Abigail was not fond of cats. But Petunia had a way of converting even the most strident feline haters—Beatrice had seen it in action time and again. Petunia waved her bushy brown tail and fluffy haunches beguilingly, and even though Abigail was making an effort to shoo her away, she wasn’t doing it very convincingly.
“Beatrice, you really have to do something about this cat of yours,” she hollered.
“I can’t help it if Petunia like you,” Beatrice said. “She’d be the first cat in the history of the universe, so enjoy it while it lasts.”
Her competition scowled at her and tried to angle her carving knife into a delicate spot while Petunia blithely butted her head against the woman’s hands.
Beatrice made a stab at carving her design but eventually she gave up in frustration and Matthew took over. She sat in a chair next to him, watching as his strong hands deftly worked at chipping out bits of pumpkin, carving circles, and pushing out pieces. She always forgot what a focused worker he was. His eyes never left his task and his thick fingers were surprisingly nimble and efficient as he worked away diligently.
Finally, a horn sounded and Reggie called out, “Time’s up! Everyone put down your tools.”
Abigail collapsed into a chair. She looked harried and her black outfit was completely covered in cat hair. Petunia sauntered away to re-join Hamish. Despite all the distraction, Abigail’s version of Elsa was pretty good.
Beatrice stepped back and took a good look at their entry. There was no moon, cat, or tombstones. In their places were abstract shapes and lines, intersecting and playing off each other.
“I think it’s what Picasso would do, if Picasso liked carving pumpkins and was a sixty-something park ranger,” Matthew quipped, surveying his work with pleasure.
Beatrice gave Matthew a quick squeeze. “You’ve saved the day once again! What would I do without you?”
He put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze back. “Well, you’d fail at every pumpkin contest, that’s what. C’mon let’s get a snack and check out our competition.”
5
Lucky was in seventh heaven with all the people gathered around—dozens of willing humans ready to pat and caress him. Hamish and Petunia were busy sitting in a corner together, so he took full advantage of the undivided attention.
He wove his way through the sea of legs and meowed, his little pink tongue showing. Most people were all too happy to scratch his head or pat his back. Lucky was a slave to the attention and performed his favorite trick—standing on two hind legs to beg for extra pats. He didn’t have that purebred, show cat look of either Hamish or Petunia but he was cute all the same.
Beatrice kept an eye out for him. It warmed her heart to think that little Lucky, too often second fiddle, was finally getting all the attention he deserved. Matthew went to fetch them hot chocolate and she cupped hers gratefully, savoring the warmth. People milled around, reviewing the entries, and putting their votes in a wooden box guarded by Bridget.
“Hi Ryan,” said Matthew, touching the younger man on his sleeve. “How are you?”
The man shook his hand gladly. He was the young manager of the Ashbrook Old-Fashioned Grocery store, a nervous but smart man who had returned from university to marry his high-school sweetheart.
“Nice to see you and Beatrice out again competing.”
“Well, we never win but we sure do enjoy it. Listen Ryan, I wanted to ask you something. You know how your house got spray painted last year? I was wondering if that was the only thing that happened—either before or after.”
Ryan’s normally happy expression faded. “Well actually, no.” He looked around him. “Can we go over to that corner there to talk?”
The three of them retired to a quiet spot with their hot chocolate. Ryan leaned in close. “I had my tires slashed a couple of days ago,” he said. “Haven’t reported it to the sheriff because…” He gulped. “Well, I’ve been getting letters. Telephone calls. Telling me I better stay quiet and accept my punishment or else. I mean, it has to be the same guy who spray painted my house last year, right?”
Matthew crossed his arms. “Do you have any suspicions? Any employees at the store who might have a grudge against you?”
Ryan twisted his moustache. “Well, the sheriff questioned everyone. I mean, sometimes I have to settle disputes over who gets what hours and how much they get paid. But no one’s ever been mad at me over that. Just the usual grumblings.”
“Anyone else?” Beatrice asked.
