This is the first in the Tenth Life Cozy Mystery series by Mollie Hunt. I thought this was a cute story with a great setting. Camelia and her cat Blaze have moved to a Ocean Cove which is on the Oregon Coast. When Camelia arrives, she finds out the previous owner of the her new home was killed on the doorstep and his death was never solved. She also finds a mysterious grave that belonged to a cat named Soji, and then, Soji starts visiting her and Blaze. This was a well written book that flowed well and kept me interested. We are introduced to several neighbors at the start of the book, and I had a hard time keeping them all straight. All in all though, this was an entertaining read that kept me guessing thill the very end.
I received a complimentary copy of this book.
Native Oregonian Mollie Hunt has always had an affinity for cats, so it was a short step for her to become a cat writer. Mollie Hunt writes the award-winning Crazy Cat Lady cozy mystery series featuring Lynley Cannon, a sixty-something cat shelter volunteer who finds more trouble than a cat in catnip, and the Cat Seasons sci-fantasy tetralogy where cats save the world. She also pens a bit of cat poetry.
Mollie is a member of the Oregon Writers’ Colony, Sisters in Crime, the Cat Writers’ Association, and Northwest Independent Writers Association (NIWA). She lives in Portland, Oregon with her husband and a varying number of cats. Like Lynley, she is a grateful shelter volunteer.
GHOST CAT OF OCEAN COVE
Chapter 1: Arrival and a
Surprise
Camelia Collins
hesitated, the key halfway into the lock. What on Earth have I done? she
wondered to herself. How many people my age pick up and move house, leaving
their old life behind to try something completely different and new?
Not many, she imagined,
again pondering her sanity, but they probably should. After all, if one doesn’t
follow one’s lifelong dreams by the age of seventy, when does one?
Turning, she surveyed
the modest neighbor¬hood with its rustic homes perched on the bluff overlooking
the sea. A rim of stunted pines clung to the edge of the cliff, and beyond
that, Ocean Cove, where the surf beat upon the shore as it had done for
millennia before and would do for millennia to come. Tiny and sheltered, its
pebbled strip of shoreline curved in a flawless crescent.
Yes, this had always
been Camelia’s dream. Now there she was, the dream come true. So why did she
feel like she’d fallen into Alice’s rabbit hole?
Camelia returned her
gaze to her new home. A rough driftwood plank hung by the front door, the
words, “Love Cottage,” spelled upon it with seashells. Presumably the sign had
been made by the Loves, the folks who had built the little cottage back in the
fifties. There was already a house on the property when they purchased, so the
story goes, but it had fallen into decay as places were prone to do in the wet
coastal weather. Instead of sinking their nest egg into the old derelict, the
Loves had opted for something fresh. They constructed the new house from
scratch and zealously maintained it ever after. No one would guess by looking
that it had stood its ground for over half a century.
Camelia shook off her
wisp of apprehension and finished unlocking the door. Stepping inside, she
gazed around the cheerful room with approval. She had bought the house
furnished, and with a few minor adjustments, it would suffice until she had a
chance to add her own personal touch. The bulk of her possessions would be
arriving in a movers’ truck the next morning—then it would be perfect!
Again she marveled at
her luck. Property on the Oregon coast was expensive, yet this one had been
quite affordable. The inspection had turned up no surprises—the pipes weren’t
broken nor was the roof falling in. The realtor had explained that the man who
bought it from the Loves had died, and his beneficiary was looking for a fast
cash sale. After a long and convoluted probate, the elderly European uncle
wanted nothing to do with the place. Camelia figured his loss was her gain.
A folded sheet of paper
sat propped upon the coffee table, “Mrs.” scrawled in bold cursive across the
front. Camelia could guess what it was: a note from the cleaners she had hired
to get things spick and span for her move-in. She glanced at it, read that all
was in order and would she please pay the enclosed invoice in a timely manner.
The charge seemed a bit high, but it was worth it to know the sheets were newly
washed and any spiders that had moved in during the house’s three-year vacancy
had been evicted from the eaves.
Camelia set the note
aside and went back to the car to retrieve her overnight bag. Rolling it
through to the bedroom, she smiled as she took in the bright, cozy space. A big
window facing northwest would get the afternoon sun. A dresser, a wooden chair,
and a single bed draped in a yellow chenille spread left her lots of potential
to add her own special touch.
“Yes, this will do
nicely,” she said out loud, her habit of talking to herself so well-established
that half the time she didn’t know she was doing it. “Very nicely!” she added
with glee.
Making a second trip to
the car, she hefted a large cat carrier from the back seat. Its sulking
inhabitant, her big tuxedo boy Blaze, gave a rauw of displeasure at the joggle.
“Can’t be helped,”
Camelia told him. “I know how much you kitties hate change, but you’ll like
this one, I promise.”
Camelia lugged the
carrier, along with a tote full of cat things, directly into the little
bedroom. Once inside, she closed the door and opened the carrier gate. Blaze
inched his way out, first a pink nose, then a white paw, then finally the whole
black and white cat. He looked up at his cohabitor with eyes green as an
old-fashioned 7Up bottle as if to say, “What in the world have you done?”
