In this third installment of the Cat Collier Mystery series, after escaping from captivity in an abandoned train car, Cat stumbles upon a homeless man at the long deserted train station, who helps her get home to Carter. Detrick discovers he knows this homeless man as the one-time legendary saxophone player who played in the downstairs bar when they were both young and the family embarks on rehabilitating the sax player and reopening the bar, “The Blues.”
Here is an excerpt:
March Blues
A Cat Collier Mystery
My name is Cat Collier. I run a research service called Red Cat Investigation. I have an office in Palazzo Castellano, the gorgeous Gothic architectural masterpiece in the center of Heaton Valley, Ohio. My office adjoins the office of Attorney Erick Carter Larsen, my incredibly sweet, handsome boyfriend. His newly found millionaire father is bankrolling us. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.
Mostly I do online research for private citizens of Heaton Valley. Now, you might not believe this, but privacy is a thing of the past. Death certificates, birth certificates, and real estate appraisals are all public record. Credit scores, bank account balances, and employment records are a little harder, but not much. Social media is a treasure trove of free and easily accessible information about relationships, new babies, new jobs, and current location. Friends of mutual friends can yield a ton of sought-after data. With an Internet connection, a little luck, and minimal hacking skills, I can find out almost anything without leaving the comfort and safety of my lovely new office.
Mostly. But sometimes I have to do a more physical kind of investigating.
“Hey, Nola,” I phoned my secretary, “I’m tailing the same white unmarked full-size Chevy van that picked up Lark Fairpoint, Case #7, three hours ago at the corner of Sinclair Street and Fifth Avenue. 2013 Express model, Ohio license plate number M 1538 C,” I said as I whizzed down Route 169. It felt good having someone I could check in with, someone who would know what I’ve been up to and my last known location. I found the private investigation business attracted some pretty shady characters.
“Okay, got it,” said Nola. “Do you need back-up?”
“No. I don’t see anything suspicious. They stopped at McDonald’s drive through, then went to Dunkin’ Donuts. Lark may simply be on a mindless eating binge or skipping school to hang out with her friends at the mall. That seems to be where they’re heading now. Did you ever do that as a kid?”
“Me? No. My mother would have killed me, revived me, and killed me again. Did you?”
“No. I liked school. What are you doing?
“I’m supervising Detrick while he does his leg strengthening exercises,” answered Nola.
“Hello, Cat,” yelled Detrick in the background.
“And he’s doing very well,” added Nola. “And Carter’s making ham and scalloped potatoes. The aroma coming from the kitchen is making us crazy, so don’t be late for lunch.”
“I won’t. See you soon.”
The van stopped abruptly and four people dressed in black wearing ski masks jumped out of the van and ran into The Big Cheese Pizza Shop on Route 169.
Crap! My sweet little schoolgirl is robbing a pizza shop. I tapped some numbers into my cell phone.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Don’t you have someone else to bother? You won’t be happy until you get my ass fired. I’m already in enough trouble over you, Cat. What the hell do you want from me this time?” shouted Officer Kiernan Scott of the Heaton Valley Police Department.
I hung up. Scotty’s verbal barrage snapped me back to reality. Marina Fairpoint hired me to find out why her normally happy, pleasant, smart teenage daughter had suddenly become distant and moody with plummeting grades, not get her arrested and ruin her chances of ever becoming the president of the United States.
I snapped some photos as the foursome ran back to the van. I noticed all four were tall, husky body types, not petite like Lark. The van roared down the street, turned down a side street, and pulled into a driveway. I passed the driveway just as the garage door came down. I snapped more photos.
I hung around at the Burger King on the corner, where I had a clean sight of the driveway while I read about the latest innovations in water treatment facilities in Denmark. Two hours and four cups of coffee later, the white van slowly backed out of the driveway and made its way to the mall while I followed a few car lengths behind.
The driver parked the van near the main concourse door and seven people got out, four big, husky boys and three girls. I spotted Lark holding hands with one of the boys as they entered the mall.
I checked my watch. One thirty. Wow, this little girl had an exciting day. Start off at McDonald’s, then have a doughnut, be implicated in a pizza shop heist, and go to the mall.
I drove my falling apart 2009 red Chevy Cruze back to the Palazzo Castellano Hotel, parked in the private underground parking facility, and rode the elevator up to my office on the eighth floor. My secretary was nowhere to be found. I typed up a few notes on the events of the day. I cropped and balanced the light and color in the photos I took at the crime scene on my phone, while still keeping the originals in case I needed to check them for detail.
Now what?
Time for ham and scalloped potatoes, I guess.
