Cat Sleuth (A Pattie Lansbury Cat Cozy Mystery Series Book 1) Read online

  Cat Sleuth: A Pattie Lansbury Mystery

  Nancy C. Davis

  ©2015 Nancy C. Davis

  Copyright © 2014

  No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known, hereinafter invented, without express written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Thank you

  Your Gifts

  Chapter 1

  ~ 1 ~

  Patricia Lansbury thought she had moved past having to get up early to feed her children; she was fifty-six years young and had sent both her sons packing a long time ago. But Pattie hadn’t counted on her children being replaced by twelve cats.

  The “Pat’s Whiskers Feline Retirement Home” had been in operation at Pattie’s house for nearly five years. She’d had the idea when she was fifty and realised that her sons didn’t need her anymore. Her dear Charlie had been gone for the better part of a decade, victim of a coronary but still very much alive in her heart. Pattie already had two cats, Putz and Mischief, and a litter of four kittens had been discovered by the river of her West Yorkshire village. Pattie had taken them in until new families could be found for them. By then she’d developed a reputation as the sweet old lady who could take in strays or catsit for the weekend.

  Pattie specialised in elderly cats whose owners had passed away and who couldn’t be re-homed. Be they black and white, ginger, tortoiseshell or tabby, she welcomed them to her growing family. As a result, it was not unusual for Pattie to spend the first two hours of her morning greeting her fuzzy babies and laying out their breakfasts. There was nothing better than being in a comfortable, warm room surrounded by a dozen cats licking their chops after a hearty breakfast.

  It was during one such communal feast on a blustery Winter’s morning that Pattie’s doorbell rang, startling Mia, her skittish Birman. Mia leapt from her over-stuffed leather armchair and bolted around the back of the kitchen counter, out of sight of the front door.

  “Don’t be such a ‘fraidy-cat, Mia,” Pattie called, shuffling up the hallway in her slippers and dressing gown. She checked that her greying hair was straight in the mirror and adjusted her bifocals before answering the door.

  A young woman with fiery red hair stood on her doorstep, holding a frightened-looking black and white cat in her arms. “I’m sorry to disturb you so early in the morning,” she began, her hair blowing across her face in the wind. “Are you Patricia Lansbury? I heard you might be able to help me with this poor cat; I think it’s a stray”

  “It’s not a stray,” Pattie said instantly, “but please, do come in. It looks freezing outside. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “Oh, thank you!”

  Pattie closed the door behind them and together they moved to the kitchen. Simba, a ginger tabby that Pattie had looked after for years, came up to sniff the stranger and decided that she was interesting enough to follow around. As far as Pattie was concerned, this was a good sign. Simba was a fairly good judge of character.

  “I’m Rebecca Mosby,” said the young woman, gently stroking the black-and-white as Pattie put the kettle on. Pattie didn’t use electric kettles and preferred the stove; why fix something that wasn’t broken? The stove had heated her morning tea since she first got married at eighteen, and she wasn’t about to stop just because Kenwood thought they’d cornered the market.

  “You must be related to Mister Richard Mosby, from Brin’s Close,” said Pattie.

  “Yes, that’s right. Do you know him?”

  “I only met him a couple of times, actually, and the last time was before New Year. He seemed friendly enough; he was very happy because he’d just met someone. Are you his daughter?”

  “Yes. I moved out a long time ago, when I was in college, but since he’s out of town for a while he asked if I could watch the house.”

  “What about Francine? The woman he met?”

  “Well that’s the funny thing: they’ve been living together for a while, and she was there when I arrived. I’m not sure why he called me at all. Francine’s going to take the opportunity to visit her son in Devon, so at least my trip wasn’t wasted. And I came across this little fellow here!”

  The cat meowed plaintively.

  “She’s injured?” asked Pattie, peering through her glasses at the cat.

  “You can tell from the meow?”

  “Yes. Look, it must be her paw. It’s a little limp but she can move it. I’ll bet it’s a sprain; at least it’s not broken. Do hand her over, dear.”

  Rebecca passed the squirming young cat to Pattie, who gave her a quick examination and then put her down. Simba came over to say hello, and they touched noses momentarily before the newcomer lay down to clean herself.

  “I’ll call Elliot at the surgery, and he’ll give her the once-over.”

  “Oh, there’s a vet?” asked Rebecca. Pattie finished making tea and Rebecca accepted the cup with a beaming smile. “I’m sorry, if I’d known then I wouldn’t have troubled you. Francine said…”

  “Well, Elliot isn’t a vet. He’s the village GP, but we don’t have a veterinary practice here, so he lets me buy the odd bandage and medication as I need it for the animals. He’s very fond of cats too, although he’s more of a dog person.”

