Monkey See, Monkey Die: A Reigning Cats & Dogs Mystery (Reigning Cats and Dogs Mystery, Band 7) - Softcover

Buch 7 von 9: Reigning Cats and Dogs Mystery

Baxter, Cynthia

 
9780553590371: Monkey See, Monkey Die: A Reigning Cats & Dogs Mystery (Reigning Cats and Dogs Mystery, Band 7)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0553590375 ISBN 13: 9780553590371
Verlag: Bantam, 2008

Inhaltsangabe

Is a certain vet detective about to become an endangered species?

It’s been over a decade since Jessica Popper spoke to vet-school friend Erin Walsh. So when Erin calls out of the blue, Jess agrees to meet her. When Erin doesn’t show, Jessie begins to suspect that her old pal was making a monkey out of her—until she learns that Erin was murdered.

Jessie can’t resist getting involved, but her sleuthing quickly pulls her into a jungle of suspects. Did Erin’s husband, Ben, kill her – or was it the eccentric lizard-loving coworker with whom she may have been monkeying around? Was Ben’s outrageously wealthy new partner trying to cover up some monkey business? Or was it Erin’s ambitious boss, a distinguished primate specialist determined to remain top banana in her field? With the killer going ape to stay hidden, even Jess’s animal instincts might not save her from a fate more fatal than a barrel of monkeys.…

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Cynthia Baxter is a native of Long Island, New York. She is the author of the Reigning Cats & Dogs mystery series, featuring vet-turned-sleuth Jessie Popper, and the Murder Packs a Suitcase mystery series, featuring travel writer Mallory Marlowe. Baxter currently resides on the North Shore, where she is at work on her next mysteries in both series.

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Chapter One


"Whenever you observe an animal closely, you
feel as if a human being sitting inside were making fun of you."
–Elias Canetti, The Human Province


Jessie? I'm sorry for calling so early. I know I probably woke you. But I don't have your cell phone number, only your home number. And I wanted to make sure I got hold of you before you left for the day."

What a lot of words to be hit with at–what time was it? I forced my eyes open long enough to look at the alarm clock next to my bed.

Five-thirty. In the morning.

"I'm sorry, who is this?" I asked groggily.

Whoever had dragged me out of my sleep at this ridiculous hour certainly sounded as if she knew who I was. The problem was, I had no idea who she was. And given the fact that only seconds before I had been lost in a wonderful dream that starred both Brad Pitt and George Clooney, I wasn't exactly in the mood to play guessing games.

"Erin Walsh," the called replied breathlessly. "Remember me? From vet school?"

It took me a few seconds to connect the name with my years at Cornell University's veterinary college. More than a decade had passed since I'd been a student there. But slowly, through the thick wad of tissue paper still wrapped around my brain, I managed to attach a face to the name. An entire identity, in fact.

"Sure, I remember you, Erin," I finally said, though my mouth still felt as if it was coated with glue. "You and I crammed for the Neuroanatomy final together, right? I seem to remember the two of us pulling an all-nighter in the basement of the vet school library. Didn't we keep ourselves awake by eating a different candy bar from one of the vending machines every hour. . . ?"

"That's right. Jessie, the reason I'm calling–"

"You married somebody else who was in our class, didn't you? Bill or Brad . . ."

"Ben Chandler," Erin corrected me. She was speaking unusually quickly. In fact, I realized that she'd sounded as if she was in a hurry ever since I'd answered the phone. "But I'm afraid I didn't call to reminisce. I need to see you. Right away. Like this morning."

The longer I talked, the more awake I became. Fortunately, I hadn't woken Nick, who was lying beside me fast asleep. The adorable man I was scheduled to marry in only four short weeks was so tangled up in the sheets, you'd have thought he'd been dreaming about alligator wrestling. Personally, I'd take the Brad Pitt-George Clooney dream any day.

By this point, my head was clear enough for me to do some calculations. I hadn't spoken to Erin Walsh in more than five years. If I remembered correctly, the last time I'd seen her was at my five-year Cornell reunion. She and Ben had both glowed like fluorescent light bulbs as they chattered away about their upcoming trip to Barbados to celebrate their wedding anniversary and their plans to open a practice together as soon as they got back.

