“Oh there’s a chicken and lobster tent!” Matthew said, perking up.
“Thinking with your stomach, as per usual,” Beatrice commented. She let the cats out of the car and shook her finger at them sternly. “You both stick close to me, you hear? No aimless cat-wandering from either of you today.”
Then she grabbed her two humans. “Alright, look out for any booths that list people with the last name ‘Parsons.’ Not you, Zoe. You just eat. And try to think of an amazing recipe to crush Abigail Freedman.”
As it turned out, the Waitsfield Fall Carnival was so much fun that Beatrice almost forgot that she was supposed to be solving a case. There were food booths with turkey legs and apple crisp; craft stands with local jewelry, pottery, and paintings; a performance from the local ballet school; an oxen pull; a bluegrass band and more.
Best of all was the pie-judging competition. Beatrice eagerly poured over the offerings on display: blueberry custard, strawberry white chocolate, and a cinnamon bun pecan pie. She was incredibly impressed with the offerings and exchanged crust tips and filling ideas with the contestants on hand. Whipping her smartphone out, she took snaps of everything, hoping inspiration for her own competition entry would strike later.
It wasn’t until Beatrice got caught up at a local soap vendor’s booth that she remembered to ask leading questions about Tony Parsons. The older lady manning the booth had a good ten years on Beatrice and was sweet as sugar. She made all the soaps herself and what a variety there was: lemon rosemary, chocolate mint, and oatmeal vanilla to start.
Beatrice had a real weakness for any homemade bath and body products and she and the seller, Rachel, quickly struck up a friendly conversation. She realized that Rachel was probably her busybody equivalent in Waitsfield and therefore the best person to ask about local gossip.
“I hate to bring up unpleasant things,” Beatrice said cautiously. “But I know Tony Parsons is from here. It’s been all over the papers in Ashbrook. You see, I’m quite the mystery and true crime reader so I couldn’t help following the case.”
Rachel’s clear, sharp blue eyes lit up. “I completely understand. I’ve got a shelf of paperback mysteries like you wouldn’t believe, including everything by P.D. James.”
She leaned in conspiratorially. “I knew Tony Parsons was up to no good for years. Glad they finally caught him in the act. Though let me tell you, his no good family is just as bad and none of them are locked up. I guess we can’t get everything we want, can we?”
Beatrice put down the bar of coconut lime soap she was sniffing and leaned in too. “You don’t say? So Tony wasn’t the black sheep then?”
Her new friend shook her head gravely. “Absolutely not. He and his brother were as thick as thieves growing up—still were—up until they put Tony in the slammer. Did everything together. They even had kids the same age.”
“Really?”
“Tony didn’t have custody of his child but his older brother, Rick, lived with his daughter. Mother took off. Tony was like a second father to that girl. Only good thing I can say about him.”
Beatrice leaned against the counter. What if the toddler that Tony brought over to Nathan’s all those years ago wasn’t his child but Rick’s? It was possible that Nathan had got them confused, or even that Tony had all-out lied to get the money.
“Where’s Rick now?” Beatrice asked as she fingered a particularly fragrant bar of orange clove soap.
“Oh he lives with his mom out on Falls Road. She helps him with his daughter. He drives a school bus but he must have another source of revenue. Everyone knows that girl always has more toys than she can use. And he drives a brand new car. Sound suspicious to you?”
Beatrice contented herself with a non-committal “hmm” and exchanged email addresses with her new friend. She then went in search of Matthew and Zoe, who were watching the oxen pull.
Zoe was cheering on the losing team and Mathew was trying to pump her for information about her new boyfriend. Beatrice dragged Matthew aside on the pretext that they both needed lobster which, after the turkey legs they had already eaten, would have truly been an indulgence.
“Tony has a brother with a daughter the same age,” she hissed. “What if the toy we found was hers? Maybe Lucky was trying to tell us that it’s his brother who’s taken over extorting Nate?”
Matthew put on his very best ‘I’m going to humor you’ face. “Uh yes, that could be right.”
