Who's Kitten Who? (34 page)

Just looking at her made my eyes mist over.

As Betty began to walk slowly down the aisle on Nick’s arm, I glanced at Winston. He, too, looked as if he was about to burst.

The ceremony was short but personal. Betty and Winston each recited vows they’d written, pledging their love and their loyalty. I only hoped all the eye makeup I was wearing was waterproof.

“By the power vested in me by the State of New York,” the justice of the peace boomed, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Winston leaned forward and gave Betty a chaste kiss. She responded by throwing her arms around his neck and planting a big wet one on his mouth.

Everyone laughed, then burst into applause.

Once the ceremony was over, the guests swarmed around the garden. I thought I was done with my part. But before long, Chloe clapped her hands for attention.

“Come, come, ladies,” Chloe insisted. She may have been dressed in swirls of yellow satin, but she sounded like the drill sergeant in a World War II movie. “Betty’s ready to throw the bouquet. You, stand here. You, over there.”

Reluctantly I allowed Chloe to shepherd me to the back of the garden along with all the other single women. They included her six-year-old daughter. Since Fiona had youth on her side, I was betting on her catching the bouquet.

Then Betty pranced over, cradling her bouquet in her arms and beaming. Still, there was a look of determination in her eye that made me nervous. Keeping my head low, I shuffled toward the back, hoping no one would notice me. Especially Betty. I parked myself two or three feet behind the rest of the group, hoping all the towering heads with their elaborate hairdos would keep me hidden.

Big mistake. Standing apart from the crowd only made it that much easier for Betty to hurl her bouquet right at me. You’d have thought she was playing shortstop for the Yankees.

“Oomph!” I cried as I caught it in both hands. I had to. Otherwise, it would have smacked me in the solar plexus with such force I probably would have been rushed to the nearest emergency room.

I glanced down at the bouquet I was clutching, the symbol for
You’re next.
And wondered how I’d managed to let this happen.

“Hey, that was rigged,” Nick commented, appearing from out of nowhere.

“Exactly what I was thinking,” I replied. Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye.

“It looks like Betty refuses to give up on you.” He swallowed, then added, “Just like me.”

I turned to him, all my defenses suddenly dissolving. “Oh, Nick, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I acted like a jerk.”

“Or maybe you acted like somebody who’s nervous about getting married,” he returned lightly. “But you don’t have to be afraid, Jess. It’s just me. Deep down, you’ve got to believe as strongly as I do that if there were ever two people who could live happily ever after, it’s you and me.”

I nodded. “I do.”

He laughed. “Can I hold you to that?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Absolutely.”

And then, just like Betty, I threw my arms around the man of my dreams and planted a big wet kiss on his mouth.

About the Author

Cynthia Baxter is a native of Long Island, New York. She currently resides on the North Shore, where she is at work on her next mystery,
Monkey See, Monkey Die,
which Bantam will publish in summer 2008. Visit her on the Web at
www.cynthiabaxter.com
.

Dear Reader,

In the next
Reigning Cats & Dogs
mystery, MONKEY SEE, MONKEY DIE, Jessie is drawn into her most dangerous investigation yet when she receives an urgent phone call from an old veterinary school friend—who soon turns up murdered. Nick plays a starring role in the case, of course, along with ever-flirtatious reporter Forrester Sloan and Jessie’s close friend Suzanne. Even Marcus Scruggs reappears, this time promoting a questionable new business venture involving diamond dog collars and gourmet cat food!

I’m equally excited about my brand-new series, which I’m thrilled to introduce to you for the very first time! In the
Murder Packs a Suitcase
mystery series, recently widowed spitfire Mallory Marlowe embarks on a new career as a travel writer—and inadvertently ends up with an even more unexpected occupation: amateur sleuth. In each book, Mallory explores a different destination in search of hot travel tips for a magazine article—but her knack for discovering secrets and her sense of adventure soon land her somewhere she never imagined she’d visit: smack in the middle of a murder investigation. Even if you’ve never been a tourist or armchair traveler, I think you’ll find Mal a delightful mystery tour guide. A sample from the first book follows. I hope fans of the
Reigning Cats & Dogs
mysteries enjoy the new
Murder Packs a Suitcase
mystery series just as much!

