Crime and Catnip

Book 3: A Nick and Nora Mystery

by T. C. LoTempio

Genres: Mystery; Cozy Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

While catering a gala for the Cruz Museum, Nora Charles agrees to look into the disappearance of director Violet Crenshaw's niece, a case previously undertaken by her frisky feline friend Nick's former owner, a private eye whose whereabouts are also currently unknown.


As Nora and her curious cat Nick pull at the string of clues, they begin to unravel a twisted tale of coded messages, theft, false identities, murder, and international espionage. Nora dares to hope that the labyrinth of leads will not only help them locate the missing young woman, but also solve the disappearance of the detective. That's if Nora can stay alive long enough to find him . . .

Release date: December 6, 2016

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 304

Sample

One

"I declare, Nora, with food like this, the museum's annual gala can't help but be a success."

I smiled politely at the speaker as I rose to refill my mother's good bone-china bowl with tortilla chips. Nandalea Webb, the Cruz Museum's curator, was a no-nonsense type of gal and as feisty as the Australian meaning of her given name, fire, implied. She waved a red-lacquered hand in the air, leaned forward in her chair, and reached for one of the deviled eggs on the tray in the middle of the table. She took a bite and batted lashes heavy with several coats of mascara.

"Heaven," she murmured, dabbing at her salmon-pink-tinted lips with the edge of a napkin. "I can't tell you how much the committee appreciates your stepping in to cater this year's fund-raiser on such short notice."

"My pleasure," I assured her, reaching for a chip myself. "Not only would my mother have encouraged me, I consider it an honor. Anyway, I've catered events on less notice. Take Mac Davies's retirement from the Cruz detective squad, for example. I had about twelve hours' notice for that."

"True, dear, but that wasn't of the magnitude this is." Nan's teeth flashed in her version of a smile. "This will be a real challenge for you."

"Well, we Charles women always love a challenge. Plus, I can definitely use the extra income." I set the newly refilled bowl of chips in front of her. She took one, plunked it in my spinach dip (actually I can't claim credit; the recipe is my Aunt Prudence's), and popped it into her mouth. "My mother was always a staunch supporter of the museum. I know she would be proud."

"Indeed she would be."

I turned my attention to the other speaker. Violet Crenshaw was a lifelong resident of our little town of Cruz, California, with all the old money that usually implied. A senior member of the museum's board of directors-probably the most senior, at age seventy-one-she was extremely well preserved. Slight of frame, her clothes fit her like a runway model. Today she had on a dress of lightweight, fire-engine red wool that screamed "expensive designer." It was definitely a dress I'd have killed for, if the color didn't clash with my hair. Violet's own lavender-tinted hair was done in a becoming upsweep that set off her high cheekbones and delicate bone structure to great advantage. I could see why the women made such an effective team. Where Nan was outgoing and effusive, Violet was the more laid-back of the two, but just like the old saying went, still waters ran deep. Violet might tread softly but she carried a big stick, just like her idol, Teddy Roosevelt.

On this late autumn afternoon we were seated in the back area of the spacious kitchen that doubled as my office for Hot Bread, the sandwich shop I'd inherited from my mother a few months ago, to discuss me catering their annual fund-raiser. The Cruz Museum fund-raisers were always a big deal; expertly planned to raise a great deal of money, they paid very well. The catering firm they usually used had shut their doors abruptly a week ago. One of the owners had been diagnosed with a heart murmur, prompting the momentous decision to retire in Palm Springs and reap the fruits of their years of successful labor. I'd been approached for the job, not only because no other caterer in a twelve mile radius wanted the responsibility or pressure of catering a gala for two hundred people on such short notice, but also because my late mother, in addition to being a museum patron, had also been a friend to both Nandalea and Violet.

Violet helped herself to one of the finger sandwiches I'd prepared and eyed me with a steely gaze over the rims of her Ben Franklin-style glasses. "Your mother was an excellent cook, Nora. She put her all into Hot Bread. I always felt bad we had that long-standing contract with Phineas Rodgers. She would have enjoyed catering our affairs."

Nan's dark brown pageboy bobbed up and down in agreement. "Yes, she always supported our cause with generous donations. She loved Cruz and its history, and she loved the museum."

"It's very gratifying to see you taking over where she left off, following the family tradition." Violet coughed lightly then added, "Family is so important. Sometimes one doesn't realize how much."

