The Persian Always Meows Twice (A Cat Groomer Mystery)
The Persian Always Meows Twice
(A Cat Groomer Mystery)
by Eileen Watkins
Buy from Amazon
ISBN: B01N0WN6UG
(Kindle)
ISBN-13: 978-1496710567
(Paperback)
Summary
Professional cat grooming isn’t all fluff. When the fur starts flying, Cassie McGlone, owner of Cassie’s Comfy Cats, handles her feistiest four-legged charges with a caring touch and nerves of steel. These qualities also come in handy when she makes a house call to her best client, millionaire George DeLeuw, and discovers his murdered body next to his newly orphaned Persian, Harpo.
To help the local police find the killer, Cassie begins her own investigation. But no one, from George’s housekeeper to his vindictive ex-wife, is giving up clues. Not until Cassie is given permission to temporarily board Harpo does anyone show interest in the Persian’s well-being. Someone is desperate to get their paws on Harpo before the feline helps untangle a felony. Are there deadly truths that a cat whisperer like Cassie can coax out? She needs to tread lightly and remember she gets one life, not nine!
2017 Winner, David G. Sasher Award
What Reviewers Are Saying
“Fans of felines will appreciate Cassie’s demonstrated attachment to the master species, which Watkins successfully integrates throughout this debut. A deft blend of mystery and cat love.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Delightful first novel and series launch…Harpo and the loads of other cats in this welcome debut don’t overpower the story line.” —Publishers Weekly
“Watkins writes an intriguing mystery surrounding the world of cat grooming. Cassie McGlone is a great character with spunk, strength and a great group of people surrounding her. The story is interesting and will keep readers guessing all the way to the surprise ending.”
—Jennifer Wilson, Romantic Times Reviews
“A fantastic thriller that is sure to make your pulse race, The Persian Always Meows Twice is an awesome mystery debut from Eileen Watkins.”
—Modern Cat
“I liked [that] she’s not a groomer that just became one for the hell of it. She truly loves cats and even has a degree in animal behavior. I found that to be so cool, and unfortunately very uncommon.”
—Goodreads Review
“This is the debut of a new series that cat lovers will be unable to resist.”
—Melissa’s Mochas, Mysteries and Meows.
“A delightful debut mystery. It’s smart, well-plotted, and features a cast of characters—both human and feline—that I want to see more of. This book will be catnip for cat lovers.”
—Laurien Berenson, author of Wagging through the Snow
“The purr-fect mystery to curl up with for a lovely cozy read, preferably with a cup of tea, cuddly cat optional but recommended.”
—Leslie Meier, author of Turkey Trot Murder
Novel Excerpt
Arriving at DeLeuw’s place, I pulled into the long, curving driveway and parked in front of the detached garage, next to his silver Mercedes sedan. The front lawn was a perfect swath of emerald-green velour, kept that way by Louis, his landscaper, and smelled freshly mowed; as I left my car, I heard the whine of some type of machinery farther back on the property. Toting my duffle, I started around the front of the house, where purple and white crocuses peeked out from beneath the dark foundation shrubs.
Something else, cream-colored, flashed under the bushes and rustled away. Too fluffy and pretty to be any type of wild animal.
I set down my bag quietly and sank to my knees. “Harpo? That you, boy?”
It was him, all right, flattened beneath one of the bushes, his coppery eyes round and scared. Of course he would be—George had told me he never let the cat outside. Harpo must have darted out when somebody, maybe Anita, had opened the door.
I fished some cat treats from my duffle and made whispering noises until the Persian finally crept towards me. After a couple of minutes, I lured him close enough to scoop him up in my arms. Being about one-third fur, he was lighter than he looked.
“Let’s get you back inside.” I carried both my bag and the cat to the front stoop and started to ring the bell, then noticed the door stood a few inches ajar.
Weird… somebody was being very careless, for sure. I pushed the door open and called out, “Hello?”
No answer. Harpo began to fidget, so I stepped inside anyway and put him down. He trotted off, feet padding almost silently over the marble tiles of the entry hall, and I followed him. With his heightened senses of smell and hearing, he probably would know where to find whoever was at home. Ideally, his master.
I was right about that. The cat passed a couple of open doorways before he veered into what I’d always taken to be the study. There, we both found George DeLeuw sprawled face-down on the Oriental carpet, a bloody gash across the back of his head.
