Cat Scratch Cleaver Read online

  “Juni,” I hiss. “Are you talking about the burly man with his face burnt to a red crisp? The one with a bright orange T-shirt and the fancy government-issued bracelet around his left leg?”

  “Yup.” Juni pulls out her lipstick and blindly applies a caustic shade of red, adding a fourth of an inch to her upper lip.

  “Juni, the guy probably got that sunburn by working on a chain gang. And newsflash, the sheriff’s department is keeping tabs on him.”

  “That’s how I know I’ll be safe.” She gives a quick wink my way. “But don’t you worry, I’m betting a guy like that knows how to raise a little hell.”

  “And a felony or two,” I say as she zips off in his direction.

  No sooner does a round of iced teas land at our table than Darby, the portly, balding, date of Georgie’s, lands in Juni’s seat and takes a sip of her drink.

  “Woo-wee!” He gives a wistful shake of the head. He’s donned yet another Hawaiian shirt, and I’m guessing this is an ongoing theme with him. This time it’s pink with palm trees and hula girls sprinkled about. “Looks like my little mama knows what I like.” He picks up Georgie’s hand and lands a kiss to the back of it. “How’s it going, hot stuff?”

  Georgie waggles her brows. “Better now that you’re here,” she says in her sultriest voice, and suddenly I feel both violated and like a third wheel all at the same time. “Darby, this is my friend, Bizzy Baker. She’s in charge of the inn where Cat Scratch Fever is being filmed.”

  His face contorts into a rather dramatic look of surprise. I’m guessing bad acting is his specialty.

  “Darby Atwater at your service.” He extends a hand my way, and I’m quick to shake it.

  “So nice to meet you.” I scoot my chair his way as to not miss a single word that’s about to come out of his mouth.

  Well, lookie here. He glances down at my seat. Looks like the spring chicken wants a bite out of Grandpa, too. Can’t say I blame her. He broadens his chest unnecessarily. This shirt has long since been a honey trap. I knew it was overkill for this place, but then I can’t tell if Georgie Pordgie is a sure thing just yet. He shoots a quick look to Georgie, then me. Wait a minute. What if this is one of those two-for-one deals? Maybe I really did hit the jackpot with the old gal?

  Georgie takes a sip of her drink before slamming it down onto the table.

  “Would you look at that?” She slides it forward with a dramatic flair. “Someone is trying to pass off this bathwater as my libation. I’d better hit the bar and find me a real man to spike my drink. I’ll be back.” She squints over at Darby. “Don’t get too friendly with present company.” She takes off, and he blows out a breath of what seems to be relief.

  “It’s almost as if she could read my mind.” He grimaces my way. “Did I just say that out loud?”

  “I think it’s the iced tea talking.” I’m willing to give him a pass. “That was some night last night. How are you holding up?”

  He squints so hard his eyes disappear for a second as they succumb to mounds of pink flesh.

  “My trick knee has been giving me trouble,” he says. “I’ve got a molar that’s darn near abscessed, and I haven’t moved my bowels in three days.” He picks up his drink. “Nothing a couple of these won’t cure.”

  “Here’s hoping.” Okay, so he’s an over sharer. That might just work in my favor. “But what about the murder?” I shake my head as I whisper. “Did you know the poor girl? Heather Kent?”

  “Not well.” His brows knit together as he pulls his drink in close. “But you could say I was the one who helped land her the role in the film to begin with.”

  “What?” I scoot next to him another notch, not wanting to miss a thing.

  “That’s right.” A cheesy grin glides across his face. Now that she thinks I’m a gatekeeper, she’s suddenly interested again. He glances to the proximity of our chairs and I promptly scoot right back. He scowls before leaning in. “See that guy behind you?”

  I turn and catch another glimpse of Peter Olsen and the brunette Bobbsey Twins nibbling on his ears. It’s an off-putting sight, especially knowing he’s married.

  “Hey?” I pretend to be surprised to see him. “Isn’t that the producer?”

  “Director,” he corrects.

  “You’re so smart. I’m still new to all this,” I say and watch as his ego inflates ten times its natural size. Something tells me Darby here likes to impress the ladies at every turn. “But how did you help Heather?”

