A Midwinter's Tail Read online

  Praise for the New York Times Bestselling

  Magical Cats Mysteries

  Final Catcall

  “Kelly hits a home run. The book’s plot is spectacular. There is a new twist, along with a new suspect, around every corner. With the addition of romantic tangles, this makes for an excellent addition to the already outstanding series.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Owen and Hercules are a delight.”

  —Kings River Life Magazine

  “The author is brilliant in not only writing character portrayals, but in creating a mystery complete with twists and turns that will keep the reader trying to figure it all out. . . . I absolutely could not put it down.”

  —Socrates’ Book Reviews

  Cat Trick

  “Match two magical kitties with an extremely inquisitive librarian and a murder or two and you have all the makings of an extraordinary mystery series . . . a captivating cozy!”

  —Escape with Dollycas into a Good Book

  “The characters are likable and the cats are darling.”

  —Socrates’ Book Reviews

  “Small-town charm and a charming cat duo make this every cat fancier’s dream.”

  —The Mystery Reader

  Copycat Killing

  “I’ve been a huge fan of this series from the very start, and I am delighted that this new book meets my expectations and then some. . . . Cats with magic powers, a library, good friends who look out for each other and small-town coziness come together in perfect unison. If you are a fan of Miranda James’s Cat in the Stacks mysteries, you will want to read [this series].”

  —MyShelf.com

  “This is a really fun series, and I’ve read them all. Each book improves on the last one. Being a cat lover myself, I’m looking at my cat in a whole new light.”

  —Once Upon a Romance

  “A fun whodunit. . . . Fans will appreciate this entertaining amateur sleuth.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  “This charming series continues on a steady course as the intrepid Kathleen has two mysteries to snoop into. . . . Readers who are fans of cats and cozies will want to add this series to their must-read lists.”

  —Romantic Times

  Sleight of Paw

  “Kelly’s appealing cozy features likable, relatable characters set in an amiable location. The author continues to build on the promise of her debut novel, carefully developing her characters and their relationships.”

  —Romantic Times

  Curiosity Thrilled the Cat

  “A great cozy that will quickly have you anxiously waiting for the next release so you can spend more time with the people of Mayville Heights.”

  —Mysteries and My Musings

  “If you love mystery and magic, this is the book for you!”

  —Debbie’s Book Bag

  “This start of a new series offers an engaging cast of human characters and two appealing, magically inclined felines. Kathleen is a likable, believable heroine, and the magical cats are amusing.”

  —Romantic Times

  Also Available from Sofie Kelly

  Curiosity Thrilled the Cat

  Sleight of Paw

  Copycat Killing

  Cat Trick

  Final Catcall

  OBSIDIAN

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014

  USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia | New Zealand | India | South Africa | China

  penguin.com

  A Penguin Random House Company

  First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  Copyright © Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 2014

  Penguin 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 to continue to publish books for every reader.

  OBSIDIAN and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  ISBN 978-0-698-15865-8

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  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.

  Version_1

  Contents

  Praise

  Also Available from Sofie Kelly

  Title page

  Copyright page

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  About the Author

  For “The Chief”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As always, many people helped along the way as this book went from idea to reality. Lynn Viehl and Janet Koch provided encouragement and laughter. My agent, Kim Lionetti, shared her wisdom and support with good humor. Jessica Wade, my very talented editor, found all the leaps in logic in the story and, as usual, made the book better. Her very capable assistant, Isabel Farhi, kept us both on schedule. As he has since the Magical Cats Mysteries began, Tim Sletten, retired Red Wing, Minnesota, police chief, answered my questions and was a good sport when I twisted his answers to suit the story. And last but never least, Patrick and Lauren could both always be counted on for back rubs, coffee and lots of love.

  1

  “I look like Fred the Funky Chicken’s mother,” Rebecca said. And because she was so kind, she immediately added, “And it’s not that I don’t like bright yellow chickens . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “You just don’t want to look like a giant version of Owen’s favorite catnip treat on your wedding day,” I finished. Owen was one of my two cats. Rebecca, whose house backed on mine, kept him supplied with catnip chickens, which he loved, much to the annoyance of his brother, Hercules, who didn’t get the attraction of catnip or neon yellow chickens.

  I held the phone out to Roma so she could see the photo of Rebecca in the potential wedding dress, a buttercup yellow ball gown with a huge skirt of chiffon feathers. Rebecca was dwarfed by the dress. I was several inches taller, and I could see that it would have engulfed me, too.

  “It’s not you,” Roma agreed. “But don’t worry. We’ll find you something.” Roma was one of my closest friends in Mayville Heights and a very positive person.

  “This wedding is turning into shredded wheat,” Rebecca said, fingering the soft blue scarf around her neck.

