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

  “We’d thought of that. Mister Mosby is officially a murder suspect as of early this morning, but we have no idea where he is.”

  Pattie nodded with a sigh. “That poor girl. Let me collect Jasper and I’ll be heading off. I feel quite tired.”

  “Are you sure your cat’s always on the ball?”

  “Jasper always keeps me honest,” said Pattie. “But if you don’t want to rely on animals, perhaps you could persuade your Chief to invest in an actual lie detector machine.”

  Chapter 6

  ~ 6 ~

  On the way to provide an update to Rebecca, Pattie stopped by to feed the residents of the Feline Retirement Home. They bustled up to meet her in the hallway, meowing and running circles around her ankles. She laughed as she fought her way to the cupboard where she kept the food.

  It was often a bit of a chore, putting out food for twelve – now thirteen – hungry cats. But over the years Pattie had grown accustomed to their ways and mannerisms, as well as their tastes. She derived great pleasure from providing meals just as they liked them. Mischief, for instance, was particular about the time of day he was fed. Too early or too late just wasn’t good enough. Putz, a darling little tortoiseshell, only ate wet tinned food off a plate, never a bowl.

  The fussiest of them all was Archie, a poor young tom who came to her as a kitten so timid that he had receded far into himself and never let anyone near. Pattie had found Archie in the countryside whilst on a hike, far away from any nearby village or farm. He’d been shivering in the cold, small enough to fit into Pattie’s one hand, and she’d swept him up into her padded coat and gone straight home.

  She had assumed that Archie was a runaway, rather than a feral cat. Feral families live close to towns so that they can scavenge from human society, like foxes. It made Pattie weep to consider that someone could have left him there – possibly as part of an unwanted litter. But there had been no other kittens nearby: Archie was one of a kind.

  She put out his particular pouch of food – duck liver, only – in a bowl in the corner of the lounge, by his scratching tower. The tower had a little mouse-hole with plush critter inside, as well as a seat on top for Archie to survey his kingdom from. He was happiest when he could observe his environment and the cats and people within it. Corners were the best place to find Archie if he was ever missing. He looked out for himself and never exposed his back.

  Pattie wasn’t sure why she deliberated on Archie so much that afternoon. She’d dallied longer than expected taking care of her feline residents, and it was growing dark outside. She had one last cup of tea, surrounded by the satisfied chops-licking and paw-cleaning of her satisfied wards, and then wrapped herself in her winter coat and set off.

  By the time she was within view of the Mosby household, it had grown dark. A wintery wind blew insistently down the hillside and bowled around the valley, where the dark outlines of trees could be seen thrashing against each other. The street was empty.

  As she got closer, Pattie was shocked to see that the front door was wide open, and the glass broken. She hurried to the doorstep and peered into the dark hallway.

  “Hello…? Miss Mosby…?”

  There was no response. Perhaps Rebecca was out, and this was simply a burglary? But burglaries didn’t happen very often in Little Hamilton – but then there hadn’t been a murder in the village for a long time, either. Pattie would have to come to terms with the changing times sooner or later, but she decided that tonight was not that time.

  She peeked around the side of the house. It was darker between the house and the hedgerow, but the moonlight gave her a little illumination to see by. There didn’t seem to be anyone there. Pattie crept along the side of the house, observing everything around her. There was a broken ladder propped up against the wall, its splintered frame in two pieces. There were also towers of plant pots, currently filled with stagnant rainwater. She’d heard that Mister Mosby had been a keen gardener, so this was no surprise.

  Pattie emerged from the side of the house to the back garden and patio. The patio was narrow and crowded with potted plants. The garden was long – standard for rural Little Hamilton – with a gazebo at the back in front of honeysuckle trellises. The garden was bordered on either side by flowerbeds, crowded with an assortment of flowers, grasses, herbs and other plants. Pattie was rather jealous. On the left side was a mound of uncovered earth.

  A small shape fussed beside the overturned soil. It was a cat. Pattie squinted in the moonlight and moved closer slowly, so as not to startle it. Was that … Yes! It was Macy! How on Earth had she snuck out of the house again to follow her here? She must have smelled something interesting and dashed down the side of the house whilst Pattie was peering through the broken front door.

  “Here, Macy,” said Pattie in her imperious voice. “Come here.”

  Macy ignored her. There was still a long way to go before Macy recognised Pattie as her new owner and master! Macy continued to bat at the earth with her bandaged paw.

  Pattie moved closer and saw what had interested Macy so much. She gasped. No wonder the earth was so recently overturned, and in such a large heap. A body was buried there. A human hand had been uncovered by Macy’s efforts, large and male, with a wedding band on the second finger.

  “Macy, come here,” Pattie whispered urgently. “We’re leaving!”

  A scream from around the front of the house made Pattie jump. She whirled around, slipping her spectacles back up her nose, and then rushed down the side of the house to the front.

  There she saw Rebecca Mosby wrestling with a stranger. It was the long-legged man that Constable Downey had chased off earlier that day. Even though he was slim, he looked ferocious and clearly had the upper hand on Rebecca, whose face was drained with fear.

