Kat scooped him up before he could venture any closer. With an exasperated grunt, Mr. Magoo kept his flat face turned longingly toward the plant even as he resigned himself to his fate and settled into her arms.

  “Anybody could have poisoned that kale smoothie,” Dante said, pivoting on his heel and starting back toward the assembled crowd. “It could just as easily have been Jean-Luc who did it.” He stopped pacing and bobbed his head. “Yes, that must be what happened. JL made that smoothie, laced it with ricin, and gave it to Bernard.”

  Kat cocked her head. “How did you know it was a kale smoothie?”

  Dante hesitated a tad too long before saying, “You said so.”

  “No. I said Bernard’s smoothie is what killed him. I made no mention of the ingredients. I said nothing about kale.”

  “Well . . .” Dante snapped his fingers. “JL told me. In the office earlier. I remember. We were discussing how tragic Bernard’s death was, and he mentioned the kale smoothie, how it must have been what killed him.”

  “Did Jean-Luc have access to your kitchen on Friday?” Kat asked.

  “Well, sure,” Dante said. “We didn’t prevent people from going in there.”

  “But I didn’t notice him using the blender,” Phoebe piped up.

  “So who made the kale smoothie Jean-Luc gave to Bernard on Friday?” Kat asked.

  “It wasn’t us,” Dante said.

  Kat faced Phoebe. “Is that true?”

  Phoebe wrung her hands together. “I don’t know. I made so many smoothies on Friday. I suppose it’s possible I made the one Bernard drank too.”

  Dante marched over to stand by her side. “You didn’t.”

  Mr. Magoo writhed in Kat’s arms until she had no choice but to set him down. As soon as his paws hit the ground, he trotted over to Phoebe and planted his butt beside her as if to announce to everyone present that he too would maintain his human’s innocence until the very end.

  “Did you make any smoothies on Friday?” Kat asked Dante.

  Dante shook his head. “I had my hands full with the grill.”

  “Then that leaves Phoebe.”

  “I told you, she didn’t make it!”

  Kat shrugged. “All the evidence points to her, and the police will undoubtedly agree. I don’t think the authorities will have any trouble building a compelling case against her.”

  Dante stumbled backward, her words having the same effect on him as a punch to the stomach. Mr. Magoo released a startled cry as Dante narrowly missed stepping on his tail.

  “How dare you come to my house and start spewing these outrageous lies,” Dante seethed, his eyes still on Kat. “You don’t even know us! And to accuse my wife of murder? It’s offensive!”

  Kat inched backward. The fury in Dante’s voice was unmistakable. He reminded her of a cornered animal lashing out for its own survival.

  Her heart lurched when Dante took a menacing step forward. Andrew had been standing quietly on the sidelines, but now he angled his body just enough to make it clear Dante would have to get past him if he wanted to reach Kat. The adjustment was slight yet spoke volumes.

  Dante aborted his approach, but he wasn’t finished raving. “You are so out of line, it’s laughable!” he yelled. “Phoebe had no reason to kill Bernard, and she had no reason to kill JL either.”

  “Really?” Kat said, emboldened by Andrew’s presence beside her. “Weren’t you telling me this afternoon that Jean-Luc is all set to outsell you this quarter?”

  Dante scoffed. “Phoebe wouldn’t kill him over a silly salesperson-of-the-quarter title.”

  “No,” Kat agreed, “but she might kill him over the monetary bonus that comes with it.”

  Dante’s hands clenched into fists, his face flushing red. “I told you, she didn’t do it!”

  “Then who did?”

  “I did!”

  Except for a gasp from Phoebe, silence filled the backyard. Kat had expected Dante to confess once he realized his wife might take the fall for his crime, but she hadn’t expected him to do it so vehemently.

  His words, clearly spoken in the heat of the moment, appeared to be sinking in. Dante’s fingers uncoiled, and the blood drained from his face.

  “Why did you do it?” Kat asked.

