by Sofie Ryan
I woke up in the back of the ambulance. “What did you take?” a burly paramedic with muscles on his muscles asked me.
“I didn’t take anything,” I said. It was hard to get the words out. My tongue felt as if it were too long for my mouth. I made a flailing gesture with one hand in the direction of the house. “He made me drink something.” The luncheon meat can was sitting on the edge of the stretcher. “I spammed his scam,” I told the paramedic. I liked saying the words so much I repeated them again.
Nick appeared at the back door of the ambulance. He handed the bottle of ginger ale to the muscular paramedic. “Whatever she had, I think it’s in here.”
“Thanks,” the hunky paramedic said. “There’s another ambulance on the way for your suspect. We’re going to transport her now.”
I leaned sideways and waved at Nick. The straps in the stretcher were the only things keeping me from falling onto the floor.
Nick raised a hand at me and then shut the back door. The paramedic moved the can of Spam on to the floor.
“You don’t have to worry,” I said to him. “I would never spam you. There would be no spamisfaction in that. Spamisfaction.” I said the word a few times, and then I started singing “I Can’t Get No Spamisfaction” to the tune of The Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction,” and much to the amusement of the paramedics, I sang it all the way to the hospital.
I spent the next several hours in the emergency room. When he came to, Ethan admitted to Nick that there was Vicodin in the bottle of ginger ale he’d tried to make me drink. I hadn’t gotten that much into my system, but on an empty stomach it was enough. I’d only had the painkiller once before in my life and it had made me pretty loopy then, too.
By the time they let Liam in to see me, along with Rose and Mr. P., who had told the staff they were my parents, I was starting to feel like myself again, albeit a very embarrassed version of myself.
Mac had gone to take care of things at the shop. Before he left he caught my hand and gave it a squeeze. “I am so glad you’re all right,” he said.
I smiled at him. “Thank you for riding to the rescue.”
He smiled back. “Anytime, Sarah.”
Nick poked his head in the room about fifteen minutes after the others had arrived. Rose was fussing, fixing my pillow and sending Mr. P. to get me a warm blanket.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I’m all right,” I said. “What happened to Ethan?”
“He’s under arrest.”
“I’d like to pound him into sand,” Liam said.
Nick nodded. “You and me both.” He gave me a half smile. “He crushed up some of Ellie’s Vicodin in that soda he tried to get you to drink.”
I made a face and shook my head. “I didn’t drink very much.”
Nick swiped a hand over his neck. “Yeah, well, it looks like there was enough in that bottle to drug a horse.”
Rose pressed her lips together for a moment and straightened my blankets. I caught her hand. “I’m fine,” I said.
“Thank heavens,” she whispered.
“How did you know?” I asked Nick. He looked at Mr. P., who was just coming in carrying a flannel blanket across his outstretched arms.
“Alfred,” Nick said. “I came back to look at that bed. When he called you back and you didn’t answer, he got worried.”
Rose looked at Mr. P. and beamed. At the same time I saw her blink away tears. I reached for Mr. P.’s hands and he came to stand next to the bed.
“Thank you,” I said.
“There’s nothing to thank me for, my dear,” he said. “You saved yourself. And I’m very glad that you did.” I squeezed his hands and he leaned forward to kiss my forehead.
“Ethan started selling those bottles of wine,” I said to Nick.
He nodded. “I know.” He came around the side of the bed. “I have to get back to the station to clear up some loose ends with Michelle. I’ll come see you later.”
“We should be able to get out of here soon,” Liam said. He looked at Nick and clapped him on the back. “Thank you. This could have ended a lot differently.”
Nick nodded. “I’m really glad it didn’t.” Like Mr. P. he leaned over and dropped a kiss on the top of my head.
I was released from the ER about an hour later. Liam, Rose and Mr. P. took me home, where Jess was waiting with Elvis. She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me. “You scared the crap out of me,” she said. “Don’t do anything like this again.”
