Purrfect Slaying Read online

  Purrfect Slaying

  A Hazel Hart Cozy Mystery Eight

  Louise Lynn

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  Chapter 1

  “Marley is dead, to begin with, no doubt about it,” Hazel Hart said, her Pentax SLR grasped in her hand.

  “What gave it away? The smell or the fact that Mr. Sinclair didn’t offer you coffee and spice cake?” Sheriff Cross said and gave her a sardonic look.

  Smiling over a dead body seemed to be bad form, so Hazel bit back the urge. Then again so did making jokes and quoting classic literature over a dead body, she assumed, and neither of them held back from that.

  “More that he’s blue. It’s cold enough in here to keep the smell at bay for the most part. Who found him?” she asked as she got to work. Hazel was the part-time forensic photographer for the Cedar Valley Sheriff’s Department, and Colton Cross’s full-time girlfriend.

  It was a good thing they worked so well together, otherwise dead bodies popping up at six AM on a Saturday might strain their relationship.

  The body in question belonged to Marley Sinclair, who sat upright in his armchair, stiff and formal looking, even in death. Part of that was due to his neatly brushed white hair and the ascot he wore under his maroon smoking jacket. Hazel didn’t know they still made those. Maybe he special ordered it. The study around him was the same, far too neat and ostentatious for comfort, but it seemed the sort of room a man like Mr. Sinclair would die in. That he died alone was even more fitting.

  “Housekeeper found him this morning. She said she hadn’t been by in a few days and came over to clean before he woke up. It looks like a heart attack or stroke, but we won’t know for certain until the M.E. gets here. Did you know him?“ Sheriff Cross asked and pulled out his notepad as Hazel snapped pictures.

  “I don’t know if anyone really knew Mr. Sinclair, not well, anyway. Had you even heard of him until today?”

  Sheriff Cross shook his head. His dark brows drew together and that little worry line formed between them. “I hadn’t, but I don’t know everyone in town, obviously. What can you tell me about him?”

  Hazel wrinkled her nose and she leaned in to take a few close-ups. It wasn’t true what they said about dead people looking like they were asleep. Mr. Sinclair didn’t look asleep at all; his lips were blue and his skin was as thin and pale as parchment paper. His sightless eyes stared at nothing, and a shiver shot up her spine.

  “Not much. As long as I remember, Mr. Sinclair was old and mean and stayed in this house most of the time. My mom said he used to yell at kids to get off his lawn, back before he put the fence up. Rumor has it it’s electrified, but I never touched it to find out.”

  “So a recluse with no friends or family?”

  Hazel nodded and her gut clenched. “Pretty much. It’s kind of sad. Him dying alone right before Christmas. Though it’s not a surprise. I’m not sure how true it is, but I know he owned at least a quarter of the real estate in town. He’s probably part of the reason Cedar Valley didn’t turn into a tourist village like North Lake City. He wouldn’t sell. But—”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Sheriff Cross said, his lips pulling into a frown.

  “He owned those awful apartments you used to live in. And the entire shopping center at the north end of town.” Now that he’d lived in the area for nearly a year, she didn’t need to explain to him that it was Cedar Valley’s worst shopping center, not the cute alpine style village that sat on Lake Street and brought in the tourists. No, if Cedar Valley had a seedy side of town, that was it.

  Sheriff Cross nodded absently and picked up the crystal glass next to Mr. Sinclair’s curled fingers in his gloved hand. A brown liquid sloshed in it. He sniffed it and set it back down. “I just hope this death was natural and not another murder.”

  “There wasn’t a horrible murder on Thanksgiving. That should be the town’s new motto.”

  Sheriff Cross gave her a dry look. “I’m sure the town council would love that.”

  Hazel took a photo of the glass and threw him a grin. “You know what I meant. And I don’t think this was a murder, unless the killer is immaculate at making a crime scene look so natural. Mr. Sinclair was older than the town itself, it seemed like.”