I locked up my office, went downstairs, crossed the main lobby, and rode the private elevator up to the penthouse apartment.
“There she is! Hello, sweetie,” Carter said as he scooped me up into hug and covered my neck with noisy kisses. “Busy morning?”
“Yes,” I said as I kissed him, thinking how lucky I was to have this sweet, handsome hunk in my life “and I think I need your advice on a legal matter.”
“Dinner’s ready. Let’s eat,” said Carter. “I can advise you while we eat.”
As if being a tall, handsome, kind, intelligent, and loving human being wasn’t enough for this small-town redhead, Erick Carter Larsen has proven himself to be an outstanding and willing cook.
“Now, tell me what happened morning,” Carter said when we passed serving plates around the table.
“A mother hired me to find out why her normally sweet and pleasant teenaged daughter turned into a beast at home. I tailed her for three days, nothing. Then today, instead of walking to school, she got into a van on the corner. A few hours later, four people who were in that van with her robbed the Big Cheese Pizza Shop.”
“While you were following her? Did you call the police?” asked Carter.
“Kind of.” I stared at my scalloped potatoes.
“Cat, it is your duty to call the police when you witness a crime. You know that,” said Detrick, Carter’s father and also a lawyer.
“Yes, but this mother hired me to help her daughter, not get her arrested.”
“You said…kind of,” Carter zeroed in on my words.
“Yes. I called Scotty. He yelled and swore at me, so I hung up on him.”
Carter giggled. “I know he’s your high school friend and you’re loyal to a fault, but honestly sweetie, Kiernan Scott’s not a very smart man.”
“You don’t need to be smart to be my friend.” I stuck out my chin.
Nola raised her hand. “I can attest to that.” She winked at me.
We all laughed and my momentary lapse of judgment was forgotten while we finished an especially delicious dinner, followed by coffee in the living room with discussion of the day’s news and upcoming election battles.
Hours later Detrick, Nola, and Fred took the elevator to their apartments on the eighth floor.
Carter and I snuggled on the couch.
“Want me to light a fire in the fireplace?”
“No.”
“Want to finish off that bottle of Chateau Giant Eagle?”
“No,” I laughed.
“Well, then, what do you want to do? Hmm?” He played with my hair. “Hmmm?”
“I want to talk.”
“Okay.” I heard him sigh. “The case?”
“Yes. Where do my responsibilities lie?”
“Oh, sweetie, you need to talk to Dete if you want to discuss blurred lines and picking and choosing which moral obligations to abide by. You know I’m by the book.”
“I know. You’ve never crossed the line, Carter?”
“Yes, just once.” He pulled away from me ever so slightly. “To protect a loved one. And no, I don’t want to share the details with you. Maybe some other time.”
“When?”
“When you’re old and gray and using a walker so that you can’t run away from me.”
I laughed. “I’ll never run away from you. I know you. I know whatever you did, you did it out of love. And that’s okay with me.”
“I may ask for that in writing someday. Okay, Chateau Giant Eagle coming right up.”
He went to the refrigerator and returned with the bottle of wine.
“Wine glasses or straws?”
“Bad day, honey?”
“No. Truth?” He got two glasses from the bar.
“Always,” I answered.
“I’m more than a little concerned about your new line of work. You’re putting yourself in dangerous situations. And that scares me.”
“You liked it better when my cases revolved around lost pets and missing luggage?”
“Yes. I also liked it better when you wrote obituaries for people who liked to bowl, crochet, and play bingo on Friday night in the church hall. You are very talented. You have an office, a great computer system, and a competent secretary. You don’t need to work to pay your bills. I’ll take care of everything. Have you given any thought to writing a book? Or an eBook? I hear it’s pretty easy to self-publish these days.”
“You mean like, ‘Her soft, milky white hands caressed his member until a deep moan resonated in his chest’?”
“Yes, exactly. I think you’d be good at it,” he nodded.
“No. I like what I’m doing.” I pulled away and pouted.
Carter eased over next to me. “I’ll support your decision to do whatever you want, whatever makes you happy. But, sweetie, you can’t blame me for worrying about your safety.”
“I was following a fifteen-year-old girl who I thought maybe might buy some weed from a guy in a parking lot at worst. I certainly didn’t expect her to be an accessory to robbery. What else is bothering you?”
“Kiernan Scott.”
“Scotty? Why?”
“You called him for help. Not me.”
“Here we go again! I witnessed a crime. He’s a policeman. Kiernan Scott on his best day doesn’t even come close to the man you are. I love you, Carter. There are days I don’t even like Scotty. Like today.”
“Let’s not argue,” pleaded Carter. “Want to caress my member?”