But Beatrice was too distracted to respond. “Oh my God,” she said slowly. “Where are the cats?”
8
The answer should have been obvious: the cats were by the food. It didn’t take long for the two of them to find Hamish and Lucky looking starry eyed over by the lobster and chicken tent, which is where their humans were supposed to be anyway.
The cats already had two super fans in the form of Bridget and Anne, who were manning the grills and somehow simultaneously feeding the two animals a glutton’s worth of tender chicken pieces. Hamish looked a little drunk and Lucky seemed ready to pass out, which made it nearly impossible to herd them towards the car.
Matthew and Beatrice ended up carrying a cat each. Both animals struggled as if their life depended on being closer to the source of limitless chicken. Thankfully, their humans had ample practice holding onto ornery cats. They rounded up Zoe and got back in the car.
“That was so much fun,” Zoe enthused as she put on her seatbelt. “I mean originally I was like, why do I want to spend my day off with my old boss and her ex-husband when I could be going on a date with Hunter? But yeah now I totally want to spend every Sunday with you guys. I mean, how much fun did we have, right?”
Beatrice pressed her foot onto the gas a little too hard and the car lurched forward. Lucky yowled inconsolably in his carrier.
“Sorry buddy,” she said into the rearview mirror. “Zoe, how many times do I have to tell you not to use the “O” word?”
“Orgasm?”
“What? No! Old! Don’t call me old!”
Zoe frowned. “You think that’s, like, an insult? Because if I’m old I’ll know that I didn’t die young, which is a really, really good thing.”
Matthew, who was shaking and wiping tears of silent laughter from his eyes, gave up the ghost and began to wheeze.
“Oh great, now you’re going to kill Matt,” Beatrice said.
Zoe’s eyes went big and she covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh noooo…”
Hamish took this as his cue to tiptoe forward and sit in Matthew’s lap, which sobered him up immediately. “Bee, I told you to put this one in a carrier too. You’re going to get us all killed. Wait, where are we going? This isn’t the road to Ashbrook.”
Beatrice flashed him her brightest smile. “We’re going to pay a visit to Falls Road. Apparently Tony’s brother Rick lives out here with his mom.”
There was a moment of loaded silence. “I’m pretty sure you need to run this by us first,” Matthew said. “I mean, don’t you think you’re going to attract too much attention?”
Hamish meowed loudly from the back. “Hammy agrees with me.”
“I dunno Bee,” Zoe said. “Cats don’t even see color. I mean, how can he really have good judgment?”
“I’m not even going to respond to that. It’s okay Hammy. She didn’t mean it. Look guys, we’re just going to do some quick recon. Nothing serious, just a little drive-by seeing.”
In the end, Beatrice was driving and Zoe was in too good a mood to disagree with her so Matthew was overruled. She steered the pickup onto Falls Road, a humble street with neat little one-story homes coated in various shades of plastic siding. Beatrice’s truck crept along slowly as she eyeballed the mailboxes.
“White … Smith … Parsons! Bingo!” She stopped the car in front of a modest salmon-colored house. What became immediately apparent was that Rachel the Soap Lady had been telling the truth. What looked like a brand new pick-up truck was parked in the driveway. A bike, inflatable pool, electric pink car, a
nd many more new toys were scattered on the raggedy grass.
“If Rick doesn’t work, then how can he afford all this stuff?” Beatrice asked. Just then, the screen door opened and a woman in her fifties stepped onto the porch.
“We’re caught! Let’s get out of here!” Zoe screeched.
It was all Beatrice could do to accelerate gracefully, as if she hadn’t just been stalking the Parson house.
“Remind me not to involve you in any more recon,” Beatrice grumbled. “You’ve got a low startle point.”
“Bee, my specialty is pastry, not being a spy,” Zoe said. “I thought that was pretty clear by now.”
Beatrice piloted the truck back onto the main road. “I’m sorry. I’m really grateful you both came today. Thanks for putting up with me.”
