Death by a Whisker

by T. C. LoTempio

  Death by a Whisker

  A CAT RESCUE MYSTERY

  T. C. LoTempio

  Two words: You know.

  That’s all that needs to be said.

  Acknowledgments

  Once again I have to thank my wonderful agent, Josh Getzler, for making sure that my stories continue to get told and for putting up with all my comments and questions, even when they come at five-thirty AM in the morning. I would also like to thank Matt Martz, Jenny Chen, and the entire editorial staff at Crooked Lane for taking what I thought was a good story and making it even better.

  My thanks to Ken and Kathy Colgate for lending their names to characters in this book. Ken, you finally got your wish. I know my dear friend, the late MaryLou Ricciardi, would have been so proud. Thanks also to Tara Pitsenberger and Donna Blondell, who also lent their names to characters in this book, as well as Amanda Winfield, Doris Sharp (aka Dayna Harper) and Laurie Rubin. What are friends for?

  More thanks go out to Vi Kizis, always my muse and my Phoenix contact. The Pet Rescue series would not be the same without the character of Vi. A special shout-out goes to Susan Johnston and her beautiful Maine Coon, Princess Fuzzypants, ROCCO’s Facebook friends. How could I not put a cat that beautiful in this series? Check out her Facebook page if you don’t believe me!

  As always, my thanks go out to the legion of authors interviewed on ROCCO’s blog. I am so grateful to have met all of you. And of course to my fur babies, ROCCO and Maxx, without whom I would not have had my two series. Finally a shout-out to all the animal rescue groups and animal shelters everywhere. What you do for homeless animals is incredible, and I salute each and every one of you.

  Chapter One

  I walked into the kitchen and stopped dead when I saw the body, lying squarely in the middle of the floor. “Darn it!” I cried. “Not another one!!”

  Melvin the Marvelous Mouse was marvelous no more. Five other Melvins had met similar ends in the past two weeks, although this Melvin’s fate had been far worse than his predecessors. Whereas the rest had only suffered deep puncture wounds to the neck and extremities, this Melvin was minus his head, a right paw, and a good bit of his tail. I stooped down and picked up the remains, holding the mouse gingerly by what was left of the tail to avoid getting sticky saliva on my fingers. I heard a slight noise behind me, and I turned to face the killer.

  My twenty-two-pound orange and white tomcat lay on his side in front of the screen door, trying to look innocent and failing miserably. “Toby, you rascal,” I said sharply. He rolled over onto his back and looked at me with wide eyes the color of shamrocks. “Merow?” he said again.

  I crouched beside him on the floor and held out the mangled carcass. “Toby, I don’t know what’s gotten into you. These things aren’t cheap, you know.” I dangled what was left of the mouse in front of him. Toby opened his mouth in a bored yawn and looked away. I sighed. “I’m not kidding. If I find another Melvin beheaded à la Anne Boleyn, that’s it! No more for you.”

  Toby twisted his head to look at me. He blinked twice. “Er-owl?”

  “Oh, Syd. He knows you don’t mean it,” came a familiar voice.

  I glanced over my shoulder at the speaker, my best friend and roomie, Leila Addams. She was dressed impeccably in pale pink leggings and a matching top in a slightly deeper shade that complemented her auburn hair. I glanced at my own attire, dark denim jeans and white T-shirt with FRIENDLY PAWS ANIMAL SHELTER emblazoned across the chest, and tried not to feel frumpy. “Maybe I haven’t in the past, but this time I do,” I said in my sternest tone, brushing an errant golden-brown curl out of my face. “Five mice in two weeks? I’m starting to think he’s got anger issues.”

  “Him?” Leila gestured toward the cat, who was now lying on his back, all four paws in the air, looking completely innocent. She let out a soft chuckle. “Maybe he just misses the thrill of the hunt. He was a street cat after all.”

  That was true. His nickname at the shelter had been “The Wanderer” because he used to sneak out at night and do just that. However, since I’d adopted him, his wandering days had seemed to be over—replaced now with a desire to decapitate every rubber mouse he could lay his paws on.

  I knelt on one knee beside the cat and shook my finger at him. “If you don’t behave, young man, I’m going to ask Donna Blondell for the name of a good kitty shrink.”

