Death of a Dapper Snowman (12 page)

I was thankful for the cat snapping me out of my paranoia over the burly mail carrier. The police had their suspect, and it wouldn’t do me any good to go around imagining everyone with unusual snacking habits was secretly a murderer.

Jeffrey walked to the doorway, sniffed the crisp winter air, then turned back to loop around my ankles again, his tail swishing up in an undulating question mark.

A bird flew down from a nearby tree and perched on the porch railing, but even that didn’t entice Jeffrey outside.

“You’re becoming a real homebody,” I said to him. “I guess that little spa treatment at the vet did what it was supposed to do. No more carousing around, squawking at ladies.”

He sat on my foot and gave me an innocent look, and then a slow blink, to tell me I was all the woman he needed.

I had to laugh. My imagination was certainly working overtime lately, but at least the things I imagined Jeffrey thinking made me smile.

I took one last look down the street. The mail carrier was halfway down the next block, talking to a woman on the sidewalk while her tiny dog darted around them, marking the snow. The woman and her dog wore matching winter jackets.

“Would you like one of those cute little jackets?” I asked Jeffrey. “You’d look so smart in a vest. Maybe a red one? No, blue. Definitely blue for Mr. Jeffrey Blue.”

His tail swished back and forth making question marks.

I closed the front door and started getting ready to go out shopping. I sent a message to my old friend, Jessica, telling her to prepare herself for an exciting night on the town.

Sure, there was a crazed killer on the loose in Misty Falls, but we weren’t living under a curfew… yet.

Chapter 15
 

I had a
good day shopping, a short cat nap with Jeffrey, then got myself showered and ready for my night on the town.

At eight o’clock sharp, I walked into the Fox and Hound, the Irish-themed pub situated at the corner of town, just off the highway.

Some residents of Misty Falls refer to the Fox and Hound as the Lost and Found, on account of the many scarves and mittens that are left behind in the darkened booths, as well as the spontaneous relationships that are “found” right around last call.

The cozy pub, with its many dark corners and well-worn upholstery, was not what you’d call a
singles bar
. It was a far cry from the nightclubs in bigger cities, but in a small town like Misty Falls, it was the closest thing to a “scene” for younger people.

I’d been thinking a lot about my single status when I went shopping for clothes that afternoon. Each time I caught a glimpse of my hair in a mirror, I wondered if perhaps Pam was right. Maybe my short hair was telling men I’d just gotten out of a relationship and didn’t want anything to do with them until my hair had reached ponytail length.

I couldn’t make my hair grow any faster, even if I wanted to, but I could put a little more vitality into my clothing choices. That’s why I purchased a flattering wrap dress in sapphire blue. I wouldn’t normally wear such a tight-fitting outfit, but the girl who sold it to me said I had a fantastic figure. She also swore to me that she didn’t work on commission.

I paired the sleek dress with cable-knit tights and lace-up boots with a modest heel. My outfit seemed like the perfect compromise between comfort and style, and over top of everything, I wore a new wool jacket the same length as the dress.

I couldn’t take much credit for my put-together look, since I didn’t put it together so much as I walked into the shop and said I’d take everything on the mannequin in the window.

That evening, the Fox and Hound pub was about half full, and my entrance did not go unnoticed. So many heads turned to check out the girl in the wool coat and sapphire blue dress, you’d think my outfit was made of feathers and live squirrels.

I self-consciously wove my way around the tables, scanning for Jessica’s bright red hair and equally cheerful face. Eyes were on me the whole time, and people didn’t even have the courtesy to look away when I made eye contact. A few even waved at me.

After the third person nodded my way, I realized they didn’t think my new coat was made of live squirrels. They were just being friendly. Some other people came in through the pub’s front door, stamping snow off their boots, and they got the same treatment of raised faces and nods of recognition.

People being interested in each other’s comings and goings was just another aspect of small town life I would need to get used to.

I spotted Jessica’s red head near one of the pub’s three cozy fireplaces and went to join her.

“Small town life is so different,” I said as I took my seat. “In the city, nobody looks up when you walk into a place. If they do look, it means you’ve made a bad outfit choice and you’re tarted up like a hooker.”

Jessica grinned at me over her drink, which was amber hued and served in a glass mug, with a cinnamon stick at a jaunty angle.

“I’d love to see you, Stormy Day, tarted up like a hooker,” she said. “This blue dress is pretty nice, though. And the tights, the shoes, plus the necklace and matching bracelet. Tell me, did you go to Blue Enchantment and buy everything off the window mannequin?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Only because I’ve been dreaming about doing the same thing. But on my salary at the sandwich shop, I have to hope the good stuff is still around for the seasonal clearance sale.”

I tried not to wince visibly as I quickly turned to look at the glowing logs in the fireplace. I remembered why Jessica and I lost touch. She’d started talking about money every time I saw her—mostly about how she didn’t have any money and I did.

I couldn’t solve our wage disparity, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her it made me uncomfortable. If she’d needed a loan, I would have given it to her, but Jessica refused to go into any sort of debt.

Over the last few years, we were only seeing each other a few times a year—just enough time to catch up on love lives and gossip, but not enough time to get into casual griping about bills and whatnot.

She didn’t gripe, exactly. She probably only talked about money the way everyone does, but I had so much of it for a few years that I’d become self conscious. Other people didn’t see the long hours I put into work, or the sacrifices I made. I missed our ten-year high school reunion because I was in Hong Kong having the most miserable, lonely month of my life.

The trip to Hong Kong had been five years ago, and while I couldn’t remember if that particular deal had gone through or not, I could remember how sad I’d felt in my hotel room, looking at the photos of everyone who made it.

