Please Do Feed the Cat Read Free Page A

cards in her handbag. ‘It’s all turning into one great blur.’
    ‘Book tours are like that,’ Macho sympathized. ‘At least you had a good time some of the time.’
    ‘Book tour?’ Cressie whirled on her. ‘You’ve been on a book tour? In the States?’
    ‘I told you —’ Macho began.
    ‘You’re always telling me something!’ Cressie brushed him aside, moving a step closer to Lorinda. ‘How did you get an American book tour?’
    ‘She started by having an American publisher,’ Macho said, nastily for him.
    ‘I didn’t ask you!’ The gold lightning bolt piercing one of Cressie’s eyebrows flashed as she turned her head to glare at him. It was apparently a sore point.
    ‘Why don’t you come to dinner tomorrow night?’ Freddie invited. ‘She can tell you all about it then. And,’ honesty seemed to compel her to admit, ‘I can use you as guinea pigs for some new recipes I’ve found.’
    ‘What kind of recipes?’ Cressie asked, with a suspicion that spoke of previous unpleasant experience.
    ‘Oh, I haven’t decided on the menu yet,’ Freddie said. ‘There are so many possibilities …’
    ‘I have to go up to London tomorrow,’ Cressie said. ‘I won’t be back until late. You can go,’ she told Macho ungraciously. Since when had he needed her permission?
    Nevertheless, his eyes lit up, as did Freddie’s. It was obviously going to be a more enjoyable evening without Cressie around.
    ‘Would you like a —’ Lorinda began.
    ‘We can’t stay,’ Cressie said abruptly. ‘We’re expecting an important telephone call. We just came to collect the cat. Get him!’ she ordered.
    Macho obediently scooped Roscoe into his arms, holding him tightly. Roscoe extended his claws to hook them lightly into Macho’s jacket with a sad little Meewrrrl.
    Clinging to each other like survivors of a shipwreck, man and cat drifted out of the house in Cressie’s wake.

Chapter Two
    ‘Whew …’ Lorinda sank into a chair.
    ‘You see?’ So did Freddie.
    ‘Everything except what she sees in Macho.’ Lorinda frowned. ‘Someone to order around, perhaps?’
    ‘You mean a victim,’ Freddie said savagely. ‘Fresh blood. She’s probably worn out everyone else she knows.’
    ‘I don’t see how Macho got so entangled with her. Even dead drunk, 1 thought he had a better sense of self-preservation than that.’
    ‘It’s a greater mystery than any we write,’ Freddie agreed. ‘And the greatest one of all is how we’re going to get him out of this mess he’s got himself into. He’ll have a breakdown if that woman hangs around for much longer. Everyone is worried about him. He’s lost nearly as much weight as Roscoe. I don’t think she can cook at all — and, worse, she’s stopped him from doing any cooking.’
    ‘Unlike you.’ Lorinda looked appreciatively at the array of dishes Freddie was now setting out on the coffee table. ‘You seem to have been going mad in the kitchen.’
    ‘Research, my dear, it’s all research.’
    ‘You’re writing a cookbook?’ Lorinda was bemused. Freddie was a darling and a perfectly adequate plain cook, but she was not the stuff gourmet chefs are made of.
    ‘No such luck. I’m just trying to keep up with the latest trend. Haven’t you noticed? American mysteries are full of recipes these days.’
    ‘Not the ones I’ve been reading.’ Lorinda glanced ruefully at the stack of waiting paperbacks. ‘In fact, I’d hate to
encounter a recipe in any of those. Fava beans would be the least of it!’
    ‘Like that, is it?’ Freddie assessed the pile of books. ‘Well, toss ’em to me when you’ve done with them and I’ll have a look. Shouldn’t think it’s my style, though.’
    ‘It’s not mine, either. I don’t know what our crime world is coming to.’
    ‘Gore galore,’ Freddie sighed. ‘Murder with Thai rice and Tibetan yak’s cheese kebabs, drizzled with mango coulis and arsenic. Courtrooms and cats.’
    ‘And don’t forget all the