Deirdre The Cat Lady Sleuth (Deirdre The Cat Lady Sleuth Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by Nancy C. Davis

  Joe sat his tabby butt down and meowed at her loudly.

  “Yes I know, I have to go out again.” He meowed insistently. “Alright, you two can come but behave, won’t you? No running off and making trouble for me.”

  And so the three of them got back in the car and drove back downtown. The light was still on in Frank White’s office, just as she knew it would be. Frank was a classic workaholic. He was a widower but he’d been just as devoted to his job when his wife was alive.

  Deirdre parked on the dark and deserted Main Street. The cats hopped out after her. She used the heavy brass doorknocker. There was some shuffling within and then Frank’s grizzled face appeared. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

  “I’ve been expecting you.”

  “Why does every man in this town look so put out when they see me?” Deirdre countered, crossing her arms. “Am I really that bad?”

  “I bet Sam doesn’t.”

  “You leave Sam out of this,” she replied, pushing past him. “I brought Flipper and Joe too.”

  Frank closed the door and stared at the two furry creatures that now sat on his red Turkish rug. “Cats freak me out. You know that. I always feel like they’re staring at me.”

  “Ever heard of curiosity and the cat?” She sat in the chair opposite his heavy wooden desk. The red plaid curtains and brown leather furniture gave the place a very clubby, masculine feel. Framed certificates decorated the walls and piles of folders covered his desk.

  Frank settled in across from her. “I’ve obviously heard about Doc. And that you found him.”

  “Yes, this morning. It’s a terrible thing. I’ve been trying to get a hold of Libby but she must be busy with the police.” Frank nodded slowly, admitting nothing. “And you must be busy too. Being Doc’s attorney and all.”

  The lawyer folded his hands over his round belly. “How do you figure that?”

  “Com’on, Frank. You’re everyone’s attorney in this town. Mine. Sam’s. My cleaning lady’s. Let’s not be cute.”

  He laughed, his belly jiggling. “I can always count on you to cut to the chase, Deirdre. Yes, I am Doc’s lawyer.”

  She leaned in. “Here’s the thing. Sam and I were having lunch at the Cove Café this afternoon when Margaret Gray overheard us. We had to take her home she was so upset. Turns out she and Doc were having an affair. She admitted to us that Doc was preoccupied with his will lately. Out of character for him, too. Now Frank, seems mighty suspicious that a man was obsessed with his will just before he was murdered, don’t you think?”

  The lawyer looked at her evenly for a moment. “Deirdre, you’ve always had a good head on your shoulders. You bring up some good points. But you know I can’t share confidential information with you. The contents of the will have to be divulged to the family when the time comes. I can’t tell you a thing about it.”

  Deirdre took a deep breath. She knew this. Of course. And yet she’d still been compelled to come see him. She looked over her shoulder to check on the cats. Flipper was sitting in the middle of the floor, staring intently at a fly buzzing on the ceiling, his big yellow eyes filled with mute wonder. Joe meanwhile was pacing the room impatiently as if on the prowl for something. His skinny tabby tail stuck straight up like a divining rod looking for water.

  Frank leaned over to riffle through some papers on his desk, perhaps as a cover for his embarrassment as Deirdre was looking at him like she wasn’t going to leave until she got some answers. He accidently brushed one piece and it floated off the desk towards her. Joe immediately shot across the room and pounced on the sheet. Frank leaned forward and tried to shoo the little tabby off but he hissed and growled loudly, the fur on the back of his neck standing up.

  “He’s possessed!” the lawyer exclaimed as he tried to force the skinny cat off.

  “Let me.” Deirdre scooped up cat and paper in one go.

  It was the will.

  She knew she only had seconds before Frank snatched it so her eyes went immediately to the crucial point – who was to inherit the B&B.

  The name listed shocked her. Betty Hall. Libby’s sister.

  As expected, the lawyer grabbed the sheet from her. “Oh heck Deirdre, of all the pages to fall…”

  “It’s funny how things work,” she said, unable to resist a little smile. “Or how Joe works, I should say. He has an uncanny way of always finding what I’m looking for.”

  Frank shot the tabby an annoyed look. He sat in his owner’s lap, innocently washing his face with his paw as if nothing had happened. “It’s like he’s your familiar.”

  “Oh no witch references, Frank. Please. An old lady like me has enough to deal with. Let’s stick with crazy cat lady, why don’t we?”

  The lawyer reddened. “I’m sorry Deirdre, it’s been quite a day.”

  “I imagine.” She got up. It had been for her too. Now she had what she needed. Might as well tuck herself into bed with tea, a book and cats and call it a night.

  Chapter 9

  A chilly wind blew off the sea the following morning as Deirdre stepped out her front door. She’d thrown on a long-sleeve white T-shirt with her usual jeans and put her medium length iron gray hair back in a clip. Practical and functional – that was her. She was never much one for dressing up.