Until next time,

DON’T MISS

THESE TWO EXCITING

NEW MYSTERIES

FROM

CYNTHIA BAXTER!

READ ON FOR AN EXCLUSIVE SNEAK PEEK

AT

MONKEY SEE,

MONKEY DIE

A New
Reigning Cats & Dogs
Mystery

On sale August 2008

and

The First Book in the Brand-New

Murder Packs a Suitcase
Mystery Series

On sale December 2008

MONKEY SEE, MONKEY DIE

On sale August 2008

Chapter 1

“Whenever you observe an animal closely, you feel as if a human being sitting inside were making fun of you.”

—Elias Canetti,
The Human Province

J
essie? I’m sorry for calling so early. I know I probably woke you up. But I don’t have your cell phone number, only your home number. And I wanted to make sure I got hold of you before you left for the day.”

What a lot of words to be hit with at—what time was it? I forced my eyes open long enough to look at the alarm clock next to my bed.

Five-thirty. In the
morning
.

“I’m sorry, who is this?” I asked groggily.

Whoever had dragged me out of my sleep at this ridiculous hour certainly sounded as if she knew who I was. The problem was, I had no idea who
she
was. And given the fact that only seconds before, I had been lost in a wonderful dream starring Brad Pitt
and
George Clooney, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to play guessing games.

“Erin Walsh,” the caller replied breathlessly. “Remember me? From vet school?”

It took me a few seconds to connect the name with my years at Cornell University’s veterinary college. More than a decade had passed since I’d been a student there. But slowly, even through the thick wad of tissue paper still wrapped around my brain, I managed to attach a face to the name. An entire identity, in fact.

“Sure I remember you, Erin,” I said through a mouth that felt as if it were coated with glue. “You and I crammed for the neuroanatomy final together, right? I seem to remember the two of us pulling an all-nighter in the basement of the vet school library. Didn’t we keep ourselves awake by eating a different candy bar from one of the vending machines every hour…?”

“That’s right. Jessie, the reason I’m calling—”

“You married somebody else who was in our class, didn’t you? Bill or Brad…”

“Ben Chandler,” Erin corrected me, rather abruptly. In fact, I realized that she’d sounded as if she was in a hurry ever since I’d answered the phone. “But I’m afraid I didn’t call to reminisce. I need to see you. Right away. Like, this morning.”

I turned to glance at the figure lying beside me, fast asleep. Fortunately, I hadn’t woken up Nick. He was so tangled up in the sheets you’d have thought he’d been dreaming about alligator wrestling. Personally, I’d take the Brad Pitt–George Clooney dream any day.

By this point my head was clear enough that I did some calculations. I hadn’t spoken to Erin Walsh for more than five years. If I remembered correctly, the last time I’d seen her was at my five-year Cornell reunion. She and Ben were newlyweds back then, both of them glowing like fluorescent lightbulbs as they chattered away about their fabulous wedding and their honeymoon in Barbados and their plans to open a practice together.

“What’s the hurry?” I asked.

“Believe me, Jessie, I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t really important. Please say you’ll meet me this morning. It’s crucial that I talk to somebody like you!”

Somebody like me?
What did
that
mean?

“Where are you?” I asked, still confused.

“On Long Island.” She was still talking way too fast. “It’s a long story, but Ben and I have been living in Bay Terrace for the past couple of years. We’re probably no more than ten miles from where you live. I can meet you anywhere. Just name the time and place. A diner, a street-corner…but the sooner, the better.”

Mentally I ran through the calls I had scheduled for that morning. My first appointment was a spaying in Metchogue at eight o’clock. Given the fact that it was still practically the middle of the night, that gave me plenty of time to meet Erin for breakfast.

“How about six-thirty at the Spartan Diner?” I suggested. “It’s in Niamogue, right on Route forty-seven.”

“I know the place. I’ll be there. And Jess? Please don’t say anything about this to anybody, okay?”