He shook his head. “Not really. Sorry to not be of any help, Bee.”
“It’s okay. Someone set off a bomb in front of my car this morning while I was driving to work. And it’s the same with me—I have no clue who could have done it.”
Beatrice and Matthew let Ryan get back to his wife and kids and circulated the room. Beatrice spotted Nathan Moore, a stout man with a ruddy complexion who she’d helped get out of an extortion situation not too long ago.
“Hi Nathan!” she said, giving him a big hug. “How’ve you been?”
“Well, a lot better since you guys fixed my little problem. I’ve really been enjoying life without all those threatening phone calls. Repainted the bathroom. Tried to learn Italian cooking. Even went for a weekend in Portland!”
Beatrice suppressed a smile. For Nathan, this was big news since usually his life was work and worry.
“I hate to bring doom and gloom into this but there’s something I have to ask you. Have you ever received any threats after the extortion? Or that didn’t seem related?”
Nathan’s flushed face drained white. “They didn’t get out of jail, did they?”
“Nothing of the sort. Listen, Ryan had his tired slashed. I had a bomb go off in front of me. I’m trying to find a connection.”
He paused. “Thank heavens no. But that all rings a bell. I remember my friend Rebecca, you know, the one who runs the law firm in town, complaining to me that she got her tires slashed just yesterday!”
Beatrice and Matthew exchanged glances. Then she noticed Hannah Moore strolling by, a new friend of hers.
“Hannah! How are you? Can I borrow you for a second?”
The young blonde legal assistant looked surprised. “Of course, Bee.”
“Nathan here just told me that your boss, Rebecca, had her tires slashed. Have you had any bad run-ins with clients lately? Or anyone else?”
Hannah rolled her eyes and swung her Coach handbag over her shoulder. “I think the question should be: who isn’t mad at us? I’m taking calls from clients all day who’re complaining about their invoices, about the verdicts they received, that Rebecca doesn’t have enough time for them. It’s a constant parade of complaints. Why?”
“Nathan had his tires slashed too. Do you know if Rebecca’s had this happen before?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then it must be a recent grievance. Do you mind sending over your most recent client list?”
Hannah’s eyes opened wide. “Ohhh do I get to help solve another mystery? Fun! Okay Bee, I’ll email that to you. No sweat.”
“We’re ready to announce the winners!” Reggie’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. The crowd gathered eagerly around him.
Beatrice grabbed Matthew’s elbow excitedly. “Do you think we’ll win?” she asked.
“Not a chance.”
“And third place goes to … Abigail Freedman for her true-to-life rendition of Elsa from Frozen!”
Abigail went to the front to collect her medal but from her stiff gait and how quickly she disappeared, Beatrice could tell she wasn’t happy. First place went to Janice, a regular at the café, for an intricate graveyard scene that Beatrice swore must have been done with a stencil.
“Well another year, another failure,” Beatrice said.
Matthew smiled down at her. “At least the hot chocolate’s good.”
“You know, something’s bothering me,” she said, frowning as a crush of people pushed past them to get to the parking
lot. “None of the prank victims have any idea who targeted them. Doesn’t that sound a little weird? I mean, either we just have a straight-out prankster here with no goal but to make mischief. Or we have somebody who’s hiding in plain sight.”
“That’s a creepy idea,” Matthew said. “Well, at least we know it’s not the mayor.”
Beatrice hit him on the arm. “Too soon, Matt. Too soon.”
They were just about to leave too when a loud “fizz” and a “pop” sounded from the parking lot. The people ahead of them backed up and began pushing those behind. There were screams and shouts to call the sheriff.
“What the heck?” Matthew said.
Beatrice fumbled in her purse, looking for her cell phone. Panic was making her fingers shake. “Sounds just like a bomb,” she said.
6
“Bee, what was that noise?” said the sheriff as soon as he answered. “I could hear it from my office.”
“Not sure, just came from the parking lot outside the church. You better get down here. Sounded a lot like what I heard this morning. Maybe not as loud.”
