The Tail of the Secret Identity: A Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mystery (Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mysteries Book 3) (4 page)

“You say he’s in
New Hampshire
?” said the gruff male voice over the phone with just a hint of Florida twang.

“That’s right. He was found dead this morning. I’m so sorry.”

There was a brief moment of silence.

“And you say he was the mayor of your small town. What’s it called?”

“Ashbrook.”

There was a dark chuckle over the line. “Well, that sounds like John. He was a man who knew how to run a scam. Doesn’t surprise me at all that he managed to scam an entire town.”

“He didn’t
scam
us,” Beatrice said. “At least not that I know of. People loved him here. He was a good mayor.”

“Well, I’ll be hanged. I expect you’ll want me to come up. I have a lot to tell you folks and it’s best done in person.”

Beatrice’s heart leapt. “Can you?”

“I’ll be there later today. I’ve been waiting for news of John for years. I lost track of him after he borrowed a ton of money from me and never paid me back. Took my car too.”

“It wouldn’t happen to be a blue-gray Ford Escort, would it?”

“The very one.”

“Well, we have your car too.”

“Even more reason to pay a visit to your neck of the woods. I’ll call you when I’m there.”

Beatrice hung up the phone. “Noah’s flying up to New Hampshire today.”

“Good thing too,” the sheriff said. “I expect he’ll have a lot more to tell us than Nancy. Unless she knew about his past.”

“I’m not sure,” Beatrice said. “Bernie and Nancy didn’t seem especially close. She was his prize. I doubt he confided in her.”

“Well, she’s the first person I’m going to talk to when we get back, you can bet on that.”

About an hour or so later they pulled into the driveway of Nancy and Bernie Sullivan. They lived in a gorgeous brick Tudor house just outside town. Tucked into a stand of blue spruce trees at the end of a manicured gravel driveway, the house was surrounded by perennial gardens boasting late fall blooms. A double car garage sat to one side.

The sheriff parked and they rapped tentatively on the door. Janice answered the door, looking perfectly pulled together, though her expression was worried.

“I expect you’re here to see Nancy,” she said. “Come in. She’s in the living room.”

Nancy sat collapsed on one of her elegant beige sofa. Her auburn hair was messy and her face streaked with mascara. Out of deference to her, Beatrice told the cats firmly to wait in the hall. She knew the sight of them would only upset her more.

“Mrs. Sullivan,” the sheriff said, hat in hand. “Can we speak to you? It’s quite urgent.”

She waved them in distractedly, then frowned when she caught sight of Beatrice.

“Is it alright that I’m here?” Beatrice said. “I’m helping the sheriff with the case.”

Nancy sighed. “I suppose, if you must.”

They settled into two beige armchairs.

“Nancy, I’ve just been to Portland and received some strange news. Bernie’s real name is apparently John Henson and he has a long criminal record. Did you know about any of this? It’s alright if you did. We just want to get to the bottom of this and find Bernie’s killer.”

Nancy’s big blue eyes widened. “What do you mean his name is John? You must be mistaken. Bernie wasn’t a criminal, what kind of sick joke is this?”

“Mam, I don’t say this to upset you.” He handed her a printout from Bernie’s police profile. “The Portland police department pulled this up. Now please, what, if anything, did Bernie tell you about his life before he came to Ashbrook.”

Nancy froze. “Uhm. Uhm. Well he told me that he was from Florida. An only child. Both parents had died. Lost touch of any extended family. Other than that, he didn’t really talk about his old life—what he did and where. He did say that he was in Ashbrook to get a fresh start. I didn’t pry. I mean, I was married before Bernie. To that lout—you all know the story. I know all about wanting to start over.”

Indeed, Nancy had been married for several years to the son of one of the top hoteliers in Ashbrook. He was poised to inherit a fortune. He seemed like a catch—except that he tried to beat the daylights out of Nancy and then skipped town.

“So Bernie never talked about stealing money, about wanting to avoid police, anything…?”

Nancy shook her head vigorously. Then her expression froze. “Oh my goodness, do the media know about this yet? I’m going to be ruined! The wife of a wanted criminal turned mayor? I’ll never be able to leave the house!”

“We’ll manage that ma’am, don’t you worry.”

Beatrice’s pocket vibrated. A text. It was from Zoe:
Pleeeeassseee come back. Chaos afoot.

“I’d better go,” she told Jake.

“I think we’re done here for now anyway. Nancy, you remember anything, anything at all, you give me a call, okay?”