“Don’t worry, I had plenty of fun,” Matthew said, shaking his head. “None of your schemes have got us killed yet.”
“Well, if not being killed means fun, you’re setting the bar pretty low.”
“Bee, what did you think of the pies?” Zoe cut in. “I mean, white chocolate strawberry pie? Brilliant!”
“I’m actually more of a cake person,” Matthew said.
Beatrice was quiet for a moment. The silence was pregnant with expectation. “What if I took the two best things in the world and put them together?”
“Like beer and wine?” Zoe asked.
“Okay, no. Pie and cake! What if I created a pie-cake hybrid?”
Her companions were silent for a moment. Finally, a sly smile crept over Matthew’s face. He patted her knee. “Well, like most of your schemes, it might just be crazy enough to work.”
9
According to Rachel the Soap Lady, there was a lot wrong with Rick Parsons. But for Beatrice the problem centered around one thing: he was not Google-able.
Matthew had gone back to his house after the fair, which meant that Beatrice had all the time in the world to sleuth away without anyone looking over her shoulder. Unfortunately, Rick was not cooperating with her plan—meaning that she would have to actually ask a real human being about him.
That also meant leaving the comfort of her sofa, where she was curled up under an afghan with the two cats vying to sit on her feet. Beatrice took a long look at Death Comes to Pemberley, which sat on her coffee table. It could easily be combined with a lavender bubble bath and that excellent bottle of red wine she had stashed in her cupboard.
But Beatrice Young was not a person to take the easy way out. There was a mystery to be solved and a dear friend to be saved. Reading in the bath could wait.
Beatrice threw her navy field coat over her sweater, threw on a knit cap, pulled on her gumboots, and took a struggling Lucky out to the car as Hamish trotted alongside.
“Lucky, you were such a brave boy the other day, finding that clue. Now if you want to show Hamish that you’re made of sterner stuff you’re going to have to stop with this car nonsense.”
Lucky immediately stopped struggling, though he looked up at her with such a piteous look that her heart melted. Thankfully for him, the drive out to Johnny’s Place didn’t take too long. The place was packed for a Sunday night but it didn’t bother the cats in the least. Hanging around the Cozy Cat Café since their kittenhood had inured them to crowds and noise.
Beatrice wasn’t much of a drinker but Johnny’s Place was a cozy spot for a pint and a gab. It had a fancy new jukebox, pool tables, and lots of comfy booths with green velvet seats. Beatrice also personally knew the barman, Jeff Gagnon. He was a sweet young guy with those heavy-framed glasses everyone was wearing and a full beard.
“Jeff, give me a pint of dark ale. Whatever’s on tap,” Beatrice said as she sidled up to the bar.
Jeff raised a blonde eyebrow. “No spritzer for you? What’s the celebration?”
“Am I really that lame? I do party you know. Get down.” He continued looking at her in silence. “Okay, I’m here to pretend to accidently bump into Deputy Parker Smith and then pump him for information about a case I’m working on.”
Jeff plunked her beer down on a coaster. “Well then, this one is on me. We rely on you to keep things aboveboard around here.”
“Geez Jeff, thanks. That’s nice of you.”
“Don’t mention it. Deputy is over by the pool tables, watching the game.”
“And the sheriff?” she asked, leaning in anxiously.
“Had a beer and left already.”
Beatrice exhaled slowly. “Okey dokey.” Hamish suddenly leapt on the bar and began nonchalantly washing his paw. Jeff eyed him with round-eyed disbelief.
“Only for you would I allow this…”
“I know!” Beatrice replied, already moving away. “Can you keep an eye on them? I’ll be right back!”
Zipping to the back of the room, Beatrice casually strolled around the pool table as if fascinated by the game. Fortunately, most people in Ashbrook were used to her strange behavior so no one paid her any mind.
“Parker, how nice to run into you!” she exclaimed as she came upon the young deputy hanging out on the sidelines, a beer in his hands. He was a fine young man, a bit reedy, but a dedicated officer with an impeccable work ethic.
