Nozy Cat 1: Hope Jones Cozy Mystery Series, #1

Nozy Cat 1

A Hope Jones Cozy Mystery

By Lyn Key

LICENSE STATEMENT

Copyright © 2016 by Ed Lynskey and ECL Press. All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author.

This e-Book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-Book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Front cover credit: Public domain photograph courtesy of MIphoto and the morgueFile.com.

Other Books by Ed Lynskey

Alma and Isabel Trumbo Cozy Mystery Series

Quiet Anchorage

The Cashmere Shroud

The Ladybug Song

The Amber Top Hat

Sweet Betsy

Piper and Bill Robins Cozy Mystery Series

The Corpse Wore Gingham

Fur the Win

Hope Jones Cozy Mystery Series (as Lyn Key)

Nozy Cat 1

Private Investigator Frank Johnson Series

Pelham Fell Here

The Dirt-Brown Derby

The Blue Cheer

Troglodytes

The Zinc Zoo

After the Big Noise

Other Novels

Lake Charles

The Quetzal Motel

Ask the Dice

Blood Diamonds

Topaz Moon

Other Short Story Collection

Smoking on Mount Rushmore

Chapter 1

You don’t have to be an astrophysicist to know the romances outsell the recipe books, Peggy Sue said.

Hope shrugged. We haven’t kept track of our sales by book category to know that for a fact, she said.

Then I’m basing it on what I’ve observed. More of our customers pick up the romances, and we should display them, not the recipe books, on the front shelves. Our customers will spot the romances, and we’ll get a bunch of impulse buys.

That just can’t be so at all, Hope said, shaking her head. More women like to bake pies than romance men.

Look, if I had a choice to make between dating a gorgeous hunk and baking a pie, it’d be a cinch to decide. Apologies to my fellow bakers, but a good kiss beats a slice of apple pie on any day of the week.

Hope turned sly. What if the slice of apple pie is served a la mode?

Smiling, Peggy Sue regarded her tall, brunette, and blue-eyed friend. Is the slice of apple pie served a la mode with three scoops of homemade vanilla ice cream piled on top of it?

Hope nodded.

Is the slice of apple pie also homemade with Granny Smiths and a pinch of extra nutmeg added to it?

Hope nodded again.

That makes it a tougher choice, doesn’t it?

You’d know better than me, Hope thought, but she’d never say anything to Peggy Sue about her slight weight problem. She was a short, blonde, and brown-eyed lady happily married to Travis Roswell, an insurance salesman who was laidback as a Sunday afternoon spent at the beach. The best friends were also business partners who ran the Brontë Bookshop on Main Street in Sweet Springs, a small town nestled in the rolling, green hills of the rural Virginia piedmont.

Wake up Nozy Cat and get his input. Peggy Sue nudged their tuxedo cat in the ribs. He was sleeping by the cash register as he did a great deal of the day with no shame. Are you with us, Nozy Cat? Peggy Sue asked as she poked her finger into him again.

Nozy Cat lifted one sleepy eyelid, and his marble blue eye glared at her for interrupting his sacred nap. He wore a yellow collar with little red stars printed on it. His second eyelid also opened, and he gave them his irritated blue-eyed glare.

He couldn’t tell us even if he knew, Hope said. He just meows when his food dish is empty, or when he gets bored and wants us to play with him.

He’ll amaze you by how capable he is if he sets his mind to it, Peggy Sue said.

Then I wish he’d amaze me by dusting the bookshelves, cleaning the windows, and running the vacuum over the carpets, so I didn’t have to do it.

His duties aren’t in housekeeping. He heads up the bookshop security. See how well he guards the cash register?

Hope wanted so badly to roll her eyes. He doesn’t need to worry. The door locks should be adequate to keep out the bad guys. I’m working on a way to get the covert surveillance cameras in the ceiling repaired.

Peggy Sue pressed her palms to cover up Nozy Cat’s pointy ears. Don’t listen to a word Hope is saying. She doesn’t know about the wonderful things you do for us.

