Free Fat Cat At Large (A Fat Cat Mystery) by Janet Cantrell Page B

entire day in Anna’s company, knowing she’d harbored those thoughts about her, and refereeing her incompatible employees. A few tears of self-pity escaped her nondescript blue-gray eyes. All she could see before her were Anna’s periwinkle blues, giving her a steely stare of suspicion.
    She splashed cold water on her face and returned to the fray.
    After a couple of hours of pure torture—working in her kitchen had never been this hard before—her cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the ID, but it seemed official.
    “Detective Olson here.” Niles Olson, the good-looking policeman working on the murder case of Gabe Naughtly.
    “Can I help you?”
    Anna started paying attention when Chase used that polite, formal tone. She stopped mixing dough and cocked her head toward the counter where Chase had been sprinkling coconut onto some cooled Lemon Coconut Bars.
    “We need to ask you a few more questions, Miss Oliver. Could you make it down to the station today?”
    “Not . . . not right now. We’re terribly busy.”
    “After hours, then. Give me a time and I’ll be here.”
    “We . . . we’re staying open late tonight. It’s one of our busiest days of the year.”
    “What time?”
    He was going to make her come to the station no matter what she said. “I’ll be there at eight.”
    Could anything else go wrong today?

    The cat was bored and hungry. He heard welcome sounds outside the office door. It sounded like a delivery person had entered the rear of the shop. That usually meant the back door would be propped open. The last time the older woman had darted in to leave him some cookie crumbs, the office door hadn’t shut properly. He’d bided his time to use this knowledge, but now was the right time.
    Hooking a claw around the protruding bit of the door, he nudged it open, just far enough for him to slip out. Slinking along the wall, no one saw him until he was at the rear door. The commotion and din made him move faster and he dashed through it. The alley and parking lot beckoned.

    “There goes Quincy,” said Anna. She pointed toward the back door with a spoon that dripped creamed butter and sugar.
    “Not again.” Chase shook her head and dashed out the door the delivery man had come through. She almost knocked the boxes of cleaning supplies out of his arms. Twisting to help catch his wares, she felt her back wrench.
    “Sorry, ’scuse me,” she called, scrambling after her cat. Right outside the door, she halted. He hadn’t gone far and she didn’t want to frighten him into running away. Quincy crouched next to the trash bin, peering at something beneath it. Chase tiptoed to him and scooped him up, wincing at the pain that shot through her spine, hoping rats weren’t under the bin staring out at her and Quincy, ready to invade her shop.
    “Such a bad, bad boy,” she cooed, cradling him and stroking his back.
    The sounds of an argument reached her from the other end of the parking lot. A man and a woman stood on the other side of a car, only their heads visible above the roof of a small Toyota. The woman raised her arms and chopped the air repeatedly, her voice rising. She had a cute, short haircut.
    It was Vi! Chase strained to hear what was going on. Was this guy the source of her recent distress? Chase wondered if she should go confront the young man—he looked to be the age of a college student or younger—and tell him to quit upsetting Vi. But Chase was holding Quincy. She needed to put him in a safe place first.
    Back inside the kitchen, she deposited Quincy in the office and made sure the door was latched securely.
    “I think that might be my fault.” Anna cringed. “I might not have closed the door hard enough when I came out.”
    “When you came out from sneaking treats to him?”
    Anna’s softened demeanor vanished and her hostility returned. She turned her back to Chase and hit the button on the mixer with a vicious stab.
    Way to go, Chase
.
Anna had started to