The Extortion Cat-astrophe: A Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mystery (Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mysteries Book 2)

by Alannah Rogers

As soon as Zoe came in and saw her boss moping at the window seat, moodily scrolling through Simply Accounting, she gave her a big hug and got right to baking cinnamon buns.

  Though Beatrice made a mean bun, Zoe had perfected the art. Hers were a little crispy on the outside and gooey in the center, spicy with cinnamon, laden with decadent cream cheese frosting, and sprinkled with crunchy candied pecans. The result was nothing less than divine.

  While the buns were baking, Zoe made a perfect latte with a heart in the foam and placed it in front of Beatrice, then sat down across from her.

  “Bad night, boss?” she asked while tossing her dark bangs out of her eyes.

  Beatrice cracked half a smile and then reached across and grasped the younger woman’s hand.

  “You’re the best, Zoe. Really. Thanks.” She took a sip of the latte. “Oh and this is the best. I love how strong you make them. Listen hun, I think I did something stupid.”

  Beatrice swept back her long gray hair into a clip and rested her cheeks in her fists. “Remember how you weren’t supposed to know why we were going to Waitsfield yesterday…”

  “So that you could stalk some guy that you think is extorting Nathan Moore,” Zoe replied promptly.

  Beatrice froze. “Uh, how do you know that?”

  “You and Matthew whisper really loudly.”

  “We really are the worst spies ever. Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag. The thing is, Sheriff Roy found out that I knew about the extortion. What’s more, he realized I’d purposefully been keeping it from him. At Nate’s request of course.”

  Zoe let out a long, slow breath. “You’re creamed.”

  “I know. I know.” Beatrice rubbed her eyes. “I’ve never been so happy to lose myself in work. I know we’re not even supposed to open today but I figured, why not? You don’t have to be here though, Zoe. You should take the day off.”

  The younger woman pulled out her phone and showed her a long string of text messages under the header “Hunter.” Beatrice put on her reading glasses. All of them were from him and each invented a special reason why she hadn’t met with him the previous day: another man in her life, a desire to torture him, a hatred for spending even a minute of her time with him.

  Beatrice leaned back and put her glasses back down around her neck. “This makes me miss neither dating nor being young,” she said. She reached out and grasped both Zoe’s hands. “Zoe, I try not to interfere. Alright, I try and repeatedly fail. My point is that I worry about you. You’re such a smart, loving, and beautiful person yet you date these, pardon my frankness, utter and compete losers.”

  Zoe’s eyebrows drew together. “If you think I date losers, what does that make me?”

  “No, I…”

  The doorbell rang, interrupting them. In strolled Abigail, owner of the Purple Lilac Café, carrying a yoga mat and dressed head-to-toe in skintight spandex. Beatrice had to admit that she looked good.

  “I had to come in, I couldn’t believe my eyes,” Abigail said breezily as she moved to awkwardly hug Beatrice. “Open on a Monday? What’s come over you two?”

  Beatrice gave her a tight smile and stepped back, arms crossed. “We’re not officially open. We’re just testing the recipe for the baking competition. A little creative exercise on my day off.”

  Abigail’s perfectly plucked eyebrows shot up. “The competition is this weekend. You mean to say that you don’t have the recipe yet?”

  “We do! We’re refining the recipe, you see.”

  Abigail strolled over to the display case and casually surveyed the contents. “Well, you do have a lot to choose from already. You know how the judges love simple, comfort food.”

  “How do you know who the judges are?” Beatrice asked.

  Abigail threw her a sly smile. “Well, George and I were having dinner the other night and he couldn’t help but drop that he’s one of the judges. And that I’ll have the first spot in the line of contestants,” she said, whispering behind her hand. “Of course he had nothing to do with that.”

  George was Abigail’s ex-husband and a prominent restaurant owner in town. For heaven’s sake, why couldn’t Matthew have been a chef instead of a ranger? She had no ex-husband advantage in this scenario.

  “That’s nice,” Beatrice said dryly. “I hope he doesn’t mind presenting you with a silver metal this year.”

  “Zing!” Zoe chimed in.

  Abigail rolled her eyes. “Beatrice, come now. Let’s not mince words. We all know your cute little café is good at reviving the old classics. But the competition is about innovation. Sizzle. You know you can’t compete there.”