  Knew it. He chuckles to himself. Ms. Blue Eyes here is hoping I’ll do the same for her.

  He leans in so close, I can smell his cheap cologne, coupled with an intense garlic scent coming from his mouth.

  “The truth is, I came here looking for a part myself,” he confesses. “All the local writers, producers, directors like to hang out here. Mostly men. But then, men make the world go round. Am I right?”

  I give a wry smile that says you’re pushing it, buddy, and he waves it off.

  “Anyway”—he’s back to leaning in hard, and I’m about ready to pass out from the smell—“I bought his drinks for a couple weeks straight while he talked to the ladies about roles and whatnot.”

  I’m guessing it’s the whatnot that Jane Olsen was so irate about.

  “And Heather was one of the girls?”

  “That’s right. I bought her drinks, too. She was a regular here. Peter’s Girl they called her.”

  “Do you think they were having an affair?”

  He frowns over at me. “What, do I look naïve? I may have bought my way into his movies by way of hard liquor, but Heather was required to make a meatier payment, if you know what I mean.”

  “About a hundred pounds of flesh.”

  “You got that right.” He lifts his drink as if toasting Heather’s effort. “And just between you and me, Peter really did like her.”

  “As in he was willing to trade in his wife?” There’s no sense in ignoring the matrimonial elephant in the room.

  He shakes his head. “Let’s not get crazy. Jane is his first wife. And rumor has it, they got hitched without a prenup. It’s not easy to get rid of a woman like that without feeling a punch to your wallet.”

  “Oh, so he sneaks around.”

  He shakes his head. “Peter Olsen doesn’t need to sneak,” he whispers. “She knew what she was signing up for. Jane was the female lead in three of his first films. She knows how the game is played.” She played it well herself.

  “I was in a scene with her last night, and she was in a mood. I’m thinking she didn’t like Heather.”

  The truth is, she didn’t like Peter, but he’s not the one that’s dead.

  Hey? Maybe she found them together and killed the wrong person? That would explain the wet sand on her feet.

  “Maybe she didn’t like Heather.” Darby swills the drink in his hand. “But for the most part, she and Heather pretty much gave one another the cold shoulder. Jane and Peter are notorious for having blowouts on set. Jane likes to threaten Peter with divorce now and again. It’s a game they play.”

  The exact game I found them embroiled in last night.

  “Did Peter have a beef with Heather?”

  He cuts a glance in the slimy director’s direction.

  “I don’t know. But I do know that after weeks of being lovey-dovey, Heather was icing him out. Rumor had it, now that she landed the role, she was moving on to bigger, younger, fish—Bates Barlow.”

  “Bates?” I tip my head, considering this. “He is all the rage among the single ladies.”

  “And not so single. In our line of work, it’s considered schmoozing with the right crowd. You can’t really limit yourself to the people who wear a wedding ring.”

  Or those who don’t wear one on purpose.

  I glance back to Peter and affirm my naked finger suspicions.

  “So Heather was rebuffing his advances. And Peter really liked her,” I say, mostly to myself. “I bet a man like Peter isn’t used to being t
urned down.”

  “And so publicly,” Darby adds. “It was a bruise to his ego when she started making out with Bates on set, that’s for sure. He was so mad the first time it happened, I thought he was gonna kill her then and there.”

  My mouth falls open. “Darby, do you think Peter killed Heather?”

  His gaze flits to the scene behind me. “No.” Maybe, but I won’t say that out loud. Not here. Not anywhere. I know what side my bread is buttered on. I’ve got rent to pay and shirts to buy. If Peter lost his mind last night, it’s none of my business. Let the cops worry about it. He manufactures a smile my way. “But I wouldn’t worry your pretty little head about it, honey. Heather Kent knew who she was playing hardball with.”

  Georgie comes back. “No luck at the bar.” She sets down a fruity looking drink before flashing those pearly whites at Darby. “I guess I have you to spike my drink after all.” She leans in and they rub noses and coo like a couple of rabbits looking to multiply and produce an entire herd of Hawaiian shirt, kaftan wearing bunnies.

