The Unfur-tunate Valentine's Scam (Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mysteries Book 6)

by Alannah Rogers

  “He called me at three in the morning,” she said as soon as Abigail picked up.

  There was an audible sigh on the line. “It wasn’t from a hotel room in Sydney was it? Overlooking the harbor?”

  Beatrice’s stomach sank. “It was.”

  “Another red flag. I didn’t even know he was in Sydney again.” There was a pause. “It’s funny how quickly I think of him already,” she said, her voice sounding funny. “I’ll hear something on the radio or read something in the paper and the first thing I’ll think is: I have to text Bryan. It’s like being in love for the first time again. With one crucial difference: I’m not. I know how you can get hurt.”

  Petunia crawled up Beatrice’s chest, eyes hopeful. “I’m sorry, Abby. But we can’t be certain yet. I have a contact who’s helping me run his info through the scammer database. He still hasn’t asked you for money?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, well keep sending me his correspondence. I’ll call you as soon as I have an update.”

  Beatrice swung her legs out of bed, showered, dressed, and padded down to the kitchen to feed the cats. She sat in her bay window with a cup of coffee and a piece of toast, looking at the silent winter world outside. Blue jays hopped on the snow beneath the birch trees. No wind stirred the branches. The cats contentedly crunched on their kibbles beside her.

  When you’re in love, the world seems full of possibilities, Beatrice thought. But how quickly that situation can change.

  Her phone blipped with a message from Bryan. She opened it.

  Thanks for the chat last night. I loved hearing about all your friends. It sounds like you and Zoe are good pals. We all need more people like that in our lives. Let’s talk again soon.

  Beatrice suppressed a rising sense of hope inside her. The guy was not legitimate. And then something occurred to her that made her stomach turn: she didn’t remember telling him Zoe’s name.

  Had she? It was three in the morning so maybe she had by accident. But she didn’t think so. How could he know that her pastry chef was named Zoe?

  Hamish landed on her lap and Beatrice almost jumped out of her skin. “Hi Hammy,” she said distractedly, petting his silky fur. He sat down and looked at her with those big golden eyes of his, as wise as an owl.

  “It does seem awfully strange, doesn’t it?” she asked him. “There’s something off about this whole thing, and I’m not sure it’s in a scammer sort of way.” He merely blinked at her. “Maybe Bryan really does exist but not in the way we think.” She shook her head. “Listen to me speculating. I need more clues before I can start putting this together.”

  Hamish settled down, purring contentedly, and Beatrice allowed her mind to wander again as she sipped the steaming coffee and stared out the window. No one was around, so she didn’t have to pretend to be braver than she was. Beatrice let down her guard a bit and opened up the trove of memories from her youth, specifically when she fell in love for the first time. It was with Matthew, of course.

  Abigail’s comment had her thinking: could someone their age really experience that feeling of first love again? She had to dig far, far back to access those memories. There’d never been a specific moment when she’d met Matthew. They’d grown up in Ashbrook together so her earliest memories were peppered with him: coloring together at Sunday school, him stealing her swing during recess, sharing a wand of cotton candy during fall fairs, him splashing her when their parents took them to the beach one summer—she’d promptly pushed him in.

  It was all kind of murky how that roughhousing had morphed into them dating at sixteen years of age. Beatrice remembered a school dance when she was thirteen years old. For once, the guys stood nervously on one side and the girls on the other and she realized that something was changing. They weren’t all pals or playing some game of “boys vs. girls.” Nope, the dynamic had shifted and something new was at stake.

  Then Matthew asked her to dance. The band was playing “When A Man Loves a Woman,” which seemed awfully grown–up for a bunch of thirteen year olds. He took her hand in his in that old school gym and awkwardly piloted her around the dance floor, her heavy satin skirt swishing slowly. Beatrice had felt a strong need to make a joke, like she normally did. But the seriousness of the song, the dance, and her fancy new dress silenced her.

  For a few weeks after the dance, Beatrice had avoided Matthew. She didn’t like this change between them, or between the boys and girls in general. She was a stubborn girl and highly resistant to any change she hadn’t personally authorized. But she and Matthew had drifted back together—how could they not? They’d known each other their whole lives.

  And somehow, over the next three years, it seemed natural for them to take the next step. Beatrice got over being mad at love and began thinking with increasingly regularity what it would be like to kiss this tall dark–haired boy with the brilliant blue eyes who made her laugh until her sides threatened to split open.

  Their first kiss wasn’t that memorable. They’d been doing homework together in Beatrice’s room—there was a new rule that they were to do it downstairs, within clear view of her mother, but Beatrice was never one for doing what she was told. She’d snuck Matthew up and they’d been listening to Beatles’ songs on her record player while they tried to finish some tricky quadratic equations.

  Both had been sprawled out on her Beatles rug, with Beatles posters staring down at them from every wall.

  “You know,” Matthew had said, looking up from his notebook. “If we started dating we’d be friends but better.”

  “Better? How do you figure?” Beatrice had asked, her gaze firmly glued to her textbook.

  “Well, we wouldn’t have to spend time with other people. We’d always have a date for dances and people would know that you’re mine.”