In the interest of moving things along, I’m willing to display the romances up front. We’ll give it a trial period of let’s say thirty days, and we’ll keep a spreadsheet on the romances we sell. How does that compromise suit you?

I’ll hop on it the first thing tomorrow morning.

Hope felt relief over settling their debate. Okay, I can handle the rest of the things here. Scoot on home to Travis. I know he’s a terror in the kitchen when he’s fixing dinner by himself.

Peggy Sue laughed. His heart is in the right place, but honest to goodness, Hope, the man couldn’t boil an egg or peel a potato if his life depended on it.

We all had to begin somewhere with our culinary skills. On the other hand, Travis can sell insurance like nobody’s business.

He’s the top regional salesman. Peggy Sue grabbed her new summer handbag off the stool. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow morning.

Goodbye, Peggy Sue.

Don’t forget to lock the doors, front and back, before you leave.

Yes, Peggy Sue, I’ll remember them. Are you going to stand here jawing with me while Travis wreaks havoc in your kitchen?

I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget I have a dentist’s appointment, and you’ll see me as soon as I can make it in.

Nozy Cat arched his back, sat down, and yawned.

I’ll hold down the fort until you can arrive. Buckle up and drive safely. Don’t be texting and give Travis our love.

Bye-bye, all. Waving, Peggy Sue backed out the door. It closed behind her before she double-timed it to her car parked on Main Street.

I thought we’d never get rid of her, Hope said to Nozy Cat. When she gets wound up, she talks a mile a minute. Hope chuckled. Peggy Sue probably carries on actual conversations with herself.

Nozy Cat blinked his marble blue eyes and twitched his pointy ears.

But then listen to me doing it, Hope said. Booby hatch, here I come if I don’t watch my step.

Nozy Cat tilted his head and wiggled his white eyebrow hairs. She scratched him between his pointy ears, and he purred away like a well-oiled sewing machine.

I’m off to do some housekeeping before I count the day’s haul in the cash drawer. Hope chuckled. Peggy Sue is like a mother hen clucking over me. She provides welcomed company during the day, and it keeps me in good spirits.

Hope picked up the ostrich feather duster and made her way down an aisle until she reached the recipe books section. After she neatened them on the shelf, she dusted off the loose cat hair. She realized she didn’t have the energy to also run the vacuum. The scent of the used paperbacks reminded her of hyacinths blended with lilacs, and she knew her fellow bibliophiles also found it irresistible. The distinctive aroma released the happy dance of endorphins in the brain, or something wonderful like that.

She hummed along to a trumpeter Wynton Marsalis tune from the jazz radio station she had piped into the bookshop. Peggy Sue thought the upbeat jazz playing in the background relaxed the customers to linger a bit longer to browse and buy more used books. Hope was quick to agree with Peggy Sue.

So many books to sell, Hope thought. She had to limit her customers to the one laundry basket of used books per visit they brought in from home for cash or store credit. No customer had grumbled about what she’d given them in return for their used books since she bent over backwards to be fair.

She longed to expand their business into selling used LPs, CDs, and DVDs, but her floor space was too limited. She groaned at remembering she hadn’t attended Greta’s exercise class held at the community center. Her body craved the sweaty workouts. Tallying up the day’s receipts in the cash register would also bum out Hope. If they cleared more than fifty dollars in book sales, it’d surprise while also please her.

Why don’t you phone Stace and tell her I’ll be home in about a half hour? Hope asked.

Stacey was Hope’s fifteen-year-old daughter.

Nozy Cat calmly watched her as if he was taking measure of her.

***

The next morning, Hope arrived five minutes early to open the Brontë

Bookshop. She flipped on the overhead lights and made a beeline to perk the French roast coffee. While it dripped, she was pleased with her sensible decision to go with the chiffon top, sleeveless and white. She liked how her well-toned bare arms looked, and it was going to be a warm day. They hadn’t had to cut on the air conditioner so far, and she hoped they could go for another week. She wished again the bookshop featured ceiling fans. 

Hope felt a furry tap on her calf and peered down at Nozy Cat with his forepaw lifted to tap again. She startled at how his marble blue eyes had widened to the size of pie tins. The black fur along his back bristled straight up as if he’d just seen a ghost or a charge of static electricity had zapped him.

