The Tail of the Secret Identity: A Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mystery (Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mysteries Book 3)

by Alannah Rogers

  The Tail of the Secret Identity

  A Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mystery (#3)

  Alannah Rogers

  Copyright © 2015 Alannah Rogers

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  1

  Tuesdays were usually crazy-busy at the Cozy Cat Café, but this was one for the record books.

  A colossal tour bus sat outside on the curb, bottlenecking traffic and blocking the morning sunshine that usually flooded the rustic space. Tourists in tear-away pants with cameras dangling around their necks tromped in, scuffing the ancient wooden floor. The doorbell jangled madly as a stream of famished people crowded around the display case, pointing at the sweets inside.

  Lucky and Hamish, the two feline mascots of the establishment, wound their way through the group confusedly as if trying to institute some kind of crowd control.

  With the fall colors in full splendor at the nearby White Mountain National Forest, tour buses and school groups were a constant sight in the small town of Ashbrook, New Hampshire. The café staff were run off their feet taking orders, pouring coffee, and shoving plump pecan buns laden with frosting into paper bags.

  Meanwhile, Beatrice Young, the sixty-two year old café (and cat) owner, was deep in conversation with Mike LeBlanc, the squat tour director of Mike’s Senior Tours.

  “You know how much I appreciate you bringing all this business here,” Beatrice said, as she led him by the elbow away from his group.

  “But Mike, you need to call first! We can’t just churn it out on demand like some nationwide chain. Second, you know you can’t park out on the street like that. This isn’t the Disney World parking lot—it’s a two-way street that makes driving on a good day a game of playing chicken.”

  Mike grinned his goofy, don’t-blame-me smile. “Now Beatrice, you think I’m going to shell out for parking in this town? I practically have to pay in blood every time I enter a lot.”

  Beatrice crossed her arms and looked pointedly at the swarms of tourists at her cash register who were systematically emptying the display case of pastries and the carafes of coffee.

  “Don’t plead poor to me, Mike. I know these folks are paying an arm and a leg for your fancy-pants tour. Don’t you know I have the sheriff on speed dial? He is not going to like this little parking infraction of yours.”

  Mike frowned. “Now Bee, can’t we cut a deal here?”

  Beatrice pressed #2 on her phone and then pressed speakerphone. The call picked up.

  “You got five minutes to move that tour bus in front of your store, Bee,” came a gruff voice through the phone. “And don’t let that little man tell you otherwise. You know how many calls I already got this morning from drivers? Too many for a Tuesday morning. Too many.”

  “Uh hi, Sheriff Roy,” said Mike, twisting his hands nervously.

  “How many times I gotta tell you? Move that darn bus. I got actual work to do, okay? Just because my budget is the size of a peanut doesn’t mean I want to play traffic cop all day.”

  Mike was outside moving the bus in under thirty seconds and that fixed that. How it helped to have friends in high places.

  The group flooded out, leaving Beatrice and her staff to clean up the mess. Lucky, her little wiry black cat with bright green eyes, was chasing a crumpled up paper bag across the floor.

  Hamish stalked the perimeter of the café as if trying to restore order to the scene. He was a large Maine Coon with tabby markings, fluffy fur, and little black tufts of hair at the ends of his large ears. As alpha cat of the establishment, he seemed to think it his job to keep an eye on everything.

  Zoe Murphy, the café’s pastry chef, burst out of the kitchen holding aloft a tray of raspberry white chocolate scones. Her dark bangs were plastered to her forehead under a hairnet, while her white chef’s uniform was splattered with flour and what looked like berry juice. She shoved the tray into the display case and slumped against the cabinets behind the counter.

  “Someone please caffeinate me,” she groaned. “How is it that so few tourists can eat so many pastries before 9 a.m.? I’m starting to wish this was an all-you-can-eat discount cookie buffet where all I had to do was go to the dollar store, buy some cheap cookies, and dump them into a trough.”