  “I’m not anybody’s,” Beatrice had said, lifting her eyes to glare at him.

  “Fine, people would know I’m yours. Also, we could do fun stuff like this.”

  And he’d leaned in and kissed her, right there on her bedroom floor with her mother making lemon bread downstairs. No one could ever accuse Matthew of not being confidant.

  The kiss itself didn’t bring on choruses of angels and heavenly song. They were both inexperienced with kissing. But something had definitely clicked in Beatrice’s brain as his arms went around her. She’d thought: this feels completely normal. I could do this a lot.

  She’d pulled away. “Let’s have a three–month trial period. If we still like dating each other then, maybe we can try six months more.”

  “Beatrice, you’re the least romantic person I know.”

  “And probably the worst kisser too.” She’d smiled devilishly. “You’re going to have to teach me.”

  They still liked dating each other after three months. And six months after that too. In fact, dating Matthew was as natural as breathing. They liked the same things: going hiking in the nearby park, sharing outrageous sundaes at the diner, secreting bottles of wine into the drive–in movie theater and making out under the stars. They both liked school and did their homework together. Beatrice cheered Matthew on at his track meets and Matthew cheered Beatrice on at her debating competitions.

  It seemed only natural when they were about to graduate high school to get married. Matthew would get special married student housing at the University of New Hampshire in Durham. Beatrice was not expected to go to college. Instead, she was swept up in the fantasy of being Mrs. Thompson and keeping house for her beloved husband.

  Of course, the shine wore off that quickly. But, that was a story for another day.

  The main thing was that, when she really put her mind to it, Beatrice remembered exactly what Abigail was talking about. Love before disappointment. Love before life really began, before emotions and situations got too complicated. Love when it was most important thing in life.

  It was breathtaking to remember. But as Beatrice sat at her table with forty years between her and those memories, it seemed like a lon
g time ago. Another Beatrice, another life. She couldn’t go back, nor did she want to.

  Petunia meowed at her feet and Beatrice reached down to stroke her fur. It was as soft as goose down. “Time to go to work, isn’t it precious? Enough daydreaming for Beatrice for one day.”

  And with that, she washed her dishes, gathered her things, and went out.

  6

  Despite Beatrice and Bryan's phone conversation earlier, it didn’t take long for him to show his true colors.

  Abigail came charging into the Cozy Cat Café that very morning, waving her cell phone like it was a twirling baton, her gray cape swirling around her.

  Beatrice was talking with a contractor in the main room about some minor electrical issues to do with the ancient wiring system she’d inherited. He’d just quoted her a ridiculously high figure to do the work and she was threatening vengeance on his entire family unless he lowered his price.

  The building was one of Ashbrook’s oldest. The high ceilings and beaten wood floors—with the help of carefully chosen mismatched furniture, reading lamps, bookshelves full of mystery novels, and the chalkboard menus behind the glass display counter—all lent the café rustic charm. But sometimes that rustic charm came with a price.

  Abigail strode across the open space like a woman on a mission.

  “He asked for money!” she shrieked. “He’s a filthy liar!”

  Everyone in the room stopped talking and swiveled around to gaze upon this new drama. Beatrice realized that her café was probably starting to get a reputation as a theater house where you could get a good cup of coffee and see a one–act play for free on the side.

  Beatrice scuttled over to shut the door Abigail had left open. Great gusts of cold air were swirling in. That accomplished, she hooked her arm firmly through her rival’s and steered her towards her office. She seated her on the sofa.

  “So much for confidentiality,” Beatrice said, sitting next to her. “Now tell me everything.”

  Abigail’s eyes darted back and forth and her hands trembled. Her thin mouth was set in a straight line. She kept fumbling with her thick, black glasses.

  “He always had an excuse, always had an excuse,” she kept saying. “I should have known.”

  “The heart believes what it wants to believe,” Beatrice said gently. “Tell me what happened.”

  Abigail took a deep breath. “He called me this morning to say that he was in Thailand. He sounded upset. I asked him what was wrong and he told me that there’d been a terrible mix–up at customs and the officer in charge was demanding a hundred thousand dollars if he wanted his products to be released. He told me he’d already sunk plenty of money into purchasing the goods and couldn’t afford to leave them behind.”

  Beatrice sighed heavily. “Oh dear.”

  “And the interesting part was that he didn’t ask me for a hundred thousand dollars. I mean, who would? He said he’d managed to raise ninety thousand dollars of that and he only needed ten thousand more. He was up against a deadline and promised to pay me back as soon as possible, if only the money was wired to him immediately.”

  Abigail slumped in her seat. “He even put on a supposed customs agent to speak to me. Funny though that this customs agent sounded almost exactly like Bryan. I mean, what kind of fool does he think I am? I told him I don’t have the money and what’s more, I wouldn’t even give one of my close friends that kind of cash. I certainly wouldn’t hand it over to someone I'’d never even met face to face. And he actually had the kahunas to get angry at me!”

  She took off her thick black glasses and meticulously cleaned them with a small cloth. Beatrice noticed that her eyes looked red and the skin around them was blotchy. “What did he say?” she asked.

