by Nic Saint
The four of us were seated on the swing on Marge and Tex’s back porch. Tex was officiating the barbecue, aided and abetted by Chase, Uncle Alec was recounting the story of how Angelique and Trey Ackerman had been charged with murder, and Gran was messing around with her phone, checking the footage she’d shot in the course of the investigation.
“You know? You really outdid yourself this time, Max,” said Brutus.
“How is that?”
“I still don’t get how you had that sudden brainwave that led you to figure out what happened.”
“I told you. It was the plastic hamburger. I suddenly remembered Big Mac going on and on about how the pizza guy wasn’t a real pizza guy because he didn’t smell like one. So that plastic burger got me thinking. What if Big Mac was right? What if the pizza guy wasn’t a pizza guy? What if it was the killer pretending to be a pizza guy? Which meant he would have ditched the outfit as soon as he got the chance. So if only we could find it—”
“We’d find the killer,” Brutus said. “Pretty clever, buddy.”
“Max followed the pizza boxes,” said Dooley. “Just like Aurora Teagarden.”
We all laughed. Dooley was right. The pizza boxes had led us to the killers.
“The real hero is, of course, Big Mac,” I said. “He’s solved the whole thing.”
We all looked in the direction of the big red cat, who was gobbling down the hamburger patties Tex kept feeding him. Finally, he waddled over in our direction. He was too big to jump up onto the swing, so he stayed where he was, then heaved a soft burp.
“And? How do you like the taste of a real burger?” I asked.
Big Mac shook his head sadly. “It’s not the same, you guys.”
“But these are real burgers—not the junk food you usually eat.”
“Yeah, but junk food tastes so much better,” said Big Mac. “Honestly? There’s no comparison. No offense,” he added for Tex’s sake.
“He can’t understand you,” said Harriet. “Only Odelia, Marge and Vesta can.”
“Weird. What about the buff dude?”
“Nope. Chase doesn’t understand us either.”
“Or the sheriff?”
Harriet shook her head. “Only the women in this family speak feline.”
“Huh. Too bad. Would be so easy if the whole world could understand us.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” said Clarice, who’d joined us. She’d been coming and going these last couple of days, trying to get accustomed to having her own home. I had a feeling it wouldn’t last, though. Once a feral cat, always a feral cat. Odelia had tried to domesticate her once before and it hadn’t worked. Then again, Clarice probably wouldn’t be the same if she became like the rest of us. That was part of her appeal. And the reason I liked her.
“What are you guys talking about?” she asked now.
“Humans,” said Big Mac.
“Oh, don’t get me started on humans,” she growled, darting a cold look at the humans gathered in the backyard. At that moment Odelia offered Clarice a piece of raw burger. She swallowed it down whole. Odelia laughed and fed her another piece.
“These humans aren’t so bad,” said Big Mac.
“I guess not,” said Clarice grudgingly.
Clarice and Big Mac stalked off, to gobble up some more burger, and Brutus and Harriet followed their example, only to abruptly change course and disappear through the hedge into the next garden. Brutus probably wanted to show Harriet his lack of spots.
“Do you think Clarice will be part of the gang from now on, Max?” asked Dooley.
“Pretty sure she won’t. She’s a street cat, Dooley. What’s more, she rules those streets.”
“I don’t get it.”
“We think Clarice should be saved from her dumpster-diving ways but that’s not how she feels about it. She’s free out there, the queen of the urban jungle. Sometimes I think it’s she who pities us, and not the other way around. Pities our sedentary, domesticated lives.”
“I don’t get it,” Dooley repeated.
“Have you never wanted to roam the streets as a wild cat, Dooley? Not knowing whether you’re going to find food or not, but happy with every morsel you do find? Give those old hunting instincts free rein? Become wild and free once more, like our ancestors?”
Dooley stared at me. “Is this a trick question?”
“Haven’t you ever wondered if there’s another world out there? A world beyond the safety of our houses, our backyards, the humans who protect and feed us, even this town?”
