A Berry Murderous Kitten_A Laugh-Out-Loud Kylie Berry Mystery Read online

  She was referring to the fact that I owned the café, my apartment, and every other building on the entire block. Long story short, this had all been my cousin Sarah’s. She fell in love with a man who lived in Seattle, I was divorce-poor and desperate, and she saved me from a life of abject destitution. What she didn’t do was leave me any seed money on which to operate. If it weren’t for the rent money from the other properties, I wouldn’t even have enough to buy kitten food. The café was currently operating at a loss, mostly because I didn’t know how to cook. I’d tried to hire a chef, but that had been a comedy of errors—none of which had made me laugh.

  “What happened with Brad?” I asked.

  “He took me down to the police station.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then I came here.”

  “You’ve been down there all this time? What’d they do?”

  “Questioned me. Three different people. Same questions asked different ways. Over and over.”

  Zoey had to be exhausted. Her usually bold yet perfect make up had feathered under her eyes.

  “And they let you go?” Would they let a murderer go? Was I to be her next victim? Would she push me under the water because of, I don’t know… reasons? Okay self, get a grip. My overinflated ego was riding on a fear high.

  “Kylie, I’m not under arrest. They don’t have any proof that I did anything wrong. They had to let me go.”

  “And that’s when you broke into my place.” I was hoping she’d get the irony.

  Zoey rolled her eyes. “Broke in. Got invited. It’s all semantics.”

  “I’ll remind you of that if you ever walk in to find me snooping around your place.”

  “And that brings me to why I’m here. I want your help.”

  Images flashed in my mind. Me with a shovel and Zoey rolling a dead body off the back of a truck. I narrowed my eyes. “What kind of help?”

  “Help help. Stay-out-of-jail help. You know, like the help I gave you?”

  “But I didn’t kill Rachel!”

  Zoey scowled and stood up. “And you think that I did killed Cam?”

  “Nooo, I don’t think that you did. I just think that you could have.”

  “Woman, get your butt up out of that tub before you turn into a prune. You are going to help me solve this murder. We are going to stick our noses into everybody’s business until whoever killed Cam wants to kill us too.” She stalked out of the room, giving me privacy.

  “I’m not liking your sales pitch,” I called after her.

  I got out of the tub and then streaked down the hall to my bedroom. I hadn’t bought towels yet. I usually air dried, but I did my best to speed up the process by doing a dog shake. It worked. A little.

  I pulled on some clothes and headed out to the kitchen. Zoey was eating a PB&J with potato chips on the side.

  “Made you one.” She slid a plate with another sandwich toward me. I took the potato chips on my plate, pulled open the sandwich, put the chips inside, and then smushed the two pieces of bread together. Zoey eyed my creation. “No wonder you can’t cook.”

  “I’m eating what you’re eating. I’m just eating it different.” We ate in silence for a few minutes. “So what’s the plan?”

  “The plan is that you’ve got to get a haircut. I can see your split ends from here.” She shook her head. “That is not a good look.”

  Ex-aunt Dorothy had said the same thing, although with a little less cruelty.

  I asked again. “What’s the plan to clear your name of murder?”

  “Uh huh, I’m not even worried about that. Well I am, but that’s not the big thing. The cops what to search my place. I can’t have that. They’ll seize all my equipment.”

  “And then you really will be in trouble?”

  Zoey nodded. “Not every client pays me two seventy-five an hour. Some pay me a thousand. I can’t have the police capturing what I do to make a thousand.”

  “Why is it that you live in that tiny apartment if you make that much?”

  Zoey shook her head. “That’s not everyday money. That’s if-I-accept-the-job plus an off-shore-bank-account money.”

  Who was this girl? The potential answers to that thought were starting to scare me.

  “Zoey, what you did to Cam—”

  “Was self-defense and he had it coming.”

  Oh my God, she killed him. I wondered if I could make it to the door if I ran.

  “He grabbed me, wouldn’t let go, I tased him, and that was the end of it.”

