Calico Confusion
Marjorie’s Cozy Kitten Cafe Book One
Katherine Hayton
Copyright © 2019 Katherine Hayton
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
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
Also by Katherine Hayton
About the Author
Chapter One
Herding cats might be difficult but as Marjorie Hardaway chased a ginger Maine Coon kitten out of her café kitchen, she wouldn’t have swapped it for any other job in the world.
“No feeding,” she called out to a couple in their fifties, seated at her last table of the day.
Although the sign sat in pride of place in the café—please don’t feed the kittens—guests regularly ignored it. Marjorie tossed the culprits a smile and wiped down the counter, hoping they’d take it as a hint to leave. With only five minutes until closing, if they didn’t move soon, she’d have to kick them out.
The man’s hand jerked up from underneath the gingham cloth, a guilty expression on his face. When his wife gave him an elbow in the side, he muttered, “Sorry.”
“It doesn’t hurt them or anything,” Marjorie said, to appease him. “But if every café guest snuck that little tabby a piece of cake, he’d soon be the size of a house.”
“I told you,” his wife said, shaking her head before draining the last vestiges of her coffee cup. “You’ll get us both banned at this rate.”
Marjorie smiled to herself. If she banned everyone who broke the rules, her café would sit empty from sunup to sundown.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked the wife while clearing away the empty cup. Please say no. Please say no. If it weren’t so unprofessional, Marjorie would cross her fingers behind her back.
“Not for me.” The woman folded her hands on the top of the table, appearing ready to leave. Her husband though… Well. It seemed the small tabby had a new admirer.
“This little fellow’s called Nimble,” Marjorie said, reaching down to give the kitten a small bop on the top of his head. He promptly caught her finger in his claws and tried to fit the tip into his mouth. “He might be active now, but he’ll conk out in a few hours, then he’ll be as quiet as a lamb.”
“What’s wrong with him?” the wife asked, leaning over to give the kitten an intense stare.
“Nothing, now. When he came to me, he’d sprained his rear leg trying to free himself from a grate, but it just took a few weeks of rest and recuperation to fix.”
The man offered a shy smile. “Nimble, eh?” He glanced over to his wife. “He’d match the drapes in the front room.”
Marjorie suppressed a chuckle. It wouldn’t be the strangest reason she’d ever heard for someone adopting a kitten. And it appeared the gentleman knew his wife inside-out because she now appeared more interested.
“How much do they cost?” the woman asked.
“The kittens are free.” Marjorie pointed at the tabby. “If you want to adopt Nimble into your home, there’re a few forms to complete and the SPCA will do a house check, then he’s yours.”
“Someone would inspect our home?” The woman’s expression grew horrified.
“It’s a standard procedure for animal adoptions, whether you do it from the café, from the pound, or choose a rescue centre.” Marjorie scooped up Marmalade—the ginger Maine Coon kitten who couldn’t resist poking his nose into any situation—and held him against her chest.
Now wasn’t the time for his orange brand of cuteness. There was a tabby who’d earned his spot in the limelight instead.
“It’ll take a few days, then?” the man said, downcast at the though. “I’d hoped we’d be able to take him home with us, straight away.”
“I wouldn’t let anyone else adopt him while you’re waiting,” Marjorie reassured him. “And as long as you’re not serial killers, it’s just a formality.”
“We’ll take a look at that form,” the man said, holding his hand out to shake. “I’m Gregory Armistead and this is Teal.” He jerked his head at his wife.
“They’ll make an appointment for the visit, won’t they?” she asked, still sounding nervous. “I don’t want them dropping in at any old hour of the day. I run a business from home and it sometimes gets messy.”
Marjorie couldn’t imagine what the highly coiffed woman considered messy. She tucked a few strands of her own ginger-grey hair back behind an ear and tried not to imagine the frizz she’d see reflected in the mirror.
“If you work from home, that’ll be a real bonus. Kittens love it when there’s someone around all the time.” She placed Marmalade into the play enclosure and watched as he promptly mounted an escape. “And yes, they’ll ring you in advance.”
The couple exchanged a long glance and Marjorie could read the conversation they silently exchanged.
“He’ll be great company.”
“He’ll make a mess.”
“It’ll be nice to have a pet around now the kids are gone.”
“He’ll claw up the lounge suite.”
“Won’t you love it when he climbs into your lap at night?”
“Probably.”
“Fine,” Teal said with a resigned sigh. “Let’s get it all started. Can we change his name if we’re successful with the adoption? Only, he looks more like a rascal than a nimble to me.”
Marjorie laughed and nodded, pulling out a clipboard from beneath the counter. “You sure can.”
She excused herself to empty the baking remainders from the display case. Some of the sweet and savoury treats could go to the mission in town, while she earmarked others for the piggery out near Henderson’s farm.
