Downton Tabby Read online

  Table of Contents

  Downton Tabby

  The Pampered Pets Mysteries from Bell Bridge Books

  Downton Tabby

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Pet Treat Recipes

  Please visit these websites for more information about Sparkle Abbey

  Acknowledgements

  About the Authors

  Downton Tabby

  “CASH? JAKE?” I stepped around the massive kitchen table, piled high with electronics, and out into the sunshine. Blinded for a moment by the brightness, I didn’t immediately notice the person in the pool.

  When I did, I also registered that he was facedown.

  Oh, no. Not good.

  Caro Lamont, amateur sleuth and well-respected animal therapist to Laguna Beach’s pampered pets, works with office mate and tech wizard, Graham Cash, whose beloved Scottish Fold tabby cat, Toria, is purported to have anger management issues. But when Caro drops by the charming Brit’s Tudor-inspired mansion to return Toria, she finds his business partner dead and Cash missing.

  Caro is left with the cuddly cat and a lot of unanswered questions. Is Cash the killer, or has he been kidnapped? What’s up with the angry next door neighbor? And what about Cash’s girlfriend, Heidi, who isn’t sharing everything she knows with homicide detective Judd Malone?

  Suddenly there are more secrets and intrigues than there are titles in England.

  Betty, hiding in restaurant shrubbery, and wannabe investigative reporter Callum MacAvoy, who seems to be constantly underfoot, and you’ve got a cat and mouse mystery of the first order.

  Caro’s got to solve this murder before the killer lets the cat out of the bag.

  The Pampered Pets Mysteries

  from Bell Bridge Books

  Desperate Housedogs

  Get Fluffy

  Kitty Kitty Bang Bang

  Yip/Tuck

  Fifty Shades of Greyhound

  The Girl with the Dachshund Tattoo

  Downton Tabby

  Raiders of the Lost Bark (coming soon!)

  Downton Tabby

  by

  Sparkle Abbey

  Bell Bridge Books

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Bell Bridge Books

  PO BOX 300921

  Memphis, TN 38130

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-643-7

  Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-624-6

  Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

  Copyright © 2015 by Carter Woods, LLC

  Published in the United States of America.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  We at BelleBooks enjoy hearing from readers.

  Visit our websites

  BelleBooks.com

  BellBridgeBooks.com

  ImaJinnBooks.com

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Cover design: Debra Dixon

  Interior design: Hank Smith

  Photo/Art credits:

  Illustration (manipulated) © sababaJJ | iStockphoto.com

  Face (manipulated) © Subarashii21 | Dreamstime.com

  Collar © Roughcollie | Dreamstime.com

  Paw Print © Booka1 | Dreamstime.com

  magnifying glass © Yudesign | Dreamstime.com

  :Mtdc:01:

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to family. Ours and yours. To cousins, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, in-laws, outlaws, and friends who have become family. The love of a family, whether by birth or by choice, is a blessing.

  Chapter One

  THE IRISH SETTER and I had a lot in common, and I don’t just mean hair color.

  Cork was a former show dog. I was a former Texas beauty queen. We were both named after places, and we both had families with issues.

  My family drama would have to wait, but I thought I could assist with hers.

  “So, Carolina, what do you think? Is my girl depressed?” Spencer Hogsworth, Cork’s owner, bounded into the room. He ran a hand down the dog’s feathery chestnut fur and gave her a pat on the head before continuing around us to fling open the drapes.

  “I want your expert opinion,” he continued. “You came highly recommended, by none other than Hollywood’s darling, Diana Knight, as Laguna Beach’s top pet therapist.”

  He said “top” with such emphasis you’d think I performed life-saving heart surgery, instead of sanity-saving dog and cat therapy.

  I’d had to start the day without coffee, which isn’t a good thing for me, or for the people who are unfortunate enough to have to interact with me sans caffeine, but I was trying very hard to be patient. And Spencer Hogsworth, bless his heart, was certainly trying my patience.

  He’d bounced in and out of the room like a terrier with a tennis ball while I was trying to evaluate his dog, creating a distraction that made it difficult to assess her current state.

  Cork was five, and the previous season had been her last year on the show circuit. I suspected she was more than ready to retire. I’d rebelled at a much younger age (in people years anyway), walking out on the Miss Texas pageant at eighteen, much to my mother’s chagrin.

  “I don’t believe Cork is depressed.” I slid down on the floor next to the beautiful dog and ran my fingers along her back. She flipped her head, ears flopping, and nudged my hand so I’d be sure to reach a spot on the back of her neck.

  “What then?” Spencer folded his tall, lanky frame into a puffy, lime-green chair. “What are we to do? Just look at the havoc Cork is causing.” He gestured toward the lavish post-modern living room.

