Free Murder and a Song (A Pattie Lansbury Cat Cozy Mystery Series Book 2) by Nancy C. Davis

into the large tent and others smashed the front driver’s
window of the van.  One group checked the
partitioned ‘rooms’ of the tent; the other found the release switch for the
back doors of the van and unlocked them.

                There
was no sign of the two suspects.  The
tent and the van were empty.

                “Bloody
hell,” whispered Constable Palmer under her breath.  The plot was surrounded by festival goers
gaping at the action.  She chose to reign
in her temper and ignore them.

                “I
think the cat’s in this box here,” called one of the officers, who had found a
large cardboard box in the back with holes cut in it, and a camping stove
placed on top to weigh it down. “It’s alive. 
No sign of the targets, Ma’am.”

                “Peterson,
go and fetch one of the vans and park it fifty feet that way.  You, Fenwick and Hill stay in the van and
wait to see if the targets come back.  I’m
going to join you in an hour if nothing happens before then.  The rest of you, come with me – bring that
box with the cat.  Do not let it get out,
okay?”

Chapter 20

    At the Pat’s Whiskers Feline Retirement
Home, a woman was dreaming.

                She
dreamt that she was in a moonlit meadow. 
There was no mud and no tents, but there was a stage.  On the stage Paul, John, Ringo and George
were playing ‘Hey Jude’ in sharp blue suits beneath a spotlight.  Pattie was dancing.  She hadn’t danced for years, not properly –
maybe a little jiggle in the kitchen every now and again when a favourite song
came on the radio.  But she was dancing as
though she were a younger woman … In the dream, she was a younger woman … and the man she was dancing with was a young
man.  The young Pattie knew him well but
wanted to know him better.  He was
familiar, someone whose company she enjoyed immensely.  It was not her ex-husband, God bless his
soul.  Even though Pattie was young in the
dream, her heart was old.  This was a new
love.

                Pattie
awoke to the sound of her doorbell ringing. 
She coaxed the drowsy Mia off her lap and made her way to the door.  Real life compared to the dream was stiff and
slow.  She sighed as she opened the front
door.  Outside was Detective Constable Downey,
looking thoroughly exhausted, with a cat in his arms.

                “Hello,
Mrs Lansbury.”

                “Please,
come in – I think the kettle’s still warm.”

                “I’d
better not stay, if that’s alright,” said the D.C., handing over the placid
animal. “I’ve got to get back to the investigation.  Juliette took a team to the campsite but the
suspects weren’t there.  They hadn’t
packed anything up, and the van was still there, so either they did a runner on
foot or they don’t know that we’re on to them. 
Are you sure about this cat being involved?”

                Pattie
gathered up the legs of the wriggling ginger tom and stroked him gently. “I’m
sure that this little fellow holds the key to the whole thing.  I’m just not sure how, yet.”

                D.C.
Downey smiled. “I thought I’d better leave him with you for the time
being.  Juliette and I are trusting your
hunch on this.”

                “Don’t
you agree that things are adding up so far?” asked Pattie.

                “Well,
there must be something going on …
First Ms Carter and her dead boyfriend, then her affair with Harry Widmore who
turns up dead, this cat of Seth MacGowan’s, who’d been mixed up with Daryl
Hardy … If you’re seeing the lynchpin for all this, please fill me in!”

                Pattie
took O’Malley a few steps into the hallway and then gently put him down on the
carpet.  He flicked his tail and looked
at the front door, but Simba was Pattie’s savour: he touched noses with the new
cat,