  Oh thank God, she didn’t kill him. I took another bite of my sandwich. It tasted so much better now that I’d had a near-death experience.

  “You know the surveillance footage I’d been capturing around town?” Zoey asked and I replied with a nod. “I’ve got the footage from last night. You need to see it.”

  Chapter 8

  I didn’t get to see the video last night. Zoey’s phone rang, she answered, and I could hear the frantic pleas of a client even from where I had sat. Zoey took off, and I contemplated how difficult it would be to change the locks on my door before taking another bath, this time without bubbles but with a very large glass of wine.

  Now it was morning and I was serving scrambled eggs on toast to Brad. I leaned my elbows on the counter and watched him take his first bite. He almost didn’t grimace.

  “Are you on your way to work or just getting off?” I asked. I knew my cooking was awful and so did he. What I didn’t know was why he was here eating it if he hated it that much.

  Brad took a long sip of his coffee—coffee he’d made himself. “Heading to,” he answered. “What are you making for lunch?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did you lose a bet down at the station or something?”

  Without looking at me, he shoved his scrambled eggs around with a fork before answering, “Or something.”

  I wasn’t buying it. Maybe he was hanging around to get a chance to snoop on Zoey a little more. But Zoey wasn’t here. “I’m making fried chicken and mashed potatoes.” It wasn’t true.

  Brad winced. The last time I’d tried to make fried chicken, it was raw around the bone, the breading turned near black instead of golden brown, and the oil had smoked so badly that it had fumigated the entire café. Brad had been here to witness the whole fiasco.

  I stood up straight. “Okay, what gives? Why are you really here?”

  Brad looked as though he wasn’t going to answer me, so when he spoke I was surprised. “You’ve got to stay away from Zoey.”

  Those had not been the words that I expected to come out of his mouth. “Come again?”

  “Things aren’t looking good for her. I know that she was a help to you when you were a suspect in Rachel Summers’ murder, but you need to steer clear of her.”

  “Why are you even making the focus about her? She didn’t do anything.”

  It was Brad’s turn to lean his elbows on the counter. “I like you, Kylie. Hell, I even like Zoey, but you have to distance yourself from her. I can’t tell you why other than to say that the more we know about her, the more we realize how much we don’t know. Every answer leads to ten more questions. Stay clear.”

  “So you really think that she killed Cam?” My heart was pounding in my chest. I liked Brad and I respected him. If he really thought that Zoey had killed Cam, who was I to think she didn’t? It wasn’t like I had any proof of her innocence. There was the promise of a video that she wanted me to watch, but what if she’d doctored it? She had the skills.

  “We’re still investigating,” Brad said.

  They’re still investigating. I let a thought bounce around the insides of my head. “You don’t have anything on her. You’re trying to warn me off but you don’t know she’s actually guilty—”

  “Of this,” Brad said, cutting me off. “Of this, Kylie.” He stood, put on his jacket, and took another sip of his coffee. “Stay away from her, Kylie. If you roll around with garbage, you’ll smell like garbage.”

 
My jaw dropped. Stunned. Somewhere deep inside of me, a fuse to an anger bomb lit.

  Brad put on his hat. “And for the love of God, Kylie, get some help in the kitchen. I know you want to do it all yourself, but the food, Kylie. You should apologize to those poor eggs. What you did to them…” He shook his head, then left. Meanwhile, I managed to keep the top of my head from exploding. At least he’d left out the front door. The crime scene tape was gone.

  I went to the back of the kitchen, did some jumping jacks, deep breathing, and air boxing. Anything to burn out the rage that Brad had lit within me. Finally ready to face the world again, I headed out to the café… and almost turned right back around and walked back into the kitchen.

  Max was in the café. My café. He’d come in through the front door and was standing just inside, rubbing his hands together in the way one does when trying to get warm. He was tall, lean, magnetically handsome, and I hated him because of how much he’d hurt Zoey.

  “Good morning!” He smiled, and it belonged in a toothpaste commercial. His eyes were the essence of eager congeniality. It made it a lot harder to hate him, but I dug deep and put forth the effort anyway. “You are glowing today. The picture of pretty.”