  “Havoc” was a bit strong, but Cork did have a problem with sitting still, and lately, according to Spencer, she’d been getting into everything she could. Recently, her inquisitiveness had turned destructive and she’d apparently chewed up Spencer’s brand-new six-hundred-dollar Armani wallet. And all of his credit cards.

  “A simple solution we can try . . . ,” I paused, waiting for Spencer to give me his full attention. He stared off into space, lost in a reverie, perhaps thinking about all the competitions represented by the shiny trophies lined up like soldiers on the floor-to-ceiling glass shelves covering the far wall. Each one must surely represent a memory.

  I was tempted to snap my fingers, like I often did with the dogs, but I resisted. “Spencer?”

  “Yes?” He shifted in the chair to look at me.

  “A very easy thing to start with is exercise.” I gave Cork one more belly rub and then brushed the dog hair from my jeans and stood. She scrambled to her feet. “Irish
Setters need at least an hour of exercise a day. I know that’s not news to you.” I held up my hand to stop him from interrupting. “And I’m sure you exercise Cork, but my guess is you both have a less active lifestyle now that you’re not constantly training for dog shows.”

  “True.” Spencer popped out of the chair and began straightening the pillows on the massive ultra-modern couch. “That seems too easy.”

  “Let’s try it.” I was sure both Spencer and Cork were going to need a new interest to focus on now that their show days were over. But getting Cork more exercise would be a beginning. “I’ll check back in a week and we’ll re-evaluate how y’all are doing. Does that sound okay?”

  “Yes, yes, we can try it.” Spencer crossed to pull open the room’s French doors and let Cork outside.

  I smiled as the rollicking redhead raced across the length of the backyard and back, and then pounced on a leaf. “I’d like to see her get at least thirty minutes of exercise, twice a day. The dog park would be great, weather permitting, because there she would really have room to let loose and run.”

  Spencer agreed to the increased exercise and trips to the dog park. I left my phone number with him and encouraged him to call if he had any questions or if anything new came up with Cork.

  Once outside, I stood on the front steps a moment and inhaled the crisp sea air. I’d like some room to run myself but I had a busy day ahead, so I didn’t think time for letting loose was in the cards for me. When I’d arrived, I’d left the top down on my silver vintage Mercedes roadster, and the morning sun had warmed the leather. I tossed my bag in the back, slid behind the wheel, and reviewed the day so far.

  It had been a bumpy morning.

  Let me catch y’all up.

  IT HAD STARTED with my need for morning caffeine. I’d filled the pot with water, scooped in my favorite organic grind, pushed the button, and waited for the aroma of fresh brewed coffee.

  I waited. And waited.

  Nada. Nothing.

  My coffeepot had up and died. I know, minor stuff, right? Fair enough. I’d just stop at the Koffee Klatch on my way to the office and then pick up a new coffeepot after work. They make great coffee, the place is not out of my way, and I’d planned the morning to catch up on paperwork, so no biggie.

  About that paperwork. I despise it. Now that might sound kind of strong, but I really do. Here’s the deal, I’m a pet therapist. I work with problem pets, and so I think it goes without saying that paperwork isn’t my favorite part of the gig. The pets are. What could be better than a day spent with people and their fur babies?

  Laguna Beach is a great place to be in the pet business because there are more registered pets in the community than there are children. Needless to say, folks here are crazy about their furry family members. I can relate; I’m crazy about mine, too.

  Back in Texas, I was trained as a people therapist, but, thanks to my lying, cheating, ex-husband and a major scandal courtesy of the aforementioned ex, I’d lost my license to practice and had decided to leave my beloved Lone Star State and start over. Which leads me to the next pothole in this morning that had already been headed downhill faster than a runaway wagon.

  I had showered and dressed (jeans and a new Akris white cotton crepe tunic I’d paid way too much for) and taken my pooch, Dogbert, for a quick walk around the block.

  Back at home, Thelma and Louise, the two felines in charge of the household, checked to make sure I’d left them sufficient provisions for their day and then went back to soaking up the sun.

  I reached down to pet the two and glanced outside. My patio doors framed a view I never took for granted. Blue sky touched bluer water that danced along the coast and reached out toward tomorrow.

  Prodding myself to stop daydreaming and get moving, I turned from the picture-postcard view. My home, unlike the House Beautiful home I’d grown up in, was best described as “lived-in chic.” Or at least that’s how I saw it. Bookshelves jammed with books, not for display, but actually read and loved. Comfortable people and pet-friendly furniture, sturdy furnishings accessorized with eclectic bric-a-brac, the remnants of a dog-treat recipe experiment from the night before. My home.

  I grabbed a few of the new dog biscuits and threw them into my Coach tote, snagged my phone from the dining-room table, and had been fixin’ to head out to meet with Spencer and Cork.

  Just as I’d been about to toss my phone in my bag, it rang.

  “Hello,” I’d answered as I picked up my car keys.

  “Don’t hang up.” Well, shoot. It was Geoffrey, my ex.

