Christmas Cat Blues, page 1
CHRISTMAS CAT BLUES
CAT NOIR SERIES
BOOK 5
ALISON O’LEARY
Published by RED DOG PRESS 2022
Distributed by BLOODHOUND BOOKS 2022
Copyright © Alison O’Leary 2022
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Alison O’Leary has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
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This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
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ISBN 978-1-915433-21-3
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www.reddogpress.co.uk
CONTENTS
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Acknowledgements
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ALSO BY ALISON O’LEARY
Street Cat Blues (Cat Noir # 1)
Country Cat Blues (Cat Noir # 2)
Beach Cat Blues (Cat Noir # 3)
Summer Cat Blues (Cat Noir # 4)
For Sharon
1
Aubrey settled more comfortably on the roof of Molly’s car as he watched the delivery man wrangle a large tree from the back of the open truck and drag it up to the front door, clutching it around the trunk and pulling it behind him. Next to him, Vincent continued the slow languid washing of his right ear. Leaning back against the porch, the man closed his eyes for a moment and drew a deep breath before making his way back to the truck. Jumping down from the car, Aubrey padded over to the porch. He could smell the tree already, a fragrant resiny smell that scented the cold winter air. He raised his head and looked up into the slate grey sky. Snow was on the way.
Inside Fireside House, a pair of cold eyes followed the visitor as he made his way around the large open-plan office, hand extended to the women who had instinctively risen from their chairs on his entrance as if he was some sort of visiting royalty. He was good-looking though, he had to admit it. Tall and handsome in that old-fashioned movie star way, with a square chin and bright blue eyes that crinkled around the corners in a way that suggested he had a ready smile. His fair hair flopped very slightly over his forehead and gave an almost boyish charm to his appearance. The sharp cut of his grey suit, the crisp blue shirt and the designer tie added to the effect, too. But be that as it may, this bloke was going to make enemies if he kept poking his nose into the workings of the Foundation, that was for sure.
He continued watching as the man stopped to talk to Lucy, leaning over and looking interested in what she was working on. Lucy, sucking in her stomach, fluttered her eyelashes at him as she showed him some of the case files. He narrowed his eyes. This new chairman of trustees was nothing like the previous chairman, Charles. In fact, Charles, with his fat belly pushing against his shirt buttons and his propensity to start sweating after two glasses of wine had been almost the complete opposite. It would never have occurred to Charles to show any more interest in the office staff than he would have done in a new printer. As far as Charles was concerned, the staff were just a part of the fabric of the building. He had certainly never bothered to speak to any of them. He doubted that Charles had even known their names. The only times that Charles was seen around Fireside House was when he had attended the quarterly meeting of the trustees, meetings at which he’d thrown his not inconsiderable weight around. He had been fond of Charles though, in a lukewarm sort of way. He had certain qualities. The main one being his complete disinterest in the affairs of The Family Fireside Foundation, other than the opportunity it gave him to be king of the castle for the day.
Outside the snow began to fall, the soft white flakes swirling and brushing against the windows. In the distance, the sound of the waves crashing against the sea wall could just be heard.
2
Carlos lay on his stomach on the rug in front of the fire, flicking the pages of a football magazine. He looked up as Jeremy came in, followed by Vincent who slipped in behind him and joined Aubrey under the Christmas tree which was waiting to be decorated.
“Snowed off,” said Jeremy. “Where’s Molly?”
“Here,” said Molly, coming through from the kitchen. “Did you have something to eat at the golf club?”
Jeremy shook his head.
“No, I had a quick drink with some of the lads and then came straight back in case the weather got worse. I had a chat with one of the new members, Adam something or other. Interesting bloke. He struck me as being one of those eager types, but not in a painful way, if you know what I mean. Not like Ernest.” He laughed. “Ernest by name, earnest by nature. God, who calls their child Ernest these days? Although it’s probably popular again now, like Albert and Enid.”
“Is Ernest still teaching at Sir Frank’s?” asked Molly.
“Last I heard. Amazing when you think about it. The smart money in the staff room was on him making a bolt for it before the end of his first term.”
