Fat Cat Spreads Out

Nothing can spoil this cat's appetite . . .

Chase poured herself a second cup of cocoa, leaving the marshmallows off this time. Besides, there were some wisps clinging to her cup that would melt in nicely. “Did Larry's wife—Elsa?—give you any more details about what happened?”

“Yes, Elsa Oake. We got sidetracked by those two and their butter sculpture history, didn't we?” Anna gazed into her cup.

“Oh, you're empty. Do you want another cup?”

“No thanks, Charity.” Anna hesitated, setting her mug aside and rubbing Quincy's right ear. “Elsa told me everything she saw, and it's not good. She was supposed to meet her husband at the food trailers for an early lunch. He'd been doing some preliminary work on his sculpture in the morning.”

“And he didn't show up, I'm guessing.”

“Right. So she went looking for him. She said she opened the door to the butter room and saw her husband on the floor and Quincy licking the sculpture. When she called her husband's name, Dr. Ramos blocked her way. That's when she screamed.”

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Janet Cantrell

FAT CAT AT LARGE

FAT CAT SPREADS OUT

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

FAT CAT SPREADS OUT

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

Copyright © 2015 by Penguin Random House LLC.

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eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-62164-6

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / June 2015

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

PUBLISHER'S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

I must thank several people who helped out with
Fat Cat Spreads Out
. I, of course, didn't write this all by myself in a closet without asking anyone any questions. When you belong to the friendly, supportive community of mystery writers, there's always help available. Thanks in particular to the following:

My agent, Kim Lionetti, as always, and my editors, Danielle Stockley and Michelle Vega, as well as every member of the Berkley Prime Crime team.

For synopsis help, Peg Cochran. For pet recipes and sheep consulting, KB Inglee and Bodge. For generous bidding on the name that I gave to the redheaded travel agent, Marisa Young. For taste testing the Harvest Bars, members of Ben Egner's family, mainly Dani, Jack, and Nancy. For being astute and valuable readers, Kathy Waller, Gale Albright, and Paula Benson.

My family gives me all the support in the world, and I'm grateful for every one of them.

I want to mention the late, great rescued feral cat Agamemnon, who lived a good long life, kept us amused, and inspired many of Quincy's antics. Thanks, Erin Rotunno and Jess Busen, for bringing him and James into our lives.

And last, Skott Johnson, the president of the Dinkytown Business Association, whom I forgot to thank in
Fat Cat at Large
. I apologize for this, as the assistance he gave me was a huge help.

C
harity Oliver, usually called Chase, smiled as she handed the bag of dessert bars to the customer and took her money.

“I just love these Hula Bars,” the customer said. “My grandkids do, too. I can't keep them in the house.”

The satisfied woman left the shop with her pineapple-coconut treat, setting off the tinkling chimes above the door. A bit of brisk October air whooshed in before the door closed.

At last, the shop was empty. The Bar None had done great business today, nearly nonstop. But there was so much else to do right now!

Chase let her cheek muscles relax from all the hours of smiling. They almost hurt. Still, business was good
and she couldn't complain. She surveyed her domain—hers and Anna's.

The salesroom design had been handled by Chase alone, and she was so proud of it. The walls were striped the colors of raspberry and vanilla, set off by the cotton-candy-pink shelving that held boxed dessert bars. The glass display case near the rear of the salesroom housed fresh merchandise, dessert bars made by Chase and Anna in the kitchen behind the front area.

“Ms. Oliver,” said Inger, the sales clerk, “I can stay out here if you want to get off your feet.” Her smoky gray eyes smiled with the rest of her small, pretty face. The standard mulberry smocks they all wore in the salesroom, with pink rickrack and the embroidered Bar None logo, suited Inger's blonde coloring. Her curls bounced when she nodded at the customers, who seemed to genuinely like her.

Chase wondered if Inger's offer to let Chase rest was a veiled reference to the fact that her employee was a good ten years younger than Chase's thirty-two, but decided it wasn't. Inger was a genuinely kind and guileless young woman. Inger had taken a break about two hours ago, so it was Chase's turn.

“Thanks, Inger. Holler if you get swamped.” Chase pushed through the swinging double doors to the kitchen, where Anna was working, and took a seat on one of the stools at the center island. The aroma of cinnamon and pumpkin spice wafted through the room.

Chase picked up the cup of tea, now cold, that she'd left there hours ago.

