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Overview
The first novel in a frisky new mystery series set in a small New England town, where an unlikely citizen is called in to solve the purrfect crime. . .
Maddie James has arrived in Daybreak Island, just off the coast of Massachusetts, eager to settle down and start her own business—and maybe even fall in love. When a stray orange tabby pounces into her life, she’s inspired to open a cat café. But little does Maddie know that she’s in for something a lot more catastrophic when her new furry companion finds the dead body of the town bully. Now all eyes are on Maddie: Who is this crazy cat-whisperer lady who’s come to town? If pet-hair-maintenance and crime-fighting weren’t keeping her busy enough, Maddie now has not one but two eligible bachelors who think she’s the cat’s pajamas . . . and will do anything to win her heart. But how can she even think about happily-ever-after while a killer remains on the loose—and on her path?
Curl up with Cate Conte's first Cat Cafe Mystery: Cat About Town!
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781466883444 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | St. Martin's Publishing Group |
| Publication date: | 08/01/2017 |
| Series: | Cat Cafe Mystery Series , #1 |
| Sold by: | Macmillan |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 304 |
| Sales rank: | 74,990 |
| File size: | 4 MB |
About the Author
Cate Conte writes the Cat Cafe Mysteries and the Full Moon Mysteries. As Liz Mugavero, she writes the Pawsitively Organic Mysteries, the first of which was an Agatha Award nominee for Best First Novel. She lives in Connecticut with her rescue pals.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
The main difference between a cat and a lie is that a cat only has nine lives.
— Mark Twain
The cat's eyes had been on me during the entire service. I'd seen him right away despite his attempts to remain hidden behind a distant gravestone — I'm a sucker for an orange face. Plus, he was the only spot of color in this bleak, gray, sad day. Every time I glanced in that direction those green eyes blazed a hole right into me, like I emanated some kind of cat-attract radar. On second thought, I probably did. Cats were my weakness. I'd never met one I didn't love instantaneously. Not even the one who had nearly scratched my eye out at a shelter I'd volunteered at years ago.
Now that most of the crowd here to mourn my grandma had dissipated as everyone headed back to their cars with the postfuneral luncheon on their minds, the cat seemed to feel more comfortable. He — I assumed it was a he, given his color and size — took a tentative step forward, big paw moving gingerly as if still unsure of his actions. One of his ears looked bent, as if he'd had an ear infection from which he hadn't recovered well. Sadly, a common ailment for strays.
I moved closer to his position and crouched down, holding out one hand to coax him forward. I wished I still carried treats in my purse. There'd been a time I never left my house without cans of cat food and Temptations treats packed in my oversized purse. I could see him pondering, assessing, then one paw started to move ...
"Maddie!" My dad's voice rang out through the quiet. I sighed as the cat darted back to hiding; then I stood up and turned around.
"Yeah, Dad?"
"When Grandpa's ready, we'll be in the limo." He pointed to the sleek black car idling on the main path of the cemetery. My mother, sisters, and aunt were already safely tucked inside. "Take your time."
Which really meant, We're on a schedule here. I gave him a thumbs-up to acknowledge his request. He returned to the limo and I returned to waiting. Grandpa Leo still stood in front of my grandma's grave a few feet away, head bowed and hands clasped, saying the final good-byes he hadn't been able to say with the other mourners watching. I thought I'd give him another minute, which might give me time to coax the cat out again. Besides, I hated looking at the coffin poised over the hole in the ground. Even though I knew Grandma's spirit wasn't in it, it still seemed so final. And claustrophobic.
I tugged my black sweater tighter around me, wishing I'd chosen pants instead of a dress. Especially since I'd forgone tights. I hated tights. But even though it was almost June, the air still held a chill, exacerbated by the sea breeze ruffling through the trees. It was the reality of island living, being surrounded by water that hadn't completely warmed yet from the harsh New England winter. The damp weather today wasn't helping. Rain had chased us on and off all day, and thick moisture hung in the air. I wondered if the orange cat had found shelter.