“You looking for the sheriff?” he asked, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “Because he just left…”
“Oh no, no, no,” Beatrice replied, waving her arms as she did so. “Nope, I just thought: it’s Sunday night, I’m a single woman, I should get out on the town…”
The false words died on her tongue as she said them. She sighed. “Alright, I need information. What do you know about Rick Parsons?”
Parker gave her an odd look. “From Waitsfield?”
“The very one. I know the town’s still in your jurisdiction.”
He looked around him, put his beer down on the ledge behind him, and then looked straight at her, concern in his hazel eyes. “Why’re you interested in him? He’s not somebody to mess with, Bee.”
“I’m not messing with him. I just want to know what he does for a living.”
“Sells drugs, as far as we know. He’s been arrested for possession before but we’ve never got him for dealing. Not yet.”
“Drugs,” Beatrice repeated slowly. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. We’ve collected plenty of accounts of him dealing, we just haven’t been able to nail him.”
Beatrice’s mind was whirling. So that was how Rick could afford all his new things. But where did extortion come into it? Would he really take that on too if he was so busy with his other illegal hustle?
The deputy put a gentle hand on Beatrice’s shoulder. “I’m not sure why you’re asking but be careful. His whole family is not the type you want to get involved with. They’re ruthless. I can’t tell you how many run-ins the sheriff and I have had with them…”
A chorus of meows broke out, like a fire truck wailing in the distance. The hair on the back of Beatrice’s neck stood up.
“How many run-ins you and I have had with whom?” Sheriff Jacob Roy said loudly as he moved to stand in front of them, arms crossed. “I forgot my hat here. And funnily enough, the first thing I see is Beatrice and you whispering in a corner. Now what could that mean?”
10
“Tell me why again you didn’t come straight to me?” the sheriff fumed as he sat down heavily behind his desk.
Beatrice perched uncomfortably on a chair opposite facing him. The cats, oblivious to any human-on-human tension, roamed the sheriff’s office, happily poking their noses into whatever they found interesting.
“Nate made me swear that I wouldn’t tell anyone…”
“I’m not anyone! This is my job, Bee. I track down criminals, which, funnily enough, include extortionists.”
“Listen, I’m sorry you had to find out this way…”
“Darn night you’re sorry!” He grabbed his hat off his head and threw it down on the desk. “What did you mean by going to Waitsfield all by yourself and asking questions? You have no idea who you’
re dealing with.”
“I am not the bad guy here!” she retorted. “I was simply trying to help a friend, Jake. Nate has been living in terror for a decade. I had to respect the fact that it would take a few days for him to relent to the idea of involving you. Of course it was on my mind.”
“Not soon enough,” the sheriff shot back. “Beatrice, when are you going to learn that this isn’t a game, that people’s lives are at risk here?”
“I’m pretty sure I understood the consequences when I was in that shoot-out with you the other day.”
Sheriff Roy took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat. He was a short man but stocky, with a rather forbidding expression that made almost everyone tremble in their boots. “I’m going to get Nathan in here first thing tomorrow morning. I’m taking over the case. You’re involvement ends here. I have nothing more to say to you right now, Bee.”
Normally, this would have been the time when Beatrice reminded him of how she used to babysit him and change his diapers. But he looked so angry that she decided it was best to let things lie.
She rounded up the cats and headed back into the truck. She really needed that bubble bath. Maybe the cats sensed her exhaustion, because Lucky went into his carrier without a fight and Hamish meekly curled up in the back. It was a quick ride home but for Beatrice, who couldn’t stop running the conversation with the sheriff through her head, it seemed like a lifetime. Had she finally gone too far?
11
The smell of cinnamon buns lifted Beatrice’s depressed spirits the next morning. It’s hard not to feel happy when you’re surrounded by butter, sugar, and flour—or at least that was her philosophy. The cats were still seemed tuckered out by the previous day’s dramas and were sleepily lazily on the floor in a patch of sun.
The Extortion Cat-astrophe: A Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mystery (Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mysteries Book 2) Page 3
