Beatrice Young 7- The Paw-sitively Cheerful Poisoner Page 7

  11

  Zoe had been running since dawn. She didn’t have a car, so she’d had to pursue both cats on foot. It had started innocently enough. Lucky had landed on her stomach and then had the bad manners to round up Petunia and escape out a window. The first couple of blocks running through Ashbrook’s dark, pre–dawn streets were kind of fun. Her blood pumping, she chased down the two fluff balls, thinking that they were just up to a bit of mischief.

  But, after those first few blocks, Zoe realized that Lucky and Petunia were not playing around. They weren’t going to stop, and they weren’t looking for exercise either. They were headed somewhere, though where that could be at five in the morning Zoe couldn’t fathom. The only thing she knew was that Matthew had charged her with taking care of them. The last thing she wanted to do was lose them. So, legs burning, she chased them down the empty streets, yelling at them to stop.

  The cats eventually took a road that headed out of town. She started to wonder if maybe they were trying to go back to Bee’s house. But then they took a turn that headed in a different direction. The road was a quiet one, filled with some of Ashbrook’s more posh homes that were tucked neatly into the dense forest.

  It wasn’t until the cats started to run down the Robinsons’ driveway that Zoe began to suspect that something was wrong. Lucky and Petunia flew past the main house and down a driveway that curved around the side. Zoe picked up a piece of a heavy branch that lay on the ground. She looked ahead, seeing the cats galloping towards a small cottage. The lights were on inside. The cats stopped short at the front door and frantically pawed at the heavy wood.

  Without a second thought, Zoe grabbed the handle. It jerked inwards sending her hurtling forward.

  She was face to face with Ann Smith, who seemed to have just been opening the door herself.

  Ann stared at her blankly. Zoe stared at Ann blankly. Then she looked down and spotted what looked like Beatrice’s shoe on the ground … still attached.

  Zoe wouldn’t have called herself a tough person. A fighter. But in that moment, instinct took over. She threw all of her weight on the door so that it flew open, knocking Ann square on the head. Her eyes took on a glazed look and she toppled over like a felled tree. The cats ran into the room and Zoe took in the scene around her. Beatrice was lying on the ground, apparently unconscious. Ann was beside her, groaning as if coming to. Zoe ripped a table lamp out of the wall, rolled Ann over with her foot, and used the long cord to tie up her hands. Then she pulled out her phone and called first 911, then the sheriff, then anyone else who would listen to her hysterical crying…

  The next hour was a blur. The ambulance came at the same time as the sheriff. He, Zoe, and the cats accompanied Bee in the back, the sirens blaring as they jetted down the highway. At the hospital, Beatrice was taken away by a team of nurses and doctors and Zoe and the sheriff were left to stare at each other in the waiting room. Both of them were faint with hunger, still sleepy, but most of all they were dazed by what had just happened.

  People showed up one by one: Matthew first, then Ryan Jackson from the grocery store, Abigail from the Purple Lilac café, her friend Nathan, Reggie from the church society and his sister. They took turns buying each other coffee and chocolate bars from the vending machine, anxiously looking toward the double doors that led to the ward for news.

  Matthew looked the worst of them all. The doctors wouldn’t let him see Bee, saying they were busy trying to save her. “Save her?” he kept saying. “What does that mean? Does that mean she’s not going to make it?” He alternated between leaping up and trying to peer through the windows of the double doors and sitting in a chair, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking.

  Zoe watched it all numbly. The cats sat at her feet, as still as statues. They didn’t move, didn’t cause any trouble, they just waited patiently. Zoe wished she had an ounce of their fortitude. The only bright spot in that long, terrible day was when Dr. Violet showed up cradling Hamish in her arms. He looked weak but his eyes were bright.

  “He’s going to be okay,” she said, handing the big cat over to Matthew, who held him close to his chest. She put a hand on his shoulder. “We’re all going to be okay.”

  But Zoe was really not sure that things were going to be okay at all.

  12

  Matthew parked outside the converted barn house. Crocuses were sprouting willy–nilly in the garden and the first blades of grass were growing in the lawn. But the scene had an unkempt look to it—no one had tended the beds of flowers recently.

