Cat Me If You Can (Cat in the Stacks Mystery, Band 13) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Miranda James is the New York Times bestselling author of the Cat in the Stacks Mysteries, including Careless Whiskers, The Pawful Truth, and Six Cats a Slayin', as well as the Southern Ladies Mysteries, including Fixing to Die, Digging Up the Dirt, and Dead with the Wind. James lives in Mississippi.

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One

"Do you regret saying yes so quickly when I asked you to do this?" I glanced over at Helen Louise Brady, taking my eyes briefly from the highway ahead. I had to be careful because I wasn't used to driving in the mountains.

Helen Louise laughed, and in the backseat, Diesel, my Maine Coon cat, chirped loudly.

"I do admit to having second thoughts, maybe even third," Helen Louise replied, a note of mischief in her tone. "You caught me by surprise that night. I certainly wasn't expecting that question."

"No way you could have," I replied, my attention once again focused on driving. "I hadn't really planned it. You know how I am. Occasionally a thought hits me, and out of my mouth it leaps." I shot her a wry grin.

Helen Louise laughed again. "I do know how you are, and your ability to surprise me is one of the qualities I love about you. Asking me to go along with you on this, especially after popping that other question, came out of the blue."

I had asked Helen Louise to marry me a couple of months ago, and to my delight she had said yes. I had given thought to that question before I posed it to her. There was nothing spontaneous about it. We hadn't yet set the date, though the family knew a wedding was in the offing. Everyone seemed happy about the pending nuptials.

"I hope this isn't pushing you too far outside your comfort zone."

"It's been years since I've done any such thing," Helen Louise said. "Other than make occasional speeches at one of the local clubs or in a church committee, that is, but I used to do it frequently when I was practicing law."

"You feel comfortable with the subject, don't you?" I still felt anxious, worried that I had pressured her, though I had tried hard not to.

"Talking about books I love to other readers?" Helen Louise grinned. "I'm not a librarian doing readers' advisory, my love, but I think I can manage."

"I know you can," I said. "As long as you're sure you're okay with doing this, and I didn't push you into it, I'm happy."

"Then be happy, Charlie. You've never pushed me into doing anything before, and I doubt you will in the future. I'm not all that pushable." Helen Louise tapped my shoulder lightly. "I'm happy to talk about Elizabeth Cadell to the group. Frankly, I'm curious to find out whether anyone in the group is familiar with her work."

"I vaguely remember Cadell from my early public library days. I never read her, though, until you insisted."

"And you liked her."

I ignored the smugness and said simply, "Yes." Cadell's gentle blend of mystery and romance had charmed me, especially when I was in the mood for a cozy read.

Diesel again chirped from behind us, evidently in need of being noticed. Helen Louise twisted herself around to reach back and rub his head. He rewarded her with his deep purr, the source of his name.

"This is my first visit to North Carolina," I said when Helen Louise settled back into her seat and faced forward again. "I've always heard that the Asheville area is beautiful."

"I went there once, probably thirty years ago," Helen Louise replied. "Before I gave up law and headed to Paris to study French cuisine, of course. Had to depose someone who lived there. It is a beautiful area. I love mountains."

"After all those years in Houston, where the only thing close to a hill or a mountain is a freeway overpass," I said, my tone wry, "I am certainly enjoying the different terrain." I grimaced. "Though having to learn to drive in the mountains as we go is a bit nerve-racking."

"You're doing fine," Helen Louise said. "You had no problem during the pass down from the Gatlinburg area into Cherokee." Cherokee, North Carolina, was a town on the reservation of the Eastern Band of the Cherokee Nation, in the western part of the state just over the Tennessee border. We had stopped there briefly to look around before continuing our journey. We both wanted to return to Cherokee after our sojourn in Asheville to explore a bit more.

"Thanks," I said. "Honestly, though, I was so tense coming down, especially with that one guy in the truck going about three miles an hour. I felt like ramming him out of the way."

"I could tell," Helen Louise said, the barest tremor of amusement in her voice. "I'm glad you didn't succumb to temptation." She glanced at her phone and its GPS. "We're not that far from Asheville now. Only about another half hour, maybe forty minutes."

"That's good," I said. "This scenery is spectacular, I must say, but I'm not able to enjoy it as much as I'd like."

"I told you I'd be happy to drive," Helen Louise replied.

"I know, and I appreciate it," I said. "But I do better with heights if I'm at the wheel. Otherwise I can get a little too freaked out."

"Charlie Harris, you are a mess, a psychological mess," Helen Louise said in a mock-tragic tone.

"But you still love me anyway," I replied airily.

"Lord help me, I do." Helen Louise giggled.

A sound suspiciously like a snort came from the backseat. If cats could snort in derision, Diesel would certainly do it.

"That's enough from the peanut gallery," I said.

Diesel warbled in response. He always seemed to know when I was speaking directly to him.

"Ramses wanted to come, too, and he wasn't happy at being left behind." Ramses was a Christmas present from a young friend. He was still too kittenish to trust out of his home environment. Diesel was several years older and well seasoned.

"I'm sure he wasn't," Helen Louise said, "but Azalea will spoil him even more rotten than she already does."

"I've no doubt of that." Azalea Berry, my housekeeper, had become devoted to Ramses after claiming for years that she didn't like cats in the house. She even displayed affection for Diesel, calling him Mr. Cat for some reason known only to herself. Diesel didn't appear to mind.

"This should be a lot of fun," Helen Louise said. "It's nice to get away from the everyday routine for a few days."

"I'm happy to be having this time with you, and neither one of us distracted by work," I said.

"Henry promised to call me only in the case of an extreme emergency," Helen Louise replied. Henry managed Helen Louise's French bistro in Athena, and he was more than capable of running the business and baking up to Helen Louise's Paris-trained standards.

"That's good," I said. "I promise not to look for mysteries anywhere."

Helen Louise laughed. "We'll be talking a lot about mysteries every day, thankfully all fictional. That's enough for a vacation."

"No argument here." In recent years I had found myself involved in several murder investigations, and though I fancied I had a knack for solving them, I wouldn't mind if I didn't encounter another one for quite some time.

We chatted in desultory fashion, with the occasional feline comment thrown in, the rest of the way to Asheville. As soon as the highway exit came in sight, Helen Louise switched into navigator mode. She fed me the directions step by step to the boutique hotel where we would be spending the week.

"That's where we would turn to go to Biltmore." Helen Louise pointed to the left not long after we exited the highway. Biltmore, the Vanderbilt estate, was the major tourist attraction in Asheville. We would view it sometime this week,...