Лори Касс - Cat With A Clue

Praise for the National Bestselling Bookmobile Cat Mysteries

“Charming. . . . Librarian Minnie Hamilton is kindhearted, loyal, and resourceful. And her furry sidekick, Eddie, is equal parts charm and cat-titude. Fans of cozy mysteries—and cats—will want to add this series to their must-read lists.”

— New York Times bestselling author Sofie Kelly

“With humor and panache, Cass delivers an intriguing mystery and interesting characters.”

— Bristol Herald Courier (VA)

“A pleasurable, funny read. Minnie is a delight as a heroine, and Eddie could make even a staunch dog lover more of a cat fan.”

— RT Book Reviews

“Charms with a likable heroine, [a] feisty and opinionated cat, and multidimensional small-town characters.”

—Kings River Life Magazine

“Almost impossible to put down . . . the story is filled with humor and warmth.”

—MyShelf.com

“[With] Eddie’s adorableness, penchant to try to get more snacks, and Minnie’s determination to solve the crime, this duo will win over even those that don’t like cats.”

—Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

Also by Laurie Cass

Lending a Paw

Tailing a Tabby

Borrowed Crime

Pouncing on Murder

OBSIDIAN

Published by New American Library,

an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

This book is an original publication of New American Library.

Copyright © Janet Koch, 2016

Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

Obsidian and the Obsidian colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

For more information about Penguin Random House, visit penguin.com.

eBook ISBN 9780698405509

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

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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Dedicated to the memory of Eddie, a cat for the ages,

April 1999–March 18, 2016.

We miss you, little buddy. We always will.

CONTENTS

Praise for the Bookmobile Cat Mysteries

Also by Laurie Cass

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

Excerpt

About the Author

Chapter 1

After almost thirty-four years of living, my most important discovery was that there are remarkably few things I absolutely had to do.

Yes, I had to feed and clothe and house myself, but besides those basics, there wasn’t much that couldn’t be put off for the sake of sitting for a few minutes in the morning sunshine, especially when said sunshine was smiling down on your very own houseboat, which was resting comfortably on the sparkling waters of a lovely blue lake that sat alongside Chilson, a picturesque town in northwest lower Michigan, which happened to be my favorite place in the whole world.

I lay flopped in my lounge chair, eyes closed and soaking up the sun, content with pretty much everything and everyone. Life was good, and there wasn’t much that could make it better, other than making this particular moment last longer. Peace and quiet reigned throughout my little land. Nothing I had to do that day was so important that a minor delay would matter much and—

“Mrr!”

Of course, my idea of what defined important didn’t always match my cat’s.

I opened my eyes and looked at Eddie, my black-and-white tabby, who was approximately three years old and who had placed his nose two inches from my face.

“You know,” I told him, “if you’d gone running with us, you wouldn’t have so much energy.”

For the past few weeks, I’d actually been exercising. Sweating, even. I’d been meaning to start something like this for a long time, but it had taken a number of gentle suggestions from Ash Wolverson, my new boyfriend, to get me to invest in some decent running shoes. A few more suggestions, and I’d started hauling myself out of bed early three times a week to run with him. Luckily, he swung by the marina four miles into his own run, so he’d already had a good workout by the time we got together.

“Think about it,” I said to Eddie. “You’ll sleep even better during the day.”

He blinked.

“Right.” I patted him on the head. “You never have trouble sleeping during the day. It’s the nights that are a problem. What do you think about going for a run in late afternoon?”

“Mrr.” Eddie pawed at yesterday’s newspaper, which was sitting on my lap. I’d stayed at the library late the night before and had been too tired to do anything except reread a chapter of 84, Charing Cross Road when I got home. Since my boss, Stephen Rangel, had left his job as director of the Chilson District Library, I was interim director until the library board hired someone. This was stretching me a little thin, because in addition to my normal duties as assistant director, I also drove the library’s bookmobile and was out of the building almost as much as I was in it.

“Which section do you want to hear first?” I asked, picking up the two-section paper.

“Sports, please,” said a male voice.

I looked over toward my right-hand marina neighbor. Eric Apney, a fortyish male with perpetually mussed brown hair and undeniable good looks, was sitting on the deck of his boat, eating a bowl of cereal while a mug of coffee steamed next to him.

My left-hand neighbors, Louisa and Ted Axford, had spent summers in the slip next to mine for years and would usually be in residence by now, but a new grandchild had captured their hearts, and Louisa had e-mailed me that they wouldn’t be up until mid-July.

Eric, who lived downstate but spent as much time in Chilson as he could, was new to Uncle Chip’s Marina. I’d met him a few weeks before and had turned down his invitation to dinner when I’d learned he was a doctor, and, worse, a surgeon. I’d recently dated an emergency-room doctor and had learned that with doctors, dates were things that were made to be broken. Maybe I was being prejudiced, but my reaction had been instant and instinctive.

Luckily, Eric hadn’t taken the rejection to heart. He’d laughed and said I was smart to stay away, and we were becoming good friends.

“Mrr,” Eddie said.

“What was that?” Eric’s spoon paused halfway up.

I looked at Eddie. “He’s tired of hearing about the lack of depth in the Tigers bullpen and would rather hear the law-enforcement report.”

In a lot of ways, marina life was like being in a campground. Your neighbors were mere feet away, and if the wind was calm, you practically heard them breathing. Politeness dictated that you didn’t mention how their snoring kept you awake, but it was hard to maintain the fiction that you didn’t know what the person on the boat next to you was saying while on his—or her—cell phone. From unintentional eavesdropping, I knew Eric was a huge baseball fan, just as he knew that I ordered take-out dinners more often than I cooked.