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Telling Tails: A Second Chance Cat Mystery - Softcover

Buch 4 von 12: Second Chance Cat Mysteries

Ryan, Sofie

 
9781101991206: Telling Tails: A Second Chance Cat Mystery
Softcover
ISBN 10: 1101991208 ISBN 13: 9781101991206
Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2017

Inhaltsangabe

In this novel in the New York Times bestselling Second Chance Cat Mystery series, secondhand shop owner Sarah Grayson and her rescue cat, Elvis, get caught up in a case of she said, she said...
 
When Sarah Grayson opened a secondhand shop in the quaint town of North Harbor, Maine, she was expecting peace and quiet. Then she was adopted by a rescue cat named Elvis and a kooky trio of senior sleuths known as Charlotte’s Angels. Now she has nine lives worth of excitement...
 
Sarah’s friend and employee Rose is delivering a customer’s purchase when the quick errand becomes a deadly escapade. Rose arrives just in time to see the customer murdered by his wife, but before she can call the police, she is knocked out cold. When she wakes up, no one believes her, especially after the woman claims her husband is very much alive and has left her for someone else—and has a text message and empty bank account to prove it.
 
Despite her convincing story, Sarah is sure something is fishy—and it’s not Elvis’s kitty treats. Sarah, Elvis, and the Angels are determined to unravel this mysterious yarn, before the feral killer pounces again...

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Sofie Ryan is a New York Times bestselling author and mixed-media artist who loves to repurpose things in her life and her art. She writes the New York Times bestselling Second Chance Cat mysteries and, as Sofie Kelly, writes the New York Times bestselling Magical Cats mysteries.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 1

The last thing Rose Jackson saw before she was coldcocked with a plastic sailboat fender was the body of Jeff Cameron being dragged across his kitchen floor. At least that was what she was telling everyone from her bed at Northeastern Medical Center.

Earlier that Wednesday evening, Elvis and I had been settled in the big chair in front of the bedroom TV. We'd watched part one of the Gotta Dance reunion special, and when the credits had begun to scroll across the screen, I'd intended to get up, but before I knew it I was caught up in the campy drama of Restless Days, the popular new nighttime soap that was turning out to be the hit of the summer television season. Elvis was sprawled across my lap and I didn't want to move him. At least that's what I told myself.

I tucked my feet up underneath me and reached for the big bowl of popcorn covered in Parmesan cheese that I'd made just before Gotta Dance began. It was empty.

I glanced down at the floor to see if any had spilled. No. "I guess we ate it all," I said to Elvis.

The cat lifted his head, looked at me through narrowed green eyes and made a soft murp.

I made a face at him. "Okay, I ate it all."

Satisfied that had been cleared up, he dropped his head on my lap again.

Elvis was the only one with whom I could share my secret addiction to Gotta Dance. Since he was a small black cat with a scar across his nose and not the King of Rock and Roll, he wasn't likely to say anything about how caught up I was in the must-see-TV celebrity dance show. Because I had two left feet myself, I knew if my brother Liam found out he'd laugh himself silly, not to mention wheedle that video of me doing the bird dance in middle school from Mom.

"Part two will be on in an hour and a half," I said, setting the empty popcorn bowl on the footstool. I reached over the side of the chair and picked up the small dish of cat crackers I'd brought in for Elvis. There were three left. The cat, it seemed, had paced himself a little better than I had.

I arranged the star-shaped treats in a row on my leg. He glanced at them, then looked at the TV, where the spinning mirror ball now filled the screen again in a promo for part two of the Gotta Dance reunion special. Finally, he focused his green eyes on me with a seemingly-to me-quizzical expression on his furry black face.

"Matt Lauer, Kevin Sorbo, Lee Child, Christian Kane and the cute guy with the beard from that cooking show Rose made us watch," I said, ticking off the names of the show's second-half participants on the fingers of my left hand.

Elvis cocked his head to one side as though he was trying to decide which celebrity he was going to root for. After a moment he made a soft "mrrr" sound as though he'd made up his mind. I picked up a cracker and held it out to him. He took it from me, wrinkling his whiskers in a thank-you.

