Murder Most Familiar (A Pattie Lansbury Cat Cozy Mystery Series Book 4)

by Nancy C. Davis

  “Just one, Pattie, but you know I can’t give you any more information than that. If you had a policeman with you, then that would be different…”

  “That’s alright, Benjamin,” Pattie replied, putting a bottle of milk and two boxes of cat pouches on the counter. “I understand. Just knowing is enough for now. But can I trust you to report any strange behaviour? Someone in the village has received a threatening letter.”

  Benjamin rang up the goods and put them in a carrier bag. “Oh, you can be sure of that, Pattie, but he seems like a fairly normal guy. If you don’t mind my saying, I think you’re probably, ah … meowing up the wrong tree there.” He bagged up a free cat chew for one of his favorite customers. “Mew!”

  On the walk home, Pattie thought about the different angles of the case. There were several things of which they could be all but certain about. The first was that someone had threatened Matthew Conrad’s life. The second was that he or she was likely to have been a rejected ‘contestant’ on Matthew’s TV show. The third was that someone in the village – although not necessarily the suspect themselves – had delivered the letter. It therefore followed that, four, the suspect or an accomplice was either a resident or visitor currently in Little Hamilton.

  When she got back home, she was surprised to have the front door opened for her by Elliott, who had been waiting inside. She had given him a key many months earlier. He was expressionless, which was as close as he ever came to showing that he was upset or angry.

  “Is there something you’d like to tell me?” he asked pointedly. “You and Matthew Conrad: working together?”

  Even when sounding a little concerned, the gracious man still took Pattie’s heavy shopping bags from her without needing to be asked. She said, “Thank you … And I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions, Elliott. I haven’t had much of a chance to talk to you about it, as you well know. But how did you find out?”

  Pattie had barely gotten into her own hallway when she saw Laura Conrad, intrepid news journalist, smiling at her from the lounge armchair with a cup of tea in her hand and a cat on her lap.

  “Hello, Pattie,” she called. “Good to see you again! It’s me, Laura Conrad from YTV News.”

  Pattie willed herself not to roll her eyes. “I know who you are, Miss Conrad, you don’t have to tell me every time.”

  “Force of habit,” Laura replied, stroking the cat. It was one of the ginger ones, which meant Jasper or Simba – probably the latter, who was always very friendly no matter the visitor.

  “May I ask to what I owe this pleasure?” asked Pattie as she took off her coat. “Or shall I guess?”

  “My father, of course. He’s received a death threat.”

  “I gather that’s rather a common occurrence for a man so often in the public eye. And he’s managed to ruffle more than a few feathers in the business world, I’m sure.”

  Elliott ushered Pattie onto the sofa and went away to prepare her a cup of tea. Pattie felt lucky, even as she looked the young blonde reporter in her steely eyes and wondered what on Earth she was up to.

  “This is the first he’s had since he moved to Little Hamilton,” Laura replied, pulling out her notepad and pen. “And my source tells me it was hand delivered – no stamp. So, what can you tell me about it?”

  “I would ask you who your source might be,” Pattie replied firmly. “I’m astonished you got so much information from anyone other than your father himself. So – how long have you and Angus been dating?”

  Laura smiled. “I should have known I couldn’t pull the wool over your eyes, Pattie. We’ve been dating for almost three months. Or were: we didn’t have quite the right dynamic. Me, the daughter clawing her way out of her father’s long shadow, and he the subservient employee. It wouldn’t be the first relationship my father’s presence has ruined.”

  “Your father has nothing to do with your relationships, dear,” Pattie said, smiling as she accepted a cup of hot Ceylon tea from Elliott, who sat down beside her. “The only people in control of the relationship are the two who are in it.”

  Laura straightened her back. Her expression changed, stiffening. “Well, be that as it may, my father is the topic here. I understand you’ve agreed to shadow him until more information about this madman comes to light. What can you tell me about that?”

  “Miss Conrad, you must know your father better than that. He’s come to Little Hamilton to get away from media vultures. To be hounded by his own daughter can’t be what he hopes will come out of this. I can’t stop you from blowing his cover, but I can refuse to talk to you on the matter.”

  Laura leaned forward, an eyebrow raised. “Come on, Pattie, you can give me something, can’t you?”

  “Nothing,” Pattie replied. “And please – You may call me Patricia, or Mrs Lansbury!”

  Chapter 4

  A long lunchtime followed, during which Elliott made his concerns very clear. Matthew Conrad was about as trustworthy as his newshound daughter.

  “Don’t worry,” Pattie assured him. “I know Matthew’s type. I’m walking into this with my eyes wide open.”

  She certainly had her eyes open when she was ushered into the first class section of a Conrad Air aeroplane two hours later. Matthew Conrad was behind her, making sure that she kept up the pace.

  Pattie had given up trying to ask whether it was really necessary that they fly from Leeds-Bradford Airport to Edinburgh, a scant two hundred miles away. But Matthew insisted that he never drove for longer than ninety minutes, and he never ever took the train.