  Peter Olsen walks by with a brunette on each arm and they head off through an unmarked door down the hall.

  Something tells me he won’t be coming out anytime soon.

  But something else tells me that won’t be the last time I poke around in his business.

  Peter Olsen’s ego might be too big for his directorial britches, but is it deadly?

  That cleaver lodged in Heather Kent’s back might just prove it was deadly indeed.

  Chapter 6

  What’s better than indulging in all-you-can eat s’mores bars on a boiling afternoon?

  That’s my alibi if Jasper gets his suspicions aroused. And if he’s a smart man, his answer to the question regarding s’mores bars will be kissing me. It’s pretty much a win-win for both of us.

  Regardless, I’ve arrived at the Seaview Sheriff’s Department with Fish in my tote bag poking her little cute fuzzy head out and Sherlock Bones springing by my side, leashed, and a pretty pink box of Emmie’s s’mores bars in my hot little hands.

  I thought of bringing Sherlock along as sort of an afterthought, to be truthful. But I figure Jasper would be so thrilled to see him, that any irritation I might cause would be thrown off by that pooch’s innate cuteness. And, of course, when I asked Sherlock to join me on this adventure, Fish insisted she wasn’t missing out on the investigation. Needless to say, they were both disappointed to learn we were merely going to speak with Camila. Believe me, I’m not too thrilled either.

  Sherlock lets out a soft bark. I don’t care for Camila. She likes to shoo me away with her feet.

  “I’d like to shoo her away with my feet,” I mutter. “A nice kick to the rear should do it.”

  Fish meows with what sounds like glee. Try to make it look like an accident, Bizzy. This place is crawling with people just dying to land some of those shiny bracelets onto someone.

  Sherlock growls. Just the way Jasper likes to do. I’ve seen him put the cuffs on you, Bizzy.

  Fish yowls and sounds as if she’s laughing. You rather seem to enjoy that little game.

  “Okay, you two. I get it,” I say as I make my way toward the homicide department. Clearly, they know too much.

  The sheriff’s department is cold and sterile, nothing but white walls and linoleum floors. The faint scent of stale coffee lingers in the air, and there’s something sweet layered just beneath that, probably donuts because, let’s face it, some stereotypes are true.

  I make the final turn toward my destination, and sure enough, Camila Ryder sits at her desk with a low-cut blouse on, blowing on her fingernails that seem to be freshly painted a shade of cutthroat red.

  Camila took the position here at the homicide division so she could be close to her ex. Neither Jasper nor I was thrilled, considering he’s the ex in question.

  Her head hitches my way before she does a double take.

  “I thought I sensed a disturbance in the force.” She flips that long dark mane before fanning her nails through the air. “What do you want?” She spots Sherlock and her eyes expand. “Ugh. We have a strict no fleas policy. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to disem-bark.”

  Fish lifts half her body out of the tote bag and hisses at the hussy before us with such a caustic fervor Camila glides back in her chair and belts out a scream.

  I can’t help but chortle myself into a conniption.

  “Relax,” I say as I land the box of s’mores bars onto her desk. “Shove a couple of those in your mouth.” I make a face at her. “That should get your venomous juices flowing.”

  Sherlock circles around the desk to get a better look at her. Be careful, Bizzy. She’s got the blood of her enemies on her fingertips.

  I nod his way. Duly noted.

  “Camila.” I command my voice to sound as sickly sweet as possible. “It was just confirmed to me that they’re going on with the production of Cat Scratch Fever and the director is open to recasting the lead as a brunette.” Not true. I’m betting if Camila did get the part, they’d slap a wig on her for consistency, but the words flew from my lips so I’m going with it.

  Her mouth rounds out as she takes in a solid breath.

  “No kidding?” She pushes the box of sweet treats back my way. “I see what you’re doing. You’re trying to fatten me up so I won’t get the part.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you’re a brunette.” She flashes a momentary grin.

  Fish groans. She’s got you there.

  “I might be a brunette, but I’m not interested in the part. Anyway, I was just coming here to see Jasper, and when I saw you, the thought came to mind.”

  I’m sure a lot of thoughts come to mind. She teases in the wicked way only she can.

