Sofie Ryan's

Second Chance Cat Series

Cat Got Your Killer

Excerpt

Elvis had left the building, but he hadn't left the parking lot. He was sitting on the front passenger seat of Liz's new car and the two of them were engaged in a stare down. Seeing as how Elvis was a very confident black cat with a scar across his nose that only added to his rakish charm, and Liz was Elizabeth Emmerson Kiley French, CEO of the Emmerson Foundation, I knew it would probably take a while.

Liz wanted Elvis in the back seat on a flattened cardboard box that she had taken out of my recycling bin. The cat continued to calmly look at her, seemingly without blinking, and I had the sense that he thought Liz's idea was ridiculous so he wasn't going to dignify it with any response other than to stare at her until she relented.

Avery stood by the front bumper of the car, arms crossed and a scowl on her face. She was deeply offended by the idea that Elvis should be sitting on a cardboard box on the back seat. Avery was Liz's granddaughter and they often butted heads. They also loved each other fiercely. They were very much alike, although both of them would have vehemently denied it.

"Nonna, cats are very clean in general and Elvis is in particular. He isn't going to get your new car dirty."

Liz's "new" car was a sable black, 1976 Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham, bought from a collector who had spent more time lovingly caring for it that actually driving it.

Elvis just continued looking at Liz.

"That is neither here nor there," Liz said. "If you plan on eating supper any time soon pick up that furball and put him on the backseat."

I knew that look in Avery's eyes. I'd known Liz all my life and I'd seen the same look on her face innumerable times. I'd seen it more than once from Avery, for that matter. "Not until you apologize to Elvis," Avery said, a flash of defiance in her eyes.

Liz's chin came up. "I am not apologizing to a cat," she said. To be fair Liz didn't like apologizing to anyone.

Avery squared her shoulders. "Then it's going to be a long time until supper."

Avery had been living with her grandmother for several years now because she had a difficult relationship with her parents. She was about to graduate from her unconventional private school and had been accepted at Benton College, a small private college about forty minutes away, where she was going to major in physics and minor in art because she hadn't decided whether she wanted to be an astronaut or an artist.

Liz looked at me as I moved past her carrying a large cardboard box. "Do something," she said.

"I am doing something," I said. "I'm putting this box in my SUV."

"Well stop doing that and come get this insolent animal of yours out of my new car."

I laughed. "And why should I do that? If you want Elvis out of your car then pick him up yourself."

"I might just do that," she said. "Or I might just leave him here to fend for himself all night."

She looked at Elvis again as though he could somehow understand her threat—which given how smart he was, wasn't totally unlikely. The cat was unfazed.

"Threats don't work on Elvis," I said. "He lived on the street, remember? He's perfectly capable of taking care of himself."

Mr. P. came out of the shop then, his messenger bag over one shoulder. Alfred Peterson was pretty much the smartest person in the room no matter the company. He was also kind and humble and scarily skilled behind a computer keyboard. On top of all of his many other skills he was a private investigator, licensed by the state of Maine, a fact that often surprised people because he looked like a sweet little grandfather who played chess at the park. And as a matter of fact he did play chess, including at any given time, a couple of correspondence chess games by email with top chess players from all over the world.

Mr. P. walked over to the car, excusing himself as he made his way past Liz. He picked up Elvis from the front passenger seat, and then sat down on the backseat, on top of the piece of cardboard Liz had put there. He set his messenger bag at his feet and settled Elvis on his lap. The cat seemed to smile at Mr. P. and then went back to looking at Liz.

The old man smiled. "While I do concede I am stretching the definition of transitive property, I do believe that Elvis has now met your conditions for riding in your new car." He leaned forward to look over the front seat. "It is a splendid vehicle, one of Detroit's best and you have, as always, impeccable taste." He turned to look at Avery. "Would you please go help Rose with her things?" he asked.

"Sure," she said. She gave him an admiring smile. Then she turned her attention to her grandmother. "Nonna, if Mr. P. is sitting on the cardboard and Elvis is sitting on Mr. P. then Elvis is sitting on the cardboard."

"If A equals B and B equals C then A equals C," Liz said tartly "You don't have to explain Euclid to me."

Avery started for the back door. "Probably because he was probably one of your teachers," she muttered.

"I heard that," Liz retorted.

"That was the point of saying it out loud, Nonna," Avery said as the back door closed behind her.

I could see from the hint of a smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth that Liz wasn't really annoyed. She looked at Elvis, pointed one exquisitely manicured, lavender tipped finger at him and said, "Don't think you've won."

The cat tipped his head to one side and almost seemed to give Liz a smug smile. I had the feeling he was certain he'd won.

I walked over to Liz and put my arms around her shoulders, leaning my head against hers. I caught the very faint scent of Chanel N* 5. Liz and my grandmother had been friends since they were girls. She was family. "Alfred is right," I said. "This is a fabulous car."

Liz shot me the side eye. "And you are not driving it."

"I'm a good driver," I said.

Liz gave a snort of derision. "You drive like your grandmother."

I raised my head and gave her a wide-eyed look of innocence. "You mean well and responsibly?"

"I mean like the devil himself is on your tail."

My grandmother was the one who had taught both me and my brother Liam how to drive and all three of us had been known to stretch the speed limit from time to time but I still maintained we were good drivers. I gave Liz my best wheedling look. "Please. Maybe just a couple of laps around the parking lot?"

"Maybe the twelfth of never," Liz said.

"Okay," I said. "Just one little lap around the parking lot."

"No."

"Can I just sit in the driver's seat?"

"No. And for the record, missy, I told your grandmother the same thing when she asked."

I leaned over and kissed Liz's cheek. "You're very mean," I said. I headed for the back door. "I'll wear you down," I said. "I always do."

She gave another snort of scepticism.

"Love you," I said. I waited for her usual response and after a moment it came. "Yeah, yeah everybody does," she said.

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