Софи Келли - A Case Of Cat And Mouse

TITLES BY SOFIE KELLY

curiosity thrilled the cat

sleight of paw

copycat killing

cat trick

final catcall

a midwinter’s tail

faux paw

paws and effect

a tale of two kitties

the cats came back

a night’s tail

a case of cat and mouse

BERKLEY PRIME CRIME

Published by Berkley

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

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Copyright © 2020 by Penguin Random House LLC

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Kelly, Sofie, 1958– author.

Title: A case of cat and mouse: a magical cat mystery / Sofie Kelly.

Description: First Edition. | New York: Berkley Prime Crime, 2020. |

Series: Magical cats; 12

Identifiers: LCCN 2020010635 (print) | LCCN 2020010636 (ebook) |

ISBN 9780440001164 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780440001188 (ebook)

Subjects: GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

Classification: LCC PR9199.4.K453 C37 2020 (print) | LCC PR9199.4.K453 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020010635

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020010636

Cover art by Tristian Elwell

Cover design by Rita Frangie

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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contents

Cover

Titles by Sofie Kelly

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Acknowledgments

About the Author

chapter 1

Dead?” Rebecca asked.

I sighed. “I’m sorry. Yes.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” She looked glum, which was surprising because Rebecca was a very positive person in general, and the dead thing we were looking at was a glass bowl filled with an inactive sourdough starter.

“How long have you had it?” I asked. Rebecca had been baking since she was a girl, so her starter was likely years old.

Two splotches of pink appeared on her cheeks and she ducked her head. “Less than a month.”

“Oh,” I said. That was a surprise.

Her blue eyes met mine. “Kathleen, when it comes to starters, I have to confess that I’m the kiss of death.”

I smiled. “I find that hard to believe. You’re a very good cook. No one makes piecrust as flaky as yours.”

“Well, I do like to feed people,” she said.

I glanced over my shoulder at my two cats, Owen and Hercules, sitting by the chrome kitchen table, their gaze fixed on Rebecca. “And cats,” I teased.

Rebecca smiled. She kept Owen supplied with yellow catnip chickens and Hercules with tiny organic kitty crackers. They both adored her. “It seems feeding is the problem. According to Eric, I’ve been overfeeding my starter.”

Eric was Eric Cullen. He owned a diner downtown, near the waterfront.

“Where did this one come from?” I picked up the bowl and gave the contents a swirl. It was an odd, unappetizing shade of pink and it had a funky smell of decay that just confirmed what my eyes were telling me.

“Eric gave it to me,” Rebecca said. She took the dish out of my hands and poured it down the sink.

“Well, I’m sure he would be happy to get you started again,” I said.

Eric wasn’t just a great cook, he was also a very generous person, quick to offer his time and talents to his friends and to the community.

Color flooded Rebecca’s face a second time. “I really don’t feel I can ask him again. The third time may be the charm, as my mother used to say, but I think the fourth time would be just making a pest of myself.” She rinsed the bowl and set it on the counter. Then she dried her hands and turned to face me. “I don’t just need a bit of starter to get one of my own growing again. I need a lot. I need enough to bake with. I may have inherited my mother’s love of feeding people, but I didn’t get her way with a sourdough loaf. I need to practice my bread at least a couple more times. And I have to leave some free time because we’re filming promos this afternoon.”

Rebecca was one of the contestants on the revival of the television show The Great Northern Baking Showdown . Filming for the first season had begun here in town in April. Six episodes had been completed and there were just four more left to film. Mayville Heights had been chosen, among other reasons, because the show’s executive producer, Elias Braeden, who had bought the rights to the show, was from this part of Minnesota. And he knew it would be very affordable to film here. Rumor had it that a major network and at least one streaming service were interested in the show, but as far as I knew it hadn’t been sold to any outlet yet, so the filming budget was tight. Participants on the show came from Minnesota, Wisconsin and Illinois. Rebecca and artist Ray Nightingale were the only local contestants. They had won their places in a regional event.

No one had been surprised when Rebecca was among the top three in the area competition. Anyone who had ever had a slice of one of her blueberry pies or a bite of her pumpkin spice donuts—which was pretty much everyone in town—knew she was a talented baker.

Ray Nightingale also making it onto the show was much more unexpected. Ray was an artist who created elaborate ink drawings that were a cross between a mosaic and a Where’s Waldo? illustration. They featured a small rubber duck named Bo who always wore a fedora and black-framed sunglasses. No one had had any hint that Ray even knew the difference between shortbread and puff pastry or how to make a croquembouche. He and Rebecca had become fast friends once they’d won their places on the show.

“Well, what about Ray? He might have some starter,” I suggested.

Rebecca made a face. “I’m sure he’d want to help,” she said. “But he needs to practice just as much as I do. He’ll need every bit of his own starter.”

Rebecca’s goal was to finish in the top three once again. There would be a three-minute profile on each of the finalists at the beginning of the finale episode of the show. She was hoping to focus as much attention as she could on Mayville Heights during her segment.

Like a lot of small places, the town’s economy depended on tourists who enjoyed our quieter pace of life and the gorgeous scenery. In some ways the town hadn’t changed that much in the past hundred years or so. That was part of its charm. From the St. James Hotel you could still watch the boats and barges go by the way they had a century ago. You could still climb to the top of Wild Rose Bluff for a spectacular view of the water.

Aside from some shots of the Riverwalk, the Stratton Theatre and the gazebo at the back of the library that were used in the opening credits, Mayville Heights hadn’t been mentioned much at all in the show up to now. The spotlight was on the competition and the bakers.