Fur-miliar Felines Read online

  Fur-miliar Felines

  A Wonder Cats Mystery Book 7

  Harper Lin

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  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  FUR-MILIAR FELINES Copyright © 2017 by Harper Lin.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

  www.harperlin.com

  Contents

  1. Black Aura

  2. Fight

  3. Missing

  4. White Precipitation

  5. Greek Tragedies

  6. Runaway

  7. Spiderwebs

  8. Wrinkled Thing

  9. Lyle

  10. Diabolus Formarum Catus

  11. Fierce Trio of Felines

  12. A Delicate Spell

  13. Psychedelic Roller Coaster

  14. Tumble

  15. Dead

  16. Santa’s Village

  17. Rock Star

  18. Radio Station

  19. Burnam

  20. Feliz Navidad

  21. Creature

  22. Making a Scene

  23. Tainted Bloodline

  24. Lair

  25. Guardians

  26. Comfy and Crinkly

  27. Pictures

  28. Merry Christmas

  All books by Harper Lin

  A Note From Harper

  About the Author

  Excerpt from “Granny’s Got a Gun”

  Black Aura

  “Are you sure you think Jake will like these?” my cousin Bea asked me for the hundredth time as we stood in line at Paige’s Neighborhood Store.

  Bea held up a pair of red-and-green Christmas socks that had a matching tie and kerchief. Paige’s was an old-fashioned country store in the bustling upscale part of town. They carried everything from jewelry to electric fireplaces.

  “That isn’t all you’re getting him, right?” I asked. If that were all I got from my spouse, I’d be a little miffed.

  “No. I already got him some of his favorite coffee beans and one of those army-style flashlights like the department gives them. He wanted one of his own. I picked up a new workout suit for him to wear to the gym. There was a sale on boxers and socks, so I stocked up on those for him. And then I also picked up…”

  I nodded and adjusted my dusty-pink Santa hat as Bea rambled on all the things she had picked up for her husband. Usually we spent Christmas day with my aunt, Bea’s mom, who would cook a fantastic meal that actually included some kind of real meat like lamb or turkey. Had we left it up to Bea, we’d be eating tofu with bean-paste stuffing and a heaping salad of kale. The thought made me wrinkle my nose and swallow hard. Have you ever choked down kale? Ugh.

  “But the big gift …well, you’ll think it’s silly.”

  “Bea, I’m wearing a Santa hat, and underneath my coat is my favorite ugly Christmas sweater. I’d have a lot of nerve if I thought anything was silly.”

  “Okay, but promise me you won’t say anything to Jake about it. He’s so sensitive. I don’t want him to quit before he ever gets started.”

  “What? What is it?”

  “Well, have you seen those commercials on television for those software programs that you can talk into and they record your words and put them on paper?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded.

  “Well, I bought that for Jake. He wants to write a book.” Bea batted her lashes, waiting for my response.

  “Really? That’s awesome,” I said. “I blame you for that. You have a way of making people try creative things they normally wouldn’t. Does he want to write crime stories?”

  “No. Romance.”

  “No way!” I cried out, attracting the attention of just about everyone at the store. “That is so great. I want the first copy of every book off the press. I’ll be his number-one fan, but not in the creepy way like that woman in that Stephen King story.”

  Bea laughed.

  “I’m so happy you think it’s a good idea,” Bea gushed. “He’s so worried that people will judge him if he’s no good.”

  “Well, he’ll never know if he doesn’t try. Have you seen some of the stuff out there? Seriously, I doubt Jake could do any worse.”

  Bea beamed. Then she asked a question I wasn’t prepared to answer.

  “So? What are you getting for Tom?”

  Tom Warner was a police officer. He had beautiful blue eyes and cowboy boots and a red pickup truck, and he knew I was a witch.

  Some people hesitate to tell other people they like intimate details about themselves for fear of rejection. Perhaps they worked at a strip club at some time or did drugs at some point. I was a witch. It wasn’t something I broadcast. I had learned the hard way that even people you think will accept you unconditionally will back away when they find out you’re a witch. It spooks them. But when I told Tom, he didn’t get spooked. In fact, he had his own supernatural experiences, so I guess you could say we had that weirdness in common.

  “I haven’t decided what to get him.” I winced, knowing what Bea’s response was going to be.

  “You haven’t? Christmas is only twelve days away.”

  “I know. But I haven’t seen anything that I thought he’d like,” I whined. “I am hoping that if I hold out long enough, it’ll just come to me. I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “Okay.” Bea nodded. “What does he like? Does he prefer a certain kind of music or books or something?”

  “Yeah, well, he likes all kinds of music and reads crime and thrillers. You know, guy stuff.” I took a deep breath as we inched our way closer to the register. “I’m sure I’ll see something that he’ll like if I’m just patient.”

  “Well, he really picked out a beautiful broach for you.” Bea tapped the beautiful vintage pin on my peacoat that Tom had surprised me with a couple weeks ago. I blushed as my cousin smiled at my discomfort.