I caught the wistful note in the older woman's voice and smiled. "I couldn't agree more."

"Er-owl!"

The two women jumped. The large (although portly might be a better word) black and white tuxedo cat sprawled across Hot Bread's kitchen floor pushed himself upright to regard us with wide golden eyes. His ears flattened against his skull as his mouth opened, revealing a row of sharp, pointed teeth. He waved one forepaw in the air in an imperious manner.

"Ah." Nan laughed. "I see your cat agrees family is important. What's his name again?"

"Nick."

"Nick Charles?" The two women burst out laughing. "That figures," Nan said at last, her gaze sweeping the cat up and down. "He looks well cared for. What shelter did you get him from?"

"No shelter, although I do think that's a marvelous way to adopt a pet. He just appeared on my doorstep one night, waltzed inside, and that was that. Honestly, I blame Chantal. She talked me into keeping him. Although I've never regretted it," I added quickly. "It's hard to tell sometimes who owns who."

"Oh, I so agree. I've had a few kitties in my lifetime. One never owns a cat, dear. They own you," Nan said with a wise nod.

Nick sat up on his haunches and pawed at Nan's skirt, then flopped over on his back and wiggled all four paws in the air.

Violet peered at the cat over the rims of her glasses. "He's quite the little ham, isn't he?"

I suppressed a chuckle. "You don't know the half of it. Ask Chantal. Nick is her unofficial model for her line of pet collars, and I swear, he just loves the camera and vice versa."

Nick sat up, wrapped his tail around his forelegs, and cocked his head to one side as if studying the women. Then he got up, trotted over to the fleece bed in the corner, swiped his paw underneath the cushion, and reappeared a moment later with a catnip mouse. He trotted back to the group and paused, head cocked as if studying them; then he walked over and dropped the mouse at the foot of Nan's chair and looked up expectantly.

"Well, will you look at that," Violet said with a chuckle, as Nan picked up the mouse and flung it into a far corner. Nick scampered off after it immediately, his rotund rear wiggling. "He certainly knew which one to pick, didn't he?"

Nick returned, the mouse clamped firmly between his jaws. As he started toward Nan again, I put out my hand and lightly touched his back. "That's enough, Nick. We're having a business discussion right now."

He glanced up at me and blinked, then hunkered down beside my chair and proceeded to attack the mouse with his teeth and claws.

"Goodness," Nan gasped. "It's almost as if he understood you."

Nick's head lifted. "Merow." He flopped over on his side with the mouse clenched firmly between his paws, and wiggled his hind legs.

Violet leaned forward in her chair for a closer look. "Intelligent little fellow," she murmured. "I've always been a dog person, myself, but you know what? I think your cat could change my mind."

Nick swung his head around, lips peeled back in what I termed his "shit-eating kitty grin."

"Yes, he is very smart," I said. "Maybe a little too smart, sometimes. His former human taught him well. I don't know what I'd do if Nick Atkins showed up and wanted him back."

Violet's head jerked up and she fixed me with a stare. "Nick Atkins? The PI? This was his cat?"

I nodded, a bit taken aback. The last person I'd have expected to know the hard-boiled PI was the stately Violet. "Yes. I didn't realize you knew him."

Violet opened her mouth to speak, and then paused as her gaze darted from the cat to me and back to the cat again. It seemed as if she were unsure how to answer the question. The next minute the unlikely strains of "California Gurls" chirped from the depths of her purse. Violet a Katy Perry fan? Man, this day was full of surprises.

"Excuse me." She fished the phone out, glanced at the number, and then snapped it open with a brisk, "Yes, Daisy. What's the matter?" She listened intently for a few minutes then sighed audibly. "Tell him we'll be back shortly, and to wait until we get there. Surely twenty minutes won't make a monumental difference in their schedule." She snapped the phone shut, slid it back into her bag, and turned to me with an apologetic smile. "So sorry for the interruption. Where were we?"

Nan smiled over the rim of her coffee cup. "Well, before Nick distracted us, I believe we were about to discuss the pros and cons of a sit-down dinner versus a buffet."

"Right. Well, I don't think much discussion is necessary," Violet said. "After all, it's a costume ball. Formal dinners are lovely, but who wants to bother with all that at a masquerade?"