He chewed on that for a moment. “Actually, no,” he said. “I think we’re blessed, Max. Only sometimes we lose sight of the fact. We forget how lucky we are. And it takes events like the ones that transpired last week to bring that truth home to us. It takes Brutus almost dying from his spots and Odelia and Gran almost being shot and the sky almost falling down on us and the earth opening up and swallowing us whole to remember how lucky we are.”
I stared at him. “You figured that all out on your own?”
He leveled a funny look at me. “I’m not as dumb as I look, Max.”
“I guess you’re not,” I agreed.
“The thing I’ve realized this past week is that I’m probably the luckiest cat alive,” he said musingly. “I have the best humans, who love me very much—one of them is Jesus, even though I still haven’t found his sheep—I have the best buddies, in Harriet and Brutus. But most of all, I have the best friend in the whole wide world. You, Max. I love you, buddy.”
“I… love you, too,” I said, surprised. My eyes were suddenly moist. I wiped at them.
“Darn cold,” Dooley muttered, wiping at his own eyes.
“Yeah, darn cold,” I said, sniffling.
We sat in silence for a moment.
Then Dooley held up his fist.
I bumped it.
Boom.
THE END
Thanks for reading! If you liked this book, please share the fun by leaving a review!
And if you want to know when a new Nic Saint comes out, sign up for our mailing list HERE.
Excerpt from Murder at the Art Class (Emily Stone Book 1)
Chapter One
“Did you see the new guy?”
Clara’s voice was barely above a whisper, clearly awed to be sharing the same space with this ‘new guy’.
“Yes, I’ve seen him,” said Emily. “In fact I was the one who suggested this position.”
Clara’s eyes turned to her friend and colleague. “You know him?”
Em shrugged while she turned off the heaving and coughing coffee machine and placed two cups of espresso macchiato on a tray and added spoons and spiced gingerbread muffins with salted caramel frosting. “He’s in my life drawing class.”
“No way!” said Clara, a robust ginger-haired young woman. “Don’t tell me this is one of those nude life drawing classes?”
Emily nodded, suppressing a tiny smile as she watched Clara’s eyes go wide as saucers. “Yup. Buck-nekkid.”
“Oh. My. God! Where is this class? I totally have to sign up!”
“I told you about my class before, remember? And you told me you didn’t have a single artistic bone in your body and therefore weren’t eligible.”
“That was before I knew there were nekkid men prancing about.”
“They don’t prance about. They just… lie there.”
“I’ll bet there’s lots and lots of women in your class,” said Clara, dreamily following the new guy’s every movement as he wended his way through the room, serving customers of the Roast Bean with a deft flourish.
“Lots and lots,” Emily confirmed dryly. In fact this season they’d seen record attendance at the Community Arts School where she’d been a volunteer for the past two years. The school offered adult classes in dance, music, theater and drawing, apart from its daytime high school curriculum. It wasn’t the school she’d attended, being a transplant from Pennsylvania, but it was the school located just around the corner fro
m where she lived in Bushwick, Brooklyn and the school where her roommate Ansel spent his formative years.
“He’s coming,” said Clara in urgent tones. She pushed at her ginger curls. “How do I look?”
Emily gave her friend a once-over. “You look fine, Clara. Though I wouldn’t get my hopes up. I have a feeling John’s roving eye has already landed elsewhere.”
Clara’s own eye flicked back to the new barista and her face crumpled. “Who?!”
It didn’t take her long to figure it out for herself, though. John Sunderland, the young man who’d recently joined the Roast Bean’s employ, was chatting up a young waitress who’d also just joined their ranks. The young woman in question was stunning, no doubt about it, and seemed to enjoy the attention John was lavishing on her with visible relish.
“Of course,” grunted Clara. “Ken would fall for Barbie’s charm, wouldn’t he?” She threw up her hands. “It’s just not fair! Why can’t us mere mortals ever catch a break?”