  Dammit! I found myself hating him a little less, and I hated that. “Want some coffee?” I asked.

  “That’d be great. Seen Zoey this morning?”

  “Not yet.” My built-in dislike of him found its footing again.

  “I knocked on her apartment door, but no answer. You know where she is?” My skin crawled when he asked. Something I couldn’t put a finger on had changed in his demeanor. His words felt more like an accusation than a question.

  “Nope.” My guess was that she was in her apartment refusing to answer her door to the selfish idiot who had abandoned her.

  Max took a seat at the back of the café. I took him his coffee and offered to bring him some eggs on toast. He passed on the food, so I left him to his coffee and his phone, which he was nose deep in by the time I walked away.

  I went back to the grill and texted Zoey that Max was hanging out, looking for her. I didn’t get an answer back. Zoey was a girl who liked her privacy. She’d see Max when she was ready to see him, and not a second sooner.

  TWO HOURS LATER, the lunch crowd had wandered in. Today, people actually had a choice between two different dishes for lunch. I’d made a fresh wedge salad topped with chicken salad made using chicken from a can. But I’d put yesterday’s leftover bacon crumbles on top. Everything was better with bacon.

  The second option was tomato soup. It, too, was from a can, but I’d chopped up fresh tomatoes and added them along with some of the chicken. I then put it in a blender to puree the whole thing, and added more fresh tomato. If anyone ordered it, I’d serve it with buttered toast. I hadn’t peeled the tomatoes, though, and the soup looked weird with tiny pieces of skin floating all through it.

  I put both entrées on the Oops board, setting the price significantly less than the cost of a burger, fries and drink from a fast food place. It was enough to cover the cost of the food and would pay for part of Melanie’s hourly wage. As for keeping the lights on and all the rest, rent from the rest of my Main Street properties would have to cover it.

  Agatha sat down at the bar’s grill. “Do you have any more of those glass Cokes?”

  Happiness flashed through me. It felt so good when I knew I could deliver exactly what a customer wanted. “Sure do. Want it over ice?”

  “Yes, please.” Agatha looked down at the bar stool next to her. “Well, hello!” Sage stretched her head upward into my line of sight as Agatha reached down to pet her. “What a lovely girl you are.”

  I poured Agatha a Coke. “Would you like some lunch today?”

  Agatha glanced at the Oops board. She studied it with a serious face, and then smiled. “I’m feeling adventurous today. Bring me one of each.”

  Agatha always knew just the right thing to say.

  A couple of minutes later I had a wedge salad and a bowl of soup in front of her. Her brow quirked upward. “Interesting.” She took a sip of the soup. Then she chewed. She took another sip, then nodded and said, “Hearty but light. It’s a nice beginning of what could become a great signature soup.”

  My heart swelled with pride, and my eyes threatened to well with tears. It was only in moments like these that I realized how much succeeding meant to me.

  My attention shifted to Sage as Agatha started in on the salad wedge. The little smoky tortoiseshell was on the far side of the café, making her rounds between the customers to get loving and adoration. She reached Max and he startled. Then his foot lashed out in an attempt to kick her.

  “Hey!” I was climbing over the counter before I realized what I was doing. My feet hit the ground and I steamrolled forward.

  Max jumped out of his chair and scooped Sage into his arms. He held her against his chest and rubbed his chin against her ear. “Such a sweet little girl,” he cooed before holding her out to me.

  I grabbed her from him and held her against me, ignoring her attempts to get back to him and his scratchy, whiskered chin. “You tried to kick her.”

  He shrugged, holding his hands out to his sides. “I’ve spent too much time in New York. I thought she was a big rat.”

  I glanced down at her… Long tail. Four legs. Furry. Rationally, I could see how he could make the mistake, but emotionally I wasn’t buying it. He had tried to kick my cat.

  Sage wiggled in my arms, trying to get free. Done with playing nice, she hissed and swatted my ear. I knew she cared, though. Her claws hadn’t even been out.

