Murder Most Familiar (A Pattie Lansbury Cat Cozy Mystery Series Book 4)

by Nancy C. Davis

  Murder Most Familiar

  Nancy C. Davis

  ©2015 Nancy C. Davis

  Copyright © 2015

  No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known, hereinafter invented, without express written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of 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

  Part Two - Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Thank you

  Your Gifts

  Chapter 1

  Pattie Lansbury had spent six years building up her Retirement Home for cats. Ever since her husband Charlie passed away and her two sons Andrew and Simon moved out of the village, the home had been her pride and joy. It became the place she poured all of her heart into. It was doing well: she had fourteen permanent feline residents, many of whom were too young to ‘retire’ as such, but who had nowhere else to go. Pattie had taken care of them for so long that she would never dream of re-homing them. They were simply too precious to her.

  A recent venture into running Little Hamilton’s first veterinary practice had proven popular and lucrative. Both enterprises were run out of Pattie’s house on Shepherd’s Street, which was convenient but didn’t give her much chance to go outside during the day.

  “I’m going to reduce the opening hours of the vet’s service,” she told her confidante, Elliott Knight, who was the village GP. “Three days a week instead of five, and I’ll open at 11:00 in the morning instead of noon. What do you think?”

  Elliott smiled warmly at Pattie. They had finally gotten to spend the evening together after almost a week, and now they were taking a quiet stroll through the village.

  “Patricia, whatever you want, is what you should do. You’ve the sharpest mind in this village: I’m confident that you don’t need my input to make the best decisions for yourself.”

  “Well, you’re part of my life, Elliott,” Pattie said, a little shyly. “I like to include you in my decisions.”

  “Then my input is that it’s a great idea. It will give us a chance to meet for lunch more often, on days when I have to work in surgery, or at least give you more energy to take a walk in the countryside on weekends!”

  “I think that sounds lovely,” Pattie replied. They had just reached Pattie’s doorstep, where she intended to say goodnight to the silver fox. A sudden loud noise startled her; it was her mobile phone in her purse. “You know, I’m still not used to carrying around these things … Hello?”

  The call was from D.C. Juliette Palmer, one of the local constabulary and a good friend of Pattie’s. They had investigated many crimes together during Pattie’s on-off stint as a consulting detective. “Pattie? I hope you don’t mind me calling so late, but I have a favor to ask...”

  Pattie looked over her spectacles at Elliott. He knew that look.

  “Of course, Juliette,” Pattie replied. “Is it cat-related or crime-related?”

  “Well, it could be both, in a way. I wonder if you could meet me at Cliffton Cottage? I’m there now with Matthew Conrad.”

  Pattie rolled her eyes. “What does that man want now? For someone who claims to be a very important entrepreneur, he certainly finds the time to bother us little people quite often.”

  “I think it would be best if you talk to him in person,” Juliette replied. “He insists that he doesn’t want the police involved, and says that he’ll only talk to you. It could be rather important, Pattie. What do you say?”

  “I think Mister Conrad and I have rather different concepts of ‘important’. What might be the problem?”

  Juliette paused, giving Pattie a few seconds of crackly silence over the phone. Then she said, “Someone has made serious threats on his life, and they seem to be local. I believe his life is in danger.”

  Chapter 2

  The village was nestled on the slope of a North Yorkshire valley, beside a protected forest and curling stream. The main road, Shepherd’s Street, ran for over two miles along the bottom of the valley and upward towards a ridge. It was on this ridge that the old stone building of Cliffton Cottage sat, said to be one of the very first buildings from the birth of Little Hamilton, built by the village founders hundreds of years ago. Its grey stone walls looked out across the moorland, and hid modern extensions to the side of the building.

  The owner was Matthew Conrad, a very successful mogul and philanthropist, whose media networks were a global business and who’s ‘Conrad’ branding was on everything from newspapers to aeroplanes. He must have paid a fortune for Cliffton Cottage, which was a Grade 2 listing building – not to mention the legally-spurious extensions and renovation.

  Pattie had told Elliott that she would visit Matthew alone. Matthew’s many business ventures included some that may be less-than-entirely above board, and this put Elliott on edge. To make matters worse, it was Matthew Conrad who had invested in Pattie’s much-needed veterinary business, which made them partners. Elliott didn’t like that at all, being a very protective friend of Pattie’s.

  Friend? Pattie thought, as she rang the doorbell at the Cottage. Is that all we are? Or have we moved past that after all these years…?