  Beatrice laughed and poured out the last of the coffee into a big mug. “You’re cranky today.”

  “Today?” Zoe took the steaming mug and buried her face in it. “Oh. Yum. Coffee.”

  She sighed. “Hunter and I had a fight last night. I want him to move into my apartment but he says it’s too expensive. He wants us to find another place but we went to look and the places he can afford are dumps, Bee. I like my apartment. I don’t want to move.”

  She stared despondently into the mug. Beatrice fought against her first instinct, which was to tell her pastry chef to dump this new boyfriend. However, she had promised to try to like him, for Zoe’s sake.

  “See if Hunter wants to pay less than half for your apartment. You’re already used to paying for all of it. And you make more than he does, so think of it as paying rent proportional to what you earn.”

  Zoe brightened. “That’s an amazing idea. A compromise! That’s exactly what I was looking for.”

  “Relationships are about compromise. Which is exactly why I’m not in one.” Beatrice stole the cup from Zoe and took a sip. “I already have two demanding cats, that’s all I can handle.”

  As if on cue, a frantic mewing came from outside, followed by a yowling Beatrice hadn’t heard before.

  “Oh my God, Mike ran over my cats,” she said, shoved the cup back in Zoe’s hands, and sprinted towards the door.

  2

  But what greeted Beatrice wasn’t epic travesty. It was something quite different.

  There was another cat, one she had never seen before, sitting outside the café door, grooming itself.

  Now, there were quite a few cats that made the rounds in Ashbrook. They all knew that the café was the territory of Hamish and Lucky and accordingly, they stayed away.

  However, this cat clearly was unaware of this silent contract.

  She—and it looked like she was a she—was a pretty thing. She looked Himalayan to Beatrice’s eyes, given her tan and cream markings and ice blue eyes. Yet despite her apparent pedigree, she looked worse for the wear. Her coat was matted and her eyes looked crusted.

  Hamish and Lucky stood yowling in front of the door, tails raised, whiskers aquiver, in a way that was distinctly unlike them. Alternatively, they pressed themselves up against the glass as if they could forcibly push themselves through.

  The girl cat continued to lick her paw and clean her face impassively as if such frenzied attention was a regular event for her.

  Beatrice pushed past Hamish and Lucky and went out, scooping up the new cat. Yes, definitely a girl. She was soft, though had dreads that could have rivaled Bob Marley’s, and
her eyes were full of gunk. She allowed Beatrice to pick her up and carry her into the café, as if she was used to having strangers pick her up. The two other cats bounded alongside like a herd of antelope.

  Depositing her in the back office on the sofa, Beatrice fished out her cat kit from the closet and then placed a call to the local vet—Violet, a trusted ally.

  “Violet? Hi. Now it’s not exactly that I have a new cat, because I said I wasn’t getting any more cats. But I just found this beauty on the street and I think she has a bit of an eye infection. Yes, I’m at the café. Can you stop by? Now that’s a dear. Okay thanks Vi. See you soon.”

  Zoe followed her into the office. “Oh my goodness, she’s gorgeous,” she said. “What a beautiful kitty.”

  “She’ll be even prettier after I de-Bob Marley her. Look at this coat!” Beatrice put an old towel under the cat, fished out her shears and began deftly chopping away at the mats. The cat blinked her eyes repeatedly, making Beatrice feel that she was protesting against this unasked-for haircut.

  “I’m sorry, dear,” Beatrice cooed. “But you’ll be ever so much more comfortable after I clip you.” She looked at Zoe. “What should we call her? It feels strange to have a cat without a name. It’d be like addressing someone as ‘hey you’ all day long. Doesn’t seem polite.”

  Zoe wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “I think Petunia’s a pretty name.”

  Beatrice stared at her. “Petunia? What kind of old lady name is that?”

  “Coming from a person named Beatrice…”

  She sniffed. “I was named after Beatrix Potter. Well, my parents got the spelling wrong but their hearts were in the right place.”

