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Showing posts with label mysteries. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mysteries. Show all posts

Friday, February 15, 2019

Release of Book 2 of Fancy Cats by Lisa Lickel


Announcing Book #2 in the series!




EBook $5.99
Print $16.99 (March 1, 2019)

Buy online

Or order from your favorite bookseller

A Dead Reporter Found In A Foyer. Can Ivy Solve This Mystery Before Her Wedding Day

Ivy Preston has waited a long time to get married. This time she plans to do more than make it to the altar. But when Ivy tries to do a good deed and stumbles over a body, she and her former fiancé, Stanley, are accused of the crime. Ivy hopes she's not the only one who believes in their innocence.

Worse than being framed for murder, when one of her beloved kittens falls ill, Ivy must face her greatest fears. How will she ever parent a child if she can't even take care of a cat. . .and for that matter, how will she be the type of wife her devoted fiancé needs?

Through the love and support of her mom, fiancé, and friends, Ivy is determined to clear Stanley's good name, and her own. With nuptials looming, Ivy hopes not only to find a killer, but to make it to her own wedding.

Enjoy this excerpt from Chapter One


“This is Ivanna in the morning,” the throaty voice from my car radio chanted. “Ready to sign off. Remember, North Star Candies…the way to enjoy the day. Who doesn’t adore North Star mocha fudge? Treats so light they’ll take you beyond the moon!”
“Hmm, North Star might have been the best around here,” I told my car radio. “Before Featherlight Confectioneries made caramel cashew with sea salt.” I pulled into my driveway, the cool sunny breeze whipping my hair when I opened the car door. Yippee! Not only was March arriving like a lamb, I had presents. My mail carrier Janie knew I’d stop in at home at lunchtime to check on the kittens, so she’d left the beautiful box from Emblem Paper Works on my front stoop next to my still tightly budded tulips. Sigh.
I put my hand over my fluttering heart and drooled once again over the wonderful, fabulous hunk of man who was going to marry me. The box of wedding invitations sitting there pushed me one step closer to the altar, which I vowed I was actually going to make stick this time. When I could touch the scrumptious, thick, silky paper and read the words, I was sure the wedding would finally feel real, and everything would be perfect this time. Adam Truegood Thompson, the man who loved cats and children, fed me gourmet coffee and chocolate, would take me, Ivy Amanda Preston, as his lawfully wedded wife. Mmhmm.
OK, quit dawdling, grab the box of invites, which technically wasn’t a present since I paid for them, and check on the man’s kittens which were currently in residence at my house so their father wouldn’t be tempted to harm a hair on their little heads. Sadly, the darling fluffballs broke the line of pure-bred Egyptian Mau cats when my silver, Memnet, got to, um, know his cat Isis, a smoke, a little better than we’d anticipated last fall. Mem and Adam were currently batching it at his place downtown.
I called “kitty, kitty,” as I dumped the box on my kitchen table, even though Isis always gave me the eye, like what was this crazy woman doing? when I tried to get her to come. She would appear when she needed me. Which was rarely. The four kittens, on the other hand, bumbled over. I squatted to play with them.
The invitations called to me during the time I created a peanut butter and rhubarb jam sandwich and ate. I studied the siren carton while I jingled my car keys and dithered whether to open it now or wait for Adam so we could look at them together.
Guess which side won?
I used the handy-dandy key I happened to be holding to slice through the packing tape. Uh-oh, that color blue edging wasn’t what I remembered in my order. Flutter went thunk in my chest. I reached with a quivering hand and matching lip to lift out the sample invitation left open on top of the neatly sealed packages.
“You are cordially invited to attend the nuptials of Miss Ivanna Lynn Pressman and Mr. Jason Albert Carter…”
Oh, no.
I double-checked the address on the box. Yup, my name, Ivy Preston, and my address, 312 Marigold Street, Apple Grove, Illinois.
I picked up the sealed package of invitations and turned it over. From the outside they looked the same as the open one. I guessed our names were close enough to confuse, but I still felt wounded and anonymous. Ivanna, hmm? Exotic, nothing like me. It couldn’t be…seriously? Ivanna from the radio show? I looked again at the invitation. Their wedding was the weekend before mine. Ours. At Ethereal Events, the same venue Adam and I had booked for the last Sunday in June. I know, a Sunday, but it was the closest we could get to the end of May, Mother’s preferred date.
