by Jinty James
Purrs and Peril – A Norwegian Forest Cat Café Cozy Mystery – Book 1
By
Jinty James
Copyright © 2018 by Jinty James
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR NOTE
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CHAPTER 1
“What do you think, Annie?” Lauren Crenshaw bent down to her fluffy silver-gray tabby, aware of the soft buzz of conversation filling the coffee shop that morning.
“Brrt.” The three-year-old Norwegian Forest cat, for whom the Norwegian Forest Café had been named, sounded happy as she gazed at the customers seated in the welcoming cocoon created by pale yellow walls and pine tables and chairs. Although it was a certified cat café, Annie was the only cat on the premises, and sometimes seemed to think it was her café, not hers and Lauren’s.
The scent of freshly ground coffee, good butter, and sweet cinnamon delighted Lauren’s senses and filled her with a sense of contentment.
A few months ago, she’d inherited her grandmother’s café and adjoining Victorian cottage in picturesque Gold Leaf Valley, northern California. Dating from the 1800s gold rush, the small town boasted charming Victorian houses and a friendly community.
She’d been close to her grandmother and had often visited her on the weekends, accompanied by Annie. When she discovered Gramms had left her the business and house, Lauren decided in a split second to leave her boring office job in Sacramento and plunge into the world of running a café.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had help, though. She’d also inherited Gramm’s employee Ed, a fifty-something part-time baker who made pastry like a dream. He was big and burly, and grunted rather than talked. But when customers lined up to buy his croissants and Danishes, Lauren knew she had to keep him on.
She didn’t know how her grandmother had run the coffee shop with Ed as her only employee, although Lauren had helped out when she’d visited. The woman had been a dynamo until eighty, when old-age started to slow her down. She had died peacefully in her sleep, a loss that Lauren – and Annie – were still coming to terms with.
“Hey, boss, Annie’s got some new customers.” Her second cousin Zoe Crenshaw zipped up to them, wearing jeans and a hot-pink t-shirt. Five foot seven with a brunette pixie cut that highlighted her cute features and sparkling brown eyes, she was a live-wire.
In contrast, Lauren was one inch shorter, a little curvy, with a dusting of freckles on her nose, light brown hair with hints of gold ending at just below her chin, and hazel eyes. Her usual work outfit consisted of pale blue capris and t-shirts in soft muted colors, like peach and apricot.
“Brrt!” Annie’s green eyes lit up at the sight of two middle-aged women hovering at the Please Wait to Be Seated sign. She sauntered over to the ladies, tilting her head in a way that said, “Follow me.”
“Well,” one of the women said uncertainly, “Glenda told us it was a cat café.”
Annie stopped and pivoted, as if encouraging them to follow her, before leading them to an empty table in the corner.
“Annie will find the best table for you,” Lauren called out to the ladies, giving them an encouraging smile.
They smiled back, following the silver tabby, and seating themselves at the table she’d chosen for them.
“They’ll be raving fans by the time they leave here,” Zoe predicted. “Especially with Ed making apricot Danish today.”
“Don’t remind me,” Lauren said ruefully. She’d treated herself to one of the buttery, flaky, melt-in-your-mouth pastries that morning, and was still fighting herself on going back for a second serving.
Perhaps that was why she would never be a skinny twig. But surely rushing around the café all day burned off extra calories? It was a theory that needed more testing, she told herself. After all, she’d only been running the café for the last three months.
“I’d better bus that table.” Zoe gestured to the table to the right. The customers had just departed, leaving what looked like a sizeable tip.
“I’ll help you.” Lauren had no idea if she’d be able to run the café without her cousin helping out like a butterfly buzzing with caffeine. Zoe had visited one weekend after Lauren had just re-opened the café, waving away Lauren’s attempt to pay her. The cousins had always looked forward to seeing each other at family get togethers, but since Zoe lived in San Francisco hopping from one temp job to another, and Lauren had lived in Sacramento, the two of them getting together for a regular catch-up had been a bit problematic.
