Murder and a Song (A Pattie Lansbury Cat Cozy Mystery Series Book 2)

by Nancy C. Davis

  Pattie awoke to the sound of her doorbell ringing. She coaxed the drowsy Mia off her lap and made her way to the door. Real life compared to the dream was stiff and slow. She sighed as she opened the front door. Outside was Detective Constable Downey, looking thoroughly exhausted, with a cat in his arms.

  “Hello, Mrs Lansbury.”

  “Please, come in – I think the kettle’s still warm.”

  “I’d better not stay, if that’s alright,” said the D.C., handing over the placid animal. “I’ve got to get back to the investigation. Juliette took a team to the campsite but the suspects weren’t there. They hadn’t packed anything up, and the van was still there, so either they did a runner on foot or they don’t know that we’re on to them. Are you sure about this cat being involved?”

  Pattie gathered up the legs of the wriggling ginger tom and stroked him gently. “I’m sure that this little fellow holds the key to the whole thing. I’m just not sure how, yet.”

  D.C. Downey smiled. “I thought I’d better leave him with you for the time being. Juliette and I are trusting your hunch on this.”

  “Don’t you agree that things are adding up so far?” asked Pattie.

  “Well, there must be something going on … First Ms Carter and her dead boyfriend, then her affair with Harry Widmore who turns up dead, this cat of Seth MacGowan’s, who’d been mixed up with Daryl Hardy … If you’re seeing the lynchpin for all this, please fill me in!”

  Pattie took O’Malley a few steps into the hallway and then gently put him down on the carpet. He flicked his tail and looked at the front door, but Simba was Pattie’s savour: he touched noses with the new cat, and O’Malley seemed to sense that this was a friendly and safe place to be.

  “The cat is the lynchpin,” Pattie told D.C. Downey. “And once I’ve had a bit of time with him, I’ll be able to tell you how. Meanwhile, we don’t know what these awful men are up to, or what they’re really capable of.”

  “We’ll catch them,” the D.C. assured her. “Goodnight, Mrs Lansbury.”

  “Goodnight … and good luck.”

  D.C. Downey walked back to his car, where it was parked at the side of the road with another officer at the wheel. Pattie closed the door and looked at herself in the small mirror nailed to the wall, rubbed her eyes and called for Simba. Simba trotted up for a nuzzle, and Pattie scratched him behind the ear where he liked it. “Good boy, for making friends, Simba.”

  Pattie collected a box of treats from a drawer and rattled them. O’Malley put his head around the corner. So Seth and Elaine MacGowan at least treated their feline friend occasionally; he was familiar with the sound and associated it with tasty goodness. She took out a treat and held it out for him to eat. He was not shy about approaching her and nipping it out of her fingers with his teeth.

  She sat in the armchair and let him come to her for more. Once he’d had a few she put the box behind her back and turned him around to examine him.

  O’Malley was a gorgeous ginger tabby with a fleecy white belly and white legs. Strangely, his tail was also white, as was the back of his neck. His tabbyness was restricted to a saddle on his back, giving him a turtle-ish appearance when he crouched, and a cap on his head. Pattie checked his paws: good sharp claws and strong pads, which signified an adventurous outdoors cat. His fur was in good condition, although there were several burrs caught up in it, which Pattie picked out for him. There was a thinning around his neck from collar-use. He had clear eyes and strong, clean teeth and gums. He was nice and plump.

  There was nothing to suggest that O’Malley was anything but an active farm cat with an attentive owner. Pattie fed him one last treat, and then put out a clean blanket for him to curl up on. She was surprised to see that he was quite lethargic. Perhaps he’d recently eaten a bird? Maybe giving him those treats had been a bad idea … But then, poor O’Malley had been through quite an ordeal: trapped in a box for some reason, possibly for two days or so, and why? Even being in the custody of a police Constable and now safely at Pat’s Whiskers would be a little traumatic. How was he to know that he was finally safe and about to be returned home?

