Book 7 in the 9 Lives Cozy Mystery Series
Did the late Frank Jamieson have another wife and a son? That’s what Pam Muir is claiming, but she is murdered before she can provide proof. Forced to investigate the allegation, Christy learns Pam had a checkered sexual history that included blackmail, but none of her lovers could be the father. A chance discovery leads Christy to a man with a criminal past who could be the father, but is not the killer. To discover who is, Christy must look deeper into dark family secrets.
“These cat themed mysteries will prove to be enduringly popular . . . unreservedly recommended . . .” – Midwest Book Review
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EXCERPT
“Mrs. Jamieson.” Bonnie, the receptionist at the Jamieson Trust, sat ramrod straight, her complexion pale, her eyes wide. “The police are here. They were waiting when I arrived to open the office.”
Christy Jamieson had some experience dealing with the police and it didn’t include the kind of abject fear she saw in her receptionist’s eyes. She frowned. “Did they say what they wanted? Or give you names?”
Bonnie gulped. “The woman was Detective Patterson. I knew her because she’s been to the office before. The man said he was Detective Jones.”
Christy nodded, even more confused by Bonnie’s dismay. Patterson was a smart, methodical cop who tended to get her answers through thoughtful questions, not intimidation.
A man’s voice, harsh and threatening, broke into the conversation. “I told you to alert me when she came in.”
Bonnie’s fear started to make sense. The voice must belong to Detective Jones, a man who seemed to have a very different investigative style than Patterson. Christy turned slowly to face him. “She has a name and it is Mrs. Jamieson. Remember that and use it when addressing me or referring to me with my staff. I gather you are the policeman Bonnie mentioned.”
Jones narrowed his eyes, but before he could speak, Patterson entered the reception area. “Good morning, Mrs. Jamieson. We would like to speak to you on a police matter.”
Turning away from Jones, Christy allowed her haughty expression to relax into a smile. “Good morning, Detective Patterson. Of course I’ll make time for you. If you’ll join me in the conference room?”
She led the way, taking off her coat when they arrived and draping it on an unused chair. Then she sat down at the head of the long mahogany table, Patterson on her right, Jones on her left. Ignoring him, she turned to Patterson. “Now, Detective, how can I help you?”
“Do you know a Pamela Muir?” Patterson asked.
Christy raised her brows. “Yes, I do. However, there isn’t much I can tell you about her.”
Jones jabbed a finger at Christy, claiming her attention and making her jump. “Sure there is. She came here wanting to bust into your fancy Trust.” He smiled rather nastily. “Afraid of losing your millions to some upstart, Ms. Jamieson?”
Patterson made an impatient sound that Jones ignored. Christy arched her brows and said coolly, “I assume you are referencing Ms. Muir’s claim that my late husband, Frank, was the father of her son?”
Jones glared at her. Patterson said quietly, “We are. Can you tell us about it?”
Christy turned to Patterson with considerable relief. She didn’t like men who thought women were there to be bullied. “Of course. She showed up here a couple of weeks ago and made her absurd claim. That was the first I had ever heard of my husband having an illegitimate son.”
“You didn’t believe her.”
“Honestly? No, I didn’t.”
“Why?” Jones demanded. “Frank Jamieson had a bad reputation. There’s no reason to believe the kid isn’t his.”
Christy wondered if he was being deliberately provocative, or if he was just a colossal jerk. “There is every reason to believe, Detective Jones. If Ms. Muir had said her son was five years old, or younger, I might have accepted her claim, but according to her, her son is thirteen, older than my daughter. My relationship with my husband deteriorated over the years, but in the beginning we were very close. I would have known. And,” she added, emphasizing the word, “there is the absurdity of a woman who knows the father of her child is wealthy beyond her wildest dreams and does nothing about it.” She made a small dismissive movement with her hand. “Please! If Frank was the boy’s father, she would have been feasting on the Jamieson Trust from the day of his birth.”
Jones narrowed her eyes at her answer.
Patterson asked, “Did you have a meeting with her last Wednesday morning?”
Christy nodded. “Yes. Pam was supposed to bring documentation proving her allegations, but she never arrived.” She frowned at Patterson. “What is this all about, Detective?”
It was Jones who replied. He placed his hands on the table and half rose in his seat. Leaning forward, his face close to Christy’s, he said, “Murder, Mrs. Jamieson. We’re here to find Pam Muir’s killer.”