  He put his key in the door, the very one Beatrice had given him that Christmas. He went into the dim hall, nearly tripping on the stack of mail on the other side. Sidestepping the paper, he padded into the lofty main room and then into the kitchen where they’d so often shared cups of coffee over Sunday brunch. There was the sour smell of food going off and even a light layer of dust on the countertops.

  Backing out of the room, Matthew went up the curved staircase to the second floor with its open hall. Beatrice’s room was pure chaos, especially in contrast to the relative neatness of the rest of the house. The bed sheets were ripped back, there were clothes on the floor. The closet doors were open. Matthew sat down heavily in the same armchair he’d slept in the night Hamish was sick.

  There was no note. Nothing. But Beatrice definitely wasn’t there.

  Matthew pulled out his cell phone and called the sheriff.

  “She’s gone,” he said simply when Roy picked up.

  “Whaddya mean she’s gone?”

  “Cats aren’t here. Her stuff’s all over the place, like she packed in a hurry. Car’s gone too.”

  “I dunno, maybe she went to the doctor. To get groceries. Out for a drive.”

  “With her duffel bag? And after sending me a text message that read: I’ll be back sometime?”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. “What the heck does that mean?”

  “Beats me.” Matthew slumped down further in the chair.

  The sheriff started to sputter. “But she’s just out of hospital. Supposed to be in bed. She’s not fit to be traipsing around like she’s on holiday.”

  Matthew pulled the phone away from his ear and flipped over to his messages. There were a lot of unanswered texts from him to Beatrice lately. First she’d been almost dying. Then she’d been very sick. Then she’d been recovering. It’d been such an emotional roller coaster that the fact that something was off about his best friend hadn’t struck him until very recently.

  And yet something definitely hadn’t been right. She hadn’t asked about the café, didn’t want to talk about what happened, wasn’t even interested that Ann Smith had been picked up, charged, and was sitting in jail awaiting trial.

  “There was something wrong before the … accident happened. She didn’t seem like herself,” Matthew said into the phone after a minute. “Listen, I’m going to call around. See if anyone’s seen her.”

  “Oh Beatrice Young,” the sheriff groaned. “That woman’s going to give me a heart attack. Just when I got over thinking she was going to die…”

  “Tell me about it,” Matthew said quietly.

  “You don’t worry about anything. I’ll place the calls, okay?”

  “Sure thanks. Listen, I’m going to go now. Bye.”

  Matt hung up, cradling his cell in his hands. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in Bee’s house without her. It seemed more than quiet. It was … empty. He rested his head against the back of the chair and shut his eyes. Maybe if he sat there long enough she might come back again. It didn’t seem likely, but in that moment he didn’t know what else to do.

  The downstairs clock ticked on the fireplace mantle. There was a slight whirring noise and then the clock chimed once. One o’clock in the afternoon. Matthew crossed his legs and prepared himself for a long wait.

  Want More From Beatrice & The Cats?

  Buy the collection of books 1–5 on Amazon (ebook or paperback) or read it on Ki
ndle Unlimited: smarturl.it/BYcollection

  Sign up for Alannah Rogers’ mailing list and be the first to hear about new Beatrice Young cozy cat mysteries.

  Sign up here: http://eepurl.com/bohwiL

  Write a Review…

  I really appreciate reviews from my readers. Even something short and sweet helps.

  Review The Paw–sitively Cheerful Poisoner on Amazon here: smarturl.it/beatriceyoung7

  Thank you kindly!

  About the Author

  Alannah Rogers is a retired librarian living in rural New Hampshire. She has three cats, all named after authors: Charlie, Wilkie, and Jane.

  Alannah is an obsessive knitter and Scrabble player who loves a strong cup of English Breakfast tea. She makes a mean strawberry rhubarb pie and enjoys tinkering in her garden when time permits.

  Email Alannah

  Alannah loves to chat with her readers (please send cat photos!).

  Send her an email at alannahrogersauthor@gmail.com.