Lori Kass - Booking The Crook

Praise for the National Bestselling Bookmobile Cat Mysteries

With humor and panache, Cass delivers an intriguing mystery and interesting characters.

Bristol Herald Courier (VA)

Almost impossible to put down . . . the story is filled with humor and warmth.

MyShelf.com

[With] Eddies adorableness [and] penchant to try to get more snacks, and Minnies determination to solve the crime, this duo will win over even those that dont like cats.

Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

A pleasant read. . . . [Minnie is] a spunky investigator.

Gumshoe

A fast-paced page-turner that had me guessing until the last dramatic scenes.

Melissas Mochas, Mysteries & Meows

Reading Laura Casss cozies feels like sharing a bottle of wine with an adventurous friend as she regales you with the story of her latest escapade.

The Cuddlywumps Cat Chronicles

Titles by Laurie Cass

Lending a Paw

Tailing a Tabby

Borrowed Crime

Pouncing on Murder

Cat with a Clue

Wrong Side of the Paw

Booking the Crook

BERKLEY PRIME CRIME

Published by Berkley

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

1745 Broadway, New York, NY 10019

Copyright 2019 by Janet Koch

Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

BERKLEY and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

Ebook ISBN: 9780440000990

First Edition: July 2019

Cover art by Mary Ann Lasher

Cover design by Emily Osborne

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

Version_1

For all the restaurants everywhere that cheerfully allow writers to sit in their back corners for hours at a stretch. With a special nod to Touch of Class in Central Lake, Michigan. Thank you!

Contents

Praise for the National Bestselling Bookmobile Cat Mysteries

Titles by Laurie Cass

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

About the Author

Chapter 1

I stood at the kitchen window, staring out into the backyard as Januarys chill seeped through the glass and into my bones. The cold was making my skin prickle and my teeth chatter, yet I didnt move. If I stayed, maybe time would stand still. Maybe the morning wouldnt happen. Maybe if I went back to bed and pulled the covers over my head, it would all go away.

Minnie? my aunt Frances asked. What, pray tell, do you see? Its pitch dark out there.

She was right. Even though I knew the backyard contained snow-covered maple and beech trees, the only thing I could see was my own self. Whoever had installed the double-hung windows had placed them at a height that forced any five-foot-tall humanin this case, meto either stand on tiptoes or crouch slightly to see over the top of the lower window. This morning I was standing on my toes and seeing little more than the reflection of a pair of slightly bloodshot brown eyes and too-curly black hair.

Mrr.

I looked over at my cat. Eddie was sitting in the kitchen chair hed claimed as his own and licking his right front paw.

Aunt Frances laughed. Your fuzzy friend said to sit down and eat your oatmeal. She put two bowls on the round oak table and slid into the chair across from Eddie.

More likely hes asking about his breakfast. I gave the top of my head one last glancestill a curly mess and likely to stay that wayand sat. You didnt have to make me breakfast.

Dont get used to it. However, I thought it only right to commemorate this day. She dipped her spoon into the bowl and held it up in a toast. To the new director of the Chilson District Library, whatever his name is. May his reign bring joy to all, but especially to the librarys assistant director, since shes sitting across the table from me.

Graydon, I said. His name is Graydon Cain.

The poor man. What were his parents thinking? I wonder what his friends call him? Gray? She raised one eyebrow. Don?

Maybe its a family name and they call him Junior.

Aunt Frances snorted. Surely your nimble mind has a better suggestion than that. Youre not getting sick, are you?

If only, I muttered, but not loud enough for her to hear. When Graydon had interviewed with the library board a few months back, Id made the event memorable by walking backward into the then-president of the board, falling to the floor, and strewing the contents of my backpack all across the lobby.

Bad as that had been, it had been far worse to have Eddie hack up a hair ball on the Italian shoes of the woman the board chose as the librarys director. An earlyand heavyOctober snowfall had sent Jennifer scuttling back south and the board had gone to Graydon, metaphorical hat in hand, and asked him to consider making northwest lower Michigan his new home.

Well, my aunt said reasonably, Graydon cant be any worse than that frightful woman.

I sighed. Youd think so, but I wouldnt have thought anyone could be worse than Stephen. My former boss, whod had the personality of a doorstop and a deep reluctance to agree to any change in anything whatsoever, hadnt inspired deep loyalty in his staff.

Itll be fine, Aunt Frances said comfortably. Of course, she could be comfortable about the whole thing; she hadnt had a new boss in ages. Her fall-to-spring job was as a woodworking instructor at the local community college, and the college president was in fine fettle and likely to stay that way. In summer, she opened up the big house shed inherited from her long-passed-away husband to eight hand-picked boarders. Or rather, thats what shed done for years and years. This summer it was all going to be different.

Most of me was thrilled about the upcoming events, but part of me had a kinship with Stephen and his dislike of change. Id loved the boardinghouse since, starting at age twelve, my busy parents had sent me north from June to August. Every group of boarders was unique and every summer had brought new adventures. I didnt want the evening tradition of cooking marshmallows in the living rooms fieldstone fireplace to end. I didnt want the bookshelf full of board games and jigsaw puzzles to be moved. I didnt want the screened porch off the dining room to sprout new furniture, and I certainly didnt want anyone to decide the wide pine-paneled walls needed to be covered with drywall and papered over with some floral print.

Dont, my aunt said.

I looked up. Dont what?

Think whatever it is youre thinking. Before I could disagree, she added, And dont bother denying that youre thinking things you shouldnt be thinking about. If its about that Graydon, quit worrying. If its about this summer, quit worrying. Itll all work out, one way or another, and worrying doesnt help one bit.

I know, but

Stop, she said firmly.