9

Beatrice walked up to the café, cats at her heels, expecting to see swarms of angry customers demanding cinnamon buns, cursing over dirty tables, and loudly asking why their coffee had half-and-half, not skim milk.

The sight that greeted her was very different.

Instead, there was a crowd of
cats
sitting around the glass front door, tails twitching, eyes bright, whiskers aquiver.

Hamish immediately charged at the group, letting loose his most guttural growl as he did so. The cats tensed and then scattered, leaving only one old ornery tomcat with a chipped ear. He narrowed his yellow eyes. The fur on the back of his neck stuck straight up.

Beatrice immediately ran into the café to fetch a broom to shoo off the invader. But the sight that greeted her when she returned was even worse—now the female cat, Petunia, who had somehow got out, was between the two male cats, cleaning her paw nonchalantly as if fights over her were as common as sunshine. Lucky crouched nearby, his best don’t-mess-with-me expression on his furry face.

“Off with you!” Beatrice yelled, sweeping at the tomcat.

She was barely able to move his muscular bulk. He blinked at her in disdain, as if to mock her for her feeble efforts. To help matters, Hamish reached over and delivered a hefty swat to his competition’s head. The tomcat flattened his ears, swished his tail, and ambled off in a huff.

“Look at you, creating a scene!” Beatrice said as she picked up Petunia under one arm. “You’d think you were made of catnip.”

She went inside, grateful that at least, on the inside, matters looked well under control. Customers sipped lattes and chomped on sandwiches in perfect happiness. Zoe came out of the kitchen with a fresh batch of apple strudel muffins. Beatrice inhaled deeply the scent of cinnamon.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” Zoe said, as she slid the tray into the display case. She wiped her forehead with the back of her arm. “I thought there was going to be an epic cat fight outside. The customers were afraid to leave.”

“This little muffin seems to have quite the way with the gents,” Beatrice cooed to the fluff ball under her arm. Petunia blinked at her lovingly, as Hamish and Lucky sat at their owner’s feet, eyes as shiny and round as pennies.

A waitress came sailing over, with what looked to be a long lunch order in her hand. Zoe took it.

“Help me with the lunch order and tell me everything,” Zoe said, grabbing Beatrice’s hand.

“What am I going to do with this one?”

Zoe glared at the innocent-looking Petunia. “Ugh. YOU. Troublemaker. Listen, you have to start fighting your own battles. Leave her out with Hamish and Lucky.”

Beatrice arched an eyebrow at her young pastry chef. “Wow, you’ve really had it, huh? Listen, sorry I took off. I’m going to make it up to you and make the best darn sandwiches you’ve ever seen.”

Zoe cracked a smile. “You better, boss!”

They headed into the kitchen and began assembling the order: turkey apple brie panini, creamy clam chowder with crusty bread, and biscuit chicken pot pie. Soon, the kitchen was filled with the delicious scent of warmed cream, roasted turkey, and fresh biscuit.

After the order was filled, they sat down at the tiny kitchen table with bowls of chowder, their stomachs rumbling.

“Bernie Sullivan is dead,” Beatrice said, leaning in.

Zoe’s brown eyes snapped open. “Whaaaaatttttt?” She leaned in. “Oh my God, did Nancy kill him?”

“What? No! Geez Zoe. I don’t like her much but I’d never think she’d
kill
somebody.”

Zoe shrugged. “It was just a theory.”

“Well, try this theory on for size, and if you tell anyone you’re dead meat: Bernie Sullivan is actually John Henson, a con man from Florida. He was wanted by the FBI for a whole bunch of very bad things.”

Zoe rubbed her eyes. “Seriously? This is the most twisted case you’ve worked on yet, and that’s saying a lot.”

“I know, between this and Petunia it’s been a crazy day.”

The front door bell rang and then a familiar voice said, “Well aren’t you adorable. Hamish, didn’t I tell Bee she would get another cat? Wasn’t I right?”

Beatrice’s face immediately clouded. It was Matthew. Married in their early twenties, it had been decades (and another marriage for Matthew) since their divorce. It was usually smooth sailing between them, though they hit a rocky patch every once and a while.

“Oh so
now
he wants to talk to me,” she said to Zoe. “That’s another thing we need to talk about. Let me deal with his highness first.”

She went into the café, shedding her apron and hairnet as she did so. Self-consciously she smoothed her striped black top and combed her hair with her fingers.