Fortunately, the invoice had Ivanna’s correct address—on the south edge of Apple Grove—and I thought I’d do the neighborly thing and take them over to her after work rather than waste time sending them back through the mail. Besides, ouch, those things were expensive enough already. I grabbed some tape from the drawer and quickly slapped it across my key slash, called “farewell and behave” to the cats and rushed back out the door.
As I started my car’s engine, I reached for the radio button, ready to catch a little of the afternoon show on WWAG, Apple’s Grove’s little radio station. Ivanna could be home when I went there. Hmm…I might get to meet a celebrity. Anticipation would make the afternoon wing by.
I drove the few blocks downtown to Mea Cuppa, the coffee and book store Adam owned and at which I now helped. The Apple Grove store was one of a small chain based in Chicago. Pushing the back door open, I called, “Martha, I’m back,” to our shop assistant and my neighbor who worked three days a week. “Anything exciting happen?”
She was a bouncy mom of twin kindergarteners who was overjoyed to let her mother and her husband’s parents share grandparent duties while she earned some needed money.
“When does anything exciting happen around here?” she said with a little toss of her reddish-blond hair nicely shaped to her head. I envied anyone who had such control of her hair. Mine tended toward the wild musk ox side. “Just that new order from the book distributor. I had them set it by the office door.”
“Thanks! I had a special delivery at home, too.”
“Do tell!” She rubbed her hands together.
“Of course! Be right back.” I went to put my purse away in my office desk and returned to the wide open, high-ceilinged room with narrow creaky wooden floorboards to help her prep for the afternoon coffee rush. Today’s coffee special was mocha mint, and of course I needed to sample some so I could eagerly explain its engaging qualities to our clientele. The hot mugful went down smoothly and I regretfully decided against seconds. I told Martha about the invitations instead, to keep my mouth too busy to stuff in more calories. “So, if that’s OK with your schedule, I want to take off fifteen minutes early so I can still meet Adam at Tiny’s for a quick supper after I drop off the box at Ivanna’s house. Can you lock up?”
“Sure, boss.” Martha grinned and popped a square of chocolate fudge from Featherlight Confectionaries in her mouth. “I’ll just ask Mom if she can get supper ready.”
I ordered myself to stop mentally drooling over fudge and a mom who would cook dinner at the drop of a hat and think of my upcoming wedding dress fitting. “I can’t imagine what it would be like, having parents so close.”
The bell on the door played, “Oh what a beautiful morning, Oh what a beautiful day,” as customers entered. Much as I wished my mom lived physically closer, having a two-hour warning, the drive from Maplewood where I’d grown up in northern Illinois south to Apple Grove, was a relief before her tornadic visits. Adam’s father had passed away years ago and his mother had Alzheimer’s. Sad.
At five forty-five, Colleen Bailey, our after-school helper, and Martha were ably handling customers so I breezed back into the late afternoon light. Sunset was five minutes away and would be romantic by the time Adam and I held hands at the buffet for our too-brief connection of the day. He had an evening meeting—when didn’t he?—with some committee or other of the city council. Part time mayor was really time and a half, but he was happy and I was proud of him.
I needed sunglasses for the drive west and south, the approximate direction of Ivanna’s neighborhood. New townhouses clashed with the gentility of Apple Grove’s historic center. Progress, though, trumped desperate clinging to the past, something Adam was attempting to work on by bringing new businesses and life to our little adopted city.
There it was—Ivanna’s address, the right hand of a two-story dark-sided and narrow-windowed building. I supposed it was modern classic, but I frowned at its bleakness. The tree in the front yard was spindly, with its “I’m new and insured the first year” store tag fluttering in the breeze. I knocked and rang the bell before depositing the box on the rubber welcome mat. Weatherman Bob at WWAG reported possible showers in the early morning hours, so I hesitated leaving it exposed. As I reached to test the knob, I noticed the interior door was ajar. Maybe I should push it open and shove the box inside. I didn’t even have to set foot in the entry.
With a peek up and down the street, deserted for the dinner hour, I gingerly eased the glass storm door toward me, then tentatively pushed the black-painted interior door inward. Not even a squeak added to the spooky tension. I grinned. I’d been reading way too many mysteries and detective dramas lately. “Hello! Just dropping this off!” I called as I slid the box forward, though I was certain no one was home.
Except the outstretched fingers on the floor I happened to see looked too real to spring from an overactive imagination.

