Hairless Harassment

Chapter Eleven

Sure enough, Nan agreed to stop by later that afternoon to get the goods on our newest investigation—her words, not mine. Maybe I should have called my mom instead, seeing as she was already involved. But Nan had been a ready and willing partner the last time around and I liked her less direct approach when it came to questioning witnesses.

Had Mom not built a career for herself in journalism, I have no doubt that she could have made a fantastic prison guard. Nan, on the other hand, was an actress through and through. Even though her time on Broadway had ended almost fifty years ago, she still liked to don costumes and dive straight into whatever new character we needed to aid our investigations.

Me? I guess I was the brains behind our little operation. Whatever it was. Right now, we were still just impromptu vigilante detectives with a knack for finding both clues and trouble. Of course, if my mom had her way, I’d soon be hanging out my Private Investigator for Hire sign on the front lawn.

Nan was the actress, the good cop. Mom was the dogged reporter, ala bad cop, and I was the one who did all the research and then charged straight into battle without any regard to my own personal safety.

So maybe I wasn’t really the brains, after all.

I unpacked some more boxes as I thought this over—as if any of it mattered, as if I were writing a novel or casting a TV show about our exploits. That would be the day! And it would be one both Mom and Nan loved. For now, I just wanted to get my clothes all hung and organized in my new closet.

I’d chosen the smallest bedroom in the entire manor not just because I loved the idea of living in a tower, but also because it felt more like home. Despite her flair for the dramatic, Nan had raised me to be humble and to find happiness right where I sat, and as such, the whole owning a mansion thing would definitely take some getting used to.

I let out a frustrated sigh when less than half of my wardrobe fit in the tiny tower closet. It may have been comprised mostly of thrift store and charity shop finds, but I loved every single article of clothing I owned and was loathe to part with any of it. They just didn’t make clothes like they used to in the eighties and nineties. True, I’d hardly been alive during those decades, but it didn’t mean that I couldn’t adore the bold pops of color and fun patterns in the here and now.

“Who pooped in your litter box?” Octo-Cat asked, choosing that exact moment to creep out from underneath my bed. I hadn’t even known he was there, the sneak.

“You have some really weird sayings,” I told him with a frown before returning to the much bigger problem at hand. “And my clothes don’t all fit in the closet.”

“First of all, so do you.” Octo-Cat sucked in a deep breath as he ventured into the closet to check things out. Coming back, he said, “And second, I really don’t see why you humans need so many outfits, but you do realize we have six bedrooms in this house, right? Six! That’s one more than the number of lives I have left, which seems more than enough to me. Just choose one of the other rooms and put your stuff in there.”

I shook my head, wondering if I should ask more about how he’d lost his first four lives and what exactly that even meant. As far as I knew, I only had one life to live—only one to lose. That’s why, even though our sleuthing was exciting, it could also prove to be very dangerous.

“C’mon,” Octo-Cat said with a breathy exhale. “I think I know the perfect room for this, if you’ll follow me.”

I kept hold of the stack of hangers in my hands as I followed him down the spiral staircase and across the second floor of our new home. Well, new for me, at least. My cat had easily settled back in as master of this domain. I’d never seen him this at ease in my old rental, but then again, it seemed this particular tabby was born for greater things and more extravagant surroundings.

“This one,” he said, stopping outside a closed door at the end of the hallway and pawing at the light streaming from beneath.

I opened it up and gasped, dropping my pile of hangers to the ground in a clattering mess. Somehow I’d forgotten about this room entirely. Sure, I’d toured the house a couple times before signing on the dotted line, but back then I was still enamored of the general luxuriousness that I had a hard time noticing the finer details.

And, oh, this room was fine.

First of all, it had a big window seat like the ones I’d coveted at Harlow Manor. The gorgeous piece of architecture stretched at least six feet long, which meant I could even nap there if I wanted. Heavy blackout curtains flanked it on either side. They must have been closed the other times I’d seen this place; that must have been why I didn’t remember it. I liked that explanation much better than choosing to believe that I had either overlooked or forgotten such major details.

From the vaulted ceiling hung an antique crystal chandelier, which caught the sunlight and cast tiny rainbows all around the room. Most of the bulbs had burned out, but that didn’t lessen its opulence one bit. The honey hardwood floors were scratched up but still sturdy. It wouldn’t take too much work to sand them down and polish when I had the cash and the time—or maybe just the sexy local handyman—to do so.

“So, will this work as your new closet?” Octo-Cat said, hopping up into the window seat and taking a quick look outside before turning back to me. “It’s small, so I figured you’d like it.”

“Closet?” I gasped again. “No way! This is going to be my new library.”

I’m pretty sure tears had formed in my eyes and were falling down my face and soaking my t-shirt, but I simply did not care. Octo-Cat could make fun of me all he wanted, but I’d finally found true, unreserved excitement when it came to our new digs.

