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  Praise for Eileen Watkins and her Cat Groomer mysteries!

  The Bengal Identity

  “A first-rate sequel to The Persian Always Meows Twice. It doesn’t take a cat lover to fall in love with this perfectly crafted cozy series.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “The story is well-paced, and readers will enjoy the way the mystery plays out. Another good tale by Watkins!”

  —RT Book Reviews

  The Persian Always Meows Twice

  “A fantastic thriller that is sure to make your pulse race, The Persian Always Meows Twice is an awesome mystery debut from Eileen Watkins.”

  —Modern Cat

  “Cassie McGlone is a great character with spunk, strength, and a great group of people surrounding her. The story is interesting and will keep readers guessing all the way to the surprise ending.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “The purr-fect mystery to curl up with for a lovely cozy read, preferably with a cup of tea, cuddly cat optional but recommended.”

  —Leslie Meier, author of Invitation Only Murder

  “[A] delightful first novel and series opener.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “The Persian Always Meows Twice is a delightful debut mystery. It’s smart, well-plotted, and features a cast of characters—both human and feline—that I want to see more of. This book will be catnip for cat lovers.”

  —Laurien Berenson, author of Bite Club

  Books by Eileen Watkins

  THE PERSIAN ALWAYS MEOWS TWICE

  THE BENGAL IDENTITY

  FERAL ATTRACTION

  GONE, KITTY, GONE

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  Gone, Kitty, Gone

  EILEEN WATKINS

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Praise

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2020 by Eileen Watkins

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2300-0 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-2300-7 (ebook)

  Kensington Electronic Edition: January 2020

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-2297-3

  Acknowledgments

  Much thanks to my new critique partners, Nicki Monta-perto, Lew Preschell, and Jo-Ann Lamon Reccoppa, who helped me catch any faux-paws in my early drafts, and to my insightful beta reader, Joanne Weck. I’m grateful, as always, for the continuing support of my fellow members of Sisters in Crime Central Jersey, my agent, Evan Marshall, and my editor, John Scognamiglio. Fellow cat lover Anne-Marie Cottone cheerfully trekked around with me to cat shows and expos to research that part of the novel. And once again, as in The Persian Always Meows Twice, my cousin Phil McCabe helped me understand the tech aspects—this time, how software hackers do their dirty work. Finally, thanks to Linda Bohm of the Garden State Cat Club for explaining the intricacies of competing in and judging cat shows.

  Chapter 1

  “Ha, looks like a crime scene out there!” The handsome stranger jokingly referred to the obstacle course of orange cones, sawhorses, and yellow tape that he’d navigated just to cross the sidewalk and enter my shop.

  “Spring, and the road crews are in bloom,” I volleyed back. “You’re lucky they’re on lunch break right now. The town’s getting a new water line, and I’m told that for the next couple of months it won’t be pretty.”

  I could not say that, however, about this newcomer, one of the best-looking guys who’d ever walked through my door. He had no cat in tow to be groomed or boarded, which told me he probably wasn’t a typical customer. With a dimpled smile, he introduced himself to me and to Sarah Wilcox, my retired-schoolteacher assistant.

  “Hi, I’m Perry Newton.” He shook our hands and slipped me a business card with his name below the title NEW IN TOWN PROMOTIONS.

  Newton . . . New in Town? Clever.

  I wondered for a minute if someone had suggested my business for one of those embarrassing reality shows. Perry could have been some type of showbiz agent—his style certainly was a cut above the norm for semirural Chadwick, New Jersey. On this April afternoon, he wore a navy turtleneck with slim jeans and a distressed bomber jacket; however, I’m sure the brown leather got its vintage look courtesy of some pricey designer and not during an air battle in World War II. His short brown hair looked subtly highlighted and mussed on top. Unless some lucky lady had been running her fingers through it, the effect probably came by way of some styling product.

  Now his warm cocoa eyes gazed deeply into mine and he spoke with enthusiasm and sincerity. “After the things I’ve heard about you, Cassie, I had to drop by and meet you in person. I’d say that you’re a legend in this town, except you’re much too young for a word like that!”

  “Well . . . thanks.” Smiling modestly, I decided I could sit and listen to such flattery all day. I only regretted that I’d had no idea this guy was coming—no time to change out of my goofy “Cat Wrangler” T-shirt or even comb my long, limp brown locks. Fortunately, my hot-pink sales counter probably concealed all of the fur and other feline-related untidiness that clung to my jeans.

  Still, judging from Newton’s business card, I suspected his interest in me wasn’t all that personal. It occurred to me that we’d just passed April Fools’ Day, and no one really pranked me this year. Had one of my friends decided, better late than never?