“You’ll be fine,” said
Camelia. “I’ll get your box and food station up directly. Be a good boy and
hold it for just a few minutes longer.”
Blaze shot her a dirty
look, then hopped onto the bed and proceeded to scrutinize his new digs.
Camelia pulled a small, pre-filled litter pan from the tote, pulled off the
cling wrap covering, and placed it on a towel on the floor. Going into the
bathroom, she filled a travel bowl with water.
“Food’s coming.” She
gave the cat a pet and left him to it.
As she headed back to the
car for a third time, she dawdled along the pathway to take in the warm June
day. The weather couldn’t have been nicer, and the air smelled of sea salt and
roses.
Someone must have loved
roses, she thought to herself. They grew everywhere in the patch of garden.
Old-fashioned climbers twined in blooming profusion up the columns of the front
porch, and bushes of cabbage roses lined the walkway, each of their pink,
yellow, and white blossoms as huge as an entire bouquet. Though in need of
pruning, they seemed healthy and thriving. Whoever had owned this place had
taken good care, and it showed.
Besides the roses, other
perennials were crowded together in the English cottage style—delphiniums and
hollyhocks, alstroemeria and canyon poppies. Any empty spots had been filled by
nasturtiums gone wild, their gray-green pads and rust-red blossoms dotting the
scape like a Monet painting.
“Just lovely!” Camelia
said out loud, wondering offhandedly how she was ever going to keep it up.
Startled from her
reverie by a squeaking sound, she turned to see a woman shambling up the drive
with the aid of a four-wheeled walker, the source of the noise. Aging and
frail, the woman appeared to be in her sixties. Her hair was done in the
classic gray curls that might have been popular in her mother’s day. Her large
and loudly patterned housedress made no attempt to hide her spare figure. She
wore little or no makeup, but her smile painted a blush on the pale face, or
perhaps it was the exertion of climbing the slight hill.
“Are you the new
tenant?” the woman asked between breaths. “I’m Vera, Vera Whitcomb, from next
door.” She gestured to a small house surrounded by a classic white picket
fence.
Camelia held out a hand,
trying to keep from looming over the bent woman—at five-foot-eight, that was no
easy feat. “Camelia Collins. Nice to meet you.” Vera let loose of her walker
and took the hand in a warm shake. “But I’m not a tenant,” Camelia corrected.
“I bought Love Cottage.”
Vera frowned. “Is that so? Well, um, welcome
to the neighborhood, dear. Goodbye.”
She swung her walker
around and started to shuffle away as fast as the contraption would carry her.
Camelia found herself as much stunned by her departure as she had been by her
original appearance. Was it something she’d said?
“Yes, and I’m very
excited,” Camelia aimed at the receding figure. “We’re here for the duration.
At least that’s the plan.”
Vera paused. “We? Your
husband as well then?”
“No, I’m a widow. I was
referring to my cat. So Vera,” Camelia quickly continued, “maybe you could tell
me a little about the area—if you have the time.”
That seemed to spark
Vera’s interest. “Well, yes, alright.” The smile returned as she hobbled back
to the other woman. Spinning her walker so the chair faced Camelia, she put on
the brake and sat down with a grunt. “Certainly, I’ve got the time. I’ve got
nothing but time. What would you like to know?”
Camelia thought about
it. What did she want to know? Why Vera had reacted so strangely at the news
she’d bought Love Cottage? Why, since her arrival, had a shadow of foreboding
permeated Camelia’s mood like a San Francisco fog?
She settled on something
more neutral. “Have you lived here long?”
“Ed and I bought the
place, oh…” Vera gathered her thoughts. “Some twenty years ago, when we got
back from New Zealand. The only ones here longer are the Linders.” She pointed
to the stately home at the top of the hill. “By boundary, we’re both in the Cliffmont
district, though you’d never get them to admit it, they tend to be a bit
squirrely when it comes to their heritage.”
Camelia wasn’t sure what
Vera meant by squirrely, but the woman didn’t elaborate. At least not about
that.
“Lydia’s nice enough,
but she enjoys playing the lady of the manor. Of course we know differently,
don’t we? Her folks were farmers, poor as dirt. If Mr. Linder hadn’t come along
and fallen for her, she’d be slinging hash in a drive-through, I bet you.” Vera
gave a little wink for emphasis.
“Now Larry Linder’s
another matter. He comes straight from old money. The official version is the
railroad, but no one mentions the stuff his great granddaddy shipped on those
trains.”
Vera’s gaze slipped from
the Linders’ to Camelia’s neighbor on the other side. “That’s the Smiths then,”
she said, fluttering a hand at the yellow house. “Aiden and Nao. He’s a
plumber, and she’s a housewife—homemaker, family manager, chief cook and bottle
washer—whatever you call it these days. Nao helps me out from time to time
since she’s home a lot. She likes to bake, and she’s good at it. Wins prizes at
the county fair for her marionberry cheesecake. They have a teenage kid, Yui.
She’s a good girl, smart, though she plays it down. Yui’s a whiz with
animals—she never met an animal she didn’t like.” Vera chuckled. “She’s all
about horses at the moment—you know the type.”
