The Extortion Cat-astrophe: A Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mystery (Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mysteries Book 2) (3 page)

“Murrr-OW?” said Hamish, sitting at the foot of the stairs, looking quite pleased with himself. Lucky was beside him.

Nathan froze, bat in hand. “How did they open the kitchen door? And then the basement door…”

“These two are as clever as raccoons,” said Beatrice proudly. You’d think they had opposable thumbs. I think that’s our cue to leave.”

She scooped up the giant Maine Coon. He was pure muscle with an enormous fluffy coat that made him look even bigger than he really was. He struggled in her arms, growling furiously, his eyes locked on Lucky who was sniffing around the room. Nathan stepped away from them both and Matthew went to scoop up the black cat, who nimbly darted out of his grasp.

Lucky dove into a corner and then came out holding a bright orange plastic ring. He looked pleased as punch as he did so. With a frustrated yowl, Hamish managed to disentangle himself from Beatrice’s grasp and dashed over. He tried to tear away the ring but Lucky held on, his green eyes furious.

“What’s that?” Bee asked immediately.

Nathan sat back down heavily in his easy chair. “One of the stackable rings from a toy that belonged to Tony’s toddler. He brought her here once during our better days. Told me he needed money to pay for her check-ups and such. I kept the toy because it used to remind me why I was forking over all that cash.”

Beatrice took a long hard look at the little black cat, his whiskers twitching as he clung to his prize. “What are you trying to tell us, Lucks?” she muttered.

6

The sun had barely risen over the hills in the east before Beatrice got out of bed and fetched her laptop. She had slept poorly and was itching to start researching Nathan’s case. Matthew had crashed, as usual, in the spare bedroom of her converted barn house. Still, she didn’t expect him up for some time. As it was Sunday, this was the start of
his
weekend and he usually liked to sleep in.

She first went into the kitchen to feed Hamish and Lucky, who had risen from their cat beds as soon as she had rolled out of her bed. Then, to the sound of contented crunching noises, she nestled onto the sofa and turned on the table lamp. iPad in hand, she did a quick Google search under the cozy glow of light. “Tony Parsons” brought up many, many records but few details about his recent arrest.

Grabbing her notebook, she wrote down what she could find. Parsons had previous misdemeanors for breaking and entering, possession of an illegal substance, assault, and minor theft. He had lived his entire life in the nearby town of Waitsfield, working occasionally in an auto repair shop. And he had a daughter, now twelve, who lived with her mother in another part of town.

Beatrice froze at this. The daughter. She must have been the toddler who visited Nathan’s house with Tony. The plastic ring Lucky found was
hers
. But how could the daughter have any connection to the
new
extortionist?

Lucky jumped up on the couch and settled over her feet, purring lovingly. Beatrice stared down at him as if that would help her unlock the clue he had shown her.

She was distracted, though, by an insistent meowing below her. Usually Hamish liked to sit on her feet and from his expression she could tell he was not happy to be replaced.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” she told him. He merely sneezed and stalked off in disdain.

Tapping her pen on her notebook, Beatrice tried to unravel the mystery for herself. Perhaps there was another child in Tony’s life? One neither she nor the papers knew about?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the shuffle of slippers on the stairs. Matthew came down, still in his monogrammed plaid pajamas, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“Bee, I could practically
hear
you thinking down here,” he said, plopping onto the couch next to her. Hamish immediately sprang up and sat on his lap while looking daggers at Lucky.

“I was just doing some research.”

“I know you want to help. I love that you want to help. But isn’t the sheriff’s office better suited to handle something like this?”

“Nate’s a reasonable guy,” she said, putting her notebook aside. “If he thinks there’s reason to avoid the cops, don’t you think we should listen to him?”

“Bee, the guy has been sitting on this extortion for
ten years
. I love him dearly and he’s a great friend but I’m not sure he knows what’s good for him anymore.”

Beatrice mulled this over and then cocked an eyebrow in her friend’s direction. “I don’t know. I think I could think this over more clearly if I had some coffee in my system. And maybe breakfast too.”

“You want
me
to make
you
breakfast on my day off?”

She shrugged innocently. “C’mon. I know you stay over for my fully stocked fridge. Don’t be coy.”