  Zoe’s eyes unexpectedly filled. “Petunia was the name of my kitten when I was 10. My mom said she went to a cat farm in the country but I’m pretty sure something bad happened to her…”

  Beatrice swallowed. “Okay, okay, Petunia it is.”

  Lucky leapt onto the sofa where Petunia lay and sat on the edge of the cushion, his round green eyes fixed on the pretty, purring cat.

  Then there was a flash and Hamish jumped up next to him, knocking the much smaller cat off the sofa. Lucky landed on the floor with a thump—on his feet, but looking quite ruffled. He shook out his coat and stared bitterly up at Hamish.

  Meanwhile, the large Maine Coon gazed at Petunia with an intensity that would have disconcerted any other cat, or human for that matter. But the newly-shorn Himalayan was oblivious to his attentions, as if she was perfectly used to being looked at.

  An impending scuffle was thwarted when the front door bell rang, followed by the sound of familiar voices. It was the post-yoga crew, including the mayor’s wife Nancy and her best friends Joan and Janice. They came almost every morning after class.

  “I completely forgot they’d be here.” Beatrice gathered up the clumps of fur and put them into the garbage. She threw Petunia an apologetic look. “Sorry sweetie, I’ve got to go, but you rest here until Dr. Violet comes with some nice eye drops for you.”

  Petunia settled down on her towel and tucked her paws under her, blinking sleepily.

  “Hamish. Lucky. Let’s give Petunia some privacy.”

  The two cats sat riveted where they were, as if the female cat had turned them to stone. Beatrice sighed. “Men,” she muttered. “It’s like you’ve never seen a girl kitty before.” She scooped them up, one under each arm, and deposited them outside the office after closing the door. The promptly both sat pressed against it as if that might let them dissolve through and end up on the other side.

  Beatrice sighed and ran back into the café.

  3

  The tourists had cleared out and there were only a few other customers remaining. Beatrice paused a moment at the cash to catch her breath. She looked out over her pride and joy with happiness. Even the worst day was a good day at the Cozy Cat Café.

  She had spent the past thirty years shaping the place exactly as she wanted. Clusters of velvet antique chairs sat against the almost floor-to-ceiling windows and against the exposed brick walls. The walls themselves were lined with Beatrice’s personal collection of tattered mystery and romance paperbacks.

  The showstopper was the long glass display case that flanked the far wall. White chocolate cranberry cookies nestled against gooey pecan buns, Nutella brownies, and towering fluffy carrot cakes garnished with coconut shavings. Old cheese graters, now converted into pendant lamps, cast a warm glow. The air was filled with the silky-sweet scent of cooking chocolate.

  The yoga set was crowded around their favorite spot—a long, pine farmer’s table—wearing various iterations of skin-tight gray and black spandex and neon sneakers.

  “Yoo-hoo!” said Nancy, waving a bejeweled hand. “Can we get some coffee please?”

  Beatrice held back the desire to pour the coffee right over her head. Wasn’t it her luck that she’d be stuck with the mean girls from her high school forever? She grabbed a square out of the display case and ambled over.

  “What can I get you ladies? We just made some really great cheesecake brownies.” She took a pointed bite out of hers. “Mmm. SO good. Wow. Honestly, people who say sex is better than chocolate have clearly not tried Zoe’s baking.”

  The yoga ladies looked at the brownie with eyes like dinner plates. Nancy let out a tinkling laugh and shook her expertly layered auburn hair.

  “Silly, we didn’t burn a million calories just to eat dessert!” She glared at her troupe, daring them to challenge her. “Black coffees for everyone, as usual. I’ll have an egg white omelet with a green salad, please.”

  “Poached eggs and fruit salad for me,” said Janice, Nancy’s best friend and the ultimate devil in a blonde, well-toned package.

  Beatrice thought some kind of witchcraft must be involved in Janice’s perfect perky blonde ponytail and taut skin. She didn’t look all that different from when she was on the cheer team.

