The Tail of the Secret Identity: A Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mystery (Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mysteries Book 3)

by Alannah Rogers

  Matthew rested his cheek, full silver beard and all, in his hand. He looked straight at her. “Mad? No. I should have known you’d get up to something crazy like this. This is classic Beatrice Young behaviour. I’m more concerned than anything.”

  The kettle flicked off and Beatrice immediately jumped up to fetch mugs and Matthew’s favorite bedtime tea: a spicy ginger-chamomile mix.

  “Concerned? That’s not what I expected to hear from you.”

  Matthew got up and opened up the paper packets of tea, then put the bags into mugs. Beatrice poured the water over both.

  “I thought you were okay with this. With me dating.”

  In what world did you ever think it was okay? was Beatrice’s first thought. Yet the wise words of the sheriff and Zoe came back to her in a flash. Matthew was her friend and she should be happy that he was finally ready to look for love. Being a jealous, possessive friend would help no one. Against all odds, she had to try to be the bigger person for once.

  “I am okay with it,” she said, lying. “It’s just, Zoe and I had a bit of wine and we thought it would be a good laugh to go spy on you. I know now we shouldn’t—you deserve your privacy.”

  Beatrice grabbed her mug and perched on her barstool, mostly to get away from Matthew’s inquiring stare. She sipped the spicy, steaming hot tea. Hamish stuck his big head around a corner, his tan ruff sticking out, his intelligent eyes surveying the scene.

  Matthew plopped down in front of her.

  “Not so fast, Bee. I have this weird feeling like we’re keeping things from each other. I mean, ever since we’ve been friends we’ve always been able to be completely honest.”

  Beatrice snorted, despite herself. “There have been plenty of times we’ve been dishonest. During our marriage, for example. We never talked about how unhappy we were.”

  “You mean, you never talked about how unhappy you were. I was okay.”

  The old truth. It never got less painful whenever she thought about it. It was even worse when spoken aloud. A faucet dripped in the background and the old wood barn creaked in a sudden gust of wind that came up and hit the windowpanes.

  “Why do you have to bring that up?” Beatrice said as calmly as she could. “It’s in the past.”

  “Because, that’s our dynamic, Bee. You left. We got on with our lives. I remarried. And when that ended, we became friends. Best friends. Sometimes I felt like maybe you were trying to apologize for what happened with us. Sometimes I thought it meant…”

  He paused. The air was heavy with something huge and previously unsaid. Beatrice’s gut began to churn like a stormy sea. “What?” she asked, even thought she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

  Matthew turned his cup carefully in his rough hands. “Sometimes I thought it meant you regretted your decision,” he finally said.

  Beatrice froze. Silence fell over them like a great smothering blanket. Matthew downed the rest of his tea. “But then I realized that wasn’t true. And that who knew how much time I had left. So I had to start looking for someone, if that was even possible.”

  A regular Chatty Cathy in her regular life, Beatrice found herself tongue-tied and unable to say a word. Everything that came into her head seemed wrong and unsayable.

  “Well, you say it was all a game. And that’s you’re fine with this dating thing. So I’ll believe you,” Matthew said hurriedly. He put his cup of tea in the sink and had left before Beatrice could move. The door gently closed and she heard the key turning in the lock.

  Another gust of wind came up and banged against the windows. Beatrice looked out the large window at the faint outlines of spruce beyond, waving in the gale. A creak of floorboards finally tore her attention away.

  Hamish stalked in. Just Hamish. He put his paws on her legs and she pulled him up onto her lap, resting her face in his downy, dense fur. He had that cat food smell which was strangely reassuring to Beatrice. He licked his lips and then rested his big head against her heart. A deep, barely audible purr started up in his muscular frame. Beatrice held him close as if he was the only thing left of hers in the world.

  The floor creaked again. Petunia came strolling in, eyes blinking sleepily. Hamish froze before leaping off Beatrice’s lap and nosing the pretty Himalayan affectionately.

  Beatrice groaned and buried her head in her hands. “Ugh Hammy, not you too?”