  I looked all around the store until my eyes fell on something that was a complete distraction from the current conversation.

  There was a marquee covered with flyers of local events for the holiday season. Homemade baked bread and holiday fruitcakes were being sold by Busy Bees over on Tyler Street. Saint Michael the Archangel Church was collecting canned goods and nonperishables from now through the New Year. The Wonder Falls Park District was hosting the Tenth Annual Pet Reindeer Contest.

  “Bea, look at this.” I pointed to the flyer. “This is Treacle’s year.”

  “Oh, good luck with that.” Bea giggled. “Do you think he’ll go for it? More importantly, does he think he can beat Peanut Butter as a reindeer?”

  “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to go down.” I knew Bea wouldn’t be able to resist getting into the act. Her cat, Peanut Butter, was an adorable bundle of orange fur. He was still a kitten compared to Treacle, who was in his healthiest midlife. But he would never look as cool as a reindeer as Treacle would. My cat’s black fur and green eyes would look fantastic in a red Santa hat with reindeer horns sticking out of it.

  “I don’t know if we should tell my mom.” Bea squinted.

  Marshmallow, a gorgeous gray, pug-nosed Persian, was my aunt’s cat. I’d never repeat this to Treacle, but Marshmallow’s roly-poly body and beautiful fur made her look like royalty.

  “Not if either of us wants to win.” I scoffed. “What do you win?”

  I continued reading the flyer and in the back of my mind was trying
to figure out how I would convince my cat to do this. My witchy gift was that I could communicate with my familiar. Actually, I can communicate with all animals, but cats come through as clear as I was talking with Bea right here next to me. Dogs communicate well if you enjoy talking to toddlers, which I really do sometimes. Wild animals are a little harder to understand but not if you practice a little patience. Needless to say, cats go best with us witches.

  “A-ha.” I pointed to the flyer. “You win the prestigious title of Pet Reindeer of the Year, a blue ribbon, and a certificate signed by the mayor.”

  “I mean this with nothing but love and respect,” Bea said, “but you are going down.”

  “You go ahead and think that, Lady Jane.” Lady Jane was a term Aunt Astrid would use on both Bea and me when we were in a spot of trouble. I hadn’t heard it in years, but it just flew out of my mouth. It made us chuckle.

  “You’re going to make such a good mother one of these days,” Bea said as she riffled through a bin that held various swatches of Christmas fabric scraps.

  I blushed.

  Just then I noticed two women who looked familiar come up behind Bea. There was a short, heavy woman with a good bit of makeup on, talking intently to a tall, thin woman who preferred the natural look. They both looked very worried.

  “I just don’t know what to do,” the shorter woman stated. “What do you say to a woman whose son is missing?”

  “She’s got to be frantic. Has she gone to work?” the other woman asked.

  “Yeah. The bills don’t stop coming. Could you imagine that? Going to work when your son has either run away from home or been taken, Heaven forbid, and being told to return phone calls and file paperwork. I’d totally go postal if I were in that situation.”

  I looked at Bea and with my eyes indicated for her to listen a little closer. I was always surprised by some of the things you learned while standing in the check-out line.

  “My gosh. She’s called the police?”

  “Yes. They told her that he’s probably run away and will be back when he either gets hungry or cold enough,” the short woman replied. “You know, he is almost eighteen. The cops won’t take mother’s intuition into consideration. Sad to say.”

  “What about her ex-husband?”

  “Bruce Lyle Sr.?” The shorter woman stated the name that immediately made me look at Bea.

  Bea had the luxury of having her back to the women, and her eyes popped as her mouth fell open. Sad to say, we both knew Bruce Lyle.

  “Bruce Lyle Sr. is blaming Melissa, saying she is just trying to ruin his Christmas with his new girlfriend.” The shorter woman put her hand on her hip. “He hasn’t offered to go out looking or put up flyers. Melissa has been doing that every free minute she’s had. But no, Bruce can’t really be bothered. He can’t be bothered searching for his son who has disappeared. Can you believe that?”

  “How long has he been missing?” the taller woman asked.

  “So far, it’s been about a week. He hasn’t been at school. Didn’t show up at his job. You know, he works at that little coffee place inside the grocery store.”

  “What do you think happened?” the thinner woman asked as she applied clear Chapstick to her lips.

  “I don’t know any kid who has a relatively normal life that would take off and run away just a few days before Christmas. Presents? Special dinner? School vacation starts tomorrow, I think. It doesn’t make sense.”

  We finally inched our way up to the register so Bea could pay for Jake’s Christmas socks. Before we walked out of the store, we heard one last eerie detail.

  “The really weird thing is that Melissa said that none of Bruce Jr.’s clothes were missing. Not only did he not pack anything if he ran away like the police think, but Melissa said none of his shoes are missing, all of his pants are there, and his winter coat is still hanging in the closet.”

  “Maybe he borrowed a pair of boots or something from a friend,” the thin woman said. “Otherwise, you’re saying he left the house naked.”

