4,99 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: Rainbow Crush
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
Ginger’s just a kitten who loves a good mystery. She’s never actually solved one before, but when a neighbour’s safe is broken into, Ginger’s on the case.
Her fellow Mystery Cats, Butterball and Zorro, don’t see any point in looking into this crime. Clearly, the neighbour’s son stole the money. He doesn’t work, mooches off his parents, and suddenly has the cash to take his girlfriend on a splashy beach vacation? Even Gemma, the neighbour-lady, feels pretty certain her son is to blame—that’s why she didn’t bother calling the police.
But Ginger smells a rat, and she won’t give up until the true culprit is brought to justice… even if the investigation puts this tiny kitten in all sorts of danger!
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Ähnliche
The Missing Cash Mystery (Mystery Cats on the Case, Book 1)
© 2019 by Doris Hay
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
Cover design © 2019
First Edition 2019
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
The Missing Cash Mystery
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Have you read this great mystery yet?
Looking for more mysteries?
Sign up for Doris Hay's Mailing List
The Missing Cash Mystery
Mystery Cats on the Case
Book One
Doris Hay
Chapter 1
ON DAYS AS GORGEOUS as this, Doris likes digging around in the garden.
Sometimes I help.
I’m pretty good at weeding, but, if I’m totally honest, I do tend to get distracted by worms. I can’t help it. The way they writhe and squirm when they’re sticking halfway out of the earth, oh I can’t resist pouncing on them!
The others tease me about stuff like that.
Butterball gazes wistfully into the blue sky and says, “Ahhh, to be a kitten again!”
After that, I feel self-conscious and I try to control my impulses. But I feel my tail twitching behind me. If he’d only go back inside, I’d be on that worm like butter on toast.
Today I’m not being helpful. Today I’m just watching Doris pull up the weeds sprouting among the flowers in the front border.
The low stone wall at the front of our property is one of my favourite places to be, especially when the sun is shining bright. Feels like warm fingers stroking my fur, fingers of trust, like Doris’s. I trust those fingers. I hardly ever attack them anymore, except when Doris wants to play.
Humans, they need their exercise, you know. And play is good for their emotional well-being.
Everything about today has been perfect so far, but like Doris always says: “Nothing gold can stay.” That means that, even when things are going right, you need to be prepared for them to go wrong.
Because they will.
Without a doubt.
Sure enough, who should prance down the sidewalk but that little pest from next door: a pest by the name of Oopsie.
I can only guess how he got a name like that. They should have called him Yappy, because that’s what he does every time he spots me and the others: he yaps. One of those annoying high-pitched barks that can only come out of the tiniest of dogs.
And is Oopsie ever tiny! He’s almost as small as I am, and people always tell me I could fit in their purses, although thankfully nobody’s ever put that theory to the test.
When he spots me, he starts yapping and jumping, yapping and jumping, like he’s on springs! I back up along the stone wall even though I know he can’t get to me. His human’s got him on a leash.
But this is a different human than usual.
Doris knows her.
“Gemma!” Doris says, brushing dirt from her hands onto her green gardening apron. “It’s been too long! How on earth are you?”
The lady named Gemma doesn’t answer Doris’s question. Instead, she tells Oopsie to stop jumping up, stop barking, be good for once. She has an accent like on the British murder mysteries Butterball’s always watching on TV, and I’m instantly fascinated by her because I’ve never heard an accent like that in the real world.
Gemma is tiny like Oopsie. She’s got silvery hair and wiry fingers and leathery skin—the opposite of Doris in just about every way possible, except that they’re both pretty old.
But everyone is old compared to me—that’s what Butterball says.
Doris tries again with Gemma, saying, “I’ve never seen you out walking Oopsie. Taking advantage of the warm weather?”
“If I wanted to take advantage of the sun, I’d be on a beach somewhere,” Gemma replies. “I wouldn’t be walking this bloody fleabag.”
“It’s usually Tommy I see walking Oopsie,” Doris replies.
“And it’s not even Tommy’s mutt!”
“Isn’t it?”
“You think my son would willingly adopt a mangy little rat creature like this?” Gemma asks.
Oopsie gazes up at her, adoringly, with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. I’ve got to admit, he’s pretty cute when he isn’t causing a racket.
“No,” Gemma continues. “Oopsie belongs to my son’s good-for-nothing girlfriend. Amber. Can you believe that name? Amber. Sounds like a stripper, if you ask me.”
I think Amber’s a nice name. If my name wasn’t Ginger, I’d want it to be Amber. Amber sounds warm and strong. I like it a lot.
Doris says, “Well, it certainly is sweet of you to walk a dog for a girl you don’t much care for.”
