Dropped Dead in Cherry Hills Read online

  Dropped Dead in Cherry Hills

  A Cozy Cat Caper Mystery

  Book 14

  Paige Sleuth

  Copyright © 2017 Marla Bradeen (writing as Paige Sleuth)

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Marla Bradeen.

  This book or portions of it (excluding brief quotations) may not be reproduced without prior written permission from the publisher/author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), actual businesses, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If this ebook copy was not purchased by or for you, please purchase your own copy before reading. Thank you for respecting this author’s work.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  VALENTINE’S IN CHERRY HILLS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Hey, Kat,” Jessie Polanski said as Katherine Harper stepped inside Jessie’s Diner.

  “Hi.” Kat inhaled deeply. “Smells like your lasagna’s on special this evening.”

  “Back by popular demand. Would you like a serving?”

  “I’m actually not eating today.”

  Jessie grinned. “If you came to ask for your old job back, you’ve got it, no groveling necessary. Winnie, your replacement, quit last week.”

  “Sorry,” Kat told her. “As much as I enjoyed waitressing for you, I love my new job.”

  “That’s good. I’m happy for you—even if that means I’ll be running around here like a madwoman when the Friday dinner rush starts in an hour.”

  Jessie truly did sound happy for her, and Kat was reminded of how much she missed her old boss. Jessie was forty, eight years older than Kat, but she had always treated her as an equal. And like her parents who had managed the restaurant before her, Jessie was a genuinely nice person. Her friendliness was one of the things that kept customers coming back again and again.

  Jessie tucked a stray lock of hair back into the ever-present brunette bun behind her head. “So, if you’re not eating and you’re not here for a job, what are you doing here?”

  “I’m meeting somebody for an interview,” Kat told her. “Tiffany Reed. She’s a reporter from the Cherry Hills Courant, and she wants to do an article on 4F.”

  “Yeah? That will be great exposure for you guys.”

  “It will,” Kat agreed. “Although why she declined an interview with Imogene still mystifies me. Imogene has been rescuing animals a lot longer than I have. Plus, she’s the 4F founder and president.”

  “Maybe there was a scheduling conflict.”

  “Maybe. You don’t know if Tiffany’s here already, do you?”

  “You beat her. The only people here right now are guys.”

  A quick glance around the restaurant confirmed Jessie’s observation. Kat recognized George, an older man who reminded her of a gray-haired troll doll sitting at one end of the counter. The only other diner occupied one of the booths along the wall, a briefcase open on the table in front of him. A middle-aged man with a slight potbelly and thinning salt-and-pepper hair, he was studying the menu as intently as a college student cramming for an exam.

  Jessie took a step toward the counter. “Have a seat. I’ll bring you a milkshake while you wait.”

  “That would be great. Thank you.”

  Kat opted for the booth adjacent to the man with the briefcase, choosing the side facing him. From here, she would see Tiffany Reed as soon as she walked through the front door.

  She licked her lips as the milkshake mixer whirred behind her. Jessie’s Diner made the best shakes, and Kat could never get enough of them.

  “Great sakes alive!” The man in the next booth scrambled halfway onto his table, nearly knocking over his water glass.

  Jessie came rushing over, two vanilla milkshakes in her hands. “What is it?”

  “That there!” The man pointed across the dining area, his beefy finger quivering. “Your restaurant’s infested!”

  Upon spotting a frightened orange tabby crouched under a corner table, Kat’s heart gave a little jump. “There’s a cat over there.”

  Jessie relaxed. “He’s been hanging around in the alley out back. He must have slipped into the kitchen when Lisa wasn’t looking.”

  “The kitchen!” The man’s jaw clenched. “Vermin are not allowed in areas where food is being prepared for the public.”

  A spark of anger flared in Kat’s chest. “Jessie didn’t let him in on purpose.”

  The man didn’t appear to hear her. His face was turning redder by the moment. “I could have you shut down for this,” he hissed at Jessie. “One call to the Health Department, and you’d be out of business.”

  Jessie frowned. “They wouldn’t shut me down because a cat ran in here one time.”

  The man challenged her with a glare. “You want to bet your business license on that?”

  “I really don’t think any calls will be necessary,” Kat interjected. “Why don’t I see if I can catch him?”

  Jessie’s shoulders dropped three inches. “Would you? Thanks, Kat.”

  Kat started to stand up, but before she could swing her legs out of the booth the front door opened. Spotting an exit, the cat bolted, disappearing outside.

  Kat sank back into her seat, a hollow feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. As relieved as she was for the man not to have any more reason to complain, she hated the idea of a cat braving the January cold by himself.

  “I guess that settles that,” Jessie said. She set one of the milkshake glasses in front of the man. “Here’s your vanilla shake.”

  He grumbled something Kat couldn’t hear. Whatever it was, it didn’t elicit a reply from Jessie. But she did roll her eyes when she deposited the second milkshake in front of Kat.

  Jessie turned around. “Welcome to Jessie’s. Are you with the Courant?”

