Killers of a feather, p.1
Killers of a Feather, page 1
Killers of a Feather
With the grand re-opening of her Urban Tails Pet Shop just days away, Shell McMillan has her hands full planning entertainment for the festive event, including a fortune-telling parrot. But her jubilant mood is soon threatened by ominous rumors of the return of Johnny Draco, a former investment guru who swindled money from most of the residents of Fox Hollow and then vanished without a trace. And when the parrot predicts a dire future for Draco and his dead body is found just hours later, no one can say they’re surprised—but no one will say who did it.
With virtually everyone in town a suspect, the police turn their focus on a good friend of Shell’s who was seen arguing with the victim shortly before his death. Determined to clear her friend’s name, Shell begins investigating Draco’s past, his former employer, and everyone who lost money to him. And when the trail of clues suggests there may have been a completely different motive for the murder, Shell suddenly realizes she’s uncovered a secret someone would kill to keep hidden—and that if she’s not careful, the parrot may be predicting she has no future at all . . .
Title Page
Copyright
Killers of a Feather
T. C. LoTempio
Copyright © 2022 by T. C. LoTempio
Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs
Published by Beyond the Page at Smashwords
Beyond the Page Books
are published by
Beyond the Page Publishing
www.beyondthepagepub.com
ISBN: 978-1-958384-00-8
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
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Dedication
To Rob White . . . and he knows why!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Acknowledgments
Books by T. C. LoTempio
About the Author
One
“You know you’ve put me in a very awkward position . . . this is extremely short notice. Yes, of course I understand. I know it can’t be helped . . . okay, fine. Yeah, yeah. I’ll be on the lookout for it.”
Had I been on a landline, I’d have slammed the receiver down with a satisfying crash. But since I’d taken the call on my cell, I had to settle for hitting the End key and dropping the phone on the desk with a bit more force than necessary. Across the room, my big, beautiful fluffy white Persian cat, Purrday, gave me a look—as much as a feline can—that said What’s wrong?
I looked the cat straight in his one clear blue eye. “Guess what! The singer I hired canceled!”
Purrday cocked his head. “Merow?”
“You heard me right. He canceled. Apparently his grandmother, who’s in a nursing home in Florida, suffered a bad fall. She has no other relatives so he’s got to fly down immediately.” I ran my hand through my mass of blonde curls and gave one of them a sharp tug. “Oh, I know it’s a valid excuse, but it puts us in a heck of a position. The grand opening’s Saturday. That’s forty-eight hours away. Where am I going to find another singer on such short notice?”
Purrday jumped down from his perch on the wide sill of the window in the back room of my store. He padded over to my chair, leapt onto my lap, and nuzzled his nose against my chin.
I stroked the cat’s back. “I know, I know. I’m from Hollywood. I should be used to rejection, right? Let me tell you, it never gets any easier.”
My name is Shell McMillan. Up until a few months ago, I’d been better known as Shell Marlowe, the star of Spy Anyone, a popular cable TV show. When it had been canceled (to make way for a game show starring the irrepressible Alec Baldwin) I’d looked on it as a chance to get a fresh start in life. As fate would have it, my Aunt Tillie passed away a few days later, leaving me her Victorian mansion, a healthy financial portfolio, her cat Purrday—and her business, the Urban Tails Pet Shop.
Urban Tails had been a favorite with the residents of Fox Hollow, Connecticut. The citizens of the sleepy village loved their pets, and they loved the personal services my aunt used to provide for them even more. In the past week I’d received many phone calls and letters saying how much everyone was looking forward to having the shop open again. Truthfully, I was looking forward to it myself, so much so that I might have gotten a bit carried away with preparations. I’d secured an ordinance from the town to have the block closed to traffic from ten a.m. till six in the evening, and enlisted the cooperation of the other merchants, who were all more than willing to help. It was going to be one huge block party. In addition to the food trucks I’d hired and the vocalist that I now didn’t have, I’d booked some other local entertainment as well. All the merchants would have displays out in front of their stores, and Rita Sakowski, who ran the local café, Sweet Perks, had promised to serve free coffee and doughnuts all day long. Everything had been running like clockwork, maybe too much so, until now.
The back door opened and my pal Olivia Niven, her arms laden with bags, sailed through. Purrday jumped off my lap and padded over to rub his portly body against Olivia’s legs. My cat loved Olivia, as did most men. She was tall, with a lithe dancer’s body, which was appropriate since she ran the local dance studio. Her thick dark hair was done up in a casual ponytail and her face, scrubbed clean of makeup, looked fresh and dewy. She looked more like one of the teens in her dance class than their thirty-five-year-old teacher. Her ponytail flipped over one shoulder as she laid the bags down and bent to pet Purrday. “Hey there, handsome,” she cooed. “All excited about the grand opening?”
