Murder, Magic, and Moggies by Pearl Goodfellow

Author:Pearl Goodfellow [Goodfellow, Pearl]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Soar Free Publishing
Published: 2018-08-06T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

Of course, when it comes to Fraidy, his courage has some severe limits. Artemus Caves and I had just gotten our introductions to each other out of the way when his fear finally got the better of him. My host blinked hard as he saw my cat run straight from the door to hide, rather unsuccessfully, behind a walking stick leaning against the wall. Although a strip of about one inch of his body was concealed, my fretting furry friend felt hidden enough to settle down for a much-needed break.

Raising an eyebrow, Artemus (as he insisted I call him) asked in his basso profundo voice, “Does he...?”

“Every time,” I said with a sigh.

A smirk tugging slightly at the right side of his mouth, he said with an ironic flourish: “Well…enter freely and of your own will.”

I glanced back quickly to check that Jet was on his way home before I stepped into the slightly beat-up shack. I didn’t see my zippy cat but I saw a trail of dust he’d left in his wake so I was happy.

The wear and tear on the walls of the cabin suggested that it had been crafted out of driftwood. There were some touches of white paint here and there, but it had long since been worn away by the sea air. What I could make out of the wall shelves in the kerosene-lit interior was row upon row of battered books and strewn papers. I could feel a couple of drafts through the rough-shod floorboards as I walked over to the tea table, which had an ancient laptop open and ready for business.

My host was a striking contrast to his surroundings, to say the least. He had a long round face that reminded me of Stan Laurel of Laurel and Hardy fame, right down to his oddly shaped eyes and half-moon smile. He had a bit of stubble on his cheeks, but I chalked that up to him not getting around to shaving in a few days, as opposed to a look by design. His naturally curly hair seemed to have traces of auburn coloring in them. His clothes, which consisted of a polo shirt and dress slacks, appeared to be a bit faded …but were otherwise clean and well pressed. While he was relatively easy on the eyes, he lacked that dreamboat, authoritative quality that David had in spades.

“I happened to be brewing a bit of tea when you knocked on my door, Ms. Jenkins,” he said politely, getting the chair for me like a 19th century gentleman. “Would you care for some?”

“Is it green tea?” I asked as I took my seat.

“Of course,” he answered. “It’s my working drink. Specialty teas are for equally special occasions and people.”

“Sure, I won’t take too much from—“

“Nonsense,” Artemus said with a wave of his hand. “I have this appalling habit of making way more tea than I can drink anyway. I will enjoy having no wastage.”

“Then that would be lovely,” I agreed.

Another quick smile came and went as he went to check the kettle.

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