  Sheriff Cross’s lips quirked. “I’m sure he wasn’t that old, but I hope you’re right. I’ll go check out the rest of the house while you finish up in here.”

  Hazel nodded and went back to work, glad, for once, that she’d left her latte in the car. She didn’t enjoy being alone with a body, but at least it meant she could finish up quickly.

  Mr. Sinclair’s house had an oppressive feel to it, with ceilings that were too high and rooms that were too cramped. It was a turn of the century home in the Victorian style, which wasn’t unusual for Cedar Valley and the world famous Lake Celeste that the small Sierra town was nestled against.

  Still, that Mr. Sinclair hadn’t lived in a huge lakeside mansion like the Rockwell Manor or the Pearl House seemed odd considering his reputation and what was known of his expansive wealth. She wasn’t sure she believed all the rumors, but they had to come from somewhere.

  A pale beam of sunshine flooded through the window, and Hazel was glad for the extra light. Even if she didn’t like being up that early on a Saturday, at least she wasn’t in this house at night.

  After she finished her work, she noted Mr. Sinclair hadn’t even put up any holiday decorations yet. Strange this late in December, especially in Cedar Valley. All of Lake Street was decorated with sparkling lights in a rainbow of colors, and the whole thing was topped off with the grand fir tree that grew in the center of Lakeside Park. The town council decorated it every year, and it housed the local Christmas Fair and Santa’s Village as well.

  That also started today, and Hazel yawned at the thought. She’d need more than one latte to get through the rest of the day.

  Far from being her day off, she had work to do at the fair.

  Being the only full-time photographer in Cedar Valley kept her busy, and this month she’d been hired to work the Christmas Fair and photograph the children with Santa. Of course, she’d enlisted the aid of her assistant, Michael, to take over most of that. Standing in the cold all day and taking photos of kids crying at Santa was not her idea of a fun holiday. Good thing Michael either enjoyed it or didn’t feel the need to complain.

  That didn’t mean Hazel wasn’t busy. She also had to photograph the Christmas Fair itself and the local production of A Christmas Carol at the community center, so she had her hands more than full.

  Not to mention she still hadn’t finished Christmas shopping for her family, friends or Colton. She hoped to do that at the Christmas Fair, if she could find the time, that was.

  “Hazel, I need your expertise up here,” Sheriff Cross called from upstairs.

  Hazel went to join him and paused at the first landing. The stairs, like the rest of the house, were narrow and dark, the carpet a deep forest green worn bare in the center. On the wall was a painting of Mr. Sinclair as she had always known him, white of hair and bushy of brow, wearing a dark, old-fashioned suit with his lips raised into either a smile, a snarl, or something in-between the two.

  Who had a full-sized portrait of themselves painted in this day and age? Well, a man like Marley Sinclair, that’s who.

  “What is it? The creepy painting on the stairs?” she asked and finished trotting up the steps.

  She heard Sheriff Cross let out a snort of laughter from one of the rooms. “Not quite
. I think this was his office. Take a look at this. Do you know him?”

  She peeked in the room. The weak winter sun filtered through a crack in the heavy curtains and she fought the urge to shove them open.

  Sheriff Cross held a metal picture frame. The glass was cracked in the center, as if hit with something heavy, though if Hazel squinted she could make out the faces.

  One was Marley Sinclair, slightly younger, and another was a man she thought she recognized. “That’s Charles Benson. He owns the Lodge, but I think you already knew that.”

  “I wanted to be sure. I only met the man once.”

  “Oh, you aren’t old buddies?” Hazel said and nudged his arm.

  Sheriff Cross shook his head. “Not in the least. I’m not sure how long ago this was broken, but it looks—”

  “Like a clue? It would if this were a murder, but I don’t think it was. Do you?”

  Sheriff Cross let out a heavy breath. “No, I just don’t want to overlook anything.” His phone buzzed and he glanced at it and smiled grimly. “The M.E. is here. We’ll know what befell Mr. Sinclair soon enough.”