  For a moment Dante looked as though he were considering taking back his words. But then his shoulders sagged. “JL was going to ruin everything. I need that monetary bonus, and only one salesman per region receives it. There are no second- or third-place consolation prizes. It’s designed to foster competition. And I rely on that bonus. It’s the only way we can keep up the lifestyle we have here.” He flapped his hand at Phoebe. “This one is expensive.”

  Phoebe reared back. “Don’t pull me into this. I never told you to kill anybody.”

  “No, but the pressure is constant. Dante, I need new shoes,” he mimicked. “Dante, it’s time for another one of my Botox injections.”

  Phoebe lifted one hand to her plump lips, her eyes flashing. Even Mr. Magoo looked perturbed by the assault against his human. His whiskers twitched, disapproval radiating from his squinchy face.

  “Jean-Luc claims you were stealing his clients,” Kat said.

  “Hey, it’s tough staying on top quarter after quarter,” Dante replied. “And don’t let JL fool you into believing he’s some sort of saint. I won’t tell you all the shady things he’s done to overtake me this quarter.”

  “And yet you still invited him to Friday’s barbecue.”

  Dante’s eyes hardened. “And why do you think that is?”

  A chill crawled down Kat’s spine. “You mean you invited Jean-Luc to your dinner party for the sole purpose of killing him?”

  “Does that surprise you? JL and I might have been friends once, but that was before we became competitors. Once he took that job at Jelkie, our days as pals were over.” He sighed. “I would have poisoned him at work, but he usually goes out for lunch. And tampering with that water bottle of his would have been nearly impossible. There’s always people milling around that office. Somebody would have seen me.”

  Dante had obviously given his coworker’s demise some serious thought. Listening to his account of his plotting process gave Kat goosebumps.

  Dante stared at the castor bean plant, his eyes glazing over. “I had it all planned out. I’d already secured some castor beans earlier that day, digging them out of their shells and wrapping them up for safekeeping. Then it was just a matter of keeping a lookout for the right opportunity. When I saw JL talking to Phoebe in the kitchen as she mixed him that smoothie, I joined them. It was easy enough to get them to look away for a moment. All I had to do was ask why the freezer door was open. The split second they had their backs turned was all I needed to sneak those beans into the blender.”

  Kat pressed a palm against her middle. She felt sick to her stomach just thinking about it.

  Dante exhaled. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard Bernard had died instead of JL.”

  “Is that why you organized the vigil yesterday?” Kat asked. “Because you had a guilty conscience after killing an innocent man?”

  Dante barked out a laugh. “No way. I needed an excuse to get JL back to my house so I could make another attempt on his life. I wasn’t going to give up because of one little setback.”

  Icy fingers wrapped themselves around Kat’s insides. Jean-Luc had warned her Dante was ruthless, but she hadn’t realized how coldly calculating he truly was until that very moment.

  “But good old JL didn’t bother to show yesterday.” Dante sneered. “It’s just like him. Always making things difficult for me.”

  “Oh, Dante.” Phoebe covered her face with her hands. “What have you done?”

  Phoebe’s shoulders shook as heaving sobs wracked her body. Mr. Magoo wound between her ankles, soft mews slipping past his lips. When Phoebe pulled her hands away from her face to pick him up, Kat startled at how rapidly her appearance had deteriorated. Dark mascara streaks marred her cheeks, half a fake eyelash hung from the corner of her eyelid like a spider, and her previously flawless makeup was now blotchy and smeared.

  How quickly things could change, Kat marveled. Last week Bernard Mercier was alive and well. Now he was gone forever. Yesterday the Masons were on top of the world. Tomorrow they would be a sensational newspaper headline.

  Dante edged toward Phoebe. When he wrapped his arms around her, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she clutched Mr. Magoo a little tighter and cried a little harder. Dante squeezed his eyes shut as though to block out her pain. Or maybe he was simply savoring his last moments of freedom.

  Kat turned away to give them some privacy. She had a feeling this might be one of the last unsupervised moments the couple ever got to spend together.