  Back when she was dating Leo, she got it out of him that he could pry into her depraved mind. And when she saw Leo and me having more than one seeming conversation a few months back, she did the mind reading math.

  “Well”—I pull the box of sweet treats back my way—“I’ll tell Peter you’re not interested.”

  “Wait a minute.” She pulls the box back in her direction. “I didn’t know you were on a first-name basis with the guy.” She pulls a set of chopsticks out of her desk and quickly plucks a s’mores bar out of the box like a chopsticks wielding pro.

  I make a face at how effortlessly she managed to pull that off. I’m guessing this isn’t the first time she’s pulled those sticks out to save her manicure.

  Fish lands her front paws over the edge of the tote bag and she looks about as adorable as can be. Tell her you can get her the role for a fee. Fish mewls. A plate full of Fancy Beast cat food. Salmon pâté, none of that turkey dinner. I’m a cat, for goodness’ sakes.

  Sherlock lets out a chirp of a bark. See if she can throw in a few of those jerky treats Jasper picks up now and again. I’d like to have them as a regular part of my diet.

  “I am on a first-name basis with the director,” I say, giving both Fish and Sherlock a wry look before shifting my gaze back to Camila. “In fact, I just had lunch with him this afternoon.” Sort of. “That’s when he seemed to be taken with the idea of a brunette stealing the part.” And I’m pretty sure that’s no lie.

  Camila spikes to her feet. “Well, I’m interested. In fact, I’ll stop by the inn tomorrow and let him know myself. Besides, I have some business to conduct.”

  Shoot. It seems I’ve opened up a can of Camila-shaped worms. Of course, I did. I shouldn’t expect anything less with her. She’s a barracuda when it comes to trying to steal my man.

  A dull laugh bounces through her.

  “Oh, Dizzy Bizzy. I don’t have to be a mind reader to know that your paranoia just went up a notch. You think I’m about to swipe Jasper away from that pretty little ring finger of yours that you have him wrapped around?”

  I inadvertently twirl my engagement ring in toward my palm. She’s the last person I want gawking at my ring. It bares a hunk of an emerald cut diamond with smalle
r diamonds dripping down either side. I’ve already told Jasper I’d like to use it as my wedding ring as well. There’s no way I’m taking this off my finger for long.

  She leans hard over her desk, and Sherlock whimpers before chasing his tail in a circle.

  “Guess what, Bizzy? You’re right.” She bleeds a dark smile. “I got to thinking the other day. What on earth does Dizzy Baker have that I don’t? I’ve got you beat with both my body and my looks.” She points a finger to herself. “I’m halfway decent in the kitchen, and from what I hear, you’re required to have a fire extinguisher nearby.”

  She’s not wrong there. Fish yelps and I twist my lips at her.

  Camila scowls my way. “He’s settled with you. Face it, Bizzy, you’re ordinary. And a man like Jasper deserves an extraordinary woman.”

  Sherlock gives a sharp bark and it sounds like a warning. Nobody talks to my Bizzy like that and gets away with it. Grab her by the chopsticks and demand that she tells you everything she knows about Heather.

  Camila snarls over at Sherlock. “Oh hush, you. Nobody asked you anything. A lot of good you and your paw patrol did yesterday protecting Heather Kent from getting slaughtered.” She bares her fangs my way. “Heather was my friend. In fact, I was the one who suggested the inn a few months back when she said they were scouting a location for the grisly climax.”

  “You did?” I blink back, surprised. I’ll let her insults slide this once, but only because I plan on shaking as much about Heather from her that I can.

  “That’s right. Heather and I went to the same spa right here in Seaview. She’s been renting a place in town. And we became fast friends.”

  “Did she tell you she slept with Peter to get the part? Is that what you did to get your bit part, too?”

  She sucks in a quick breath before getting right back to scowling.

  “Why aren’t I surprised to see you stoop so low?”

  Sherlock whines as he wraps himself around my legs. Play nice, Bizzy. She likes to bite. I’ve seen her do it to Jasper.

  Ugh. So not what I needed to hear. And now I can’t seem to stop the visual from invading my brain either.