Friday, February 17, 2017

Carole Brown and Undiscovered Treasures

Undiscovered Treasures

Undiscovered Treasures, an Appleton WV mystery
Carole Brown

About the Book
Caroline Gibson is co-owner of Undiscovered Treasures, a shop of antiques, collectibles, and junk in rural West Virginia. Inside the shop is a music box that Caroline particularly relates to, believing that her own life is similar: forever spinning and never going anywhere. She dreams and prays for the right man to turn up. But when family and friends hint that the local artist could be the guy, Caroline forgets about trusting God and takes matters into her own hands. Besides, she could never love a man who paints such depressing pictures. Andrew Carrington, painter of said depressing pictures, insists there’s always one redeeming trait to each of his works. He’s loved Caroline since they were kids and thinks he’s not handsome enough, strong enough, or rich enough to impress this woman. But when God—or is it?—suddenly sends contracts begging for his signature, Andy thinks this just might be the way to win the only woman he can ever love. But there’s a hitch in their plans. Someone is stealing Andy’s pictures, and why would they do that when he’s an unknown—so far? Do they know something Caroline and Andy don’t know? Is it mischief? Or something deeper that neither understand? Andy gets the chance to work with Caroline, and she must put aside her on-going battle to avoid Andy and his art so they can discover the art thief in Appleton before Andy loses the chance of a lifetime to ‘make it big.’

Appleton, WV Cozy mystery series, inspirational
October 2016
Story and Logic Media Group

Ebook $2.99
Print $11.99

Buy on Amazon

Lisa Lickel's review
Brown’s third addition to her Appleton, West Virginia mysteries, focuses on another young resident business owner, Caro Gibson. Establishing a familiar milieu ala Jan Karon, Brown is building a repertoire of characters that figure in each other’s lives.

