Blackmail and Kitty Tails
A Purr-fect Relic Cozy Mystery Book 5
by DeAnna Drake

CHAPTER ONE
Feeling Guilty

 

Aneksi sat perched in the window of our second-floor apartment, lazily licking her paw as she watched the streetlights and shop signs flicker to life in Citrus Grove’s historic downtown. Most nights, the sweet gray tabby kitten was a chatterbox, but tonight, her silence spoke volumes.

“I know you’re upset,” I said, sitting beside her and reaching out to stroke her back.

She squirmed away. “I am not upset,” she replied. Her prim British accent was thicker than usual. It echoed the voice of the spinster sleuth of my favorite mystery show, which I’d left running while I brushed my hair and changed into a fresh shirt after my long day running Cuthbert Exotic Antiques.

Before I’d met Aneksi’s sister, Khepeset—another talking cat with a similar history dating back to Cleopatra’s court—I’d only suspected my furry roommate kept the accent because it amused me. Discovering her sibling had the same talent for mimicry had confirmed it.

It had been a few weeks since their brief reunion, which made me wonder if Aneksi’s recent moodiness stemmed from her loneliness.

Telling her I had plans for the evening probably hadn’t helped.

“I’ll only be gone for a couple of hours. Maybe three,” I promised, still feeling guilty. “It’s the women’s club again, but I’ll be back before you know it.” Honestly, I would have skipped it if I could, but when I’d agreed to fill a vacancy on the club’s board of directors, I hadn’t realized I was also volunteering to spend every night this week helping to set up for the group’s annual gala.

“I will know it.” Aneksi moved to the opposite end of the window seat and remained focused on the cars and pedestrians below. “Will your boyfriend be there?”

Boyfriend. It seemed like such a juvenile word to describe Nick Devon, who was Citrus Grove’s top detective. He had a stoic demeanor that could intimidate even hardened criminals, but he wasn’t that tough guy with me. He could be so sweet and thoughtful. Like when he brought cheddar-flavored popcorn to our last movie night because he remembered how much I loved the stuff, or when he pretended to get something in his eye during a particularly heartfelt scene. We had been seeing each other regularly for weeks, and sometimes I still felt like pinching myself because things between us were going so well.

Aneksi, on the other hand, wasn’t quite so keen on our new relationship status. She didn’t dislike him, exactly, but she disliked having to keep quiet when he was around. Only Stirling and I knew about her ability to speak, and for her sake and ours, we’d all decided it was best to keep it that way.

“Nick isn’t coming over tonight.” I reached out tentatively, trying to soothe her, and this time, she allowed my hand to rest on her back. “It’ll be just us.”

Her ears perked up. “No homework, either?”

“No homework, either.” I’d spent my lunch hour catching up on my assignments for the business course I’d started through the university’s community program, so I was in the clear on that front, too. I rubbed the soft spot beneath her chin. “Sound good?”

She nudged her head against my palm, angling for a scratch between the ears. “Sounds good,” she said.

“How about some tuna before I leave?” I wasn’t above a bribe to stay in her good graces, and tuna was always the surest way to her heart.

Her furry head popped up, and her bright blue eyes sparkled. “Yes, please.”

It didn’t matter that she’d already eaten a whole can of her favorite kitty food. For her, tuna was always a welcome treat. To satisfy my guilty conscience, I added an extra spoonful of the flaky fish to her plate before setting it on the floor.

“I’ll see you soon,” I said and gave her one last head scratch before checking the mirror to be sure my messy bun wasn’t too messy, grabbing my sweater and purse, and heading out the door.

In the downstairs lobby, which was always clean and bright despite its century-old history, I found my grandfather, Stirling, sitting on a stool by the main door, holding a power drill. The old door handle lay on the tiled floor beside him, and a new one, still in its package, waited nearby.

“What happened?” I stepped around the mess.

The Heritage View Apartments’ entrance had seemed fine an hour ago, when we’d walked home from the shop he owned and I managed that sold ancient artifacts—mostly Egyptian—and replicas of old artwork and handicrafts he liked to call “faux relics,” among newer knickknacks and jewelry inspired by early civilizations.

While some people might think working for my grandfather and living two doors down from him in the apartment complex he also owned would be relative overload, I’d been enjoying our cozy family life in this sleepy Southern California town.

Besides, anything was better than staying in my hometown of Elk Pass, Montana, with its heartbreaking memories of losing my parents in a car accident and my ex-fiancé dumping me for my now former best friend.

Even with its strange and occasionally supernatural challenges, Citrus Grove had turned out to be exactly the fresh start I needed.