  She stood for a moment on her cozy porch full of wicker furniture and rose-patterned cushions. The ocean rolled in big white waves against a dusky purple sky. The sun was still coming up. For a moment she wished it was Saturday. She could sit out here all morning with her coffee while reading a fat paperback. Sam would join her and she’d cook them up a late breakfast of flapjacks and maple syrup. Bliss.

  No time for that now. She locked up the front door, the cats waiting patiently by the car. She let them in and reversed the car out of the parking space. It was early but possibly not too early to pay an important visit to Betty.

  Ms. Hall lived a ways out of town in a little red cottage in the woods. She’d always been a strange sort, private and withdrawn. Never mean or gossipy like Margaret, just plain old unavailable. Some years ago there’d been rumors that she’d come into money. She’d fixed up the cottage, bought a new car and hired people to landscape her yard. This seemed strange since she’d always worked as a secretary at the insurance office downtown and later transitioned to being a virtual secretary based out of her home.

  The theory was that she won the lottery. Libby always laughed when she heard the rumor but she never said much about it nor about her sister. They weren’t close but then again, no one was close to Betty Hall. She preferred her own company.

  The tall firs closed around the road as Deirdre drove farther out. She took sips from her travel mug, sighing as the coffee warmed her belly. The sky was lightening but there was still a bank of violet clouds overhead. She pulled into a long driveway and drove up to the tiny red cottage at its head.

  She had to admit Betty had fixed it up real nice. There was a porch out front and a little addition at the side. The trim was painted a fresh white and there was a new peaked black roof on top. Lush flowerbeds surrounded it and flagstone paths led to the road and back out to the yard where Deirdre could see vegetable beds and a little pond edged in stone.

  She parked the car and let out the cats. Joe was out like a shot, darting around the yard feverishly. Flipper merely ambled up the path, his big black and white behind swaying as he made his way. A light was on downstairs so Betty had to be up. Perfect. Deirdre knocked smartly, holding her breath as she heard footsteps approaching.

  The door swung open and Betty stuck her head out. She was a mild-looking lady, rather short, with short dyed brown hair who seemed to live in sweatshirts and jeans. But there was a distinct crease between her eyebrows that day and her manner was pretty unwelcoming.

  “You’re here early, Deirdre” she said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Have you talked to Libby?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m so sorry, Betty.”

&n
bsp; “Well, he wasn’t my husband. Do you need something?”

  Deirdre frowned. “Not particularly. I just wanted to check in. It’s such an awful thing. And who knows what’ll happen to the B&B now.”

  The woman pursed her lips. “None of my business. Listen, I thank you for your concern but I really outta get on with my day. Bye now.”

  And with that the door was shut in her face. Deirdre stood there, stunned, for a moment. Then she looked back. The cats were already at the car waiting as if they knew the whole thing was futile.

  She drove back to the main road but pulled over to dial Libby again. She hated that they hadn’t spoken yet. Happily, her friend picked up.

  “Lib!” Deirdre cried. “I finally got you. I am so sorry, my dear.”

  “Thanks Dee. I was so caught up in everything yesterday, I haven’t been able to get back to anyone.” Her voice cracked. “I can’t believe it. I feel like I’m still in a nightmare.”

  “I know.”

  “And you’re the one who found him! Oh Dee, it must have been awful.”

  “Don’t worry about me. It’s you I’m concerned about. When can I see you?”

  “Soon, there’s so much to deal with. I’ve closed the B&B for now. Doc’s sister is coming from Portland today to help. Where are you?”

  Deirdre paused a moment. “I just saw your sister. I was out this way and thought I’d say hello.”

  “Well I’m sure that didn’t go well. She’s been in an awful mood lately. Doesn’t even leave the house save to go to the post office every morning.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yep, like clockwork. 8 a.m. As soon as it opens.”

  Deirdre checked the clock. “Well then. She’s never been very social. Enough about her. You call me if you need anything. Anything at all. You hear me?”

  The friends hung up and Deirdre got back on the road to town. She parked a ways from the post office and hung around back, by the window. It was hard to be inconspicuous in this town but she had to try. The cats hung out at her feet as if it was perfectly normal to be standing around trying to spy on people.

  Exactly as Libby had said, Betty pulled into the parking lot at 8 a.m. on the dot. She huffed into the library. Deirdre peered in after her. Betty went to her mailbox, pulled out a few letters and immediately left. Her car left behind a cloud of dust. Deirdre stared despondently after her. Well, what had she expected to see? Her wearing a T-shirt with the mystery to the inheritance riddle printed right on it?

  Then she noticed little Joe bounding across the parking lot. Flipper trotted after him, his belly swaying side to side. He always wanted to be friends with Joe, poor soul, but the little tabby was rather aloof.

  Deirdre followed to collect them and get on her way. But Joe was dancing around, playing with something as if he’d found a mouse. It wasn’t – instead it was a white letter. Addressed to a Madeline Lane.

  She snuck a look at Joe. “You know it’s a felony to open someone else’s mail?”

  The little tabby merely blinked lazily, as if to say he wouldn’t tell a soul.