  It was only then that Kat noticed the young woman whose entrance had enabled the orange tabby to escape. Goth was the best way Kat could think to describe her. Dressed entirely in black with a messenger bag slung across her chest, she had spiky black hair, a small nose ring, and eyes lined so heavily with dark eyeshadow that she looked as if she’d recently been in a fistfight. Her piercing blue eyes provided the only shock of color to her person.

  “Tiffany Reed,” the young woman said. “I’m looking for Kat Harper.”

  “Well, you’ve found her.” Jessie swept her arm toward Kat. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  Tiffany clomped over in her combat boots and slid into the booth seat opposite Kat. “Coffee, please. Black.”

  Jessie’s eyes twinkled with amusement, as if she would expect nothing less from someone who obviously liked everything black. “Sure thing,” she said before sauntering off.

  Tiffany smiled at Kat. “Sorry I’m late. I got lost.”

  “You must not have lived in Cherry Hills for long,” Kat surmised.

  “Three weeks now. I like it so far. Central Washington State is so quaint.” Tiffany leaned against the side of the booth to survey the restaurant. A scowl darkened her face when her eyes landed on the man next to them. “Oh, geez.”

  “What is it?” Kat asked.

>   Tiffany hunched forward, one black-painted thumbnail aimed over her shoulder. “See that guy behind me?”

  “What about him?”

  Tiffany dropped her voice to a near whisper. “That’s Aaron Moskowitz. He’s another recent Courant hire.”

  “You don’t get along?” Kat guessed.

  “He’s a real prig. He’s in charge of opinion pieces. You know, restaurant and movie reviews, the best toys to buy your kids, how pretty the parks are.” Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Like anybody cares about that. He only snagged this job because he knows the owner of the Courant. Before that he worked at one of these big national papers out of Chicago.”

  “He traded national exposure to come work for the Cherry Hills Courant?”

  “They canned him. He’s such a jerk, who could blame them? Back there he was just a food critic. I looked up his stuff when we were in orientation because all he did was sit in the back of the room and act like he couldn’t be bothered. Doesn’t give any place more than three stars. I guess his taste buds get offended easily.”

  Kat peeked over her shoulder. Did Jessie know a food critic was currently sitting in her restaurant? Kat couldn’t imagine him writing her a favorable review if he was already threatening to shut her down before he’d even ordered.

  “So,” Tiffany said, rummaging through her messenger bag and yanking out an iPad, “you ready to roll?”

  Kat pushed thoughts of Aaron away. “Sure. I should tell you though, I’ve never done a newspaper interview before.”

  “These are pretty dull.”

  Kat laughed, thinking she had meant the comment as a joke, but Tiffany’s blue eyes didn’t contain even the slightest trace of humor.

  “How about we start with that silent auction you guys held a couple weeks ago,” Tiffany suggested.

  “Okay. Well, the silent auction was one of a few fundraisers 4F is working on this year. We’re always in need of donations to help pay for veterinary expen—”

  “I heard a man died,” Tiffany interrupted.

  Kat stilled. “Well, yes, that’s true.”

  “And is it also true you found the body?”

  “I did.”

  Tiffany folded her arms over her iPad and hunched closer. “Tell me about that.”

  Kat didn’t speak right away. She thought she detected a spark in Tiffany’s eyes that hadn’t been there a second ago.

  “Rumor has it you were the one who identified his killer, too,” Tiffany continued after a moment of silence.

  Kat fingered her milkshake glass. “I thought this interview was about Furry Friends Foster Families.”

  Tiffany wrinkled her nose. “But this is so much more interesting, don’t you think?”

  “On the surface, maybe.” Still, if Kat had a choice she would rather avoid rehashing what had occurred at 4F’s most recent fundraiser. Death wasn’t exactly what any of the 4F board members wanted people to think about when their animal rescue organization came up in conversation.

  Tiffany tapped on her iPad. “I’ve been doing some research on you.”

  Kat tensed. “Oh?”

  “It seems you’ve discovered quite a few bodies in the past few months. And didn’t a woman end up croaking at your organization’s benefit dinner this past summer?”

  “That had nothing to do with 4F, per se.”

  “Really?”

  Kat resisted the temptation to wipe her brow. The room temperature seemed to have gone up a few degrees, and she was starting to get a sense of how politicians felt when they were attacked at press conferences.

  Tiffany rubbed the tabletop with one finger. “I thought the benefit dinner was to raise funds for you guys.”

  “That’s true.” Kat didn’t figure there was any point in denying it. Tiffany had obviously done her homework.

  Tiffany grabbed the edge of the table and pulled herself closer, a smile breaking out on her face. “Why don’t you give me the lowdown on that?”

  Kat cleared her throat. “Ms. Reed, I’d really rather stick with 4F’s work with homeless animals. In fact, that’s what I thought this interview would be about.”

  Tiffany sighed. “That’s what my editor wants, too. But I was thinking, if I could present him with a true crime piece, something really hard-hitting, he might run it.”

  “I thought you were hired to do human interest stories,” Kat said, remembering what Tiffany had told her on the phone. “Didn’t you say the Courant was moving toward publishing more articles with local flavor in the hopes of growing their readership?”