  Beatrice had a retort, and a not very nice one at that, on the tip of her tongue. Thankfully, Hamish stopped her cold by running up to her rival, dry heaving a couple of times, and then spewing the most massive hairball she had ever seen on Abigail’s expensive runners.

  The woman promptly shrieked and looked first at the cat and then Beatrice before fleeing out the door, the doorbell jangling angrily behind her.

  “Hamish, did I bring you up to act like that?” Beatrice asked, trying for a severe tone.

  The big Maine Coon merely meowed and trotted off, head and tail held aloft in triumph. Beatrice shook her head and went to clean up the residue of hairball from the floor. Zoe returned to the kitchen and took the cinnamon buns out of the oven. The room was thick with the smell of cinnamon and brown sugar.

  “Zoe, I’m sorry for ragging you about Hunter,” Beatrice started.

  Zoe waved her off. “It’s okay Bee, I’m just a little defensive today after all those texts from him. I know you just want to protect me.”

  “I do, though sometimes I feel like I’m not up to the job. Let’s just forget all that now. We need recipe inspiration, stat.”

  “A pie-cake hybrid, remember?” Zoe said as she mixed up a huge batch of cream cheese icing.

  “I know! But how does that work?”

  Zoe paused her stirring for a moment. “Bee, you ever heard of something called a turducken? Duck inside de-boned chicken, which is then inside a de-boned turkey?”

  “Sounds like a monstrosity,” Beatrice said with a look of disgust.

  “Maybe, but people go crazy for it. Could you make a dessert like that?”

  She leaned against the counter, pensive. “A cake inside a pie? No, a pie inside a cake! A pumpkin pie inside a chocolate cake and an apple pie inside a vanilla cake. Yes! Both of them, stacked on top of each other. And, hmm, covered in buttercream icing. Yes that’s it! Zoe, I think we have a winner!”

  “And you think a turducken is freaky?” Zoe asked, brows drawn together as she fanned an oven mitt over the buns to help them cool. “Bee, that is one seriously crazy idea.”

  “Crazy enough perhaps to win the baking competition. Listen, Abigail’s right. We make amazing desserts but they’re not showstoppers. I need something mind-blowing for this competition. An ordinary pie, cake, or tart is just not going to cut it. I have to give the judges something they’ve never seen before.”

  “Okay well you’d better make a sample, because I’m not sure that won’t dissolve into a gooey pile of sugar.”

  Beatrice tapped her fingertips together. “Oh ye of little faith. Step aside and let Bee show you how it’s done.”

  12

  Many sweaty hours later, Beatrice and Matthew sat around the 12-inch monstrosity that lay before them like an oracle descended from the heavens. Lucky and Hamish sat behind the kitchen’s cat gate, ears perked, eyes fixed expectantly on the massive treat.

  “I don’t know what to say Bee, except: you’ve outdone yourself,” Matthew said.

  She folded her arms and beamed at the colossal 15-pound cake in front of her. “I suppose I have. It certainly passes the impress test. Now we just have to see whether it tastes as good as it looks.”

  “It’s two kinds of pie inside two kinds of cake, all slathered in frosting. If it doesn’t taste amazing I owe you drinks for the rest of your life.”

&nb
sp; “I like that deal!” Beatrice paused. “But enough about this stupid cake. Tell me how everything went with Nate today. Did you tell him about our recon mission to Waitsfield?”

  Matthew folded his arms over his white fisherman’s knit sweater and leaned back, sighing. He had spent his day off with Nate, partially as a bodyguard and partially to raise his spirits.

  “Yes and to be honest with you he didn’t seem that happy that we went. We still don’t have anything concrete to tell him. Tony’s brother doesn’t look like our guy.”

  “I know. I should have brought the sheriff in earlier. He knows how to deal with these types of situations.”

  Matthew leaned over and grasped her hand gently. “Bee, you were respecting Nathan’s wishes. It’s his life and it’s his responsibility to go to the cops. And of course you’re cut out for this stuff. You have a real talent for solving mysteries. C’mon, I hate to see you so down.”