Nozy Cat, what happened to you? Hope asked as she tried to pat down and smooth out his ruffled fur. You look as if you just saw a ghost.

Hoo boy, it’s something as scary as seeing a ghost.

Huh? This time the hair on the back of Hope’s neck rose. Nevertheless, her shock didn’t give way to fear. She instead smiled at him. So. You can talk. Speak English, I mean.

Why, certainly, I can. Is it a surprise?

Quite frankly, yes, it is since you ask me.

Peggy Sue has known about it for years.

Hope felt a wave of anger. However, I’m the one who cares for and feeds you. I’m entitled to know it before she ever did. Why am I hearing of it only now?

You weren’t ready to know the truth about Nozy Cat.

Is that so? I may have to give Peggy Sue a piece of my mind.

Nevertheless, I have a hot issue you’ll want to address now.

Can’t it wait until later? I’ve got a thousand things to do while I’m also processing the mind-blowing fact that my cat is fluent in English.

I’d strongly advise against waiting until later. It constitutes an emergency.

Hope let out a weary sigh. What is it that’s so urgent?

It’s a stiff.

Do you mean stiff as in a basket of starched laundry?

No, it’s a stiff as in a dead body also known as a corpse.

Hope waited for the feline punch line that wasn’t coming. Are you trying to be droll? she asked. Because your morbid humor isn’t tickling my funny bone.

I’ve never been more serious in my nine lives.

Finding a dead body isn’t a promising way to start the day.

No argument here. Shall I call the cops?

I’ll be the one contacting the local authorities, Hope replied. The bottom line is you’re only to speak English to Peggy Sue and me. Nobody else can hear you communicating as we’re doing now. Is that crystal clear?

Whatever. I need my back scratched again before my nap.

Forget about it, Hope said. I have the dead body you so unceremoniously dumped on me to take care of before I’ve even had my day’s first cup of coffee.

Okay, the next time I’ll wait until after you’ve had your day’s first cup of coffee.

No! There won’t be a next time! Hear me?

I was just doing my job, Hope. You should commend me. Better I should find it than a little, old book lady. Now move your handbag from my nook by the cash register so I may curl up at my guard post.

Chapter 2

Peggy Sue and Travis Roswell were town natives. Their two-bedroom clapboard bungalow had a squash yellow exterior with its doors as well as its trim done in lavender. Their address was Towhee Lane just a block off Main Street. Clyde Pettigrew, Esquire, the founder of Sweet Springs, had been an avid birdwatcher and named its streets to commemorate Virginia’s songbirds. Peggy Sue found the street names endearing while Travis opined they sounded goofy.

Did you make a lot of money today? he asked her.

Peggy Sue looked up from working on her knitting project. They sat together on the living room sofa with the DVD player running. Travis had on an old episode of the TV sitcom Barney Miller followed by NYPD Blue and The Wire, the last two excellent police TV shows, according to Travis.

Hope is the one in charge of the moneybags, Peggy Sue replied. I have enough to do without taking on that responsibility, too.

I’ve been seriously thinking about the Brontë Bookshop.

As Peggy Sue’s heart wobbled over several beats, she finished her stitch and then paused. When Travis did any serious thinking, she knew it was smart to go on full alert. Disaster more likely than not lurked around the corner.

What about if I may be so bold as to ask? she said.

He sipped from his glass of iced tea. I’ve been studying on the different ways you and Hope can drum up business and lure in the paying customers.

Just so you know we don’t have an advertising budget. Hope has laid down the law, so I’m not going to ask her for any money.

My new idea will only cost you a few dollars. Have I whetted your curiosity?

With a quiet sigh, Peggy Sue put aside the afghan she’d been making. The yarn and knitting needles were the same shade of mimosa pink. She couldn’t multi-task when it came to communicating with Travis, especially when he was on a roll, as he was now.

Oh, what the heck, I’ll bite, she said. What’s your idea for wooing in the legions of book customers reaching for their fat wallets?

Picture it with me: a sandwich board.