In this story, Caro, her brother Toby, and their lifelong friend Andy, wrestle with the direction of their adult lives. Caro and Toby run an odds and ends shop, besides what Caro does in her spare time—writing and selling plays for church groups to perform. She has begun to establish a respectable reputation in the area, and when a handsome director shows up in Appleton to hire Caro to write a play for his large church, Caro is smitten. Meanwhile, Andy has been developing a highly regarded following as an oil painter. He’s been sure Caro is his soul mate all of their lives, only somehow Caro not only missed that point, she blows off Andy and his work. For her, familiarity really does breed contempt. But when Andy needs her to help figure out who’s sabotaging his career, she hops over on one foot while keeping the other tangoing with the handsome stranger. Caro and Andy’s friends add to the fun trying to help their favorite couple realize they’re perfect for each other.

I found Carolyn Gibson needing to grow into herself and often wanted to smack her upside the head. Thank goodness for good friends who refuse to give up on her. Somewhat reminiscent of Nancy Drew, Brown’s circle of friends and mysteries are a fun clean read for those who enjoy jumping into small town life with big dreamers and achievers. Told in multiple viewpoints but mostly from Carolyn, Undiscovered Treasures is a sweet addition to the series. A sneak preview of the next book is included.


About the Author

Carole Brown's debut novel, The Redemption of Caralynne Hayman, is a 2015 Book of the Year in General Fiction from Christian Small Publishers, a RWA Oklahoma International Digital Award 2nd place winner, a Clash of the Titles top three finalist, a Selah Award finalist in debut novels, and a semi-finalist in the Genesis contest.

Besides being a member and active participant of many writing groups, she enjoys mentoring beginning writers. She loves to weave suspense and tough topics into her books, along with a touch of romance and whimsy, and is always on the lookout for outstanding titles and catchy ideas.

Friday, September 2, 2016

Knight in Shining Apron by Carole Brown



About the Book
Starli Cameron gave up her career plans to be a concert pianist to marry the man of her dreams. He turned out to be a nightmare. When he dies in a car accident, Starli takes the insurance money and builds a successful and upscale restaurant: Apple Blossoms in rural West Virginia.  Threats from someone determined to ruin her life and the suspicious romantic advances from her new chef force Starli to search her heart and finally turn to God for real healing.

Sir Joel Peterman-Blair, top notch chef from England, is roped by his uncle, into filling in as head Chef at Apple Blossoms. Joel, with his sanguine-personality, has always laughed and flirted his way through life. But now, confronted with and attracted to the most beautiful woman he’s ever met, Joel has to prove his sincerity and depth of character to his icy-cold employer. Can his love for God and for this woman reach out far enough to rescue her from her own mistrust and bitterness? Will he learn that life is not all play?

And can they both work together to find the source of threats that seem to be coming from Starli’s past?

Print:11.99
Ebook: 2.99
Buy on Amazon

Lisa's review

Hints of an abusive relationship between restauranteur Starli and her late husband are the focus of this romantic intrigue. When first introduced, it seemed Starli had a huge chip on her shoulder and was at odds with many in the town, including her former brother-in-law, a policeman, who constantly threatens to avenge his sibling’s death. Starli has more on her plate to deal with as her former head chef abruptly leaves, with an ominous note “accidentally” left for Starli to find, vandalism and sabotage taking place in her business, a youngster in the kitchen who thinks she’s management material, an over-confident, over-the-top knighted British chef stepping in at the request of her maître d, and a boring confidant banker who wants to be more. What’s a widow to do?

Book Two of the Appleton, West Virginia Romantic Mysteries (after Sabotaged Christmas) is a charming follow up. Told in alternating points of view, Sir Joel tasks himself with uncovering his new boss’s skittish untrusting persona as he repays his uncle for past kindness in rescuing this damsel in distress. Starli deals with scary parts of threats and well-meaning friends and employees who think it’s time she get out and live again after the death of her terrifying husband. Clues, plenty of red herrings, several twists all make the reader keep turning pages…and that’s only in the first quarter of the book. A proposal gone awry, a dreadful accident, and a surprise confession all bring this sweet and savory story to a satisfactory conclusion.

A huge cast will keep you entertained as well as guessing and salivating during the courses of Knight in Shining Apron.


Carole shares about Trust Issues
Trust Issues by Carole Brown

We’ve done a lot of marriage and spiritual ministry through the years, and one of the biggest issues is trust. In this world of immoral lifestyles, it’s easy for one or the other marital companion to mistrust the other. It takes two people committed and determined to stay together.

In Knight in Shining Apron, Starli Cameron has serious issues with trust because of her past abusive and unfaithful husband. Although Joel keeps assuring her that she can trust him, she needs to see that faithfulness and sincerity from him in action. The least little thing from him shoots her doubts skyward again.

Though Joel is happy-go-lucky and has always been confident in himself, his God and others, he slowly learns that it takes more than enthusiastic assurances to convince her that he is for real.

Only with Joel’s persistence and striving to be what he says he is--and God’s help--does Starli finally learn to let go of her bitterness and fear, to live and love again.  

About Carole
Besides being an active participant of many writing groups, Carole enjoys mentoring beginning writers. She loves to weave suspense, tough topics, romance and whimsy into her books, and is always on the lookout for outstanding titles and catchy ideas. She and her husband reside in SE Ohio but have ministered and counseled nationally and internationally. Together, they enjoy their grandsons, traveling, gardening, good food, the simple life, and did she mention their grandsons?

Connect with Carole:
Barn Door Book Loft: http://www.barndoorbookloft.net/

Friday, December 11, 2015

Carole Brown and Bat Crazy Giveaway!


