The 9 Lives Cozy Mystery Boxed Set

by Louise Clark

  "Hmm," she agreed. His hands were around her ribcage, deliciously close to her breasts. She hoped he'd raise his thumbs and rub... Ahh, just like that. Her body warmed and she pressed against him until she could feel his response to her nearness.

  "Minx," he said, amusement in his eyes.

  "Hmm," she said again, keeping her gaze locked on his as she moved, ever so lightly, against him.

  It was his turn to say, "Hmm," before he added, "Mrs. Wallace up the street just waved."

  Christy would have leapt apart from him at that announcement except that Quinn still had his hands around her and his thumbs still fondled her breasts. Instead, she stiffened.

  Amusement danced in his eyes. "I guess we'd better go sit on the steps, in case Mrs. Wallace decides to come and see what we're up to."

  Christy laughed shakily. "Good idea." They settled onto the steps, close, but not touching, now the picture of propriety. "How did your interview with Cara LaLonde go yesterday?"

  Quinn filled her in on the details. When he'd finished, Christy wrinkled her brow. "I don't get it. Was Brittany at the club that night? Did Aaron arrange to have her there to ensure he had an alibi? Or is Cara lying and part of a scam?"

  "Aaron originally claimed to have been with Brianne Lymbourn. Her death meant he needed to find someone else to cover for him."

  "Enter Brittany," Christy said.

  Quinn nodded. "Cara told me Brittany was there that night, but I wonder?" He shrugged. "She could have been, I suppose, but she hadn't been seeing Aaron for very long before Frank was killed. Was she already so into him that she'd have public sex with him? Or did that come later?"

  "Where Aaron DeBolt is concerned anything is possible," Christy said.

  Quinn laughed and hugged her. She leaned into him and said with a sigh, "I guess I should put my groceries away."

  "Do you have to?" he murmured.

  It was her turn to laugh. "Yes." She glanced at her watch and saw it was past ten. "At least Ellen will have made herself breakfast by now. Hopefully she will have also put her dishes into the machine so I don't have to."

  She stood as Quinn said, "Good luck with that."

  He carried her grocery bags to her front door and was going to take them up to her kitchen, but Christy said, "Thanks, Quinn, but I'd better bring them in. The last time I saw her, Ellen was still in her nightclothes. She'd probably be mortified if you came in and she wasn't dressed yet."

  He gave her a kiss, another lovely long kiss, on her front porch this time, then left her to manage her groceries by herself. She was humming as she unlocked the door and hauled the bags over the threshold. The cat raced up the porch stairs and dove through the doorway before she closed it. He must have been lurking in the bushes while she sat on the porch with Quinn.

  And kissed him.

  Twice.

  Served Frank right if he got an eyeful, she thought as she slammed the door. He shouldn't be spying on her. If he didn't like what he was seeing, he ought to make himself known.

  She picked up her collection of bags and trudged up the stairs. When she reached the living room she stopped and stared.

  Ellen was sitting on the sofa, still dressed in her delicate peignoir from Paris. Right beside her sat Natalie DeBolt, her face scrubbed clean and absent of makeup, but wearing a body-hugging dress of Lycra and silk that was inappropriately sexy.

  What the hell?

  "I was just about to make Ellen breakfast," Natalie said, her eyes brightening as she noticed the grocery bags. "Are there eggs in there, by any chance?"

  "Yes." Christy lugged the bags to the kitchen. Neither Natalie nor Ellen offered to help, though both trailed behind her into the room.

  Christy put the bags on the counter, ready to be emptied, but Natalie forestalled her. She rummaged through the carriers, pushing the contents around but not unloading them, until she found the eggs, then she got to work to make the breakfast she'd promised Ellen. Christy thought uneasily that she appeared to be very familiar with the townhouse's kitchen.

  Ellen sat down at the table on the far side of the large room, positioned so she was able to see Natalie at work at the stove. Her elbow on the table, her chin resting on the palm of hand, she watched. She didn't look at all disconcerted at being in her nightclothes while her friend cooked her breakfast.

  "Ellen and I had a good talk while you were away," Natalie said to Christy in a chatty, make-conversation way as she melted butter into the frying pan. "She is very upset about poor Brittany."