  “Do you realise the kind of people you meet on trains? If they’re not coughing and hacking all over you, they’re yammering into their phones or playing music at full volume … Mobiles have earphone sockets for a reason, you know. I live a life that has periods of no stress, or else very high stress, and when I’m in a high-stress period I simply don’t have the patience for rabble. Not to mention ‘fans’. Oh, Mister Conrad, you’re my hero! Can I please have a job?”

  “And flights are much better?” she asked – but that was before she’d seen first class.

  Most planes she’d been on didn’t have much separation between first class and the rest of the plane, but this one was built so that rabble didn’t have to waltz through the expensive section to get to the cattle seats. Once they were seated, it was luxurious. Comfortable chairs with a ridiculous amount of room, pampered with warm towelettes and free champagne … Not that Pattie had an interest in drinking.

  She leaned over to Matthew, who had already put his blindfold on for a half-hour power nap. “I should think you’d want to keep a low profile, instead of hosting a conference in Edinburg. What are you thinking?”

  “I can’t put my life on hold, Patricia,” was his simple reply. “Just enjoy the ride…”

  Once the plane landed, he was whisked through security, ducked into a plush limousine, then checked into a six star hotel in the centre of Edinburgh. Pattie didn’t think hotels went as high as six stars, but apparently they did. And they weren’t even staying overnight: Matthew just wanted somewhere to put his bag for the duration of the three hour conference and have a cat nap.

  By the time the conference was over and they’d flown back, Pattie was exhausted, but somehow thoroughly relaxed. The tycoon led a busy but luxurious life.

  The limousine dropped them off back at Cliffton Cottage at late afternoon. A pale-looking Angus greeted them at the door, and Matthew announced that he was going to take a long bath.

  “Just a moment, sir. There’s something you should see.”

  “What is it?”

  “Another letter,” said Angus, producing the paper. Matthew took it, read it, and then passed it wordlessly to Pattie. It read:

  DEAR LION.

  YOU CAN’T RUN. YOU CAN’T HIDE.

  YOU’LL BE SORRY YOU DIDN’T PICK ME.

  MAKE YOUR PEACE.

  X

  “Why does the person sign it with an X?” Pattie mused out loud. “Is
it a kiss, or an initial, or in place of a name?”

  “I highly doubt that they want to kiss me, whoever they are,” Matthew said. He suddenly looked drawn and tired.

  “I gather that ‘pick me’ would be a reference to your TV programme?”

  “I’m going for that bath,” said Matthew, climbing the stairs slowly. “Angus, maybe you could show her one of the tapes?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As the water started to run upstairs, Angus obliged Pattie with a cup of Earl Grey and took her to the lounge. Pattie thought that there wasn’t room for a lounge area in the cottage, due to the huge kitchen and large study/library that Matthew had, but she was wrong: there was a new downstairs to the cottage.

  “All part of the renovation,” Angus explained. “There was a small earthen cellar down here, which we completely dug out and expanded to create the lounge. Some of the earth was dug away outside so that some natural sunlight could come through, but the electric lighting is top-of-the-line natural-style lighting anyway.”

  Pattie was amazed when she saw the room. It was even larger than the kitchen, with hardwood floors and walls of painted brick hung with large, vibrant modern art. There were three couches, a large TV and media area, and a specially designed triangular work desk in the corner. Small bookcases and display cabinets filled the rest of the empty wall space, except for the front wall, which was entirely reinforced glass. The first five feet were dark earth pressed up against the glass from outside, with two feet at the top where light could come in. The glass was designed to display ironic objects in the earth: buried treasure, what looked like a dinosaur skull, and an old-fashioned builder’s lunch tin.

  “He does have a sense of humor, you know,” Angus confirmed, smiling, “although it’s a rather peculiar one, and he mostly keeps it to himself. That lunch tin is actually his personal time capsule, with memorabilia from when he moved to Little Hamilton. He’s quite a sentimental man.”

  Pattie settled on one of the couches as Angus opened a concealed cabinet full of CDs, records, DVDs and VHS tapes. He took out a box with several discs inside and loaded one into a machine under the forty inch TV screen.

  “Do you know him well?” asked Pattie.

  “I’ve worked with him for several years. He’s a little harsh sometimes, and has some very strange ideas, but he’s brilliant and he’s a good boss. I’m well paid and feel quite secure, knowing that if I do a good job that he wouldn’t dream of replacing me. So I work really hard, but I enjoy it. It’s what I’m good at.”

  “Do you have any idea who might be sending the letters?”

  “None. This is a recording from Series 3 of Lion’s Den.”

  He was rather quick to change the subject, Pattie thought, but let it go for now. She was interested in the TV programme that Matthew Conrad produced and was featured in.

  Together they watched a half-hour episode. The format was simple. Four entrepreneurs willing to invest in a new product or service sat behind desks in a board room. Applicants with a new idea for one of those products entered the room one at a time and pitched their idea. If the ‘lions’ thought the applicant had a good product and could demonstrate they had what it took to run a business, then some of the entrepreneurs would offer an investment deal.