That weekend, Lauren had impulsively offered Zoe a full-time job at the café, and her cousin had jumped at the offer. Now they shared Lauren’s cottage (luckily it had two bedrooms) and often explored the small town together on their days off.
“Ten dollars!” Zoe placed the tip left on the table in her pocket. “I’ll put it in the tip jar.”
“Thanks.” Lauren smiled. Zoe and Ed the baker shared the tips, Lauren and Zoe reasoning that if Ed didn’t make his feather-light pastries, the tips wouldn’t be nearly as forthcoming. Since Lauren owned the café and made a small profit as well as a wage, she didn’t think it fair to take a share of the gratuities.
Lauren could bake – but pastry was a bit of a mystery to her. She could make it if she had to, but she was the first to admit that her attempts weren’t nearly as good as Ed’s.
But she was great at making cakes and cupcakes. Perhaps that was part of the problem. Although she was critical of her baking, she was the first to admit if she had made a particularly delicious cake. And she would only know if it was delicious if she tested it.
“Brrt?” Annie trotted toward the front door, her gray ears pricked. A man of medium height and in his forties smiled wearily at the feline.
“I just need some coffee to go today, Annie,” he said.
“Brrp.” Annie seemed to nod, and then led the way to the counter.
Croissants with the perfect ratio of buttery flakey goodness, plump apricot halves brushed with a touch of sweet glaze and glistening with temptation nestled on top of light, Danish pastry in the glass case. Next to them were several varieties of cupcakes, such as chocolate, and raspberry swirl, finished with tempting swirls of frosting.
“I’d better go and make Steve’s coffee,” Lauren told Zoe, and hurried over to the counter.
“I need a large latte today, Lauren.” Steve dug out his wallet from his pants’ pocket.
“Everything okay?” Lauren began steaming the milk, watching Annie make her way to her pink bed on the corner shelf. It was high enough to give her privacy from the customers if she needed it, but easy for her to jump into.
“It probably will be.” Strained lines bracketed his face. His short sandy hair receded at his temples, and tiny pinch marks on his nose indicated that he’d worn his reading glasses recently.
“You’re not working too hard, are you?” she asked, pouring three shots of espresso into a big cardboard cup. Steve was a coffee fiend and she knew he could handle that much coffee at once.
“I am at the moment.” He grim
aced. “But hopefully things will sort themselves out.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed.” She gazed at him in concern. Steve usually came in every day for a latte, but she’d never seen him look like this. Although, now she thought about it, he had seemed anxious last week.
“You haven’t got too many clients on at the moment?” she asked delicately, not wanting to sound nosy.
“No.” He shook his head. “Just one accountancy job at the moment – thank goodness. It hasn’t exactly turned out the way I expected.”
“You’re auditing the church’s accounts, aren’t you?” She handed him his coffee.
“Yes.” He took a sip of his latte, his eyes closing for a second. “But I can’t say anything more about it.”
“I understand.” Was it her imagination or did he look a little better after tasting the strong coffee? “When you’re not busy, I’d love to hire you to look over my accounts.”
He smiled. “Hopefully in a couple of weeks I’ll be free.”
“Great. Just let me know.”
Steve waved goodbye to her, and Annie sitting in her cat bed, before departing.
Before Lauren could wonder any more about why Steve looked so worried, her attention was taken up with an influx of new customers, oohing and ahhing when they spotted Annie.
The day sped by. She only realized it was mid-afternoon when Pamela, a regular customer who always dressed smartly, walked in, accompanied by two of her friends. The three middle-aged ladies stood inside the entrance, waiting to be seated.
Lauren was just about to call Annie, when the silver tabby spotted the new customers and made a beeline for them.
“Brrt,” she said importantly, leading the way to a four-seater table in the middle of the café.
