The No. 2 Feline Detective Agency Read Free Page A

Having agreed to deliver her back to Furcross in the morning en route to a blocked sink, he dropped her in the High Street just as Oralia Claw was getting her board in. The Butters had shut up for the day and retired to their flat over the shop, so Hettie made her way down the side of the building to the back door, which opened onto the storeroom and ovens and led eventually to her own rented office. Tilly worked a magic trick every evening, transforming the office into a cosy bedsit: Hettie’s desk was now adorned with a slightly stained tableclothand bowls and forks for two; the Butters’ luncheon vouchers had been exchanged for a steak and kidney pie and a large packet of Salt & Shake crisps; and there was a saucer each of melted ice cream for pudding. As Hettie walked in, Tilly was just putting the finishing touches to the fire and laying out her blanket for later. Hettie’s pipe and catnip pouch were on a small table by her chair, which had been dragged away from the filing cabinet and put centre stage in front of the grate, where a small but inviting collection of flames was coming to life.
    Tilly looked up expectantly as Hettie hung her mac on the back of the door, and waited for the good news she’d spent the afternoon hoping for. She was not disappointed. ‘Looks like the No. 2 Feline Detective Agency is in business,’ said Hettie, trying hard not to skip round the room with sheer delight as Tilly offered a raw vocal soundtrack of ‘We’re in the Money’. She threw her bounty of three pounds down onto the dinner table, and the cats set about dividing the steak and kidney pie in half and breaking open the crisps; this proved a little more energetic than expected, but Tilly soon scooped them off the floor and into the bowls where they belonged.
    The meal was soon over, and they retired to the comfort of the fire to enjoy their ice cream before getting down to the business of the day. With no real experience of detection, and no appetite for puttingherself out, it dawned on Hettie somewhere between the second and third pipe of catnip that she had rather landed them in it: she had taken a case she had no idea how to solve, accepted money on account, and made an arrangement to return to the scene of the crime the next day to do whatever it was that detectives do. Bewildered and tired, she looked across at Tilly, who had been making copious notes as the case was outlined to her.
    Tilly put her notepad down with some sort of resolution. ‘It’s quite simple really,’ she said. ‘It has to be an inside job, or someone close to one of the residents, or they wouldn’t know who was dead and who wasn’t. And if they weren’t dead, then they wouldn’t want them, would they?’ Hettie was already lost but she tried to hang on as Tilly moved closer to the fire and continued. ‘What we need to find out is if they wanted the cats who were dead or just the stuff they were dead with – and if that’s the case, why didn’t they leave the cats where they were and just take the stuff?’ By now, Hettie felt obliged to make some sort of contribution to the conversation, but her head was spinning with Tilly’s enthusiasm and there was no space for her to interject. ‘This calls for a plan,’ Tilly continued. ‘We may have to set a trap. We need a plant.’
    This was Hettie’s moment. ‘I’m not sure we should spend money on making the office look nice until we have a few more cases,’ she observed cautiously as Tillysucked the rubber off her new pencil and spat it into the fire. ‘What sort of plant had you in mind?’
    Refusing to follow Hettie’s train of thought, Tilly pushed on with hers. ‘This is a job for Jessie. Her charity shop’s going through a rough patch and she’s desperate for money. Could we run to another pair of paws?’
    Hettie – more confused than ever but not surprised at the news that their old tabby friend’s backstreet venture into retail would not be launched on the stock exchange