  She didn’t have much time to think any more on the matter. The door opened and she was greeted by young Angus, Matthew’s servant. Or butler. Pattie didn’t know how she should refer to the young man who did everything asked of him and managed many of his master’s accounts. There was probably a polite, modern term for what he did, but Pattie hadn’t figured it out yet … Perhaps simply ‘assistant’…?

  “Hello, Mrs Lansbury,” Angus said politely. “Welcome back to Cliffton Cottage. Mister Conrad and Detective Palmer are waiting for you in the kitchen, which is the door straight ahead. May I take your coat?”

  “Why, thank you.” If there was one thing that made Pattie warm to anyone quickly, it was good manners.

  The kitchen was a sight to behold. It was a breathtaking example of modernised country living, with painted wooden cabinets, hefty slate surfaces and a rustic central island with stools, above which hung an assortment of pans and utensils. It was perfect.

  Sitting at the island was the master of the house, and Detective Constable Juliette Palmer, who seemed very relieved to see that Pattie had arrived.

&nb
sp; “Patricia, thanks so much for coming,” she said.

  “Hello, Detective. And hello, Matthew.”

  “Good evening, Patricia,” said the handsome businessman. Even though he was about the same age as Pattie – his mid-fifties – she always felt that he wore it a lot better than she did. He had thick dark hair, with silver around the temples, and matching thick eyebrows that gave him a strange balance between prehistoric manliness and well-groomed tycoon. He had a full pair of lips, which gave him a younger, even feminine appearance, balanced by his strong jawline and barrel chest.

  He had greyed a little more since Pattie met him a year ago, but he kept himself in good physical shape, despite his evident indulgence. He had a whiskey glass in his hand and there was a plate smeared with the remnants of a chocolate gateau beside him.

  “You didn’t bring your doctor friend?” he asked innocently, raising those thick eyebrows. “I hear you two have become inseparable.”

  “With respect, Matthew, I can’t see how that’s any of your business,” Pattie replied primly. Why did she always get defensive when people talked about Elliott? There was nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about. Perhaps she didn’t like people thinking of her as a silly woman in a new relationship, acting younger than her age. Even if that was true, why should she be embarrassed if they did…?

  Questions for another time. Down to business.

  “If you’ve quite finished trying to seduce Juliette, who I believe is already spoken for, perhaps we could get to the matter at hand?” Pattie said.

  Matthew seemed amused. “Patricia, what makes you think I’ve been trying to seduce the good officer?”

  Pattie’s eyes scanned the room again before she committed herself. “Firstly, even though you are apparently in danger, you seem rather comfortable tonight, or at least wish to give the appearance of being. You offered Juliette a drink, which she refused, evident by the empty glass by the dewy champagne bottle on the counter behind you. You also offered her the same black forest gateau that you recently finished, which she refused as well. I suppose this could be simple innocent generosity, but when you factor in how you unfastened your top shirt buttons just before I arrived even though it’s not particularly warm in here, it would be a reasonable assumption that you were trying to work your magic.”

  Matthew smiled. “Perhaps I never buttoned my shirt fully this morning?”

  “The tiny spot of chocolate on the top button suggests otherwise,” Pattie replied. “You unbuttoned your shirt after you finished the gateau and used your fingertip to suck up the last few crumbs. Also, the color of Juliette’s cheeks now, and her evident relief when I arrived, were confirmation enough of my theory.”

  D.C. Palmer grinned. “Perfect, as always, Pattie. But how did you know what flavor the cake was?”

  Pattie shrugged. “I can smell cherries.”

  “Very good,” chuckled Matthew, wagging his finger at her. “And precisely the reason why I called you here tonight. Please take a seat. Can Angus get you a drink, or something to eat?”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Pattie replied as she took the stool between the two of them. Knowing he was unneeded, Angus silently slipped out of the kitchen, leaving the three of them alone. “What is it that I can help you with?”

  “Someone has threatened to kill me,” said Matthew simply. D.C. Palmer produced a letter, which was typed and printed via a computer. It read:

  DEAR LION.

  YOU’VE MADE YOUR LAST MISTAKE.

  NOW YOU’LL PAY WITH YOUR LIFE.

  ENJOY YOUR FINAL DAYS.

  X

  “Well, that’s a fairly clear threat,” Pattie said. “What’s this about a lion?”