  I let her jump to the ground, and she ran off to claim a reader’s lap in the cozy corner. I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at Max.

  His patience slipped, and his irritation bubbled to the surface. Mirroring me, he crossed his arms over his chest, but when he did it, his biceps bulged. “Where’s Zoey?”

  “What makes you think I’d know?”

  “Because every time I’ve seen her she’s been on her way here, here, leaving here, or leaving with you.”

  That was awfully specific for someone who had only been trying to reconnect with Zoey for the last two days.

  “Zoey is her own person,” I countered. “She has a lot on her mind, not the least of which is how to feel about the man who ghosted her breezing back into town and trying to rekindle what he threw away.”

  “Ouch. You don’t pull your punches. I like that.” He was smiling again, and I could feel myself melting. No wonder Zoey was avoiding him. He was too disarming—too charming. He was too easy to forgive without being deserving of forgiveness.

  “Why did you do it to her? Why did you run away?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking.

  My question brought an unexpected sadness to his eyes. “Because I was a coward. I—” He stopped to clear the emotion from his voice. “My parents didn’t have a good marriage.” He chuckled, but it contained no humor. “That’s the nice way of putting it. A part of me believed that getting married was agreeing to the life they had together, and I love Zoey too much to do that to her. But I didn’t have the strength to break things off, so I stayed away. I realize now how much of a mistake that was. A terrible, horrible mistake. But it’s one I’m willing to earn her forgiveness for every day for the rest of my life.”

  Wow… I wondered what I would have done if Dan, my ex, had poured his heart out to me like that. It was hard to let go when love was involved. I nodded as I took in Max’s confession.

  “Think you could put in a good word for me?” he asked, then hurriedly added with his hand on his chest, “I’d owe you.”

  “I can pass along to her what you said, but I can’t do more than that.”

  “And even that is more than I deserve. Thank you.” He got his jacket, left a fifty on the table to pay for his four cups of coffee, but then paused before heading out. He snapped his fingers like he was just remembering something. “Kylie, there’s a salon down on Brunt Str
eet. Do you know the one I’m talking about?”

  “No, but I could probably find it.”

  “They’ve got a sign up in the window. They’re looking for models. You know, before and after photos. With that red hair of yours and your complexion, you’d be perfect. And they’re offering a free cut and highlights in exchange for the photos. I bet they’d be thrilled to have you.”

  “Thanks, I’ll check them out.” I’d lost count of the number of people who had pointed out my need for a haircut. Probably this was Max’s polite way of telling me the same thing.

  He left, and I took the fifty off the table and passed it on to my waitress, Melanie, telling her that someone had left her a nice tip. Her Shirley Temple curls bounced around her pretty face as she did a little happy dance.

  Back at the grill, I saw that Agatha had eaten nearly half her soup and a third of her wedge salad. She’d pushed the dishes away, clearly done.

  “A valiant effort, my dear,” she said.

  “Brenda made lemon bars. Want one?”

  “Oh! I’d love one, with an iced glass of milk.”

  I took away the lunch dishes and brought her dessert. Agatha took a bite of the lemon bar and closed her eyes, in heaven.

  “Mmmm,” she said. She opened her eyes. “Brenda’s lemon bars won first place at the county fair three years back.”

  “There’s a county fair with food contests?”

  “Mmhmm.” Her eyes twinkled, knowing she was planting seeds for the future in me.

  “Any contests for worst cook?” I joked.

  “That’s called last place, sweetie.”

  She had me there.

  “Agatha, what do you think of Zoey?”

  “Mmm, I like her. A lot. That one thinks for herself instead of letting the world tell her what to think.”

  “Brad said I should stay away from her.”

  “Brad’s a cop. To him, everyone is guilty until proven innocent.”

  So that meant Brad had thought that I was guilty of killing Rachel Summers. But I didn’t kill Rachel Summers. I was innocent, and that meant that even though he suspected Zoey of being guilty, she could be innocent—same as me.