  Abigail threw up her hands. “That he thought he could trust me. That he’d spent weeks getting to know me and I couldn’t even do him a small favor. You know Beatrice, at first I was angry. Now I’m just tired of it all. I had this great adventure and it was wonderful while the fantasy lasted, even though at the back of my head I knew it couldn’t last. Now it’s finally over. Who else is going to write me messages like that? Who’s going to call me at three a.m.? George certainly never did, nor anyone after him.”

  Beatrice was rooted to her chair. This was a side of Abigail she’d never seen before. It was&emdash;dare she say&emdash;vulnerable?

  “What do you want me to do now?” she asked softly. “Close the case?”

  Abigail put her glasses back on and peered at her. “Heavens no. I’m upset but I’m also curious. Who is Bryan? Is he really an American or is he working overseas? Is it one person or a group of people working together? Is it even a company that makes scamming its business?”

  Beatrice took a deep breath. “With all due respect Abby, because I know what it’s like to be too curious for your own good, do you really want to know who he is or would it be better to move on?”

  “Possibly. But maybe if I find out the truth I can expose him and help other people avoid what happened to me. And don’t you want to know, Bee? And what’s more, be paid to find out?”

  Beatrice really did want to know. Also, this was her first case and she hadn’t technically solved anything yet. It wasn’t the kind of track record she wanted to have.

  “You’ve got me there.” Beatrice leaned back into the sofa and tucked up her legs. “Did Bryan ever seem to, well, know more about you than you told him?”

  Abby peered at her in surprise. “How so?”

  “Well, he sent me a message about Zoe. But I don’t recall telling him her exact name. Now, we’d talked at three a.m. the night before so it’s possible I let it slip and forgot.”

  “Hm. Most of the time his messages tended more towards the general than the specific. I suppose if he was a scammer he must be sending plenty of people the same messages.” She thought for a moment. “But you’re right, at times he really did seem to know me. I mean, there wasn’t anything specific he said. It was just like he knew exactly what I wanted to hear.” She shrugged. “But if he does this professionally, of course he’d know the right words.” Abigail looked at Beatrice. “What about you? Are you and Matthew finally making a go of it?”

  Beatrice felt like she wanted to melt right into the couch. “Is everyone in this town waiting for us to get together?”

  “Well let’s just say, when you and Matthew became close friends again, no one was surprised. The only surprising thing was that it never went any further. I’d hear gossip whenever he went into the jewelers: whether he was picking out a diamond ring or not. And then if you two went out for a fancy dinner, word would be that he was going to propose. If he even went near the real estate office, people started talking that he was finally going to sell his place and move in with you.”

  Beatrice was nothing less than shell–shocked. She knew people talked in Ashbrook. After all, wasn’t she the Queen of Gossip? But somehow, it had never entered her head that people were that interested in her personal life, especially what was going on between her and Matthew.

  “What do you think?” she stuttered.

  Abigail sniffed and crossed her arms over her black sweater. “Right now I’m not in any position to give romantic advice. I just fell for an Internet scammer, remember?”

  “I was falling for him too,” Beatrice said. “If I hadn’t been suspicious already I think it would all have been hard to resist. What do you think he did right?”

  “He listened,” Abigail said simply, hugging her arms close to her body. “I think it’s that simple. Funnily enough, I think real men could learn from these scammers: send flowers, be attentive, say sweet things. It’s not really that hard, though somehow most men I’ve come across haven’t bothered. George certainly didn’t. He was always too busy. Thought his restaurant came before everything, even me. I practically had to beg him for attention. Anyway, I’ve said too much.” She stood up and grabbed her purse and cape. “You’re going to the Valentine’s Fair tonight, right?”

  Be
atrice smiled at her wanly. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  7

  With an action–packed day behind her, and the Valentine’s Day Fair still ahead, Beatrice decided she needed a little air.

  She threw on her parka and whistled for the cats to follow her. After the stuffiness of indoor heating, Beatrice was always glad to breathe the crisp, pure New Hampshire air.

  The roofs of the brick buildings on her street were covered in a thin layer of snow like gingerbread houses. The tall trees lining the street were wrapped in white lights which glowed faintly in the dimness. Beatrice crossed the traffic circle in front of the church, listening to the bells pealing, breaking the silence of their sleepy town. Petunia trotted smartly at her feet while Lucky and Hamish ran ahead, exploring.

  She took another road that led to the outskirts of town. Red and white Cape Cod–style houses sat on small lots dotted with bushy evergreens. Dense box hedges or wooden fences separated the properties from the road. The sidewalks looked dicey so Beatrice stuck to the middle of the road. There wasn’t any traffic, anyway.

  It was exactly the peaceful walk she needed—no one knew where she was and she’d left her cell phone at the office so she couldn’t be reached. The cats looked content to stretch their legs too, despite the cold.

  That is, until Hamish started acting funny. He circled back to Beatrice and started prowling around her feet. The thick fur on the back of his neck stuck straight up and his big ears with their tufts of black hair at the top swiveled about, as if he was trying to pick up a distant sound.

  Beatrice started to get more than a little unnerved, too. Could someone be following her? After all, she had a fair list of enemies after all the local cases she’d helped the sheriff solve.