He broke out in one of his characteristic sunny smiles. “You got me there. Alright, coffee and pancakes coming right up.”

They shoveled down pancakes with wild blueberries and birch syrup at Beatrice’s kitchen breakfast nook. Light streamed through the tall windows that looked over the forest. It promised to be a beautiful fall day. A sugar maple right outside the window had burst into flame and its showy leaves swayed in the breeze.

“Nice day for a drive,” Beatrice commented.

Matthew shot her a sharp look. “A drive where?”

“Waitsfield?”

He put down his fork. “What are we going to do Bee? Go around asking questions about Tony Parsons? Sounds like the easiest way to get shot.”

“What do you think I am, an amateur? We need an excuse to go there. Something that will make us look legit. Oh wait!” She went running outside and retrieved the local paper. Sitting back at the barstool, she eagerly scanned its pages. “I was right! Waitsfield has their annual fall carnival today. We’ll just be a couple of regular tourists.”

“Everyone knows the Ashbrook Fall Fair is way better,” Matthew said, grinning.

“No need to be a snob. Today we put aside our allegiances in the name of Nathan.”

“Hear, hear.”

Beatrice’s smartphone buzzed. A text popped up from Zoe:
Hunter asked me if it was okay if he could crash at my place for a while. He wants to move all his stuff in. What do you think?

She sighed and put the phone back down. “Looks like we’re taking Zoe too.”

7

“Everyone knows the Waitsfield Fall Carnival is nowhere near as good as Ashbrook’s Fall Fair,” Zoe complained from the backseat of he car.

“That’s what I said,” Matthew chimed in.

“We’re not going for the carnival. We’re going for a very specific reason that you’re not allowed to know about,” Beatrice replied.

“See, that’s just weird,” Zoe said. “And anyway, I really should be hanging out with Hunter…”

“No way,” Beatrice and Matthew said in unison.

“Listen, no one without a steady job should invite themselves to live in your apartment,” Beatrice continued firmly. “And
I
really should be spending the day testing recipes for the Fall Fair.” Her hands clenched on the wheel. “Abigail can’t win three times in a row. I can’t let it happen.”

“I don’t know if you’re more upset about Nate or this baking competition,” Matthew said.

“Who’s Nate?” Zoe asked.

“No one!” the two others said.

“I have my priorities straight,” Beatrice hissed. “Which is exactly why I’m hijacking your day off so that we can stalk a bunch of people we don’t know at a really bad carnival.”

Matthew snorted. “Well okay, now that we’re all on the same page.”

“Mrrrrow!” cried Lucky mournfully from his carrier. Hamish sat alongside, still looking put out by Lucky’s discovery of the toddler toy ring.

Beatrice tried to pretend, as she drove along, that they were going on a road trip and not on a trip to get in danger. The lonely road out to Waitsfield wound through the mountains full of blue spruce and alders. Deer sprinted across the road and they spotted a great bald eagle sitting on a huge oak tree by Stowe Lake.

She turned on her favorite Golden Oldies radio station and hummed along. Zoe hid behind her smartphone. With her slouchy knit cap and pout she looked more like a teenager than a 23-year-old. Beatrice ignored her. She was determined to enjoy her day off, knowing that the café was in the excellent hands of her support staff.

After about half an hour of driving, they pulled into the grounds of the Waitsfield elementary school. White tents were set up on the soccer field and the parking lot was full of cars. Beatrice immediately felt her spirit lift as she got out of the car. The air was crisp, the foliage colorful, and the scent of spiced cider and boiled corn permeated the air.

“Oh there’s a chicken and lobster tent!” Matthew said, perking up.

“Thinking with your stomach, as per usual,” Beatrice commented. She let the cats out of the car and shook her finger at them sternly. “You both stick close to me, you hear? No aimless cat-wandering from either of you today.”

Then she grabbed her two humans. “Alright, look out for any booths that list people with the last name ‘Parsons.’ Not you, Zoe. You just eat. And try to think of an amazing recipe to crush Abigail Freedman.”

As it turned out, the Waitsfield Fall Carnival was so much fun that Beatrice almost forgot that she was supposed to be solving a case. There were food booths with turkey legs and apple crisp; craft stands with local jewelry, pottery, and paintings; a performance from the local ballet school; an oxen pull; a bluegrass band and more.