  Toby’s head jerked up at mention of the veterinarian’s name, and his eyes narrowed. “Er-erl?” He made a noise deep in his throat, and I figured he was remembering the booster shot Donna had administered. Once the exam was over, though, she’d petted him, told him what a handsome boy he was, and even given him a Melvin the Mouse, so it was kind of hard to tell if he regarded the pretty vet as a friend or a foe. I was betting he was leaning toward the former. In Toby’s eyes, anyone who presented him with his favorite toy was his friend for life.

  I gave the cat my sternest look, which, to be quite honest, wasn’t very stern at all. “I meant what I said, Toby. Destroy another Melvin, and it will be your last.”

  The cat nuzzled my chin, then laid his head against my chest and started to purr.

  Leila eased one hip against the kitchen island. “He certainly knows how to work you,” she observed. She moved over to the coffeepot and poured some of the steaming liquid into a mug. “While your cat’s in nondestructive mode, let’s move on to other topics. Like the shelter event that’s—oh my gosh—a week from today! I still can’t believe Dudley Simmons agreed to appear.”

  Dudley Simmons, a former Deer Park native, was a classic “bad boy made good.” He’d been expelled from Deer Park High and run away to California when he was fifteen. He’d taken several odd jobs, including working in an animal shelter, and done comedy clubs at night before getting his big break. A movie producer had seen his act and signed him for a cameo role in a film, and the rest, as they say, was history. Now he had a syndicated talk show that was immensely popular and had written several books, but it was his latest, about a rescue cat he’d adopted, that had hit The New York Times Best Sellers list a few months ago. Since then, he’d been more in demand than ever. His publicist had informed us that Simmons was booked solid for months in advance, which made his appearance here in Deer Park a real coup.

  “Well, the credit for that all goes to Tara,” I said. “She pursued him relentlessly. The shelter owes her a huge debt of gratitude.”

  Tara was Tara Pitsenberger, the manager of Crowden’s Bookstore. The major book retailer had recently opened a store in Deer Park, and at the grand opening I’d been surprised to learn that Tara was an old college friend of Donna Blondell’s. Donna had immediately filled Tara in on the details of our previous cat café event and I, never one to miss an opportunity, had promptly approached her about holding a similar one at the bookstore. Tara was extremely enthusiastic about the idea, being an animal lover, and had quickly started making inquiries. Two weeks ago, she’d brought us the happy news that Dudley Simmons had agreed to the appearance. “Per Tara, he was sold once he heard it was for the shelter. It appears Dudley is a sucker for rescue cats.”

  “No wonder,” Leila said dryly. “Writing about this has netted him a small fortune. I’m sure he also saw big dollar signs before his eyes at all the potential sales.”

  “Cynical much?” I teased my friend. “I prefer to think Simmons’s heart was just in the right place, instead of being two sizes too small.”

  Leila clucked her tongue. “That Pollyanna attitude will be your undoing someday,” she said with a snicker. “I do marvel, though, at how quickly Tara put all this together.”

  “I agree. She missed her calling—she should be in marketing, not managing a store,” I said. “If I were still at Reid and Renshaw, I’d hire
her.” I opened the cupboard and took down the canister that held Toby’s salmon treats. He looked up at me expectantly, and I tossed a handful into his bowl before turning back to Leila. “I haven’t told you the best news yet, because we only found out yesterday. Tara convinced Simmons’s publisher, Axiom Books, to donate a percentage of the event’s sales to the shelter.”

  Leila let out a low whistle. “A percentage—wow! That should net the shelter a substantial sum. I bet Kat turned a few cartwheels when she heard that.”

  “She might have, if she were the athletic type,” I said with a chuckle. Katherine McCall, or Kat as I’d nicknamed her when I was three and couldn’t pronounce Katherine to save my life, was my sister and the director of the Friendly Paws Animal Shelter in Deer Park, North Carolina. When I’d left my job as director of marketing in a prestigious New York ad agency, she’d immediately urged me to come home and lend a hand at her shelter, which was having financial difficulties. I’d agreed to accept the part-time consultant position, mainly because I was at loose ends career-wise and because, as Dorothy had said to Toto, “There’s no place like home.”