  She went to the phone and dialled for the MacGowan farm. She wanted to tell Seth and Elaine that their cat was safe and would be returned to them ASAP. There was no answer. She left her usual polite voicemail and hung up.

  Pattie thought about it for a moment, then picked up the receiver to dial for Elliott Knight.

  Chapter 21

  It was getting close to 21:30 at the festival campsite. Constable Palmer was slumped back in the driver’s seat of the police van.

  “How long are we going to wait out here, Juliette?” asked Officer Peterson. “These guys must be on to us; they’re not going to come back now.”

  “Idiots like these will come back for their stuff,” Constable Palmer told him. “You can bet on it. They’re probably just hiding out in a beer tent somewhere and hoping we’re gone by the time they get back.”

  “Well, the police van’s hardly inconspicuous,” said Officer Hill, who was sat in the back keeping the log and trying not to fall asleep.

  “There are police cars parked all around this place, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Look,” said Officer Peterson suddenly, pointing. Constable Palmer followed his gaze and saw two men hanging about near a burger van. They wore hoodies with the hoods up, and appeared to be watching the tent in plot 369.

  “Could be them,” said Constable Palmer. “Watch them. Hill, log it and I’ll call it in.”

  She turned down the FM and picked up the police radio to report that they might have sight of the suspects. As she was doing so, the two men began to walk towards the plot.

  “I think they’ve spotted us,” said Officer Peterson.

  “Just don’t move and see if they’ll risk it. They don’t know for sure that there’s anyone in here or that we’re waiting for them.”

  “We should have kept them in custody when we had them.”

  “If we did that for every suspect we didn’t like the look of, we’d need a much bigger station, wouldn’t we?”

  “Okay, they’re carrying on … Get ready.”

  The officers never took their eyes off the two men striding towards the tent. They watched them hesitate, then peer at the police van long enough to see the officers inside – then they ran.

  “Damn it!” shouted Constable Palmer, grabbing for the door. “Get after them!”

  The officers jumped out of the van as the suspects made a run for it. They chased them on foot between the clustered tents and crowds, dodging and pushing between groups of people. Constable Palmer screamed for the suspects to stop, but of course they didn’t; the two men had already plotted an escape route through the campsite and were soon so far ahead that the Constable could barely see them anymore.

  “Keep on them!” she shouted. “Don’t let them get away!”

  The officers dodged and leapt, keeping up with the Constable, but the suspects knew their route too well and were already at the edge of the treeline.

  “They’re going into the woods!” called Constable Palmer. “Spread out!”

  But as soon as the police team ran into the trees, all they saw were the tall columns of pine and birch intersecting the filtered moonlight. The Constable knew that the suspects couldn’t have gotten far, and had probably stopped to hide. It would only be a matter time before they were found.

  She called out to her team: “Search the trees! They’re around here somewhere. Be careful – but find them!”

  Chapter 22

  Elliott Knight arrived to a sleeping house. Only Pattie was awake; she had him take his usual seat in her lounge, where he was surrounded by half a dozen snoring kitties. She liked the way that he moved quietly to avoid waking them. She made a pot of his favourite Darjeeling and brought it out in the trolley with a small jug of milk and a selection of biscuits. The Doctor was fond of Scottish shortbreads, so she always made sure she had some in.

  �
��Here we are,” she said. “This should tide us over until we’re finished.”

  “Thank you, Patricia. You’re always the perfect host.”

  “I try, Elliott.”

  “Now, where is the reason I’m here? I presume there’s a furry gentleman in need of some medical attention?” he said, rubbing his hands together.

  Pattie smiled and went to fetch O’Malley, who was sleeping in the bathroom on the scrunched-up blanket that Pattie had put out for him. He was limp and docile when she picked him up, surprising her. She supported his bottom and back legs and brought him in for Elliott. O’Malley blinked sleepily on Elliott’s lap.

  “Well, he seems placid enough.”

  “I think he’s entirely too placid for a farm cat. I’m not certain that he isn’t unwell, but I couldn’t find any injuries.”