  I smiled in sympathy across the small table at Eric’s Place, our favorite restaurant. I knew Rebecca would have been happy to elope.

  Roma frowned and looked from Rebecca to me. “Excuse me?”

  “Shredded wheat,” I repeated. “The more you chew on it, the bigger it seems to get.”

  Roma laughed and reached for her coffee. �
�Rebecca, I promise we’ll find you a dress that has nothing to do with breakfast cereal or giant yellow birds.”

  Rebecca smiled across the table at us. “I don’t know what I’d do without the two of you.” She smoothed a hand over her silver-gray hair. She’d cut it herself—Rebecca had been a hairdresser for more than forty years—into a little gamin pixie that showed off her beautiful cheekbones and her blue eyes.

  Rebecca Nixon wasn’t just my backyard neighbor, she was also the first friend I’d made when I’d come to Mayville Heights to supervise the renovation of the town’s library. In a couple of weeks she was going to marry her childhood sweetheart, Everett Henderson. And she still didn’t have a wedding dress.

  I handed the phone back across the table to her. She looked at the photo again and gave a soft sigh. “Ami means well,” she said. “It’s just that she seems to have caught wedding fever from Everett.”

  Ami was Everett Henderson’s only grandchild. She’d been close to Rebecca, whom she lovingly called Rebbie, for most of her life and she was overjoyed about the wedding. Rebecca and Everett had waited close to fifty years to be married, and Everett was determined to give her an elaborate celebration—whether or not she wanted it. And she didn’t.

  I reached over and laid my hand on Rebecca’s arm. “My offer still stands,” I said, raising one eyebrow at her. Several months ago when Everett had been talking about having the wedding in The Basilica of St. Mary in downtown Minneapolis—which technically wasn’t possible since neither he nor Rebecca was Catholic—I’d jokingly told Rebecca I’d be happy to help her “kidnap” Everett and elope. “I have a full tank of gas in the truck and I’m betting Roma has a roll of duct tape in her bag.”

  “I do,” Roma said. “But if you’re planning on making a wedding dress, you should know there’s only about half the roll left.”

  “You know, I bet Maggie could make you a wedding dress out of duct tape,” I said, reaching for my coffee.

  Maggie Adams was my closest friend in Mayville Heights, along with Roma. She was a mixed-media collage artist and potter; plus she taught tai chi. Mayville Heights had a thriving artists’ community. Maggie was the current president of the artists’ co-op and the most creative person I’d ever met. She’d made an incredibly realistic, life-size replica of Minnesota Wild hockey player Eddie Sweeney as part of a display for last year’s Winterfest celebration, and it had indirectly led to Roma’s current relationship with the real Eddie Sweeney. I had no doubt that Maggie could make Rebecca a wedding dress out of duct tape, or recycled newspaper, for that matter.

  “If I don’t find a dress soon, I may have to get her to do that,” Rebecca said. She glanced down at the image of the funky chicken ball gown one more time and then tucked her phone in her purse. “Although I don’t think it would go with Everett’s plans.”

  “If the wedding is still too elaborate, tell him,” I said.

  Roma nodded in agreement. “Everett would marry you on an iceberg in the middle of the Bering Sea. He loves you. He just wants you to be happy.”

  Rebecca had told me once that while she’d dreamed of being married to Everett, she’d never thought about the actual wedding. She didn’t care about flowers or food. Everett, on the other hand, wanted a celebration. He wanted the whole world to know how he felt about his bride, although you only had to spend a minute or two with both of them to see it. They made me believe in happily ever after.

  “I know he would,” Rebecca said, tracing the rim of her coffee cup with one finger. “But all this . . . hoopla is important to him. He already agreed to scale his original plans back for me. I know he wants me to be happy, but I want him to be happy, too.”

  “I know what you mean,” Roma said softly. She got the starry-eyed, slightly goofy look on her face that told me she was thinking about Eddie.

  Over at the counter, waiter Nic Sutton looked our way and gestured at the coffeepot. I nodded. He reached for the glass carafe and headed in our direction.

  “Thanks, Nic,” I said after he’d refilled our mugs.

  “Could I get you anything else?” he asked. We’d made short work of three of Eric’s pecan sticky buns. I was tempted to have another, but in a couple of hours I was going to have to squeeze into a very formfitting dress, so I shook my head.

  The library was hosting an evening fundraiser at the Stratton Theatre for our Reading Buddies program, which paired kindergartners with fourth and fifth graders to help foster a love of reading and improve their actual reading skills. The stage had been dressed to resemble a French bistro, with several local businesses providing elegant desserts. In a wonderful twist of coincidence, Eddie Sweeney’s college roommate was the leader and saxophone player in a jazz quartet, Jazzology. They were providing the “atmosphere.” Eddie was very generously—and quietly—covering their expenses.