  “Yeah.” Tiffany worked her jaw for a moment before slanting across the table. She seemed to have a hard time sitting still. “Kat, can I level with you?”

  “Sure.” Kat didn’t know where this was going, but she figured it couldn’t hurt to hear Tiffany out.

  Tiffany pushed her iPad aside. “I think the paper is on the wrong track with all this touchy-feely stuff. Sure, this is a small town. But that’s all the more reason why you guys need some excitement, right?”

  “That’s certainly one way to look at it,” Kat hedged.

  Tiffany’s eyes lit up, as if Kat’s lukewarm endorsement was the most encouragement she’d received since moving to Cherry Hills. “See, you get it. My editor, Bill, he says our readership doesn’t dig all that crime and justice stuff. He says that’s why they live here, to get away from the daily violence of the big cities. I get that he’s just regurgitating what the owner wants, but you’d think he’d grow a backbone and fight for us to report on real news, right?”

  Kat didn’t reply, figuring Tiffany wasn’t truly looking for her opinion. She seemed to need to vent.

  “I mean, get real,” Tiffany went on. “Just because you live in Nowheresville, Washington doesn’t mean you want anything all that different from the peeps in Boston and Chicago. But whenever I bring it up, Bill balks. It’s like I’m suggesting we personally go out and commit crimes to have something to report on when I really just want to write articles with a little sizzle. You know what I’m saying?”

  Kat observed the reporter. If she was older than twenty, it wasn’t by much. And the way she talked about crime reporting, it was clear she had found her passion.

  “Tiffany, can I ask you a question?” Kat said.

  Tiffany smiled. “You just did.”

  “Okay, let me ask you another one. Why are you working at the Courant? A small-town paper in the middle of Washington State doesn’t really sound like a good fit for you.”

  “They were the first paper to give me a shot. I figure I pay my dues here, and then maybe the New York Times or Chicago Tribune or Boston Globe will see I’ve got the goods.”

  “So you’re using them as a springboard for your career.”

  Tiffany bobbed her head up and down. “Yes, see, you get me.”

  Jessie came over with a steaming mug of coffee. “Here you go. Yell if you need anything else. I’m Jessie.”

  Jessie started to walk away, but Tiffany stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Hey, you’re Jessie, as in Jessie’s Diner?”

  “I am,” Jessie replied.

  Tiffany aimed her thumb over her shoulder. “Then you’d better watch out for that guy over there. He’s the Courant’s new restaurant critic. Brutal.”

  Jessie paled a little. “I didn’t know the Courant did restaurant reviews.”

  “New format.” Tiffany perked up. “Hey. Maybe you can help me out, Jessie.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Informal poll. Would you rather read lifestyle or true crime articles?”

  “Crime,” Jessie said, not missing a beat.

  Tiffany beamed. “Thanks. I’ll tell my editor.”

  Jessie tapped her chin. “You know, if you’re interested in true crime, you should talk to Kat. She seems to find herself involved in something every other week.”

  Fiddlesticks, Kat thought, slinking lower in her seat. Why did Jessie have to go and say that?

  Before the conversation could c
ontinue, a glass shattered. Kat started to silently thank whoever had provided the distraction until she caught the look of horror spreading across Jessie’s face.

  A chill washed over Kat as she followed the direction of Jessie’s gaze. In the next booth over, Aaron Moskowitz was clutching his throat with both hands, a panicked look in his eyes as he slid wordlessly to the floor.

  CHAPTER TWO

  What happened after passed by in a blur. Kat recalled rushing over to Aaron’s side and asking him what was wrong. He hadn’t replied, seeming incapable of speech. Someone must have called for help, but by the time it arrived it was too late.

  Now, Kat watched from the counter as the ambulance drove away. The lack of lights and sirens caused her already heavy heart to sink even lower. “I can’t believe he’s dead.”

  Jessie sagged against the counter. “Me neither.”

  Lisa patted Jessie’s shoulder, her face as colorless as the peroxide blond curls stuffed under her hairnet. Kat had worked with the cook back when she’d waitressed at Jessie’s. She had always acted slightly standoffish around Kat, but she and Jessie seemed to get along well, maybe because they were closer in age.

  “Ya just never know,” George said before grabbing his fork and working on finishing off the half-demolished pecan pie in front of him. Seeing a man carted off by the EMTs clearly hadn’t affected George’s appetite.

  Kat’s gaze drifted toward the windows lining the front of the restaurant. Tiffany Reed stood outside, pacing as she talked on her cell phone. Every couple of seconds she would nod or shake her head or throw her free arm into the air. It was almost as if she were on stage.

  Tiffany finally yanked the phone from her ear and ran back inside. “Guess what,” she said, rushing over to join everyone at the counter.

  George reared back on his stool. “Who’re you?”

  “Tiffany Reed, sir.” She took a step toward him, her hand extended. “I’m a reporter for the Cherry Hills Courant.”

  George stared at her hand, making no move to shake it. “Never heard of you.”