In this fourth installment in the Cat Collier Short Story Mystery Series, a dear, old friend comes up missing and Cat Collier must scramble to find her before it's too late. A powerful enemy resurfaces and claims responsibility for a personal attack on Cat's family. Nola relives Trent's murder. Carter proposes...again.
April Yellow Moon http://mybook.to/AprilYellowMoon
In this fourth Cat Collier Short Story Mystery Series, an old friend goes missing and Cat Collier scrambles to find her before it's too late. A powerful enemy claims responsibility for an attack on Cat's family. Nola relives Trent's murder.$.99 or Free on KU. #mystery #family #missingwomen
But wait! Read an excerpt before you buy:
April Yellow Moon
A Cat Collier Mystery
By
Carol Ann Kauffman
Hi. My name is Cat Collier. Cat, it’s short for Mary Catherine. I run my own investigative research service called Red Cat Investigation. I do some work for our local city and county government agencies, but mostly I do online research for the private citizens of Heaton Valley, Ohio. As I’ve said before, privacy is a thing of the past. With an Internet connection, a healthy dose of patience, and a little bit of luck, I can find out almost anything without leaving the comfort and safety of my beautiful new office located on the eighth floor of the Palazzo Castellano.
This gorgeous Gothic architectural masterpiece sits majestically in the center of Heaton Valley, much like a beloved old queen toward the end of her reign. My office adjoins the office of high-powered New York Attorney Erick Carter Larsen, my amazing boyfriend. I was totally mesmerized by the sweet, handsome, vulnerable Carter the day I met him in January and nothing in my life has been the same since.
Detrick Bittmor hired me to find out if Carter could be his son from a long-ago love affair with the beautiful, now-deceased New York lawyer, Donna Larsen. Bittmor, the city’s oldest, shadiest, richest lawyer, lived in the penthouse apartment of Palazzo Castellano at that time. Carter showed up in town a few months after his mother’s death. He sat on a bench in Central Park across the street at lunchtime and stared up at Bittmor’s penthouse apartment every day.
So much has changed since January. Carter now knows Detrick is his father. Detrick, now in a wheelchair recovering from a stroke, turned the newly remodeled fabulous penthouse apartment over to Carter and moved into a smaller suite on the eighth floor. He also gave us both offices in the building and bought us cars, Chevys of course, we’re in northeast Ohio. Carter has asked me to move in with him. I said yes. Well, kind of. I haven’t given up my shoebox of an apartment yet. I was staying at Carter’s apartment in his absence at the request of his father, who believes my life is in danger from a certain mobster-criminal type named Robert Woolstein, who he and Carter tried unsuccessfully to entrap and bring to justice and the security at Palazzo Castellano is airtight, compared to the ‘shoebox’.
I agreed to stay on and try this living arrangement on a temporary basis, but I confess I have my reservations. Things are moving way too fast for me. But I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize my relationship with Carter. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.
Carter’s flying home today from New York City, where he maintains his law office and his mother’s gorgeous Manhattan apartment. Our plan for the future is to split our time between Heaton Valley, Ohio, and New York City, where Carter has a junior partnership with the law offices of Piper, Richendell & Sloan.
“Fred will drive you to the airport, Cat,” insisted Detrick, propelling his wheelchair toward me as I prepared to leave. “He’ll give you two all the privacy you need. I’m not comfortable with you going to get Carter by yourself.”
“The airport is only seven minutes away. I can drive to the airport in my sleep. In fact, I have. If you’re antsy about my going alone, I’ll ask Nola to come with me,” I asserted.
“Yes, I’ll go with her,” said Nola White, my secretary. Nola started out as a client, ended up my friend, and part of our crazy little family at the Palazzo Castellano. Her loyalty has no limits.
“Great…two targets for the price of one. No.” Detrick rubbed his forehead. “Do I have to remind you that Woolstein, the master criminal, and his henchmen who knocked you out and tied you up in an abandoned train car last month have not yet been apprehended and brought to justice yet? And Nola? Woolstein still wants her dead! Please don’t argue with me on this, Mary Catherine. It’s a matter of safety: your safety, Nola’s safety and Carter’s, the three most important people in my life. I’m getting older and more worn out by the minute while we engage in this war of wills. Indulge this old man, will you please?” he asked.
“All right,” I sighed in resignation. “Fred can drive me to the airport.”
“Good. He’s downstairs waiting for you in the parking garage. And don’t tell my son I’m doing a bit of standing and walking. I want to surprise him.”
“Got it. I won’t ruin your surprise.”
“And Luciano’s is delivering lunch. You know how my boy likes to eat his big meal early in the day. I’m ordering all his favorites.”
“Big lunch. Yes, I remember.”
“And Cat? Thank you. Thank you for bringing my son back home to me. Again.”
“Now let’s make sure that he stays here this time, Detrick. No more elaborate lies, no more calculated schemes, no more borderline illegal activities with dangerous criminals,” I said. “Promise me?”
“I promise you, from the bottom of my heart,” said Detrick Bittmor, Heaton Valley’s very rich, influential lawyer with a legion of bad guy connections and a champion truth-bending manipulator when it suits him.
I knew all that. But you know what? I still believed him. I firmly believed Detrick wanted his son Carter here with him more than he wanted to continue to play puppet master with the puny little lives of the Heaton Valley residents.