  None of them did. Meanwhile, with her long gray hair, crow’s feet, and bat wings under her arms, Beatrice looked exactly her age. Then again, they almost all had husbands to impress. Beatrice only had herself to impress, and she was sufficiently impressed with still being alive, able-bodied, and in possession of her wits.

  Lucky bounded over and promptly jumped into the lap of his favorite yoga queen—Joan. She gasped and began cooing as she stroked his plush black coat. He started to purr immediately and gazed up at her with loving green eyes.

  “Hello darling,” she said, scratching his favorite spot at the base of his tail. “How’s my handsome boy?”

  She smiled up at Beatrice. “I’ve been thinking of getting a cat. Ever since the, well, since the divorce, the house has seemed pretty empty. The girls say I should get a dog but I always had cats growing up.” Her expression clouded. “And Bob was allergic.”

  Bob was the ex-husband. He had left Joan a couple of years before for—the old story—a younger woman. Of all the yoga queens, Joan was the one Beatrice liked best, mainly because she was actually nice. She had Jane Seymour’s long, ashy brown hair, almond eyes, and shy smile.

  “I can help you. In fact, I had a beautiful Himalayan who just wandered in here today.” Beatrice reached out to scratch Lucky’s ears, a bit jealous of his fixation on Nancy. He turned away and butted his head against Joan’s arm.

  Nancy’s cell phone rang. The ringtone was, believe it or not, “Fancy” by Iggy Azalea. Beatrice cringed.

  “Heeeellloooooo!” she trilled. “Who is this? Sheriff! Lovely to hear from you…”

  There was a long pause. Beatrice looked over just in time to see Nancy’s face go paper-white. “No…” she whispered. “That can’t be…”

  The smartphone slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. Nancy’s eyes rolled back in her head and she fell out of her chair and landed hard on the floor.

  4

  There was a collective gasp and then Nancy’s friends leapt up and went to her side.

  “Nancy, Nancy! Can you hear me? Are yo
u okay?” Janice asked.

  Beatrice sat frozen in place. Lucky, however, acted immediately. He raced over to the phone spinning on the floor and batted it towards Beatrice’s feet. It hit her toes. A voice floated out: “Hello? Nancy? Hello!”

  Beatrice grabbed the phone. “Sheriff?”

  “Bee! Is Nancy okay?”

  The mayor’s wife was groaning as her friends lifted her back into her chair. “I think she just passed out. What’s going on, Jake?”

  Sheriff Jacob Roy pause. “Bee, I need to trust you to keep this to yourself. Bernie’s dead.”

  Beatrice’s stomach felt like it was going to sink into the floor. Bernie Sullivan was Nancy’s husband and the mayor of Ashbrook.

  “What happened?” she whispered.

  “Not sure. His secretary found him. Died right at his desk. I’m there now.”

  “Natural causes?”

  There was a sharp intake of breath. “Definitely not. Gunshot wound to the chest.”

  Beatrice stared down into Lucky’s eyes. He looked back gravely. “This is serious, Jake. Who would walk into the mayor’s office and kill him?”

  “I dunno. But if you want to help me find out, you’d better get over here lickety-split.”

  He didn’t have to ask her twice. Sheriff Jacob Roy and her had been on the outs recently, thanks to a rather tricky extortion case involving her friend, Nathan. She’d kept the matter from him, out of deference to Nathan. Needless to say, that didn’t go over well.

  If Jake was inviting her to the crime scene, that was a sign that they’d finally patched things up.

  Dr. Violet came in and was immediately mobbed by the yoga crew.

  “You have to help Nancy!” Janice said, clutching her arm. “She fainted dead away.”

  “I’m a vet not a doctor, but I’ll see what I can do,” Violet said, throwing a rueful look Beatrice’s way.

  “I have to go,” Beatrice said. “Petunia, the cat with the eye infection, is in my office. Send me the bill?”