Free Drowning in Christmas (Kate Lawrence Mysteries) by Judith Ivie

time, can I tell you my troubles, please?”
    “You bet, Hon. Tell Mother.”
    I proceeded to do so, complete with the details and nuances one saved for one's best friends, and was rewarded with the horrified gasps and sympathetic chuckles that I so desperately needed. “So now what do I do?” I wailed in closing, confident that help was at hand. Despite her Southern Belle persona, Margo was the most level-headed person I had ever met. Through three years of personal and professional crises, not to mention a couple of murder investigations that would bring a lesser woman to her knees, I had never seen Margo anything but poised and competent.
    She considered for a moment. “Well, Sugar, for openers, I think you'd better let Strutter cook that goose for you. She'll already be makin’ dinner for that huge family of hers, so one goose more or less won't even faze her. And considerin’ that you're doin’ the whole Norman Rockwell bit for the benefit of Emma's young man, I should think she'd be more than willin’ to help you out with the weddin’. That should free you up to hold Mary O’Halloran's hand. It's not John's jurisdiction, as head of homicide, but he can find out what's goin’ on with the missin’ persons investigation once it gets under way. I'll have him get in touch.”
    Her unhesitating advice led me to marvel, not for the first time, at her efficiency. The woman was a force of nature. Probably due to my weakened state, tears filled my eyes, and I began to sniffle. “Thank you,” I managed to choke as I rifled through my purse for a tissue. “You and Strutter have already done so much. It's just that Armando is away, and Mary needs my support right now, and Jasmine is so sad without Simon.”
    “Pish tosh,” she cut my gratitude short. “Everyone will be glad to help out. It's Christmas, after all, and what are friends for? At least this time, you aren't draggin’ us into a murder investigation.”

Five
     
    B y Saturday morning, I was in the worst mood I could remember for quite some time. Nevertheless, it was the one day I had available to accomplish the many errands that had piled up during the work week, so I dragged myself into jeans and a jacket and sallied forth. By eight o'clock, I was fighting shopping cart gridlock at the Rocky Hill Stop ‘n’ Shop, and after quick stops at the gas station and drugstore, I hurried home to collect Jasmine for her ten o'clock appointment with Dr. DuPont at Catzablanca, our cat clinic. Jasmine had all but stopped eating, and I was at my wits’ end.
    The young women at the front desk made their usual fuss over my old girl, but she didn't break into her customary purr. “What's wrong with her?” I pleaded with Dr. Linda after she had given Jasmine a thorough going over. Linda had been our trusted veterinarian for nearly twenty years. She had pulled Jasmine back from the brink of death several years back. If anyone could put her right, it was Linda. Now she took her stethoscope out of her ears and looked thoughtful as she scritched Jasmine under the chin.
    “She's lonely,” she finally pronounced. “Jasmine has never been an only cat. She's always been one of a herd, or at least she's had one feline companion. She's a feisty old cat, and she had her issues with Simon and Oliver and Lucy and who else came before that?”
    I smiled sadly. It was true that Jasmine had outlived a number of former housemates.
    “I'm just not ready for a new cat. Simon was my special boy, my loving shadow, for fifteen years. He slept with me every night and woke me up every morning. I'm still mourning him. Besides, I thought Jasmine might enjoy having the place to herself for a while.”
    “Obviously, she doesn't,” Linda pointed out briskly. “There's nothing wrong with her physically, aside from being nearly twenty years old, but she's clearly pining. I have a kennel full of cats and kittens in the back who need good homes. Shall we go take a look?”
    I knew she was