A year or two ago, Marjorie would have set aside a few treats for her own supper. Now she gave her ample belly a pat of regret. The days of being able to eat whatever she wanted were as long gone as her ex-husband.
“There you go,” Teal said, handing across the form and exchanging a sweet smile with her husband. As Marjorie took the clipboard, the woman gave her forearm a quick squeeze. “Thank you very much. For the meal and for everything.”
Marjorie watched the couple leave, Nimble scampering up to the window to press his nose against the glass. “You’ll see them again, soon enough,” she reassured the tabby.
Her own gaze wandered across to the empty section next door. A large sign announced building would soon start on a new development. Judging from the plans on the board, it would put an end to the café’s gorgeous view.
When Marjorie started the Cozy Kitten Café, her real estate agent had assured her such a thing could never happen. The land was too steep, the rock face too dense. Shows what he knew.
She turned and clapped her hands before her thoughts could turn maudlin. “Come along and help me clean up.”
Unfortunately, kittens were more of a hindrance than a help for keeping the kitchen in order. As soon as Marjorie would wipe down a stretch of the countertop, paws would tramp across the fresh shine.
“It’s jail for all of you,” Marjorie announced, clapping her hands. The kittens jumped with excitement, not understanding. She gathered them up, one or two at a time, and put them into the playpen, sliding across the top that she left open all day long.
Sad
faces stared out between the bars in despair. At least, they did until some of the kittens staged a wrestling match while others fell asleep.
After that, it was the work of a few short minutes to get the last of her cleaning duties done and dusted for the day. Marjorie had just pulled off her apron—one shot into the hamper like a champ—when a knock came on the locked entrance.
“Howdy, neighbour,” Esme Todd said, bustling into the room. “How're things?”
Esme worked as a masseuse at the adjoining rooms to the café, sharing a common driveway and car park, and lived in a house just one section over. As two sole proprietors, the two women often looked after each other’s businesses when the need arose, and Marjorie was grateful to have someone nearby who had her back.
“Don’t you have a four o’clock today?” Marjorie asked, turning on the coffee machine she’d just switched off. “I thought Jeremy was a regular.”
“He swears my fingers are magic and cured him,” Esme said, pulling her mouth down at the corners. “It’s a hard thing when you’re so good at your job, your clients don’t need you anymore.”
“Ha. A likely story.” Marjorie set an Americano on the table and rescued a chocolate chip muffin from the batch going out. “I’ve seen him around the town with a new girl on his arm.”
“Isabella,” Esme said, enunciating each syllable while she rolled her eyes. “I hope she doesn’t mess up all the work I put into straightening his spine.”
Marjorie flapped a tea towel in her friend’s direction. “Don’t say it or it might come true!” She prepared herself a nice shot of espresso, bidding sleep a fond adieu in exchange for the treat.
“Don’t look now,” Esme whispered, “but I think one of your littlies is escaping.”
A corner of the bamboo playpen poked up at an odd angle, with a pair of intense green eyes peering out.
“Monkey Business, get down from there before you hurt yourself!”
The chocolate Persian gave a gasp, then fell backwards, twisting her body to land on her feet. Her overreactions to stimuli showed an intense flare for drama and often had Marjorie in hysterics. Although she missed all the kittens as we adopted them out over the years, her heart had a special place for Monkey.
“It might be Nimble’s last few days with us,” Marjorie said and filled Esme in on the details. Despite her genuine pleasure that the kitten would soon have a forever home, her voice thickened as she reached the end.
“I suppose it’ll open up space for a new rescue,” Esme said, putting her hand on top of Marjorie’s for a second. “There always seem to be new kittens getting into scrapes.”
Marjorie forced a smile and inclined her head. “And at least the Armisteads will have a kitten who matches the curtains. I mean, could you imagine if they clashed?”
Esme giggled, then rapped her knuckles on the table. “I almost forgot why I came over here,” she said. “I’m having a dinner party tomorrow night and need you to make up the numbers.”
“You’re not setting me up again, are you?” Marjorie asked with open suspicion. “Only, the last time you tried it didn’t end up well.”
Esme had paired her with an accountant who’d thought he was regaling her facts and figures about offshore accounts until Marjorie fell asleep at the table. Her mortification was tempered by the thought her gaffe had extricated her from the situation.
“I’m happily single if I must remind you again. The life of a crazy cat lady called to me and I answered. There’s no room in my house for anyone else.”
“It’s not your house I’m worried about. It’s your heart,” Esme replied in her unflappable way. “And I’ve asked you to make up the numbers, not entice you into an arranged marriage. I promise, there’s no subterfuge.”
She held up her hands, palms out towards Marjorie, which only made her more suspicious. But the thought of an evening out, talking to other people instead of felines, appealed to her. What was the worst that could happen? Meet a bore and fall asleep? Already done!
“Count me in. Do you want me to bring anything along? I’ve got a nice new dessert recipe I’m dying to try.”