“You have to give him credit for sticking with it,” said Molly, sitting down in the chair next to the fire. “Even after the ankle biting incident. What was it he used to say?”
Jeremy assumed a sombre expression and sank his chin slightly into his chest.
“All children are a gift and we must treat them accordingly. He didn’t mention unwanted gifts. But he had a kind of air of innocence about him that you couldn’t help liking. I can seem him now, huddled outside in a cloud of tobacco smoke, even when it was raining. He never did what the other smokers on the staff used to do.”
“Why, what did they do?”
“Head off to the big cupboard in the art room. They chucked all the art stuff out and made it into a sort of little club room. They had chairs and a rug in there and everything.”
“Didn’t the art teacher mind?”
“It was his idea. I suppose,” he continued, “it was a sort of alternative staff room.”
“Didn’t the head object?”
“She pretended that she didn’t know. Otherwise she might have had to do something about it. Anyway, amongst his other worthy contributions to the well-being of life at Sir Frank’s, Ernest used to run the fund-raising events and ask the kids for ideas. Honestly, you should have seen some of the suggestions.”
Carlos looked up again from his magazine and grinned.
“Yeah, I remember those. The best one was the annual granny fight.”
“The what?” asked Molly.
“Annual granny fight. It was Frankie Gibbon’s idea. He said that we should round up all the grannies in the neighbourhood and have a big bundle in the playground at the end of the summer term and we could charge for tickets and take bets.”
“Yes, well,” said Jeremy. “Frankie Gibbons had a vested interest. His granny weighed about forty stone and could have given Mike Tyson a run for his money.” He shuddered slightly. “I still have nightmares about the time she turned up at parents evening instead of Frankie’s mother. It was practically a medical phenomenon.”
“What was?” Molly looked perplexed.
“The development of simultaneous spontaneous migraine which necessitated some staff having to exit rapidly.”
Molly laughed.
“What did Ernest say about the suggestion for a granny fight?”
“Well, of course he took it very seriously and said that he’d look into it but the school might have difficulty arranging insurance. Honestly, he just couldn’t see that the kids were taking the piss out of him half the time
Molly leaned forward and tickled Vincent under the chin, who stretched his paws in front of him and inched a little closer to her. Aubrey smiled. When Vincent had first joined the household he had hung back as though afraid to get too close to them. Now he looked forward to their coming home as much as Aubrey did.
“So, tell me about this Adam,” said Molly. “Presumably he’s local?”
Jeremy nodded.
“Moved here about two months ago. One of those big houses up on the headland, the ones with the huge bay windows. He’s the southern area manager of one of the big banks. I can’t remember which one now, although he did say. He’s also just been appointed as the Chair of trustees for the Family Fireside Foundation.”
“Has he?” Molly looked interested. “That’s where we donated some of the funds from our last social event at the Lodge. It was quite a lot in the end. The residents really threw themselves into it, it was great fun. Mind you, at the time it was just what everybody needed. It was just after…”
Aubrey yawned and tucked his tail more tightly around himself. He remembered the social event well. It had been arranged not long after the murder at the Lilac Tree Lodge care home for the elderly and both he and Vincent, as participants in the visiting pets scheme, had been allowed to go. They had spent most of the day observing the elderly residents and their visitors playing hoop-la and running egg and spoon races on the lawns, although the latter had ended in some disarray after two of the residents started brawling and hurling eggs at each other after one of them accused the other of deliberately tripping him. As Molly said, it was a good job that the eggs were hard-boiled. He had even submitted to the indignity of the ‘guess the weight of the cat’ competition although he had been less impressed when some bright spark had written ‘five tons’ on the entry slip. He didn’t know how much five tons was but it seemed like a lot.
“I’ve heard that the Foundation do a lot of good work with the homeless,” continued Molly. “Which is why we donated some of our funds to it. I hadn’t realised until we moved here what a problem homelessness can be in coastal areas. I suppose that I’d always associated being homeless with inner cities.”
Jeremy nodded.