“He’s probably more excited than I am right now,” I said glumly. “Right now I’m extremely annoyed.”
Olivia looked up from giving Purrday a chuck under his chin. “Uh-oh. What’s wrong? Something happen with the Rialto? Don’t tell me Buck backed out after all?”
The Rialto was one of Fox Hollow’s staples, a small theater that specialized in running classic films. The manager, Buck Adams, had been a tad reluctant to participate at first. He’d had a few bad experiences with events like this in the past, but I finally managed to convince him to participate in this one by a) telling him every other merchant was in, and he’d look really dumb refusing, and b) offering him freebies for his two pugs, Tracey and Hepburn. He promised to have a sidewalk concession stand offering fairly simple stuff—caramel apples, popcorn, cookies, and some light beverages. After some arm-twisting (and monogrammed ceramic bowls for Tracey and Hepburn), he’d also agreed to a raffle for two movie tickets. “Nope, Buck’s fine. It’s Elvin Scraggs. He’s bugged out on me. His grandmother in Florida took a bad fall.”
Olivia coughed lightly. “His granny, huh?”
Something in the tone of her voice made me glance up sharply. “Don’t tell me he doesn’t have one,” I moaned.
“Oh, he’s got a granny in Florida, all right,” Olivia said with a chuckle. “Viola Scraggs is pushing ninety but she’s got more energy than both you and me combined. The woman power-walks every morning. Elvin’s more likely to take a spill than her.”
I set my jaw. “I knew it!”
Olivia leaned in a bit closer to me. “I happened to be in the Bottoms Up Tavern yesterday and overheard Elvin talking to his buddies, Justin McAfee and Harvey Blunt, about taking a fishing trip. I also noticed he shut up pretty quick when he noticed me.”
I reached for my phone. “Of all the nerve. I’m going to call him back and give him a piece of my mind. Gary will never let me live this down. He told me to get a signed contract.”
Olivia reached out, plucked the phone from my outstretched hand and set it down on the counter. “Don’t feel bad. It wouldn’t be the first time he pulled a stunt like this because someone told him the bass were running.”
“Amazing. I’m surprised no one’s sued him yet.”
Olivia let out
“Fifty bucks. He said he’d send me a check.”
“Make sure you get it,” Olivia cautioned. “Elvin always suffers from selective memory lapses when it comes to that little detail.”
“Well, if it doesn’t turn up by next week, I will give him a call. But right now what I need is another singer. Any suggestions?”
“Do you really need one? You’ve got the boom boxes and CDs, after all. They’ll provide a wider range of tunes.”
“I know, but I was looking forward to the live interaction. Elvin was slated to perform for an hour at the gazebo. I thought it would be fun. He could interact with the audience, do requests. Can’t do that with boom boxes.”
“Maybe Gary could pull a few strings,” Olivia suggested. “He’s always talking about his Hollywood connections.”
I fought the impulse to roll my eyes at my friend. Olivia was referring to Gary Presser, my former costar on Spy Anyone. He’d come to Fox Hollow to help out when I’d been suspected of murder a short time ago. (A long story, recounted elsewhere for those who are interested.) I’d thought he’d return to LA once the culprit was behind bars; instead, he declared he’d been won over by the town and a simpler way of life and had decided to stay on. I was more inclined to think his attraction to Olivia, and hers to him, had more to do with it. He was currently searching for an apartment, and Olivia was helping him. In the interim, he was staying with me. Fortunately, my Victorian mansion is large enough so I could go for days without seeing him. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love Gary like a brother, but . . . sometimes he can be a bit much, what with his oversized ego and all. He does have his good points, though, the main one being his remarkable cooking skills, which were much appreciated not only by me but by the kitties. Purrday was fond of Gary and lately my Siamese cat, Kahlua, even seemed to tolerate him, probably due to the treats he slipped them when he thought I wasn’t looking.
As if on cue, the back door banged open again and the man in question breezed through. “Hello, there,” he said. “How are the two loveliest ladies in Fox Hollow today?”
Olivia’s cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink and she murmured something in response. I, however, stood, feet apart, arms crossed over my chest, and glared at him. “Not so great,” I announced. “There’s been a last-minute cancellation. Our singer punked out.”
“Singer? You mean Elvis?”
“Elvin,” I corrected.
Gary frowned. “What happened? He got a better offer?”
“His grannie took a spill, or so he says,” Olivia informed Gary with a broad wink.
