The Extortion Cat-astrophe: A Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mystery (Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mysteries Book 2) by Alannah Rogers Page B

“C’mon Nathan. You can trust me.”
    “It’s not you I’m worried about,” he muttered and then took a long sip of the potent coffee. “Ah, that’s the ticket Bee. Thank you. Alright, so I hear that you’re pretty good at solving cases...”
    Beatrice immediately perked up. “I like to think so! You’ve come to the right place,” she said.
    “…and that maybe you have some experience dealing with hardened criminals,” Nathan continued.
    “Um well, I’m not so sure about that. Does this issue you’re dealing with perhaps merit a call to Sheriff Roy?”
    Nathan broke out in a fresh sweat. “No, no!” he gasped and reached for Beatrice’s hand. “Promise me you won’t tell the sheriff about this.”
    “Okay, okay, I promise.” She removed herself from his sweaty gasp.
    He took a deep breath. “Have you ever had someone do you a favor? And then you felt so indebted to them that you didn’t mind helping them out with this or that? And then, well, they keep asking and you keep feeling indebted and then suddenly years go by and you can barely meet your own financial responsibilities…” He buried his head in his hands. “This isn’t normal at all, is it?”
    Beatrice frowned. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about. But from what I do understand, no, this doesn’t sound normal at all. Nate, is someone taking advantage of you?”
    The doorbell jangled again and a big, burly man Beatrice had never seen before strode inside. Nathan stiffened immediately, downed the rest of the Americano in one gulp, and scurried towards the bathroom. He must have found the back entrance because that was the last Beatrice saw of him that afternoon.
    The stranger approached the cash, crossed his arms and frowned at the chalkboard. “You got one of those caramel latte things with lots of syrup and whipped cream?” he asked in a soft, whispery voice. “And maybe sprinkles?”

3
    “I’m so nervous. What if someone recognizes me?” Beatrice asked as she adjusted her headscarf.
    “Uh, they will recognize you,” Matthew replied, throwing her an amused look from the driver’s seat. His bright blue eyes sparkled in his tanned face. He was Beatrice’s age and aside from some weathering, he looked as healthy and vibrant as ever.
    “Why? Should I wear sunglasses?”
    “You could wear a burka and those two would still be a dead giveaway.” He jerked his head towards the back where Lucky was yowling unhappily in his cat carrier. Hamish was sitting pertly beside it, the black tufts at the ends of his ears sticking straight up.
    “Oh right.” Bee began to nervously chew her lip. “ But I can’t leave them in the car. I mean, first of all, it’s not right. Second of all, Hammy might sniff out some kind of clue. Like a health violation that could shut down the café in time for the Fall Fair.”
    Matthew’s thick eyebrows drew together. “Bee, it’s a baking competition not that game where the kids try to off each other … what was that called? The Killing Games?”
    “ The Hunger Games . C’mon Matthew, we just saw that movie together. Uh oh! Turn right. You’re going to miss it.”
    Matthew piloted the car right and pulled onto a charming Ashbrook street lined with wrought iron lamps. He worked during the day as a ranger at the nearby White Mountain National Forest but he and Beatrice often spent time together in the evening cooking dinner, going for walks, or solving whatever mystery she was entangled in.
    It may sound strange but after their divorce, and especially after the death of his second wife, they had become best friends.
    Matthew paid for meter parking and then strolled down a pedestrian alley lined with red brick shops and their hand-carved signs. Lanterns shed a warm glow on the dim path. It was a popular tourist site filled with specialty wine stores, jewelers, and fancy restaurants.
    Hamish and Lucky trotted in front of them, tails held high and noses sniffing the air. Two women