Stirling set down the drill and pushed back the wire-rimmed bifocals that were sliding down his nose. “I’m installing a handle with a better lock. Ms. Ralston reported some trouble last night.”

“Not just trouble, Stirling.”

We heard the shrill voice in the upstairs hallway before our neighbor, Deborah Ralston, turned the corner, all five feet, six inches of her—if you counted the extra four inches of jet black hair she teased and sprayed daily into gravity-defying form.

“A man was in my apartment. An intruder! Did you tell Rebecca to lock her door? Rebecca, did he tell you?”

“I was about to do that, Ms. Ralston,” he said as he grabbed the edge of the door to hoist himself up. “I’ll change your lock as well once I’m done here.”

Judging by the amount of hardware and packaging scattered at his feet, it wouldn’t be soon.

The woman checked her watched then gave me a pointed look. “You should be at the clubhouse. It’s all hands on deck this week, remember?”

I forced a smile. When she had stopped me in the hall last week to ask if I’d be interested in joining the Citrus Grove Women’s Club, she’d suggested it would be a good way to meet people since I was still new in town and that I might enjoy the events they sponsor throughout the year.

Since I’d never been invited to join anything, I was so flattered, I’d accepted on the spot. It wasn’t until she’d stopped by my apartment later that night with forms to sign and a thick packet containing the club’s rules and bylaws that I realized I was agreeing to serve what remained of her term as board secretary so she could officially step into the club president’s position.

It was also when she’d told me that as a board member, I would be expected to help set up and tear down club events, which included the annual fancy dress fund-raiser coming up this weekend.

You’d think she’d be grateful I’d agreed to drop everything to help on such short notice, but her glare wasn’t giving me that impression at all.

“I’m on my way,” I said. “Just had to feed my cat.”

Deborah’s penciled-in eyebrows shot up. “You have a cat? In this building? Stirling, you know I have allergies.”

My grandfather, bless him, was suddenly extremely interested in reading the fine print on the new door handle’s box. “Temporary situation, Ms. Ralston. Nothing to worry about.”

Aneksi was many things, but she wasn’t temporary. The way he avoided eye contact with either of us, I knew I’d only make things worse if I made a stink about it. So, I let it slide. For now.

Deborah checked her watch, then shot me a pointed look. “Be a dear and tell the others I’ll be there as soon as I file the police report and tell Charles not to leave until I approve the event’s menu.”

“Who’s Charles?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “The caterer, Rebecca. Tell him not to leave until we sort out what he plans to serve.”

The gala was four days away, and they didn’t have a menu? Luna Sage, my friend who owned the Sweet Spot bakery next to our antique shop and who occasionally catered, never cut it so close.

Then again, Deborah was the veteran, and I was the newcomer. Surely, she knew what she was doing.

“I’ll tell him,” I said. “Is there anything else?”

She dropped her glance to Stirling, who was back on the stool, changing the drill bit, or pretending to. “Phineas said you wouldn’t mind loaning us a few more of those adorable Moroccan lamps from your store, as well as that statue—what’s it called? The one with the jackal’s head?”

“Anubis?” Stirling’s head snapped up. He clearly wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of lending her his prized possession.

Phineas, my grandfather’s cousin and current houseguest, should know the man-sized Anubis statue was off limits, but I had seen him flagrantly flirting with the woman on multiple occasions.

I wanted to believe he was just trying to impress her, but something still bothered me about him. No matter how many times Stirling assured me they had gotten past their fathers’ feud over the rights to the hundred-year-old antique shop, I still wasn’t convinced.

Stirling refuses to hear anything negative about his cousin, so I still hadn’t told him how I’d found a Montana official’s business card with my old address handwritten on it in Phineas’s possession. I didn’t plan to, either, until I could determine whether he’s the mystery man who was trying to buy my parents’ property out from under me and who implied their deaths weren’t an accident.

While I waited for confirmation one way or the other, I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. But offering Anubis as a glorified party prop was a new low, even for Phineas.

If Deborah Ralston noticed my grandfather’s distress, she didn’t show it. “It will be just the thing to bring our Egyptian-themed soiree alive. Don’t you agree?”

Before I could respond, Deborah waved me off. “Handle it, Rebecca. I’m late for my appointment.”

With that, she sashayed out the door, leaving me with a to-do list that grew longer every time I saw her.

Stirling shot me a sympathetic glance before turning his attention back to the lock. “Good luck with that one,” he muttered.

I sighed. “Thanks. I’ll need it.”