  “Let’s have a look here…” said Elliott.

  He touched each of O’Malley’s paws, then worked each joint in his legs, squeezed and bent his tail at different intervals, then peered into his hairy ears and examined his mouth.

  “Apart from his dopey eyes, he doesn’t seem to have any injuries and doesn’t seem sick. Let me have a feel here…”

  The Doc-cum-vet gave O’Malley a few strokes to remind him that he was safe, then reached down with both hands to palpate his stomach. O’Malley winced and his tail flicked around Elliott’s knee.

  “Hmmm … I wonder if…”

  Elliott continued to palpate the cat’s fluffy stomach, then O’Malley gave a wheezy cough and jumped down to the floor.

  Elliott accepted a small cloth from Pattie to clean his hands on. “I think that’s the problem. He probably ate something that’s disagreeing with him. Have you got any plants he can chew on?”

  “Only basil,” said Pattie. “Short of letting him outside, but I really don’t want that…”

  “Well, if it’s really giving him trouble he’ll bring it up sooner or later. If you said that those men were keeping him shut in a van, maybe they fed him something stupid that he can’t digest easily. Hamburger or pizza, or something they picked up at the campsite. You know what some morons can be like when they aren’t used to pets.”

  They both watched the cat, who sat on the carpet with his eyes almost closed, his tail twitching gently in agitation. Pattie felt sorry for O’Malley, and all that he’d been through.

  “You know, Patricia,” said Elliott, munching on a biscuit between sips of his hot tea, “you’d be the perfect person to open up her own veterinary practice here in Little Hamilton. It’s not like we haven’t needed one for years, and I can’t go on moonlighting like this – not least because I haven’t the training.”

  Pattie laughed. “Well, neither have I!”

  “No, but you’ve much more experience than I have, and no-one could say that you didn’t really care for the animals. There’d be none of these complaints about a vet that’s ripping them off through their insurance. I think you’d be perfect!”

  Pattie and Elliott grinned at one another until it became awkward. Pattie had begun to think that the young man she’d been dancing with in her dream had been Elliott. It seemed pretty obvious, but she didn’t want it to be true. She felt that she was too old for romance. She was too old for a lot of things. But how long was she supposed to go on merely satisfied, when her life could potentially be so much more…?

  “I’m just going to make a phone call,” Pattie murmured.

  Elliott looked up. “Patricia? Did I say something wrong?”

  Chapter 23

  Pattie was already in the hallway, dialling D.C. Downey’s extension at the station. He picked up after a few rings and said his name in a weary voice.

  “Detective Constable?” said Pattie. “It’s Patricia Lansbury. I was just calling to see how things are going.”

  “Hello, Mrs Lansbury. Well, Constable Palmer and a small team were watching the suspects’ tent in case they showed up, which they did. The team chased them on foot but lost them. Constable Palmer thinks they have some hideout near the woods. Short of raiding all the tents near the treeline I’m not sure what else we can do.”

  “You could have the festival shut down,” Pattie told him. “They’ve already murdered two people.”

  “We don’t know that, Mrs Lansbury. We only have a lot of speculation. I’m already pushing the boat out just having those few officers pulled off the festival duty. The Chief’s not going to agree to any more use of tight resources, and he’s definitely not going to let me shut down the festival and send home sixty thousand people. The best we can do is post an officer by their tent and let him call for back up when he sees them come back.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to cut it,” Pattie replied gently. “But I understand that you don’t have a choice. Could you let me know if anything happens?”

  “Of course,” said D.C. Downey, and hung up.

  Pattie put the phone down quickly, having heard a dry coughing from the lounge. O’Malley was hacking up a hairball about the size of a freighter, from the sounds of it. She was about to walk through when her mobile rang in the kitchen.

  “Patricia?” called Elliott from the other room. “You’re going to want to see this…”

  “Just a moment please, dear,” called Pattie, and went to answer her mobile. The call was from an unknown number. She answered it anyway. “Hello? Patricia Lansbury speaking.”

