The Cat Collier mystery short story series is described as a cross between Nancy Drew and Mike Hammer. Follow Mary Catherine (Cat) Collier on her journey from small-town obituary writer for the local newspaper to big New York City detective in this series, starting with January Black Ice.
In her latest adventure September Solitude, Cat Collier, now married with two children, questions what she wants to do with the rest of her life, and where she wants to live.
Tracking down a baby girl given up for adoption over twenty years ago meets with disastrous results.
A midmorning bank heist in a nearby city implicates Nola in an armed robbery.
Old cases collide with new ones in the middle of the lobby of the Palazzo Castellano.
A murder. A runaway. Another secret society. Cat joins force with a band of Asian women to lure a killer.
Personal relationships are tested to the limits.
The Skampotti Family shows Cat what ‘All for Family’ truly means.
Cat feels all alone.
Distress Call
My name is Cat Collier. Well, Mary Catherine Collier Paxton, to be more precise. I run a research service called Red Cat Investigation in Heaton Valley, Ohio and Cay Cosa Investigation Service in the Cardinal Park area of New York City. Most of my work is online research. Almost everything is online. But sometimes I have to do some actual physical investigating involving stakeouts, tailing, eavesdropping, and disguises.
Since I had my children Poppy and Douglas, I mostly work at the New York City office, which is in the Paxton Building. I’m married to my sweet, handsome, lovable, blond Scandinavian landlord, Spencer Paxton.
My husband Spencer is older than I am. Seventeen years older, to be exact. I met him when I went up to ask him for some modest improvements in my rental office. At first, he was surly and defensive. But the more I got to know him, the more I found him to be a warm and wonderful man. Not the heart throb of my life, like the marvelous Carter Larsen. But unlike Carter, Spencer understands the meaning of the word ‘faithful.’ He is honest and dependable.
He’s also a recluse. He rarely ever leaves the penthouse apartment that was his childhood home. He has severe panic attacks. His father was a wealthy textile tycoon. Although Spencer has siblings, he alone inherited everything because of a horrific childhood incident. He spends his days managing his stock portfolio from the comfort of his home office.
Mostly I do research for private citizens. Now you might not believe this, but privacy is a thing of the past. Death certificates, birth certificates, and real estate appraisals are all public record. Credit scores, bank account balances, and employment records are a little harder, but not much. Social media is a treasure trove of free and easily accessible information about relationships, new babies, new jobs, and current location. Mutual friends of friends can yield a ton of sought-after data. With an Internet connection, a little luck, and minimal hacking skills, I can find out almost anything without leaving the comfort and safety of my beautiful leather padded swivel chair in my office.
But a distress call from my Ohio business partner Nola White one morning set in motion a strange series of events that would change my life forever.
“Cat,” Nola cried. “I’m in trouble. Big trouble. It’s bad. The police are here. They asked to see my registered firearm. I went to the safe to get it. And it’s gone. They say my gun was used in a bank heist in the Cleveland area. They’re taking me in.”
“Go. Do not resist. I’ll get you a lawyer.”
“Detrick saw them pull up in front of the hotel. He’s here with me now. He said he’ll handle it.”
“Okay, good. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t worry. You did nothing wrong. We’ll get this sorted out. Who from the Heaton Valley Police Department is there that I can talk to?”
“No one. It’s all FBI. I’ve got to go.”
Nola hung up.
I went to find Spencer. He was in the kitchen with Nelson.
“Spencer, I need to get back to Ohio. Now. Nola is having an emergency.”
“What kind of emergency? Did she run out of cupcakes? Can’t she handle things? Matteo does a terrific job of managing everything here in the Cardinal Park office. He never bothers you at home with mundane, day-to-day operational details.
“This is different.”
“How different?”
“Nola’s in trouble. The police showed up at the office. They said her gun was used in an armed robbery. They asked to see her weapon. When she went to get it, it was missing.”
“What kind of crime?”
“A bank heist in the Cleveland area.
“That’s ridiculous. Nola wouldn’t rob a bank. She’s psychic. She would’ve known she was going to get caught.”
“Spencer, this is no joke.”
“It sounds like a made-up story to me.”
“Nola wouldn’t do that, either.”
“Well then she’s been watching too many crime dramas. Or hallucinating. Maybe mixing her medications?”
“I have to go. I’ll have to stay in Ohio until I can clear up this mess.”
“So, you intend to leave your two children and your husband in New York City and go traipsing off to Ohio to put out imaginary fires?”
“To Ohio, yes. Imaginary fire? I’m not so sure. This could be serious. As far as Poppy and Dougie are concerned, Sophia is quite capable of taking care of the kids during the day. At night, they’re asleep. And you and Nelson are here.
“The kids will be fine. You, on the other hand? I don’t know. I don’t want to leave you. You could come with me, you know. We could all go. There’s plenty of room for everybody at my apartment at the Palazzo Castellano.”
“Once again, you forget you married a hermit,” he snipped.
“You play that hermit card at your convenience, my darling. What would you like me to do?”
“I would like you to stay home and take care of your family obligations like a normal adult woman. Occasionally show up at both offices, impeccably dressed, with flowery compliments for all, generous bonus checks, and a knock-out smile.”
“One: This is not 1950, Ward Cleaver. Two: I can’t do that.”
“Sometimes you are little more than a willful child, Mary Catherine. Do what you want. You always do.”
Spencer stormed down the hall to his office. He slammed the door.
“What’s with him?” I asked Nelson, our butler and Spencer’s closest (only) friend and bodyguard.
Naturally the ever-loyal Paul Nelson shrugged his shoulders and did not comment.
“If I’ve done something to piss off His Lordship, I’d like to know what it is so I can fix it.”
Again, the shrug. “Go. Take care of business. Call me in a day or so. I’ll see if I can find out what seems to be troubling him.”
“Thank you, Nelson.”
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