The Extortion Cat-astrophe: A Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mystery (Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mysteries Book 2) by Alannah Rogers Page A
Authors: Alannah Rogers
Tags: mystery novels, cozy mysteries, Cozy Mystery Series, cat mystery, cozy cat mystery books, cozy mysteries women sleuths, mystery series books, cozy cat mysteries, cozy mysteries new releases
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that your place is called the Cozy Cat Café? Anyway, the Purple Lilac is no competition for you. The space is cramped, they have nothing but rickety stools to sit on, and their coffee is bitter.”
Beatrice ran her fingers through her long gray hair. “Yes but they have that amazing owner and pastry chef, Abigail something or other. Her cakes are miracles and don’t get me started about her pies…”
Hannah held up her hands. “Okay enough. You’re just working yourself up. Do you have any ideas?”
Lucky meowed in distress, unhappy that Hamish was hogging Hannah’s attention. The big, fluffy Maine Coon ignored him pointedly, ran off, and stared down a large chocolate layer cake in the display case.
“Good idea, Hammy,” Beatrice said. “Everyone likes chocolate. I could make a double, no triple, no quadruple chocolate cake. I’ll just use every kind of chocolate I can buy. Layers and layers of chocolate. No? Why are you shaking your head?”
“Sorry Bee, but your plan reeks of desperation.” The barista came by and dropped off the almond latte. Hannah took a deep sip and sighed happily. “Well, at least they can’t make an almond latte to save their lives.”
“Does this mean you’ve actually been there?” Beatrice sputtered.
2
The doorbell rang again, saving Hannah the burden of replying. In came Nathan Moore, an insurance agent who was a good friend of Beatrice’s best friend (and ex-husband) Matthew Thompson. He was a stout little man with a pink balding head and an anxious disposition.
Beatrice didn’t see Nathan that often because cats made him nervous, the result of a childhood trauma she could never get to the bottom of. That said, Ashbrook was a small New Hampshire town of 2000 people, so it was hard not to run into the same people again and again. And again.
Hamish immediately leapt down from his window perch and trotted over to Nathan, fluffy striped tail held proudly aloft. He was the type of cat who was mainly affectionate with non-cat lovers. Nathan shrank back and clutched his tweed cap to his chest as if it could offer some kind of protection.
“Hamish, leave Mr. Moore alone,” Beatrice said, rising and shooing away the ornery cat. Hamish glared at her with his golden eyes and walked off in a huff.
She embraced Nathan, and only then realized that he was sweating despite the cool late October temperatures. His pudgy, ruddy face was shiny and his hands looked slick.
“Goodness, are you sick?” she asked, starting back. “You look awful.”
Nathan took out a tissue and mopped his forehead with it. “I’m peachy Bee, really. Just a little overheated from my walk over. I could actually do with a coffee. Something extra strong.”
“You’ve come to the right place,” she replied, guiding him by the arm over to a stool at the bar. “I’ll prepare you something special.”
Taking over from the barista, Beatrice ground espresso beans, scooped them into the portafilter, tamped them down, and then fit the filter into the machine to brew. As she did that, she kept a sharp eye on Nathan. They were friends but he was closer to Matthew, even though the three of them had been in the same grade all through school.
The two men had helped each other through some fairly heavy life stuff. They had kids of the same age, for one—all now grown-up and moved away. Nathan had gotten divorced the same that Matthew’s second wife, the one he had married after Beatrice, passed away from a brain aneurism. Since that time, Nathan had led a quiet bachelor life. Beatrice knew that he and Matthew still regularly went for pints together.
Nathan continued to mop his brow with the now-damp tissue as he looked over his shoulder, his eyes darting around the half-full café and then toward the street.
“Honestly,” Beatrice broke in. “I’m starting to feel like I’m in a bad spy movie. Whatever is the matter?” She slid his double Americano towards him and leaned her elbows on the counter.
Beatrice ran her fingers through her long gray hair. “Yes but they have that amazing owner and pastry chef, Abigail something or other. Her cakes are miracles and don’t get me started about her pies…”
Hannah held up her hands. “Okay enough. You’re just working yourself up. Do you have any ideas?”
Lucky meowed in distress, unhappy that Hamish was hogging Hannah’s attention. The big, fluffy Maine Coon ignored him pointedly, ran off, and stared down a large chocolate layer cake in the display case.
“Good idea, Hammy,” Beatrice said. “Everyone likes chocolate. I could make a double, no triple, no quadruple chocolate cake. I’ll just use every kind of chocolate I can buy. Layers and layers of chocolate. No? Why are you shaking your head?”
“Sorry Bee, but your plan reeks of desperation.” The barista came by and dropped off the almond latte. Hannah took a deep sip and sighed happily. “Well, at least they can’t make an almond latte to save their lives.”
“Does this mean you’ve actually been there?” Beatrice sputtered.
2
The doorbell rang again, saving Hannah the burden of replying. In came Nathan Moore, an insurance agent who was a good friend of Beatrice’s best friend (and ex-husband) Matthew Thompson. He was a stout little man with a pink balding head and an anxious disposition.
Beatrice didn’t see Nathan that often because cats made him nervous, the result of a childhood trauma she could never get to the bottom of. That said, Ashbrook was a small New Hampshire town of 2000 people, so it was hard not to run into the same people again and again. And again.
Hamish immediately leapt down from his window perch and trotted over to Nathan, fluffy striped tail held proudly aloft. He was the type of cat who was mainly affectionate with non-cat lovers. Nathan shrank back and clutched his tweed cap to his chest as if it could offer some kind of protection.
“Hamish, leave Mr. Moore alone,” Beatrice said, rising and shooing away the ornery cat. Hamish glared at her with his golden eyes and walked off in a huff.
She embraced Nathan, and only then realized that he was sweating despite the cool late October temperatures. His pudgy, ruddy face was shiny and his hands looked slick.
“Goodness, are you sick?” she asked, starting back. “You look awful.”
Nathan took out a tissue and mopped his forehead with it. “I’m peachy Bee, really. Just a little overheated from my walk over. I could actually do with a coffee. Something extra strong.”
“You’ve come to the right place,” she replied, guiding him by the arm over to a stool at the bar. “I’ll prepare you something special.”
Taking over from the barista, Beatrice ground espresso beans, scooped them into the portafilter, tamped them down, and then fit the filter into the machine to brew. As she did that, she kept a sharp eye on Nathan. They were friends but he was closer to Matthew, even though the three of them had been in the same grade all through school.
The two men had helped each other through some fairly heavy life stuff. They had kids of the same age, for one—all now grown-up and moved away. Nathan had gotten divorced the same that Matthew’s second wife, the one he had married after Beatrice, passed away from a brain aneurism. Since that time, Nathan had led a quiet bachelor life. Beatrice knew that he and Matthew still regularly went for pints together.
Nathan continued to mop his brow with the now-damp tissue as he looked over his shoulder, his eyes darting around the half-full café and then toward the street.
“Honestly,” Beatrice broke in. “I’m starting to feel like I’m in a bad spy movie. Whatever is the matter?” She slid his double Americano towards him and leaned her elbows on the counter.
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