  Leila drained her mug and walked over to put it in the sink. “So, what have you got planned for this lovely Saturday? Or are you working today?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not on the schedule, but I was going to take a ride over there anyway. We’re expecting some rescues in, plus Harry over at Staples should be bringing the new posters by.” I’d had some additional ones made, featuring photos of all the adoptable cats we’d be bringing to the event. I walked over to put my own mug in the sink. “What about you?”

  “There’s some garden show over in Pottstown that Parker wants me to cover.” She glanced at her watch and let out a yelp. “Oh, golly, I’d better get moving too. I have to pick up Betty Stiles. He wants her to take some photos.”

  As Leila rushed off, I put my own mug in the sink. I glanced down at Toby, who was curled on his cat bed, watching me. “I’ve got to get going too.” I waggled my finger at the cat. “Take it easy on the Melvins, won’t you, bud?”

  Toby blinked, then stretched full length on the cat bed and wiggled his paws in the air. I chuckled. In the short time I’d been a cat owner, I’d learned that it did no good to give cats any directions—they pretty much did what they wanted.

  I let myself in the back door of the shelter just as a tall woman with ash blonde hair was exiting. “Excuse me,” the woman murmured as she pushed past me and down the steps into the parking lot. I went inside and was immediately greeted by Maggie Shayne. Maggie not only volunteered, she also worked as our shelter admin, and I knew that Kat regarded the woman as her indispensable right hand. She glanced at the closed door and said, “Did that woman run you over? She came and wanted to fill out an adoption application, but halfway through she suddenly remembered an appointment. I thought her pants were on fire, she got out of here so fast.”

  I chuckled. “Did she finish the application?”

  Maggie frowned. “No, but who knows. I mentioned the shelter event, so maybe she’ll show up there. If she remembers, that is. It was right after that she jumped up and left. Anyway”—her lips stretched into a wide grin—“I’m glad you’re here. I was going to call you to come down and have a look. Harry delivered the new posters and they are, in a word, fabulous.”

  I peeled off my jacket and hung it on the rack by the door. “Great. I can’t wait to see them.”

  “Come on. I put ’em in your office.”

  We walked down the short hallway to the little cubbyhole all the way at the end that served as my office. I still got a little thrill at seeing the plaque on the door: “Sydney McCall, Publicity Director.” Once I’d achieved permanent status, I’d wasted no time in fixing up the spot Kat had declared was mine. It was small but cozy, with a desk and a leather chair, and two other chairs in a burgundy and green plaid situated near the desk. Right now, the chairs were teeming with files that I’d been sorting through, and the myriad of papers that I’d left littering the desktop were covered by the stack of large posters that Maggie had placed on top. She walked over, selected the top one, and held it up.

  “See,” she cried. “Looks great, right?”

  Indeed, it did. The background of the poster was a deep navy blue. The lettering was a stark white and proclaimed:

  BOOK SIGNING /SHELTER EVENT! COME SPEND “CATURDAY,” AUGUST 14, WITH US AND MEET NY TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR DUDLEY SIMMONS, WHO WILL AUTOGRAPH COPIES OF HIS NEWEST BOOK, MY CAT AND ME.

  ALSO, COME MEET SOME OF THE RESIDENTS OF FRIENDLY PAWS ANIMAL SHELTER WHO ARE UP FOR ADOPTION!

  In the center of the poster was a publicity photo of Dudley and his cat, taken from the back of the book jacket. Scattered all around the edges of the poster were photographs of the various shelter cats that we planned on bringing to the event.

  “Great isn’t a good enough word,” I breathed. “It looks mah-velous, dah-ling.”

  “I have to agree,” said a soft voice. “And I just love the ‘Caturday’ slogan.”

  I turned around and grinned at my sister, who looked as cool as a glass of lemonade in her yellow checked shirt and matching crop pants. Kat and I are about as alike as night and day. I’m five foot three, curvy, with mousy brown hair that I try to inject some life into with gold highlights. My sister is close to five nine, willowy, and a natural blonde. My sister can be very spontaneous; I, on the other hand, have a definite tendency to overthink situations. One thing we’d always shared, though, was a deep love of animals. I could still recall Kat nursing back to health a tiny robin whose wing had been broken. She’d cried when the bird was well enough to fly away, and I’d cried with her.