  "I am," Ellen said.

  "I worry about her, you know." Natalie put whisked eggs into the pan and started to stir. "It's very hard to find a body on your terrace, especially for someone as sensitive as dear Ellen." She paused to send Ellen a speaking glance.

  Ellen blinked, but didn't protest.

  The cat prowled into the kitchen, looked at his dish—which still contained the despised mystery meat—then sniffed with disapproval.

  Natalie tossed cheese over the scrambled eggs and waited a few seconds for it to begin to melt. She plated the eggs, added a piece of toast, which she carefully buttered, then took the plate and some cutlery over to Ellen, passing the cat on the way.

  The cat sneezed as she passed. Reaching out a paw, claws extended, he swiped. The gesture was a near miss.

  "Here you are, my dear. Eggs just the way you like them and your toast buttered too!" Natalie smiled, apparently unaware she'd almost had her ankle scratched by razor-sharp cat claws. She settled onto a chair near Ellen's.

  "Thank you, Natalie. You're a doll," Ellen said before she dug in.

  Drawn by the scent of cooked eggs—a favorite—the cat abandoned his dish, leapt up onto a chair, then onto the table. The result was immediate.

  Natalie gasped and slammed her palm over her mouth in a shocked gesture as she pushed back her chair to get away.

  The cat took a careful step to bring himself within snatching distance of the plate, then he sniffed appreciatively, his whiskers twitching.

  Ellen screamed. "Get that beast off of the table! It's unsanitary!"

  After Ellen's outburst, Natalie pried her hand away from her mouth and tossed her head. Her chin thrust out, she leveled a disdainful look at Christy. "What an abominable animal! So badly mannered."

  Neither Ellen nor Natalie made any attempt to remove Stormy, so the cat took another careful step. He was now within striking distance of the eggs.

  Natalie was more focused on Christy than on the cat. She added with a sniff and a sneer, "I would expect a normal person to be aware of how to control a beast like this one, Christy, but since I know you very well, I am not truly surprised that you allow the animal to act this way."

  Bitch!

  On the table, Stormy growled deep in his throat, perhaps in support of Frank's comment, or more likely because he wasn't getting access to the plate of eggs.

  Ellen leapt up from her chair, almost knocking her plate onto the floor. "It's rabid," she cried, and backed away.

  The doorbell rang.

  Christy sighed and went over to the table. Picking up the still-growling cat, she tucked him under her arm, then went to answer the door.

  Chapter 11

  Christy opened the door with the now-wriggling cat still under one arm. Both she and the cat froze when they saw Detective Patterson standing on the stoop.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Jamieson," Patterson said. She reached out to scratch Stormy's head, but snatched her hand back when the cat hissed.

  Christy sighed. "Don't mind Stormy, Detective. He and Aunt Ellen just had a confrontation and he's still annoyed."

  "Ms. Jamieson isn't fond of cats?"

  Christy shook her head. She could have added that Ellen also wasn't fond of nieces by marriage and nephews she considered wastrels, but she didn't. Instead she waited for Patterson to explain why she was here.

  "I'd like to speak to Ms. Jamieson, if she has a moment," the detective said politely, if implacably.

  Christy wasn't su
rprised. On the one hand, she liked Detective Patterson, who had been helpful when Frank was missing and Christy was determined to find out what had happened to him. On the other, Patterson was trying to solve Brittany Day's murder and Ellen Jamieson was, if not the chief suspect, then certainly a person of interest.

  "I'll ask her, Detective, but you'll have to give me a minute." She dumped Stormy onto the porch, pointed at him and said, "Stay here." Ignoring Patterson's raised brows, she closed the door, leaving Frank to deal with the detective, and went upstairs to find Ellen.

  She discovered her sitting on the sofa in the living room, close to Natalie. Their heads were together, and Natalie was whispering something in Ellen's ear. There was a smile on her face and Ellen was chewing her bottom lip as she listened.

  What was going on? Christy knew this was the second or third time Natalie had been out to Burnaby to visit Ellen, but she tried to avoid Natalie, so she hadn't been home for the other meetings. Since her relationship with Ellen had always been strained, she had no way of knowing if the intimacy she sensed was normal or new. She cleared her throat and said, "Ellen, Detective Patterson wants to talk to you."