Matthew helped push them through the crowd. People looked calmer, but dazed. The only hysterical one was Abigail, who was cursing at her car.
“Hey, hey, hey what’s going on?” Beatrice asked, touching her arm. “Are you alright?”
Abigail shook her off. “I’m fine, okay? Something just exploded in my windshield wipers.”
“The cat saved her,” Bridget yelled, holding Lucky high in her arms. “He dashed in front of Abby, slowed her down so she didn’t get too close to that car.”
“Yes,” said Abigail, dabbing at tears with a tissue. “He saved me from death.”
“The cat saved her!” someone else roared in the crowd. There was a great cheer. Lucky, who was still held aloft like a forward who’d scored a winning goal, was trying to look as if this was just another day for him. Only his whiskers quivered—a telltale sign that he was excited.
“Okay, here, give him to me,” Matthew said. “I don’t think he’s ready for crowd surfing yet.” He cuddled the little black cat close, who started to purr.
When Sheriff Roy showed up seconds later, lights flashing, the crowd had already dispersed. They had enough of the excitement and bed was beckoning. The sheriff jumped out of his vehicle and snapped on some gloves as he walked over. His eyes looked bloodshot. It had been a long day.
“You’re okay, Abigail?”
She nodded tearfully. The sheriff led her to the back of his cruiser to compose herself and then came back to check out the car.
“Lucky has excellent hearing, he made sure she didn’t get too close,” Beatrice said.
The sheriff looked at her doubtfully. “Uh, well that’s good.” He shone his flashlight on Abigail’s vehicle. “No real damage, just some smoke. Whatever it was, it didn’t go off properly.”
Lucky jumped to the ground and began batting something on the ground. Even though the sheriff was sceptical about the cats’ “crime-solving” ability he immediately swivelled his flashlight over to Lucky.
“Now, what you got there, cat?” he said. The sheriff crouched down and picked it up. “Huh, definitely a homemade bomb. I went down the road today looking for any debris from your incident but I didn’t see anything. If this bomb hadn’t been defective, which it is, it probably could have made a decent explosion.”
“A bomb?” Matthew walked over and peered down at the thing. “Must be some clever kid, figured out how to do it over the Internet.”
“Well, he’s gotta be a clever kid who smokes,” Roy replied, fishing a cigarette but out of the wreckage. “This was the ignition. Should have burned all the way to the end and set off an explosion. But whoever bought this cigarette, got it from a place where by law they require all butts to burn out on their own. A safety precaution.”
Beatrice got out her smartphone and began typing frantically. “Hm, well New York has a law like that. Okay, then we have to find someone who went to New York recently.”
“That doesn’t really narrow it down much.” The sheriff twitched his moustache. “But, if we can get a DNA sample off of this butt…”
“Really! That’s perfect. When can you get it tested?”
“If I call it in as terrorism, right away. But I’d rather not do that. If we get camera crews down here saying this is a terrorism-prone town where people shoot their mayor, my goose is really going to be cooked. I’ll put it in the usual route and it’ll take a couple of days.”
“Good enough.” Beatrice took Lucky from Matthew and kissed him on the head. “By the way, we chatted with a couple of folk tonight who’ve had other problems recently. I’ll send you a list.”
The sheriff saluted her and walked back to his car.
“I know you’re mocking me,” she called after him. Then Beatrice froze and covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh my gosh, where are Hamish and Petunia?”
Thankfully, Reggie was still in the church, tidying up. He often came into the café to chat with Beatrice and everyone always teased her that Reggie was her admirer. Indeed, his face brightened as soon as he spotted Beatrice.
“Nice of you to come back,” he said, limping towards them. “You want more hot chocolate?”
“That’s okay, I’m just looking for my cats.”
Reggie’s face fell. “Well, I haven’t seen any running around.”
Beatrice began running around the hall, looking into every storage cabinet she could find. Nothing.