“She's a gem, Charity,” Anna said. “You did well to hire
Inger.” Today, her periwinkle-blue eyes sparkled, picking up the sapphire tones of her sweater, even though all you could see of it were the sleeves beneath her Bar None apron. The rest of her outfit was her usual plain T-shirt and jeans. Her grandmotherly build and gray bobbed hair gave no indication of the fact that, in her seventies, she could work circles around Chase.

Chase took a sip of the tea, then set it down to redo the clip in her honey-blonde hair. It constantly needed redoing. Since her hair was so straight, her clips slipped easily and allowed her locks to dangle in her face. Not an ideal style for a place that sold food.

“That was pure luck,” Chase said. “I had to do something in a hurry when we lost the others. I think all the college kids already had jobs, so she was the only applicant.” She started humming “Luck Be a Lady” from
Guys and Dolls
.

Anna slid three batches of Harvest Bars, their new creation, into the oven. “I think we'll have enough of our new dessert bars for the fair as soon as these are done. It's almost time to close up.”

Anna and Chase had come up with the idea of pumpkin spice dessert bars especially for the autumn fair. When Inger had tasted them, she insisted they would be a huge hit.

Chase glanced at the clock on the wall. Five forty-five. Fifteen minutes until their regular Thursday closing time of six.

Her cell phone trilled and she saw Tanner's ID. “I'll be back in a sec,” she called to Anna, heading for the back door. She answered the call once she was outside. “Tanner, so what do you think?”

“I'll do it. Your offer is good. But when do you want it by? And what exactly do you want?”

“A webpage. Isn't that what we discussed?”

The kid—he couldn't be more than seventeen or eighteen—had designed the website for Dr. Michael Ramos's vet clinic and Mike had been happy to refer him to Chase. “Ms. Oliver, you need a web presence, not just a page. I can do it all if you want. You'll need Facebook, Twitter, a blog—”

“Wait a minute. Let's do this one step at a time. My partner isn't totally on board with this, so we can't go whole hog right now. We just need a webpage for visibility. And a map. And maybe a place where we can take online orders, I think. Those are the main things I'd like to get started.”

“Sure.” She could almost see him shrug his skinny shoulders. “If that's the way you want to play it. I'll do the page first. But you're going to need to get involved, you know. Can you e-mail me some shots?”

“Some shots?”

“Yeah, the outside of the store and the place where you sell things.”

“The salesroom. Yes, I'll take some pictures and e-mail them.”

“Cool. We're on.”

She was starting to shiver, so she hurried back inside.

“Who was that?” Anna looked suspicious.

“I had to get something from my car.”

“Who was on the phone? It was that computer kid, wasn't it? Did you tell him we don't need to be
online
? We sell products at the store, not on a computer.”

“It would at least be good advertising. People could find us on the web and would know how to get here.”

Anna looked doubtful. “Come help me get these boxed up to take tomorrow.”

“I'm still not sure if we should have let Julie talk us into having a booth at the Harvest Fair.” Julie was Anna's actual granddaughter, though she treated Chase as if she were one, too.

Anna picked up her cup of tea from the granite counter next to the stove and came to sit next to Chase. “I think it's a fabulous idea.” Anna's merry eyes crinkled when she smiled.

Chase was glad the subject was changed from the webpage.

Dinkytown, where the Bar None was located, bordered the campus of the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis. The neighborhood, so named after a remark meant to be derogatory, was a miniature shopping district with a few residences sprinkled in. Chase's own apartment was above the shop.

A plaintive mew came from behind the office door.

“I'll go check on him,” Chase said. She warmed up a Kitty Patty in the microwave for a few seconds. Slowly, she edged the office door open, putting her foot in position to keep Quincy contained inside.

The butterscotch tabby sat in the middle of the floor, even though the feeding woman was ready to block his escape if he'd been near the door. The treats usually came earlier in the day, and the cat was starting to feel hungry and neglected.
It seemed he was being careful not to look too eager, waiting while she set the patty on a plate before he strolled over to give it a sniff. However, after the meaty aroma reached his pink nose, he dived in. The woman smiled and cooed baby talk to him for a few moments before she left.

