Nozy Cat 1

by Lyn Key

  Nozy Cat began revving up his animated purr.

  “I told you Nozy Cat would be a tremendous asset,” Stacey said to Hope.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Dailey,” Hope said, accepting the milk crate. “I appreciate your kind gesture.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Mrs. Dailey said. “The pleasure is all mine.”

  Hope whisked the milk crate over to the car. On the way, she mentally counted the romances and discovered they’d gotten fifteen. She heard Mrs. Dailey laughing with Stacey and Peggy Sue while Nozy Cat tagged along with Hope. As she stashed the milk crate in the car trunk, she wondered how many other yard and garage sales they could hit before lunchtime. She yearned to load the trunk with other milk crates of used books and line the bookshop shelves.

  “We’re off to a glorious start, Nozy Cat,” Hope said as she embraced him in a hug. “Who knows? We might defy the odds and pull off this used bookshop deal.” She kissed him behind the right ear.

  The imperturbable Nozy Cat gazed at her with his marble blue eyes as if to say everything was going to be all right.

  Chapter 7

  “Today has gotten weirder and weirder,” Hope said, throwing up her hands. “First, I discover a dead man lying in our bookshop; then I learn my cat is a chatterbox; and now the townspeople suspect I’m a cold-blooded murderer. I just can’t take it anymore. If one more problem lands in my lap, I’ll lose it and turn into Sweet Spring’s crazy cat lady.”

  “Take a breath and get a grip, Hope,” Peggy Sue said as she drove them. The not-too-happy Stacey had returned to school to attend her afternoon classes, including boring Algebra where she said the math problems reminded her of “spaghetti strands.” Hope and Peggy Sue had returned to the bookshop to pick up Nozy Cat who was awake and refreshed.

  “I should feel less tense now that I’ve let off some steam,” Hope said.

  “Don’t feel alone because I’m stuck just as deep in this as you are,” Peggy Sue said.

  If I may interject a comment, please don’t refer to me as a “chatterbox.” My words have meaning, and I have something to say when I speak up.

  “Hope coping with a panic attack blurted out whatever flew into her thoughts,” Peggy Sue said.

  She’d better stay calm and read a book.

  “I only wish I could take a reading break,” Hope said. “Maybe tonight I can for a few minutes after I snuggle in bed and skip watching the TV news.”

  “Do you have any bedside reading material?” Peggy Sue asked.

  “Does the Queen of England sit on her throne?” Hope replied. “My nightstand is mounded over with books and magazines.”

  It sounds like the perfect way to cap off the day.

  “I apologize for calling you a chatterbox,” Hope said.

  Your apology is gratefully accepted.

  “Now that we’re all good buddies again, we still face the daunting task to find a murderer before he or she can strike again,” Peggy Sue said.

  “Sergeant Trogg would also blame us for committing the second murder,” Hope said.

  Sergeant Trogg is running a bluff because he has nothing on either of you.

  “Even so, he’s the one with the arresting powers,” Hope said. “You realize if Peggy Sue and I go to prison, Stace may have to take care of you, and she’ll spoil you rottener than you already are now.”

  How is that even possible if I may ask?

  “She’ll be feeding you sardines every hour of the day,” Hope replied. “That’s for openers.”

  That’s very interesting. I’m now wondering if perhaps you really did bump off poor Hugo Spangler.

  “Ha-ha. I know you’re teasing us, but Peggy Sue and I don’t find it humorous,” Hope said.

  “Those hideous orange jumpsuits the female inmates dress in will make my butt look big,” Peggy Sue said.

  “Sloppily tailored garments like the orange jumpsuits are just sewn tight in the wrong places,” Hope said.

  “Have you seen the ragged shoes they’re forced to put on everyday?” Peggy Sue asked. “I’ll go bonkers if I don’t have access to my shoe closet. Stace will have to smuggle in my favorite wedge sandals and kitten heels baked inside a large key lime pie or pineapple upside-down cake. Has she ever baked a pie or cake because Travis, as we know, will be no help to her?”

  “Stifle your hysterics,” Hope said. “Nobody here is going to prison.”

  I’m astounded neither of you has asked me who bumped off Hugo.

  “Then dazzle us with your deductive brilliance,” Hope said.

