“Let’s go,” I said, sweeping back through the living room and pointing to the wicker vehicle I’d purchased expressly for this mission.
Octo-Cat’s eyes widened in horror. “Surely I don’t need to get in there now. Can’t it at least wait until we reach the funeral parlor?”
“Nope, I’m not taking any chances.” I put one hand on my hip and used the other to hold the bag open wide. “Now in!”
He hissed and growled, but ultimately complied.
“Good kitty,” I said.
Another hiss rose out of the bag. “I warned you about that.”
“Yeah,” I murmured as I twisted the lock on the front door after closing it behind me. “But you already puked on my bed once, so I figured I’d earned that one.”
“You figured wrong,” he said, popping his head out of the bag to scowl at me.
I laughed as I set his makeshift carrier on the floor of the passenger seat, then off we went. Once or twice he tried to flee the bag for the safe harbor of my lap, but each time I managed to talk him off the ledge and back into his hiding place.
“I hate you so much,” Octo-Cat snarled when at last we arrived.
“Shh,” I warned him. “Nobody can know you’re here.”
Luckily the bag’s weave gave him some visibility without revealing his hidden form. Just as much as I wanted to catch the killer, I also believed Octo-Cat deserved the chance to pay Ethel his respects. After all, she’d been an all-encompassing companion for him his entire life and I knew he missed her like crazy.
“Remember the plan,” I murmured without moving my lips. Maybe all these years my hidden talent had actually lied in ventriloquism. I’d definitely have to explore it in more detail later.
“If you see—or, umm, smell—someone who was at the dinner party,” I continued, “reach through the bag with your claws and tap my arm. Please note this is the only time I am giving you permission to claw me.”
“Understood. Now please let’s get this over with. This thing really stinks.” He wasn’t the only one who’d rather be at home, but it seemed I had to be strong now for the both of us.
I hoisted the bag further up my shoulder and strode forward with the confidence of someone who didn’t have a talking cat secretly stashed in her bag. No sooner had we entered than I found a familiar, wrinkled visage staring right at me. Honestly, it gave me the heebee jeebees, especially after what Brad had revealed to me about her tantrum at the will reading.
“I recognize you,” I said, striding straight up to her. “What’s your name again?”
She glanced around then murmured, “Anne Fulton.”
Octo-Cat chose that exact moment to sink his claws into the soft flesh beneath my arm.
“Ow,” I cried, then caught myself, chuckled nervously, and said, “’Ow did you know Ethel?”
“She was my aunt,” Anne said, giving the answer I already knew.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, ducking my head and charging away. The last thing I needed was to be trapped with this strange, temperamental, breaking-and-entering woman all evening. Yet, then again, I was kind of all those things, too. Maybe Anne and I had more in common than I wanted to admit.
The bag weighed heavily on my shoulder, making me think that maybe Octo-Cat would benefit from a diet and me from some more weight lifting. We passed gracelessly between the guests, making our way toward the casket.
There Ethel Fulton lay upon a bed of light pink silk, her short hairstyle curled in a perfect halo, her makeup heavy but elegant. I hadn’t known her in life, but seeing her dead body laid on display like this sent a shiver of sorrow straight through me.
Octo-Cat clawed me a second time, and it stung. “Yes,” I hissed quietly. “Ethel was at her own dinner party. I know that.”
He let out a low growl then mumbled, “Incoming from behind.”
I spun on my heel, resisting the urge to check my arm for little pin pricks of blood, and came face to face with Diane wearing a simple, black shift dress with an understated pillbox hat.
“Oh, Angie,” she cried, falling into my arms so fast the bag almost slipped off my shoulder. “I’m so glad to see a friendly face.”
She held tight to me for a long time, sobbing and sharing stories of all the good times she’d had with Ethel. “When I was a young bride, Ethel took me under her wing and taught me everything I needed to know to keep a good home and to keep my husband happy.” Diane burst into another hysterical sob. “Oh, you don’t have time for this.”
“There, there,” I said, patting her back and praying she would let me go.
She tensed in my arms and yanked away as if she’d been burned… or perhaps electrocuted.
I turned to see what she was staring at and saw Mr. Fulton standing in the entryway to the funeral home, with Bethany close at his side.
“I have to go,” Diane sobbed, fleeing the scene before I had a chance to stop her.
Visions of the purple bra in Mr. Fulton’s office danced before me menacingly. Now that I thought about it some more, that thing had looked like it was about Bethany’s size. I watched in disgust as our boss placed his hand at the small of Bethany’s back and guided her toward the casket, openly flaunting their intimacy for all to see.
Oh, poor Diane!
She had come to say goodbye to a beloved relative and instead her husband chose to humiliate her in front of the entire community.
I waited at the casket, wondering if they would even try to excuse their behavior. Octo-Cat slipped his claws through the bag’s weave and dug those tiny pin missiles into me once more, alerting me to the fact that Mr. Fulton had, indeed, been present the night of the murder, too.
Well, now we knew the identity of three of the five guests from that night. Octo-Cat had already ruled out Anne for us, and I knew better than to suspect Diane. That narrowed our suspects to exactly three people. Either Mr. Fulton or one of the remaining mystery guests had done the deed—and more and more it looked like Fulton was our man.
“Angie,” he said with a sad smile, dropping his hand from Bethany’s back as he approached. “Thank you for coming to pay your respects.”
Bethany nodded curtly but didn’t say anything.
“It was the least I could do,” I said, not knowing what I meant by that.
Apparently, however, my words were well received.
“She was such a special lady,” Fulton said with a sigh. “Almost like a second mother. I’ve been having such a hard time admitting she’s gone.”
His voice cracked, and Bethany patted his arm consolingly. It only made me angrier and angrier.
They both turned to look into the casket, and I excused myself before I could say something we all regretted. Octo-Cat tapped me again as I charged through the other guests toward the door, but I didn’t even notice who he wanted me to see.
At this point, I had all the proof I needed to know Mr. Fulton was guilty of at least two unforgivable crimes.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ahand on my shoulder stopped me before I could tear my way across the parking lot. I whipped around to see…
Bethany, of all people.
“What do you want?” I growled, not even bothering to disguise my disgust now.
Her wispy blonde hair rippled in the wind, and her lips pinched together in a tiny bow. I’d never seen her look this vulnerable—or this feminine—before. “I want to make sure you’re okay. You looked like you were going to be sick back there. Have you never seen a dead body before?”
“I’ve seen bodies,” I spat. “What I haven’t seen is my boss flaunting his affair right in everyone’s faces and at the very worst possible time, too.”