  Chapter 10

  Taylor had opened up the library that morning. She was shelving books, ear buds on and singing off-key, wearing the same thing she wore pretty much year round – black slouchy knit cap, red plaid shirt, black jeans and dusty old boots.

  Deirdre ignored her, went straight to her office and closed the door. Heaving a huge sigh of relief to have a bit of privacy, she perched in her chair and without hesitation, ripped open the missive with her letter opener.

  The sender was a woman, seemingly middle-aged and located in Kansas. The letter was long, effusive, badly spelled and incomprehensible. But Deirdre quickly got the jist of it.

  It was a fan letter. To an author.

  A romance author.

  There could be no doubt about it. There were long passages praising the chemistry between the leads, the heartbreaking drama and the unusual love scenes, a qualifier that both intrigued and horrified Deirdre.

  Well, this was all news to her. She’d never heard a peep about Betty being an author, never mind a published or even famous one. And mildly famous she must be if she was collecting fan mail every day.

  Inspiration struck. She opened the library’s online catalogued and entered Madeline Lane, presumably Betty’s pen name, and the title referenced by the fan – Intrigue in the Inn.

  A search result popped up immediately. Deirdre felt her heart almost sink into her stomach. She recognized the cover immediately. It was the book left on Doc Roy’s body.

  The catalogue said that there were five copies and all were out on loan. Betty was popular. On the off chance that one had been returned overnight Deirdre left the office.

  Taylor looked up, her heavily lidded eyes taking in Deirdre with characteristic passivity. “Did they find the murderer yet?”

  “Uh no, I don’t think so. Listen Tay, have you seen a book called Intrigue in the Inn?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh God. That book is horrible. I read, like, a quarter of it. It’s just all about this stupid hotel and how much the woman loves it. And I guess she has a crush on some guy but, like, they never do anything about it. You know what I mean?”

  “I think I follow. Have you seen it?”

  Taylor sullenly dug around in the return bin. “Yeah. Someone returned it last night. Just don’t read it. I want those two hours of my life back I spent reading that trash.”

  Deirdre flipped through the book. There was no author photo. “Do you know who the writer is?”

  “Dunno.” She thought for a moment. “It was kinda weird, though. I mean, I felt like I was reading about Green Harbor. So maybe somebody local? Somebody who came here on vacation?”

  “Okay, thanks Tay.”

  She went back into the office. Joe was sunning himself in his perch by the window and Flipper was staring up longingly at his tabby friend, probably wanting a cuddle but feeling unwilling to jump up and make the effort. Deirdre scooped him up and sat with him at her desk. He curled up into a fat, furry ball and started snoozing almost immediately.

  She flipped through the book absently. The heroine was a widow living in a seaside Maine town who found love with the lonely owner of a beautiful inn on the ocean. As Taylor had said, there were many long-winded descriptions of the grounds, exterior and interior of the inn. The woman seemed as enamored with the place as with its owner.

  Now that she had a basic idea of the plot, Deirdre picked up her phone and checked her note on the page that had been open on Doc’s body. Then she flipped to the corresponding page in the book. Her gaze fell on this passage:

  As I looked upon the inn, the sun setting over the Atlantic in the distance, my heart lifted that perhaps I could one day be a mistress of such a place. I loved Gregory with all my heart. What better than to share my life with him in a place where I truly felt at home? What a shame it would be if his heart was already claimed! I would never get the chance to spend my life in the one place where I truly belong. There would always be a hole in my heart I could never fill.

  Deirdre shut the book with a snap. It was all coming together! And it was finally time to confront the sheriff with what she’d learned. It was time to put some serious questions in front of Betty.

  She dialed Davis immediately.

  “Sheriff, are you are the office?”

  “Deirdre. I’ve been expecting your call.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Listen, I’ve found out something really interesting connected to Doc’s case and I need to speak to you immediately.”

  There was a frustrated silence on the other line. “Dee, have you been poking your nose into things you shouldn’t have?”

  “No, just places you probably haven’t bothered to look. I’m coming over now.”

  She and the cats walked briskly over to the precinct. The Sheriff was in, stuffed behind his tiny desk like an elephant sitting in front of a stool. Weariness was written all over his lined face. He rubbed his moustac
he.

  “That was quick.” He eyes the cats with distaste. Flipper trotted over and tried to jump on his desk, only half made it and slid all the way back down, claws chewing through the wood. Sheriff Davis closed his eyes briefly, praying for patience.

  “Rob, I know we have our differences. But I have reason to believe that Betty Hall is involved in Doc’s murder.”

  Now she had the sheriff’s attention. “Libby’s sister? How’s that possible?”

  “I went over to Doc’s attorney’s office yesterday and accidently saw a copy of the will. He had bequeathed the inn to Betty, not Libby! So I followed her and picked up a piece of mail she dropped. It was addressed to an author, the same author that wrote the book placed on Doc’s body. Sheriff, the book is about a woman obsessed with an inn owned by a man she loves.”