  In his next breath, Perry mercifully ended my confusion. “My company is promoting the North Jersey Cat Expo, which is taking place in just a couple of weeks out at the new Bradburne Hotel and Convention Center. You’ve heard about it, I hope?”

  This caught Sarah’s attention, and she answered before I could. “Oh, sure. I’ve seen the posters around town.”

  “And the ads in the paper and online,” I assured him.

  Perry beamed at this. “Yes, we’ve marketed it pretty heavily here in Chadwick, since it’s just outside of town, on the highway.” After politely asking my permission, he slid onto a stool on the customer side of the sales counter and leaned on his elbows toward me. I almost worried that if my boyfriend, Mark, happened to pass by—or worse, to walk into the shop—he’d wonder what the heck was going on.

  Sarah must have decided that I needed to talk business with the newcomer in private. She discreetly excused herself to go let one of the boarder cats out into the playroom.

  After she had gone, Perry went back to flattering me
. “From what I hear, Cassie, you’ve taken this niche business—very smart marketing, by the way, to identify your community’s need and fill it!—and in just over a year you’ve made it successful. Besides that, you’ve built a reputation for going the extra mile for your customers and their pets. You’ve even been in the news a couple of times for solving some dicey cat-related problems for folks around town.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been talking to the people at FOCA.” I figured he must have heard all of this from the Friends of Chadwick Animals, with whom I’d cooperated on a few occasions.

  “You bet. They all think you’re the cat’s meow.” He punctuated the old-fashioned superlative by flashing another sexy dimple.

  I guessed Perry to be just a few years older than me, maybe early thirties, and wondered where he’d honed his negotiating technique. If he’d learned in the high-pressure atmosphere of Manhattan, at least he’d been smart enough to dial down his approach today for the hinterlands of northwestern Jersey.

  “I’ve already talked to FOCA about doing something with them for the cat expo,” I told him. “That’s why you’re here, right?”

  He chuckled. “I’m sure you’re a busy lady. Sorry for beating around the bush. I just want you to understand why I think you’d be such an asset to our event. Yeah, Rebecca Newmeyer at FOCA said you might be willing to demonstrate your grooming techniques on some of their shelter cats, to help boost adoptions. She told me you even have a mobile grooming studio?”

  “I do, as of just a couple of weeks ago. Want to see it?”

  “Absolutely!”

  I led him through a door in the screened wall that separated the sales area of my shop from the feline playroom. This central space featured cat tunnels and “trees” of many types and heights, along with a system of wall shelves that let the most athletic animals climb as high as they dared. I explained to Perry that our boarders got turned out in the playroom by rotation, so each could get at least half an hour a day of real exercise. Again, he acted impressed.

  Here, we came upon Sarah using a high-pitched voice and a fishing-pole toy to coax an Abyssinian named Cinnamon down from one of the top shelves. After she succeeded, she deftly pinned the russet-colored cat against her shoulder and faced Perry. “That expo is going to be a pretty big deal, I guess.”

  “If I do my job right, it will be,” he told her. “As far as I can tell, there’s never been anything like this before in New Jersey. Some regional groups hold cat shows”—he glanced at me for confirmation, and I nodded—“and once in a while there’s a big pet expo with vendors and demonstrations. But with the all the facilities at the new Bradburne Hotel and Convention Center, we want to bring together the best of both worlds: a professional, judged show, run by the Cat Fanciers of New Jersey, plus about a hundred vendors of cat-related products.”

  “Sounds fantastic,” I admitted.

  Cinnamon had climbed onto Sarah’s shoulder and now began munching on her tight salt-and-pepper curls. With a laugh, she excused herself to take him back to his closet-sized “condo.”

  Meanwhile, Perry continued describing to me the wonders of the planned expo. “There also will be displays to promote area shelters and rescue groups, and demonstrations by local experts—such as you, Cassie. We’ll even have appearances by celebrity guests.”

  “Celebrity cats?” I teased.

  “They exist! Some are rescues that have survived especially rough situations, like cats that are doing great with prosthetic limbs. Others have special talents, like playing the piano. Through videos on social media, they’ve attracted hordes of followers. But we’ll have cat-loving human celebrities, too.” He lowered his voice and ducked his head, as if some spy might wander in from the front of the shop and overhear. “Keep it under your hat for now, but we’re negotiating for Jaki Natal.”

  Sarah returned from her chore in time to catch this last line. “The singer? Get real!”

  Perry shook his head. “She grew up just a couple of towns away and still has family in the area. Plus, she’s cat crazy.”

  “True,” I told my assistant. “At least, she’s crazy about her own cat, Gordie. She’s always posting pictures and videos online of herself with him, or of Gordie alone in cute poses.”