  “The ‘lions’ are rather vicious, aren’t they?” asked Pattie. “Matthew seems to have a different personality in real life.”

  “They’re acting, to keep it entertaining,” Angus explained. “But I agree, the applicants are under a lot of pressure. There’s been trembling, rambling, sweating, even tears on this show.”

  “You have tapes for all the recorded episodes? Even ones that haven’t aired yet?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And can you get me a list of all the applicants who’ve been on the show, and any information you have about them?”

  Angus nodded. “They have to fill out an application and a questionnaire, including details of their proposed pitch, before they’re offered a place on the show. I can print off copies for you.”

  Just then, a beautiful tortoiseshell cat strolled into the room. Pattie was shocked. “I didn’t know Matthew had a cat!”

  “Oh, that’s Grimoire. When you came around that time with one of your cats, he said to me ‘Angus, see about finding me a cat, will you? A good one.’”

  “A ‘good one’,” Pattie laughed. “I suppose it’s just another acquisition to him?”

  “Actually,” Angus replied standing and fussing with his shirt, “I actually got the impression he got it for your sake. Um, please excuse me.”

  “Angus? You’ve gone quite pale, are you alright?”

  “I’ve just been … feeling under the weather,” he said quietly, looking at the cat.

  Then he quickly made his exit.

  Perplexed, Pattie examined ‘Grimoire’. He was a healthy male, albeit very well fed, about six or seven years old. He had a slight crook in his tail, which always endeared a cat to Pattie. I wonder what Angus meant, ‘got it for my sake’…? she thought.

  Grimoire jumped down from the couch. He didn’t seem to enjoy people very much. He busied himself near the large media cabinet, sniffing the corners near the floor. Maybe he had the scent of a mouse.

  “Patricia…?”

  It was Matthew calling. Pattie saved him the trouble of coming down, and went up the narrow staircase back to the kitchen on the ground floor.

  There she found him, in a loose-fitting silken robe, getting chocolate gateau out of the fridge. “Oh, Patricia, there you are. Cake?”

  “No, thank you. I was watching some tapes of your Lion’s Den. I’m not surprised that someone has it in for you after the kind of treatment you give them on that programme.”

  “They know what they’re signing up for,” he said flippantly. “Champagne?”

  “Matthew, please don’t try anything,” Pattie said flatly. She was old enough to recognise that glint in a man’s eye.

  “Oh, loosen up, Patricia. We’re about the same age, we have a deep respect for one another … How about a Chianti, instead? I have it imported especially.”

  “Matthew, I’m sure I’m twice the age of your usual conquest, and I certainly have no interest in joining that particular multitude. Now, I’ve seen enough to think on today, so I’m going home.”

  He looked stunned. “But I thought you were staying here until the end of the month?”

  “Staying over? I never agreed to that.”

  “But what if my attacker bursts in?”

  “What would you like me to do?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips. “Throw my dentures at them? You can call the police, like anybody else.

  Goodnight, Matthew.”

  “Oh, well … Goodnight, Patricia…”

  He looked rather sad, standing there in his half-open robe, holding cake in one hand and two champagne glasses in the other.

  Pattie was impervious. She put on her coat, opened the front door, and added over her shoulder, “And stop giving that cat so many treats. He’s getting fat.”

  Chapter 5

  The next morning, Pattie returned to the cottage but chose not to knock on the front door. She decided to look around the exterior of the house for a while.

  The front garden was beautifully designed, with elegant topiary and a neat lawn bordered with flowers. Matthew must pay a gardener to keep up the good work on his behalf. The side of the cottage was equally impressive: even though it was simply a narrow path with the stonework on one side and a tall hedgerow on the other, the space had been used to full effect with stylish mosaic paving and overarching trellises.

  But Pattie was more interested in the back of the house. Now that she was in the privacy of the rear area, bordered by hedgerows and trees to hide it from the village and roadside, she could appreciate the full efforts of the modern extension. The only way that Matthew had gotten approval to renovate this ancient, listed building was if he used the same natural stone and timber, and that it di
dn’t alter any view from the village or countryside. He had skirted the legal issues perfectly by creating a garden completely concealed from view. It was a zen sanctuary, complete with koi pond, gravel paths and gentle, sweet-smelling flowers.

  But here was the place that Pattie was interested in: the excavated earth that allowed sunlight to shine down into the basement lounge. Because the earth level used to be higher, the excavated stone foundations were a different colour, exposed to the sun for the first time in generations. The cottage had been one of the first buildings ever constructed in Little Hamilton, before it was even a village. The stone was hundreds of years old and discoloured, except for a portion near the corner of the building. The dark line that delineated where the earth had been moved dipped by a foot. The earth must have been uneven there before it had been dug away. And one of the stones was ringed by different coloured mortar, as though it had recently been patched up.