  I say Reverend Green in the conservatory with the spanner wrench is who did it. Whose turn is it to roll?

  “Are you mistakenly playing the dice game Clue instead of focusing on Hugo’s murder we’re trying to solve?” Hope asked.

  So I am. Sorry about that. I got my wires crossed. Our feline brain circuitry is so complicated it sometimes throws me.

  “All of us are feeling a little overwhelmed right now,” Peggy Sue said. “Hopefully, we’ll soon unearth an honest-to-goodness clue.”

  The dove gray-shingled house across from the cemetery should be our next destination to question Cammie Jenkins. We should be considering her as the ex-girlfriend to be a murder suspect.

  “A capital idea except Peggy Sue has a cemetery phobia,” Hope said.

  Then she’ll have to quell her cemetery phobia for the good of the team.

  Hope looked at their driver. “Nozy Cat is spot-on, Peggy Sue. Can you conquer your irrational fear if you set your mind to it?”

  “I guess I’ll have to now,” Peggy Sue replied.

  That’s the right sleuthing spirit. Okay, which of us questions Cammie?

  Hope chuckled. “I know who is not going to ask her any questions.” She looked down at Nozy Cat. “Are we clear on that point, Marlowe?”

  You’re no fun at all.

  “I have to agree with Hope,” Peggy Sue said. “I trust her, Stace, and Travis to never say anything about Nozy Cat, but nobody else should know his secret. Other folks aren’t as enlightened as we are.”

  “Since I learned of his garrulous nature, I’ve been pondering why I got him for our pet,” Hope said. “It was my luck of the draw at the animal shelter, I suppose.”

  I can suggest why you might have, but only if you promise not to freak out on me.

  Hope let out a sigh. “Go ahead and lay on us whatever else you know.”

  Peggy Sue, are you also prepared to hear what I’m set to tell you?

  This time Peggy Sue sighed. “How much weirder can this day get than it already has? Tell us.”

  You’re the descendents of the women the authorities accused of practicing witchcraft and sorcery in Salem Village, Massachusetts.

  Hope uttered a single curse word that rhymes with drill-bit.

  Peggy Sue laughed nervously. “I’ve always thought my penchant for sparkly wands since I was a girl came from my DNA.”

  Hope laughed in apparent relief. “That was rich, Nozy Cat. I have to admit you really had us going because I fell for your joke all hook, line, and sinker.” She laughed harder. “Imagine Peggy Sue and me as friendly witches traipsing around Sweet Springs conjuring up our magical spells. We’d stop at the hardware store to buy a new pair of brooms every time a new full moon came out.”

  What joke is that? I’m being perfectly serious with you.

  “I must confess I’m now more inclined to believe Nozy Cat’s spooky claim,” Peggy Sue said. “My grandmother once told me our family moved down to Sweet Springs, Virginia, from a colonial village in Massachusetts after they ran into a spot of trouble. Being accused of witchcraft and sorcery definitely spells a spot of trouble to beat it out of town over.”

  “I know for a flat-out fact I’m not a witch,” Hope said with conviction. “I’ve never grown a hairy wart, and I’ve never done any cooking with a cauldron or worn a pointy black hat.”

  I did not say you are a witch. What I said is you’re related to the witches. What that makes you I
cannot say. But to maintain you have no personal connection to them is witchful thinking on your part.

  Hope smiled at the pun.

  “The fact just might explain why your cat has the power to communicate with us,” Peggy Sue said.

  “Nozy Cat, do you possess any other powers we should know about?” Hope asked. “Let’s get everything of a mystical bent out in the open.”

  Aside from my occasional foodie craving for eye of newt, I know of no other powers I possess other than what you presently know about me.

  “Jeez, I need a piña colada, pour heavy on the rum,” Hope said.

  “But you don’t drink booze,” Peggy Sue said.

  “After this stressful day, I may take it up for medicinal purposes,” Hope said.

  Before you go barhopping, let’s see what Cammie Jenkins has to say about her relationship with the late Hugo Spangler.

  “Then take us there, Peggy Sue,” Hope said.

  Peggy Sue made the series of turns to put them on the right street leading to the cemetery across from which Cammie Jenkins lived.

