Блейз Клемент - Even Cat Sitters Get The Blues

Available from St. Martin’s Press

Praise for BLAIZE CLEMENT and DUPLICITY DOGGED THE DACHSHUND

“Fast-paced …the canine caper crowd will enjoy Florida’s leading pet-sitter.”

—Midwest Book Review

“Clement’s fast-paced sophomore effort…builds suspense and delivers startling revelations.”

—Publishers Weekly

“A fast-paced novel, an intriguing plot. Clement also infuses this entertaining story with a thoughtful meditation on death, survival, and moving on. It’s a lesson the animals in our lives already know.”

—Richmond Times-Dispatch

“Don’t let the cutesy title fool you. This isn’t one of those lightweight, frothy ‘fun with animals’ stories … . It’s tough, gritty, and edgy. One of the strongest points of Clement’s work is her knack for building suspense slowly but steadily, to the point where you have no idea what peril might be lurking just around the bend.”

—Sarasota Herald-Tribune

“Clement uses the animals in Dixie’s care…to enrich her plot, creating in the process an entertaining cozy, one of the few set in South Florida, land of noir.”

—Booklist

CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT SITTER

“A knockout read … for anyone who loves mysteries, animals, or just plain great writing.”

—Laurien Berenson,

author of Doggie Day Care Murder

“Clement’s assured cozy debut introduces an appealing heroine.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Impressive…a sure keeper, with well-developed characters, seamless prose, and a winning plot…[a] commendable new series.”

—Mystery Lovers.com

“A first-rate debut.”

—Booklist

“Entertaining … Dixie is a complex, well-conceived character and the plot fast-moving and believable.”

—Kirkus Reviews

“At once a cozy mystery for animal lovers and a jarringly earthy hard-boiled whodunit about human corruption. Clement’s sleuth, Florida pet-sitter Dixie Hemingway, is an engaging combination of vulnerability and toughness, but the real heroine of the story is a gritty Abyssinian cat. A good read!”

—Susan Conant, author of All Shots

and the Holly Winter Dog Lover’s Mysteries

“Kick off your flip-flops, find a hammock, and settle in for a fun read. Clement’s Floridian heroine, Dixie Hemingway, spouts laugh-out-loud one-liners and words of wisdom in this intriguing whodunit filled with twists, turns, and some pretty captivating critters!”

—Cynthia Baxter, author of

Monkey See, Monkey Die

“Funny, engaging, and true to life.”

—Lee Charles Kelly,

author of Like a Dog with a Bone

“ Curiosity Killed the Cat Sitter has it all: a feisty heroine, lovable animals, and a solid whodunit. What more could you ask for?”

—Barbara Seranella,

creator of the Munch Mancini crime novels

“A keeper, with its plucky protagonist, cats galore, and a nice sense of place.”

—Library Journal

Keep reading for a sneak peek

at BLAIZE CLEMENT’s next

Dixie Hemingway mystery

CAT SITTER ON A HOT TIN ROOF

Coming soon in hardcover

from St. Martin’s Minotaur

It was early April, about nine o’clock in the morning, when I first met Laura Halston. Well, I didn’t exactly meet her. It was more that I almost ran her down.

I was easing my Bronco around a curve on the single narrow lane in Fish Hawk Lagoon, a heavily wooded area on the north end of Siesta Key. Driving there is like going through a tunnel cut in a mountain. Towering oaks meet overhead to block out the sky, and one side of the meandering street is edged with wildly growing bougainvillea, sea grape, potato vine, and practically every known variety of palm and pine. On the other side, a manicured hibiscus hedge screens a jogging path so nobody can see rich runners sweat.

As I rounded a curve, a woman in running gear leaped into the street from the wooded side and raced toward the hibiscus hedge. If I’d been going a nanosecond faster I would have hit her. I came to a jolting stop as she turned her head, and for a second I saw stark terror in her eyes. At the curb, she swooped in a graceful arc and picked up a dark brown cat with a long lashing tail. Holding the cat firmly in her arms, she pulled iPod wires from her ears and turned toward me in fury.

“Idiot! Bitch! You nearly hit me!”

I don’t take kindly to being called an idiot or a bitch, especially by a woman who looked like she had an IQ smaller than her size-zero waist. She was about my age, which is thirty-two, and I pegged her as either a runway model or a rich man’s trifle. Like the cat, she was an exquisite creature, but her beauty seemed accidental, an unplanned coming together of parts that shouldn’t have fit but did. Almost albino pale, she was fine-boned and slim, with tousled white-blond hair cut high at the back of her neck and flopping over eyebrows too thick, too dark, too crude. Her eyes were like jade stones set too far apart, her nose was a fraction too long and thin, her chin too pointed. She should not have been beautiful, but she was. She also had the snottiness of a woman accustomed to getting anything she wanted because she was beautiful.

With what I thought was remarkable restraint, I said, “Here’s a hot tip: the best way to avoid being hit by a car is to avoid jumping in front of one.”

Twin patches of pink outrage gave her pale face some color. “How could I know you were there? I couldn’t hear you! You’re sneaking around in a … in a stealth car! What are you doing here, anyway? These are private streets!”

I could hear faint music from her dangling iPod earbuds. I was pretty sure it was Pink, so my estimation of her went up a few notches.

I said, “Maybe if you weren’t listening to music, you could hear better. That’s Pink’s latest cut, isn’t it?”

She looked surprised. Her mouth got ready to say something mean and then changed its mind.

I said, “Look, I’m sorry I startled you. I’m Dixie Hemingway. I’m a pet sitter. I have a client in the neighborhood.”

Her face relaxed a bit, but she didn’t seem the type to apologize for being rude.

I said, “That’s a gorgeous cat. Havana Brown?”

It was the magic phrase. Pet owners melt like bubblegum on a hot sidewalk when you compliment their babies.

She said, “His name is Leo. An old boyfriend gave him to me, only he called him Cohiba, for the cigars. Dumb, huh? What cat’s gonna come when you say, ‘Here, Cohiba’? I changed it right away. He hates being cooped up in the house. Well, so do I, to tell the truth. Anyway, when I opened the door to go running, he ran out with me. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to catch him, so I guess I should thank you for scaring him so he stopped.”

The transformation from fury to friendly had happened so fast it was like watching a cartoon. When she wasn’t angry, her eyes sparkled with energy and she spoke in a breathless rush, as if she had so much to say that she was afraid she’d never get it all said.

Now that I had complimented her cat and apologized for almost running her down, and she had introduced the cat and sort of exonerated me because I’d made him stop so she could catch him, there wasn’t much else to talk about.

I said, “I’m glad you caught him,” and edged on past her.

She raised her hand in a hesitant half-wave, and in the rearview mirror, I could see her watching when I turned into my client’s driveway.

Like I said, I’m Dixie Hemingway, no relation to you-know-who. I’m a pet sitter on Siesta Key, which, like Casey Key, Bird Key, Lido Key and Longboat Key, forms a narrow barrier between the Gulf of Mexico and Sarasota, Florida. Officially, Siesta Key is part of the city of Sarasota, but when you get right down to it, we’re not part of anything but ourselves. Our function is to absorb the fury of storms so they weaken a little bit before they hit the mainland. In exchange, we get sea breezes, a direct view of spectacular sunsets, and annual hikes in storm insurance rates that keep our blood circulating nicely.