“Yes, please. That sounds scrumptious.”
Marjorie snorted and slapped Esme’s arm. “I haven’t even told you what I’m making, yet.”
“Don’t worry.” She fluttered her eyelids. “You had me at dessert.”
As Marjorie cleared the table, she caught a coloured light from the corner of her eye. The café sat at the top of a hill with the view reaching all the way down into the township of Hanmer Springs. The bounty of evergreen trees along the side of the café made it hard to spot the finer details, but the flash of red and blue found gaps in the greenery.
“Is it an accident?” she called out as Esme poked her head out the front door to get a better view.
“I don’t think so.”
Esme’s voice sounded strained, a tone so foreign to her friend that Marjorie left the dishes in the sink and hurried to her side.
“Those are police cars, aren’t they?” Esme asked, pointing down the valley.
As Marjorie watched, another vehicle bedecked with flashing lights pulled to a stop near the first two. She heard the wail of an ambulance siren before it cut off. “That’s Angelica Carmel’s place, isn’t it?”
Esme nodded, wrapping her arms around herself, though it wasn’t cold.
A paramedic ran inside, the white cross on his medical bag glowing red in the pink rays of the setting sun. He spent a minute indoors, then walked outside. He shook his head at the waiting companion before making his way back to the ambulance with slow steps.
The ambulance backed out of the drive and retraced its route to the surgery centre. If she squinted, Marjorie could just make out a police officer pulling red and white tape across the front of the property.
“Why didn’t the ambulance take her?” Esme asked, her voice shrill with panic.
“I don’t know,” Marjorie answered, pushing at her friend’s shoulder to move her inside. “Maybe she wasn’t badly hurt after all.”
But her gut told her a different story.
Angelica is dead.
Chapter Two
Early the next morning, Marjorie peered through the oven door window with trepidation. This was the part of testing a new recipe where it could go zinging off the rails. The single-serve cookies and cream cheesecakes had her drooling at the first reading of the recipe, but she’d never cooked such small sizes before.
Should the tops still be wobbly? Were they meant to brown? These and other questions could only be answered with a taste test later. By then, any chance she had to improve them would be long gone.
“As long as I don’t poison the other guests, it’ll be fine,” she told Marmalade who strolled in to see what was happening. “And you should be getting ready for work.”
The kitten seemed unimpressed with the demand and trotted over to stare at the stove front to find out what was so interesting. Finding nothing, he sat down next to Marjorie and looked at her instead of through the little window.
“What do you think, Mister? Take them out now, or leave them another minute?”
Marmalade’s jaw split open in a yawn so large, for a moment he appeared to have a flip-top head.
“Good call. Now it is.”
Marjorie ushered the kitten away from the stove, mindful of how easily he could burn his paws. She set the cakes on the bench and waved a tea towel over the tops to begin the cooling process. The gust of warm air from the oven delighted the kitten, who nuzzled up close to the open door.
“Step back,” she ordered Marmalade before closing the oven. All the baking for the café was sitting further along the bench, ready for service. She’d saved up the dessert for the dinner party until last.
“Lucky last, I hope.”
The front doorbell rang, and she froze for a moment, unused to the sound. Anyone who knew Marjorie well would either knock, give her a yell, or just bowl on in. She pulled a face at the ki
tten before bustling downstairs and opening the safety rail through to the cafe.
“Morning,” she said, then all the words dried up in her mouth. A policewoman stood on the doorstep.
“Hey there, Marjorie. Long time, no see.”
Marjorie shook her head and realised she knew the woman standing there. “Regina Ashford! When did you get back to town?” She lunged forward, giving the officer a hug.
“A few weeks but I haven’t got around to reconnecting with anyone yet. The sergeant at the station has been running me ragged.”
Marjorie nodded, although she couldn’t imagine Sergeant Matthewson putting too much pressure on his staff. “You’re up early.”
Although she had been awake and busy for hours, baking up a storm, Marjorie understood most normal people didn’t crawl out of bed long before the sun even thought about rising.
“We’re working overtime,” the officer responded with a shy smile.
After attending primary school together, the two had become fast friends, but attending different high schools had whittled away a lot of their bond, still more dissolving after decades spent in different careers and different towns.
“I hope they’re paying you,” Marjorie replied, holding the door open wider and waving Regina inside. The entrance had two sets of doors so adventurous kittens couldn’t escape outside. “Unlike fools like me who chose self-employment.” She wrinkled her nose.
Regina stayed put, her feet planted on the front doorstep. “Oh, they’re paying all right. And we’ve got a couple of officers on their way up from Christchurch.”
“What’s happened?”
Small town cops didn’t like to share their playpen with the big city policemen. Marjorie’s mind turned back to the flashing lights of the night before and a hand rose to clutch at the base of her throat.
Calico Confusion Page 1
