Book 6 in the 9 Lives Cozy Mystery Series

When a dean from a local college is murdered at a charity gala Christy is attending, she must find the murderer or risk her reputation. She discovers the dean was resented for her demanding standards and arbitrary ways. Her students thought she wasn’t doing enough for them. And how did her past as a movie producer fit into the mix? Unexpectedly, it the cat who provides the vital clue.

“These cat themed mysteries will prove to be enduringly popular . . . unreservedly recommended . . .” – Midwest Book Review

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EXCERPT

“It’s beautiful out here,” Christy said. She and Quinn were standing in the shadows on the long terrace of a graceful old mansion. The terrace looked out toward the city of Vancouver, lights gleaming in the dark, starlit sky.

“It certainly is,” Quinn said, drawing her towards him. He wasn’t looking at the view.

Christy chuckled. They were happily immersed in each other when the evening’s quiet was broken by a scream, followed by shouts, then a babble of voices.

Quinn jerked his head up, looking byond the terrace. “What the—” His concerned gaze met Christy’s startled one and together they rushed to the balustrade where they looked over the edge and down into the garden.

Below, at the bottom of a single set of stairs, a woman lay face down on a flagstone path. Her arms were flung outward as if she had tripped and fallen down the stone staircase and had tried to save herself, but to no avail. One of her legs was bent at an odd angle, clearly broken. A little crowd hovered around her. Christy recognized three members of Lightening Rod, the band that had provided music for the fundraising gala she and Quinn were attending. A good-looking man in a tux—one of the professors who worked at the college that was the recipient of tonight’s benefit—stood to one side, his hands in his pockets, his head bent.

At the top of the staircase stood a middle-aged man and woman, the Hargreaves. The couple had been on the terrace when Christy and Quinn arrived and they must have descended to the lower level by one of the curving staircases at either end of the terrace.

It had been Mrs. Hargreaves who screamed. Christy knew that for sure, because now she screamed again.

“Get a grip,” Jackson Hargreaves said, without any sympathy at all. He and his wife had been arguing when they were on the terrace and it appeared they were still arguing now. He descended the single staircase to the little group at the bottom. Mrs. Hargreaves hiccupped, then she sniffed, but she didn’t scream again. She remained standing at the top of the stone staircase, making no attempt to follow her husband.

The flagstone path on which the body lay led to a shadowed arbor where it joined a second flagstone path that wound through the gardens. A figure appeared out of the gloom, and then another. The indistinct figures solidified into a man and a woman. Christy gasped. “Quinn! That’s Sledge.”

Quinn nodded. “Isn’t that the drummer from Lightening Rod that he’s with?”

Christy leaned over the edge of the balustrade for a better look. “I think so.”

“What’s he doing here? I thought my dad and Trevor were packing him up and taking him home before he lost it and got into a fight with that jerk who thought he needed a singing lesson.”

Christy shrugged uneasily. “Maybe it was all sorted out and he decided to slip away for some quiet time, like we did.”

Sledge and the girl reached the group around the injured woman about the same time Jackson Hargreaves did. Sledge crouched down and touched her wrist, then her neck. Searching for a pulse, Christy thought, concerned. He stood up and looked at the others. “Has anyone called 9-1-1?”

The Lightening Rod band members shook their heads. The prof in the tux shrugged.

Jackson Hargreaves snapped, “Of course not! I just got here.”

Sledge pulled out his phone and dialed the number. “I need to report a death.”