her killer germs off of me.

  Good point. Sherlock moans as he moves out of Jane’s grasp.

  “Wow,” she muses. “It’s as if I’ve got cooties. Well, I didn’t do it, kids,” she says to both Sherlock and Fish. “I’m not the big bad cleaver wielder. But”—she gives a quick glance around—“I did hear something. I was about halfway to the end of the cove, and I thought I heard screaming. I heard a woman.” Her voice shakes as she leans my way. “I haven’t told this to anyone else, but I heard Heather shouting something about the past. I heard her say the words haunting me.” She shudders. “And then I heard something like the splitting of a melon.” Her body bucks with the memory. “I thought…I thought I was going to catch Peter and her in the act, or in the least an argument.”