The Salmon Burger Murder Read online

  “Sure, I can do that.” We sipped our coffee and ate our cookies. It was nice to have the company of the terrible twins. They always made me laugh, even when I didn’t want to. It was their attitudes—Virginia with her upbeat personality and Mississippi with her bucket loads of sarcasm.

  “I really think this will bring the community together again,” Virginia said. “Now, we haven’t exactly been that far apart, but people are more suspicious of each other than they used to be. Just the other day, Maura dodged out of a queue to avoid me.”

  “Odd,” I said. “Are you sure she didn’t mistake you for Missi?”

  “How dare you.” Missi’s lips quirked at the corners. “I’ve given Maura no reason to be afraid of me.”

  “Apart from the time you TP’d her house?” Vee asked.

  I nearly choked on my coffee and had to fist my chest to regain my breath. “You did what now?”

  “I TP’d it. She deserved it,” Missi said, savagely. “She outbid me on a teapot online, one I had specifically told her I wanted, and good heavens, I wasn’t going to take that lying down.”

  “Wait, so you didn’t TP her at Halloween?”

  “Of course not,” Missi said. “That’s just clichéd.”

  “Shall we move on from talking about toilet paper?” Virginia turned lightning-bolt blue eyes on me. “How are you, Christie? How are you really?”

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “We heard about the case files. We wanted to make sure you were OK,” Vee said. “We know how tough this is going to be for you.”

  “It’s simultaneously what I wanted all along and what I most dreaded. Because finding out the truth, well, I’ve held it as beacon in my mind for so long. I’ve always figured it will solve my problems, it will finally lay the … feelings I have about my mother to rest.”

  “You’re afraid it will be a disappointment,” Vee said.

  “Kind of, yeah, but that’s not going to get me anywhere. I have to keep my chin up and keep moving.”

  “That’s the Sleepy Creek way.” An approving nod from Virginia.

  “Along with excessive eating.” Missi toasted me with a cookie. “When in doubt, comfort eat.”

  “Hear, hear.” It was a good way to leave the conversation about my mother behind. I’d already fixated on it for so long that talking about it and ‘how I felt’ made it worse. Maybe this endeavor of Missi and Vee’s would help take my mind off things. Heavens knew, the brain did its hardest work when it was distracted—while I worked, it would tick and whirr away, coming up with ideas or leads to follow.

  “So, what’s this charity called?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s the Creakin’ Wheels and Meals initiative. After Sleepy Creek. Pamela Hardshore owns it,” Vee said. “It’s always been around, but no one’s ever used it. Now, with all the murders, folks are reluctant to leave their homes.”

  “Who can blame them?” Missi asked.

  “Those who meet the registration criteria, who don’t have a job and genuinely need support, get their meals for free. Others can just order online and make payments. I think that—”

  A crash rang out from the living room, and I tensed. Missi and Vee froze.

  Noises thudded, another crash came, followed by an odd scratching sound.

  “Wait here,” I said.

  The women nodded, though Missi opened her mouth and closed it again. Perhaps to warn me away from doing anything stupid? It was too late for that.

  I rose from the table and grabbed the rolling pin—I’d bought Grizzy a new one after I’d broken the first—and progressed past the kitchen counters. I entered the living room, holding my makeshift weapon at the ready.

  The lamp on the side table had been knocked over. The base was cracked. The TV was still intact, but the curtains hung slightly skew over the open living room windows.

  A hissing noise stalled my steps. “What on—?”

  The curtains trembled. They shifted. Two white kitty paws appeared past the end table, claws hooked into the cream curtains. Another wiggle, bump and hiss and a cat appeared, scratching its way up the curtains and tossing its head this way and that, hissing and meowing.

  I exhaled and lowered the rolling pin. “It’s OK,” I called back to the twins. “It’s not the type of intruder we were expecting.”

  They hurried into the living room. “Oh my,” said Vee.

  “So, you finally decided to get a cat of your own. I have to say, it suits you. Look at how vicious it is.”