  “Heart attack,” the medical examiner said. She was a woman about Hazel’s mother’s age, though she looked a whole lot more serious than Mrs. Hart ever did. Hazel only knew the woman as Mrs. Harmony, which didn’t suit her at all. She looked more like a Mrs. Graves. “No question. He was ninety-seven. I’m surprised he lasted this long, considering.”

  Sheriff Cross raised his brows. “Considering what?”

  Mrs. Harmony gave him a level look, and her lips quirked at Hazel. “I don’t think a soul in town liked him. You’ve seen the state of his properties—abysmal. He was a slum lord who cared more about money than people. Not to mention he was an old humbug who shut himself up in here and never did a thing to help the town. If I was the betting sort, I’d have put money on someone killing him, but it looks like nature did its job.”

  “I guess so,” Sheriff Cross said and sighed.

  They both watched Mrs. Harmony load the body into her van.

  The tall iron fence that surrounded Marley Sinclair’s house stood open, a fresh layer of snow on the ground. The drive had gotten slushy from the medical examiner’s van and Sheriff Cross’s SUV, but the road that led to the house was oddly quiet. The houses down the street didn’t seem interested in what the sheriff was doing at Mr. Sinclair’s house.

  Or perhaps, everyone forgot about him.

  Hazel had until she was looking at his corpse.

  “So, it wasn’t murder. I’ll get you a copy of the photos, but I really need to get another latte and pick up Anthony Ray from my studio before I start the day. You want to join me?”

  Sheriff Cross stared at something between the trees and he nodded stiffly. “Yeah. I did drive you here, after all.”

  “Then it’s good of you to drive me back,” she said and leaned up to kiss his cheek. He hadn’t gotten around to shaving that morning, so his whiskers prickled her lips.

  He smiled faintly. “I don’t suppose you know if Mr. Sinclair had any next of kin for me to contact?”

  Hazel shook her head. “As far as I know, he was a bachelor. No wife, kids or siblings. My mom might know more, though. Is something wrong? You seem off this morning.”

  Well, he hadn’t seemed off until they arrived at the house. Maybe it was having the same sort of ominous effect on him as it did on her.

  He gave her a tight smile and moved toward the SUV. “I was just thinking I’m glad this wasn’t a murder, but dying alone right before Christmas is sad. I almost feel sorry for the guy.”

  Hazel understood. She climbed into the SUV. “Yeah, but let’s not romanticize him too much until we find out if he had a will. With him dead, what’s going to happen to his properties?”

  Sheriff Cross’s expression sobered again, and Hazel wished she hadn’t brought that up. Mr. Sinclair might not have been murdered, but him dying in the middle of winter could mean a lot of people losing their homes.

  They rode in silence for a moment, then Sheriff Cross let out a huff. “You’re right. I am off this morning, but it’s not Marley Sinclair that did it. Has Violet told you? My parents are visiting. They might take Violet back to Santa Rosa with them.”

  Hazel blinked at the abrupt change in subject. Her stomach did a somersault. “Uh, no. Not yet. Wow, I thought she wanted to finish high school here.”

  Violet was Colton’s niece. Her parents had died in a car accident several years before, and the fifteen-year-old girl had been living with her grandparents ever since. After some trouble at school last spring, she’d moved in with Colton. She’d even helped Hazel on a few cases and lived with her for a time. Hazel was fond of the girl. But the fact that Violet hadn’t mentioned any of this to Hazel meant something.

  Did she think Hazel wanted to see her go?

  “Yeah, I know. My parents miss her and think brother and sister should be together, and I can’t argue with that. Especially since Violet’s going to be ready for college in a couple of years, and who knows how often she’ll see Simon then.”

  Hazel nodded absently. She was only two years older than her sister, Esther, but she remembered how difficult it was to head to college hours away and leave her little sister behind, still in high school. “I get that, but, what’s best for Violet? And you? I think you make a great father figure for her, even if you’re her uncle.”

