Mathew cast his eyes around the ground. “Uh okay then. Well, talk later?”
“Yeah sure. See you.”
He walked away slowly, reaching down to give Hamish and Lucky farewell pats. They both shied away from him, miffed looks on their faces.
“Good kitties,” Beatrice muttered.
“Wow you really are having a crazy day,” Zoe said, returning from dropping off the chowder bowl with a customer, a sly smile on her face. “I want to hear all about this too.”
10
The day went on and Beatrice and Zoe didn’t get to have their talk. Beatrice got a call from their primary supplier—the one that sent them flour, nuts in bulk, milk and all the other basics—that they were behind on paying their account.
Beatrice cursed herself for missing the payment date. It was the first time in a while she’d forgotten to pay the bills (though it certainly wasn’t the first time period). She sent the payment, thankful that cash flow was just dandy at the moment, and hurriedly plugged in reminders in her smartphone’s calendar for when she had to pay the heat, electricity, their major suppliers, rent, and all sorts of other bills.
All the crime solving that fall had taken her attention squarely away from the café. As if in penance, she locked herself in her office all afternoon. Though her converted barn house just outside of town was her ultimate sanctuary, she had also made sure that her office was a relaxing space, away from the frenetic atmosphere of the café.
Her white desk was pushed against the tall windows that looked onto the little brick alley and a leafy maple behind the café. Sunshine filtered through the gauzy curtains. Built-in white shelves held her recipe books and invoice folders. A little sleigh bed in the corner was perfect for catnaps.
As Beatrice tapped away at her keyboard, she found herself distracted time and again. First off, Zoe kept popping in, saying she had heard this and that report about the mayor’s death on the radio and that camera crews were arriving in Ashbrook.
The cats didn’t help with her focus either. It wasn’t that they were being noisy, per say. It’s just that wherever Petunia went, Hamish and Lucky were close by. When Petunia slept in the window’s built-in cat bed, they took turns standing up and peeking over the edge. When the Himalayan decided to jump into the built-in shelves and sniff around, they were on the shelf below, peering up.
Beatrice tried her best to ignore them—that is until it all came to a head around 5 p.m. She heard a low-level but distinctly threatening growling. Turning around, she saw Lucky perched on the windowsill, tentatively cleaning Petunia’s head. Her eyes were shut in contentment. Hamish sat below them, his ears flattened against his head.
Beatrice froze, wondering what to do. She didn’t have to wait long. Hamish was up on the windowsill in a flash, boxing Lucky’s ears with both paws while standing upright on his back legs.
Beatrice had seen Hamish in action, but he’d never looked so peeved before. She leapt up and separated the two cats. Lucky dashed away, yowling. The big Maine Coon merely sat on the windowsill, cleaning his whiskers.
“Badly done!” Beatrice said, shaking her finger at him. “Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘bros before hos before?’” Petunia looked at her with narrow eyes. “Okay sorry, that was totally out of line. You’re not a ho. You are a very nice, sweet cat and I’m a big meanie.”
She turned to Hamish. “Speaking of big meanies, get your act together buddy. Lucky is your friend.” The Maine Coon blinked at her slowly, as if disputing this claim. “Okay, well maybe not your friend. But it’s your responsibility to be good to him. You’re brothers.”
Zoe burst into the office. “Ugh! Beatrice! Let’s get out of here. I’m beat. Can we please, please go get a glass of wine?”
Beatrice looked at her watch. It was almost time for the evening staff to take over. Then something flashed through her mind that she had tried not to think about all afternoon—the fact that very soon, Matthew would be going on a date. With Joan. Joan!
“Let’s do it. Drinks on me,” she said.
11
Half an hour later, they were sitting in Beatrice’s favorite drinking hole—if a fancy wine bar could be classified as such. Long gone were the days that Beatrice wanted to sit in some filthy establishment with bad beer and worse food. Also, her hearing couldn’t support the loud music. And wasn’t that the point of going to a bar—that you talked to people? Not that you just nodded at each other over a crushing tide of music.