Movement behind the gravestone perked me up. My orange buddy must still be there. I took a few quiet steps closer, buoyed by the sight of one cat ear poking out. "Come here, cutie," I called softly.
The cat eased around the stone in a one-sided game of peekaboo and looked at me curiously. I could see him weighing his options — trust her? Don't trust her? Once again, the minuscule movement. And once again, a voice rang out, startling both of us.
"Leo! I'm glad I caught you."
A curse on my tongue, I turned around in time to see a short, older man who looked vaguely familiar loping toward my grandpa, whose head was still bowed in front of the grave. His pasty face, thinning white hair, and glasses made me guess late sixties. He looked like he fought a good fight to keep the pounds from settling in his middle and was slowly but surely losing the battle.
Grandpa looked up from the casket, disinterested. "Frank," he said, nodding at the other man but making no move to shake his hand. "Thanks for coming."
I looked back for the cat, and he'd vanished again. Giving up, I trudged toward Grandpa, hoping to rescue him from the visitor he didn't seem eager to see.
"Ah, Leo, so sorry," Frank said, the hint of an Irish accent dancing through his words. "Lucille was one of a kind. Good Irishwoman."
Grandpa inclined his head in acknowledgment, his eyes suddenly wet. "You remember my granddaughter Madalyn," he said, nodding at me.
Frank turned his attention to me, smiled. "'Course I do. Though it's been a long time. Frank O'Malley, if you don't remember. President of the Daybreak Island Chamber of Commerce." He puffed his chest out a bit, then leaned over and bussed my cheek. I smelled wine on his breath, even though it was barely eleven in the morning. "I'm sorry for the loss of your gran."
"Thank you," I said.
Frank adjusted his glasses and turned back to Grandpa. "When things calm down, we need to get together. Continue our discussions about the house," he said. "We'll do it over dinner."
It almost sounded like a directive. I held the frown back as I watched Grandpa. I didn't know what they were talking about, but Grandpa wasn't usually on the receiving end of directives. If someone tried it, they got The Look — bushy white eyebrows drawn together in a wild slash, the usual twinkle in his brown eyes dimmed by dark storm clouds. He'd perfected The Look during his long tenure as chief of police of Daybreak Harbor, the largest of the four towns that made up Daybreak Island. I waited breathlessly for it.
But The Look didn't surface. Instead, defeat slouched his shoulders forward, exhaustion settling into the lines around his eyes. "Yeah," he said. "Give me a call."
Frank nodded. "You'll be hearing from me," he said with a smile. "We'll take care of you, Leo." He patted Grandpa's back, then lifted his chin to me in acknowledgment. "Madalyn."
"Maddie," I murmured, but he was already walking away. I glanced at Grandpa. "What was he talking about? What house? Who's taking care of you?" Grandpa Leo looked at me, his mouth working. "I've been wanting to talk to you about something," he said finally. "But not now. Let's talk tonight over dinner."
I frowned, warning bells dinging in my brain. The tone of his voice sounded ominous even though he tried to pass it off as nothing. "Okay. But is everything —"
"They're waiting for us," he said, nodding toward the limo where my dad had reappeared out of the car, checking his watch. "We have to go." He started walking, not looking to see if I followed.
I didn't. Even though I wanted to race up to my grandfather, grab his arm and demand he tell me whatever secret he was keeping. Instead, my gaze slipped back to the gravestones by the tree line, one last-ditch effort to glimpse the cat again. But I didn't see anything beyond the stones. Disappointed, I started to walk back to the limo when I heard a squeaking sound. I paused and scanned the area. My eyes finally landed on the orange cat sitting a few feet away next to a different gravestone. His clear green eyes radiated calm and wisdom. He was the most handsome cat I'd seen in a long time, with his perfect ginger patterns. And he sat perfectly still, like one of those statues people put in their gardens.
I moved forward slowly, one hand extended to the cat. He watched me, unmoved. I'd almost reached him when my dad came up behind me, startling both of us. I wanted to cry out in frustration.