  His eyes crinkled around the edges, and Hazel couldn’t tell if it was the start of a smile or a frown. “We’ll have time to come to a decision later on, but I would like you to meet them. My parents, I mean.”

  Hazel’s stomach flipped again, and she straightened the camera around her neck. Sheriff Cross had met her parents nearly from day one, but this was different. They’d been dating now for months—how many was it? So long she’d lost track. And meeting the parents after the coupling instead of before always seemed more important, somehow.

  “Did you tell them about me?” she asked tentatively.

  Sheriff Cross smiled at that. “Of course. And it’s probably more flattering than what you told your parents about me first off.”

  Hazel blushed. “Well, that was different. You were accusing me of murder, so I wasn’t too happy with you. Then you accused my mother of murder. You can’t expect me to sing your praises. Though I do now that you’ve stopped thinking my family if full of killers.”

  “I’m still not convinced Ruth isn’t a budding maniac. Kidding!” he said as Hazel threw him a glare.

  “If anyone is going to kill someone, it’s Esther. If they make a mess in her bakery.”

  Sheriff Cross chuckled at that, and the sound warmed her stomach.

  It was a lovely moment, and she needed it right then because, several seconds later, Santa Claus himself stepped into the middle of the road.

  Sheriff Cross stomped on the brakes, and the SUV skidded across the slushy road and came to a stop inches from the startled man. “What the—” Colton started and climbed out of the car.

  Hazel sucked in a breath and willed her heart to slow down before she joined him. By the time her fingers stopped trembling, she noticed they were almost at her studio and got out as well.

  Santa’s cheeks were rosy and his eyes bloodshot. He hung his head as Sheriff Cross questioned him. “Have you had anything to drink, sir?”

  “Uh, no. I—oh, hi, Hazy. She can vouch for me. I don’t drink alcohol. Haven’t touched the stuff in twenty years,” Santa said and gave her a watery smile.

  Hazel squinted at him, though she already had an idea who it was. Especially when she saw he’d stepped into the road from Cedar Valley’s one and only full time Christmas shop, aptly named A Christmas Carol. The woman who ran it, Carol Collins, was married to the man who donned the Santa suit every year, John Collins.

  “I honestly didn’t know that. Sorry,” Hazel said and patted Sheriff Cross on the arm. “Were you on your way to Santa’s Village?”

  John nodded and righted his crooked beard
. “Yes, young lady. I shouldn’t have stepped into the street without looking both ways, but I was—Carol was upset about something and I wasn’t thinking. It won’t happen again, Sheriff.”

  Sheriff Cross sighed. “I should give you a citation, but considering it’s the holidays, I’ll let you off with a warning.”

  John Collins smiled gratefully and trudged down the street toward Lakefront Park and the waiting fair.

  “Can you imagine if you ran over Santa Claus?” Hazel said, her eyes wide.

  “I don’t want to,” Sheriff Cross said and moved to get back into his SUV. “I’ll park and meet you in CATfeinated?”

  “Yeah, that works for me,” Hazel said and glanced into the Christmas shop.

  Carol Collins glared past Hazel, her expression as near to murderous as Hazel had ever seen, and a chill went up her spine.

  “Merry Christmas,” she called and wondered if the sound traveled through the garishly decorated windows.

  Carol Collins pursed her lips and vanished into the depths of her shop, leaving Hazel alone on the snow covered sidewalk wondering what that was about.

  Chapter 2

  Anthony Ray yowled a greeting as soon as Hazel opened the door to her Wild @ Hart photography studio. Michael stood behind the fluffy black cat looking harassed.

  "You didn't have to get here so early on a Saturday," Hazel said and shut the door behind her. No matter how quickly she did it, a gust of snow managed to blow in after her.

  Michael shrugged. "I was excited about the fair, so I decided to come in early. And then he was here. What's up?" Michael asked, his tone careful.

  "Marley Sinclair was found dead in his house. Heart attack. Not murder," Hazel said, feeling the need to make that clear since almost all of the deaths she'd come across in the last year were murder, one way or the other.