  14

  As Beatrice drove into town, she definitely expected to see a media frenzy. Indeed, local and even national TV trucks milled around Ashbrook’s usually quiet streets.

  What she didn’t expect to see was a crowd outside The Cozy Cat Café before it opened.

  “Wow, we must have gotten a really great review on TripAdvisor,” Beatrice muttered under her breath. “That or some journalist realized that Hamish and Lucky are going to crack the case of the mayor’s murder.”

  She looked at her two fur balls in the rear view mirror. “Did you hear that? You’re going to be famous kitties! I’ll have to make you your very own Facebook page.”

  However, as Beatrice got closer she realized that the crowd was made up of regular customers. In fact, it was the yoga ladies. They were peering in the window and shaking their ponytailed heads.

  Beatrice pulled her truck up alongside the curb and rolled down the window. “Morning. We’re not open yet. Everything okay?”

  Janice stuck her blonde head right in the window. “No, everything’s not okay. Bernie’s dead and Nancy can’t leave for all the reporters camped out on her lawn. We know you have answers, Bee.”

  “Yeah. Well. I don’t know how much is confidential right now. I mean, the sheriff is going to skin me if I tell you something I shouldn’t…”

  “And I’m going to skin you if you don’t tell us what the heck is going on.”

  Beatrice froze, memories of being pushed into the lockers in high school flashing through her head. Over forty years later, and these women still had her running scared.

  “Alright. I know you all are upset. Don’t blame you. Let me park and open up. Then we can chat.”

  Lucky was so excited to see his favorite customers so early that he immediately forgot about his traumatizing car ride (car rides were always traumatizing for him). He ran up to the yoga ladies as soon as Beatrice unlocked the front door, rubbing against jean-clad legs and standing up on two feet for pets. Chilly air blasted in and they all hustled in. Beatrice noticed that they didn’t carry their mats nor were they outfitted in their yoga gear.

  Clearly, class was off for the day.

  As they got settled at the long farm table, Beatrice scuttled back into the kitchen to bring out sweets from the previous day. She brought them out on a plate and then went behind the counter to put on some coffee.

  “Need any help, Bee?” said a honey-sweet voice.

  She turned to see Joan behind her. She was leaning against the counter, and wearing a fetching pair of slim jeans and a teal cardigan over a white button-down shirt. Her long ash brown hair looked like a schoolgirl’s.

  She smiled shyly at Beatrice, who stared gape-mouthed, trying to figure out whether Matthew had let on that she’d been spying.

  “Uh, quite alright over here,” Beatrice finally managed. “I could make coffee in my sleep. Pretty sure I have before, actually.”

  Joan laughed, showing straight, white teeth. Beatrice realized for the millionth time how nice she was. The thought didn’t really comfort her at that moment, though.

  “I figured you had things under control. I just…” She paused and cast her eyes downwards. “Maybe this is kind of inappropriate, given what happened with Bernie. I went out with Matthew last night. Uh, on a date. I mean, with Bernie’s passing it kind of reminds you that life is so short, right?”

  She pulled down cups off the espresso maker and began to line them up on the counter. “What I’m trying to say is, I know you two are best friends. I wonder if he’s ever mentioned me?”

  Wow, high school really had never ended. “You w
ant to know if he likes you?” Beatrice asked, more bluntly than she’d intended.

  Joan flushed a charming pink shade. “You must think I’m such a loser. It’s just that Bernie’s death reminded me none of us knows how much time we have left. And I want a partner again before I’m out of this world. So I suppose you’re right—I want to know if Matthew could be that person.”

  Beatrice prayed that Lucky would come up and save them from this excruciating conversation. A quick glance revealed that he was revelling in the pats from the yoga ladies. Hamish and Petunia were making googly eyes at each other on the cat perch by the street window.

  She was on her own.

  Beatrice focused on pouring the coffee out into the many cups. “I don’t know if I can speak for Matt,” she said slowly. “What his feelings are and such. All I can say is that he’s a good man. The best, in fact. Any woman would be lucky to have him. And I know he’s ready to find someone too. Maybe you guys have perfect timing.”

