It’s been a rough couple of months around here, mostly because my owner doesn’t leave the house. Her name is Samantha, but I call her the ice cream lady. She’s a person. She’s supposed to go places. I’m a cat. I’m supposed to explore the interior of the house, secure the circumference, and test out various spots for sleeping. Only, ever since we moved from the very, very little place that I was never allowed to leave into this gigantic one (that seemed exciting at first, with its stairs and floors like scratching posts, but turned into a death trap when the basement flooded), she’s been doing stuff to the walls that makes the place smell funny and moving around the things in her closet. I joined her once and curled up on a pile of colorful fluffy things, but she didn’t seem happy. She put me outside the room, said something about “cashmere,” and shut the door. I could have gone downstairs to play with my red and yellow felt mouse but it’s stuck under the big gray thing she sits on when she watches the black box, so instead I sat outside the door and meowed until she took a break and gave me ice cream. She does that a lot. That’s how she got her name.
Last week was different. People came over. A guy with funny black and white checkered shoes and a woman with scary lime green heels that could really hurt my tail! And a new guy whose socks smelled like grass. I think the ice cream lady warned him about me, but I wanted to get her back for knocking my mouse under the big gray thing, so I jumped on his lap and purred while he pet me. I liked him. I hope he comes back.
Tonight the same people came over. This time they were all very excited about a tall wooden thing. My owner laid it down on the glass square I’m not allowed to jump on (something about my paw prints). The guy with the funny checkered shoes and my owner went into the room with the food. I followed them because I thought it was time to eat. I was wrong. They went back to the room with the door that lets me go outside and looked out the big glass square. I love the big glass square! It’s way better than the black box. Some days I sit by the big glass square and watch things go back and forth. But tonight there were too many people looking out the big glass square so I figured I’d check out the wooden thing instead.
I swatted at it. It didn’t do anything. I butted it with my head, too—the way they treated it, I figured it would be fun to play with, like a mouse or a chipmunk—but it didn’t move. It didn’t smell like catnip or tuna, either. Honestly, I don’t know why they like this thing so much. It doesn’t even have feathers!
I walked away from the wooden thing while bright lights swirled around at the place next door. The lights upset everybody. I don’t think the people’s eyes work like mine, so I didn’t know they could see the lights. They sure don’t work like mine when the ice cream lady can’t find her slipper. Duh, it’s right under the big gray thing next to my mouse. Not sure how it got there. That’s the story I’m sticking to. But between you and me, if given the chance, I might put the wooden thing under there too. I want my mouse!
Synopsis for Buyer Beware:
Out of work fashion expert Samantha Kidd is strapped, until the buyer of handbags for a hot new retailer turns up murdered. When Samantha is recruited for the job, it comes with a caveat: she’s expected to find some answers. The police name a suspect but Samantha's convinced the label doesn’t fit. With patent determination and a tote bag of tenacity, she turns to a sexy stranger for help. As the walls close around her like a snug satin lining, Samantha must get a handle on the suspects, or risk being caught in the killer’s clutches.
Buy from Amazon here
Buy from Amazon here
I grew up reading both Trixie Belden mysteries and Vogue magazine and learned how to spot a counterfeiting ring and accessorize a wardrobe. When it was time to find a career I headed out to the mall...and nine years later was a buyer for one of the top luxury stores in the country. But while Paris, Milan, and New York satisfied my appetite for fashion, my passion for creativity went unfed. Now I sell fine apparel by day and uncover crimes of fashion by night, in the form of mystery writing. I still love accessories, only now some of them are accessories to murder.
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