The Ashbrook Grape, despite its weird name, was a cute little place tucked into a winding cobblestone alley. It had a heavy, old-fashioned bar and an all-east-coast wine list: Merlot from Vermont, Riesling from New York’s Hudson Valley, and Cabernet Sauvignon from Pennsylvania.
Best of all, it was away from the media frenzy that was happening on the streets. Journalists from all over had landed in Ashbrook and were eagerly seeking out anyone who might want to give an interview.
That Beatrice was not prepared to do.
The two women settled at a rickety table by the window and ordered hearty reds—perfect for a cool, blustery New Hampshire fall day. The cats milled around the café, keeping a careful distance from each other. Beatrice checked her phone.
“Nothing from the sheriff,” she said. “I guess he hasn’t dug up anything new yet. Probably too busy doing crowd control.”
“Do you have any leads?”
Beatrice shook her head. “His brother’s coming up. Hopefully we’ll get to talk to him tomorrow and get a better idea of who Bernie really was.” She glanced at her phone again.
“So, Matthew’s going on a date?” Zoe asked, peeking mischievously through her long, dark bangs.
“Yeah, and did you hear with who? Joan!”
“Yoga Joan?”
“The very one!”
Zoe leaned back in her chair. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”
Beatrice looked daggers at her. “What? In what world does that make sense?”
Patiently folding her hands, as if about to address a slow child, Zoe said, “How does it not? Joan’s pretty and she’s sweet. She loves dogs, like Matthew. She’s retired and looking to make a home with someone again, far as I can tell. I mean, it doesn’t need to be complicated, Bee. They don’t have to be star-crossed lovers. She’s looking for someone, he’s looking for someone, the timing is right.”
Beatrice tried to process Zoe’s words but they felt as digestible as acid. “When did you get so wise?” she asked, twisting her wine glass between her fingers. “I’m not sure I like this new development.”
“And don’t tell me, the sheriff told you exactly the same thing.”
“How do you know we talked about it?”
“Because after your little kerfuffle with the extortion business, you two are fast friends again.”
Beatrice sighed. “He told me to be happy for Matthew. I’m going to have to get some less reasonable friends.”
“Aren’t you happy for him?” Zoe looked at Beatrice with a questioning gaze.
Now this was a question Beatrice dreaded to answer. She took a long slug of wine for courage. “I know I should be happy for him. It’s what he wants, after all.”
“Maybe you’re afraid of dating. And Matthew was kind of your safeguard against all that. Now he’s moving on and maybe you feel like you’re supposed to be dating now, which is freaking you out.”
Beatrice stared into her wine glass as if it might help her digest that statement. “Maybe…” she said. “I mean, it’s been a long time.”
Zoe clapped her hands. “I can fix you up!”
“No! No way, Miss Zoe. Just the idea of dating almost gives me a heart attack. Actually doing it might push me over the edge, at least right now.”
Zoe sat back and pouted. “Well, in that case, let’s order another glass of wine and forget about it for now.”
“You’re going to drink me into the poorhouse. You want red or white?”
An hour later, Zoe and Beatrice had h
ad two more glasses of wine.
“I have a very unreasonable idea,” Zoe whispered loudly. Her pale face was flushed. “What if we went and spied on Matthew’s date?”
“That’s ridiculous.” Beatrice tried to put on her best no-nonsense adult expression. “We … we can’t do that.” She paused. “But if Matthew was going to go on a date, where do you think he’d go?”
“The Arbor, duh. That’s where you go to impress someone. And Matthew knows you’d never go there because they won’t let cats in.”
Beatrice frowned. “Heavens, you’re right. They have that romantic courtyard, that fancy-schmancy date food…” She froze. “What if he’s cooking her dinner at his house?”
Zoe snorted hard. “Okay well, we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. Here’s hoping he’s at the Arbor, right?”
“That’s the spirit!”
Beatrice and Zoe stumbled down the street, leaning on each other, as the three cats stalked behind them, disapproving looks painted on their faces.