Lauren had kept an eye on the Norwegian Forest Cat all day, making sure she didn’t get too overwhelmed with the constant stream of customers.
When she and Annie had moved in to her grandmother’s cottage, which connected to the café via a private hallway, Lauren had installed a cat flap in the cottage door, and one in the shop door. Annie could go home whenever she liked – but she usually stayed in the café until Lauren closed around five o’clock.
Now, Lauren smiled at Annie’s choice of table. Pamela seemed to like being the center of attention, and holding court at the café. Most customers ordered at the counter – the suggestion was printed on the menu – but Pamela appeared to expect table service.
“What can I get you?” Lauren headed over to the trio, whipping out the notepad and pencil she kept in the pocket of her capris.
“Hmm.” Pamela tapped the laminated menu, her long, blonde bob swinging forward. “It says the cakes are displayed in the counter. What sort of cakes do you have?”
Since Lauren knew from experience that Pamela was not inclined to walk over there herself to inspect the sweet treats, she answered patiently. “Croissants, apricot Danish, chocolate cupcakes, and raspberry swirl cupcakes.”
“Ooh, raspberry swirl!” One of Pamela’s companions clapped a hand to her mouth, as if realizing she’d spoken out of turn.
“You don’t have anything else?” Pamela queried. “I was in the mood for a slice of lemon poppyseed cake.”
“We don’t have any today,” Lauren replied. “All our cakes and pastries are freshly baked, so we only make what we think will sell that day.”
“Quite right.” A stout middle-aged woman sat on Pamela’s other side. “All this food waste is terrible. Glad you’re trying to do the right thing.”
“Thank you.” Lauren smiled at the woman. She hadn’t seen her in the café before. Hopefully, if she enjoyed her visit today, she would become a new customer.
“I suppose I’ll have a chocolate cupcake.” Pamela sighed, as if it was just too terrible there wasn’t much else to choose from. “And a vanilla almond latte – you do have almond milk, don’t you?”
Yes, we do,” Lauren replied, the same answer she’d given Pamela last week when she’d asked for the same drink.
“I’ll have an apricot Danish,” the stout woman said. “My friends have been telling me about them. And a pot of tea.” She frowned. “You do have tea, don’t you? English Breakfast?”
“Yes,” Lauren answered, knowing that very item was printed on the menu on the table. Perhaps the woman had left her reading glasses at home.
“I’ll have a latte please,” the raspberry swirl woman spoke.
“Thank you, ladies.” Lauren hurried to the counter, already wondering if Pamela would leave a tip. Probably not, judging by past visits. Oh, well. She made a decent profit on coffee and tea, as well as the baked goods. And someone had recommended Ed’s apricot Danish!
Lauren returned to the table with their order, noticing that Pamela sounded very pleased with herself. “And I said to him, “My dear, I may not live in Sacramento, but I am not a complete savage!”
The other ladies giggled.
“Gold Leaf Valley is far superior to Sacramento, if you ask me,” the stout lady opined. “We’ve got everything we need right here.”
“Oh, yes,” the raspberry swirl lady said. “A just big enough supermarket, some nice restaurants, and this wonderful coffee shop.” She gazed around the room, her face lighting up as she spotted Annie sitting in her cat bed. “Your cat is just wonderful, dear.” She patted Lauren’s arm.
“Thank you,” Lauren replied as she pulled off the check from her notepad and placed it on the table.
“We’re paying separately Lauren, if you didn’t realize,” Pamela said.
Lauren groaned inwardly. Of course they would be. She should have assumed that from the start – especially with Pamela.
“No problem.” She forced a smile as she quickly wrote three bills. She was excellent at simple math. It was advanced algebra and physics she’d always had problems with in school.
“Here you go.” She placed each bill in front of the appropriate customer.
“Thank you.” The stout woman nodded.
Lauren flashed a genuine smile, and hurried back to the counter. Where was Zoe? In situations like this, she appreciated a wing woman.