How could I feel any other way, considering I now slept in a tower like Rapunzel and would have my own personal library like Belle? I’d stepped into a living fairytale. Sure, it turned into the Haunted Mansion ride when the lights went out, but… but…

Now I had my own personal library!

A loud rap sounded on the door downstairs, bringing our special moment to an end. Had it not, I could have stood there all day, sketching out plans for what the vacant room would one day soon become.

“Do we not have a doorbell?” I asked Octo-Cat, begrudgingly shutting the door behind me and heading toward the stairs to the first floor.

He shrugged and raced away to find out who had come calling.

As loathe as I was to step out of this beautiful daydream, I figured it might be Nan and she did not like to be kept waiting.

“Hello?” a nasal, masculine voice called.

A second series of knocks sounded, a bit more urgent this time.

Instantly, I recognized Matt Harlow as I spied his familiar shape through the stained-glass panes on either side of the front door. I flung the door open and stood blocking the inside. True, I had paid him a visit earlier that day, but I was still incredibly nervous around him—and nervous is exactly how I would remain until I could fully clear him as the killer.

“Hi,” he said, tucking one hand in his pocket and using the other to offer me a friendly wave. I wondered if that was the same one I’d bitten the night before. “You stopped by earlier?”

I felt in my pocket to make sure I had my phone on me as an added security measure, then stepped back and gestured for him to come inside. “Would you like to join me for some tea?” I asked, seeing as it was the neighborly thing to do.

Octo-Cat ran across the foyer, making terrible, ear-splitting noises. “Too soon! Too soon!” he cried.

“Is your cat all right?” Matt asked, craning his neck to get a better view.

I shrugged. “Eh, he’ll be fine. Tea?”

“Sure, thank you.” A genuine smile stretched right across Matt’s face, and for the first time I saw the resemblance he bore to his late mother.

I led him to the formal living room and motioned for him to sit on the old Victorian couch trimmed in dark cherry wood. There were lots of different woods throughout the house, and I wasn’t sure whether that was the result of poor planning or a decades-old decorating style I didn’t quite understand. Halfway to the kitchen, I turned back, sensing I had the perfect opening to ask Matt a couple very important questions.

“You have cats, too. Right?” I hoped my eagerness to discuss the Sphynxes wasn’t too obvious. Provided Matt wasn’t the murderer, I would need him on my side.

He steepled his fingers before him. It seemed he was unsure of what to do with himself while he sat in my house. “Me? No, but my mom has always had them ever since I can remember.”

“What’s going to happen to the two that are there now?” I asked casually.

He shrugged and tried to get comfortable on the overly firm sofa. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “They’ve been hiding from me ever since I arrived. I thought maybe I could take them back home and give them to my kids, that way they’d be my ex-wife’s problem instead of mine. But I worry those two might give my kids nightmares like the ones I had growing up.”

“Nightmares? Why?” I asked, even though I already understood. Anything to keep him talking.

“Have you ever seen a hairless cat?” he asked with a shudder. “It looks like their brains are on the outside.”

I laughed, and so did he. The description was pretty accurate. Even still, I’d begun to like Jacques and Jillianne now that I’d gotten the chance to talk with them a bit. Sure, they were a bit different, but they were also really stinking cool. “You mentioned having nightmares growing up. Have you always been afraid of cats?”

He cleared his throat and coughed into his fist. “I am not afraid of cats. I used to like them, but then Mom met that breeder in France and since then it’s only been the finest purebred Sphynxes for her.”

It seemed I had an opportunity here, one that seemed so fortuitous I hadn’t thought it could ever happen. “If you wanted me to look after them while you decide what to do with them, I’d be more than happy to help out,” I offered with an ingratiating smile.

“What?” Octo-Cat demanded, running back through the room and jumping up onto the couch beside Matt. “You can’t be serious! There is no way I’ll allow—”

“Sure,” Matt said, interrupting my feline’s tirade even though he didn’t know it. “That would be great. That is, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” I said with a huge smile, enjoying the expression of horror on my tabby’s face.

“Traitor,” Octo-Cat muttered under his breath.

Matt reached out to pet Octo-Cat but was summarily clawed by my very cranky kitty. “Ouch,” he cried. “And that was my good hand, too.”

The cat hissed and ran to hide in another room, shouting kitty curses at the top of his lungs.

“Sorry,” I said, feeling a swell of embarrassment. I hoped he’d still trust me to watch his mother’s cats after seeing how crazily the one under my care behaved.

“So, how about that tea?” I asked, scurrying away to the kitchen before he had a chance to refuse. This would give me a few private moments to plan my questions. If I asked the right ones, I just might find the missing pieces I needed to solve Lou Harlow’s murder once and for all.