  I ignored Missi and set the rolling pin down. I came forward, slowly, putting out my hands. “I think it’s just scared.”

  “Whatever it is,” Missi said, “it looks like you’re going to need new curtains after this.”

  “There, there, cat.” I reached for the animal and carefully unhooked its claws from the fabric. The minute I had my arms around it, the cat began purring and settled in my arms, curling its tail. It’s cute snout tilted upward and afforded me a view of its face.

  White fur, pink inverse triangle nose, and black markings along its face that looked like spectacles and a mustache. In short, adorable.

  “It’s not wearing a collar,” Virginia said.

  “I’d better take it down to the shelter,” I replied. “Have you heard of anyone who’s lost a cat?”

  “Not a one. Maybe she’s yours.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Cats choose humans, Christie,” Virginia said. “Not the other way around. They own you.”

  “Either way, I’d better take her into the shelter. I’ll catch up with you ladies later.” I stroked the cat once, and an eruption of purrs followed. It was therapeutic, actually, to pet a cat and not have it try to sit on my head or attack me for food. But what had spooked it?

  I walked to the window and parted the curtains, peering out into the front yard and street beyond. Nothing was out of the ordinary. My gaze lowered to the flowerbeds beneath the sill.

  Two footprints had been pressed into the mud. Big. Man-sized.

  Well, well, well, looks like this cat just gave me another clue. Someone’s been watching us. But who?

  Quickly, I shut the living room windows and drew the curtains.

  3

  “Don't stare at me like that,” I said. “This is not my fault.”

  Curly Fries flicked her tail against the fridge and meowed. Her hair stood on end and her tail had gone thick and fluffy.

  I didn't blame her. The stray cat, the very same one I'd found climbing the curtains, was curled up in my lap, purring to his heart's content. And it was a 'him.' A collarless, nameless tom cat who the shelter couldn't place. Well, maybe they could, but not right away.

  “I didn't ask for this,” I said.

  I hadn't even stroked the cat, but it had taken to me. If I got up, it would purr and wind between my legs, manic for attention. What was wrong with it? Cats usually didn't like me. Or Curlys didn't like me. Either this cat was crazy, or I'd gotten involved with a bag of catnip without my knowledge.

  But then, Curly would have been affected too. Unless she was so far gone she couldn't overcome her dislike for me to enjoy the catnip.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Oh boy, this is going to be a long week.”

  The front door slammed as I'd said it, and my bestie, Griselda, entered the room, wearing her Burger Bar uniform t-shirt. The burger on her breast pocket had been doused in ketchup. For real.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Grizzy dumped her tote bag on the kitchen counter. “One of the ketchup bottles exploded. I don't know how or why, maybe because of the heat, but good heavens, what a mess. Thankfully, most of it was contained to behind the counter and the kitchen.” Grizzy gestured to the smaller flecks of ketchup on her shirt. “Martin's looking after the restaurant while I change. And guess who I saw in—wait. Who's this?” Grizzy had finally spotted the stray.

  The cat had sat up, its face peeking over the edge of the tabletop.

  “I don't
know who it is.” I explained to her what had happened this morning briefly. Curly hissed and meowed for added effect, making her case for the removal of the strange cat from the premises.

  “Wow, that's a meet-cute if I ever heard one,” Grizzy said.

  “I tried to take him to the shelter, but it wasn't right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It's not a no-kill shelter. So there's no guarantee that, you know, he'll find a new home and be OK.” I shrugged. “It didn't seem right to just leave him there.”

  “Well, look at you,” Grizzy said. “Aren't you sweet?”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “That you did the right thing.” Grizzy tugged on the front of her shirt. “And that you're probably going to fall in love with that cat and keep him.”

  “No way,” I said.

  The cat on my lap looked up at me, its white face and the black glasses and mustache patterns gave the impression of posh intrigue.

  “No offense,” I added. “But we can't keep you. We can't keep it. Look how freaked Curly is. She hasn't even begged me for food, and it's been five minutes since feeding time.”