  “Lion’s Den,” said Matthew, as though it was obvious. Pattie shook her head. “You haven’t heard of Lion’s Den? It’s a TV programme where people with business ideas come to make a presentation in front of a panel of entrepreneurs. My network produces the show for BBC2 and I’m on the panel myself. We’re sometimes known as ‘the lions’ because the concept involves how scary it is to pitch in front of us. Watching the applicants sweat as they beg for our investment funds is part of the entertainment!”

  “I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t ask me to be part of the programme when I suggested my vet’s practice idea,” Pattie said. “That sounds like an awful experience for the applicants. Broadcast for the world to see, too. And I gather that you believe this letter has come from a disgruntled applicant who didn’t get an investment?”

  Matthew scratched his eyebrow, taking a deep breath. “It seems that way to me. But the panel humiliates half a dozen people an episode, and we’re about to air our third series. That’s a good two hundred suspects, not to mention those that were rejected before they even got on the show. The others on the panel get threats too, and this isn’t my first angry letter, but something about this one feels different. It was hand delivered. No envelope, just the letter.”

  Pattie turned to D.C. Palmer. “Have you had a chance to examine the letter forensically?”

  “I don’t want the police involved,” Matthew said. “Not yet. This could be a hoax or something, and I don’t want the media all over it.”

  “That doesn’t seem very prudent to me. If you think this one ‘feels different’ then the sensible option is to let the police examine the letter for clues. They can also compile a list of all the show’s applicants and see if there are any likely suspects who might be local. I would advise you to take advantage of their resources, Matthew.”

  He shook his head. “The reason I moved from London and bought this cottage is to get away from the madness of the capital and get used to the idea of a quiet retirement. If even one journalist gets word that I’m living in Little Hamilton now then it’s game over, and I’m back to square one. I’m not even sure how this lunatic found me. That’s partly what concerns me most. Besides, I’m just about to launch the third series on the BBC, and really don’t need the extra agro at the moment.”

  Pattie removed her spectacles and wiped them. “If you insist on leaving the police out of it, then what am I here for?”

  “I want you to be a kind of … live-in detective. Keep an eye on me, observe my surroundings, make sure there are no suspicious characters around.”

  “I’m not a bodyguard, Matthew. The police are— ”

  “I don’t want a bodyguard,” he interrupted. “I want another pair of eyes watching my back, but I also want a sharp mind to figure out how this creep got my address. And if he’s local, then I can’t think of anyone better than you to figure out who it might be.”

  “I’m really not into this line of work. You should—”

  Matthew slammed his hand on the expensive flint tabletop. “Patricia! If you do this for me, then I’ll release you from the contract you have with me regarding the vet’s practice. You can retain all the funding and forget all about that repayment plan for my investment. Not only that, but I’ll continue to manage your advertising and insurance for both the vet’s and the cat retirement home thing you have going on, too. For as long as you’re in business. What do you say?”

  Pattie replaced her spectacles and eyed him carefully. “I can’t guarantee results. We might never know who this person is. I can’t defend you if he or she attacks; I’m an old woman. You must acknowledge that I don’t have the resources of the North Yorkshire Police. And you have me only until the end of the month.”

  Matthew nodded. “Done.”

  “And you’ll have to cover my expenses, including the wasted overhead from the vet for as long as it’s closed.”

  “Think nothing of it.”

  Pattie looked at D.C. Palmer, who just shrugged and said, “Sounds like a deal to me. If at any point you need help from the station, just promise you won’t waste any time before calling, alright?”

  Pattie frowned, looking at the printed threat letter on the table.

  Elliott’s not going to like this one bit, she thought.

  Ch
apter 3

  The first thing Pattie did was check for out-of-towners. Little Hamilton had only one place for visitors to stay, and that was the local bed-and-breakfast run by Benjamin and Clara Rosswell. Their B&B was upstairs, above their General Shop on Shepherd’s Street. Pattie had stayed there once before when the floorboards in her house were being renovated, a few years before Charlie had passed away. It was a lovely little place, not too chintzy, with lots of unique landscape paintings on the wall. Somehow Clara found the time to paint between running the shop and the B&B, and she was rather good. Pattie had a portrait of her first two cats, Putz and Mischief, hanging in her hallway: an original Clara Rosswell.

  It was her husband Benjamin who was manning the General Shop that day. He greeted Pattie with a beardy smile and sipped from a coffee mug he must have just refilled. “Morning, Pattie. You’re out and about rather early.”

  “Good morning, Ben. I’ve closed the vet’s for a couple of weeks as I work on something. It’s a bit of an investigation. I was wondering whether you could tell me if you have any guests staying with you at the moment?”