The Purrfect Halloween Prank: A Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mystery (Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mysteries Book 4)

by Alannah Rogers

  “When did you get so grown-up?” Beatrice asked.

  “Bee, if you listened to me more, you’d realize that I’m full of wisdom,” Zoe said crossly.

  The stall was set up and the fair grounds opened. Beatrice sent Zoe off to have fun while she manned the fort. Her latte was immediately a big hit. Not long into it, Matthew showed up. He was wearing a navy V-neck sweater that Beatrice had given him one Christmas. The cats ran up to him and he patted each one, remarking on their costumes.

  “Bee, what are you doing?” he asked, straightening and pushing up his sleeves. “Are you the only one working here? Where’s Zoe?”

  “I told her to go have some fun,” Beatrice said, handing out change and then dumping espresso grounds out of the portafilter. “I’m managing. It’s little hectic but it keeps me young, you know?”

  Matthew smiled. “At least let me help you a bit. I’ll handle the money, you make the drinks.

  Beatrice was a pragmatist—she wasn’t about to turn down free help. Matthew stepped behind the stall as she focused on adding whipped cream, chocolate sauce, and fresh espresso to cups. She gave a salted caramel mocha latte to Matthew to try. He sipped it and she laughed when the whipped cream stuck to his beard. Taking a napkin, she wiped him clean.

  “So Bee, you haven’t told me how your date went,” he asked, wiping himself with the back of his hand.

  Oh brother. Beatrice grimaced. “Well, it was nice.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “Went shopping for Halloween decorations. Then he helped put them up in my house.”

  Matthew raised one shaggy eyebrow. “He came back to your house?”

  “To put up decorations,” Beatrice repeated. “I thought it was really nice of him.”

  He made a noise that sounded like humph. “So when’s the next date?”

  Matthew and his questions! Beatrice focused on swirling the whipped cream perfectly on the top of a latte. “There isn’t one. Yet.”

  He took a spoonful of salted caramel and dusted it on top of the cream. “So you’re saying that he hasn’t called you yet.”

  Beatrice put the finished latte on the counter and forced herself to smile at the customer in front of her. “See, this is why I didn’t want to start dating,” she said through gritted teeth. “Everyone’s up in your business about it.”

  Suddenly there was a desperate yowling from nearby. Hamish was a few feet away, trapped under what looked to be a heavy net. Beatrice ran to him immediately but the net proved to be too tangled and too heavy to move on her own.

  “Matthew, can you help me?” she cried. He ran over and helped her disentangle the trapped Maine Coon. It took a couple of minutes for the two of them to fully free the poor cat. Once out, his fur was all rumpled and his hat and dagger completely askew. But he looked more than upset at this lack of dignity; he genuinely appeared frightened, which was rare for Hamish.

  Lucky came running up then and began pawing Beatrice’s leg frantically. “Lucky, what is your problem? You’re driving me nuts,” she said.

  Lucky had been a little haywire lately. She knew he was jealous of Petunia and Hamish, but his behavior was starting to get extreme. She wondered if she should get him some kitty Prozac.

  Beatrice tried to gently ward him off but he was having none of it. He began trying to climb up her leg, then dashing towards the stand, then batting at her, then running toward the stand again.

  “He’s finally cracked,” Matthew said. “I knew it would happen one day. Or maybe it’s the costume. I wouldn’t want to be a spider either.”

  Beatrice looked at the wiry black cat, considering. “No, I think he’s trying to tell us something.” She walked back to the stand and began to peer around it. “What is it Lucks? You trying to get my attention?”

  Lucky’s skinny black tail began to twitch and he yowled like Beatrice had never heard before. Yep, something was definitely up. She began to hunt around the stall and then stopped dead in her tracks when she saw a small contraption fixed inside it.

  And attached to the contraption was a cigarette butt—that had almost burned right down to the stub.

  14

  “BOMB!” yelled Beatrice at top volume.

  The sheriff, who was nearby talking to a friend, zipped over, snatched the thing out with his bare hands and chucked it far into the woods like a baseball. There was a momentary pause and then a deafening BOOM that shook the ground. Everyone nearby stopped what they were doing and stared at the woods, jaws dropped. The cats began to yowl in tandem like a pack of wolves.

  “Oh,” Beatrice said. It was all she could think of to say when she, the cats, Matthew, and her stand had almost been blown to smithereens. She gritted her teeth. “Where the fruitcake is Frank Harpswell? I want his head on a platter—now!”