  “Feeding time. You make her sound like a shark.”

  “Have you seen her eating?” I shook my head. “I'll print out some lost cat posters and stick them up around town.”

  “Sure. You can do that,” Grizzy said. “But we'll have to keep him until someone claims him. And you're going to have to ask Mona for permission to put up the signs.”

  “You're kidding,” I groaned. “Mona?”

  “I know. But if that's your plan...”

  “We can't keep him.”

  “Well, we have to for now,” Grizzy said, as she opened her tote bag and checked the time on her cellphone. “And if we keep him for now, we should name him. Did you take him to the vet and check for a microchip?”

  “Nothing. But how can he not be domesticated? I mean, look at him.”

  The cat purred, resting its head on the tabletop. Now, I wasn't one for cuteness, but the cat was through the roof on the cute meter.

  “I don't know. But we need a name to call him for now. Got any ideas?”

  I wriggled my nose. “I don't know.”

  “Think about it while I get cleaned up.” Grizzy rushed off to change out of her shirt while I mulled over the choice of cat name, as well as my outing with Missi and Vee this afternoon. I was privately looking forward to it.

  When I'd first come to town, I'd been sure I would never settle back in here. But after this many weeks, I had acclimated. I was starting to enjoy this town and care about the people here. And the cats.

  “Have you made a decision?” Grizzy asked, sweeping back into the kitchen with a new uniform Burger Bar shirt on. “All clean.”

  “Good. And I think so. Maybe it's too weird.”

  “What is it?” Grizzy asked.

  “Poirot. After Agatha Christie's Poirot?”

  “That's perfect!” Grizzy exclaimed. “This has been a nice surprise. A new kitty cat to keep safe. How was your meeting with Liam?”

  “It was good. I saw the files, so that's something. And I made copies.”

  “That's great, Christie. That's all you've wanted all this time.”

  I nodded. “It's going to be interesting, I'll tell you that much.” I didn't particularly want to discuss it right away, though, I hadn't even had time to mull everything over. There had been the cat to keep me busy.

  “And I hear you're going out with Missi and Vee later?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think that's really sweet too, Christie. After everything the town's been through, it's great that we're banding together. Maybe this will help everyone relax.”

  “Or provide another perfect opportunity for a murder,” I replied.

  “Christie, don't say that.”

  “Sorry. Sometimes my mouth runs away with me.” And I'd also been so focused on cases this past month that it was difficult not to frame everything around that. Mystery had always reigned supreme in Sleepy Creek.

  Grizzy waved a hand. “So, you're busy this evening. Do you think you'll be in time for a pizza and movie night?”

  “That sounds great,” I replied, grinning. “I'm definitely in the mood for pizza.”

  “Then it's a lady date.” Grizzy lifted her bag off the counter. “Have fun with your new kitty cat.”

  “He's not my cat!” I called after her.

  The door clicked shut a second later.

  Poirot meowed at me and hopped off my lap. He circled toward the kibble bowl that was Curly's, and she hissed at her new enemy.

  “You’re hungry,” I said. “You're both hungry. How on earth did I wind up in this situation?” I got up to feed the cats. Then again, it could have been worse. I could have been embroiled in solving another fresh murder case in my favorite town.

  4

  Letting Mississippi drive the van had been an exceptionally poor choice.

  Vee and I sat in the back with the meals, bouncing up and down on the side seats as Missi tore through Sleepy Creek, occasionally letting out a whoop of joy. We'd been in the van for five minutes, but I'd already developed a serious case of motion sickness, and the warm and cheesy smells from the packages—which would usually have smelled delicious to me—didn't help.

  “Slow down!” Virginia shouted at the cab of the truck. It was separated from the front, and the little window was shut tight.

  The sides of the van had windows that could be opened and a shutter that could be lifted and propped up to make serving the meals easier. But we wouldn't get to serve anything if we kept rocketing around at this speed.