“Erin,” I asked, struck by the bizarreness of this entire conversation, “is everything okay?”

“That’s the thing, Jessie,” she replied with a nervous laugh. “I don’t think it is.”

“Can you at least give me an idea of what all this is—?”

She never answered my question. In fact, she’d already hung up.

With a loud sigh, I dragged myself out of bed and embarked on my morning pilgrimage to worship at the feet of Mr. Coffee. As usual, my two dogs, Max and Lou, were already in high gear, scampering around my feet with much more energy than any living being should have before the sun has risen. My two cats were just coming to life, stretching and yawning. As for my blue-and-gold macaw, he was already wide awake. Prometheus was always up with the birds, mainly because he is one. My Jackson’s chameleon, Leilani, was awake, too, blinking at me from inside her glass tank with the eye that was on the side of her head facing me.

But I was still too busy ruminating about the strange phone call from Erin to pay any of them much attention.

What’s with all this cloak-and-dagger nonsense?
I wondered as I shuffled into the kitchen.

My old vet school buddy had sounded as if she was smack in the middle of a drama—and frankly, the last thing I wanted was to be recruited for a supporting role.

Introducing the Brand-New
Murder Packs a Suitcase
Mystery Series

On sale December 2008

O
ut with the old, in with the new,
Mallory thought as she sat in the waiting area at JFK Airport early Sunday morning. She wondered if she was being overly dramatic by imagining that the plane she was about to board would carry her away from her old life and into a brand-new life, one in which she played the role of travel writer.

A very busy travel writer. The last seventy-two hours had been the whirlwind she’d anticipated. She’d freshened up warm-weather clothes that hadn’t seen the outside of a cardboard box since September. She’d gotten a haircut along with the leg waxing and, as a last-minute splurge, a pedicure. She’d bought three different guidebooks, then spent both Friday and Saturday nights reading them cover to cover, flagging the important pages.

But instead of having the chance to enjoy any of it, she’d carried out all her preparations under the watchful and disapproving eye of her daughter. A daughter who trailed after her the same way she had when she was four years old, talking nonstop about the pros and cons of business versus law. Mallory had no idea an identity crisis could be so noisy. She only hoped she hadn’t been so distracted that she hadn’t packed sensibly. She could imagine opening her suitcase in Orlando and finding it contained six pairs of pajamas, two tubes of toothpaste, and a woolen ski sweater.

As for Jordan, he demonstrated his annoyance that his mother was making an attempt at reestablishing a life for herself by acting like one of Orlando’s best-known residents: Grumpy. He made a point of letting out a loud sigh every few minutes. He also refused to engage in any of their conversations, including the few that Mallory managed to steer away from the topic of Amanda’s career.

As she climbed into the airport van before the sun came up, she felt as if she finally had a chance to catch her breath for the first time since before her job interview. But that didn’t mean she was leaving her apprehensions behind with her sleeping children.

True, it was hard to imagine a destination more user-friendly than Orlando. She told herself the folks from the mega-corporations that dominated central Florida’s tourism industry undoubtedly put a great deal of time, effort, and money into making sure that nothing bad ever happened to visitors.

But she hadn’t been to that part of the country since Amanda was eight and Jordan was six. And on that trip, the Marlowes stuck to the theme parks. There had been little decision-making, much less risk, since their trip had consisted primarily of shuttling from their Disney hotel to the various parks on a monorail, waiting in line for one attraction after another, and consuming every single one of their meals on Disney property. In fact, the most daring thing she could recall doing on that trip was riding the Space Mountain roller coaster.

Now, as she waited to board the plane, her stomach was in knots. The fact that she seemed to be odd man out didn’t help. Not surprisingly, she was the only person sitting alone amid a crowd of couples, families, and every other possible combination of travelers. She kept reminding herself that there was something to be said for the feeling of autonomy that came from traveling alone, something she hadn’t experienced since before she’d married David. She certainly didn’t envy the parents of children who were too young to contain their excitement. Case in point was the frazzled-looking mother of the four-year-old boy wearing a pair of Mickey Mouse ears. “I want Goofy
now
!” he screamed during his category-five temper tantrum.

