Cat Among the Fishes

by Louise Clark

  Cat Among the Fishes

  The 9 Lives Cozy Mystery Series, Book Five

  Louise Clark

  eBook Copyright

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright 2020 by Louise Clark. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Cover and eBook design by eBook Prep

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  Published by ePublishing Works!

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  eBook ISBN: 978-1-64457-036-4

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Before You Go…

  Cat in the Limelight

  Also by Louise Clark

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Ellen Jamieson stared at the forest green air mattress she held in one hand and the bright yellow electric air pump she held in the other. She was wearing a semi-sheer tunic in a rich jewel tone over a darker camisole, slim, ankle-length slacks, and heeled sandals. She did not look happy.

  She raised the pump. “So I plug this into the car to get it working, then I put the pointed end into the air mattress and blow it up.”

  Christy nodded. The van was parked to one side of a double campsite surrounded by towering Douglas fir trees. It was mid-afternoon and she, Ellen, and Noelle had just arrived. Christy figured the sooner they set up their accommodations for the night, the better. “Noelle and I will put up the tents.”

  Ellen looked at the flat air mattress again. “And I’m going to sleep on this. For the whole vacation.”

  “You’ll probably have to add some air from time to time, but yes, that’s your bed while we’re here.” Here was ClanRanald Park campground on the east coast of Vancouver Island. It was the last week in July, the sun was shining—though you couldn’t really tell because of the heavy tree cover throughout the campground, which produced a soft, daylong twilight—and everyone in Christy’s new extended family were busily organizing their sleeping arrangements.

  Christy had been camping before and knew what was needed to set up a campsite. Ellen, Christy’s aunt by marriage, her daughter, Noelle, and her late husband Frank, currently residing in Stormy, the family cat, were all neophytes. While Noelle was enthusiastic about the new experience, Ellen had to be coaxed into joining the camping holiday and she was clearly still dubious about a vacation spent communing with nature. As was evidenced by her white slacks and delicate top, she was more of a luxury suite and room service traveller.

  Holding the air mattress and pump at arms length as if they were somehow contaminated, Ellen’s head and shoulders disappeared into Christy’s van. Moments later, a high-pitched whine pierced the quiet. The mattress, sticking out of the back of the van, started to inflate.

  Cut the racket! The cat’s freaking out!

  Christy saw Stormy streak across the dirt surface of the campsite before he disappeared into the bush and treed area that screened the double campsite she shared with Quinn and Roy from the adjoining site on the other side. She wasn’t particularly worried the cat would get lost since her late husband, Frank Jamieson, heir to the Jamieson Ice Cream fortune, had taken up residence in Stormy, the family’s cat, after his brutal murder.

  With Frank able to communicate with her through a form of mental speak, as long as he was the cat’s roommate she pretty much knew where Stormy was whenever she needed to find him. In fact, knowing the noise and bustle associated with setting up camp would be stressful for the cat, she’d suggested Frank and Stormy explore while the humans got organized. According to Frank, Stormy was reluctant. This was outside his territory and he was nervous about being separated from his people.

  Beside her, Noelle said, “Will Daddy be okay?”

  Wearing a simple pastel pink T-shirt and jean shorts her aunt disapproved of, she was holding one end of a tent pole while Christy slipped her end into a flap on the rainproof cover.

  “Yup,” Christy said. She raised her brows at her daughter as she pushed the pole through the material, then deliberately looked at the opposite side of the double site where Quinn and Roy Armstrong were also setting up a tent, while Dr. Tamara Ahern, Quinn’s former, and current—Christy thought—girlfriend was about to get her own air pump going.

  Noelle followed her mother’s gaze, saw she was looking directly at Tamara, and nodded. Tamara was the only member of their group who didn’t know Frank and Stormy were one. It wouldn’t do to have Noelle call the cat Daddy in Tamara’s hearing; Tamara was intelligent and she’d ask questions Christy didn’t want asked and expect answers Christy couldn’t give.

  A car drove slowly down the road and turned into the campsite across from the Jamieson-Armstrong double. A man emerged from the passenger side of the dark Honda. He was bearded and wore a peaked Vancouver Lions baseball cap over pale, shaggy hair. His T-shirt advertising a rock festival held in Vancouver a few years back covered a nicely muscled chest and his jeans hugged slim hips. Seeing the group across the roadway, he held up his hand in a salute and grinned as he pushed unnecessary sunglasses further up his nose.

  Christy waved back. “You guys got here.” The men were the McCullaghs, father and son. They were the final component of the group camping expedition.