“I wouldn’t be too disappointed if I were you,” said Emily.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Young John Sunderland is a heartbreaker, honey.”
“I see what you mean,” said Clara, her gaze landing on yet another new addition to the personnel roster. “Look at that Anton Crotch.”
“I think his name is Tanton Skroch.”
“Whatever. That guy gives new meaning to the word mooning.”
They both studied Tanton for a moment. He was a couple of years older than the rest of the Roast Bean’s young staff, built like a brick wall, with black hair slicked back from a pale and receding brow, and never let John Sunderland out of his sight for even a single second.
“Puppy love,” said Emily with a smile. “So cute.”
“Not so cute to me,” spoke a voice behind them.
Both Clara and Emily looked up. They’d been joined by Teddy Lynett, the coffee shop’s manager. Teddy was a weaselly little man with a distinct overbite and a spotty complexion. And if that wasn’t bad enough, at thirty-four he was fast becoming bald.
“Don’t you like it when young people are in love, Teddy?” asked Clara.
“Not when they’re on my payroll I don’t,” Teddy said, darting annoyed glances at both Tanton and John. “I pay those morons to serve the customers, not to act out some hormonal fantasy.” And with these words, he stalked over to John and Justyna, clearly with the intention of breaking up the budding lovefest.
“Teddy’s right,” said Clara. “We’re here to work, not flirt.”
Emily laughed. “You mean, Justyna is here to work, not flirt with your crush.”
“I don’t have a crush,” said Clara. “I just think Justyna is very unprofessional, that’s all.” And with these words, she deftly picked up a tray she’d prepared, and sashayed away.
John and Justyna, their little tryst rudely interrupted by Teddy, moved in opposite directions. John joined Emily behind the counter, while Justyna took a customer’s order.
“That Teddy is such a bore,” said John with an eyeroll. “Doesn’t he realize there are more important things in the world than work, work, work all the time?”
Emily studied her young colleague for a moment. With his strong jawline, clear blue eyes and perfectly coiffed dark hair with fashionable highlights, he could have been a male model. She didn’t know a whole lot about him, except that he was studying at Columbia, and that he’d suddenly turned up at the Community Arts School out of the blue.
“You don’t like Teddy?” Emily asked now.
John shrugged, picked up a brownie, and took a bite. “I do not like bullies.”
John had a strong accent, possibly Eastern European. It was different from Ansel’s, though, who was Ukrainian. “Teddy is not a bully,” said Emily. “He’s just trying to make this place work.”
“I still say he is a bully,” said John with an intent look at the manager. “Anyone who comes in the way of true love is a bully in my opinion.”
From the corner of her eye, Emily saw that Tanton Skroch was still observing John intently. John, for his part, ignored the other man blithely. “Are you in love with Justyna?”
John arched a nicely shaped eyebrow. “Of course I’m in love. Isn’t she the most gorgeous creature you’ve ever seen? That girl is an absolute grade-A stunner, is she not?”
“She is pretty,” Emily conceded.
“Pretty?” John laughed. “That is an understatement, Emily Stone.”
Emily was surprised John was aware of her surname. Then again, if there was any truth to his reputation as a ladies’ man, he would pay attention to small details like that. “Where are you from, John?” she asked now.
He gave her an amused glance. “If I tell you I was American born and bred, you wouldn’t believe me?”
“No, I wouldn’t. Your accent… are you Russian?”
“Silvistanian. It is a small country located in the heart of the Caucasus.” He turned to face her. “Now tell me about you, Emily Stone. Do you have a boyfriend? A lover? Husband perhaps?”
She laughed. “Not exactly.”
“But you do have a roommate. Is he not your lover also?”
“Ansel? No way.” She could have told John that Ansel played for the other team but that wasn’t her story to tell.
John’s attention didn’t waver and she felt her cheeks redden under the scrutiny. “I don’t understand. A beautiful young woman such as yourself. Why don’t you have a boyfriend? Don’t you like to love and be loved?” Then he snapped his fingers. “You and… Clara. You are girlfriends, yes? You are lovers?”
