Murder in the Meow

A Pepper and Osiris Mystery - Book 1

Daphne Hunt

Contents

Prologue

1. Pepper

2. Pepper

3. Pepper

4. Pepper

5. Osiris

6. Pepper

7. Osiris

Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Daphne Hunt

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 by Lauren Smith

Cover Design by Cover by Combs

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at lauren@laurensmithbooks.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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ISBN: 978-1-952063-87-9 (e-book edition)

ISBN: 978-1-952063-88-6 (trade paperback edition)

Prologue

Chelsworth- England

Osiris

It was the perfect day for doing absolutely nothing. It was not the perfect day for a murder most foul, not that I knew that yet. Despite what the folklore says, cats cannot predict someone’s death. Though what we can do is almost as impressive. I stretched out in my perfect spot beneath the tall windowpanes in the library, sunning myself and thinking about my talent of doing nothing, blissfully unaware of what lay upon the horizon.

The warm rays of the sun shone through the glass, leaving squares of light upon the oriental carpets I would occasionally claw at when bored. My tail twitched back and forth, just the tip, indicating a preoccupation with my thoughts which had drifted elsewhere.

I am descended from the great pharaoh cats of Egypt—this is important, so don’t forget it. As I was saying, there I lay, contemplating my noble lineage while lounging in the sun. Sometimes, when I closed my eyes halfway and tucked my paws beneath my body in what the humans would say looks like a loaf of bread—insulting yes, but quite an apt description—I could occasionally drift into this space between now and the distant past. Time drift: it’s a thing all felines are capable of.

I envisioned myself trotting down the length of a marble floor through an ancient palace, smelling the rich scents of spices and perfumes upon the air as I hunted mice. During a drift, I believed I shared the thoughts and feelings of my ancestors, thousands of years before. I have seen the sun rise and set between three pyramids at the edge of a desert, lapped up the waters of the Nile, and curled into the arms of a princess with kohl-rimmed eyes as palace servants fanned her with palm leaves. During such waking dreams, I lose all track of time and place, which can be very unfortunate if sinister plots are afoot.

And that was exactly when it happened. Or rather, that’s when it all began…when the American arrived for tea. Murder was in the air, sure enough. My nose scented the foul intent of someone ready to do something very evil. I could taste that vileness upon my tongue as I licked my face, but ignored it, at least for a moment.

The sound of voices in the hall pulled me abruptly from my time drift.

“Right this way, Miss Park.” A thick Scottish brogue could be heard through the library door—Ewan Dougal, the butler of this grand place I called home. The humans, however, called it Champsley Hall. It’s a nonsensical name, but that was of little concern to me.

Ewan opened the door to the library and ushered in a young woman. “Please have a seat or a look about. Mr. Havers will be in to see you shortly.”

“Er…Thank you.”

The woman was not a cat person; I could tell that fact right away. Instantly, I decided I liked her. When certain humans shy away from cats, it’s only because they don’t realize they are exactly like cats. It’s what makes us gravitate toward them. We recognize our kindred spirits, even if they are human and therefore a lesser species.

I abandoned the sunny square where I’d been daydreaming and paraded slowly across the room, letting the sun illuminate my gold fur with its black spots. I am a most attractive cat, ask any of the local queens, or even the toms. But what else would you expect? I am named after an Egyptian god, after all. I was brought here as a kitten, hidden in the coat of a rich Englishman when I was but eight weeks old. My exotic green eyes and tawny coat adorned with my exquisite markings made all the ladies in Chelsworth simply mad for me.

The young woman seated herself at a reading table which was ideal. I was in need of a good scratch behind the ears and on that spot just above my tail. Taking a well calculated leap from the floor, I landed right in front of her on the table.

She shifted back with a shriek, nearly knocking a chair over. I glanced around, expecting to see a mouse or some other intruder, but I saw nothing.

“Oh god, you scared the crap out of me.” She gasped and held a hand to her chest as she stared at me.

I realized with the greatest displeasure that I was the creature who had startled her, despite this being my place and she the guest. My tail twitched as I stared at her a long moment, sitting on my haunches, then let out a tentative meow. I’d hoped to start this relationship off on a better paw. However, I still planned to entice her to give me that scratching I was so desperate for.

“Shoo! Shoo!” She waved her hands at me as if it would somehow blow me off the table. I didn’t budge an inch. “You shouldn’t be on the table; you’d better get off—”

“I’m afraid Osiris is quite stubborn,” a man said with a chuckle.

I immediately started purring. Nicholas Havers, the very Englishman who’d carried me out of the sands of Cairo tucked inside his Burberry coat, was here.

“Oh, Mr. Havers?” the young woman asked.

Nicholas held out a hand as he walked toward her. “Miss Park, it’s lovely to meet you.”

I watched in delighted approval as my human and this new human met for the first and, unbeknownst to me then, the last time.

“He’s a handsome fellow, isn’t he?” Nicholas gave me the scratch behind my ears I desired. I closed my eyes, pressing my head toward those fingers which knew just the right spots to rub.

“Yes, he’s very handsome, but I’m afraid I don’t like cats,” Miss Park said, keeping her distance from the table.

“What? Oh, how unfortunate. Cats are capital fellows. They aren’t at all like dogs which follow you about everywhere, staring at you with needy expressions. No, cats are creatures unto themselves, and they do not flatter you. If a cat takes to you, you can be sure it’s because they see your true value, and not simply because you feed them and walk them.”

I continued to purr, delighted to hear my human’s wise response.

“Osiris is a very special cat. Aren’t you, my boy?” Nicholas asked me. “He’s an Egyptian Mau. I brought him back from Egypt with me three years ago. See the distinctive black marks on his forehead? They resemble a scarab beetle. Only cat species in the world to have that.”

I stood proudly at his praise of my markings and watched the young woman, Miss Park, for a reaction. She looked intrigued, but still didn’t come any closer. It was her loss, of course.

“Helen Cohen in the village told me all about your Egyptian collection. I would love to see it.”

“Of course, that is why I invited you. Do come and let me show you…” Their voices faded as the humans turned and walked away.

That was the last time I ever saw my human alive. Nicholas hadn’t just been the human who fed me and gave me a home; he was much more. I knew his true value, and I would not let his death go unpunished.

1

Pepper

Sometimes, in order to refrain from committing murder, you have to escape from work for a little bit. I was possibly on the verge of killing my boss—and maybe a few coworkers—if I didn’t get a much deserved and far overdue break.

My name is Pepper Park and I’m a real estate foreclosure attorney. I’m that person who files a bunch of boring but sadly necessary documents in court in order to reclaim a house when someone can’t, or more often, won’t pay for their house. You’d be surprised at the number of people who actually think they should get a house for free and make us out to be the bad guys. Sure, there are plenty of good people who get behind on bills, and I take a great joy in working to modify their loans so they can keep their houses, but not everyone is like that. My job can make a lawyer jaded pretty quickly.

After two years and zero vacation days, I was pretty much done. I’d marched into my boss’s office at the beginning of the summer and informed him I would be taking leave for an entire month.

“Do you have everything you need to work remotely?” he’d asked.

“No.” I wouldn’t exactly be at the other end of the universe for my vacation, but I wasn’t about to let Mr. Wilkins think he could pressure me into working while I was on vacation.

“What if we need you?” Wilkins had persisted.

“It’s summer. You know half the judges go fishing this time of year and postpone most of their hearings. I’ve rearranged my entire caseload for when I return. All of the judges assigned to my current cases are fine with it. Lord knows the attorneys on the other side won’t have a problem with the new dates. Their clients get an extra month living in their houses rent free.”