  “I see. And did you say you don’t think this little one’s a stray? She was out wandering and was terribly dirty; I managed to run a wet towel over her, although she didn’t like it. And there’s no collar or anything.”

  Pattie adjusted her robe and blew on her Earl Grey to cool it. “She’s not malnourished, and her eyes are clear. The pads on her paws are quite soft and she doesn’t have any broken claws. But the main clue is the faint scar on her abdomen from when she must have been spayed, the poor little mite.”

  Rebecca was impressed. “I hadn’t noticed any of that. You could have been a detective!”

  “My son was a policeman,” was all that Pattie had to say on the matter.

  Chapter 2

  ~ 2 ~

  Pattie had a scratching post to fix and half a dozen cat baskets to launder before she got around to calling the Doctor. He was unavailable at the surgery so she called his mobile. They were on friendly terms; Elliot had lived in Little Hamilton almost as long as Pattie had, and he was also a widower. They had a lot more in common than a love for all things furry and purry.

  “Doctor Knight,” he answered.

  “Elliot, it’s Patricia,” said Pattie. “How do you do?”

  “I’m well, thank you, which is more than I can say for half of Little H today. I’ve been on house visits all morning.”

  “If you’re not too busy, I wonder if you could pay a brief call to the Home today? I have an injured black-and-white who could use your expert eye.”

  “Not a problem, my dear. I’ll be around
in a jiffy once I’ve made my last visit.”

  A jiffy was just enough time for Pattie to hang out the baskets to dry and take her much-delayed shower. She always liked to appear her best in front of the Doctor, even when she wasn’t the patient.

  She was brushing Jasper, one of her favourites, when Doc Knight arrived, pink-cheeked from the biting wind. “Breezy day, Patricia!”

  “It most certainly is. A Darjeeling for you?”

  “You know me so well. Where’s the patient?”

  “Currently curled up by the fireplace. The episode seems to have tired her out, bless her. She’s the one with the black spot on the tip of her nose.”

  “I see her.”

  Pattie made a fresh pot and brought it through to the lounge on a trolley, along with cups, spoons and the Scottish shortbread the Doc liked so much. He’d already plopped the new cat onto his lap and was waving an electronic device over her.

  “Well, she’s obviously not a stray,” he said, “she’s far too placid.”

  “I deduced the same thing. But I thought I knew most of the cats in the village, and this one’s a stranger. Have any new families registered at the practice?”

  “Nope. And she doesn’t have a microchip, either. I’ll put up a notice in reception and see if anyone claims her. I expect you’ll be taking care of her in the meantime?”

  “Now who is it who knows whom well?” Pattie asked, pouring the tea and sitting down. Jasper immediately jumped up for a cuddle and Pattie stroked him as the Doc tucked into the shortbreads. “I’m very grateful for your coming over so quickly.”

  “Oh, think nothing of it, nothing of it. I needed a hot tea, come to think of it. Bit of a shock over by Constable Downey’s place when I was there. His wife’s got a touch of flu.”

  “Oh?” Jasper purred beneath her expert fingertips. Pattie didn’t really get along with Isabelle Downey, who was possibly the rudest person she’d ever met. How the good-natured Constable put up with her, she’d never now. “How sad.”

  Jasper’s fur bristled and his tail lashed. He jumped off Pattie’s lap before she could correct herself. Jasper had always been able to tell when she was fibbing, and reacted strongly – and quite rightly, too. Pattie could never berate herself enough for telling a dib, no matter how small the white lie. She wondered how Jasper had gotten the ability; his previous owner had been a fortune teller in a band of travelling Romani gypsies, so maybe that had something to do with it – not that Pattie believed in such superstitious nonsense.

  “Yes,” continued the Doctor with a face full of biscuit. “There was a hit and run right outside their house. Bit of a shock. The poor old dear who got hit was already gone by the time the paramedics arrived; there was nothing I could do. It was some wacko in a white van; swerved right up onto the pavement and then raced off into the countryside. Terrible business.”

  “How awful!” said Pattie. “Do you know who the lady was? I must go and speak with her family once things settle down.”

  “Francine Battersby – Financé of that Mosby recluse on Brin’s Close.”

  “Good Lord! I was just talking to Mister Mosby’s daughter this morning!”

  Doc Knight stood and brushed the crumbs off his lap, making Pattie gasp. “Oop – sorry about that, Patricia. I’d better be off, Constable Downey will want to speak with me again at the station, no doubt. Pop into the surgery tomorrow and I’ll see about ordering an X-ray for your new lodger’s paw. Do you have a name for her yet?”

  Pattie was leading the Doctor to the front door and stopped by the calendar in the hallway. There was a checklist pinned to it. Whenever she had a new cat at the Home she gave them a temporary name.

