Hairless Harassment

Chapter Ten

Despite another couple hours spent researching the late senator’s life, history, and political stances, I didn’t feel any closer to solving her murder the next morning. Sure, it could have been a big inheritance grab as had been the case with Ethel Fulton’s murder, but somehow I doubted it.

As frightening as I’d found him last night, her polite and pudgy Midwesterner son didn’t strike me as a killer—just a bit socially inept. Still, I couldn’t rule him out completely. Otherwise I’d be left primarily with the two cats and possibly my boss as suspects.

Hopefully Charles would be able to find out what I needed to know about Thompson by the end of the day. I’d been there for him when nobody else was willing to support his “unwinnable” double homicide case. Against all odds, we won that time, and I knew we could win again. There was no case attached, but we at least owed the world the truth about Lou Harlow’s death.

After a quick breakfast of dry Cheerios, I pulled back my hair and threw on a bold retro sundress, then climbed into my car. I wanted to solve this thing as quick as possible—not just for the senator, not just for the world at large, but for myself, too. Sleep had not come easily last night, and I doubted it would again until I knew I was safe in my new home.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Octo-Cat demanded, jumping on top of my hood and staring daggers at me straight through the windshield.

“Next door,” I informed him. I wasn’t risking those woods again, whether or not the sun was now shining brightly. “Now get off my car so I can start the engine.”

“I’m coming, too,” he said, then sprinted toward the forest. Not surprising in the least. He had his preferred method of travel, and I had mine.

I navigated down my long, twisting driveway, down a small stretch of road, and then back up Harlow manor’s long, twisting driveway. Yeah, once my poor foot made a full recovery, it probably would be faster to traipse through the woods, but sometimes fast wasn’t the most important part of getting somewhere.

Like when it came to solving a mystery.

I’d learned that my first time out of the gate. There I’d gone, galloping toward that finish line without even taking the proper time to prepare myself for the race. And it had nearly gotten me killed.

Come to think of it, I’d put myself in mortal danger as part of solving my second case, too. This time I’d be real glad if bringing Harlow’s murderer to justice didn’t involve any flirtations with death on my part. It would certainly make me feel more professional if I could solve a crime without endangering anyone’s life in the process.

Maybe today would be my big day—an important turning point for Ms. Pet Whisperer P.I. I chuckled at the notion, but admittedly my Mom’s nickname had started to grow on me.

When I pulled up to the Harlow estate, I was surprised to see no police cars or sports cars in sight. Instead, a rusty old truck sat parked just before the main entrance. The door hung wide open, but I couldn’t see anyone inside—not even the esoteric cats that I knew for a fact still lived here.

“I’m here!” Octo-Cat’s muffled cry broke through the woods. “And I come bearing gifts,” he added as he appeared carrying a dead rodent in his mouth.

“Gross,” I said, already accepting that tomorrow morning’s cat puke would be extra disgusting.

“Is someone there?” a deep voice called from within the house.

I hung back near my car and waited for the speaker to emerge onto the porch. When he did, I squealed for joy and ran forward to throw my arms around him. “Brock! It’s so good to see you out in the wild.” I hoped he wasn’t offended by my choice of words, but it felt better to not directly mention that the last couple of times I’d seen him he’d been in either court or prison.

“Angie, right?” he asked, returning my giant grin. “Thanks for helping with my case.”

Oops. Of course, he didn’t know me as well as I knew him. I’d spent the better part of an entire week obsessing over his case, whereas he’d only ever seen me for brief periods in the middle of what had to be the most stressful time of his life.

“Hey, any time,” I said with a playful fist bump against his shoulder.

“Well, hopefully never again,” Brock corrected with a laugh. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

He looked good. Real good. His long, dark hair had been cut into a shorter style with just enough length left to it that someone could run her fingers through it.

What? Me? No. My last crush had ended horribly—with him dating someone else. And here dear Brock could scarcely remember my name. I didn’t need to go fantasizing about the romantic possibilities between us.

Then again, his smile came easy and genuine. I couldn’t believe that vile red-headed realtor was his twin sister. Other than their shared last name, they had almost nothing in common. At least not that I could see.

Brock motioned for me to join him in the house, then crouched back down in front of the stairs and returned to work.

Those pants. That shirt. His muscles. And the way he handled that hammer… Gah.

It seemed my crush on Charles Longfellow, III, was all but forgotten. Falsely accused or not, I wondered if Nan would approve of me dating an ex-con. Heck, she’d probably find it even more exciting than I did.

No, no, no. Bad Angie! I didn’t have time to date—or even to really think about dating—when there was a murderer on the loose.

“So they hired you to fix the stairs?” I asked, just so that I had something coherent to say.

His dark, sparkling eyes were so pretty as he turned to study me. “Sure did,” he said. “And I’m grateful for it, too. Even though I was acquitted, a lot of people around here still feel weird about hiring me.”

“Oh, I could think of a few things for you to do.” I grew hypnotized by the swell of his muscles beneath his jeans once more. Wait, had I said that aloud?

“What’s that?” he asked, turning to me and running a forearm across his head.

“Uhh,” I stumbled here, honestly unable to remember what I’d been thinking. Then it hit me. As handsome as I found the man standing before me, this wasn’t about him. It was about my own personal kryptonite—coffee. Suddenly, I remembered that I hadn’t had any caffeine before coming over. No wonder my brain was applesauce. I needed to be way more careful about that going forward.

Pinching the inside of my arm to reinvigorate my senses, I finally smiled and said, “I have some jobs around my new place if you have the time. I live right next door, actually.”

He stood and glanced toward my house as if he could somehow see it through the solid stone walls of Harlow manor. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

Octo-Cat appeared in the doorway with traces of fresh blood on his furry face, but the carcass of his mid-morning snack thankfully nowhere to be seen. “No wonder you don’t have a boyfriend,” he muttered as he set to grooming himself.

Oh my gosh, my game was so bad even my cat could tell. Not a great start to my day. Not at all.

Octo-Cat’s rude arrival reminded me that I had come for a very specific reason, and that did not include flirting with the help. “Actually, I just stopped by to see Matt Harlow. Is he here?”

Brock fished through a container filled with nails until he found the ones he wanted. “Nope, he left almost as soon as I got here. Will reading,” he explained, keeping his focus now on his work. “Want me to tell him you stopped by?”

“Sure, thanks.” With nothing else to do here, I turned back toward the door, shooting Octo-Cat a dirty look as I passed by him. He still claimed that all humans looked the same, but he had about a ninety percent success rate when it came to discerning a person’s gender. I wondered if the Sphynxes had the same shortcomings he did. If they’d seen the killer but wouldn’t be able to identify him.

“Oh, wait. There was something I forgot,” Brock called after me.

I turned around so fast, I practically spun in a full circle. My dress twirled around me like some kind of old-timey movie, and Brock chuckled.

“I just wanted to let you know that we have an official offer on your nan’s house. Looks like your new roomie will be joining you in no time.”

Oh, yeah. He and his sister were the ones in charge of selling Nan’s house. The world did exist outside the two of us and my rude kitty commentator.

“Thanks,” I told him. “That is good news.”

I walked slowly back to my car, careful not to put too much weight on my injured foot. Now that Nan had a buyer for her house, she could join me much sooner than we’d originally anticipated.

I had zero shame in admitting that I was a scared little girl who needed her grandmother to tuck her in at night. At least until Glendale’s newest murderer was caught and reprimanded. Maybe I could invite her over today to celebrate her pending sale and beg her to stay the night.

When she found out I had a mystery right next door, I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist.