Cat Scratch Cleaver

say that out loud. Not here. Not anywhere. I know what side my bread is buttered on. I’ve got rent to pay and shirts to buy. If Peter lost his mind last night, it’s none of my business. Let the cops worry about it. He manufactures a smile my way. “But I wouldn’t worry your pretty little head about it, honey. Heather Kent knew who she was playing hardball with.”
Georgie comes back. “No luck at the bar.” She sets down a fruity looking drink before flashing those pearly whites at Darby. “I guess I have you to spike my drink after all.” She leans in and they rub noses and coo like a couple of rabbits looking to multiply and produce an entire herd of Hawaiian shirt, kaftan wearing bunnies.
Peter Olsen walks by with a brunette on each arm and they head off through an unmarked door down the hall.
Something tells me he won’t be coming out anytime soon.
But something else tells me that won’t be the last time I poke around in his business.
Peter Olsen’s ego might be too big for his directorial britches, but is it deadly?
That cleaver lodged in Heather Kent’s back might just prove it was deadly indeed.

Chapter 6
What’s better than indulging in all-you-can eat s’mores bars on a boiling afternoon?
That’s my alibi if Jasper gets his suspicions aroused. And if he’s a smart man, his answer to the question regarding s’mores bars will be kissing me. It’s pretty much a win-win for both of us.
Regardless, I’ve arrived at the Seaview Sheriff’s Department with Fish in my tote bag poking her little cute fuzzy head out and Sherlock Bones springing by my side, leashed, and a pretty pink box of Emmie’s s’mores bars in my hot little hands.
I thought of bringing Sherlock along as sort of an afterthought, to be truthful. But I figure Jasper would be so thrilled to see him, that any irritation I might cause would be thrown off by that pooch’s innate cuteness. And, of course, when I asked Sherlock to join me on this adventure, Fish insisted she wasn’t missing out on the investigation. Needless to say, they were both disappointed to learn we were merely going to speak with Camila. Believe me, I’m not too thrilled either.
Sherlock lets out a soft bark. I don’t care for Camila. She likes to shoo me away with her feet.
“I’d like to shoo her away with my feet,” I mutter. “A nice kick to the rear should do it.”
Fish meows with what sounds like glee. Try to make it look like an accident, Bizzy. This place is crawling with people just dying to land some of those shiny bracelets onto someone.
Sherlock growls. Just the way Jasper likes to do. I’ve seen him put the cuffs on you, Bizzy.
Fish yowls and sounds as if she’s laughing. You rather seem to enjoy that little game.
“Okay, you two. I get it,” I say as I make my way toward the homicide department. Clearly, they know too much.
The sheriff’s department is cold and sterile, nothing but white walls and linoleum floors. The faint scent of stale coffee lingers in the air, and there’s something sweet layered just beneath that, probably donuts because, let’s face it, some stereotypes are true.
I make the final turn toward my destination, and sure enough, Camila Ryder sits at her desk with a low-cut blouse on, blowing on her fingernails that seem to be freshly painted a shade of cutthroat red.
Camila took the position here at the homicide division so she could be close to her ex. Neither Jasper nor I was thrilled, considering he’s the ex in question.
Her head hitches my way before she does a double take.
“I thought I sensed a disturbance in the force.” She flips that long dark mane before fanning her nails through the air. “What do you want?” She spots Sherlock and her eyes expand. “Ugh. We have a strict no fleas policy. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to disem-bark.”
Fish lifts half her body out of the tote bag and hisses at the hussy before us with such a caustic fervor Camila glides back in her chair and belts out a scream.
I can’t help but chortle myself into a conniption.
“Relax,” I say as I land the box of s’mores bars onto her desk. “Shove a couple of those in your mouth.” I make a face at her. “That should get your venomous juices flowing.”
Sherlock circles around the desk to get a better look at her. Be careful, Bizzy. She’s got the blood of her enemies on her fingertips.
I nod his way. Duly noted.
“Camila.” I command my voice to sound as sickly sweet as possible. “It was just confirmed to me that they’re going on with the production of Cat Scratch Fever and the director is open to recasting the lead as a brunette.” Not true. I’m betting if Camila did get the part, they’d slap a wig on her for consistency, but the words flew from my lips so I’m going with it.
Her mouth rounds out as she takes in a solid breath.
“No kidding?” She pushes the box of sweet treats back my way. “I see what you’re doing. You’re trying to fatten me up so I won’t get the part.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re a brunette.” She flashes a momentary grin.
Fish groans. She’s got you there.
“I might be a brunette, but I’m not interested in the part. Anyway, I was just coming here to see Jasper, and when I saw you, the thought came to mind.”
I’m sure a lot of thoughts come to mind. She teases in the wicked way only she can.
Back when she was dating Leo, she got it out of him that he could pry into her depraved mind. And when she saw Leo and me having more than one seeming conversation a few months back, she did the mind reading math.
“Well”—I pull the box of sweet treats back my way—“I’ll tell Peter you’re not interested.”
“Wait a minute.” She