“I don’t intend to,” I said.
Elvis was sitting on the top of the cat tower. I went over and picked him up. He rubbed his face against my cheek. “You were very brave,” I said to him as I scratched the side of his face. He made a sound a lot like a sigh of contentment and started to purr.
I carried him over to the sofa and sat down. Jess perched on the edge next to me. “He jumped on Ethan’s back,” I said, still stroking the cat’s fur. “I wouldn’t have been able to hit him if it hadn’t been for Elvis.”
Jess reached over to stroke the top of his head. “Good job, dude,” she said. She looked over at Liam. “There’s coffee.”
“Thanks,” he said, heading into the kitchen.
Jess looked at me again. “Did you really whack Ethan with a can of Spam?” she asked.
I nodded. “His father had a stockpile of food and water probably in case of a power failure.”
“I almost threw that box out,” Rose said.
I smiled at her. “I’m so glad you didn’t.”
“Alfred and I are going to make supper for everyone,” she said. She smiled at me. “Is there anything special you’d like, dear?”
I shook my head. “Whatever you make will be wonderful. Thank you.”
She blew me a kiss and she and Mr. P. left. Liam came out of the kitchen holding a mug of coffee and whistling. It took me a moment, but I realized he was whistling “Satisfaction.” He sat next to me on the sofa and smirked.
“Jess, could you hand me that pillow?” I asked, pointing at the cushion on the nearby rocking chair. I set Elvis on the couch next to me, where he stretched and swiped a paw over his face.
“Sure,” she said. She got up, grabbed the pillow and gave it to me.
“Thanks,” I said. And then I smacked Liam with it.
“Hey!” he yelled. “What did I do?”
“Who told you?”
He tried to look innocent, which was pretty much impossible.
I whacked him again and he collapsed against the back of the couch, laughing.
“Okay, somebody tell me what’s going on,” Jess said, a bewildered look on her face.
Liam held his forearm in front of his face and started to sing “I Can’t Get No Spamisfaction,” before losing it all over again.
I stared up at the ceiling. “I didn’t hallucinate that, did I?” I said.
“Nope,” Liam said. He was enjoying it all way too much.
“Hallucinate what?” Jess demanded. “So help me, if the two of you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to get a can of Spam and smack both of you with it.”
That just set Liam off again.
I looked at Jess. “I may have done a little singing in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.”
“A little?” Liam said. “That’s not what I heard.”
Jess’s expression changed as she put the pieces together. “Wait a second,” she said. “You sang ‘I Can’t Get No Spamisfaction’ in the ambulance?”
“Once in falsetto, from what I heard,” my brother chortled.
To her credit, Jess tried to keep a straight face.
“Oh, go ahead and laugh,” I said. “You know you want to.”
“No, that would be wrong,” she managed to choke out, and then she pressed a hand over her mouth, and her shoulders shoo
k with silent laughter.
I couldn’t help laughing myself. After everything that had happened, it felt pretty good.
When Liam finally got himself under control, he turned to look at me and his expression grew serious. “When Rose told me what happened to you . . .” He grabbed my hand and squeezed. I squeezed back. “It’s a good thing Ethan’s in jail,” he said, his voice suddenly husky with emotion, “because if he wasn’t I would be.” He squeezed his free hand into a tight fist. “Love you,” he said, and then he smiled. “Baby sister.”
I put my arm around his neck and hugged him. “I love you, too, big brother,” I said.
“Oh, crap,” Jess said behind me. “You’re making my allergies act up.” She sniffed, took a swipe at her eyes with one hand and got up, reaching for a Kleenex on the counter.
Elvis, who hated being left out of anything, meowed loudly, took a pass at his face with a paw and looked expectantly at us.
I laughed again because it really did feel good.