  Beatrice lifted her gaze to Matthew’s lively eyes. She loved the way they crinkled at the corners, as if he had spent a lifetime smiling. “Thanks Matt. I needed that. I’ve been really doubting myself lately.” She took a deep breath. “So what do we do now? Do I let the sheriff handle the case? Do I do more digging?”

  Matthew took her other hand and smiled. “Bee, as if you’d ever let the sheriff take over one of your mysteries. You’ll both work on it together. You’ll find a way. Trust me.”

  They were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, and then slamming shut and locking. They exchanged uneasy glances. The café was supposed to be closed, though they’d forgotten to lock the door apparently.

  Fortunately, it was Nathan who rushed into the back kitchen, sweaty and his tie askew. The cats flinched as he dashed through their gate. “The guy’s onto me,” he blurted out. “I went to my car after work and all the tires were slashed and ‘I know you went to the cops’ was keyed into the paint. This is really bad.”

  Beatrice’s mouth dropped open. “How could they know?”

  Matthew shook his head. “Not sure. Someone saw us outside of Rick’s house.”

  “His mother. But how could she know I was talking to the sheriff? ” Beatrice said.

  “The sheriff?” Nathan paused. “When did you see the sheriff?”

  Beatrice looked at Matthew. He nodded and grasped his friend by the shoulders. “Nate, the sheriff found her. But believe me, this case needs cops, not just us. We have to collect all of your evidence and go to the sheriff right away.”

  Nathan looked down and his eyes grew misty. “Jake’s going to think I’m such the fool.”

  “Better an alive fool than a dead one,” Matthew said. “Listen, you’re a good man in a bad situation. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Let’s go.”

  “Oh, no, Matthew!” Beatrice screamed. The two men followed her accusatory pointed finger. Lucky was face deep in cake. Buttercream frosting stuck to his whiskers as he looked up at them and lazily licked his lips.

  Matthew grabbed the cat with one hand and a towel with the other. He headed for the washroom. “Don’t despair,” he called over his shoulder. “The other side’s untouched.”

  Once Lucky was cleaned, the cake stowed away, and everyone had caught their breath, they headed out the back to Matthew’s truck. They stopped at Nathan’s house, collected the threatening letters he’d received and put any emails on a USB drive. The next stop was the sheriff’s office.

  Sheriff Roy looked unsurprised to see them all, cats included. He sat beside his old chipped desk where an ancient desktop computer sat precariously at the edge. He folded his paw-like hands and glared up at them under salt-and-pepper eyebrows. “Took you long enough. I’ve been calling you all day, Nate.”

  Nathan flushed beet red. “Jake…” he began unhappily.

  The sheriff put up a silencing hand. “Let’s not argue here about who should have told who when. We have a serious case on our hands. I want to get to the bottom of this immediately. I can’t have members of our community being extorted right under my nose.” He snapped on a pair of gloves. “You brought the evidence?”

  Nathan handed over the USB and letters as if transferring ownership of a bomb. The sheriff examined them as the other three stood about guiltily.

  “Well,” he said finally. “This person is smart enough to type everything. No handwriting whatsoever. Whether they’re smart enough to wear gloves is another thing. Deputy!” he called.

  The reedy young man popped in quickly. He looked unruffled; he was clearly used to his boss’s grumpiness.

  “Dust these for prints, will you?” the sheriff ordered. “Run the email address, too.” The deputy went back to his office and the sheriff transferred his gaze back to the other three. “Well, don’t just stand there like a bunch of chumps. Sit down. I know you all have some kind of theory. Let’s hear it.”

  “Okay, but I could do without the attitude,” Beatrice said as she sat in a faded gray office chair.

  “Don’t pull the babysitter card now,” the sheriff warned.

  “Fine, I’ll do it later. Listen, we thought maybe Rick, Tony’s brother, had taken over the extortion. Now we’re not sure.”

  “I already ran him. Rick was charged recently for assaulting Tony, right before he went to prison. Apparently the brothers were fighting and from what I can tell, it was about their drug dealing operation.

  The sheriff cleared his throat. “Second thing is that apparently Rick doesn’t know how to use a computer. No typing ability, doesn’t even have a smartphone. So if he managed to get the extortion business from Tony, he wouldn’t be the one sending the letters.”