  “Leave her alone!” Pattie shouted, and hurried forward to help Rebecca. Pattie tried to pull the man away, but he was far too strong. He shoved Pattie with his forearm and she fell aside, landing hard in the driveway.

  Just then, a shadowy form zipped across the front of the house. It was small and four-legged, a streak of dark fur and flashing eyes. It was Macy! She leapt up at the man and landed on his chest, sinking in the claws of all four paws, yowling. The attacker backed away, yelling wordlessly and trying to prise off the brave cat, but she was dug in tight with her back arched and tail stuck out straight and bushy. He staggered backward, his eyes wide from this sudden assault. He managed to tear Macy from his clothes and toss her aside, but it was already too late for him. He tripped backward and hit the driveway, knocking his head on a low raised bed made of brick. He went limp and silent, his mouth gaping wide.

  Pattie got achingly to her feet. Rebecca was crying and trembling, her knees half bent. Pattie went to comfort her and sat her on the doorstep. “My dear, are you hurt?”

  “He sprained my wrists, I think … Oh god, he was so vicious! I just came downstairs and he was there in my hallway, waiting for me … I managed to force him outside, but he wouldn’t leave, and then he attacked me…”

  They stared silently for a moment at the unconscious man lying on the driveway. His chest still rose and fell, so he was alive. Pattie asked Rebecca for her mobile phone, as Pattie didn’t carry one. Then she called the station and asked for Constable Downey.

  “Constable? Yes, I’m at Mister Mosby’s place. You’d better come right away, and with the Doctor.”

  Pattie put her coat around Rebecca’s shoulders, and comforted her for a moment as she worked through her tears. Soon the police car screeched to a halt on the road outside, and out stepped the Constable with Juliette and Doctor Knight.

  The Doctor checked Rebecca first, examining her pupils and the nasty-looking marks on her wrists. He brought out a foil blanket to replace Pattie’s coat and then went to examine the unconscious attacker.

  “What happened?” asked Constable Downey. Pattie could see that he’d been off-duty, as he wore his casual clothes instead of his smart uniform. “Are you both okay?”


  “A little shaken, but we’re fine,” said Pattie, “thanks to brave Macy.”

  “This is the man who’s been observing the house?” asked the Constable. Rebecca nodded. “And you’re sure you don’t know him?”

  Rebecca looked at her hands for a long while. Then she looked up and said, “I do know him. His name is Jonathan Richards. I … dated him for a short while, recently.”

  “So you don’t know him well?”

  She shook her head. “We just had dinner a few times. Nothing more than that. I ended it because I was getting a weird vibe from him. I told him that I didn’t want to see him again, but he was really … persistent. I couldn’t get rid of him.”

  “And he followed you all the way to Little Hamilton?”

  Rebecca bit her lip. “Constable, I’m really sorry that I mislead you. And you, Mrs Lansbury. My father didn’t ask me to come here to look after his house. I didn’t even know that he was out of town when I came. You see, I ran away from home when I was a teenager and never looked back. We kept in touch, my father and I, but not very often. The last time I heard from him was a few months ago, when he told me he’d found a nice lady he wanted to settle down with. I brought it up with Jonathan on one of our dates, and I foolishly let slip how wealthy my father is. That evening I took him back to my flat … He’d been kind of pushy, and I didn’t really want to, but thought if we had a coffee or something he might be satisfied … And I caught him looking through my address book. I thought he was going to come here to my father’s home and try to swindle him out of his money.”

  Pattie had rarely seen Constable Downey angry. He was a kindly chap, a little soft around the edges and pink in the face, but he was one of the gentlest men she’d ever known. Maybe she was a little biased by having seen him grow up all those years ago, who knew? But now when she saw the Constable grow red with anger, she reached out to touch his arm.

  “Why didn’t you tell us all this before?” he demanded. “Miss Mosby, it’s important that we have all the facts! We could have had an officer outside the house to protect you and watch out for this guy. He could be a murderer!”

  “I know,” sobbed Rebecca. “I was just so afraid, because I’d dated him. I didn’t want anyone to think that I was involved in Francine’s death. I’m certain that Jonathan did it. He’s just so odd and intense, I should never had let him get as close as he did. I’m so sorry…”

  Pattie put her hand on Rebecca’s. “Constable, there’s another thing. I was just in the garden and saw that there is something buried there. Miss Mosby, I’m sorry, but I’m sure that it’s your father.”

  “What!?”

  The Constable rushed around the back of the house. He returned a minute later with dirt on his hands and a grim look on his face. “I’m sorry, Miss Mosby. It looks like your boyfriend got here earlier than you thought. Maybe he was trying to get out of town in the van when he ran down Ms Battersby. He must have decided he had nothing to lose by coming back and searching the house. I’ll have the coroner come to take away the body, and we can have a formal ID confirmation in the morning.”

  “Well, she can’t stay here,” said Pattie, indicating the broken front door. “Miss Mosby can stay at my house tonight until we can get somebody to fix it tomorrow.”