Best of all was the pie-judging competition. Beatrice eagerly poured over the offerings on display: blueberry custard, strawberry white chocolate, and a cinnamon bun pecan pie. She was incredibly impressed with the offerings and exchanged crust tips and filling ideas with the contestants on hand. Whipping her smartphone out, she took snaps of everything, hoping inspiration for her own competition entry would strike later.

It wasn’t until Beatrice got caught up at a local soap vendor’s booth that she remembered to ask leading questions about Tony Parsons. The older lady manning the booth had a good ten years on Beatrice and was sweet as sugar. She made all the soaps herself and what a variety there was: lemon rosemary, chocolate mint, and oatmeal vanilla to start.

Beatrice had a real weakness for any homemade bath and body products and she and the seller, Rachel, quickly struck up a friendly conversation. She realized that Rachel was probably her busybody equivalent in Waitsfield and therefore the best person to ask about local gossip.

“I hate to bring up unpleasant things,” Beatrice said cautiously. “But I know Tony Parsons is from here. It’s been all over the papers in Ashbrook. You see, I’m quite the mystery and true crime reader so I couldn’t help following the case.”

Rachel’s clear, sharp blue eyes lit up. “I completely understand. I’ve got a shelf of paperback mysteries like you wouldn’t believe, including everything by P.D. James.”

She leaned in conspiratorially. “I knew Tony Parsons was up to no good for years. Glad they finally caught him in the act. Though let me tell you, his no good family is just as bad and none of
them
are locked up. I guess we can’t get everything we want, can we?”

Beatrice put down the bar of coconut lime soap she was sniffing and leaned in too. “You don’t say? So Tony wasn’t the black sheep then?”

Her new friend shook her head gravely. “Absolutely not. He and his brother were as thick as thieves growing up—still were—up until they put Tony in the slammer. Did everything together. They even had kids the same age.”

“Really?”

“Tony didn’t have custody of his child but his older brother, Rick, lived with his daughter. Mother took off. Tony was like a second father to that girl. Only good thing I can say about him.”

Beatrice leaned against the counter. What if the toddler that Tony brought over to Nathan’s all those years ago wasn’t his child but Rick’s? It was possible that Nathan had got them confused, or even that Tony had all-out lied to get the money.

“Where’s Rick now?” Beatrice asked as she fingered a particularly fragrant bar of orange clove soap.

“Oh he lives with his mom out on Falls Road. She helps him with his daughter. He drives a school bus but he must have another source of revenue. Everyone knows that girl always has more toys than she can use. And he drives a brand new car. Sound suspicious to you?”

Beatrice contented herself with a non-committal “hmm” and exchanged email addresses with her new friend. She then went in search of Matthew and Zoe, who were watching the oxen pull.

Zoe was cheering on the losing team and Mathew was trying to pump her for information about her new boyfriend. Beatrice dragged Matthew aside on the pretext that they both needed lobster which, after the turkey legs they had already eaten, would have truly been an indulgence.

“Tony has a brother with a daughter the same age,” she hissed. “What if the toy we found was hers? Maybe Lucky was trying to tell us that it’s his
brother
who’s taken over extorting Nate?”

Matthew put on his very best ‘I’m going to humor you’ face. “Uh yes, that could be right.”

But Beatrice was too distracted to respond. “Oh my God,” she said slowly. “Where are the cats?”

8

The answer should have been obvious: the cats were by the food. It didn’t take long for the two of them to find Hamish and Lucky looking starry eyed over by the lobster and chicken tent, which is where their humans were supposed to be anyway.

The cats already had two super fans in the form of Bridget and Anne, who were manning the grills and somehow simultaneously feeding the two animals a glutton’s worth of tender chicken pieces. Hamish looked a little drunk and Lucky seemed ready to pass out, which made it nearly impossible to herd them towards the car.

Matthew and Beatrice ended up carrying a cat each. Both animals struggled as if their life depended on being closer to the source of limitless chicken. Thankfully, their humans had ample practice holding onto ornery cats. They rounded up Zoe and got back in the car.