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

Shepherd Wexler and I don’t stand a chance in hell of happening.
An image of Madeline Swanson lying lifeless on the floor flits through my mind, and a part of me knows I can’t keep my end of the bargain.
I’m not staying out of his investigation.
And I have a feeling he’s not backing down when it comes to investigating my fractured mind either.

Chapter 4
One might think the day after some poor soul dropped dead at the Mortimer Manor, the Manor Café would be listless and devoid of a single human body, but quite the contrary is true.
Every chair, table, and booth was filled as soon as we opened the doors at seven a.m., and that includes Shep’s regular table near the back. You’d think a hotshot writer like him would want a primo window seat where he can stare out at the green belt surrounding the manor and the hundreds of feisty felines lounging over it. The rest of the patrons seem to get quite a kick out of watching the kitties while noshing on their morning waffles.
I came in early myself and thought I’d give making a special of the week a whirl. I’ve been toying with the idea for a while, so I picked a few recipes, but since Nana Rose’s lasagna was making my tummy rumble I thought I’d start there.
The Manor Café has three cooks and a baker, but I’ve taken the helm on this dish. I crumbled and browned the ground beef, whipped together a tomato sauce base with garlic, onions, fennel, sugar, a hint of cloves, black pepper, and a sprinkling of hope sent from my dead Italian ancestors before allowing the sauce to simmer for the next couple of hours.
I may not have paid much attention to Nana and my mother in the kitchen, but one thing I keenly observed was the fact the sauce was left alone to do its thing for hours at a time. The thought of heating up spaghetti sauce from a can was tantamount to cursing in our house.
One thing is for sure, our home always smelled like an aromatic Italian paradise on days the sauce was simmering. And it just so happens the heavenly scent trailing from the kitchen behind me brings back those wonderful memories.
Tilly comes my way with an empty coffee carafe as I stand staunchly behind the register.
“Smells like Nick’s Pizzeria.” She sniffs the air. “You’re not making a pizza, are you? I’m getting hungry for a large pepperoni with olives.”
Regina steps up. “It smells like a hostage situation brewing with my senses. You do realize nobody in Starry Falls wants a side of garlic with their pancakes. Hold off until noon next time.”
“I can’t hold off until noon,” I say. “Everyone knows a good lasagna takes hours to perfect. I’ll be lucky if I’ve got a lasagna to serve at noon.”
Regina rolls her eyes. “Next time make a so-so lasagna. And by the way, the jury is still out if this one will be any good.”
“It will,” I assure her.
I hope.
Tilly scoots in close. “Do you really think there’s another killer on the loose?” she asks as she reworks her blouse and ties it beneath her bellybutton, forcing two of her best assets front and center.
“Yes, Tilly,” Regina answers for me. “And spoiler alert? She’s the killer.”
“Bowie?” Tilly giggles my way before her expression falls flat. “You’re not really the killer, are you? No, wait, don’t tell me. If you’re about to kill me, I want it to be a surprise. Can you somehow work Jackson Mortimer into that killer scenario?”
“I’ll do my best,” I say, shooting Regina a look.
Regina snorts. “Please, Tilly. Jackson Mortimer is easier to land than a Frisbee.” She grins like the cat who ate the Mortimer canary, and both Tilly and I groan.
I lift a brow to Tilly. “At least we know who he was playing Frisbee with last night.”
Tilly grunts my way. “It’s all my fault. I should never have gotten comfortable with that vision you sold me. I let my game slip. And now look what’s happened. I’m altering my uniform in hopes of landing Regina Valentine’s leftovers.”
Regina leans in, her eyes squinted and beady as she examines us both.
“Wait a minute.” She turns her ear toward Tilly. “You said she sold you on a vision? What in the name of black magic is going on here?” She jabs a finger in my direction. “Are you reading cards? Do you have some crystal ball tucked in the office? Is that what’s happening here? Did you cast a spell on Shepherd Wexler? Because nothing else can explain his sudden urge to rebuff every offer I toss his way.”
“I’m no witch.” I dip my chin. “Maybe Shep just doesn’t feel like playing Frisbee with you. Maybe he’s tossed his Frisbee in another direction.” Okay, so it’s not mine. But there’s no harm in her thinking it is. Regina has been nothing but snippy, rude, and darn right wicked to me ever since I set foot in Starry Falls.
Hey? Maybe she’s the witch?
The door whooshes open and a cool breeze snakes into the café. Summer is quickly giving way to fall in these parts, and I’ll be the first to sing hallelujah. I’m not a big fan of triple digits and ninety percent humidity. I’d rather curl up by the fire with a nice cup of cider, a book, and my new sweet cat, Pixie.
Pixie is actually an accidental acquisition. She wandered from Opal’s cat farm here at the manor, and Shep just so happened to feed her—the rest is cat-napping history.
“Well, well.” Tilly wraps an arm around my shoulders. “If it isn’t Sexy Wexy,” she purrs as Shep pops up and surveys the overcrowded landscape.
He’s donned a suit, a silver tie that offsets his eyes, and his dark hair is slicked back, still dewy from the shower. His heady cologne has already made its first arrest of the day—me and my good senses—and suddenly it doesn’t seem