A Candy Cane Cat-astropheMeow for Murder 5
Addison Moore Bellamy Bloom
Contents
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Book Description
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
Books by Addison Moore and Bellamy Bloom
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Copyright © 2020 by Addison Moore, Bellamy Bloom
Edited by Paige Maroney Smith
Cover by Stunning Book Cover
Hollis Thatcher Press, LTD.
This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the author herself.
All Rights Reserved.
This eBook is for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase any additional copies for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Copyright © 2020 by Addison Moore, Bellamy Bloom
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Book Description
A highly inaccurate vision. A grumpy writer. And a corpse. Welcome to Starry Falls. Running from the mob can be murder.
It’s Christmastime in Starry Falls, the annual tree lighting ceremony is underway, and the entire town has gathered on Main Street to witness the illuminated spectacle. But when I spot a body tangled in lights, the night takes an unexpected homicidal turn. Not only did my visions let me down in that department, but I didn’t see two wise guys coming our way either. Things with the mob are starting to get a little too close for comfort, and a part of me wonders if I’ll be able to stick around in this cute little town to see the new year. The snow is falling, the Italian cookies are baking, and it’s beginning to look a lot like murder.
Confession: I’m no psychic. But I can sort of see the future, albeit not accurately. And you better believe I’ve never let that little detail stop me from prognosticating my way into a pickle. So when I ticked off the mob, the feds, and my wily ex, I decided to take my Uncle Vinnie’s advice and start over with a new name and new hair color while relying on my old shtick—getting my visionary wires crossed and putting myself in danger.
Chapter 1
“Two words: bare-chested Santas,” Stephanie says as she hops in front of me.
“That’s three words, and I’ve got a one-word answer for you: no.”
About six different cats let out a sharp yowl in agreement with me. Either that or in rebellion because they happen to agree with Stephanie.
My own cat, Pixie, who sits strapped to my chest in a baby sling, looks rather bored and offers no real opinion on the subject. She’s a fuzzy white Scottish fold—or at least she was that pristine color until some kid baptized her with a cup full of fruit punch and she’s been pink ever since.
It’s the first Friday night in December, the snow is falling, and all of Starry Falls has shown up right here on Main Street for the annual tree lighting ceremony. My sister and I are standing in a booth outside of the Mortimer Manor, along with the other waitresses who work with us at the Manor Café, peddling the holy trinity of the holidays—hot cocoa, mistletoe, and Italian Christmas cookies.
The Mortimer Manor is rich with felines, and thanks to the fluffy white stuff icing up our world outside, just about every single one of them is currently holed up in that manor. The owner of that haunted mansion might be flat broke—a new endeavor for her, seeing that she’s a socialite used to rolling around on a bed of billions—and yet feeding every stray cat in the great state of Vermont is sort of her contribution to society at this point. That and the comfort we’re peddling on the side.
“Comfort?” I hold up a cup full of steaming hot cocoa spiked with whiskey, aka comfort.
It’s a well-known fact by the ladies of this sleepy town that if you head to the Mortimer Manor for its once a week crafts spectacular, otherwise known as Stitch Witchery, you can get a spot of comfort in your tea to take the edge off your surly existence.
Of course, that little spot of comfort will cost you, but none of the women seem to mind. And tonight, in addition to the comfort spiked cocoa, Opal and I also thought it would be a great idea to sell sprigs of mistletoe with a little paper tag attached that reads find someone to share this with. Those make-out magnets have been selling like hotcakes, too.
A couple of older women wrapped in wool coats and scarves step up to the booth, and my newly minted bestie Tilly Teasdale exchanges hard liquor disguised as a common holiday libation in lieu of cold, hard cash.
“Let’s not forget to add a candy cane,” I say, quickly dunking the red and white striped sugar sticks into their drinks. “If you stir it up a bit, it’ll give it a nice peppermint bite.”
Pixie belts out a sharp meow as if agreeing with me. She’s been sniffing around the candy canes with a peculiar interest. I think maybe because Stephanie left one next to her water bowl last week and she still doesn’t know what to make of it.
The women take off,