“I’m being a really bad role model right now, aren’t I?” Beatrice asked, clutching her blue pea coat tight against her. A wicked wind blew through Ashbrook, settling the fallen leaves scuttling and making Beatrice’s long gray hair fly behind her.
Zoe put an arm around her. “I think I’m old enough now to be your friend too. Don’t worry about it. I got your back, Bee.”
12
The Arbor had one key feature for potential spies—one side of its garden patio was only separated from a tiny alley by a tall yew hedge. Since the restaurant’s owners clearly weren’t worrying about people spying on their patrons, there were gaps in the hedge big enough to peek through from the alley and see what was happening on the other side.
And since it wasn’t technically on the restaurant’s property, the cats could come too.
Beatrice and Zoe crowded around a hole that gave them a good view of the goings-on within. Beatrice hadn’t been to the Arbor since it had opened. Her cats had been promptly rejected at the door and she’d had to find emergency babysitting for them, as Matthew had gotten them a reservation he’d been looking forward to for weeks.
It was just as she remembered, with the addition of heat lamps positioned around the garden to ward off the chill. Flame-red vines spilled down the brick face of the restaurant. Candlelight twinkled on the tables covered in white tablecloths and in sconces fixed on the walls. Waiters in crisp black and white uniforms circulated slowly, pouring wine and presenting plates, among the tables filled with older folk dressed in draping black clothes.
“I don’t see them,” Beatrice hissed.
“Are you blind? They’re in that far corner, under the maple.”
Beatrice fumbled in her purse for her reading glasses and slid them on. Things still looked foggy. “Maybe it’s time for real glasses,” she muttered. “What are they doing, Zoe?”
“I dunno. Eating? Wow, Joan looks great. Man she looks good in orange silk.”
Beatrice squinted even harder. “Is Matthew wearing that blue shirt I gave him for Christmas two years ago? Come on.”
She felt a tug on her jeans and looked down. Hamish was stretching up her leg and digging his nails into the fabric. He glowered at her.
“Just a minute Hammy, I’m a little busy right now.” She shooed him away and he sat back down, emitting a low growl as he did so. Beatrice put a finger over her lips.
“Bee, I hate to say this, but they look happy,” Zoe said, leaning into the bush. “Like they’re having a good time. Are you sure they weren’t friends before?”
Beatrice wracked her brain for any clue. “Not that I can remember. I thought they were on a ‘hi’ basis only. Of course, they knew about each other but that was that, as far as I know.”
She squinted again and managed to take in a better view. Matthew was laughing at something Joan was saying. She reached out her hand and touched his arm. Beatrice smashed her reading glasses to her face, as if they could give her superpower vision to see exactly what was going on. She leaned into the bush, almost toppling into it.
She felt claws on her jeans and looked down, expecting Hamish. Instead, Lucky was scaling her pant leg like she was a tree. He clung on to her upper thigh, ears back, green eyes wide.
“What are you doing, Lucky?” Beatrice said, trying to disengage the little black cat from her pants. But Lucky had a strong grip and his long claws were firmly embedded into the fabric. To make things worse, Hamish was swatting away her hands so that she couldn’t loosen Lucky from her jeans.
“What has gotten into you two?” Beatrice hissed.
Which was exactly when she heard what sounded like a collective gasp coming from the restaurant. Beatrice froze.
“Oh my goodness, I am so sorry,” came a high-pitched voice.
Beatrice looked up to see a reedy waiter bearing down on a completely oblivious Petunia. The rotund Himalayan was strutting her stuff through the restaurant, her coffee-colored tail waving seductively through the air.
While the waiters seemed horrified by her presence, probably ingrained in them by the owner’s strict no-animals policy, the diners were having the exact opposite reaction. The women cooed over Petunia, reaching out to pat her tawny fur. Even the men remarked what a handsome cat she was.
This was all well and good, except that Petunia was heading straight towards Matthew like a homing pigeon.
Matthew, who was not nearly as blind as Beatrice, frowned when he caught site of the Himalayan strutting towards him like she was on a catwalk.
“I know that cat,” Matthew said. “Wait … she’s Beatrice’s.” He stood up immediately and started scanning the courtyard.