  Don’t hang up? Hells bells, I hadn’t heard from him in over a year, and I wouldn’t have even answered if I’d known it was him.

  “What do you want?” I snapped.

  Y’all are probably thinking that was a bit rude of me, and it’s true. My mama had raised me better and would have been absolutely appalled at my bad manners. But you see, I’ve come a long way in the not-pretending department. And though I’m usually very polite, I’m frankly not sure of the proper greeting for a yellow-bellied, lying cheat whom you once loved. A man who slept with a client, broke your heart, and destroyed your life. At least my life had sure seemed destroyed at the time.

  “Carolina, it’s so nice to hear your voice. Did I catch you at a bad time?” The louse must want something. I would bet good money Geoff wasn’t simply calling me to shoot the breeze.

  “I was about to walk out the door,” I told him.

  “Where to?” His voice was as smooth as Kentucky bourbon, just like I remembered. The slightest flavor of the south in those cultured tones, but where it had once thrilled me, it now grated on my nerves.

  “Work.” I continued collecting my things.

  “That’s right, you counsel canines and kitties.” He laughed.

  I did not.

  “Get to the point, Geoffrey.” I’d been patient, but I was done talking, and my short fuse had nothing to do with my red hair and everything to do with my Texas baloney detector. And if I’m honest, maybe just a little, my lack of caffeine.

  “Sorry to hold you up.” I pictured his face in my mind and had a momentary flash of wondering if he’d changed physically. I hadn’t seen him since the last court date. “Here’s the thing, Carolina. I’m going to be in LA on business, and I’d like to see you.”

  “Why?” The question shot right out of me.

  “Why not?” His response had been just as quick. “I think we both need some closure.”

  “No thanks, Geoffrey.” I got in my car. “I’ve got closure.”

  And with that I pushed the disconnect button.

  SO, AFTER THAT rocky start, I have to say I believe I’d done a pretty dang good job of focusing on Spencer and Cork and maintaining my cool.

  But now I was ready for some coffee. Beyond ready. I started the car and put it in gear.

  Koffee Klatch, here I come.

  The Koffee Klatch was a local coffeehouse right on Pacific Coast Highway and on my way to the office. There was no good reason for it this time of day, but the line was endless. Verdi, our part-time receptionist at the office, also worked at the local coffeehouse. She was behind the wide wooden counter this morning, but even her speed and efficiency couldn’t move people through fast enough. Granted, my caffeine deficiency may have impacted my view of the line.

  My impatience must have shown on my face because the lovely, multi-pierced, burgundy-haired Verdi didn’t attempt to chat. She just handed me my usual hazelnut latte and took my money. I’d always known she was one sharp chick, and her silent competence confirmed it. I thanked her and left. Caffeine in hand. Finally.

  The aroma soothed me as I took a satisfying sip. She’d given me a large. Like I said, the girl was sharp.

  When I arrived at the office, the building was locked up tight. As you’ve probably already figured out, if Verdi was on duty at the Koffee Klatch, she was not on duty at the office. I share office space with a realtor, a psychic, and an investment advisor. None of us
have a ton of administrative needs, so it works out.

  A delivery van was pulled up out front, and the driver had parked himself at our door. His I’ve-got-other-places-to-be posture said he wasn’t happy with not being able to drop his delivery and run.

  “Here ya go.” He thrust a package at me. “Sign here.”

  I shifted my bag and my latte and took it. It was a big envelope and a bit awkward to hold. And undoubtedly not for me. Suzanne, the psychic, got documents occasionally. Or it could be some official papers for Kay, the realtor. I glanced at the envelope which was addressed to 2Gyz with a return address of SIS Tech and an address in the UK. Oh, right. I’d momentarily forgotten about our new officemates, a couple of twenty-something techies who’d leased the vacant space. My brain clearly needed more caffeine.

  I signed where the man in shorts indicated. He was already poised for the sprint back to his truck. I unlocked the door and flipped on the office lights then dropped the package on the reception desk.

  I turned away and slammed into a bulky wall of a man who somehow had managed to come through the front door without my hearing him. Maybe we needed one of those bells that dings when someone comes in.

  “Who are you?” I took a step back ready to defend myself if necessary. My best friend, Diana, and I had taken a self-defense class, a Valentine’s Day gift from Sam Gallanos, the man in my life. I felt like his choice of a gift was a pointed comment on the life I lead. Anyway, we’d learned a lot in class, and, even as big as this guy was, I knew I could take him.

  “I’m so sorry, ma’am.” He also backed up. “I did not mean to scare you.”

  “What do you want?” I was on a roll. Again, yes, I know it wasn’t a polite response and my mama would be appalled and all that, but in my defense I was a bit startled. And my mental tank was still low on caffeine.

  “Sorry.” The man took another step back. “I had some car trouble out front, and I wondered if I could borrow your phone to call my auto club. Cell phone’s dead.”