Carole is offering a copy of Bat Crazy to one randomly drawn commenter! Comment by Sunday night, December 13, midnight EST, for a chance to win. Winner announced Monday, December 14.

About the Book:
Red-eyed Monster Bats that attack humans?

Denton doesn’t think so and Alex hopes not, but who are they to quibble with the local gossip?

Transmission problems and a blown tire land Denton and Alex Davies right in the middle of a dilapidated, unfriendly town that’s welcoming no strangers, least of all nosy ones with a bent toward solving mysteries.

But with support from the town detective--an admirer of the Davies--and their own tenacious personalities, Denton and Alex aren’t easily scared off. Not when warnings in the form of painted bats show up on the porch of their rented cabin, not when the mayor threatens to run them out of town and not even when Denton finds the bones . . .

An ancient story, a bit of a map, a lost jewel and even a bat clan serve to provide the Davies and their sidekick, Taffy, the dog, their hardest case so far.

Kindle: $2.99
Print: $11.99 
Buy the book here

Review for BAT CRAZY:
A terrific cozy mystery. Carole does a great job of developing her characters. I just love the couple in this series and the way they always seem to land in the middle of trouble. I loved Hog Insane, book one and was not disappointed in this book. I look forward to more adventures with Denton and Alex.

What do you love about this book?
I love Denton and Alex Davies, their personalities and their small squabbles and real love for each other. Relationships have to be worked at to survive and Denton and Alex, although they strongly disagree on a variety of subjects, work at theirs.

There’s also the fact that the first five months of this year, saw us facing five deaths. It was a particularly hard time for me when I couldn’t focus on writing. BUT God and my hubby helped me through it and eventually I was inspired once again to write. It was with  a special satisfaction that I was able to write “The End.”

Introduce us to a sidekick character.
I suppose one that I was drawn to was my detective: Tomas Brody. It was his first real job, an easy one, he thought when he accepted it. He’s young, inexperienced but smart enough to accept help when needed. I loved being able to create him as a sympathetic law officer who admires the Davies and who is not afraid to seek the help he knows they can give.

What did you learn while writing this book?
I always enjoy research, so it wasn’t entirely a chore to learn more about bats. Yes, the truth is, I’ve never been a big fan of them. But after studying them, I’ve learned that they are fairly harmless and beneficial to the environment. That boosts their value in my eyes.

I also wavered for quite awhile on which bat specie to use. Eventually, I went for a large one from Australia (that is stolen from a local zoo in the book) as an interesting tidbit in the book. On the interviews I’ve done so far, I hoped I’ve convinced several that they have no need to fear from the bats in BAT CRAZY!


Are there spiritual aspects in this book? A theme? Can you share a review or feedback from readers?
My Denton and Alex Davies series is written with a very light spiritual touch. I like to show the results of a good life and doing the right thing. And, as always, in this series, one of the minor threads in relationships.

In BAT CRAZY, there are TWO relationships:
1.      One is the new, young love of a couple who are trying to hard to protect the other, but in their innocence and selfless love, it all works out.
2.      The other is more of a sad situation. Two people who have had it all in the past, are so focused on what they want, how they can better their own careers/lives that they do not appreciate all the privileges they have. Because of their selfish love of self, their marriage fails and both go on to seeming failures.


What’s next?
The third book in this series should release sometime in 2016. It’s called DAFFY’S DUCK and is set in Colorado in the ski country. I’m so excited about this book because a Down’s Syndrome woman plays a big part in the plot. Blackmail, ducks, art and skiing are all involved to make it another exciting mystery.

About the Author:
Brown not only has her award winning (Winner of the 2015 Christian Small Publisher Award in General Fiction, nominated for an Epic Award, RWA International Digital Awards finalist in Inspiration, Laurel Award finalist, Selah finalist; Genesis semi-finalist) debut novel, The Redemption of Caralynne Hayman, available for purchase now, but a companion book called West Virginia Scrapbook: From the Life of Caralynne Hayman, filled with tidbits of information about West Virginia.

A fun, lighthearted mystery series began with the first book: Hog Insane, introducing Denton and Alex Davies and now her second book in this series, Bat Crazy. Her WWII romantic suspense Spies series began with With Music In Their Hearts, featuring the first of three red-headed sisters, three spies, and three stories.

Now, releasing November, 2015, is the first book in a new series: The Appleton, WV Romantic Mysteries, called Sabotaged Christmas.

Besides being a member and active participant of many writing groups, Carole Brown enjoys mentoring beginning writers. She loves to weave suspense and tough topics into her books, along with a touch of romance and whimsy, and is always on the lookout for outstanding titles and catchy ideas. She and her husband reside in SE Ohio but have ministered and counseled nationally and internationally. Together, they enjoy their grandsons, traveling, gardening, good food, the simple life, and did she mention their grandsons?

Catch up with Carole:
Barn Door Book Loft: http://www.barndoorbookloft.net/

Friday, October 23, 2015

Another Great Mystery Novel by Christian author and speaker, Dana Rongione




My Fears Relieved:  A Delaware Detectives Mystery
Book Three is now available!

About the book:  
It all began with a pocket knife which led to a mysterious inscription which led to a wolf. But there are no wolves in Delaware...or are there? It's up to the Delaware Detectives to find out.
·       In book one, Abby and Jamie, along with their friends Scott and Phyllis, followed a trail of tantalizing clues to uncover a hidden fortune.
·       In book two, the curious siblings embarked on a nearly-impossible mission to find a missing man.
·       Book three thrusts the detective team into a new mystery they are determined to solve no matter where the clues may lead. But are the kids prepared to discover what's really lurking in the woods of Beaver Valley?