“Mayday, mayday!” Zoe tugged on Beatrice’s coat sleeve. “He’s going to spot us if we don’t get out of here stat.”
“What about Petunia?”
“She drove the ship into the rock, you’d better hope she can swim. Let’s go.”
With that, Beatrice and Zoe scampered down the back alley and hid around the corner of the next street. Thankfully, all three cats came loping after them, eyes bright like this was a big game. The two women herded them towards Zoe’s apartment where they leaned against the back of the shut door, panting, the cats safely inside.
There was a stirring on the couch and a bearded man sat up, rubbing his eyes. Hunter, Zoe’s boyfriend. “Oh hi, I guess I nodded off.”
“I thought you didn’t like this apartment,” Beatrice said, before she could help herself. “And you wanted you two to move somewhere else.”
Zoe groaned. Hunter flicked off his blanket, revealing that he was wearing a pair of Homer Simpson boxer shorts and nothing else. “I’m staying here for now. Are you guys tipsy?”
“Definitely not.” She sighed. “Maybe. Alright, I think it’s time to call Grandma Bee a cab. I need to go die a little now.”
13
Lying prone on her leather sofa, Beatrice groaned. “I’m not too old for most things but I’m definitely too old for three glasses of wine.”
She looked at the three cats lined up beneath her. “Either one of you want to make me a cup of tea? No? Well, you already had your dinner so don’t even think about a midnight snack. The lot of you would be porkers if I didn’t ration the supply. There really is too much of a good thing, as I well know.”
Beatrice stared up into the rafters. Honey-colored wooden beams criss-crossed the ceiling and glowed in the warm lamplight.
The converted barn was her sanctuary, her home. One day, when she finally retired (in twenty years?), she hoped to be able to spend long languid mornings here writing a cookbook or even a novel. It was close enough to Ashbrook to be convenient, not that you’d know, as the restored red barn was nestled in a thick stand of spruces, maples, and beeches at the end of a longish driveway.
Just as Beatrice was contemplating dragging her lazy bones up to her bedroom, there was a sharp rap at the door. The cats went galloping down the floor towards the front hall.
She froze
, wondering who could be at her door at such a late hour. After the whole debacle where the extortionist had shown up to smash everything, she was more than a little wary. Her smartphone vibrated on her belly and she picked it up. It was a text from Matthew.
It’s just me at the door. Open up, Bee.
Beatrice’s stomach clenched. She looked up at the chandelier above her and wished it would fall on her and put her out of her misery.
Since that didn’t seem to be an option, she dragged herself off the couch and shuffled towards the door in her slippers. The cats were already scratching at the door, meowing insistently. She opened the door to reveal Matthew, still wearing the blue shirt she’d bought him. He looked stern, sterner than his usual self. The customary twinkle in his blue eyes was gone.
“Am I in trouble?” Beatrice asked.
“Depends. Can I come in? I’d love a cup of tea.”
Beatrice reluctantly let him pass. They went into the kitchen. She flicked on the lights that hung over the breakfast bar, which set aglow the golden wood that panelled much of the room, including the cabinets and window frames.
After turning on the kettle, Beatrice settled uneasily on one of the bar stools. She wished that they could be curled up on the couch, or in their favorite window seat that looked over the woods. The stool felt a mite rickety, uncomfortable. Even the cats hadn’t followed them in, as if they’d sensed the tension and decided to opt out.
Matthew placed his large hands on the granite countertop as if preparing to stage an intervention.
“You were at the Arbor.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Can I even refute that?”
His eyebrows drew together. “I saw Petunia, Bee. You don’t just let your cats wander around unchaperoned. You were spying on Joan and me.”
Beatrice wished she could drink a potion like in Alice and Wonderland, shrink to an inch tall, and scamper away.
“I was spying,” she admitted. “I … er … had a bit too much wine with Zoe and we got this brilliant idea to go find you. Are you mad?”
The Tail of the Secret Identity: A Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mystery (Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mysteries Book 3) Page 4