My phone rang then. I glanced at the screen. It was Liz. Elizabeth Emmerson Kiley French was one of my grandmother's closest friends, and since Gram had been gone on what seemed like a never-ending honeymoon, Liz had been keeping an eye on me. Among other things, that meant she asked pointed questions about my mostly nonexistent love life and showed up with takeout when she thought I wasn't eating properly.

"Hi, Liz," I said. "What's up?"

"Rose is in the hospital," she said flatly. Liz wasn't the type of person to beat around the bush.

"What happened?" I asked, sitting upright in the chair. Elvis rolled over and turned to watch my face, as if somehow he sensed something was wrong. My stomach lurched as though I'd just swung way out over deep water on a rope swing and let go. Rose-who was also close friends with my grandmother-was like family to me. The thought of anything happening to her was something I didn't want to even consider.

"She's all right," Liz said, and I pictured her gesturing with one perfectly manicured hand. "Someone hit her over the head and knocked her out. I think that hard noggin of hers is what saved her."

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. "You're sure she's okay?"

I heard her exhale. "I promise," she said softly.

Elvis put his paws on my leg, his eyes locked on my face. He adored Rose, too. Without thinking about it, I began to stroke his fur. "What happened? Where was she? I thought she was here," I said.

"Here" was my house, a two-story restored Victorian from the 1860s within walking distance of downtown North Harbor. It was divided into three apartments. Elvis and I lived in the front, main-floor unit, Rose had recently taken over the small back apartment, and Gram-when she was home-lived upstairs. On paper it didn't sound like it should work, but so far it had.

"She wasn't mugged," Liz said. "Not exactly. Remember the man who came into the shop this afternoon and wanted to have those candlesticks delivered to his wife?"

I pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead. "Tell me she didn't do what I think she did." I owned a repurpose shop, Second Chance, with an eclectic selection of merchandise, much of it given new life-a second chance-in our work space. Rose worked part-time for me.

"Oh yes, she did. She went over to that cottage to deliver those candlesticks. And I have the damn things, by the way." I could hear the click of Liz's high heels. She was probably walking in a hospital corridor, I realized. "She gave in too easy, you know," she continued. "We should have known. Rose has a stubborn streak a mile wide, and before you start on about people in glass houses throwing stones, I'm going to remind you that I am not stubborn. I'm persistent, which is a completely different thing."

"Noted," I said. I wasn't going to argue over word choice. Liz was just as stubborn as Rose was, which meant their longtime friendship got contentious at times, but this wasn't the time to point that out. "I'm on my way," I said. "You're at Northeastern?"

"The ER. Just ask at the desk," she said. "I better get back. Alfred could probably use some moral support."

"Okay, I'll be there soon," I said.

Elvis had already jumped down from the chair and started for the living room. I turned off the TV and stood up. Liz had said Rose was all right. That was what mattered.

It took me only a couple of minutes to pull on a pair of jeans and grab my purse and keys. Elvis watched me from the top of his cat tower.

"I'm just going to make sure Rose is okay and I'll be back," I told him. He bobbed his head as though he were saying that was fine with him, and for all I knew maybe he had understood every word I'd said and that was exactly what he meant.

Northeastern Medical Center is a ninety-nine-bed full-service hospital with a trauma center just off the highway exit for North Harbor. It's one of the top-rated hospitals in the state of Maine. As I drove I realized I hadn't asked Liz how Rose had gotten from the cottage on the shoreline, where I was fairly certain she'd been assaulted, to the health center. Liz had mentioned Alfred, who was Rose's "gentleman friend," but she hadn't said anything about whether Rose's children-who didn't live in North Harbor-had been called. Knowing Rose, I was pretty certain the answer to that was no; in fact, I was surprised Rose had called anyone at all.

Liz was right about Rose's stubbornness. I'd seen that dogged streak in action enough times. I should have known that just because she seemed to acquiesce when I asked her not to deliver those candlesticks, that didn't mean I'd won the battle.

Why had someone attacked Rose if it wasn't for the two silver candlesticks she had with her? They were antiques, made by S. Kirk & Son more than a century ago. Kirk had learned the silversmith trade in Philadelphia and then opened a shop in Baltimore. His work was exquisite and in demand by...

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Verlag
Penguin Publishing Group
Erscheinungsdatum
2017
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1101991208
ISBN 13 
9781101991206
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
304
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
gpsr@phaidon.com
gpsr@phaidon.com

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Berlin
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