Jessica thought my life was exciting and glamorous, of course. She did nothing but compliment and admire my life when she came into the city for a visit.

Whenever we went for dinner there, I tried to pick up the tab for dinner, but that only made her try harder to grab it herself. Jessica had her pride, and she was no mooch. Eventually, I resorted to fibbing, secretly intercepting the waitress so I could pay the bill, and then telling Jessica the restaurant had comped our meal because one of the dishes had been too spicy.

By the second or third time we got our meals “for free,” she
had
to know what I was up to, but went along with the game.

As I stared into the pub’s pleasant fireplace, my heart warmed along with my body. Other than our financial mismatch, Jessica had been a wonderful friend over the years. I did want to reconnect with her now that I was back in Misty Falls, so I had to tell her the truth about all those “free” dinners.

I turned to her and said, “Jessica, remember when you came to the city right before I moved, and we went to that steak house?”

Her blue eyes widened. “That was the best night ever! And you’re so smart, Stormy, the way you always get those discounts.” She used her cinnamon stick as a straw to finish slurping up the last of her mulled drink, then giggled. “You know, I think this hot cider isn’t right. They forgot to put the booze in it.” She leaned in and whispered, “Can you do your magic and get me a free refill?”

With a sigh, I took her empty glass mug and sniffed it. The boozy smell, plus the rosiness of Jessica's cheeks, told me the drink had contained plenty of alcohol, but I still winked at my friend and left the table in search of our waitress.

When I got up to the bar, I located the waitress for our section and gave her my credit card to run a tab. I finished my instructions by saying, “And if my friend asks, could you imply that it’s all on the house?”

The waitress was an energetic lady with pure white hair. She could have been in her sixties, maybe with a bunch of grandchildren, but she seemed like the type of granny who dragged the other knitting club grannies out to learn how to tango.

“Let me guess,” the white-haired waitress said with a knowing smile. “Your friend’s poor and you’re rich?”

“I’m not rich.”

“Is that your BMW I saw in the parking lot just now when I stepped outside to check that the sidewalks were salted?”

My cheeks reddened as I admitted that the priciest car in the parking lot was mine.

“Then you’re not rich after all,” she said, surprising me. “Rich people don’t usually drive flashy cars. They drive old ones, so people won’t know about their wealth. I’ve got a rich uncle. I know things.”

“I should trade that car for something more practical.”

“You could trade it for my old van.” She winked. “Just kidding. I wouldn’t trade my van for anything. The old gal’s just hitting her prime, and I wouldn’t want to miss it. We gals need to stick together, you know?”

“You’re absolutely right.”

She finished processing my credit card, then handed it back to me with a smile. “Can I give you a tip?” she asked.

Laughing, I said, “You’re the waitress. I’m supposed to be giving you the tip.”

“I don’t see a wedding band on your finger, or on that one, at the end of the bar. Give him a chance, will ya?”

I followed her gaze to a man sitting at the other end of the bar. While the guys on either side of him were watching sports on the TV screens, he was looking my way.

“Green dress!” he yelled.

I turned to see who he was talking to, since I was wearing a
blue
dress. There was no one else behind me.

“Hey!” he yelled again.

It was the bearded guy I met at the veterinary clinic. Logan. The lawyer. Who was also my new tenant. Had he figured out who I was? He was certainly grinning like the dog who’d been left alone in the dining room with the thanksgiving buffet.

Logan waved and yelled across the bar, “Hey, cat lady!”

Yes, he was definitely yelling at me.

I nodded his way, then explained to the snowy-haired waitress that we’d met already at the vet clinic.

We were interrupted by him yelling, “Hey, cat lady, come buy me a drink!”

He was inebriated, but at least wasn’t calling me by name, which meant he probably didn’t know who I was. His dopey grin was from whatever had been in the empty pint glasses that sat in front of him.

“Another time,” I called across the bar. “I’m actually here with a friend. A girlfriend.”

“She can buy me a drink, too. There’s plenty of Logan to go around.” He laughed and clapped the shoulder of the older gentleman sitting next to him. “Do you know this girl? She can’t tell the difference between a boy cat and a girl cat. That’s why I call her cat lady.” He hiccuped.

While Logan regaled the man sitting next to him with stories of how incompetent I was at cat-gender-assessment, I rolled my eyes at the waitress. “He’s a real charmer. It’s just shocking nobody has snapped him up yet.”

She chuckled. “He likes you. He spotted you when you walked in and nearly leaned right out of his chair when you went around the corner. He said you look like that song.
Devil With a Blue Dress On
, except you’re a devil with a green dress.”

I looked down at my dress, which was definitely blue. “That guy must be color blind.”

“As far as flaws go, color blindness isn’t so bad.”

I gave her a wry smile and checked out
her
ring finger, which sported a thick gold band nested alongside another ring with a sparkling diamond. Married. That figured. The married ones are always trying to match people up, no matter how unlikely the pairing.

“He is cute, but not my type,” I told her.

“What is your type? I know all the singles in town. They’re all up in my head, in the database.”

“My type? Clean shaven. Not afraid of spiders. I think that’s about it.”

She shuffled her round serving tray to her hip and offered me her hand to shake. “I’m Dharma. Rhymes with karma, which I believe in. I live a charmed life because I help people find each other.”

I had one eye on Logan, who looked like he might get off his bar stool and come over to us, if he could locate the floor.

“I’d better get back to my girlfriend,” I said to Dharma, excusing myself.

“I’ll bring a couple more ciders in a flash,” she said. “On the house.” She winked.

As I turned and walked away, I heard Mr. Mountain Beard calling after me, “Don’t walk away, cat lady!”