  She was grateful neither one of them noticed when Andrew slipped his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Chief Kenny.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The next evening, Kat and Andrew sat side by side on her living room sofa. Tom had the front half of his body sprawled across Kat’s legs, and his back half draped over Andrew’s lap. If the feline’s intention was to pin them both down, he had done an excellent job.

  “Good call on pegging Dante as Bernard’s killer,” Andrew said, laying one arm across Kat’s shoulders. “You never did tell me how you deduced it was him though.”

  “The smoothie glass I saw in Jean-Luc’s hand that night tipped me off. It had a grease stain on it—a grease stain I was pretty sure came from the Masons’ grill.”

  Andrew nodded slowly. “And Dante was the only person manning the grill on Friday.”

  “Except you,” Kat reminded him. “But you were a bit further down my suspect list.”

  Andrew snorted. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But you did close the case, so I’m going to pretend you were one hundred percent convinced of my innocence all along.”

  “You know I’m just teasing. As for closing the case, I can’t take all the credit.” Kat patted Tom’s head. “It was this silly goose who got me thinking about that grease stain in the first place. When he transferred the residue he picked up from your shoes onto my jeans yesterday, it triggered that memory.”

  Andrew set his palm on Tom’s rump and gave the cat an affectionate shake. “Hear that, Tommy boy? You’re a homicide-solving hero.”

  Tom began grooming his side, looking quite proud of himself.

  Kat’s thoughts drifted to April and Stripey. She wondered how the two were getting along now that Simon was out of the picture. For that matter, had April’s experience with Simon changed her views about commitment? With Bernard’s murder taking up most of her thoughts since the dinner party, Kat had successfully avoided obsessing too much over their conversation on marriage and the issue of how quickly her own romantic relationship was progressing. But the worries had been there, lurking in the back of her mind. Now would be the perfect time to broach the subject with Andrew. Perhaps a frank discussion could help to put her mind at ease.

  She took a deep breath to steel herself, then said, “Are you happy with where we’re at?”

  “Sure,” Andrew replied. “Besides, it’s not like Tom’s going to let us go anywhere. He’s pure deadweight.”

  “I meant, are you happy with where our relationship is going.”

  She could have heard a flea jump in the ensuing silence. And the longer she awaited Andrew’s response, the more charged the air between them felt. Needing to do something to alleviate her growing bundle of nerves, she plucked some loose strands of fur off of Tom until her fingers trembled too much to continue.

  Finally, Kat couldn’t take the silence any longer. “It’s just that we’ve been together for a year now, and yet we’ve never talked about marriage or children or even moving in together.”

  Across the room, Matty lifted her head from her paws. The tortoiseshell had been napping on the uppermost level of the cat tree, one of her favorite spots to relax. But the wide-eyed look on her face suggested she was far from relaxed at the moment. Kat wasn’t sure which concept Matty found more repulsive, children or the possibility of moving.

  Andrew withdrew his arm from Kat’s shoulders so he could face her better. “I didn’t realize you wanted to talk about all that. I guess I just assumed you were happy keeping things the way they are.”

  “I am.” Kat frowned. “I mean, I think I am.”

  He brushed a piece of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Did you want to move in with me?”

  “I don’t know.” In truth, the thought of sharing her space with another person made her skin itch. Living with Matty and Tom was one thing. Living with Andrew would be another matter entirely.

  “I always figured you liked it here,” Andrew said.

  “I do. But a part of me feels like I should want to move in with you.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Not that I don’t like being around you.”

  He caressed her palm with his thumb. “I get it. I know we both have issues with letting people in.”

  Kat dropped her gaze. They didn’t discuss it much, but she knew he struggled with some of the same fears she did. It was inevitable when you grew up in foster care. And while she derived some comfort from their similar backgrounds, it also made her heart ache for the vulnerable little boy he had once been.

  “Maybe we should talk to someone,” Andrew said.

  “You mean like a relationship counselor?”