  Joan’s eyes lit up. She leapt forward and enfolded Beatrice in a warm hug. “I know I could count on you to tell me the truth and nothing but. You’ve given me hope, you know? Thank you!”

  Beatrice sputtered something out, grabbed the coffee mugs, and made a dash for the yoga ladies. She felt she’d done right by Joan and Matthew, but that didn’t explain why she felt so awful.

  Thankfully, matters at hand quickly absorbed her attention. She and Joan passed out coffee and Beatrice sat at the head of the table.

  “So Nancy likely told you Bernie’s not who he said he was,” she began. “Well, that’s right. Bernie is actually an FBI-wanted criminal who’s been hiding in Ashbrook in plain sight for the past few years.”

  There was a stunned silence.

  “Come now,” Janice said, flicking her blonde ponytail. “How can that be true? Nancy told me Bernie used to liaise with the FBI. He had all sorts of friends who had leads about folks doing illegal things online and such. Why would he talk to the police if he was wanted by them?”

  “If that story’s true, well, that just proves that Bernie was a much more complicated man than we gave him credit for.”

  “I just find it all so hard to believe,” Joan said softly. “He was just such a normal guy. Bought a house here. Had plenty of friends. Spent almost every Friday night at the Steak Emporium. Nancy said he got into golfing lately, liked to spend Sunday night with his glass of whisky and a true crime special on TV…”

  Beatrice paused, unsure of what to do next.

  Then the doorbell chimed and she looked up, half expecting to see Matthew on a white horse, ready to rescue her from this deluge of questions.

  15

  Instead, a tall, thin man in his late fifties stood there clutching a drooping hat. His arms and legs were knobby and seemed to be bent at strange angles, as if they were having a hard time supporting him. Hamish immediately stalked over and began to sniff the man’s pant legs, sneezed, and then walked away. It was his cat version of a body search.

  “I’m looking for a Beatrice Young,” he said. “I’m Noah Sanders.”

  The mayor’s brother. Excitement filled Beatrice’s chest like a balloon expanding. First, though, she had to deal with the yoga ladies.

  “I’m sorry everyone but I have to go,” she said, turning to them. “Please stay, coffee and sweets are on me.”

  There was a mutter of disapproval but Beatrice ignored them. Once, she’d made sure that Zoe was in the kitchen and the servers were there, she asked Noah to accompany her to the police station.

  “Pretty little town you have here,” Noah remarked as they walked down the sidewalk together. The cats ran ahead, as if they knew exactly where they were heading.

  “Thank you for coming,” Beatrice said. “I’m so sorry about your loss. Bernie, er, John was our beloved mayor. No matter what he did in his past life, he did good things for Ashbrook.”

  “Thank you ma’am. It’s all very strange to me. I haven’t seen John in over twenty years. I don’t think I’d even recognize him anymore—in fact, he’d changed a lot, judging by the photos your sheriff sent me. Gained a lot of weight, facial hair. Not the man I knew.”

  “You’ll have to excuse me for saying this, but you don’t look like him at all,” she said. They waited as a crossing guard stopped traffic for them.

  “Well ma’am, we were foster brothers, not blood relatives. We had the same foster family for five years when we were growing up in Florida. That is, before John took off like a shot, escaped the system, and got himself into a life of crime. We always kept in touch, though. Well, we did.”

  They reached the sheriff’s unassuming office: a squat brick building on a side street. Media crowded around outside. A Portland TV station host, her blonde hair sprayed into submission, pushed a microphone into Beatrice’s face.

  “Aren’t you the local sleuth?” she chirped. “We’ve heard that you’re helping to solve the case.”

  “No comment,” Beatrice said. She felt pleased as punch—she’d always wanted to say that, just like they did in the movies.

  The sheriff let them in the door and promptly slammed and locked it behind them.

  “Gracious!” he exclaimed, wiping his forehead with a tissue. “What a circus. They’ve been camped out there all day and all yesterday too. I practically had to body check my way out of here yesterday.”