"What's the hurry?" I asked.

"Believe me, Jessie, I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't really important. Please say you'll meet me this morning. It's crucial that I talk to somebody like you!"

Somebody like me? What did that mean?

"Where are you?" I asked, still confused.

"On Long Island." She was still talking way too fast. "It's a long story, but Ben and I have been living in Bay Village for the past couple of years. I can meet you anywhere. Just name the time and place. A diner, a street corner . . . but the sooner, the better."

Mentally I ran through the calls I had scheduled for that morning. My first appointment was a cat spay surgery in Arborhurst at eight o'clock. Given the fact that it was still practically the middle of the night, that gave me plenty of time to meet Erin for breakfast.

"How about six-thirty at the Spartan Diner?" I suggested. "It's in Niamogue, right on Route 437."

"I know where it is. I'll be there. And Jess? Don't say anything about this to anybody, okay?"

"Erin," I asked, struck by the bizarreness of this entire conversation, "is everything okay?"

"That's the thing, Jessie," she replied with a nervous laugh. "I don't think it is."

"Can you at least give me an idea of what all this is–?"

She never answered my question. In fact, she'd already hung up.

With a loud sigh, I dragged myself out of bed and embarked on my morning pilgrimage to worship at the feet of Mr. Coffee. As usual, my two dogs, Max and Lou, were already running at full throttle, scampering around my feet with much more energy than any living being should exhibit before the sun has come up.

Max, my Westie, had an excuse, since he's a terrier. Terriers are like firefighters: They snap awake with ridiculous amounts of adrenaline rushing through their bodies. Then again, Max differs from firefighters in that his butt is in constant motion. It seems as if he never stops wagging his tail–even though it's little more than a stub, courtesy of the vile people who were his previous owners.

As for Lou, a Dalmatian, let's just say he's a follower by nature. Of course, the fact that he also has a heartbreaking past, one that left him with only one eye, may also be part of the reason.

My two cats, Catherine the Great and Tinkerbell, were also coming to life, stretching and yawning. Like my dogs, they were rescued from careless owners–in Tink's case, a wretch who callously left a box of kittens on the university campus where Nick attends law school.

As for Prometheus, he was already wide awake. He's always up with the birds, mainly because he is one. A gorgeous blue and gold macaw, in fact, with feathers as bright as the jars of paint in a kindergarten classroom. My Jackson's chameleon, Leilani, was also awake, staring at me from inside her glass tank with the eye that was on the side of her head facing me.

But I was still too busy ruminating about my strange phone call from Erin to pay much attention to any of my pets.

What's with all this cloak-and-dagger nonsense? I wondered as I shuffled through the living room.

My old vet school buddy had sounded as if she was smack in the middle of a drama. And frankly, the last thing I wanted was to be recruited for a supporting role.

Yawning loudly, I opened the front door of my cottage and let Max and Lou out. I hoped this would turn out to be one of those mornings when they actually came back inside without me having to run around like a wild woman, chasing them down. Given the wake-up call I'd just gotten, I wasn't in the mood to bodily drag two unruly canines away from sniffing every molecule within fifty yards. Not that it wasn't great living in the former gardener's cottage on a huge estate. I truly appreciated the fact that the members of my menagerie had as much room to run around as they could possibly desire. It was just that sometimes, like now, I wished they'd do a little less of it.

Once my doggies and I were back inside, I took a minute to check everybody's water bowl and get Mr. Coffee perking away as energetically as if he, too, was a terrier. Then I drifted into the bathroom and confronted the bedraggled being staring back at me from the mirror.

The image before me was that of a half-asleep woman in her mid-thirties with dull green eyes. Disheveled hair in a shade I prefer to call dark blond but which would have also answered to the name dirty blond hung down to the poor unfortunate creature's shoulders.

The sight would have been frightening if it hadn't been the exact same one I encountered every morning of my...

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Verlag
Bantam
Erscheinungsdatum
2008
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0553590375
ISBN 13 
9780553590371
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
368
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