“No,” she said with a frown. The last thing she wanted was to discuss her love life with a guy who’d just professed his undying love for one of her colleagues. “Let’s just say I haven’t found the right one yet.”
John smiled a knowing smile. “Go out with me tonight, Emily Stone. I have lots and lots of friends. I’m very certain you will find the right one amongst them. They are all very handsome and very rich.”
“I’m volunteering at the school tonight, remember? And you’re modeling.”
“Afterwards. We will paint this town blue and you will fall in love and be happy!”
“Paint the town red, you mean.”
He did the jazz hands thing. “All the colors of the rainbow for you!”
She had to smile at his enthusiasm. “Won’t Justyna be jealous if you ask me out?”
“Oh, but Justyna is coming, too.”
“What about your admirer?” she said, indicating Tanton Skroch.
John made a throwaway gesture with his hand. “Oh, don’t mind him.”
Clara had joined them and Emily thought there were actual stars in her friend’s eyes as she stood staring at John.
“Can I come, too?” Clara asked, a little piteously.
“Of course! The more the better,” said John. He tapped Clara on the nose. “You will find love tonight, Clara Collett. We will all drink and be merry and live happily ever after.”
“I would like that,” said Clara, gushing.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” said Teddy. “When are you people going to understand that you’re here to work and not pretend you’re the cast from Mamma Mia?”
John gave Emily a wink. “What did I tell you? Work, work, work!”
“Chop, chop, chop,” said Teddy. “Or else you’ll all live without a job ever after.” He directed a scathing look at John. “And who’s going to pay for your highlights then, sunshine?”
Chapter Two
That night, Emily saw a lot of familiar faces at the art school. John was there, of course, and so was Justyna, whom apparently he’d invited to join the class. Tanton Skroch was there, clearly as fixated on his male crush as he’d been at the coffee shop, and Emily even though she recognized a Roast Bean customer in a young and stern-faced young man with a hooknose and eyes so dark they almost appeared black.
Possibly another one of John Sunderland’s many admirers, be they
male or female.
The place where the life drawing class took place on a weekly basis was a large, airy and cozily cluttered room on the ground floor of the Community Arts School, tucked away near the back, with a view of a small inner-city garden, and the red-brick back walls of neighboring houses. Easels had been placed in a semi-circle around a dais where a table had been placed for the model to relax for the two hours that the class usually ran.
The walls were covered with artwork from current and previous students, some accurately depicting the human form, others… not so much. There were a few drawings of John’s backside, according to some his most fetching feature, and a lot of other models. The school’s janitor Adelric Lidd, a bushy-browed rail-thin septuagenarian, shuffled in and out of the room, helping Emily and Judyta Kenworthy, the art teacher, to organize the class.
Judyta was a striking woman of middle age, with remarkable green eyes, sharp-cut features, and invariably dressed in brightly colored kaftans. Today she was resplendent in turquoise, accessorizing her garb with a string of pearls and a burgundy headdress. Emily, dressed as usual in jeans and a shapeless but comfy sweater, felt positively underdressed.
“I thought we were going out?” asked John when he caught sight of her.
“I live just around the corner,” she explained. “I’ll just pop home and change.”
“Of course you could always go out in that,” he said, casting a critical eye at her orange Brooklyn College sweater. “I’m sure it’s very… American.”
And with these words, he turned away from her and joined Justyna, who was looking more like Barbie than ever, with her platinum hair and her immaculately made-up face.
“Are you and John going out tonight, dear?” asked old Sylvia Koss, who was the class’s most loyal pupil. She’d been coming to class for many many years, and was one of its most gifted students, her artistic talent unrivaled after so much practice.
“Yeah. He wants to introduce me to some of his friends,” said Emily, setting up the extra easels Adelric had just hoisted in. John’s popularity had created a unique problem: not enough easels for all the new signups. So Adelric had raided one of the daytime art classes for extra easels and chairs.