Gary shrugged. “So he played the granny card, eh? No loss. I didn’t much care for him anyway. He seemed a bit too slick.” He looked at me and jabbed his finger in the air. “Make sure you get that deposit back. Fifty bucks is fifty bucks.”
I bit down hard on my lower lip and mentally counted to ten before I spoke. “Is there a particular reason you’re gracing me with your presence now? I was under the impression you were spending the day finalizing details with our live entertainers?”
“I was, until I ran into a bit of a snag.”
I arched a brow. “A snag. Don’t tell me it’s another cancellation?”
He ran his hand through his mass of black hair, mussing up the sides just a bit. “In a manner of speaking. It’s Captain Snaggle.”
“The parrot?” I cried. At my feet, I heard Purrday give a soft hiss. “What’s happened to him? He didn’t . . . he isn’t . . .”
“No, Captain Snaggle is fine. It’s just, well, he’s MIA.”
I stared at him. “MIA?”
Gary pulled a face. “He flew the coop—literally. One of the high school kids was cleaning his cage and forgot to secure the latch. Captain Snaggle opened the door with his beak and, well, he took off.”
Olivia barely suppressed a chuckle. “Now that’s a smart bird, all right. Refresh my memory. Just what was the parrot supposed to do, exactly?”
“Tell fortunes,” Gary and I chorused. “He was a tad restless, but once he got going he was very entertaining,” Gary added. “He’d hold a little conversation with you, then pull your fortune out of a box.”
“You don’t say?” Olivia slid a glance Gary’s way. “Did he tell your fortune?”
Gary leaned over and graced Olivia with one of his super hundred-watt mega-smiles. “Yes, he did. He told me a really pretty brunette was in my future.”
As Olivia dissolved into a girlish giggle, I remarked, “Maybe it’s not as big a loss as you think. After all, we already have a fortune-teller.”
Gary’s gaze snapped from Olivia to me. “We do? And who might that be?”
“I told you at dinner the other night. Rita’s neighbor, Mae Barker.”
“Rita recommended Mae? That’s a hoot,” Olivia said with a chuckle. “I didn’t think Rita liked Mae that much. She’s always telling me what a nosy busybody she is.”
“I did get the impression Rita recommended her to get her off her back,” I admitted. “Mae works at the Wegmans but dabbles in the Tarot and palm reading in her spare time. Rita did say—albeit a bit grudgingly—that she’s pretty good, and some of the stuff she’s predicted has actually come true.”
Olivia cocked her head, considering. “There’s probably room for both of ’em,” she said at last. “Mae would no doubt appeal to the adults, and the kids would really go for the parrot.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said and sighed. “It’s moot now. No Captain Snaggle. And I’d planned to put him right in front of the shop, too, as a sort of enticement.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that.” Gary cleared his throat. “Because I’ve got another parrot all lined up and ready to go.”
I stared at him. “You’re kidding! You found another fortune-telling parrot? Where?”
“The same breeder, actually. Honey Belle is Captain Snaggle’s sister.”
“Honey Belle! What an adorable name!” Olivia clapped her hands. “And she tells fortunes too?”
“Yep, pulls ’em out of a box just like the captain. Only thing is, she’s not as vocal as the other parrot, but maybe that’s a good thing.” Gary turned to me. “So, what do you think, Shell? Shall I lock down Honey Belle? Adrian even agreed to take a ten percent cut on the fee.”
“That’s surprising, considering he haggled over Captain Snaggle’s to begin with.” Adrian Arnold was a parrot breeder/trainer who lived in nearby Franklin. He’d boasted that some of his birds had appeared on television and commercials, although I’d yet to find evidence of that. He’d wanted five hundred dollars for Captain Snaggle’s appearance, which had seemed unduly high to me. It had taken all of mine and Gary’s charm combined to get him to agree to half that. Needless to say, I’d been less than impressed with the man.
“I think he feels bad about what happened. He said he’d take one seventy-five, but I’ve got to let him know”—Gary glanced at his watch—“in an hour.”
I arched my eyebrow at him. “Why? Does the bird have another gig lined up?”
“Adrian said something about a kid’s birthday party. I got the impression, though, that he’d rather do our gig. And whether you believe it or not, the guy did feel bad about what happened with the captain.”
I had the feeling Arnold was more upset about losing a potential income source than about disappointing us, but I’d learned over the years it was best to pick your battles, especially where Gary was concerned. I might not like or trust Arnold, but I knew, despite what I’d said about not needing two fortune-tellers, that the bird would undoubtedly be the bigger hit. “Sure, why not. I admit, I’m curious to see how good this parrot is at predicting the future. Maybe we should consult her now. Maybe she can tell us where we can get another vocalist.”