While this book is appropriate for readers of all ages, gender and educational status, it was designed with the homeschool student in mind. To that end, the book contains a Glossary of Terms that can be used in the subject of Spelling and Vocabulary. The author has also included a Science Center, a History Hideout and a special Art Academy—all of which provide valuable insight and activities based on information from within the story itself. Could this be the perfect addition to your homeschool curriculum?

For the entire month of October, your can pick up a Kindle copy of My Fears Relieved
for only 99 cents.  Haven't read the rest of the series?  No problem. 
They're all on sale this month only!  Click here for more information.

About the author:
Dana Rongione is a Christian author and speaker living in Greenville, SC with her husband, Jason, and her two spoiled dogs, Tippy and Mitchell.

For a living, she writes quality Christian books for audiences of all ages and speaks to women on a variety of inspirational and encouraging topics. For fun, Dana devours more books than she does chocolate (though not by much).  She also enjoys hiking, playing the piano, and spending time with her family.


To find out more about Dana and her ministry, visit her website at www.DanaRongione.com.  

Friday, October 4, 2013

A Taste of Friday with Lisa Lickel and Meow Mayhem


Lisa J Lickel

January, 2013, Whimsical Publications
Mystery

 
Lisa Lickel is a multi-published Wisconsin author, avid book reviewer and blogger, a freelance editor, and writing mentor. Find her at LisaLickel.com.

 

Chapter One

The alarm next to my ear shrieked me awake at two forty-eight a.m. I scrambled upstairs to my home office to catch the urgent summons. My messenger service board light sputtered an angry red, signaling an incoming call for one of my clients—ID code, the mayor’s office. I frowned. In the middle of the night? This had to be a crank call. I hoped it wasn’t one of those angry at the world verbal abusers. I was tired and not in the mood to be professionally pleasant. I held the headpiece next to my ear and answered. “Office of the mayor.”
“Mm—get—call—mmm—”
I couldn’t make anything out through the crackling static and so I boosted the gain. I tried to turn the outside antenna with the automatic control, but another burst of static rocketed me out of the chair. I whipped off my earpiece. “Oww!”
I sat down again slowly. The light blinked balefully now. I checked the caller ID. Chicago. Summersby Building. “Hello? Can I help you?” I flicked a switch up and down. All I heard now was a soft buzz. Then a distinct click. At least the recorder had been on. I yawned. Summersby Building was probably a construction company doing work for one of the new businesses coming to Apple Grove. That’s why I was here, too, invited on behalf of the mayor’s new community growth incentive. I yawned again and hung my earpiece on a hook. Maybe some cleaning crew accidentally hit redial. I went back to bed.
The next evening, after my third attempt to reach my friend Donald, the mayor of Apple Grove, Illinois, I ran my fingers across the rows of red and yellow and green blinking lights of my servers. I usually found them cheerful. Comforting. But sometimes my system of eight blinking bubbles reminded me of all I hated about Christmas. In the gloomy twilight of early fall, they felt sinister.
When I moved here two months ago, April Fool’s Day, to be exact, the phone and cable companies had wondered
about how I could make McTeague’s Messenger Service work with my three servers. I showed them Donald’s letter of reference and the preliminary approval of the exception to the zoning ordinance in this quiet little neighborhood.
Usually, I took messages. This evening, I needed to give one. One that I dreaded. I took a deep breath, plugged in my headset, and dialed.
“Apple Grove Police. Officer Ripple. How can I help you?”
      “Hello, hello? I need to report a kidnapping.”
      “Kidnapping? Name?”
      “Ivy Preston.”
      “Right. High Vee? Could you spell that, please?”
      “I-V-Y. Preston.”
      “And where are you now, ma’am? Can you see any weapons? Do you know the name of your kidnappers?”
      “Oh, no, Officer. It’s not me. It’s the mayor.”
      “Mayor? Got that. First name?”
      “Donald.”
      “Donald Mayor. And is he a relative? Is there a note?”
      “No…you’ve got it all mixed up. I’m calling about somebody kidnapping Mayor Donald Conklin.”
      “You think someone’s going to kidnap the mayor? That’s a pretty serious charge.”
      “Not going to. I think they already did.”
“We’ll send someone over to talk to you. What’s your address?”
 “Three-twelve Marigold.”
        “Ah, yes. The Pagner house. And you have some sort of evidence?”
 “Well, I received the strangest message last night and now he won’t answer his private number. I’m worried.”
“Message?”
“I’m the new messenger service in town. McTeague’s. Donald invited me.”
 “Okay. Sit tight. I’m sending Officer Dow over to you to take your statement.”
 “Thank you.” I hung up and wondered what kind of a statement I was expected to give. I had the recording, but unless one knew the context, it could mean anything. Maybe I should call someone. How did I know I could trust the police here? You saw it all the time on TV. Sometimes, the bad guys aren’t who you thought. My mental contact list was pretty slim. My neighbors, who I didn’t know all well. Mom, who lived a couple of hours away.
A knock on the door saved me from a slide into self-pity. I let in Officer Ann Dow. And smiled politely at the little wisp of a blond who looked like the east wind would carry her away if she hadn’t been anchored by her sturdy shoes and even sturdier holstered shiny black weapon. “Thank you for coming.” I wasn’t huge, but I looked down a couple of inches on her.
“So, tell me about this alleged kidnapping.” The officer got out her pad and pen. She shushed her shoulder mic.
“I believe the mayor is missing.”
She didn’t say anything at first. “And you believe that because…?”
“I received this strange message late last night. On my business line. You know, I’m hired to reroute phone, fax, and electronic mail service from the mayor’s office while he’s out?”
“I’m not privy to the mayor’s office practices,” she said, straight-faced.
I ignored her implication and instead led her to my office, explaining she could hear for herself. “This message came in, cued for the mayor’s office, but it was all staticky and garbled. I couldn’t make anything out, except ‘get’ and ‘call.’”
She listened. “Get what? And you think it came from the mayor?”
“I don’t know for sure. The caller ID said Summersby Building in Chicago. I just thought you should check it out.”
Officer Dow tapped her pen on her pad. She shook her head and returned to the kitchen, me following like a lost puppy. “I’ll make a report,” she said, reaching for the door. “Maybe you should notify the FCC. If you get threatening calls, you should call the telephone company. We’ll talk to Mrs. Bader-Conklin, who’s been in the office all week covering for her husband. If that’s all, I’ll let you get back to…what you were doing.”
      “Thank you. But—”
      Click. She shut my door.
And I thought Apple Grove seemed like such a nice town.
I let out a sigh of pure exasperation and tapped my size seven-and-a-half sandal on the tile floor. Last night’s message…I just couldn’t get it out of my head. I get mistaken numbers, of course, but I had a funny feeling. And that was a new one—Donald’s wife had been in the office? Why did he need me? Calling the police wasn’t the best first move. But what else could I have done?
      Donald, or the city I guess, hired me to take messages this week while he went to court another incubator business to start up in Apple Grove. He was nice like that, paving the way for other people to trust my business, just like he did.
      Maybe I should have been mad at him instead of concerned. With my ringless fingers, I tucked a loose spiral of my dishy-blah hair back into its sloppy bun. Donald would never have ignored me this long. And he’d want to talk about the next CAT convention coming up. That was Cat Association Titlists—the group where we met years and years ago. We both had silver Egyptian Maus.
      I have never been a whimsical person, and this was a big deal in my life, but I’ll get to that later. Let’s just say his request, that I move McTeague’s—that’s me, Ivy Amanda McTeague Preston—Message Service to Apple Grove happened to fall at a good time. Pun intended.
      If the police thought Donald was perfectly safe, I should just wait until tomorrow and then see if Mrs. Bader-Conklin had some notion about what was going on. I could go visit her at the office and ask, casual-like, if she’d heard from him. And offer to leave his messages.