"Maddie? What are you doing? They're holding the limo for you. We need to get back to the house."
"Coming," I said. "One second."
My dad sighed, but didn't argue. Between me, my sisters, and my mother, he was used to being overruled.
I turned back to the cat, but I'd had three strikes, and I was out. He was gone.
CHAPTER 2
My mother cornered me in my old bedroom at the postfuneral gathering, foiling my attempt to steal a few minutes to check some e-mails. I'd been neglecting my business while I'd been home in Massachusetts. My fabulous business partner, Ethan Birdsong, would disagree. You're at a funeral, he would say. Why would you care if the Grapefruit Pucker was no longer the best seller after the Spicy Green Apple beat it out? But Ethan is much too accommodating.
We owned Goin' Green, an organic juice bar, out in San Francisco. We'd opened up shop over a year ago now, and it had been the smartest business move I'd made. Since we had a spot on Pier 39, we had constant foot traffic, an awesome location to hang out in all day, and fun, healthy offerings.
Basically, we had it made.
"I knew you'd be in here," she said, leaning against the doorjamb. "It gets to be a bit much, doesn't it?"
I tossed my phone on the bed and leaned back against my pillows. My mother had made my room into a lovely guest room, with decorative pillows and a matching comforter. I kind of missed the old iteration of my room, with my Nirvana posters and favorite red down quilt.
"It does," I agreed. "For you too?" Given my mother's extroverted personality, I wouldn't have imagined that. But it was her mother's funeral. That, I imagined, changed everything.
"Way too much," she said, entering the room and kicking the door closed behind her. She reached up and tugged out the barrette holding her mane of curly brown hair in a funeral-appropriate style, letting it fall around her shoulders. Her eyes were red-rimmed and tinged with exhaustion. She'd lost weight, and her flouncy black skirt reminiscent of Stevie Nicks in her Gypsy days hung off her tiny waist. She sat down next to me and I leaned over to give her a squeeze. "I'm glad you were able to come home for a few weeks," she said.
"Me too." Although I hadn't spent much time at my parents' house during this visit, choosing instead to stay with Grandpa. I knew he'd have a rough time after my grandmother died, and I wanted to be there to help him as much as possible. Grandpa was my favorite person in the entire world. Usually when I was home I had to divide my time between the two houses so no one would be offended. This time, my mother seemed relieved.
"I'm grateful that you've been with your grandpa. He needs you. You're his favorite, you know." She smiled at me, but it had a hint of sadness. "You're not to repeat that to your sisters, of course."
I smiled. "Of course."
My mother picked at a thread in the blanket. "Do you know when you're leaving?"
"I haven't made official plans yet," I said. "Ethan's got everything under control and told me to take my time. So I figured I'd see how Grandpa felt." I was looking forward to some quality time with him before I left. I'd been here for nearly three weeks already but given the circumstances, we hadn't had much down time. The first two weeks had centered around spending as much time with Grandma as possible, which was a blessing as much as it was heart-wrenching and difficult. After she passed away earlier this week, we'd then become engrossed in the arrangements, finding pictures, ordering flowers, and all the other logistical work that funerals demanded in order to create a fitting send-off. Most nights we fell asleep before nine, exhausted emotionally and physically. Ironic that death could be more grueling for the people watching than the person dying.
But I'm lucky. Being my own boss means I get a certain level of freedom, but having someone like Ethan to cover with a smile was the icing on the cake. Plus, he cared about the business as much as I did, if not more.
"Good," she said, still avoiding my eyes.
Something was up. My mother seemed way too subdued, even if it was a funeral. This wasn't her typical demeanor. My mom was the coolest person I knew. Not because she rocked out to better music than I did, always drove fun cars, and knew how to dress. She lived her life exactly the way she wanted it. She'd kept my father, the quintessential straight arrow, on his toes since the day they met in college. The way the story goes, my mother was involved in a war protest and my father had been one of the "dorm police" who had to break it up. Reportedly, my mother had taken a swing at him. He'd asked her out to dinner that night, and they'd been inseparable ever since. He'd been so smitten with her he'd even moved to the island — akin to another planet for my Pennsylvania-raised father. None of that could have happened without her bubbly, expressive personality. And I hadn't seen much of that personality while I'd been home. "What's going on, Mom?"
