Meow If It's Murder (Nick and Nora Mysteries) by T.C. LoTempio Page A

just couldn’t put my finger on it. I gave him one last look from the doorway.
    “I won’t hold my breath for that call,” I muttered, and left.

NINE

    I drove back to Hot Bread, making one stop along the way. I parked in back of the store and let myself in through the rear entrance. I could hear the murmur of voices coming from the kitchen. Moving quietly, I went over to the door and pushed it ajar, stifling a laugh at the scene before me.
    Chantal hunkered over a squirming Nick, a rhinestone-studded bright fuchsia collar halfway around his neck. The cat’s fat belly shook as he fought to elude her grasp. He flopped over the edge of the counter and tried to run in the opposite direction. In one swift motion she grabbed him and pulled him back up onto the counter.
    I was impressed. I didn’t realize anyone, let alone Chantal, could move that fast in five-inch heels.
    “Goodness, Nicky,” she scolded, her finger slicing the air. “
Mon Dieu!
How do you expect to model for me when you won’t even try anything on!”
    Nick’s lips peeled back. “
Ffft!
” he growled.
    I pushed the door all the way open and came into the kitchen. “Hey, I’m back. Everything okay here?”
    Chantal brushed an errant black curl out of her eyes. “We are doing just fine, thanks. Getting acquainted. I finished cleaning up, so I thought I’d work on my new line of pet collars.” She threw Nicky a baleful glance. “He does not seem to like it much. He keeps trying to pull it off with his claws.”
    I looked at Nick, squatting there, the pink collar half on, half off his neck, and couldn’t resist a grin. He bared his fangs and hissed.
    As Chantal bent to remove the collar, I stuck my tongue out at him, then gave my friend’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Oh, I think he’d like it fine—maybe in black, though, with some flat, not so shiny stones?”
    Chantal considered this. She twined the pink collar between her fingers and held it up. “Too girly, huh?” she said at last.
    I turned my head in Nick’s direction and closed one eye. “Well . . . yeah. After all, Nick’s a macho cat.”
    She slapped the side of her head with her palm. “Oh, of course. How could I be so stupid? Of course he is a manly cat. He would not want to wear rhinestones around his neck.”
    “
Er-ow
,” Nick meowed from his place on the counter. Chantal’s head cocked to one side as she studied the cat. “Black would get lost against his fur,” she said at last. “We need a color that stands out—how about red?”
    I hefted him into my arms—geez, he seemed heavier than ever—and smiled at Chantal. “I don’t think he likes bright colors—how about navy blue?” I looked down at Nick as I said this. He hesitated, then purred loudly.
    “Hm.” Chantal swept her materials back into their linen bag. “That might work. Navy with clear stones. I’ll give that a try.” She slipped the bag into her tote, and then moved over to stand in front of Nick. She bent over and said in an apologetic tone, “Sorry, handsome. I did not mean to upset you.”
    Nick hung his head and meowed.
    I laughed. “And I think that’s about as much of an apology as you’re going to get.”
    Chantal gave Nick’s head a final pat, then moved toward the door, where she paused, hand on the knob. “How did your appointment go?”
    “It could have gone better, but okay.”
    Her eyes searched my face. “Is everything all right?”
    I set Nick back on the counter and brushed a stray curl out of my eyes. “Well, like I said. It could have gone better. Daniel Corleone—excuse me, Detective Daniel Corleone—didn’t exactly turn a cartwheel at the thought of reopening the Lola Grainger case.”
    Chantal suppressed a smile. “Well, you knew going in it wouldn’t be easy.”
    “Yeah, I just didn’t realize it would be that hard.” I flopped into a chair and kicked off one shoe. “He was polite enough, but not overenthusiastic. I got the impression he was laughing at