Read Online Meow If It's Murder (Nick and Nora Mysteries) by T.C. LoTempio - Free Book Online
Authors: T.C. LoTempio
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years. I knew the types of cases he got involved with, and the Grainger case was a disaster waiting to happen. If it was murder—and I’m not saying it was—then there is more there than meets the eye, much more. There’s something brewing there people will kill to keep secret.”
I nibbled at my lower lip. “I know you’re trying to discourage me, Ollie, but I’m afraid all this is having the opposite effect on me. It’s making me, as the White Rabbit would say, ‘curiouser and curiouser.’”
“Actually,” chuckled Ollie, “it was Alice who said that, not the rabbit. And it’s a trait that makes a great ace reporter, but could ultimately place you in grave danger.” He rose and took my arm. “Listen to me, Nora. Go on home, and give little Sherlock—or Nick—a pat on the head for me. Tell him I’m glad he finally found himself a good home with a good person. If you need anything—you know, like advice on caring for cats or the services of a pretty good investigator?” One eye closed in a broad wink. “Feel free to call. My dance card ain’t exactly full. I’ll be here.”
I gave Ollie a small smile. “I just might take you up on your offer. I told you, I’m not really that good at caring for animals.”
He held up both hands. “Nora, the cat found you, remember? Animals have better instincts about what’s good for them than most humans. Believe me, he knows exactly what he wants, and it happens to be you.”
“Well,” I said, “I suppose I can keep him—at least, until his real owner turns up.”
“Yeah, well, that might be a while. Quite a while.”
That prospect pleased me, although I hated to think how I’d feel if Atkins returned to claim his little roommate. I squared my shoulders, deciding I’d cross that bridge when—or if—I got to it, and then added, “I’d really like to keep calling him Nick, but if he’s used to the other name . . .”
“You should call him whatever you like,” Ollie said. “I doubt it’ll matter much to him, as long as he has somewhere soft to sleep and three squares a day.” His hand shot out to cover mine. “Nick’s your cat now, and you couldn’t ask for a finer companion. The poor thing had to listen to all of Nick’s stories about his women and his investigations. If you decide to go back into investigative reporting or even detective work someday, who knows? That cat might be more of a help to you than you think.”
I laughed. “And just how would he help? Cats can’t talk, after all.”
“He doesn’t have to.” Ollie tapped his forefinger against his chin as he walked me to the door. “Believe me, cats have plenty of tricks to make what they’re thinking known, and Nick has more than most. You just wait and see.”
* * *
I retraced my steps back to the SUV and hopped inside. Nick lay curled up on the backseat, head between his paws. I’d thought he was asleep, but his head jerked up as soon as I shut the door. I twisted around in the seat to look at him.
“Well, Sherlock. I understand that’s your name. It seems your master is MIA—for now.”
He blinked twice.
“If it’s okay with you, I’m going to keep calling you Nick, at least until your master shows up to reclaim you. I think you’re a bit more Nick Charles than Sherlock Holmes, don’t you?”
He sat up, stretched his forepaws out, then jumped over into the front seat. He laid his paw on my arm, rubbed against my shoulder, and began to purr.
I chuckled as I guided the car into the steady stream of rush-hour traffic. “I’m glad we agree.”
“
Meow.
”
“Ollie said you could be a big help to me,” I said thoughtfully. “That you had plenty of tricks up your sleeve—or paw.”
Nick gave me a solemn nod. “
Er-ow!
” he said emphatically, waving his paw in the air.
“Uh-huh,” I said, making the turn on the road back to Cruz. “That’s just what I was afraid of.”
SIX
B ack home, I dug up some fresh salmon leftover from
I nibbled at my lower lip. “I know you’re trying to discourage me, Ollie, but I’m afraid all this is having the opposite effect on me. It’s making me, as the White Rabbit would say, ‘curiouser and curiouser.’”
“Actually,” chuckled Ollie, “it was Alice who said that, not the rabbit. And it’s a trait that makes a great ace reporter, but could ultimately place you in grave danger.” He rose and took my arm. “Listen to me, Nora. Go on home, and give little Sherlock—or Nick—a pat on the head for me. Tell him I’m glad he finally found himself a good home with a good person. If you need anything—you know, like advice on caring for cats or the services of a pretty good investigator?” One eye closed in a broad wink. “Feel free to call. My dance card ain’t exactly full. I’ll be here.”
I gave Ollie a small smile. “I just might take you up on your offer. I told you, I’m not really that good at caring for animals.”
He held up both hands. “Nora, the cat found you, remember? Animals have better instincts about what’s good for them than most humans. Believe me, he knows exactly what he wants, and it happens to be you.”
“Well,” I said, “I suppose I can keep him—at least, until his real owner turns up.”
“Yeah, well, that might be a while. Quite a while.”
That prospect pleased me, although I hated to think how I’d feel if Atkins returned to claim his little roommate. I squared my shoulders, deciding I’d cross that bridge when—or if—I got to it, and then added, “I’d really like to keep calling him Nick, but if he’s used to the other name . . .”
“You should call him whatever you like,” Ollie said. “I doubt it’ll matter much to him, as long as he has somewhere soft to sleep and three squares a day.” His hand shot out to cover mine. “Nick’s your cat now, and you couldn’t ask for a finer companion. The poor thing had to listen to all of Nick’s stories about his women and his investigations. If you decide to go back into investigative reporting or even detective work someday, who knows? That cat might be more of a help to you than you think.”
I laughed. “And just how would he help? Cats can’t talk, after all.”
“He doesn’t have to.” Ollie tapped his forefinger against his chin as he walked me to the door. “Believe me, cats have plenty of tricks to make what they’re thinking known, and Nick has more than most. You just wait and see.”
* * *
I retraced my steps back to the SUV and hopped inside. Nick lay curled up on the backseat, head between his paws. I’d thought he was asleep, but his head jerked up as soon as I shut the door. I twisted around in the seat to look at him.
“Well, Sherlock. I understand that’s your name. It seems your master is MIA—for now.”
He blinked twice.
“If it’s okay with you, I’m going to keep calling you Nick, at least until your master shows up to reclaim you. I think you’re a bit more Nick Charles than Sherlock Holmes, don’t you?”
He sat up, stretched his forepaws out, then jumped over into the front seat. He laid his paw on my arm, rubbed against my shoulder, and began to purr.
I chuckled as I guided the car into the steady stream of rush-hour traffic. “I’m glad we agree.”
“
Meow.
”
“Ollie said you could be a big help to me,” I said thoughtfully. “That you had plenty of tricks up your sleeve—or paw.”
Nick gave me a solemn nod. “
Er-ow!
” he said emphatically, waving his paw in the air.
“Uh-huh,” I said, making the turn on the road back to Cruz. “That’s just what I was afraid of.”
SIX
B ack home, I dug up some fresh salmon leftover from
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