  “Thanks. I thought it was pretty cute too,” I answered. “I’m really excited about this event, Kat. I think it’s going to be a real winner.”

  “I am too. Tara worked a miracle for us.”

  “Amen to that.”

  We both lifted our heads as the sounds of barking dogs reached our ears. “Our new rescues sound pretty lively. Let’s check ’em out.”

  We made our way down the long hall toward the kennel area. Although Friendly Paws specialized in cat and kitten rescues, we prided ourselves on being an “equal opportunity” shelter, taking in stray dogs, rabbits, hamsters … an occasional parrot—even a garden snake. Kat pushed open the door and we walked inside. Four pups immediately raced to the edge of the large pen, barking and jumping over one another.

  “Poor things,” Kat said. “They really miss their owner. Irene didn’t want to give them up, but after she fell and broke her hip, she had no choice. Now it’s up to us to find them good homes.”

  Irene Brewster, a feisty eighty-four-year-old, had been a big animal lover, although when her Persian cat passed, she’d sworn she’d never get another pet at her age. When her next-door neighbor’s husband got a promotion that entailed moving the family to London, the neighbor had asked Irene if she knew anyone who would want to take on her five puppies and three cats. Irene had assured her neighbor she’d find the animals homes, but had ended up keeping them herself. Everything had gone well until two months ago, when she’d tripped going down her cellar stairs and broken her hip. Fortunately, her son had been able to get her admitted into Shadyvale Convalescent Home, which was about three miles away from his home in South Carolina. Irene had been reluctant to leave her animals at first, but reconsidered after her son agreed to take a cat and a pup to live in his one-bedroom condo. He’d read about our previous cat event at Dayna’s Café and contacted us about finding homes for the remaining animals.

  I walked closer to the enclosure and peered inside. A large Rottweiler puppy looked up at me with limpid eyes while a blonde Cocker Spaniel put his paws up on the side of the pen and gave a loud yip. The other two puppies were playing in the opposite corner of the enclosure.

  I looked over my shoulder at Kat. “Are they all purebreds?”

  She shook her head. “Only the Rottie and the Cocker. The others look
like mixes—one looks like a Cockapoo, and the one in the far corner over there appears to be a Lab and pit bull mix, but he seems quite friendly.”

  I’d never agreed with the stigma that was attached to the pit bull breed, and thought it highly unfair. In my opinion, dogs had to be trained to be vicious. I started to ask about the cats, when we heard the strident ring of the back doorbell. Kat turned in that direction but stopped when Maggie called out, “I’ll get it.” We watched the puppies play for a few minutes, and then walked across the hall to the cattery to inspect our other two new arrivals. “This is Princess Fuzzypants,” said Kat, pointing to a cage where a beautiful Maine Coon lay, grooming her long red hair.

  I bent closer and smiled down at the cat. “You certainly look like a princess,” I exclaimed. “You’ll have no trouble finding a ‘furever home,’ I’m sure.”

  Princess Fuzzypants lifted her head and fixed me with piercing blue eyes. “Meow,” she said. One paw came up and waved in the air. “Meow.”

  Kat didn’t even bother to stifle her grin. “It would appear the Princess agrees with you.”

  I chuckled and turned my attention to the next cage and the large brown and tan cat that lay inside. “This one’s a beauty too,” I said. “A ragdoll, right?”

  “Yep. Her name’s Annie Reilly.”

  “Interesting name.” I wiggled my fingers inside the bars of the cage. The cat sat up and raised her paw.

  “Merow.” The cat swiped her paw through the slats of the cage at the silver chain around my neck. I jumped back just in time to avoid her snagging it. “She’s a lively one,” I remarked. “I hope someone with a lot of energy adopts her.”

  Maggie came bustling back into the cattery. “Tara Pitsenberger is in your office, Kat,” she said. “She said she needs to talk to you and Syd right away. I asked her what was wrong, but she said she wanted to tell you personally.”

  I heard the hurt note in Maggie’s voice, and I knew Kat did too. Maggie considered herself the major domo of Friendly Paws and felt that we just couldn’t survive without her—which, of course, we couldn’t. Kat slipped her arm around Maggie’s shoulders and gave her a quick hug. “And of course, you come with us,” she told her. “You are my right hand after all.”