  “Left or was taken.”

  The two ladies continued their discussion, and we could no longer eavesdrop without looking like a couple of gossip hens. I linked my arm through Bea’s as she finally had her purchase, and we headed out of Paige’s. Neither one of us knew what to say.

  “Melissa has been in the café a couple of times, but she never said anything,” Bea said. “You know, I thought something was wrong with her when she came in. There was a hint of black around her aura, but that is so common around the holidays I just thought she was going through a little bout of holiday blues. My goodness. I could have helped her.”

  Bea’s gift as an empath allowed her to not only sense people’s suffering, but also take it on as part of herself. She’ll absorb the pain so the other person can maybe get a couple nights’ sleep or have a clear mind to figure out what to do. In more extreme cases she can untangle a malicious spirit or a paranormal parasite that might be using the person as a host and send it back to whatever dimension it crawled out of. She’s very good at their removal. I should know because she helped me. She should get T-shirts made that read Bea’s Supernatural Pest Control.

  “What do you say?” I shrugged. “Hey, Merry Christmas and all that jazz, and by the way, my son’s gone missing. If you see my Bruce Jr. around, can you tell him to get right home and maybe mention he should put some clothes on?”

  “That’s weird, right?” Bea shook her head as she climbed into my car, and we headed to the Brew-Ha-Ha Café for the lunch shift. We didn’t mention the conversation to Aunt Astrid. We had forgotten about it since there was a fight going on in the café as we arrived.

  Fight

  “Everyone is considered innocent until proven guilty!” It was Mr. Wayne, a teacher from Bibich High, yelling at a blond man who was being held back by who I could only assume was his wife. “I’ll have my day in court. You’ll see. Your kid and those others got me fired for nothing!”

  Half the patrons had receded to the far wall to stay out of the way but were all too happy to be watching. The remaining people were attempting to keep the two men apart. Aunt Astrid was on the phone, telling the police to hurry.

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face around here!” The other man lunged at Mr. Wayne. “You put your hands on my son. You pervert! You belong in a cage!”

  “There is no proof I’ve done anything wrong,” Mr. Wayne said defiantly. “I’m a taxpayer. I have a right to go wherever I want.”

  “I’ll see that you rot in jail!” The man’s face was the angriest red I had ever seen. His eyes watered with tears of fury, and his wife was losing her battle to hold him back.

  Thankfully, my dearest friend, Min Park, was in the café this late morning. He and another fellow kept Mr. Wayne at arm’s length from his attacker. It was interesting to see Min help, since in high school, he was the one mercilessly bullied. Now, Min has grown to be strong and extremely successful.

  With all the people crammed into the Brew-Ha-Ha, Bea and I couldn’t get to Aunt Astrid. Bea tried to inch her way to the more aggressive man to put her hands on him. I knew she thought that if she could take away some of his pain, she might be able to calm him down enough until the police arrived.

  I, on the other hand, kept looking toward the window for the red and blue lights and listening for the sirens but couldn’t see or hear anything over the shenanigans going on.

  With one final attempt, the angry man knocked over a couple of our chairs, pushed aside my aunt’s favorite table, and almost punched Mr. Wayne across the jaw. Had the man not been off balance, he would have taken out a couple of teeth or broken Mr. Wayne’s nose for sure. But it was more of a humiliating brush along the chin than an actual pummeling. However, I knew what would come next. I could tell by the look in Mr. Wayne’s eyes. In fact, I think I heard everyone let out a collective groan of disbelief when they heard Mr. Wayne cry out.

  “That’s it!” Mr. Wayne cried. “I’m going t
o sue you for assault. You just made a big mistake, pal, and I’ve got witnesses!”

  “Get them out of here!” Aunt Astrid yelled as she held the phone to her ear. “Get both of them out of here!”

  Finally, the police arrived in two black-and-white squad cars with sirens blaring and lights rolling. I held the door open for the officers. Bea was finally able to get to her mother and stand protectively in front of her. Some of the gawkers quickly got out of the way, and Mr. Wayne, suddenly unsteady on his feet, holding his jaw and acting as if he were going to faint, let two of the police officers lead him out of the café first. The other two officers went inside to talk to the other man.

  I stood with Aunt Astrid and Bea. We all looked at each other, stunned. I caught Min’s eye, and he just shrugged.

  “Now, Mr. Mavery, we know you’re upset,” the first policeman said while he kept his hand on his Taser. “But you need to let the law handle things the right way.”

  “Why is that monster out?” the angry man demanded.

  “Mr. Mavery, did you assault Mr. Wayne?” the officer asked as his partner carefully cleared out the café.

  “Yes. I hit him. If I could have gotten closer, I would have strangled the life right out of him. You know what he did to my boy and those others at the school. You know what he did!” Mr. Mavery’s voice was low and hateful.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Mavery. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

  Mrs. Mavery started to cry and assured her husband she’d call their lawyer as soon as she got home. She shook her head in disgust.