  “Listen, I’ve got Reggie in position,” the sheriff said, dusting off his hands. “He’s supposed to meet Frank in about five minutes.”

  “Well, I think we all know Frank is here,” Beatrice said. “Since he so conveniently managed to slip into my stand. Does Reggie have my recorder?”

  “Sure does.” He checked his phone. “He’s on his way now.”

  Beatrice flipped a “closed” sign on the stand and then she and Matthew crowded around the phone, breathlessly waiting for an update. It seemed to take forever before an all-caps text appeared on the screen: HE SMELLED A RAT. TOOK OFF ON FOOT.

  The sheriff didn’t hesitate—he sprinted off as if he were a good thirty years younger.

  “Follow him!” shouted Beatrice. She and Matthew took off after him with the cats charging ahead, albeit a little slower than usual since they were somewhat hampered by their costumes. They dashed around face painting booths, dodged a potato sack race in progress, and narrowly avoided colliding with a guy carrying a barrel of apple cider.

  “He’s in the corn maze!” shouted the sheriff.

  “Cats, it’s time to give us a bird’s-eye view,” Beatrice said, pointing up to the top of the hay bales.

  With no trouble at all, the spider, princess, and pirate scaled the side of a hay bale and set off running along the top. Lucky’s spider legs flapped as he ran and Petunia’s tiara went flying off. Hamish’s hat was still askew, making him look more debonair than usual.

  “Genius!” Matthew said, panting.

  “C’mon grandpa,” Beatrice said. “I want to be there when the sheriff tackles that good-for-nothing, bomb-making slime ball.”

  They raced into the maze, trying to keep up with the cats. Unfortunately, there were plenty of little kids in there and even some teens making out, so it was a bit of an obstacle course.

  “Jake, the cats have that joker in their sight lines,” Beatrice yelled. “Just follow them.”

  “I know where he is,” the sheriff yelled back. “Don’t need no cats.”

  Except that seconds later the three of them collided where the maze took a sharp turn. The sheriff’s hat flew off and Beatrice crashed against the side of the bales.

  “Ow! He’s definitely not this way, Jake! Geez,” Beatrice said.

  “Oh for heaven’s sake. Alright, follow the cats,” the sheriff said, dusting off his hat.

  There was a distinct meow by their heads. Little Lucky stood there, tail upright, spider legs quivering. He then dashed off, with his humans in close pursuit.

  “I see him!” the sheriff yelled.

  Thankfully, Frank didn’t appear to be in the best of shape. He was clearly not used to running, or even walking further than from his shop to his car and back again. In fact, he was so red in the face that it looked like he might have a heart attack at any moment. The sheriff got closer to him and in one rather impressive move, grabbed him and tackled him to the ground. In a flash, he was cuffed and the sheriff was reading him his rights. Beatrice stood over him, yelling.

  “You dummy! You could have killed me! You could have killed Matthew! You could have killed my cats! You are a bad, bad man.”

  Frank spat hay out
of his mouth as the sheriff brought him to a stand. “Well maybe you and all your friends should have a little more respect for the guy who works so hard for all of you! All you lot did was complain and whine. A bunch of ungrateful good-for-nothings, if I ever did see them…”

  “That’s still not a reason to kill anyone,” Beatrice spat. “Why I oughta…”

  Matthew took a firm grasp of her shoulders and spun her around. “Let’s get out of here before you kill him,” he said and steered Beatrice out of the maze as she sputtered and yelled.

  At the end of the maze were Petunia, Lucky, and Hamish—sitting in a row and waiting for her. All of anger melted away just to see them safe and sound.

  “My angels!” she crowed, falling to the ground and kissing each of them.

  They purred and rubbed their heads against her. Their costumes were a bit worse for the wear. In fact, all of them were twisted around or half falling off. Still, except for Petunia’s tiara, they’d stayed on—Beatrice counted that as a very successful costume trial run, especially under the circumstances.

  15

  Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” was playing on the stereo as Beatrice opened the door to welcome the first guests to her Halloween party. The kids had finished trick or treating and now it was fiesta time. The cats sat eagerly by the entrance, all dolled up in their repaired costumes.

  “Oh my, Beatrice, what are you wearing?” Zoe screamed, Hunter by her side. She was wearing her cat ears again.

  “I’m Jessica Rabbit,” Beatrice said, spinning in place in her red, sparkly evening gown. “What? C’mon Zoe, don’t be a stick in the mud. Just because I’m old enough to be someone’s grandmother doesn’t mean I can’t be a little risqué at times.”