“They didn’t give us much choice, did they?” Gemma asks. “Tommy up and says, ‘Mum, Dad, I’m taking Amber to the tropics for a week. Can you feed Oopsie twice a day and take him out whenever he needs to go?’ Can you believe the almighty cheek? I mean, really! Expecting us to drop everything to care for this piddle factory.”
Oopsie smiled as joyfully as ever. He really isn’t the brightest bulb in the box, but that doesn’t mean this lady should say mean things about the little guy.
“At least you’re able to take time off from the business whenever you want,” Doris says. “I remember when you and Ed were just starting out, the two of you working all hours just to make ends meet, asking me to proofread memos and work orders, make sure there were no typos.”
Gemma looks forlorn when she says, “All that work. All for what?”
“Well,” Doris replies, indicating the huge house next door. “For that, for starters.”
The house next door is by far the biggest on the block, probably twice the size of where we live. And it’s got a huge yard for Oopsie to run around in.
Doris goes on to say, “You and Ed have done very well for yourselves. All those investment properties you’ve got going! And the business! Remember when you were just starting out, you used to dream of being able take a step back? Hand stuff over to project managers and just relax? I remember when you used to do it all. Now look at you! You’ve achieved your dream!”
“Yes,” Gemma grumbles. “Aren’t we lucky...?”
She’s staring up at her house. Doris is staring at her. Oopsie is peeing on the stone wall.
I’m just taking it all in.
“Gemma?” Doris asks. “What’s wrong?”
Gemma purses her thin lips. She shakes her head. She isn’t looking at Doris.
“Gemma, come on now. How long have we known each other? You can’t pretend with me.”
The neighbour lady looks down at Oopsie, who is now sniffing the spot where he’s peed. Dogs are so strange.
Doris changes the subject. In a chipper tone, she asks, “So, where did Tommy take his girlfriend on holiday?”
“Saint Lucia,” Gemma absently replies. “She’s got family there.”
“You don’t think—”
Doris cuts herself off, covering her smile with one hand. She realizes too late her hand still has dirt on it from gardening, and now she’s got dirt on her face too. She brushes it off on her forearm.
I think this is all very funny, but Gemma doesn’t seem to notice. She asks, “I don’t think what?”
“Oh, nothing,” Doris replies.
“Come on, Dori. Out with it.”
Gemma’s brow furrows, and that’s enough to get Doris talking. “I just thought perhaps... do you think Tommy’s going to ask his girlfriend to marry him?”
“Good God, I hope not!” Gemma groans.
“You don’t approve of their relationship?”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Gemma replies. “This girl, I swear to you, Dori, she’s nothing but trouble.”
“Oh?”
“She’s a bad influence. You know she used to a drug addict?”
The look on Doris’s face seems kind of sad, but I can’t figure out why until she says, “Gemma, come now. You know better than anyone that a person can change for the better. Any habit can be kicked, and kicked for good. It takes willpower and perseverance, but change can stick.”
What does that mean? Did the neighbour lady used to be a drug addict too? I’ll have to remember to ask Butterball. He’s been around the longest. He’s sure to be up on all the gossip.
But I can’t flee the scene just yet, because Gemma’s getting really upset now. I can tell by the way she’s flicking her wrist, making her bracelets jingle together. “You don’t know the whole story.”
“So tell me the whole story,” Doris pleads. “I’ll help if I can.”
“There’s nothing you can do.”
Oopsie’s clearly ready to move on. He’s tugging on the leash. Gemma doesn’t even notice. Her eyes are filling with tears. Her thin lips are starting to quiver. Is she about to cry? Sure looks that way.
“Oh, Dori! We’ve been robbed!” Gemma says, and as soon as the words are out of her mouth, she breaks down.
This whole time Doris and the neighbour lady have been on opposite sides of this stone wall I’m perched on, but Gemma’s show of emotion is obviously bringing out the nurturer in my cat-mom. She opens the squeaky iron gate and throws herself at the neighbour, but Gemma backs away.
Oopsie’s watching all this, looking about as confused as I am, but probably Gemma is a bit like a cat. We don’t always want humans taking us in their arms, even if we know them well. Touch has to be on our own terms.
Doris backs away until her bum meets the stone wall. Her foot is an inch away from crushing a marigold, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
Gemma remains on the sidewalk.
“Robbed how? Burgled, you mean? When did this happen?” Doris asks. She’s wringing her hands. She’s full of questions. “Do the police have a suspect? Have they caught the guy? Did the robbers break a window to get in? What was stolen? Did you get it back? How are you holding up?”
Gemma looks over one shoulder and then the other, like she wants to be very sure nobody else hears what she’s about to say. “We haven’t called the police. We’re not going to.”
“What?” Doris squeals. “Why not?”
When Gemma takes a deep breath, I notice the tears are gone from her eyes. She looks angry, not sad, when she says, “The burglary was very... very targeted, shall we say.”