  “The last one was L, that was Lester, who Betty Patridge took in. The next letter along is M, so let’s call her Macy.”

  “Hmm, alphabetical,” said the Doctor, lacing up his shoes. “Like they do with hurricanes?”

  “It’s often like a typhoon hit in here, especially around mealtimes. Good day, Elliot.”

  “Good day, Patricia. See you soon, I hope.”

  The Doctor got in his car and drove away, and Patricia saw him off on the doorstep. She liked the Doc’s company; he was kind and gentle, and had an affinity for animals. She never accepted her son’s teasing about him – “Any excuse to have him around, eh Mum?” – but then, a mother never had to admit anything of the kind to her own children, no matter how hard she blushed inside.

  Shepherd’s Street ran almost the whole length of the village, from the brook in the valley up to the top of the hill. Pattie could see, almost at the hill’s crest, the red and blue lights of a police car and ambulance. That would be the scene of the accident outside the Constable’s place. What a horrible thing to happen.

  Just then she saw Rebecca Mosby walking down the street along with Juliette, a policewoman. Rebecca had her arms wrapped tightly around herself and looked red-eyed and dazed.

  “Miss Mosby,” called Pattie. “I heard about what happened to Francine, dear. Would you like to rest here a moment? You don’t have to be alone this afternoon.”

  “Oh … Um, that would be nice,” said Rebecca, not entirely with it. Juliette checked that she was okay and gave her a card with the police station’s number and her ID number, then left her in Pattie’s capable hands.

  Inside the warm sanctuary of Pat’s Whiskers, Rebecca sat on the sofa with a hot cup of tea in her hands, staring out of the patio windows at Pattie’s wild garden. The cats liked to prowl amongst her potted geraniums and raised beds overflowing with flowers and wild grasses. To them it must feel like a jungle.

  “I hadn’t even met her,” Rebecca said absently. “Francine. The policeman asked me to identify her body, but I never even saw a picture. Dad and I aren’t that close.”

  “Have you been able to reach him on the phone?” asked Pattie.

  Rebecca shook her head. “And I’ve no idea who else knew Francine.”

  “She’s not from our village, so maybe there’s nobody. Perhaps you could check her phone, and your father’s address book?”

  “Yeah, the policeman said the same thing … She didn’t have a mobile, but I guess I’ll check for an address book when I get home. It’s just a weird feeling. She was so important to Dad, obviously, but to me she’s just … I feel horrible just thinking about it.”

  “Does the Constable have any idea what might have happened?” asked Pattie. “A drunk driver?”

  “I’m not sure. But I don’t like that I can’t get in touch with Dad. I know people around here think that he’s a bit of a weird recluse, but he always answers when I call him.

  I don’t mind so much, but now that the house is empty … And there’s been this strange man waiting across the road from the house, just standing there looking as though he’s casing the place. Maybe it’s nothing, but I don’t like it one bit.”

  “Did you mention this stranger to the police?” asked Pattie, alarmed.

  “It’s probably nothing to worry about,” said Rebecca, standing. “I’d better go. There’ll be a ton of things to sort out. Thanks again for the tea, you’re so kind.”

  “A cup of tea costs nothing, you know,” Pattie replied, smiling.

  Chapter 3

  ~ 3 ~

  Croftmason Surgery was towards the crook of the valley. Pattie always relished the ten minute walk down the hill: it gave her some fresh air, and allowed her to nosey at her neighbour’s cats further along Shepherd’s Street. Ms Atkinson had an exceedingly fluffy white Persian who often sat in the window. The Frederiksons had a beautiful ragdoll with a striped forehead who could often be seen tip-toeing along their high wall on either side of the house.

  By the time Pattie arrived at the doctor’s surgery she had fully updated news on all the neighbourhood’s felines. She wondered whether Elliot would ask about any of them.

  Against her better judgement, she had brought the new cat, Macy, with her in a carrier. She was well-behaved aside from the occasional high-pitched meow.
Pattie didn’t really like carriers, but Macy had become boisterous. The receptionist at the front desk cooed at her through the grill on the front of the carrier.

  “Ooh, such a pretty one!”

  “We think she must belong to someone in the village,” Pattie explained. “Doctor Knight was going to put up a photograph.”

  “He mentioned something about a cat, but he was a little flustered about this hit-and-run business…”

  Pattie waited until she was called, and then took Macy in to see the Doc. She could tell that Macy’s paw was badly sprained, as it was swollen under the fur and very tender.

  Doctor Knight examined the cat and then left her with a bowl of crunchy nibbles as he wrote up his prescription. Because there was no vet in the village, he often treated ‘Pattie’ as a private patient – or rather, let her pay for the treatment of the cats as needed.