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Софи Райан: The Whole Cat Аnd Caboodle

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Софи Райан The Whole Cat Аnd Caboodle

The Whole Cat Аnd Caboodle: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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Sarah Grayson is the happy proprietor of Second Chance, a charming shop in the oceanfront town of North Harbor, Maine. At the shop, she sells used items that she has lovingly refurbished and repurposed. But her favorite pet project so far has been adopting a stray cat she names Elvis. Elvis has seen nine lives—and then some. The big black cat with a scar across his nose turned up at a local bar when the band was playing the King of Rock and Roll’s music and hopped in Sarah’s truck. Since then, he has been her constant companion and the furry favorite of everyone who comes into the store. And a helpful sleuth to boot! When Sarah’s elderly friend Maddie is found with the body of a dead man in her garden, the kindly old lady becomes the prime suspect in the murder. Even Sarah’s old high school flame, investigator Nick Elliot, seems convinced that Maddie was up to no good. So it’s up to Sarah and Elvis to clear her friend’s name and make sure the real murderer doesn’t get a second chance.

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The ladies were eager to learn. I explained how to make the color wash by diluting the paint. Then we tested the depth of the color on some scrap wood. We got started by dipping the legs—which I’d detached from the underside of each little table—using a brush to pull the color upward and create a faded effect.

I was glad I’d brought Avery along. She had a great eye for color, she didn’t mind getting her hands dirty and she might have had an opinion on well, pretty much everything, but a lot of her insights were dead-on. Elvis stayed on his seat, watching intently but happy to be away from the paint.

The hour-long class was over before I knew it. A couple of times I couldn’t help glancing over at the door from the hall, hoping Maddie might show up late, but she didn’t.

When the class ended, Avery helped me pack everything and prop up the color-washed table pieces so that they weren’t lying on the drop cloths as the paint finished drying. There was nothing happening in the room for the rest of the day, so we’d be able to pick up the completely dry tables in the morning and the ladies could retrieve them from the shop later in the week. We carried the rest of our supplies back out to the truck. Mr. P., whose posing duties had ended at the same time as the workshop, held open the door to the parking lot. The only spot I’d been able to find was at the far end of the space—the parking area of the office building next door was being paved and their clients were using the Legacy Place lot—so I tried to carry as much as I could in each trip.

Once everything was loaded, Avery left with her grandmother. I could hear the two of them arguing about what they were going to have for supper. Liz wanted to order a pizza and Avery seemed to be making the case for fermented vegetables.

I walked back to the building. I’d found a heavy canvas tote in the truck that I used at the market and it was over my shoulder, Elvis’s head poking out of the top. Mr. P. held the door for me. “Thank you,” I said. “That was the last load.”

He smiled. “You’re welcome, my dear.” He reached over and stroked the top of the cat’s head. Then he pulled a tiny spiral notebook and an equally tiny pencil out of his pocket. He tore a page out of the book and offered it and the pencil to me.

“What’s this for?” I asked.

“You’ve been repeating the same three names under your breath. Why don’t you write them down?”

I felt my cheeks get warm. “Thank you,” I said. “They all wanted me to say hello to Gram next time I speak to her and I was afraid that I’d forget somebody’s name. I hadn’t realized that I was talking out loud.”

My grandmother was somewhere on the Atlantic Canadian coast with her new husband, John, in an RV that wasn’t much bigger than a minivan. John looked like he could be actor Gary Oldman’s older brother. He had the same brown hair, streaked with gray, waving back from his face, and the same intriguing gleam in his eyes. There were thirteen years between them, which had raised some eyebrows, but Gram didn’t seem anywhere near her seventy-three years and, even more importantly, she didn’t care what other people thought.

I took the pencil and paper from Mr. P. and scribbled down the three women’s names before I forgot them.

“At your age when you talk to yourself it’s charming,” Mr. P. said. “When you do it at my age they start asking if you eat enough roughage, and watch to make sure you’re not wearing your underwear on the outside.” He hiked up his pants and gave me a wink and a smile. “Sometimes I do, just to mess with people.”

I watched him head down the hallway, nodding at Charlotte as she came from the kitchen. I wasn’t sure if the old man might have been messing with me.

Charlotte smiled as she walked up to me. Like Mr. P., she reached over to pet the top of Elvis’s head. “The class was lovely, Sarah. Thank you. I know Isabel roped you into it.”

“It was fun,” I said, taking the fabric tote she was carrying. “Is this everything?”

She glanced in the top of her bag and then nodded.

“Where could I drop you?”

“Oh, I don’t mind walking,” she said as we started across the parking lot. “I don’t have that far to go,” she pointed at the carryall, “and my bag’s not that heavy.”

I pulled my keys out of my pocket. “I have time.”

Charlotte’s glasses had slid down her nose, and she frowned at me over the top of them. “Thank you, dear, but I’m perfectly capable of getting an empty cookie can and a canister of tea bags home.”

“I know that,” I said. “I also know that no matter what you said, you’re worried because Maddie didn’t show up and you plan on going to check on her. I thought maybe I could go with you.”

She fingered one of the buttons on her rose-colored sweater. “I know I’m being an old worrywart. It’s just not like Maddie to not call if she wasn’t coming.”

My mother had always told me to trust my instincts. Now I was wishing I’d paid more attention to the funny feeling I’d had about Arthur Fenety and at least asked Sam if he’d heard anything about the man. Because he owned The Black Bear, Sam knew pretty much everything that was happening in North Harbor. Maddie had been a nurse and she was one of the most responsible people I’d ever met. I wasn’t going to ignore my gut feeling again.

“You’re not being an old worrywart,” I said. “I want to check on Maddie, too. We might as well go together.”

Charlotte patted my arm. “All right, let’s go see what’s going on.”

“Does she still live at the end of your street?” I asked as I slid onto the front seat of the truck. I set Elvis down and he settled himself in the middle, between us.

She nodded. “Oh yes. That house has been in her family for close to a hundred years. I can’t see her selling it.”

In North Harbor a hundred years didn’t really make a house that old. There were lots of buildings that dated back to the late 1700s and early 1800s.

Charlotte fastened her seat belt and reached over to give Elvis a scratch under his chin. “We’re probably worrying about nothing.”

“Probably,” I agreed. “But it doesn’t hurt to check.” Once we got there I’d decide how to sound Maddie out about Arthur Fenety.

I backed out of my parking spot, made a tight turn in the tiny lot and pulled out onto the street.

“You drive like your grandmother,” Charlotte said, folding her hands in her lap. Elvis was looking straight ahead out the windshield.

“That’s probably because she’s the one who taught me how to drive,” I said. “Do you remember that old one-ton truck she had? She called it Rex.”

“Heavens, yes,” Charlotte said, with a shake of her head. “Don’t tell me she taught you how to drive on that old rust bucket.”

“She did,” I said, grinning at the memory of being behind the wheel of the old green truck for the first time, front seat squeaking as we bounced down a pothole-pocked dirt road just on the outskirts of town. “Liam took driver’s ed, but the class was the same time as honors math, so I was going to have to wait an entire term to learn to drive. I didn’t want him to get his license months before I did.”

There’s only a month between my brother—well, strictly speaking, my stepbrother—Liam and me. My mom and his dad had gotten married when we were in second grade. One moment he’d be a pain-in-the-butt, overprotective big brother, making it pretty much impossible for me to date anyone, and in the next he was covering for me when I set the vacuum cleaner on fire. (Another long story.)

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Charlotte shoot me a skeptical look. “Your mother agreed to let Isabel teach you how to drive?”

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