“Oops!” Zoe burst through the swinging kitchen doors and skidded to a stop beside Lauren. “Too late to help with you know who.” She nodded at Pamela’s table.
“How did you know she was here?”
“Ed told me. He must have seen her when he checked how many customers we had. You know he likes to leave by four.”
“Yes.” Lauren was grateful he worked ’til then. He could have easily left by lunchtime, when his pastries had all been baked, cooled and placed in the glass display cases. Instead, when she’d taken over, he’d stated he would work the same hours he had for her grandmother, who’d closed the café around four o’clock.
“Annie!” A sweet voice quavered. “Will you take me to my table, darling?”
Annie jumped down from her cat bed and trotted to the old lady standing in the doorway, leaning on a walking stick. Her gray hair was piled on top her head in a bun, and she wore a beige skirt with a dusty rose cardigan which seemed just right for the April weather.
“Mrs. Finch,” Lauren and Zoe chorused softly.
The senior was a favorite of theirs, who seemed to appreciate everything she ordered and always left a tip. Lauren suspected she was one of Annie’s favorites, as well.
Annie walked by Mrs. Finch’s side, matching her pace, as if she knew not to hurry the elderly customer.
Lauren waited until Mrs. Finch was seated, then made her way to the small table Annie had chosen for the senior. It was tucked in an alcove, out of the way of the bustle, but from this vantage point, Mrs. Finch would have a good view of the rest of the cafe. Annie perched on the opposite chair.
“I must say hi to her,” Zoe murmured as she joined Lauren.
“Hello, girls,” Mrs. Finch greeted them.
“Hello,” Lauren replied, smiling.
“Hi, Mrs. Finch!” Zoe said.
“Wha
t can we get you?” Lauren fished out her notepad and pencil.
“Whatever you think is best,” Mrs. Finch said. “Annie, what do you think I should have?”
“Brrt!”
“I think she means everything is good,” Zoe said with a giggle.
“How about a raspberry swirl cupcake and a pot of tea?” Lauren suggested.
“That sounds wonderful,” Mrs. Finch slowly relaxed in the chair.
“Is something wrong, Mrs. Finch?” Zoe crinkled her brow as she studied the senior.
“It’s my garden.” She sighed. “A small branch from my oak tree came down in the wind last night and there are leaves everywhere. I had a good look at the mess this morning, and now some other plants look a little different in some way.” She frowned. “I haven’t been out in the garden for a few days and now I just can’t put my finger on what’s wrong.” She shook her head, causing a strand of hair to fall out of her bun.
“Maybe it’s just extra damage from the wind,” Zoe suggested.
“I suppose that must be it.” The senior smiled ruefully. “Can you recommend anyone who could tidy up my garden for me? Teenagers, perhaps, who need extra spending money? Usually my neighbor Steve helps me out but he’s busy with his accounting business at the moment.”
“Maybe Pastor Mike would know,” Lauren suggested. The local preacher ran a youth ministry, and was a regular customer.
“Oh, that is a good idea.” Mrs. Finch’s expression brightened. “And I have his number at home. I’ll call him later today.”
“Awesome!” Zoe grinned.
“Let us know if we can do anything else to help,” Lauren said. Mrs. Finch was eighty-two and lived alone in a house in the next block. She walked to the café on her own just about every day. Lauren just hoped she would be as spry at that age.
Annie stayed at the table when Lauren and Zoe departed.
“Poor Mrs. Finch,” Zoe whispered as they headed to the counter. “Do you really think something is different in her garden, or do you think she’s imagined something again?”
“I don’t know.” Lauren got out a white teapot and spooned loose leaf tea into it. “Last month she was sure she’d lost two library books, and we found them on the table on her front porch – she’d forgotten to take them to the library. But if she can’t tell for sure that something’s wrong in her garden, then maybe it was just wind damage making a mess, like she said.”