Chase returned to the kitchen, where the pumpkin-spicy smell of the baking welcomed her again. She couldn't get enough of it. She and Anna were the co-owners of the Bar None, their pride and joy and joint business venture. Though Anna was Chase's senior by quite a few years, she was also her surrogate grandmother and the woman who had helped raise her after her parents passed away. For the most part, they got along. Anna used to sneak cookie bar crumbs to Quincy, which didn't help his weight problem. But now that Chase had perfected the Kitty Patty treats, Quincy was slimming down a bit and Chase didn't have to always worry that Anna was sneaking things to him. A big source of conflict had evaporated with the creation of the Kitty Patties.

“Ms. Oliver?” Inger's faint voice drifted back to the kitchen.

Chase rushed to the front room, where she found Inger Uhlgren slumped over the glass display case, clutching the edges with whitened knuckles.

“What's the matter?” Chase lifted the hem of her own Bar None smock and wiped Inger's damp forehead. Inger's blonde curls were matted against her wide, usually clear brow, which was now pinched and furrowed.

“Anna!” Chase put her arms around the young woman, and when Anna rushed to their side, the two of them managed to help Inger into the office, where there was a chair with arms and a back.

“Go,” said Anna. “Call someone. I'll stay with her.”

“Who should we call, Inger?” Chase asked. She knew someone should man the salesroom for a few more minutes, but maybe they needed an ambulance more urgently than anything else.

“I'll be okay.” A bit of color was returning to Inger's pale face. “I had a dizzy spell. If I sit for a few minutes, I'll be able to get back to work.”

Quincy approached, sniffed Inger's shoes, then jumped into her lap, where she stroked him a few times before dropping her hand into her lap.

Anna fanned Inger's glistening face with a folder from the desktop. “You'll do no such thing. We're nearly ready to close. You're not going back to work. You need to see a doctor.”

“No, really, I don't. I get these spells. When it's over, I'll be all right.”

Anna and Chase shot each other doubtful looks, but Chase left them, making certain that Quincy was in the office when she closed the door. The rascally cat had a real skill for escaping at exactly the wrong times and getting into exactly the wrong things. In the past, he'd led Chase into some trouble.

Today, though, her problem was Inger, the model employee they'd hired a few weeks ago. She hadn't been feeling well lately and this wasn't the first time Chase had worried about her.

As soon as Chase returned from the front, having drawn the shades, flipped the sign, and locked up, Inger stood.

“If you don't mind, I'll go home now.”

“Do you need one of us to take you home?” Anna asked.

“No, I can drive. Thanks, though. I feel bad about not staying to help clean up.”

“We wouldn't think of letting you do that when you're sick like this. Let us know if you can't make it in tomorrow morning,” Anna said. She ran and got Inger's jacket from the hook by the door that led to the parking lot behind the store.

“Thanks, Mrs. Larson. Thanks, Ms. Oliver. I'll be fine tomorrow.”

“Call me Chase.” Chase studied her as she walked out to the parking lot. Her gait was steady, but she was still pale as she made her way to her old, faded red sedan.

Quincy scooted out of the office, since the door was standing ajar, into the kitchen, to perform his customary countertop prowl. Since he'd been put on a strict diet, Chase took extra care not to leave fattening bits of baking debris for him to find. She thought she had convinced Anna to be careful of his weight, too. Still, he managed to scare up a few crumbs almost every night. When he was finished, one of the women sanitized the countertops as part of their own nightly ritual.

Anna was taking baking sheets out of the dishwasher when the office phone rang, so Chase ran to answer it.

When she heard the deep, rumbly voice of Dr. Michael Ramos, her heart sped up.

“How's my favorite patient?” he asked.

“Quincy is doing well. He hasn't gotten into anything he shouldn't have for over a week now.”

“Glad to hear it. I have some news. Aren't you and Anna renting a booth at the Bunyan County Harvest Fair this year?”

“Yes, Julie thought it would be a good idea.” Julie, Anna's granddaughter, was also Chase's best friend and had been since they'd grown up together.

“I think it's a good idea, too. You'll probably sell a lot of dessert bars, and you'll get valuable advertising. A lot of locals get an early start on Christmas at that fair.”

Chase didn't want to tell him that October 18 was too early for people to buy their consumables and have them last until the holidays, unless they froze them. That gave her an idea, though. They would hand out freezing instructions with their wares. If, that is, they were still able to do the fair.

“I don't know if this will work out,” Chase said, opening a file on the computer and typing in the freezing instructions while she clamped the phone between her ear and shoulder.