  Ellen's head shot up and Natalie eased away. "But I'm not dressed!"

  Christy said, "I'll tell her you want to have Mr. McCullagh with you when you talk to her. Then I'll nip over to Quinn's house and bring him back with me. Will that give you enough time to get ready?"

  "Trevor McCullagh the Third? The murder lawyer?" Natalie asked. She looked horrified.

  "That's right." Christy heard a belligerent snap in her voice as she replied. She was trying to keep her tone even, but there was something about Natalie DeBolt that always rubbed her the wrong way.

  Ellen looked from Christy to Natalie and back again. "I suppose I can manage," she said slowly. "I don't really have a choice, though, do I?"

  "No, I don't think you do," Christy said.

  Natalie patted Ellen's arm in a comforting way. "We'll make it work, won't we, my dear?"

  Natalie in the role of best pal—or something deeper—was more than Christy could handle, so she nodded and left them to get organized. She stepped out of the front door onto the porch to find Patterson sitting on the top step, with Stormy beside her, lying on his back and purring loudly as the detective rubbed his belly. "You've made a friend," she said lightly.

  Patterson looked up and grinned at Christy. "He's not such a bad cat, after all."

  Christy sat down beside Patterson, with the cat between them. "He has his moments." She tickled the cat's chin. The purring increased in volume, if that was possible. "Listen, Detective. Ellen will talk to you, but she wants to have her lawyer with her. He's staying with the Armstrongs, a couple of houses down. I'll get him now, but I'd like you to wait here until I get back."

  Patterson said nothing for a minute. She stared silently at Christy—who met her gaze and held it—while she continued to stroke the cat's belly. Finally she shrugged and, like Ellen, said, "I suppose I can manage."

  Feeling as if she had just faced down a herd of charging elephants, Christy nodded jerkily as she stood. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

  Roy Armstrong answered the door when she rang the bell at Quinn's house. His eyes brightened when he saw her. "Christy! Quinn said he talked to you this morning and gave you all the latest data. I didn't expect to see you again so soon." But he opened the door wider to usher her in.

  "Patterson's here and she wants to question Ellen," Christy said urgently, as soon as the door had closed behind her.

  Roy's eyes widened, then narrowed, before he turned away to hustle up the stairs. "Three! Crisis! Listen up!"

  Christy followed him. At the top of the stairs she saw Trevor and Quinn emerging from the kitchen. Both men looked cheerful and she thought they might have been sharing a joke. Trevor was fully dressed and street-ready in his faded jeans and a dark blue wool turtleneck sweater. That was a relief, she thought, though perhaps it would have been better if she had to wait half an hour for him to dress.

  "What's up?" Quinn asked.

  "Patterson's here," his father said. "She's planning to interrogate Ellen."

  That wasn't exactly what Christy had said, but it worked like a cattle prod on Trevor. "Ellen should not speak to the police without council present," he said. The good cheer was gone from his face, replaced by a somber expression and tight lips.

  "That was my thought," Christy said.

  Trevor nodded. His tone brisk, he said, "Where is she?" as he headed down the stairs.

  Christy put a hand on his shoulder. "Can you hold on a minute? Ellen isn't dressed yet and she wants some time to get ready before she faces Patterson."

  Trevor hesitated, then nodded. As he turned back up the stairs, he said, "Where's Patterson?"

  Christy grinned. "She's sitting on my porch stairs. Stormy is entertaining her."

  Trevor's eyes opened wide and he glanced from Roy to Quinn. "You mean the cat can talk to her, too?"

  Quinn grunted, but Christy and Roy laughed. Christy said, "No. At least, I don't think he can. No, right now all he's doing is purring." She chuckled. "I think Detective Patterson is a cat person from the dreamy expression I saw on her face when I found her rubbing Stormy's belly."

  "I'm not surprised," Trevor said briskly. "Cats are very good at creeping around silently and turning up where you least expect them. From what I can make of her, Patterson is the same way."

  A little harsh, but perhaps not far off the mark, Christy thought.