***

My next hint that something was wrong was that Donald’s secretary, Marion Green, was not at her usual post. If the mayor’s office was open for business, Marion at least should be here, even if she supposedly had the week off. Donald joked that she was the one who really ran the town. The stern-looking black-haired woman who infringed on Marion’s space made me wait fifteen minutes. Donald usually came out of his office when he heard my voice. The light was on; I could see it shining under his door. I suppose Margaret—Mrs. Bader-Conklin—could have been making an urgent call.
I heard a distinct sneeze from inside the office. Then the tap of high heels.
Why had I waited so long before getting concerned enough about Donald to call the police? Final registration for CAT was in two days. Donald never missed. He hadn’t registered yet—I checked. And he told me before he left town that it was the one thing he looked forward to all summer. He could take his cat, Tut, out of his wife’s hair for awhile, and since she claimed she was allergic to animals, she didn’t insist on coming along. He never said anything negative, but I got the impression the vacation was a three-way blessing between him, his wife, and Tut.
A woman opened the door to the mayor’s office. I recognized her from a photo that Donald had showed me—Margaret. She studied me over half-glasses perched on a razor-thin nose; Joan Crawford eyebrows raised toward her curled-under bangs. I shivered.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Preston. Please.” She gestured to me to follow her. And then she invited me to sit in the ugly straight-back chair on the opposite side of Donald’s desk instead of the comfy one in front of the computer. Donald had never done that.
I warily started a conversation. “I hope Marion isn’t sick.”
“I gave Mrs. Green the week off. My personal assistant is with me.” The wife of the mayor of Apple Grove leaned back in her husband’s leather chair. “Now, what can I do for you, Miss…Preston?”
I swallowed hard. “Uh, well, Don—the mayor asked me to take messages as he was going to be out of the office all week. I wondered…if you’ve heard from him?” Dang, I tried hard not to squeak with nerves at the end. I couldn’t help it, yet instinct told me that I must not show fear. I hoped she wouldn’t get the wrong impression.
“May I know the nature of your business with the mayor?”
No wonder Donald needed an annual break from this woman. Did she act like such an iceberg at home, too? Margaret sneezed again and took out a dainty lace handkerchief. “Something in the air,” she muttered, sniffling. “You must have a cat or a dog at home. I’m allergic.”
“Oh?” I said, stopping before I mentioned I already knew that. Wrong impressions and all.
“I recall Donald speaking of you,” she said. “From that little group he goes to, right? So, did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Bring the messages you’ve been supposedly taking.”
“Sorry.” I handed over eight yellow and green carbons. I kept the pink copies locked in a safe for three months, per contractual agreement. “Mrs. Lendler wants her neighbor’s box elder tree cut down as a public menace because of the bugs—”
“Thank you. I can read. Was there anything else?”
“So, am I still on the job for the rest of the week? And Don—the mayor—will be back on Saturday? He’s all right?”
“Of course he’s all right. Why wouldn’t he be? Letty can handle business.”
Letty must be the battleaxe up front. Margaret stood and I had to follow suit. She was taller than me. I supposed if I had on heels instead of tennies, I could have looked at her nose instead of her chin. She had three black hairs sprouting under her makeup. I pressed my lips tight to hold in the grin while she turned to open the door to her office.
“How’s Tut these days?” I asked, testing her out on a whim.
“Tut? Oh—fine, just fine.”
Mmhmm. “Mem’s just fine, too.”
“Mem? Memo? I don’t underst—” She looked over my shoulder. “Oh, ah, good to know. Excuse me while I, ah….”
I followed her line of sight to see Letty in the doorway, frowning, while her left hand came to rest on her folded elbow. We locked brown-eyed stares. Her irises had weird little gold flecks in them. She blinked first. She went back to her desk.
“I’ll be glad to care for Tut,” I said, a bit giddy with my victory in the stare down, “since you’re allergic and all, while the mayor’s away. Our cats get along swell.”
She bit the corner of her lip, just for an instant, but enough to give me the feeling that something was amiss.
“Tut’s all right, isn’t he? Or is he with Donald?”
She frowned when I said Donald. Oops. “I mean, the mayor.”
She pushed forward, forcing me to move to the door. “Of course. If you’ll excuse me, we have a great deal of work. Good-bye, now. Take care.”
I nodded to Letty on my way out. I got turned around in the maze of staircases and hallways and ended up leaving city hall by the back door. In my muse, I had to dodge a dark-colored delivery van squealing right up to the back door before I found the walk that went around to the side parking lot where I had left my car. What on earth would Mrs. Bader-Conklin do in her husband’s office?
How I got home, I’m not sure. I don’t think I ran into anyone on the way. I paced my tiny kitchen, three steps forward and back, as the evening wore on, deciding how much further to get involved in this business.
Judging by the officer’s response to my initial phone call, I wondered if I would ever rate any respect for my theory that the mayor needed help. I only hoped it would not be too late for Donald. I needed to find a better way to explain my dilemma to the police if I felt like I had to call again.
I could talk to someone else. Of course! Someone else. True! He’d know what to do. How could I have forgotten Truesdale Thompson, Donald’s other pet project? I grinned. True had moved to Apple Grove not long after me. Mea Cuppa, his little bookshop and fancy coffee joint, needed more prep time than my machines, so he’d only recently opened. I spent my odd hours helping him sort merchandise and stock shelves.
I drove through downtown, chased by an occasional scrap of newspaper or leaf swirling in the spring breeze riffling up from the river through alleys. I knocked on the front door of the closed shop. I didn’t think True heard me at first, as he took some time coming down from his apartment.
“Ivy. What’s wrong? Come on in. Sit down.”
A solid comfort, True. I babbled. “I don’t know where else to turn. Please, listen to me!”
“Of course I will.”
I looked around, feeling vulnerable through the huge plate glass window. Any passerby could see us clearly. “Not here.”
He seemed unfazed. “Okay. Come on up. I wasn’t exactly expecting visitors, though.”
And clearly, he wasn’t. He tossed aside a pile of towels and picture hangers and bade me sit on his recliner while he went to fix tea. I felt antsy and couldn’t sit still. There was little room to pace with the floor so covered with boxes and bubble wrap. I could barely tell the color of the carpet.
He smiled and put a steaming cup of ginger tea in my hand. “I told you it was a mess.”
I inhaled. “Thank you.”
He looked around the room and grimaced. “Let’s go in the kitchen, shall we?”
His kitchen was a different world. Neat and cozy. I could see where True felt most comfortable. We sat. I sipped while appreciating his patience. I mulled over a couple of ways to tell my tale and decided direct was best.
“Donald’s missing. I think he’s in trouble.” I stopped, and took a deep, whimpery breath. True put one of his gigantic warm hands over mine and anchored me with his calming gray stare. I had no idea what he thought, but I knew I trusted him.