"True," said Nan slowly. "But are we absolutely certain we should make it a costume affair? Most people do prefer a sit-down dinner."

Violet peered at Nan over the rims of her glasses. "Nonsense. It's the week before Halloween, so what could be more appropriate than a masquerade?" Her head swiveled in my direction. "What do you think, Nora?"

Uh-oh. The last thing I wanted or needed was to play referee. Fortunately I was spared getting in the middle as Nan held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. "You're right, Violet. The fact it's before Halloween totally slipped my mind. So, a costume ball with a buffet it is."

Violet's lips curved in a satisfied smirk. "Of course I'm right. Pleasant atmosphere, good food and drink, that's the key. We want our patrons feeling good so they'll whip out their checkbooks and give generously. After all, the happier the patron, the bigger the contribution, am I right?"

"Oh, listen to her. She's so wise," Nan whispered.

"Hmpf. Wise has nothing to do with it. It's common sense," Violet said with a snort. "Just like a big part of keeping 'em happy is getting 'em plastered."

"Violet!" Nan's jaw dropped and she shot me a quick look out of the corner of her eye. "You can be blunt as a knife sometimes."

"Well, it's true." The older woman chuckled. "The more they drink the happier and looser they get, and then out come the checkbooks and better yet, the zeros on the checks!" She rubbed her hands together and closed one eye in a broad wink. "We spring for complimentary wine and soda, but the real proceeds flow from the cash bar. Which reminds me-Nora, do you know where we can find a good bartender? The position pays quite well." She named a figure that made my eyes pop, and I immediately thought of Lance Reynolds. He ran the only tavern in Cruz, the Poker Face. I'd known him for years, dated him in high school. I was positive he'd agree. Not only could he use the money, but it would be great publicity for his own bar. I mentioned his name and Violet nodded solemnly.

"I'm ashamed I didn't think of him right off," she said, reaching into her purse. She pulled out a notebook and made a swift notation. "You wouldn't happen to know a good photographer, too?"

"Actually, Remy Gillard is an amateur photographer, and he's quite good."

"The florist? We've already hired him for the centerpieces, so he might not be able to do both, but . . ." She made another notation in her little book. "It never hurts to ask. I'll have Daisy get right on this."

I arched a brow at the second mention of the unfamiliar name. "Daisy? I thought Maude always handled these details?"

"She did-before she decided to retire," Violet said crisply. "She went to live in North Carolina with her daughter, without giving us any notice! Imagine!"

"Now, now, don't be like that Violet. She did give us a week," interjected Nan.

Violet gave her head a brisk shake. "You call that notice? Hmpf."

Nan turned back to me with an apologetic smile. "We were very fortunate Daisy happened along just when she did. It was really a case of being in the right place at the right time. She happened to be in the museum and overheard us talking about finding a replacement. It's a great opportunity for her. She just moved back to the States from London, and she was about to start job-hunting anyway. What do you call it again, when events intersect just so?"

"Fate," I answered, sliding a glance Violet's way. "I guess I always assumed that when Maude finally retired, Nellie would take her place." Nellie Blanchard was a part-time docent who'd worked at the museum forever. It was no secret the woman aspired to an office position.

"So did Nellie." Violet sighed. "Don't get me wrong, she's done a fine job as a docent, but office work is different. She wouldn't have the freedom she does now. Plus, I'm not all that sure she'd be able to adapt to a nine-to-five routine. Believe it or not, she's got a bit of a temper, and when things don't go her way . . ." Violet fluttered her hand in the air. "Sometimes she can get quite . . . unpleasant, shall we say?"

I nodded. I couldn't dispute any of what Violet had said. Nellie had never made any bones about the fact she enjoyed being able to set her own hours, and I'd once seen her hurl a paperweight at a deliveryman who'd refused to place a box where she wanted it. Still, she'd always hinted that when Maude went, she should be the next in line, and no one could really dispute her claim. She had the background and the experience, if not the formal education.

As if she'd read my thoughts, Violet said quickly, "It wasn't an easy decision but I think it was the right one. Daisy's rather young but her references were excellent. You'll like her, I'm sure. So then"-Violet clasped her hands together-"are we in agreement on the menu? Buffet style?"

I nodded. "I have quite a few ideas on what can be done. I'll outline a menu and get it to you."