“Adam was telling me about it. Part of the problem is that employment tends to be seasonal which obviously causes problems in the winter months, and also these areas seem to attract drifters. I can’t say I blame them. I suppose if you’ve got nothing, you might as well have nothing in nice surroundings. And then there’s the drug scene, although you get that everywhere.”
“I guess so,” said Molly. “So what does the Foundation do in practical terms?”
“Quite a lot, one way and another. One of the things that they do is buy up old properties and convert them into flats. And they acquire land and build new blocks sometimes as well. One of their policies is to try to re-home people with a drugs problem away from the area. To give them a fresh start.”
“How do they decide who to give homes to? Do people just apply?”
“I think that they can, but it’s mostly done through referrals. Like social services or other charities.”
“Where do they get their money from?” asked Molly. “It can’t all be fund-raising.”
“I think that the fund-raising is mostly for public relations purposes, it helps them attract legacies. But they have a portfolio of investments that they finance most of the work with, as well as a substantial amount in a trust fund. And of course, they do get rents from the properties.”
Carlos put his magazine aside.
“The original foundation was started by Sir George Renton. When he was a boy, his father died when he was seven and left his mother with six children and no money. They lived rough for a while in the caves on the beach and he said that it was an experience that he never forgot. After he got rich, he set up the Family Fireside Foundation to help families in difficulties but now they help single people as well.”
Molly looked at Carlos in astonishment.
“How on earth do you know all that?”
“There was a piece in the local paper.”
Jeremy smiled slightly. Carlos taking an interest in current affairs, even if only at a local level, was a new development. He was definitely maturing.
“How did Sir George make his money?” asked Molly
“Buttons and stuff. Like, making them. Which,” Carlos added thoughtfully, “was dead clever when you think about it. I mean, like, everything has buttons. Even nowadays. I bet there’s, like, millions of buttons even in just this house.”
Molly thought for a moment and then nodded. Carlos was right. There were probably at least a dozen buttons on the clothes that they were wearing now. She turned to Jeremy.
“How does the Foundation work then? I mean, who actually runs it now?”
“It’s run like any other business really. It’s just that their business is charitable. A group of trustees make the decisions on policy and planning and so on and then there are paid staff who put it into practice. A bit like the government and the Civil Service, I suppose. The Foundation’s got a Chief Executive plus proper managers to handle things like finance and human resources as well as a fund raising and public relations department. Like I said, just like any other business.”
“Right.” Molly nodded. “So are the trustees volunteers? I mean, they’re not paid or anything?”
“Only expenses,” said Jeremy. “Funnily enough, Adam was telling me that there’s a vacancy on the board and they’re looking for someone who lives locally. He asked me if I would consider him putting my name forward.”
“And will you?”
“Probably. I think it might be interesting. Something different, anyway.”
3
Molly peered into the cardboard box and pulled out a fat wax candle in the shape of Father Christmas. She tipped her head to one side and regarded it fondly.
“Goodness. We’ve had this for years. Since our first Christmas together, I think.”
“So a genuine antique then?” said Carlos. “You ought to take it on the Road Show. It could be worth a fortune. I’ll check for the next time it’s coming to town.”
Molly made a pretend swipe towards his head.
“Cheeky. Make yourself useful and unravel the fairy lights.”
She delved into the box again and threw a great tangle of wires towards him. Despite their promises to themselves each year to make sure that the lights were properly stored, every year they got thrown in the box with the rest of the decorations with the result that every year they had to be untangled. From their observation post beneath the Christmas tree, Aubrey and Vincent watched with interest as Carlos shook the tangle down before starting to pick it apart, his long thin fingers delicately separating the strings. Aubrey always liked it when the Christmas decorations came out. It put everyone in a good mood and it was only a matter of time before the big turkey got cooked which always resulted in plenty of leftovers for him. If he could resist jumping up at the tree that is. Last year he had been marched from the house in disgrace after making a flying sideways leap at a spectacularly tantalising bauble and bringing the whole lot crashing down. It had taken quite a long time of pushing his face against the window and looking pathetic before they relented and let him back in again.