  Doctor Knight approached the group. “The young man is unconscious. I’ve already called the ambulance service to get him taken to York Hospital. The local police will keep an eye on him there until he wakes up.”

  “I hope that horrible man never wakes up!” Rebecca spat, and Pattie wrapped her arm around her and led her back up Shepherd’s Street to her home.

  Chapter 7

  ~ 7 ~

  They’d taken a few basic supplies from Rebecca’s house, and once at her home Pattie showed Rebecca the spare room. She always kept this door shut to protect it from muddy paws and shed fur. Rebecca put her things on the bed, looking drained and tired. Pattie forwent the rest of the tour of Pat’s Whiskers and took her to the lounge for a cup of tea.

  “Oh, thank you so much. You’ve been such a comfort, Mrs Lansbury.”

  “Please, call me Patricia.”

  The cats seemed to sense Rebecca’s unhappiness and gathered around to comfort her. Even Archie climbed onto the side of the settee and curled up on its arm into a little furry loaf. Macy sat next to Pattie on her chair, and Jasper jumped up onto Rebecca’s lap to be stroked.

  They sipped their tea, talking about the awful events of the week. Pattie insisted that Rebecca not blame herself. What more could she have done? Even if she’d informed the police, it would still have not stopped that awful man from getting to Mister Mosby in time. That had happened before Rebecca had even arrived in town – no wonder she thought that he’d really left the village on business, and why no-one could get in touch with him.

  “I just don’t understand how someone could do something so evil, just for money,” said Rebecca forlornly. She jerked, perhaps having stroked Jasper the wrong direction, as he hissed and struck her with his paw on her chin and leapt away. Three faint lines grew red on Rebecca’s startled face.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Pattie, getting to her feet. “The cats sometimes get a little jittery when a new cat like Macy moves in. Let me get you something to sterilise it.”

  Pattie left the room. Rebecca dabbed her chin with a tissue paper, which was spotted with blood. She was still looking at the tissue when Pattie returned with a small tube of antiseptic cream.

  “This is all so terrible,” said Pattie, reclining back into her chair as Rebecca applied the cream to the scratch. “Normally this is such a sleepy little village. Nothing much happens here. What do you think will happen to your father’s house?”

  “Well, knowing my father, there’ll be a will. If he left the house to me originally then maybe he never got around to changing it. If he already altered the will to provide for Francine, I don’t know what will happen now that she’s gone too. But I do really like it in this village, it’s so much quieter and more peaceful than Leeds.”

  “It used to be,” Pattie said flatly.

  The doorbell rang three, four, five times.

  “I’ll just get that,” said Pattie. “Excuse me, won’t you?”

  Rebecca nodded, suddenly looking anxious. She was still holding her teacup and saucer when Pattie came back with Constable Downey and Juliette.

  “Please, take a seat,” said Pattie sweetly.

  Rebecca watched as the two police officers did so, silently.

  Pattie went to refill the kettle and light the stove. “No need to be alarmed, Miss Mosby,” she called. “I just rang the station and asked them to come over. I think it’s time for us to all hear the truth, don’t you?”

  “I … don’t know what you mean,” said Rebecca. Her face had drained almost to the colour of the white china teacup she held. “I thought the case was closed…?”

  “So did I,” said Constable Downey seriously. “Mrs Lansbury?”

  “Just a moment, the kettle’s about to whistle.”

  The young woman and the police officers waited in the lounge, eyeing each other. Jasper returned and circled warily around Rebecca’s seat without sparing her a glance, and settled in the warm spot that Pattie had been taking up. Simba jumped onto Juliette’s lap, and the policewoman petted the ginger lad sweetly until he climbed onto the back of the armchair to sleep.

  Finally Pattie returned with a silver trolley loaded with a steaming kettle, tea-cosy, cups and saucers, and a plate of biscuits.

  “Sorry for the wait,” she murmured politely. Constable Downey reached for the kettle. “Let’s leave that to brew for a moment, shall we? Yorkshire Tea is meant to be drunk strong.”

  Pattie swirled the teabags around inside the kettle for a moment, then poured for the officers. She offered a top-up to Rebecca, who declined soundlessly.

  “I suppose we should start from the beginning,” said Pattie. “At an early age, Rebecca ran away from home. Maybe it was soon
after her mother passed away; only she can tell us exactly when or why. For years she had little contact with her father, until recently when he announced that he’d gotten engaged to a woman named Francine Battersby. Now, Rebecca was aware that her father, Richard, had amassed a fair bit of wealth, and for as long as he remained alone with only one child, Rebecca stood to possibly inherit that wealth. Maybe she kept in touch just often enough to make him think that she would return one day – and for him to keep her in his will. But when Rebecca heard about Francine, she came rushing home to Little Hamilton to confront her father. Tell me Rebecca, when your father was up the ladder trying to fix the windows, did he fall, or was he pushed?”

  Rebecca put down her cup and saucer. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

  “Stay where you are,” said Juliette firmly. Rebecca obeyed.