We decided to celebrate the next night down at Sam’s for Thursday night jam. There was a lot of good news to celebrate. I’d called Skye back and the benefit concert to raise the money for Ellie’s surgery was back on. Channing Caulfield had set up an account to administer the funds. The Marklin model train hadn’t been put up for auction after all. Caulfield and Stella had come to some sort of private agreement and the former bank manager had made a very generous donation to the account.
The police were satisfied that Ellie had known nothing about what Ethan had done. In fact, she’d been going to leave Ethan just before his father died, but he’d threatened to go after custody of the children if she did—he liked the image of loving son and husband he’d projected and he was afraid his father would change his will and leave everything to his grandchildren if Ethan and Ellie divorced.
She was a little shaken by everything that had happened, but she was strong and determined and I really felt she’d be all right. Stella was moving in to help with the kids for a while.
And it turned out that Edison Hall had made a new will. Elvis unearthed it at the house hidden on the sideboard he’d used as his launch pad when he attacked Ethan. Edison hadn’t spent all his savings on his wine collection after all. It turned out he had bought stock in several banks and utility companies over a long period of time. He’d put everything in a trust for Ellie and the children. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it would give her something every month she could count on.
Elvis had just gotten settled in his chair in anticipation of Jeopardy! when I heard a knock on my door. Liam was driving us to Sam’s. “He’s early,” I said to Elvis. I reached down and stroked the top of his head. He smiled at me and turned back to the TV. He’d received so many cans of sardines for his “act of bravery” that I wouldn’t have to buy him any for at least a month.
When I opened the door, it wasn’t Liam standing there; it was Nick. “Hi,” I said.
He smiled at me. “Hi, Liam said I could catch a ride with you two.”
“Let me get my jacket and I’m ready.” Nick had stopped in twice and called me twice in the last twenty-four hours. I wasn’t exactly sure how to react.
He caught my arm. “Hang on a second,” he said. He handed me a paper shopping bag.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Look inside.”
Inside the bag were a long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of running shorts. I pulled out the shorts. “Uh, thank you,” I said. “But these are a bit too big for me.”
“That’s because they’re for me.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Name the time and the place and I’ll going running with you.” He smiled. “And my favorite meal is chicken pot pie, which by the way you need to be able to make gravy for.”
I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there staring at him.
“This is where you kiss me,” he said, taking a step closer to me.
“Are you sure?” I asked, realizing how lame the words were as soon as they were out.
“Positive,” he said.
So what else could I do?
I kissed him.
Love Elvis the cat? Then meet Hercules and Owen! Read on for an excerpt of the first book in the Magical Cat series.
CURIOSITY THRILLED THE CAT
by Sofie Kelly
Available now from Obsidian.
Chapter 1
Slant Flying
The body was smack in the middle of my freshly scrubbed kitchen floor. Fred the Funky Chicken, minus his head.
“Owen!” I said, sharply.
Nothing.
“Owen, you little fur ball, I know you did this. Where are you?”
There was a muffled “meow” from the back door. I leaned around the cupboards. Owen was sprawled on his back in front of the screen door, a neon yellow feather sticking out of his mouth. He rolled over onto his side and looked at me with the same goofy expression I used to get from stoned students coming into the BU library.
I crouched down next to the gray-and-white tabby. “Owen, you killed Fred,” I said. “That’s the third chicken this week.”
The cat sat up slowly and stretched. He padded over to me and put one paw on my knee. Tipping his head to one side he looked up at me with his golden eyes. I sat back against the end of the cupboard. Owen climbed onto my lap and put his two front paws on my chest. The feather was still sticking out of his mouth.
I held out my right hand. “Give me Fred’s head,” I said. The cat looked at me unblinkingly. “C’mon, Owen. Spit it out.”
He turned his head sideways and dropped what was left of Fred the Funky Chicken’s head into my hand. It was a soggy lump of cotton with that lone yellow feather stuck on the end.