Vera indicated the
building across the street. With its stucco façade and square lines, it looked
more like a business than a beach cabin. “That one’s a rental, mostly for the
summer folk. You never know who’s going to be there. The host is picky though.
His guests have always been well-behaved… so far.”
“Good to know,” Camelia
remarked.
“The general store is
over the rise on the other side of town,” Vera said, continuing her virtual
tour. “There’s a path between your place and mine that runs straight to Linder
Square so you don’t have to drive all the way around. If you need gifts or
books, we have a little mall just up the road. The big grocery is in the mall
and so is the print shop and the library. Do you read, Amelia?”
“It’s Camelia,” Camelia
corrected. “Yes, and I love libraries. I’ll need to get a card.”
“That shouldn’t be a
problem, since you’re going to live here.” Again the hint of a frown shaded
Vera’s face.
“You seem to know a lot
about the community.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” The
fragile woman defended. “A little osteoporosis doesn’t stop me from getting
around.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“Don’t worry about it.
It happens all the time. People think when the body is feeble, then so is the
mind. My feeling is, it’s just the opposite.”
“I would never consider
you feeble, in mind or body,” Camelia blurted, realizing she had done just
that.
“Ha-ha,” Vera
spluttered. “You’re a good egg, Camelia. How’d you ever decide on Ocean Cove,
if you don’t mind my asking? This isn’t exactly your trendy retirement
destination. It’s not even a blip on most maps. Ed and I, we came across it
totally by accident. We’d been looking for somewhere else entirely.”
“I’d never noticed it
either,” Camelia agreed, “and I’ve been all up and down this coast. It was a
friend of mine, a real estate agent, who discovered it. She knew I was looking
for a beach place at a reasonable price, so when this one came along, she
jumped on it.”
Camelia glanced at her
new home. Only a single story, and the rooms were small, but it was cozy—just
right for an older lady and her cat. “I couldn’t believe my luck finding
something so nice within my price range. And with such a view of the cove,
too!” She cast her gaze along the shore and far out into the never-ending blue.
Wow! Camelia said under her breath, not for the first—or last—time.
Her eye rolled around to
Vera, who was staring, mouth open as if she had just seen a ghost.
Camelia started. “What?
What is it?”
“Then you don’t know?”
Camelia frowned
uneasily. Was there something wrong with her place after all? Of course there
was! She should have known that an ocean-view house at the price she paid was
too good to be true. Possibilities deluged her mind. Was there a lien? An old
meth lab? But those things would have shown up in the sale. Plans for a future
freeway cutting through? Not flood-prone at this elevation, though it might
have been built on a fault line. Was the cliff about to crumble?
“What?” she gasped.
“What don’t I know?”
“You should probably ask
your realtor,” Vera hemmed. “I can’t believe they didn’t tell you straight
out.”
“No, you tell me,”
Camelia demanded, her concern overtaking her good manners. “What’s the matter
with my house?”
Vera turned an even
lighter pale and rung her hands, a gesture rarely seen outside of films.
“It’s not the house,
dear. Mr. Chamber kept it up properly. The house is fine. It’s what happened
outside the house. Right there, in fact.”
She nodded to the front
stoop, newly painted a lovely color of blue that shone and sparkled in the
summer sun. Camelia waited, but Vera had stalled.
“What, Vera? Please,”
she insisted. “I need to know.”
After a further pause,
the woman gave in. “Yes, sure you do.” She spoke slowly, as if pulling the
words from a faraway place. “I’d want to know if it was me.”
A robin chirped in a
nearby fig tree. A car crawled past, backed out again, the driver realizing the
road was a dead end. Finally Vera took a deep breath and turned her dark eyes
on Camelia.
“He was killed, dear,”
she said in a near whisper. “Jonathan Chamber was murdered.”
Murder at the Christmas Cookie Bake-Off (A Beacon Bakeshop Mystery)
by Darci Hannah
Burden of Poof (Bonnie & Clyde Mysteries)
Cozy Mystery
1st in Series
Publisher : Cozy Queen Publishing LLC (September 15, 2021)
Paperback : 254 pages
ISBN-10 : 195487801X
ISBN-13 : 978-1954878013
Digital - ASIN : B08ZL91YMW
Cozy Mystery
1st in Series
Publisher : Independently published (August 3, 2021)
Paperback : 249 pages
ISBN-13 : 979-8519309813
Digital ASIN : B0992WH2CL
Publication date : August 17, 2021
Cozy Mystery
2nd in Series
Publisher : Berkley (November 2, 2021)
Mass Market Paperback : 320 pages
ISBN-10 : 0593199162
ISBN-13 : 978-0593199169
Digital ASIN : B08VRGNFST
Courtesy Carol Tedesco
, the eleventh book in the Key West series featuring food critic Hayley Snow. THE KEY LIME CRIME won the bronze medal for popular fiction in the Florida Book Awards. Lucy’s books and stories have also been short-listed for Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity awards. She's a past president of Sisters in Crime, and currently serving as president of the Friends of the Key West Library.