The Unfur-Tunate Valentine's Scam

by Alannah Rogers

  It was a dark New Year’s Eve night in Ashbrook, New Hampshire. Beatrice crossed the park in front of the church, mittened hands shoved deep in the pockets of her puffy red parka. The park was within a square of roads, now closed off to traffic and dotted with food stands. A gazebo festooned with twinkle lights sat in the middle of the park. The church was lit up by a spotlight. The hands of the old clock embedded in its steeple showed that it was ten o’clock—two more hours to go until midnight.

  “Hey, over here!” Zoe waved.

  She and her boyfriend Hunter were standing by the sausage–in–a–bun food stand. Beatrice strode over and gave her friend a bear hug—Zoe was also wearing a puffy coat, though it was black.

  “Heavens, we’re like two giant marshmallows trying to embrace,” Beatrice said, drawing back. “Hi Hunter. Happy New Year’s Eve.”

  The skinny guy shuffled his boots in the snow and avoided her gaze. “Hey Bee,” he muttered.

  “He knows I don’t like him,” Beatrice said, grinning.

  “Bee!” Zoe hissed. She hooked her elbow through her friend’s and steered her away. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Find me something to eat. I’m starving.”

  Beatrice looked around and took off her mitten so she could do a mean wolf whistle. The cats immediately came galloping over, dressed in sweaters and little booties.

  “Geez, those cats are better dressed than me,” Zoe said, crouching down to scratch kitty heads.

  Petunia firmly butted in front of the rest, which wasn’t hard given her Rubenesque frame, and meowed loudly. Zoe picked her up and was immediately covered in a shower of tan fur.

  “I could really go for fried clams and chips,” Beatrice said, eyeing a nearby stand. “Mind if we make a pit stop?”

  Once she’d loaded up on food, the three friends strolled around the square, taking in the ice sculpture contest, local crafts, and a jazz band that had started playing in the gazebo. They stopped for hot apple cider.

  Everywhere the firs were still decorated in Christmas lights and bows bedecked the wrought iron streetlights and the doors of shops nearby. Zoe and Beatrice chatted about how Matthew had gone to visit his son Arthur in Plymouth for New Year’s Eve. Beatrice was happy since he hadn’t been able to spend Christmas with him or his grandkids.

  Beatrice was hovering by a fortune–telling booth, nervously wondering whether she should give it a try, when she spotted a long–haired black and white cat skulking around the edge of the tent.

  He had an impressive white ruff like a little lion and bright golden eyes. The bell around his neck tinkled as he carefully edged his way forward. He was wearing little booties on his white feet, so clearly he belonged to someone—he certainly hadn’t dressed himself.

  “Hi there, handsome. Where’s your momma?” Beatrice asked, crouching down and rubbing her hands together.

  The fluffy cat immediately trotted over to her, tail upright and swinging back and forth like a pendulum. Beatrice raked her fingers through his soft fur and then checked his collar. Beside the bell was a little silver tag that said “Ollie.”

  Ollie meowed loudly, as if confirming that was indeed his name.

  “Well precious, I guess you better stick with us until we find your mom. Meet Petunia, Hamish, and Lucky.”

  Lucky—the attention lover—went up to him first and sniffed at Ollie’s pink nose. Petunia indelicately sniffed around his tail while Hamish sat at a safe distance, eyeing this new potential rival for attention. Ollie butted Petunia’s head flirtatiously; Hamish let out a low growl.

  They wandered around for a couple of hours until midnight—hopping on a horse–drawn carriage for a ride, watching hyper kids getting their faces painted like superheroes and butterflies, and checking out buskers doing magic tricks and comedy routines.

  It wasn’t exactly tropical weather, but it was unseasonably warm for that time of year, which made an evening outdoors pleasant—even more so when accompanied with lots of hot cider.

  Finally, it came time for the midnight fireworks. Beatrice, Zoe, Hunter, and the cats all gathered in the square as the fireworks were going to be lit behind the church. People were beaming at each other, from parents holding sleeping babies to awkward high school couples new to their relationship, and whining kids who were way out past their bedtime.

  Then the clock struck midnight and the bells in the church began to peal. All around them, people began to kiss. Hunter and Zoe leaned in. Hamish and Petunia nosed each other. Beatrice picked up Lucky and kissed his cold little black head. He purred loudly in her arms.

  “And Happy New Year to you too, Ollie,” Beatrice said, reaching down to scratch his ears.

  Then the fireworks began to whizz up into the starry sky, before exploding in shimmering golds and silvers, radiant reds and brilliant blues. Beatrice clasped her hands together and sighed happily. There was little she liked more than a good fireworks show.

  A general murmuring in the crowd far to Beatrice’s left distracted her. She strained to see what was going on. Then suddenly there was a whizz and a sudden explosion that was not quite masked by the popping and crackling of the fireworks.

  Beatrice immediately looked down at Hamish. He was staring up at her, wide–eyed, and alarmed. Something was wrong. Without hesitation, she ran right towards the source of the noise.

  Get the full story as part of the Beatrice Young box set: smarturl.it/beatriceyoungset1