“Hey Bee,” came Matthew’s voice. “This supply closet’s open.”
She rushed over and opened the door. Inside was Hamish, vigorously licking Petunia’s head. Her ears were flattened and she was curled into a ball.
“Doesn’t he know what you’re supposed to do in a broom closet?” asked Matthew, eyes twinkling.
“Hammy doesn’t know about the birds and the bees, he’s fixed,” she retorted. “Okay you two, enough G-rated hanky-panky. Let’s go!”
The cats immediately scampered off but to Beatrice’s mind, they didn’t look one bit sorry.
7
As much as Beatrice wanted to spend all day, every day on sleuthing, she held off until Sunday. She’d made a solemn promise to herself that she would never shirk her duties at the Cozy Cat Café. After all, the people who worked there depended on her for their livelihood. It was also her legacy and her pride.
But, oh, weren’t mysteries so much fun to solve…
Sunday was customarily Beatrice and Matthew’s hangout day since they both had the day off. He would usually swing by her house early and they’d make brunch and then maybe go for a drive into the country. Nothing too taxing. But since Beatrice was itching to solve the prankster case, Matthew had agreed to hunker down all day and pour over the facts.
Beatrice woke early that morning, snuggled deep in her layers of comforters and quilts. To her surprise, there was a light patter of rain on the windows. Lucky was nestled in her arms. Hamish and Petunia were snug as bugs on the pillow next to her.
She crawled out of bed and shoved her feet into slippers. Outside, the trees had shed more of their leaves, which lay thick and wet on the ground. The light was low and hazy, the sky filled with clouds.
“Well, I don’t have anywhere to be,” Beatrice declared to herself. “So let it rain all it wants!”
After showering and slipping on comfy yoga pants, Beatrice set about scanning the contents of her fridge. Hamish was already up, sitting like a soldier on duty next to the fridge, eyes trained on her hands in case food might magically appear in them.
“Listen greedy guts, I haven’t forgotten you,” she said. “Feeding you is my life’s work, okay?”
She sectioned out appropriate quantities of their special-order dry cat food into the three monogrammed bowls—Petunia’s had just arrived the other day. It was pink, of course.
She was putting the coffee on when the doorbell rang.
“Matthew, I’m going to cut you a key, this is ridiculo
us,” she said, answering the door.
“Then it would be like I live here,” he teased.
“Well, you kind of do.”
She helped him off with his coat—it was cold under her fingers. Matthew was wearing jeans and a grey cable-knit sweater.
“I know, I know, I’m overdressed. But you try wearing a uniform every day. Makes a man want to wear his good clothes for a change.”
Beatrice hung up his tweed coat. “Coffee’s ready.”
Matthew poured out his own cup and then set about whipping up something to eat. His kitchen was more cramped than Beatrice’s, so he enjoyed the chance to cook there every Sunday. He was a creative cook and it gave Beatrice a chance to sit at the breakfast bar and skim through the file the sheriff had lent her. She started writing down a master list of victims to see if she could detect any connections.
Matthew plunked down a plate next to her. “Eat it while it’s hot, Bee.”
“It” ended up being scrambled eggs with tomato and jalapeno, toast, and sliced avocado. Petunia finally made her entrance, stretching and yawning as she walked into the kitchen, looking very much the lady of leisure.
Matthew clambered up onto his stool and looked over the list Beatrice was working on.
“This is a head-scratcher. All I see is a bunch of random people.”
“True, but there are some common factors. All are from Ashbrook or live in the surrounding areas. And the victims tend to be between thirty to sixty years of age. So this isn’t some kid or teen taking revenge on their peers. We’re dealing with an adult here.”
“And the sheriff said that most people were targeted at home.”
Beatrice swallowed another mouthful of egg. “It has to be personal. When you attack someone at home, you destroy their sense of security. So the perp knew his victims.”
“It has to be somebody from Ashbrook. Someone we know.”
The Purrfect Halloween Prank: A Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mystery (Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mysteries Book 4) Page 3