Matthew was by the cash in his tan ranger’s uniform, his wavy gray hair combed back. He held Petunia in his arms and was chucking her under the chin. She purred loudly.

“That cat has some kind of magic powers over anything male,” Beatrice said. “And no, she’s not my new cat. I found her on the street this morning. She’s been causing a ruckus ever since.”

“I can imagine, I’ve never seen Hamish and Lucky so on edge before in my life.” He put Petunia down on the ground and she sauntered away toward a table of customers.

He smiled, his blue eyes winking with good humor. “Now Bee, I didn’t just come here for lunch. I knew you’d be upset that I cancelled our plans tonight so I thought we could have a bite together now.”

“I’m not upset,” Beatrice said airily, arms crossed. “And I’ve already eaten lunch, thanks very much. I also happen to have a very hot case on my hands, which you would know all about if you had bothered to call me back.”

Matthew rolled his eyes. “Bee, look I’m sorry. I didn’t want to cancel but Joan’s been waffling about going out and she finally suggested we meet tonight…”

“Joan?” Beatrice exploded. “You’re going out with Joan? Yoga Joan? Nancy’s friend Joan?”

“So you’re not upset, huh?”

Beatrice bit back a torrent of words ready to crash through. “It’s just strange because you never mentioned liking her,” she said in more restrained tone.

He shrugged. “I don’t know if I like her yet. She’s a nice person, she’s local, and she’s single. That kind of combo doesn’t happen a lot around here. We’re going out for dinner to see if we click.”

A burning sensation rose in Beatrice’s stomach, rising up to her esophagus. She felt like she was going to vomit. “That’s … nice,” she managed.

Matthew frowned. “I … I did mention that I wanted to start dating again. I didn’t think it would upset you so much. I mean, we still get to be friends…” He stopped abruptly and shifted from foot to foot. “Wow this is awkward. Are you, are you
jealous
, Bee?”

“Only in that you’re my best friend,” Beatrice said. “I don’t like sharing. But if you want to meet someone, by all means, go ahead. I can handle it. I mean, maybe I’ll start dating or something…”

“That’ll be the day,” Zoe said, walking by with a bowl of chowder.

Beatrice glared at her.

“You want to start dating?” Matthew said, looking perplexed.

Now it was her turn to shift about awkwardly. “Well, uh, maybe. I mean, it’s not like I’m made of cat poop. I could go snag myself a man … uh …”

Mathew cast his eyes around the ground. “Uh okay then. Well, talk later?”

“Yeah sure. See you.”

He walked away slowly, reaching down to give Hamish and Lucky farewell pats. They both shied away from him, miffed looks on their faces.

“Good kitties,” Beatrice muttered.

“Wow you really are having a crazy day,” Zoe said, returning from dropping off the chowder bowl with a customer, a sly smile on her face. “I want to hear all about
this
too.”

10

The day went on and Beatrice and Zoe didn’t get to have their talk. Beatrice got a call from their primary supplier—the one that sent them flour, nuts in bulk, milk and all the other basics—that they were behind on paying their account.

Beatrice cursed herself for missing the payment date. It was the first time in a while she’d forgotten to pay the bills (though it certainly wasn’t the first time period). She sent the payment, thankful that cash flow was just dandy at the moment, and hurriedly plugged in reminders in her smartphone’s calendar for when she had to pay the heat, electricity, their major suppliers, rent, and all sorts of other bills.

All the crime solving that fall had taken her attention squarely away from the café. As if in penance, she locked herself in her office all afternoon. Though her converted barn house just outside of town was her ultimate sanctuary, she had also made sure that her office was a relaxing space, away from the frenetic atmosphere of the café.

Her white desk was pushed against the tall windows that looked onto the little brick alley and a leafy maple behind the café. Sunshine filtered through the gauzy curtains. Built-in white shelves held her recipe books and invoice folders. A little sleigh bed in the corner was perfect for catnaps.

As Beatrice tapped away at her keyboard, she found herself distracted time and again. First off, Zoe kept popping in, saying she had heard this and that report about the mayor’s death on the radio and that camera crews were arriving in Ashbrook.

The cats didn’t help with her focus either. It wasn’t that they were being
noisy
, per say. It’s just that wherever Petunia went, Hamish and Lucky were close by. When Petunia slept in the window’s built-in cat bed, they took turns standing up and peeking over the edge. When the Himalayan decided to jump into the built-in shelves and sniff around, they were on the shelf below, peering up.