  “What does eye of newt even taste like?” Hope asked. “Can you get it barbecued or chocolate covered?”

  I’ve heard it described as a mix between escargot and caviar, but I’d put it closer to tasting like fried Spam.

  “Thanks for the information,” Hope said. “Now I know I’ll never order eye of newt from the restaurant menu.”

  “I love fried Spam on rye toast slathered with mayonnaise and brown mustard,” Peggy Sue said.

  You’re a true foodie like me while Hope is still learning her way around the fine dining experience.

  ***

  “Are you going up with us to Cammie’s door?” Hope asked.

  I may be a help to you while you grill her.

  “Grilling is only done to swordfish steaks and never to people,” Hope said. “We wish to have a friendly chat if Cammie has the free time to spend with us.”

  “Her orange window shutters stand out on her dove gray-shingled house,” Peggy Sue said as they got out of the car in Cammie’s driveway.

  “She has a cute place,” Hope said.

  Cammie answered Hope’s knock. She regarded the ash blonde, slender Cammie who was their junior by a decade and a half. She had on a wrinkled paisley housecoat and fuzzy pink mules as women did on a leisurely Sunday morning. Only it wasn’t Sunday morning but after lunch on a weekday. However, she’d gotten around to brushing her short hair, and she looked alert.

  “I recognize both of your faces,” Cammie said, her voice husky. “I’m sorry to say I haven’t learned your names.”

  Peggy Sue did the introductions. “Did you hear about the murder?” she asked.

  “The bad news just arrived,” Cammie replied. “It was Hugo.”

  “Did somebody phone or text you?” Peggy Sue asked.

  “Sergeant Trogg dropped by,” Cammie replied. “He came in and asked me a slew of prying questions, and I resented having to answer them.”

  “Did he now?” With a note of surprise, Peggy Sue went on. “How long ago was it?”

  “He left here no longer than ten minutes ago,” Cammie replied.

  Drats it all. Sergeant Trogg keeps beating us by a measly ten minutes. We’ll have to pick up the pace and move a little quicker. Take a note, Hope.

  “We’re already chugging along as fast as we can go,” Hope said.

  “I beg your pardon,” Cammie said.

  “I was just thinking aloud about something that’s been troubling me,” Hope said.

  “Can we talk in private?” Peggy Sue asked. “We’ll only keep you five or so minutes.”

  “If you don’t mind the mess, then please come on in,” Cammie replied as she shuttled aside for them to file by her.

  Count me out. My rule is to avoid messy litter boxes and living rooms.

  Hope reached down and grabbed him before he could turn and sashay back to the car.

  “Thanks for the invitation,” she said to Cammie. “We’re not that particular about how things look.”

  Despite Cammie’s warning, Hope found the living room with its tasteful furniture suite cleaner and tidier than the Joneses’ residence on Bobwhite Court. Someday when Hope grew decadently rich, she’d hire a top-notch uniformed housekeeper right after she ordered the Jacuzzi and heated swimming pool installed.

  Cammie moved her denim drawstring handbag—Hope had seen one like it for sale at the consignment shop—from the armchair to the floor before having a seat. Hope and Peggy Sue settled on the sofa while Nozy Cat reclined on the carpet.

  “We understand this must be a trying time for you,” Hope said. “Hugo was your boyfriend.”

  “Hugo Spangler was my ex-boyfriend,” Cammie said. “Let’s make no mistake about it. He called it off a week ago between us, and we were no longer together. I guess the word hasn’t gotten around to everybody yet.”

  “Why did he decide to end it so abruptly?” Hope asked.

  “Hugo said he’d gotten tired of me and needed his space,” Cammie replied. “I didn’t want to stand in the way of crowding his happiness.”

  “Did you try to talk to him about it?” Hope asked.

  “Why should I have wasted my breath?” Cammie replied. “I could tell he’d made up his mind, so that was that.”

  “Had you hit a rough patch in your relationship?” Hope asked.

  “Just the opposite. I thought everything was going along peachy keen,” Cammie replied. “Hugo woke up one morning and apparently felt otherwise.”