She hesitated.
"Mom. Just tell me."
"I'm worried about your grandfather," she said finally.
"Worried? About him being able to live without Gram? I know." I sighed. "It's going to be tough."
"Not just that. He's been having some ... trouble."
Now she had my attention. "What kind of trouble?"
She dropped her hands into her lap and finally looked at me from under hooded eyes. "Small things, but they've become more noticeable over the past couple of months. Some of his friends have mentioned it, but I've seen it too lately. He's agitated a lot. He's become forgetful. Have you noticed any strange behavior while you've been with him?"
I hadn't, aside from his passive demeanor at the cemetery with Frank O'Malley and the evasive comments about needing to talk to me. Which I chose not to mention. But all of this seemed ludicrous since he'd been dealing with Grandma's illness and death. Who wouldn't be acting differently?
"No, and it doesn't seem like a fair question. He's been under a lot of stress, in case you hadn't noticed." I didn't know where this was going, but I immediately felt defensive. Grandpa Leo wasn't old and he certainly wasn't sick.
"Maddie. Honey." She reached out and squeezed my hand. "I know that's not good news to hear. I don't want to think about it either. I just lost my mother. But there've been little things. Bills that haven't been paid. I found an invoice on his counter from the landscaper. It was the third notice. Then he volunteered to help with the Food Stroll, but didn't meet certain commitments. Most recently it's related to your grandmother's illness, of course. But it's been happening for a while."
Bills that hadn't been paid? Commitments? That wasn't like Grandpa. His superpower was dependability. It was part profession, part character. I pulled away from her, got up and walked slowly around the room. My mother had kept some of my favorite childhood trinkets, which I always loved to see when I came home. A picture of me and my best friend, Becky Walsh, on the beach when we were around ten. My music box with the three cats that played "You Light Up My Life." I picked it up and wound it, let it play.
My mother got up too. She came over, turned me around, and took my hands in hers. "Look. I don't want to worry you. I just want you to keep an eye on him, okay? Please?" Her eyes were wet.
The song from the music box faded into slow motion, finally winding down into silence. I squeezed her hands. "Sure," I said, forcing a cheery note into my voice. "I'll keep an eye on him."
CHAPTER 3
Once the crowd had thinned out enough that we could make our escape, I kissed my parents good-bye and followed Grandpa to his car — my grandma's car, actually. He usually drove a beat-up pickup around town. Having a nice car had never been a big priority, because he'd always had an official vehicle.
We drove the ten minutes to his house in Daybreak Harbor in silence. My parents lived in Duck Cove, the town bordering Daybreak Harbor on the west side. In the dead of summer, this ride could take up to forty-five minutes as people crammed the streets, walking, biking, riding Segways, and packing onto tour buses. But tonight, thankfully, the traffic wasn't completely insane even though tourist season had already dropped onto Daybreak like a falling meteor — barely two weeks in and the population had tripled. Give it another week or two and there would be ten times the people thronging the streets, fighting for the best spot on the sand or the last umbrella at Grisham's General Store, determined to get everything they wanted and more out of this summer vacation. It made me glad I lived in San Francisco.
My mother's words weighed heavily on my mind. And then there was the matter of whatever Grandpa wanted to talk about. I couldn't shake the bad feeling brewing and wished I could avoid the conversation. It felt like genie-in-the-bottle syndrome — once released, there was no stuffing whatever it was back inside.
I hadn't realized I'd been manically winding my long hair around my fingers until Grandpa glanced over. "How you doing, doll?" he asked. "You're going to rip your hair out of your head."
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Cat About Town"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Liz Mugavero.
Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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