  He set his eyes on Noah. “Sheriff Jacob Roy,” he said, holding out his hand. “You must be Noah. Well, we have a lot to talk about. Come into my office where we can have some privacy.”

  They settled into the sheriff’s cramped office. Hamish and Lucky crept into an old cat bed that Beatrice had sneaked in the week earlier. It was big enough for two, but sharing was obviously not high on their fun list because they glared at each other, while trying to stake out as much of the fuzzy bed as possible.

  Due to his sheer size and fluffiness, Hamish looked to be the clear winner but Lucky was trying his hardest by pushing his little pink feet hard against Hamish’s bulk. Petunia looked on at these proceedings with what could only be described as amusement.

  The cats stopped their fighting for a moment and looked up at Petunia. A gentlemanly instinct must have gripped them because they both slunk out, letting Petunia in to sit in the big bed all by herself. She licked her paw delicately with a rosy tongue, looking like the Queen of Sheba on her throne.

  “Let me give you my regrets, first off,” the sheriff said, settling behind his chipped desk, his eyes serious under heavy salt and pepper brows. Beatrice and Noah sat opposite him.

  The reedy man nodded, all elbows as he sat in the fraying office chair. “Thanks sheriff, but as I told Beatrice here, it’s been some time since I’ve seen my brother. And the last time we parted was under bad circumstances.”

  “Well, why don’t you give us some background,” said Sheriff Roy. “Anything you could tell us about Bernie, er, John, might be helpful.”

  All three cats perked up their ears, eyes bright, listening intently.

  “You got it. Well, John was always a smart kid. We started living together with a foster family in North Port, Florida, when we were about 10 years old. Obviously came from a bad situation. Scared of his own shadow. But wily as anything. We were bunkmates and we quickly decided to band together and have each other’s back. There were eight other boys in that foster home and none of them were particularly nice. We fought those hell-raisers tooth and nail for five years.”

  “But then John escaped, isn’t that what you said?” Beatrice asked.

  Noah nodded solemnly. “Couldn’t take it anymore. The foster parents were extra hard on him because he had a sass mouth. Too smart for his own good. He couldn’t wait until he came of age. Told me he’d keep in touch and then one early morning he just lit out—probably had one other shirt to his name and a bunch of stolen books from the library.”

  “What’d he do then?” the sheriff asked. “Seems like it’d be awful hard for a kid of fifteen to make it on his own.”
/>
  “Well, John’s smarts saved him. From what I could tell he bounced around, getting jobs washing dishes, cleaning cars, helping at a construction site. He’d come meet me after school and give me spare change, take me out for a hamburger. And I never told anybody that I knew where he was.”

  A nostalgic, dreamy look crept over Noah’s dishwater-brown eyes, as if he was remember the best time of his life.

  “But things went badly?” the sheriff asked.

  The happy look faded. “Things started to go wrong. He started writing bad checks and stealing from his jobs. Once I began working, he borrowed money from me. Never paid me back. He always had these tall tales about where he’d been and what he was doing—said he’d been working on an oil rig up in Alaska, racing cars in the Utah desert, going undercover for the cops in L.A. drug rings. Even that he finally settled down and married some sweet girl from New Jersey. I had no idea what to believe.”

  “Well, from his file it seems like he really was involved with the drug trade, but more on the side of selling drugs than anything else,” the sheriff said.

  Now this was news to Beatrice. Bernie a drug dealer? This she had to hear.

  “That’s when it really started to go wrong.” Noah fidgeted with his fingers. “I knew something was up. But I didn’t know how bad it was until I read about it in the papers. The report said that police had seen a stolen Porsche at a motel outside of Los Angeles. They knocked on the door and there was John. Searched the car. Of course there were drugs inside. So they cuff him, put him in the back, and drive off towards the station. Except that John was a cunning thing. He was fidgeting the entire time, trying to get loose from his cuffs. They stopped at a stop sign and he finally got free. Grabbed the cop’s weapon and points it right at him…”

  “…and then what happened?” Beatrice jumped in, unable to contain herself. The sheriff gave her a sharp look. She didn’t want to be rude but she was a sucker for a good story.