The Tail of the Secret Identity: A Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mystery (Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mysteries Book 3) by Alannah Rogers
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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1
Tuesdays were usually crazy-busy at the Cozy Cat Café, but this was one for the record books.
A colossal tour bus sat outside on the curb, bottlenecking traffic and blocking the morning sunshine that usually flooded the rustic space. Tourists in tear-away pants with cameras dangling around their necks tromped in, scuffing the ancient wooden floor. The doorbell jangled madly as a stream of famished people crowded around the display case, pointing at the sweets inside.
Lucky and Hamish, the two feline mascots of the establishment, wound their way through the group confusedly as if trying to institute some kind of crowd control.
With the fall colors in full splendor at the nearby White Mountain National Forest, tour buses and school groups were a constant sight in the small town of Ashbrook, New Hampshire. The café staff were run off their feet taking orders, pouring coffee, and shoving plump pecan buns laden with frosting into paper bags.
Meanwhile, Beatrice Young, the sixty-two year old café (and cat) owner, was deep in conversation with Mike LeBlanc, the squat tour director of Mike’s Senior Tours.
“You know how much I appreciate you bringing all this business here,” Beatrice said, as she led him by the elbow away from his group.
“But Mike, you need to call first! We can’t just churn it out on demand like some nationwide chain. Second, you know you can’t park out on the street like that. This isn’t the Disney World parking lot—it’s a two-way street that makes driving on a good day a game of playing chicken.”
Mike grinned his goofy, don’t-blame-me smile. “Now Beatrice, you think I’m going to shell out for parking in this town? I practically have to pay in blood every time I enter a lot.”
Beatrice crossed her arms and looked pointedly at the swarms of tourists at her cash register who were systematically emptying the display case of pastries and the carafes of coffee.
“Don’t plead poor to me, Mike. I know these folks are paying an arm and a leg for your fancy-pants tour. Don’t you know I have the sheriff on speed dial? He is not going to like this little parking infraction of yours.”
Mike frowned. “Now Bee, can’t we cut a deal here?”
Beatrice pressed #2 on her phone and then pressed speakerphone. The call picked up.
“You got five minutes to move that tour bus in front of your store, Bee,” came a gruff voice through the phone. “And don’t let that little man tell you otherwise. You know how many calls I already got this morning from drivers? Too many for a Tuesday morning. Too many .”
“Uh hi, Sheriff Roy,” said Mike, twisting his hands nervously.
“How many times I gotta tell you? Move that darn bus. I got actual work to do, okay? Just because my budget is the size of a peanut doesn’t mean I want to play traffic cop all day.”
Mike was outside moving the bus in under thirty seconds and that fixed that. How it helped to have friends in high places.
The group flooded out, leaving Beatrice and her staff to clean up the mess. Lucky, her little wiry black cat with bright green eyes, was chasing a crumpled up paper bag across the floor.
Hamish stalked the perimeter of the café as if trying to restore order to the scene. He was a large Maine Coon with tabby markings, fluffy fur, and little black tufts of hair at the ends of his large ears. As alpha cat of the establishment, he seemed to think it his job to keep an eye on everything.
Zoe Murphy, the café’s pastry chef, burst out of the kitchen holding aloft a tray of raspberry white chocolate scones. Her dark bangs were plastered to her forehead under a hairnet, while her white chef’s uniform was splattered with flour and what looked like berry juice. She shoved the tray into the display case and slumped against the cabinets behind the counter.
“Someone please caffeinate me,” she groaned. “How is it that so few tourists can eat so many pastries before 9 a.m.? I’m starting to wish this was an
Tuesdays were usually crazy-busy at the Cozy Cat Café, but this was one for the record books.
A colossal tour bus sat outside on the curb, bottlenecking traffic and blocking the morning sunshine that usually flooded the rustic space. Tourists in tear-away pants with cameras dangling around their necks tromped in, scuffing the ancient wooden floor. The doorbell jangled madly as a stream of famished people crowded around the display case, pointing at the sweets inside.
Lucky and Hamish, the two feline mascots of the establishment, wound their way through the group confusedly as if trying to institute some kind of crowd control.
With the fall colors in full splendor at the nearby White Mountain National Forest, tour buses and school groups were a constant sight in the small town of Ashbrook, New Hampshire. The café staff were run off their feet taking orders, pouring coffee, and shoving plump pecan buns laden with frosting into paper bags.
Meanwhile, Beatrice Young, the sixty-two year old café (and cat) owner, was deep in conversation with Mike LeBlanc, the squat tour director of Mike’s Senior Tours.
“You know how much I appreciate you bringing all this business here,” Beatrice said, as she led him by the elbow away from his group.
“But Mike, you need to call first! We can’t just churn it out on demand like some nationwide chain. Second, you know you can’t park out on the street like that. This isn’t the Disney World parking lot—it’s a two-way street that makes driving on a good day a game of playing chicken.”
Mike grinned his goofy, don’t-blame-me smile. “Now Beatrice, you think I’m going to shell out for parking in this town? I practically have to pay in blood every time I enter a lot.”
Beatrice crossed her arms and looked pointedly at the swarms of tourists at her cash register who were systematically emptying the display case of pastries and the carafes of coffee.
“Don’t plead poor to me, Mike. I know these folks are paying an arm and a leg for your fancy-pants tour. Don’t you know I have the sheriff on speed dial? He is not going to like this little parking infraction of yours.”
Mike frowned. “Now Bee, can’t we cut a deal here?”
Beatrice pressed #2 on her phone and then pressed speakerphone. The call picked up.
“You got five minutes to move that tour bus in front of your store, Bee,” came a gruff voice through the phone. “And don’t let that little man tell you otherwise. You know how many calls I already got this morning from drivers? Too many for a Tuesday morning. Too many .”
“Uh hi, Sheriff Roy,” said Mike, twisting his hands nervously.
“How many times I gotta tell you? Move that darn bus. I got actual work to do, okay? Just because my budget is the size of a peanut doesn’t mean I want to play traffic cop all day.”
Mike was outside moving the bus in under thirty seconds and that fixed that. How it helped to have friends in high places.
The group flooded out, leaving Beatrice and her staff to clean up the mess. Lucky, her little wiry black cat with bright green eyes, was chasing a crumpled up paper bag across the floor.
Hamish stalked the perimeter of the café as if trying to restore order to the scene. He was a large Maine Coon with tabby markings, fluffy fur, and little black tufts of hair at the ends of his large ears. As alpha cat of the establishment, he seemed to think it his job to keep an eye on everything.
Zoe Murphy, the café’s pastry chef, burst out of the kitchen holding aloft a tray of raspberry white chocolate scones. Her dark bangs were plastered to her forehead under a hairnet, while her white chef’s uniform was splattered with flour and what looked like berry juice. She shoved the tray into the display case and slumped against the cabinets behind the counter.
“Someone please caffeinate me,” she groaned. “How is it that so few tourists can eat so many pastries before 9 a.m.? I’m starting to wish this was an
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