  The younger McCullagh, Rob, known around the world as Sledge, was the lead singer of the popular rock band, SledgeHammer. He was in disguise for this trip, hence the beard, sunglasses, and ball cap. He nodded in response to Christy’s call, then opened the door to the backseat and pulled out plastic bags adorned with the logo of a local grocery store. “We come bearing food!” he shouted back.

  His father, Trevor McCullagh, a lawyer and old friend of Roy Armstrong’s, emerged from the driver’s seat. Like Sledge, he was wearing jeans, but he’d added a loose, front button shirt and there was no cap disguising his grizzled hair. It was apparent, though, from the set of his jaw and the jut of his nose, that he and Sledge were father and son.

  All three families had traveled by the same ferry from Vancouver on the British Columbia mainland to Vancouver Island, but Trevor and Sledge h
ad stopped off at the grocery store to acquire dinner and breakfast provisions.

  Ellen finished one mattress and set to work on a second. Trevor and Sledge got going setting up their own tents. Tamara’s air pump added extra noise on the double site, while Roy shouted instructions to his son Quinn, which Quinn didn’t appear to be paying any heed to, if Christy read the situation right. With all the hubbub, the cat wouldn’t be heading home any time soon.

  Gradually, things quieted as mattresses were inflated and the pumps were turned off one by one. With their tents up, Christy helped Ellen put the mattresses into the large tent Christy and Noelle were sharing, then into the smaller one that was Ellen’s private space, while Noelle hauled sleeping bags from the van. On the other side of the double she saw Quinn and Tamara working together on similar tasks.

  She had to shove down a stab of jealousy when she saw Quinn smile at Tamara in an intimate way. The other woman was wearing a Henley style blouse adorned with a green fern pattern and a pair of wide leg capri pants. Even if the outfit wasn’t particularly appropriate to camping, she looked very pretty—and distinctly feminine when Christy compared the clothes to her own well worn jeans and simple round neck T-shirt. She forced herself to remember that Quinn was back with Tamara now and that she and Quinn were just friends, even though she might wish otherwise. As friends, it didn’t matter what she wore or how she looked. She had to acknowledge that, or jealousy would eat at her and she’d be miserable throughout the vacation.

  She wasn’t going to be miserable. She was here to enjoy her holiday and that was exactly what she would do.

  As silence descended Stormy reappeared. He brought with him a little girl who had long, tangled blond hair, bright curious blue eyes, and a cute button nose. The pink T-shirt she was wearing was smeared with dust, which also showed up on her white shorts. Christy thought she looked adorable, the perfect mischievous urchin.

  “Hello,” the little girl said. “Who are you?” She wasn’t talking to Christy, though, but to Noelle, who was standing beside her.

  Noelle put her hands on her hips and frowned. Apparently, she didn’t think the little girl quite as adorable as her mother did. “I’m Noelle. Who are you?”

  She belongs to the other site. She tried to grab the cat. She wants to keep him forever. Her mother told her cats are free, but she’s stubborn.

  Noelle was able to hear her father’s mind-speak just as Christy could. Her frown turned into a glower at this.

  The little girl opened her eyes wide and looked incredibly innocent. “I’m Haley.” She pointed to Stormy. “Is this your cat?”

  The breath Christy hadn’t even realized she’d been holding let go as a sigh of relief. The little girl wasn’t one of the people who could hear Frank’s thoughts. That was a good thing. She didn’t want to have to explain to a six- or seven-year-old where the voice in her head was coming from.

  “Yes,” said Noelle, belligerent now, her jaw thrust out, her eyes flashing. “His name is Stormy and he lives with us. He’s part of our family.”

  Haley turned her limpid gaze onto the cat. “My mom says cats don’t have owners and they choose who they want to live with. I think he can be part of anyone’s family.”

  Like I said, stubborn. Stormy hopped up onto the hood of the van, then from there onto the roof where Christy had set up his litter box and the small dollhouse-sized tent she’d bought so he would have a place to chill out when the forest around their site got to be too much for him. He disappeared into his tent.

  There was a crashing sound from the greenbelt that separated the two sites as feet crunched over dry leaves and sticks. A boy, taller than Noelle, but somewhere around her eight—no nine!—years, since she’d had her birthday a three weeks ago, emerged. He was dressed, as Haley was, in jean shorts and a T-shirt.

  “Haley!” he barked. He puffed out his chest. “Come back. You have chores to do.”

  “Did them,” Haley said. She pointed to the tent. “The cat’s up there.”

  “So what,” the boy said. His voice was scornful. “You need to come with me.”

  “No,” said Haley. She gazed longingly up at the pint-sized tent.