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  Kat pulled her hand away from his and resumed petting Tom. “I guess we could.”

  “You don’t sound too enthused by the idea.”

  “I’m not really good at opening up.”

  He touched her arm. “All the more reason to see someone.”

  She couldn’t deny he had a point.

  “Why don’t I look up some names and make an appointment with whoever seems like the best fit?” he suggested.

  Kat nodded. She knew she looked calm on the outside, but inside she felt a medley of emotions—dread, worry, fear. When she had brought up the topic of their relationship, she had envisioned a halfhearted argument over whose furniture they would keep if they chose to consolidate living spaces. She hadn’t considered Andrew might bypass the furniture discussion altogether and suggest they go bare their souls to a stranger instead.

  Andrew took her hand in his. “It’ll be okay, Kat. We’ll be okay.”

  She swallowed down the lump in her throat. “I’m glad you think so.”

  “We’ll figure everything out in time. But in case I haven’t made myself clear, wherever we go from here, I want it to be with you.”

  Kat felt her stomach unknot a fraction. And, somewhere deep down, she felt a positive emotion too—hope.

  She caught Matty’s eye across the room. The tortoiseshell gave her a slow blink, and Kat smiled. The future might still be uncertain, but as long as she had Andrew, Matty, and Tom navigating it with her, she was pretty sure she would be just fine.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Thank you for visiting Cherry Hills, home of Kat, Matty, and Tom! If you enjoyed their story, please consider leaving a book review on your favorite online retailer and/or review site. Also join my readers’ group so you’ll be one of the first to know when their next adventure is published.

  Please keep reading for an excerpt from the first book of my Psychic Poker Pro Mystery series, Murder in the Cards. Thank you!

  MURDER IN THE CARDS

  “You do what?” screeched my mother.

  “I quit my job,” I told her for the second time.

  She collapsed against the back of her chair and gawked at me as if I’d declared I had gone off rice. Her expression was enough to make me start squirming in my own chair. My mother may look like a tiny, demure, Vietnamese woman at first glance, but she’s a firecracker.

  “Quit your job?” my father repeated, gazing at me over the rim of his glasses.

  I twisted sideways, grateful for the excuse to shift my attention away from my mother. Whereas Mom is liable to explode at the slightest provocation, it takes a lot more to ruffle my father. And as long as I can convince him that my reasoning is sound, he generally supports my decisions.

  “You must have another job lined up then,” Dad said, hunching forward in order to rest his elbows on the kitchen table between us. Standing, Dad is exactly six feet tall, which makes him over a foot taller than my mother and a good four inches taller than me.

  “Kind of,” I replied.

  Dad arched one of his bushy, gray eyebrows. “Kind of?”

  “I’m going to work for myself.” I paused, knowing my next announcement would be met with some resistance. “I’m going to become a professional poker player.”

  “Mama Mia.” Mom rested one hand over her heart, looking faint. She has many expressions she uses when she’s upset—none of which, as far as I know, are of Asian origin.

  “Professional poker player?” Dad echoed. He was starting to sound like a parrot. “That sounds like an oxymoron.”

  “Yes, that is the word!” My mother banged her fist on the table, prompting my father and me to jump. “It is the moron thing to do.”

  “Oxymoron,” Dad corrected.

  Mom nodded. “Yes, moron.”

  Dad didn’t bother to point out her error a second time. “Professional poker person is another term for a poker dealer, right?” he asked me.

  “Probably,” I replied. “Except I’ll be a poker player, not a person.”

  My mother scrunched up her nose. “You not a person?”

  “Not in this case, no.”

  Mom seemed to ponder that. From the furrow in her brow, I suspected she thought this was one more Americanism she had never wholly grasped.

  To avoid having to look at either of my parents, I shook my dark hair over my face and focused on tracing the wood pattern in the tabletop with one finger. “Anyway, I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I want you both to know this decision isn’t one I made overnight. It’s something I’ve been considering for several months. In fact, I’ve been playing for quite a while now, and I really enjoy it.”

 

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