  “Roma, do you have plans for tomorrow night?” I asked as I added cream and sugar to my cup. I’d taken Friday night off to relax after the fundraising gala, but I was happy to give that up to help Rebecca find a dress.

  “Paperwork and pizza,” she said, tucking her sleek dark brown hair behind one ear. “But I’m open to a better idea. Or any other idea.”

  I smiled at Rebecca. “Let Roma and me take you shopping tomorrow night. Here in town or maybe over in Red Wing.”

  “Please,” Roma added. “I don’t want to do paperwork all night.”

  A smile stretched across Rebecca’s face. “Thank you. Yes. I don’t think I can do this without help.”

  “I’ll drive,” Roma offered. She looked at Rebecca. “I’ll pick you up about quarter to seven.” She glanced at me. “And then we’ll come get you.”

  I nodded. Roma’s SUV was a better choice than the three of us squashed onto the front seat of my old truck.

  The front door of Eric’s Place swung open then and Lita Clarke stepped inside, pushing back the hood of her jacket. The red wool reminded me of the autumn leaves on the maple tree in Rebecca’s backyard. I felt a little twinge of sadness. I was going to miss Rebecca when she moved into Everett’s downtown apartment.

  Lita smiled when she caught sight of us, stamped her feet on the mat by the door to shake the snow off her boots and then headed over.

  “Kathleen, I’m glad I caught you,” she said. She pulled off her black woolen gloves, took an envelope from her purse and handed it to me. My name was written on the front in her tight, angular script. “Everett wanted you to have this.”

  I lifted the flap of the envelope. There was a check inside made out to me. I looked uncertainly at Lita. “What’s this for?” I asked.

  “For tomorrow,” she said. “Everett said he knows you’ll take Vincent Starr out to lunch after his presentation and he didn’t want you to use your own money.”

  Everett knew me well. I was planning on taking the rare-book dealer to lunch after his presentation at the library Friday morning.

  Vincent Starr was an expert on American literature and children’s books. We’d met when Abigail Pierce, one of my staff at the library, found a rare and valuable early edition of Alice in Wonderland in a box of books donated for the library’s fundraising yard sale my first summer in town.

  Vincent and Abigail had stayed in touch. For the past month he’d been working at the Walker Art Center, in Minneapolis, curating a collection of late-nineteenth-century children’s literature that was going on display at the art museum. He’d agreed to come and give a talk about rare books. Abigail, who had been to one of Vincent’s lectures, promised he was an entertaining speaker. He was also a big supporter of projects for children’s literacy and he’d offered to come to the Reading Buddies fundraiser to mingle and talk about books.

  I reached for my purse and tucked the envelope inside. “Please thank Everett for me,” I said to Lita. “And thank you for delivering it.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome,” she said, peeling off her other glove and stuffing them both into one of the pockets of her duffle coat. “I was coming out anyway.
Our coffeemaker died and Everett doesn’t work well uncaffeinated.”

  “Neither do I,” I said with a grin.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rebecca roll hers. She thought I drank a bit too much coffee. I thought there was no such thing as too much coffee.

  “Is everything set for tonight?” Lita asked.

  I nodded. “Everything’s ready,” I said. “Wait until you see the stage. You’ll think Maggie and Ruby somehow transported a Parisian street to Minnesota.”

  I had my fingers crossed that the gala would raise enough money to expand Reading Buddies. The program had turned out to have benefits I had never anticipated. I’d seen the little ones blossom under the attention of the older kids, and many of the older ones had developed a strong sense of maturity and responsibility toward their little students.

  “Everyone’s looking forward to this,” she said, loosening the red-and-black scarf at her neck. She smiled. “I better get back to the office. If you need anything, call me there or on my cell.”

  “I will,” I said, returning the smile.

  “See you tonight,” Lita said to all three of us before heading for the counter, where Nic had just started a new pot of coffee.

  I watched her weave her way around the tables and wondered if Lita would show up alone, or with Burtis Chapman. Lita and the burly “entrepreneur” had been quietly seeing each other for several months. I’d only figured it out because I’d seen them in a close moment in the library parking lot. Lita and Burtis were very different. She’d worked for Everett for years. Burtis had a number of small businesses. Rumor had it that some of them danced on the edge of being legal.

  I was surprised that they had managed to keep their relationship quiet. It wasn’t easy to keep a secret in Mayville Heights; the town was so small. And in Lita’s case she seemed to be related, one way or another, to pretty much everyone in town.

  “Rebecca, how long has Lita been Everett’s assistant?” I asked.

  “Ever since he came back to Mayville Heights for good,” she said. “Lita was very young when she was married—and divorced. She wanted to stay here and raise her girls, and Everett needed an assistant who knew the town as much as he needed someone who was organized and efficient. That was Lita to a tee.”