  “Missi!” My yell was barely audible above the rolling tires. “Is this revenge for something?”

  “No, dear,” Vee replied, trying to pat me on the arm, but slapping me instead as the van bumped again. “Oh sorry. No, she's just crazy about going fast. It's the reason she's crashed the last five cars she's owned.”

  “Five cars?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Then why did we let her drive?” I asked.

  “It was a lapse in judgement.”

  Missi hooted, the wheels thumped, and a few of the meals slid around in their boxes and almost toppled over. I caught them before they fell. “I'd say that was a pretty big lapse in judgment.”

  The words were no sooner out of my mouth than the van shrieked to a halt. The door at the front slammed, and the back ones opened a second later. “What are you two yelling about?” Missi asked, her eyes glistening with exhilaration.

  “What are we yelling about?” I asked. “Are you serious?”

  “It's not my fault you have no appreciation for good driving.”

  “I'm going to buy you a dictionary and hit you over the head with it,” I said, and scooched off my seat. “Are we at the first stop?”

  “I'm confiscating those keys, Mississippi. I thought you said that instructor had told you you'd improved.” Virginia was pale around the mouth.

  “Who cares what he says?” Missi waved a hand. “If he'd known his stuff, he would never have told me to slow down. A real driver always tests their limits.”

  I jumped out of the back of the truck and put out my hand. “Keys.”

  Missi grumbled about it but deposited them in my hand. I pocketed them. “Thank you. Now, where are—?” I turned and blinked. “Huh? Did we just leave my house only to come back to it? Is this your way of telling me I don't eat well enough?”

  Missi had parked the van in front of Griselda's two-story. Curly Fries was seated on the front porch, and the new cat, Poirot lay on the living room window's sill.

  “No, this is the address. Your next-door neighbor. Three meals. One for a Mr. Marks,” Virginia said, lifting her clipboard and reading the name off it. “That will be Nelly's boyfriend, yes?”

  “Correct,” I said. “But the other two?” I'd heard that our neighbor, Donovan Marks, had finally gotten roommates, but we hadn't been forma
lly introduced. There didn't seem to be time, what between my mother's case files, the mysteries and the delicious burgers at the Burger Bar.

  “One is a Mr. Kevin Crokewell,” Virginia said. “And the other is a guy by the name of Cole Finnegan.”

  I froze. Finnegan? That was one of the names on the suspect list. What were the chances? Slim. And that intrigued me even more. Was this Finnegan involved in the murder?

  Easy, Christie, focus on the now, not the past.

  “Watson, are you there?” Missi waved a hand in front of my face. “See, she's checked out again.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I just... OK, so three meals. Right? I'll get them.”

  “Thank you, dear.” Virginia hugged the clipboard to her chest.

  I hurried around the back of the van and clambered into it. I grabbed three meals from the box closest to the front then hopped down and made my way back to the terrible twins. “Got ‘em,” I said.

  “Yes, we can see that.”

  “Now, Missi, there’s no need to be grumpy,” Virginia said. “If you had, perhaps, driven a little slower, you would still have the keys to the van.”

  “You two have no sense of adventure.” Missi took the meals from me, and we all trooped up to the next-door neighbor’s front gate together.

  I couldn’t quit thinking about this Finnegan dude and who he might be. But surely not. Surely, my mother’s murderer or someone connected to the Spiders, wouldn’t be living right next door? It was ridiculous. An impossibility. Or rather, an improbability.

  Nothing is impossible. Not in this town.

  I opened the gate for Missi and Vee, and we continued up the path. The garden wasn’t in shambles, but it wasn’t exactly well-looked after. There were patches of dry grass, and the flowerbeds hadn’t seen a seed in ages. Not that I was the specialist gardener here. Grizzy had taught me what little I did know, and those green plants arcing from the soil? Those were weeds.

  We took to the front steps—wooden, creaky—and clomped across the porch. It was a warm late afternoon, and sweat dripped down my spine. Or maybe that was the nerves after Missi’s racecar driver impersonation.