  Zoe came in and grabbed Beatrice’s elbow. “Is this about Gerald? Is he coming?”

  Beatrice slumped noticeably. “I texted him a little while ago but he hasn’t gotten back to me yet. Wait! I haven’t checked in about five minutes.” She pulled out her phone. “Oh! Oh! He texted back.”

  Zoe crowded close and they read the text together:

  Hi, Bee. Thanks so much for the date. I had lots of fun. But I think maybe we don’t click—that way. I’m heading back to Bar Harbor so I won’t be able to make your party tonight. Hope it’s fun.

  “That piece of…” Zoe started. She looked at Beatrice. “How could he not click with you? You are the most fun ever. And smart. And I couldn’t even wear the dress you’re wearing.”

  Beatrice sighed. “It’s okay, you don’t have to make me feel better. I could see this coming a mile away.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t even know if I want to be dating anyway, so he’s kind of let me off the hook. C’mon let’s get some alcohol in you—and me.”

  The rest of the guests arrived shortly after: Sheriff Roy and his wife, Matthew, Nathan, Hannah and her boss Rebecca, Ryan and his wife and kids, along with an assortment of café regulars and other friends. Everyone oohed and aahed over the decorations. There were lit candles everywhere but the overall theme was glittery skulls—Beatrice had gone a little overboard with the glitter spray. There were also plenty of hanging bats and all the windows were covered in cobwebs.

  Beatrice also had some fun games for the kids, including mystery boxes filled with spaghetti for brains, corn kernels for monster teeth, and sliced banana for tongues. The kids had to dip their hands in and guess what was inside. She laughed as she watched Ryan’s kids groaning and screaming as they felt inside the boxes. She loved having parties. It was wonderful to have people filling her house for a change, chatting and dancing, and eating up a storm.

  She went over to the snack table where Matthew was, munching away on a shortbread cookie that looked like a finger.

  “These are truly creepy,” he commented. “But delicious.”

  Beatrice crossed her arms. “Where’s your costume?”

  “I’m dressed as a ranger.”

  “That’s your uniform, that’s not a costume.”

  He shrugged, a devilish twinkle in his eyes. “Where’s your costume, Bee?”

  She blushed. “I think everyone expected me to dress up as a witch. Well, not me! I live to surprise.”

  “That you do.” He looked around. “Speaking of surprises, where’s Gerald?”

  “Gerald says we don’t click,” she said. “Please don’t tease me. I’d need about two more glasses of monster punch to deal with any teasing.”

  Matthew gave her a long look and then drew Beatrice into his arms and gave her a big hug. “Aw Bee, forget about him. He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

  In the distance, Zoe gave Beatrice the double thumbs up, earning her a scowl in return.

  “Heads Will Roll” came on the stereo and a dance party started in the living room, led by Zoe. The glittering skulls looked on and the candles flickered in the low light. Beatrice danced up a storm, monster punch clutched in one hand.

  The cats perched on various tables to keep out of the fray. Petunia and Hamish were getting loads of attention—pats, compliments, and photos. Lucky sat off to the side, looking a little downcast. Not many people were paying attention to him. Beatrice picked him up and danced with him slowly so that his ears perked up and he began to purr.

  Hours later, after everyone had gone home and all that was left was a smidgen of punch and a lots of dirty paper cups and plates lying about, Beatrice picked up Lucky again and took him to the window seat where she curled up with him. Matthew was in the kitchen, helping clean up. The cat sat on her belly, blinking at her.

  “Now you listen to me Lucky-Lucks,” she said to him softly. “In this world, sometimes the less flashy people don’t get as much attention as they deserve. Even if they do good things, they can get overlooked. But know this, my dear: all that attention doesn’t really matter. What matters are the one or two people in your life who do appreciate you. Those are the people who’ll stick with you, and who really know what you’re made of. I believe in you, Lucky. And I appreciate you. You’re a wonderful kitty, one of the very best in fact. Never forget that.”

  Lucky cocked his head and then gently batted her on the nose, as if telling her to stop talking nonsense. She laughed and kissed him—her perfect little Halloween cat.

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  About the Author

  Alannah Rogers is a retired librarian living in rural New Hampshire. She has three cats, all named after authors: Charlie, Wilkie, and Jane.

  Alannah is an obsessive knitter and Scrabble player who loves a strong cup of English Breakfast tea. She makes a mean strawberry rhubarb pie and enjoys tinkering in her garden when time permits.

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  Send her an email at alannahrogersauthor@gmail.com.