Софи Райан - A Whisker Оf Trouble

We decided to celebrate the next night down at Sam’s for Thursday night jam. There was a lot of good news to celebrate. I’d called Skye back and the benefit concert to raise the money for Ellie’s surgery was back on. Channing Caulfield had set up an account to administer the funds. The Marklin model train hadn’t been put up for auction after all. Caulfield and Stella had come to some sort of private agreement and the former bank manager had made a very generous donation to the account.

The police were satisfied that Ellie had known nothing about what Ethan had done. In fact, she’d been going to leave Ethan just before his father died, but he’d threatened to go after custody of the children if she did—he liked the image of loving son and husband he’d projected and he was afraid his father would change his will and leave everything to his grandchildren if Ethan and Ellie divorced.

She was a little shaken by everything that had happened, but she was strong and determined and I really felt she’d be all right. Stella was moving in to help with the kids for a while.

And it turned out that Edison Hall had made a new will. Elvis unearthed it at the house hidden on the sideboard he’d used as his launch pad when he attacked Ethan. Edison hadn’t spent all his savings on his wine collection after all. It turned out he had bought stock in several banks and utility companies over a long period of time. He’d put everything in a trust for Ellie and the children. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it would give her something every month she could count on.

Elvis had just gotten settled in his chair in anticipation of Jeopardy! when I heard a knock on my door. Liam was driving us to Sam’s. “He’s early,” I said to Elvis. I reached down and stroked the top of his head. He smiled at me and turned back to the TV. He’d received so many cans of sardines for his “act of bravery” that I wouldn’t have to buy him any for at least a month.

When I opened the door, it wasn’t Liam standing there; it was Nick. “Hi,” I said.

He smiled at me. “Hi, Liam said I could catch a ride with you two.”

“Let me get my jacket and I’m ready.” Nick had stopped in twice and called me twice in the last twenty-four hours. I wasn’t exactly sure how to react.

He caught my arm. “Hang on a second,” he said. He handed me a paper shopping bag.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Look inside.”

Inside the bag were a long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of running shorts. I pulled out the shorts. “Uh, thank you,” I said. “But these are a bit too big for me.”

“That’s because they’re for me.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“Name the time and the place and I’ll going running with you.” He smiled. “And my favorite meal is chicken pot pie, which by the way you need to be able to make gravy for.”

I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there staring at him.

“This is where you kiss me,” he said, taking a step closer to me.

“Are you sure?” I asked, realizing how lame the words were as soon as they were out.

“Positive,” he said.

So what else could I do?

I kissed him.

Love Elvis the cat? Then meet Hercules and Owen! Read on for an excerpt of the first book in the Magical Cat series.

CURIOSITY THRILLED THE CAT

by Sofie Kelly

Available now from Obsidian.

Chapter 1

Slant Flying

The body was smack in the middle of my freshly scrubbed kitchen floor. Fred the Funky Chicken, minus his head.

“Owen!” I said, sharply.

Nothing.

“Owen, you little fur ball, I know you did this. Where are you?”

There was a muffled “meow” from the back door. I leaned around the cupboards. Owen was sprawled on his back in front of the screen door, a neon yellow feather sticking out of his mouth. He rolled over onto his side and looked at me with the same goofy expression I used to get from stoned students coming into the BU library.

I crouched down next to the gray-and-white tabby. “Owen, you killed Fred,” I said. “That’s the third chicken this week.”

The cat sat up slowly and stretched. He padded over to me and put one paw on my knee. Tipping his head to one side he looked up at me with his golden eyes. I sat back against the end of the cupboard. Owen climbed onto my lap and put his two front paws on my chest. The feather was still sticking out of his mouth.

I held out my right hand. “Give me Fred’s head,” I said. The cat looked at me unblinkingly. “C’mon, Owen. Spit it out.”

He turned his head sideways and dropped what was left of Fred the Funky Chicken’s head into my hand. It was a soggy lump of cotton with that lone yellow feather stuck on the end.

“You have a problem, Owen,” I told the cat. “You have a monkey on your back.” I dropped what was left of the toy’s head onto the floor and wiped my hand on my gray yoga pants. “Or maybe I should say you have a chicken on your back.”

The cat nuzzled my chin, then laid his head against my T-shirt, closed his eyes and started to purr.

I stroked the top of his head. “That’s what they all say,” I told him. “You’re addicted, you little fur ball, and Rebecca is your dealer.”

Owen just kept on purring and ignored me. Hercules came around the corner then. “Your brother is a catnip junkie,” I said to the little tuxedo cat.

Hercules climbed over my legs and sniffed the remains of Fred the Funky Chicken’s head. Then he looked at Owen, rumbling like a diesel engine as I scratched the side of his head. I swear there was disdain on Hercules’ furry face. Stick catnip in, on or near anything and Owen squirmed with joy. Hercules, on the other hand, was indifferent.

The stocky black-and-white cat climbed onto my lap, too. He put one white paw on my shoulder and swatted at my hair.

“Behind the ear?” I asked.

“Meow,” the cat said.

I took that as a yes, and tucked the strands back behind my ear. I was used to long hair, but I’d cut mine several months ago. I was still adjusting to the change in style. At least I hadn’t given in to the impulse to dye my dark brown hair blond.

“Maybe I’ll ask Rebecca if she has any ideas for my hair,” I said. “She’s supposed to be back tonight.” At the sound of Rebecca’s name Owen lifted his head. He’d taken to Rebecca from the first moment he’d seen her, about two weeks after I’d brought the cats home.

Both Owen and Hercules had been feral kittens. I’d found them, or more truthfully they’d found me, about a month after I’d arrived in town. I had no idea how old they were. They were affectionate with me, but wouldn’t allow anyone else to come near them, let alone touch them. That hadn’t stopped Rebecca, my backyard neighbor, from trying. She’d been buying both cats little catnip toys for weeks now, but all she’d done was turn Owen into a chicken-decapitating catnip junkie. She was on vacation right now, but Owen had clearly managed to unearth a chicken from a secret stash somewhere.

I stroked the top of his head again. “Go back to sleep,” I said. “You’re going cold turkey . . . or maybe I should say cold chicken. I’m telling Rebecca no more catnip toys for you. You’re getting lazy.”

Owen put his head down again, while Hercules used his to butt my free hand. “You want some attention, too?” I asked. I scratched the spot, almost at the top of his head, where the white fur around his mouth and up the bridge of his nose gave way to black. His green eyes narrowed to slits and he began to purr, as well. The rumbling was kind of like being in the service bay of a Volkswagen dealership.

I glanced up at the clock. “Okay, you two. Let me up. It’s almost time for me to go and I have to take care of the dearly departed before I do.”