  The two children were clearly siblings if their blue eyes and blond hair were any indication. To Christy, it was clear that if left to their own devices they would end up having the row of all rows. She said hastily, “Are you Haley’s brother?”

  “Yes.” He glared at Haley. After a few seconds of silent annoyance he added, “I’m Dylan. Dylan Farnsworth. My parents and our aunt and uncle are over there.” His thumb pointed to the campsite on the other side of the greenbelt.

  “Well, Haley and Dylan, we’re the Jamiesons. This is Noelle, who Haley has already met, I’m Christy and that’s Ellen behind me.”

  Ellen, who had emerged from her tent after placing her air mattress inside, had watched the scene silently. Now she raised her eyebrows and said in her best, most starchy tone, “Miss Jamieson, that is.”

  Dylan got the message and colored. Haley looked longingly at the tent on top of the van and ignored everything else.

  Having finished erecting the tent he was sharing with his son Quinn, Roy Armstrong, dressed in cargo shorts and a bright green and yellow tie-dyed T-shirt, ambled over from his side of the double site and waded into the conversation. “I’m Roy,” he said towering over the unfortunate Dylan, who did his best to look unfazed. As she had Ellen, Haley ignored him too. “The cat wants to have a nap now. It’s been a tiring day for him.”

  “Why?” Haley turned her head in his direction. Her big eyes were open wide, their expression guileless. “Does he have chores too?”

  “Haley!” Dylan sounded choked, as if he was mortified by his sister’s question.

  Roy looked down at the little girl. His expression was as innocent as hers. “Yup. Takes a lot for a cat to put up a tent, even a small one like his. He needs his rest.” As the little girl frowned, not sure if she was being teased or not, Roy’s eyes glinted. He nodded in a knowing way and said, “I expect you’re due for a nap too, aren’t you?”

  Haley scraped a scuffed runner across the dirt-covered ground. “Naps are for babies. Mom says I don’t have to anymore.”

  I’m not a baby and the old man is right, the cat and I need a nap.

  “Haley, let’s go,” Dylan said in a strangled voice. He was clearly embarrassed by the conversation, but it was just as evident that Haley wasn’t going anywhere unless she had the cat to take with her.

  Christy said, “Why don’t Noelle and I come with you when you go back to your site, Haley and Dylan? That way we can introduce ourselves to your parents.”

  “Yeah,” said Dylan. From the relief on his face, he was glad for the adult intervention.

  Haley wasn’t. “No.” She shook her head. “The cat needs to come too.”

  He does not.

  The sound of more footsteps crossing the green space, quieter than Dylan’s had been, was followed by a female voice. “Dylan? Have you found Haley?” The person whose voice it was appeared a few seconds later.

  Christy stared, knowing the woman, but not quite able to believe she belonged with these two bickering children.

  It was Roy who stated the obvious. “Detective Patterson.” He raised his brows. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Chapter 2

  The day Roy proposed a group camp at ClanRanald Park it had taken Christy only a few minutes to agree to the project. The thought of a beach vacation was enticing. It had been just a year since her husband Frank had disappeared and eight months since she and Quinn had discovered he wasn’t vacationing in Mexico with another woman, but was in fact dead.

  Moving from the mansion she’d lived in with Frank, putting Noelle in a new school, finding Frank’s killer, learning to live with Frank as a cat, accepting his aunt Ellen as a co-parent for Noelle, falling in love with Quinn, then losing him through her own stupidity and emotional insecurities—to say the past year had been tumultuous was an understa
tement. She could use a holiday.

  Last night, after Patterson dragged her niece and nephew back to their own double campsite, she and the others had settled in to make dinner and discuss their holiday plans now that they were here. The dinner was steak and Caesar salad (it had been chosen by two carnivorous males, no surprise there). The plan for the vacation was to go to the beach whenever possible—meaning when there was bright sun and some cloud, but not on days with rain—and visits to local scenic sites when rain or sunburn intervened.

  That suited Christy just fine. As a child, she’d camped with her family at a beautiful beach on Lake Ontario and her memories of those vacations were treasured. She hoped this trip would provide Noelle with similar memories she could carry with her through her life, which would overlay the stresses and changes of the last year.

  She also hoped the camping trip would help Frank deal with some of his inner child and perhaps allow him to consider moving on. Because he would have to eventually, even if it was something he wasn’t contemplating at the moment.

  She hoped. Having her dead husband living in her cat had already made building a relationship with Quinn difficult. Now that it looked like he was with his old love, Tamara, Christy kept telling herself she had to move on, but having Frank with her would make any relationship tricky.

  Worrying about the future was definitely a behavior she was going to put aside if she wanted to enjoy her vacation. She’d start today.