  Yeah, a few of us restless young dudes are like that. If I hear the first bars to “Born to Be Wild” playing, I get the itch to hit the open road strapped down on the back of a Harley, but I don’t follow my impulse. I enjoy a cushy roost at Hope’s pad—

  Hope had swooped over, knelt down, and put hands around Nozy Cat’s mouth. “You talk too much,” she whispered to him. “Just hush up.”

  “Why was your cat’s mouth just moving up and down?” Cammie asked. “It was like he was taking part in our conversation.”

  Hope looked in alarm at Peggy Sue who fielded the question with ease.

  “He’s developed a nervous tic,” Peggy Sue lied. “The vet told us it’s nothing to cause any worry. Ignore him. That’s what Hope and I do all the time.”

  “I’ve never seen another cat do such a thing,” Cammie said.

  “Nevertheless, I’m sure he’s finished with having his nervous tic,” Hope said as she let go of him.

  “Sergeant Trogg told me you discovered Hugo’s dead body in your bookshop,” Cammie said. “That must’ve been a real shocker. Have you any idea how he got there?”

  “We don’t have an inkling, but we’d sure like to find out,” Hope replied.

  “Can you shed any new light on it?” Peggy Sue asked.

  “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m afraid I can’t help,” Cammie replied. “When Hugo texted me his message he was breaking up with me, it left me thunderstruck. He trampled over my heart, and I cried out my eyes over it, but then I was finished with doing that downbeat stuff, and I’m into the next phase of my life.”

  “You don’t sound too shaken up over his murder,” Peggy Sue said.

  “I feel sorry for Hugo’s friends and family over what happened, and I think his mother Mrs. Spangler is the salt of the earth,” Cammie said. “Of course I’m shocked by it as I told Sergeant Trogg who also knows I was at work the night it happened.”

  What about getting payback at Hugo for the humiliation and pain he caused you?

  “What about getting payback at Hugo for the humiliation and pain he caused you?” Hope asked, glancing down at Nozy Cat who nodded back at her.

  Excellent question, Hope. I couldn’t have asked it any better myself.

  “I was understandably angry and upset after he ended our relationship,” Cammie replied. “Then I had a long, hard think. What did I stand to gain by carrying a grudge or getting payback? Nothing. I’m young, and I still hav
e my figure and looks. Other eligible bachelors my age are searching, and I’m confident I’ll make a soulful connection with Mister Right before long.”

  Hope nodded in admiration of Cammie’s spunky, frank attitude.

  “Maybe Hugo met who he thought was Miss Right,” Peggy Sue said. “Could that have been his reason to call it quits?”

  “I thought there might’ve been another woman involved,” Cammie replied. “But I could almost read Hugo’s mind, and I gave him a careful look, and I didn’t see it there.”

  “Would it bother you if he’d found a new girlfriend?” Peggy Sue asked.

  “Naturally, it would’ve annoyed me, but I wouldn’t have ultimately cared,” Cammie replied. “I take after my mother. When my father left her, she shut off her emotions like the kitchen tap and cut him completely out of our lives. She even hole punched his face out of the family snapshots.”

  “Are you working today?” Peggy Sue asked.

  “I go in later when the night shift reports,” Cammie replied.

  “Where are you employed? Peggy Sue asked.

  “I’m with the denim jeans plant,” Cammie replied. “The only moving up done there is on the forklift, but the steady wages pay my bills and put the food on my table. As a bonus, I get all the denim jeans I could ever want to round out my wardrobe, so I’m thrilled with it.”

  “A young lady could do a lot of worse for a job,” Peggy Sue said.

  “If you’re ever in the market for denim jeans—and what smart lady isn’t, right?—I can score you a knockout deal on the plant’s rejects,” Cammie said. “The jeans are in near perfect condition, and the flaws are barely noticeable unless you happen to know where to look for them.”

  Go for it, Hope. They sound like prime scratching post material.

  “Peggy Sue and I like to wear denim jeans while at the bookshop,” Hope said.

  “Right, you run the Brontë Bookshop on Main Street,” Cammie said. “How’s the bookshop business going?”

  “Fair to middling,” Hope lied as the stark image of the near empty cash register drawer flashed to her mind.

  “For the most part, we’re selling recipe books and romance novels at affordable prices,” Peggy Sue said. “But you name it, and we’ve got it. Are you a reader?”