“Ivy. Donald told us that he was going on a business trip. In fact, I thought you were on the job.”
“I thought that too. Until the police told me that Margaret was in the mayor’s office.”
True’s eyebrows went up with comforting incredulity. He shook his head; his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“When I called the police, he said he saw the mayor’s car leaving the parking lot. Wouldn’t he have taken his car on his trip?”
“Not if he was flying. Ivy, you called the police? Based on what?”
I twisted my mouth to the side and jiggled my foot. “Um, well. A feeling, I guess. Donald hadn’t registered for CAT yet. I knew he wanted to go, so I tried his emergency number. Three times. To remind him. He didn’t answer. Then, later, I started putting this strange garbled message—I could only make out what sounded like ‘get,’ and ‘call,’ I think, from some number in Chicago—together with Donald’s absence, and wondered if the two might be related. So, what do you think it means?”
True sat back, not saying anything. Then he got up and walked over to the sink. I admired his height and flexed back muscles, the efficient way he moved and the deliberate way he thought before speaking—so unlike my scrambling around and blurting out the first thing I thought. He was older than me—I’m almost thirty-two and single, thank you to my ex-fiancé Stanley—but I wasn’t sure how much. His wavy black hair was slightly salted at the temples, and his nose looked like it had been broken at one time and fixed, but best of all, he wasn’t married. “Donald’s business wasn’t in Chicago.” The tone of his voice made me feel that he wanted to take me seriously but was finding it difficult.
“I suppose he’s just busy,” I said. “Or out of cell range. And the other call could have been some wrong number or something. It happens.”
“What do you think might be going on?”
“I don’t know. Donald is my friend. If he’s in trouble, I want to help.”
True’s mouth twitched. “What kind of help?”
I sighed, thinking how ludicrous my actions had been. “I thought I’d just go over to city hall and visit Margaret. You know, just ask if she’d heard from Donald. So I did. But Margaret wasn’t talking. Marion wasn’t even there.”
“She might not spend all day in the office if Donald was out,” True reminded me.
I took another deep breath. “But there was someone else there. Someone I didn’t know sitting at Marion’s desk.”
“Ivy, you wouldn’t know many people here anyway, remember? We just moved.”
I liked the “we” part of his comment. “Right. But did you know that Margaret’s allergic to cats? I thought she just hated them.”
“That’s one of the reasons Donald was so interested in that new company. Happy Hearts Bioengineering? They’re working to produce a hypoallergenic breed of animal.”
“I thought he was…well, maybe I hadn’t been paying attention. I thought he was going after a pet food company. Fel-feli—”
“Feli-Mix. He told me they signed an ‘intent to build’ contract based on getting the zoning approval.”
“Oh. Good.” I scratched my ear. Isis wandered in from a dark hallway to curl around True’s ankles. True’s Mau smoke female was daintier in looks than disposition. My Mem had been at the receiving end of her ferocity since they’d been introduced two years ago at a convention. Poor Mem had only tried to be polite.
True nudged me back to the present topic at hand. “What did Margaret say?”
“She wouldn’t talk to me.” I saw him wipe a hand over his face. “I didn’t think I was nosy. So I asked her if I was supposed to continue taking messages. She said her assistant could handle it.”
“Oh?”
“Then I asked Margaret about Tut. You know. I was concerned. She said he was fine. I asked if I could take care of him while Donald was gone. She didn’t answer me. Not really.” I looked toward the lopsided drape that hung over the kitchen sink.
“But you’re still worried.”
“Yes, about both of them. I wish now I hadn’t called the police first.”
“What exactly did you say to them?”
My lip protruded again. “That I wanted to report a…a kidnapping.” My voice had dropped to a too-low whisper on the last word. I sounded perfectly ridiculous and I knew it.
“Based on a message you couldn’t understand? And after the police officer stopped laughing?”
“He didn’t laugh at all! He sent a lady cop to check on me.”
“And?”
“She said she’d report it.”
True uncrossed his arms and got up from the table. He gently removed the mug from my hands and raised me to my feet. I liked the feel of those hands. I liked the confidence he exuded even more. “Ivy, I can tell you’re concerned about this. Why don’t you let me go talk to Margaret tomorrow, see what I think. Okay? I’m not dismissing you, but I have to think about this.”
I nodded. “I know it sounds wild, True. I need to do something, but I’m not sure what.”
True walked me to the door and down the steps. The moccasins he wore silenced his path across the floor of the shop. “You drove. You want me to take you home?”
I appreciated his thoughtfulness. “I’m all right.” I caught my reflection in the window of the door. Shoulder-length corkscrew hair in all directions, eyes wide—I looked like a nutcase. No wonder he had been concerned I couldn’t drive. I stopped and turned. The top of my head came to his shoulder, giving me a good view of his throat. His turtleneck shirt hid most of the scar that I knew snaked around his neck and across his right shoulder. I never asked about it and I was too shy around him yet to pry, but I hoped that would change in the near future. “Thank you, True, for listening. I hope it’s just some kind of mental lapse on my part.”
“We both care about Donald. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He flashed a grin and closed the door behind me, staying at the window to watch until I sat safely in my car.
I did not expect to sleep much, so after checking my client list and the current work orders in my office, I settled on the couch with my pet Memnet nearby and popped a movie into my player.
Mau owners give their friends names popular in ancient Egypt for obvious reasons. Mem was a beautiful black-spotted registered silver male running past middle age. We garnered tons of compliments for his personality and outstanding looks, and he was as devoted to me as I was to him. He had been a staunch friend when Stanley decided he did not want to marry me—after we’d ordered the invitations and my dress and rented the hall.
Memnet’s scratching woke me sometime later. Cold and stiff, I came to my senses abruptly when I heard a loud crack and tinkling sound from the kitchen. Mem was not as cautious as me and streaked toward the sound, a silver shadow in the blue glow of the television screen. His screech was primeval.
My hand shook as I dialed the number of the police department with a legitimate complaint this time. After being assured they would send someone immediately, I peered into the kitchen to see the broken window panel of the door and the swinging chain. Mem sat guard, his tail twitching and ears forward, his paw resting on top of a stone with something tied to it.
“What have you got, Mem?” I crouched, wary of glass. With a low growl pulsing from his furry throat, he reluctantly let me examine the rock. I supposed it was evidence, but it was in my house. And Ripple had laughed at me earlier, after all. With one eye watching for the police car, I hurriedly untied the string and read the attached note.
“Busy-body’s don’t belong in our town.”
I hated misused apostrophes.