A Claw-some Affair (MEOW FOR MURDER Book 3)

The masks that the women have donned are far more intricate than those the men are wearing—we’re talking elaborate feathered numbers, sequins with glittering beads.
It’s late August and September is nipping on its heels, and it seems as if all of Vermont’s upper crust has descended on the manor. The cats have successfully hidden themselves in and out of the halls. Stuffed in every nook and cranny you’ll see nothing but glowing eyes peering out from the darkness. A part of me wishes I could do the same as Tilly and I enter the grand ballroom with its dim mood lighting and the enchanted classical music bleating through the speakers.
Tilly and I just did a quick change into our costumes, a long crimson empire style velvet dress for me and a matching one in gold for her.
She butts her shoulder to mine. “So you really think I’m going to get lucky with the king of the ball?”
“I can’t be sure.” I spilled every last juicy detail about that vision I had back in the café. “I may not always get things right when trying to figure out what those future ramblings are trying to tell me, but I know a come-on when I hear it. And judging by that giggle in your voice, you were more than up for whatever he’s about to dole out.”
“Oh yes, I am, missy.” She adjusts her bosom until it’s heaving from her dress. “I can’t believe Opal shoved us in these circus tents. I’ve never worn anything so unflattering. It’s against my religion.”
“And seeing that your religion is flaunting your body, I’d say you were right.” I glance down at my own unusual frock. “I look as if I’m seven months pregnant.”
“I bet you wish that baby was Shep’s.” She gives a cheeky wink, and that glitter she’s slathered over her eyelids nearly blinds me.
“Yes, well, I doubt it will be. No matter how much I throw out the signals, he seems to be ducking and evading them all. I thought you said he was a playboy?”
“He is. Or at least he was. He had a nasty breakup with his fiancée, that homicide detective he worked with.”
I know just the one. Detective Nora Grimsley. She’s a skeletal brunette who has clearly never had an Italian nana who could make a mean cannoli. Nora is a decent person, for the most part, but I’m not interested in being her bestie since she’s all but accused me of murder exactly twice. And considering I’ve only been in town for two months, that’s a staggering statistic.
Tilly sighs. “And then he was with Regina. That girl wore him out in an entirely different way.”
“Okay, okay. I get it. He’s into other women. I just don’t happen to be one of them.”
“Ahh,” Tilly moans as she gives my face a squeeze with her fingers. “Don’t you worry, Bowie Binx. This room is festering with handsome billionaires. If we play our financial cards right, we’ll both get lucky.”
A woman strides up wearing a long black metallic dress with such a wide girth she’s imparted a mandatory social distancing of a four-foot circumference in any direction. She pulls away the silver mask covering her face to reveal herself as the grand dame of the evening, Opal Mortimer herself.
Tilly bucks with a laugh. “You clean up nice, Opal.”
“Please,” I say. “You shine every day, woman. Great party. We should do this more often and charge a cover.”
She shoots her fingers my way. “I like the way you think, Bowie Binx. Now scat you two and get to work. Thea and Flo are already passing out the canapés. Regina has stationed herself at the caviar table. And Mud is manning the bar all by his lonesome. I’ll be on the dance floor. Wish me luck.” She lands the mask over her face once again and moves out into the crowd.
I crane my neck in the direction of the bar and see Mud’s dirty blond hair spiked like a cactus. Mud is a thirty-something bachelor who helps with the general maintenance around the manor, and apparently he’s quite the bartender, too.
“I’ll work the bar with Mud,” I volunteer. “You go ahead and have a good time.”
Before Tilly can accept my tempting offer, a masked man in a dark suit and a wicked grin strides over.
“Most beautiful ladies.” He nods and lifts his mask just enough to reveal what I already suspected—Jackson Mortimer’s wooing of Tilly has already begun. “I’m afraid I’ll have to escort you to the door myself if you don’t don one of these. “He hands a hot pink sequin mask in the shape of a heart to Tilly, and a navy velvet mask to me with what looks to be a spray of diamonds embedded around the eyes. And with this ritzy crowd, these sparklers might just be the real deal.
“Thank you,” I say as I quickly put on the snazzy velvet number. A part of me hopes he won’t come around collecting these beauties at the end of the night. Not only is this thing drop-dead gorgeous, but I’m betting there’s a pawn shop in Scooter Springs that will be hungry to give me a good chunk of cash for it.
Tilly titters as if he just whispered a naughty sweet nothing into her ear. She pulls on the mask and blows him a kiss.
“Don’t you forget who I am underneath this,” she purrs as she paws at his tie. “And if you do, I’ve got ways of making you remember.” Something catches her eye toward the entrance and she gasps. “Jessie Lynn Teasdale.” She takes off toward a group of underdressed teens that seem to have infiltrated the elegant soirée.
Jackson steps in close, caressing my cheek with the back of his hand.
“Alone at last.” The words growl from him in a seductive manner just as another masked man steps between us, effectively making Jackson stumble a bit.
“Bowie.” The man before me might be wearing a mask, but I’d recognize those