  “That’s exactly it. I feel like there’s someone else involved,” Beatrice said, leaning forward. “When we went to Nate’s apartment, Lucky dragged out an old toy that Tony’s kid left there years ago. It’s got to be a clue.”

  The sheriff arranged his face into a neutral expression. He wasn’t the biggest fan of Beatrice’s crime-solving cats. Which made sense—he believed in old-fashioned police work. But as Lucky’s name implied, sometimes you needed a bit of luck to solve a mystery. Or so Beatrice thought.

  “Well, my first impulse is to interview Rick and his mother,” the sheriff said.

  “They’re not going to tell you anything,” Matthew cut in.

  “Precisely,” Beatrice said. “Which is why we need someone who can go behind the scenes. Who can get in that house and poke around without being noticed.”

  “I’m pretty sure you need a search warrant for that,” the sheriff said drily.

  “Not if it’s a cat who goes in.”

  There was silence in the room. “Beatrice,” the sheriff said as patiently as he could manage. “Please explain.”

  “Listen, you get Rick and Mrs. Moore down here. I’ll let Lucky in a side window and see if he can find any clues.”

  There was a very loud meow from Beatrice’s side. Hamish sat there, his eyes narrowed, a scowl on his face. “Hammy, Lucky found the first clue. Now, don’t be greedy. Don’t you want to give him a chance to solve a case for once?”

  “I’m hoping to solve the case,” the sheriff said.

  “Listen, we won’t do anything wrong. We’ll just help our cat break into the house and then we’ll wait on public property. It’s practically not trespassing.”

  The sheriff put his hands over his ears. “I don’t want to hear it. I disagree with your strategy but I’m not going to waste time arguing with you. I’ll get the two of them down here for an interview tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. However you choose to spend your time then is up to you.”

  He looked over at Nathan. “And don’t go back to your house tonight, you hear? Stay with one of them.”

  13

  Which is precisely how they all ended up at Beatrice’s for a giant sleepover.

  “Two handsome men all to myself tonight!” she joked as she set up the second guest bedroom with towels. “Aren’t I a lucky lady?”

  Nathan blushed crimson again. “Now don’t
worry Nathan, I wouldn’t take advantage of you. The only cuddling you’ll get tonight will be from Lucky. He’s always trying to get in this spare room. A closed door is like catnip to him.”

  Nathan retired almost immediately, exhausted from his overwhelming day. That left Matthew and Beatrice. She made a pot of chocolate chai tea and lit candles by the window seat alcove. A brisk wind whistled through the cracks in the windows and whipped through the brittle leaves on the trees outside, sending them cascading through the moonlit sky.

  The two of them curled up on opposite sides of the cushy seat, mugs clasped in their hands. Matthew’s feet were bare and she tucked a blanket over his toes to stop him from getting a chill. Hamish and Lucky curled up between them, purring.

  “Aren’t you nervous?” Matthew asked. “Whoever keyed Nate’s car will figure out pretty quickly that he’s probably with you or me.”

  Beatrice shrugged. “Well, it’s about time I got some use out of my home alarm system. People who know me are too afraid of Hamish and Lucky. There’s an urban legend floating around that they’re some kind of crazy, ninja cats.”

  “Baseball bat still in the same spot?”

  “Which one? You know I have five.”

  Matthew chuckled. “Okay then. You know what, Bee? Our friendship is proving pretty dangerous for me. Why do I keep finding myself running from guns and crazed extortionists now?”

  “Price of being buddies with me. Just be happy that we’re not married. Now that would incur a heavy tax. Heavier than running from murderers, I’d bet.”

  He snorted, stretched his legs out, and groaned with pleasure. “I wouldn’t mind being married again.”

  Beatrice blinked. “What? To whom?”

  “I don’t know. A woman, I guess. I’ve never gone the other way.”

  She kicked him gently. “C’mon Matt, don’t kid around. Don’t you think you’re a little, uh, old to get married.”

  He glared at her. “I thought we weren’t supposed to use the ‘O’ word.”

  “Sorry. Sorry.”

  He leaned back and stared absently out the window. “I dunno. Don’t you ever get tired of being alone?”