“You have a problem, Owen,” I told the cat. “You have a monkey on your back.” I dropped what was left of the toy’s head onto the floor and wiped my hand on my gray yoga pants. “Or maybe I should say you have a chicken on your back.”
The cat nuzzled my chin, then laid his head against my T-shirt, closed his eyes and started to purr.
I stroked the top of his head. “That’s what they all say,” I told him. “You’re addicted, you little fur ball, and Rebecca is your dealer.”
Owen just kept on purring and ignored me. Hercules came around the corner then. “Your brother is a catnip junkie,” I said to the little tuxedo cat.
Hercules climbed over my legs and sniffed the remains of Fred the Funky Chicken’s head. Then he looked at Owen, rumbling like a diesel engine as I scratched the side of his head. I swear there was disdain on Hercules’ furry face. Stick catnip in, on or near anything and Owen squirmed with joy. Hercules, on the other hand, was indifferent.
The stocky black-and-white cat climbed onto my lap, too. He put one white paw on my shoulder and swatted at my hair.
“Behind the ear?” I asked.
“Meow,” the cat said.
I took that as a yes, and tucked the strands back behind my ear. I was used to long hair, but I’d cut mine several months ago. I was still adjusting to the change in style. At least I hadn’t given in to the impulse to dye my dark brown hair blond.
“Maybe I’ll ask Rebecca if she has any ideas for my hair,” I said. “She’s supposed to be back tonight.” At the sound of Rebecca’s name Owen lifted his head. He’d taken to Rebecca from the first moment he’d seen her, about two weeks after I’d brought the cats home.
Both Owen and Hercules had been feral kittens. I’d found them, or more truthfully they’d found me, about a month after I’d arrived in town. I had no idea how old they were. They were affectionate with me, but wouldn’t allow anyone else to come near them, let alone touch them. That hadn’t stopped Rebecca, my backyard neighbor, from trying. She’d been buying both cats little catnip toys for weeks now, but all she’d done was turn Owen into a ch
icken-decapitating catnip junkie. She was on vacation right now, but Owen had clearly managed to unearth a chicken from a secret stash somewhere.
I stroked the top of his head again. “Go back to sleep,” I said. “You’re going cold turkey . . . or maybe I should say cold chicken. I’m telling Rebecca no more catnip toys for you. You’re getting lazy.”
Owen put his head down again, while Hercules used his to butt my free hand. “You want some attention, too?” I asked. I scratched the spot, almost at the top of his head, where the white fur around his mouth and up the bridge of his nose gave way to black. His green eyes narrowed to slits and he began to purr, as well. The rumbling was kind of like being in the service bay of a Volkswagen dealership.
I glanced up at the clock. “Okay, you two. Let me up. It’s almost time for me to go and I have to take care of the dearly departed before I do.”
I’d sold my car when I’d moved to Minnesota from Boston, and because I could walk everywhere in Mayville Heights, I still hadn’t bought a new one. Since I had no car, I’d spent my first few weeks in town wandering around exploring, which is how I’d stumbled on Wisteria Hill, the abandoned Henderson estate. Everett Henderson had hired me at the library.
Owen and Hercules had peered out at me from a tumble of raspberry canes and then followed me around while I explored the overgrown English country garden behind the house. I’d seen several other full-grown cats, but they’d all disappeared as soon as I got anywhere close to them. When I left, Owen and Hercules followed me down the rutted gravel driveway. Twice I’d picked them up and carried them back to the empty house, but that didn’t deter them. I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find their mother. They were so small and so determined to come with me that in the end I’d brought them home.
There were whispers around town about Wisteria Hill and the feral cats. But that didn’t mean there was anything unusual about my cats. Oh no, nothing unusual at all. It didn’t matter that I’d heard rumors about strange lights and ghosts. No one had lived at the estate for quite a while, but Everett refused to sell it or do anything with the property. I’d heard that he’d grown up at Wisteria Hill. Maybe that was why he didn’t want to change anything.