Mallory tried to focus on the fact that she was here on a mission.

You have work to do,
she told herself, whipping out the small notebook she’d brought along in her purse. Tensing the muscles in her forehead, she jotted down the ideas that had occurred to her on the drive to the airport.

“Go to a theme dinner show,” she wrote after realizing that the theatrical productions she’d read about in her guidebooks, evenings that centered around medieval jousting or 1920s gangsters or Arabian horses, undoubtedly offered a good opportunity for some over-the-top experiences that she could include in her article. “Check out other hotels re: décor, etc.,” she added, remembering a poster advertising Disney’s new Animal Kingdom resort that she’d spotted next to the ladies’ room.

And then she had a brainstorm: rating the attractions she visited. She would turn herself into the Roger Ebert of travel. And rather than ranking them with stars or thumbs that went up or down the way restaurant or movie critics did, she would use her own version: one to five flamingos. After all, what screamed “old Florida” more than flamingos?

She was relieved when it was time to board. After all, as long as she was earthbound, she could still back out. She shuffled through the plane behind the other passengers, checking the seat numbers.

As she neared 12C, she saw that the aisle seat was already occupied. Quite comfortably, too. Sprawled across it was a tall man in his late fifties or early sixties, his face gaunt with leathery skin and his longish gray hair slicked back over his head. He looked like a caricature of a tourist, thanks to his gaudy Hawaiian shirt, splashed with orange, yellow, and green parrots, and his khaki Bermuda shorts that had so many pockets he probably hadn’t needed luggage.

“Excuse me,” she said politely. “I believe you’re sitting in my seat.”

He didn’t even glance up.

“Excuse me,” she repeated, this time in a louder voice. “I believe you’re—”

“I heard you the first time,” he shot back.

“Then, why are you still sitting there?” she countered. She hadn’t meant to sound so cranky. She realized the tension that had been accumulating over the past few days was catching up with her.

“You can take my seat,” the man told her. “Twenty-three B.”

“I don’t want a middle seat. I want an aisle seat—like this one.”

“Hey, I’ve got long legs. I need an aisle seat.” To prove his point, he stuck out both legs. They were long, all right. They also had exceptionally knobby knees and pasty white skin that looked as if it hadn’t been exposed to sunlight in months.

“In that case,” Mallory said, letting her impatience show, “you should have requested an aisle seat when you made your reservation.”

“Is there a problem?” the flight attendant asked.

“There doesn’t have to be,” the man said. “Not if this lady will go sit in twenty-three B.”

“This is my seat,” Mallory said. “See? Here’s my boarding pass.”

The flight attendant glanced at it. “Sir, I’m afraid you’ll have to move. This isn’t your seat.”

“What difference does it make?” he growled. “I have long legs and I need to sit on the aisle.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but this seat belongs to this woman.” By this point, most of the other passengers in the vicinity had stopped chattering. The altercation that had brought the boarding process to a standstill was evidently much more interesting than anything they had to say to their traveling companions.

“Why can’t she just sit in twenty-three B?” the man demanded.

“She’s made it quite clear that she prefers the seat she was assigned.” The flight attendant looked ready to strangle him with one of those oxygen masks that drops from the ceiling in the event of an emergency. “Now if you’ll please get up and go back to your own—”

“I’m writing down your name,” the man barked. “I’m going to notify the airline of your unprofessional behavior as soon as we land. You obviously don’t know who I am, do you?”

“Sir, our policy is the same for everyone,” the flight attendant insisted.

“Whatever.” He stalked off to his assigned seat, muttering under his breath the entire time.

Mallory had a feeling she wasn’t the only one who was relieved. She was also glad his seat wasn’t anywhere near hers.

As she sat down in the seat she’d fought so hard for, she tried to push the uncomfortable interlude out of her mind. In fact, she forced herself to picture a relaxing setting, the way Amanda had taught her, even though she hadn’t had much luck with it the last time around. She was determined to do everything she could to make this trip a success, not only to prove to Trevor Pierce that she could do it, but also to prove it to herself.

She settled back and fastened her seat belt. It was time to take off.