Mango Cake and Murder by Christy Murphy

Author:Christy Murphy [Murphy, Christy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-09-29T23:00:00+00:00

* * *

The moment I parked the van, the yowling stopped, which took the edge off my worry.

"You get the cat. I’ll ring the bell," Mom said.

"That cat hates me," I said.

Mom rolled her eyes. "I’ll help you with him."

I paused before opening the back doors of the van, and prepared to use the door as a shield if the cat leapt out and attacked me. Mom rolled her eyes, scooted me out of the way, and opened the doors herself.

The cat yowled. Mom shushed him, and the little thing quieted. "Come on," Mom said to the cat, and the fur ball trotted to the edge of the van and leapt into Mom’s arms. "Good cat," Mom said and patted it on the head.

I shook my head and closed the van doors.

We rang the doorbell. Margaret greeted us, but she was obviously expecting someone else.

"I thought you were my psychic," she said.

"Is that why the gate's unlocked?" Mom asked.

"Yes. I didn’t want to risk missing her. I desperately need her advice."

"About what?" I asked.

Margaret gave me a shocked look. "The murder of course. I can’t believe Celia would have killed my father. And I have to find out who did it before my drunken brother does something stupid."

Mom and I traded glances. "Do you think it’s possible your brother did it?" Mom asked.

"I’d thought of that, but he’s so upset, and he hasn’t been here long enough," Margaret said. Her attention turned to the cat. "What a beautiful cat! Did you bring her in for an evaluation?"

"Yes," Mom said.

Margaret beamed. "Come inside."

"Is this the cat from the party?" Margaret asked.

"Yes," Mom said. "We really like him."

“His coat is very shiny. I’d advise keeping the dear as hydrated as possible so that her fur will look its best when she’s preserved."

It took me a moment to realize that we were getting a taxidermy consultation.

"How much longer did the vet give her to live?" Margaret asked.

"It’s hard to say. It depends on how well she responds to the medication," Mom answered.

Mom was always a fast thinker. Margaret nodded, but she looked a little disappointed at the idea that the cat might live. Heck, the thing was more of a kitten than a cat. I almost felt bad for the little thing—almost.

"There’s an oil you can use that will keep her fur soft just in case," Margaret said hopefully. I found it interesting that an heiress to a multi-million dollar fortune was so interested in making a sale. "It also is good for preventing flees," she added.

"How much?" Mom asked.

Margaret smiled. "Only twenty dollars," she said.

"We’ll take it," Mom said.

Margaret sprang from her seat to get the oil.

"She doesn’t seem like a murderer," I said.

"No," Mom said. "If I’d killed my dad to fund a weird animal stuffing business, I wouldn’t hire a psychic."

"Me neither," I said.

"Do you have twenty dollars?" Mom asked.

I reached into my purse for my last twenty. "I guess this means we own a cat now."

Margaret returned with the oil and gave us instructions on how to use it.

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