  Perry pointed at me, as if I’d taken the words right out of his mouth. “By now, Jaki’s cat is almost as famous as she is.”

  Sarah tilted her head and jutted her lower lip, assimilating this information. I’d gotten the impression that she used Facebook and Twitter mainly to communicate with her church friends and her two grown children. Though she’d probably heard Jaki Natal’s music on the radio or seen her perform on TV, she wouldn’t have come across any stray bits of self-promotion that the young pop star posted for her fans. I was aware of them mainly because of the cat connection, since I followed just about every thread related to feline news.

  Perry assured both of us, “Really, it’s almost a done deal. Jaki just has some concerns about security at the event, which I’m sure we’ll be able to iron out to her satisfaction.” He shifted on his feet. “So, Cassie, you were going to show me what you’ve done with your van.”

  “Right. Sarah, can you go watch the counter?”

  As she left to do so, Perry and I headed toward the back of the shop. On the way, I pointed out the grooming studio, where Sarah and I tidy up our regular customers. My shop is in a converted house that goes back to the turn of the century, and the studio, in a side room, has a bay window that lets in plenty of natural light. Next, I showed Perry through a wide corridor outfitted with a dozen closet-sized cat “condos,” about half occupied by boarders at the moment. I explained that some local clients brought in their longhairs every couple of weeks just to be groomed, but people going on extended vacations, moving, or having their homes remodeled came from greater distances these days to board their animals.

  “Most tell me that their pets never did well boarding at the vet’s, or at a kennel that also takes dogs,” I explained. “For some cats, just smelling dogs or hearing loud barking makes them so nervous that they don’t eat or sleep well. Here, my customers don’t have to worry about any of that.”

  “So I see.” Perry studied me with an approving glint in his eyes. I’d probably gained his respect by showing that I also could deliver a good sales pitch.

  He saved his highest praise, though, for my mobile grooming van—spanking new, at least cosmetically. It had come to me as a battered-looking hulk with a black primer finish. I’d driven it that way just a few times, to transport multiple cats or bulky supplies, always fearing that I’d be pulled over by someone from Homeland Security. But after I’d used the scary van to help FOCA with a trap-neuter-return project, a couple of members had volunteered their mechanical skills to get it into better shape. That left me with enough cash to hire an outfit called YourWay Van Conversions, which had turned it into something more representative of my business.

  When we stepped out into my rear parking lot, Perry planted his hands on his hips and grinned from ear to ear. “Hey, that’s awesome!”

  These days, the whole vehicle gleamed bright white. On each long side, a two-foot-high cartoon of a gray Persian cat, with a hot-pink nose and wearing a purple bow tie, smugly strutted his stuff. Above him, curly purple script advertised my business, CASSIE’S COMFY CATS. Toward the bottom, black print on a band of hot pink announced my shop address, website, and work phone number.

  My visitor nodded approval. “This must get a lot of attention.”

  I rolled back the big side door and flipped on fluorescent ceiling lights. The conversion company had raised the van’s top so I could easily stand while grooming, and had inserted a fan above the stainless-steel worktable. The molded-fiberglass interior surfaces, snow white except for some hot pink trim, incorporated cabinets for grooming tools, a trash can, and a coiled vacuum hose to pick up loose fur. I pointed out the rubberized flooring, which also made cleanup easier, and the small tub at the rear of the space for cat
s that needed bathing.

  Pointing to the wall in back of the tub, I explained, “The generator and the water tank are both behind there. If we need to get to them, we just open the rear doors.”

  “Fantastic!” Perry said. “Looks like you’ve got all the same conveniences you’d have at the shop. Have you taken it on the road yet?”

  “Mostly just to do some errands, and I did make one house call to try everything out. Trouble is, I can’t do that too often, because if I take Sarah with me, I have to close the shop.” We stepped out of the van, and I shut the side door behind me. “That’s one detail I still have to work out, regarding the expo. I’m happy to volunteer my time and help FOCA find homes for more cats. But I don’t want to ask Sarah to work the expo, because she’s an employee and she does have a life! She’s got grown kids and grandkids, and she’s very active in her church. I could pay her for her time, but she’d still be giving up a whole weekend.”

  He considered this. “Can you get someone else to help you for free? Maybe a family member?”

  I smiled. The ironic thing was, my mother probably would be attending the expo, but just by coincidence. Her boyfriend, Harry Bock—the first man she’d dated seriously since my father’s death three years ago—was entering his Sphynx in the CFNJ show. But besides the fact that I’m sure Mom wanted to spend her time with him, she would be a terrible choice to help me groom. The one time she’d tried it, I’d realized she had a serious cat phobia—her hands shook if she even tried to pick one up. I suspected that it took all of her courage, and a true fondness for Harry, to agree to come with him to the show at all.