  When they left the house ten minutes later, Patterson was still on Christy's porch and the cat was still purring as she stroked and rubbed where it most pleased him. She stood up when she saw Christy and Trevor.

  The cat made a yip of protest, then rolled onto his stomach and stood up. Shaking himself he strutted into the bushes on the other side of the street. My job here is done. The cat is hungry. We're going to look for mice.

  Inside the house, Christy was relieved to see that Ellen was dressed in a black pencil skirt, white silk blouse and a fluffy cashmere cardigan that was somewhere between a purple and a marine blue. She looked worried, though, which Christy didn't think boded well for the coming interview. Even worse, Natalie stood beside her, with Ellen's hand clutched between both of her own.

  Not good. Not good at all.

  "Thank you for speaking to me, Ms. Jamieson," Patterson said. She scanned the scene and her eyes lingered on those clasped hands.

  "Not at all. Detective Patterson, please let me introduce you to my friend, Natalie DeBolt," Ellen said. "Natalie, Detective Patterson investigated Frank's disappearance and now she is attempting to discover who placed the body on my terrace." Apart from the reference to investigations and a dead body, Ellen made the introduction with polished grace. She could have been making two socially important friends known to each other, rather than a police detective and the mother of a man accused of being an accessory to murder.

  Patterson's response was brisk. She clearly wanted to get down to business. "I've met Mrs. DeBolt, Ms. Jamieson, but thank you."

  Ellen's chin jutted at that, but she sat down on the sofa. Natalie settled beside her, sitting very close. Too close, Christy thought, worried now.

  Patterson remained standing. She surveyed the two women on the couch with observant eyes. "You must know Ms. Jamieson very well, Mrs. DeBolt."

  Natalie smiled at Patterson, then looked back at Ellen, her expression gentle. "We've known each other for many years, but have become closer friends only recently."

  Patterson's eyes narrowed. "That true, Ms. Jamieson?"

  "Yes. I've known Natalie since we were at university. I introduced her to her husband, Nathan. We've served on many committees together. Recently, we realized how much we had in common and we've been—"

  "Where is this line of questioning headed, Detective?" Trevor said, an edge of frost in his tone. Like Patterson, he was standing. His feet wide apart, his hands in his pockets, he positioned himself to one side of t
he sofa, between the two women and Patterson. The spot allowed him to watch the faces of all involved.

  Patterson said, "Just making small talk, Councilor."

  "It's perfectly all right, Mr. McCullagh," Natalie said. Her expression was coy, her tone gushed. "I don't mind Ellen talking about our relationship. I think she's a very special person. Her friendship has sustained me recently. You see... my husband and I... Well, let's just say we don't get along anymore. Ellen has helped me deal with that."

  "Really," Patterson said. She looked skeptical at this statement.

  "Yes," Natalie said, eyes now suspiciously moist.

  "Not another word!" Trevor said. The command came out as his courtroom bellow. Natalie and Ellen jumped. Patterson looked at him thoughtfully.

  "Thanks for coming, Natalie," Christy said. She raised her arm, hand held out, a gesture clearly designed to usher Natalie to from the room. Natalie looked surprised at first, then she leaned over to give Ellen a quick peck on the cheek, before she rose, smiling graciously as she allowed Christy to sweep her out of the room and down the stairs.

  When Christy returned from showing Natalie the door, Patterson was saying, "That's the information I have, Ms. Jamieson. I'd like you to confirm or deny it."

  "I deny it, of course!" Ellen was scarlet, from the top of her cashmere sweater to the roots of her hair.

  "Deny what?" Christy asked.

  "This woman thinks I'm gay!" Ellen pointed accusingly at Patterson.

  Since Christy had been wondering the very same thing ever since she'd seen Ellen and Natalie together in the kitchen, doubt flashed through her mind. It must have shown on her face, because Patterson raised her brows as she turned to Ellen.

  "The information I obtained is that Brittany Day was bisexual. She usually preferred threesomes—with a male and another female—but she was open to solo relationships with another woman. My informant stated that in those cases she preferred older women."

  Ellen was on her feet now, her hands balled into fists, her body wire-tight. "This is intolerable! I will not be judged this way!"