  “Pattie?” said a female voice. “It’s Laura Conrad, from YTV News.”

  “I know who you are, Miss Conrad. You don’t have to introduce yourself every time. And it’s Patricia, if you don’t mind. How did you get my number?”

  “I’m an investigative reporter. C’mon.”

  “May I asked why on Earth you are whispering?” asked Pattie, attempting to restrain her temper.

  Down the phone, Laura Conrad said in a hushed voice, “Pattie, please listen to me. Right this moment I’m up a tree in the woods next to the festival site.”

  “Why are you—?”

  “Because I just followed your suspects Farrell and Draper here, that’s why. They’re hiding in a coal store about a quarter of a mile in. It’s about halfway between where their tent is and the stone bridge where Harry Widmore’s body was found.”

  “Why aren’t you calling the police with this?” asked Pattie.

  “I tried, but all their lines are busy. It must be the festival. Can you get to the station and have someone come out right away? I don’t know how long these guys are gonna stay here, and I can’t follow them around forever.”

  “Alright,” said Pattie. “Hold tight. I’ll call them now.”

  “Thank you,” whispered the reporter. “Hurry!”

  Pattie made a call to the station, but the line was engaged. She knew that she couldn’t wait long, so she grabbed her coat from the hook and put it on. “Elliott? I’m afraid I’ll have to nip out for a few minutes; it’s urgent.”

  “Patricia, come here.”

  Pattie responded to his tone and walked into the lounge. She saw at once that O’Malley had been sick, and produced an enormous sticky hairball on her carpet. “Oh dear…”

  “Look a little closer,” said Elliott, who was peering at the thing from a distance of three inches himself, despite the smell. “I don’t think this is just a hairball…!”

  Chapter 24

  Constable Juliette Palmer had all but given up trying to find her two suspects in the woodland. They had searched the area for twenty minutes, but it was as though they had vanished into thin air. Her officers had looked up trees, kicked through fern and bracken, and scoured the edge of the riverbank for hidey-holes. But there was no hideaway to be found, and so Constable Palmer had left two of her officers staking out the tent and let the rest call it a night. She was in the van driving home officer Hill.

  “It’ll be the Chief that’s going to get it in the neck if another body shows up,” she murmured, checking her mirror before turning a corner. “I swear.”

  The station radi
o crackled: “Car six, car six, please respond. Over.”

  The Constable picked up the receiver. “I’m here. Over.”

  “Juliette, it’s Tom. Are you home yet?”

  “I can’t be if I’m in the van talking to you on this radio, can I?”

  “Good point. Turn around. We have a lead on Farrell and Draper. They’re still in the woods and we have an eyewitness still on the scene.”

  “You’re kidding. Who?”

  “She’s blonde, carries a notepad and shares the tendencies of a Rottweiler,” D.C. Downey replied.

  “That YTV woman?” Constable Palmer snapped. “I already threatened her with cell-time if she didn’t back off until we were ready!”

  “Well, she just called Patricia Lansbury and said she’s hanging off a branch right now near some old coal bunker in the woods. Get there ASAP. I’m driving out now and will meet you there, alright?”

  “I have Officer Hill with me in the van, he can come too. See you there. Over and out.”

  Officer Hill tutted. “Great. And I thought I was about to finally get some sleep.”

  Chapter 25

  The van pealed through the campsite and slid to a halt in the mud by the treeline. Constable Palmer and Officer Hill jumped out and met D.C. Downey and the two officers who had been staking out the tent.

  “I just had Laura Conrad on the phone,” said D.C. Downey. “She says they haven’t left the bunker. We’re looking for a small concrete shed built into a hillside about a quarter of a mile northwest of here. She says we’ll cross a path with a fallen tree just before we get to the hillside. The coal store doesn’t have a door on it and it looks like it’s a single room about fifteen square feet. They just lit a lamp or something inside so we might see the flame. Let’s go and take these guys in, swiftly and safely, alright?”