About the Book

Book 2 of the Black Orchid Enterprises Mystery series finds Johnny Ly, Dianne Cortez, and JD Thompson trying to celebrate their first year in business in a small Central Texas town. The weather outside is frightful, and indoors isn't looking too good either, not when a crazed hairless cat invades their Christmas party and leaves a trail of destruction in his wake.

The murder in the backyard doesn't help, but Johnny and Dianne are more worried about the cat. After the police reduce the suspect list from the entire town of Beauchamp, Texas, to just the Black Orchids' friends and family, Attorney JD Thompson springs into action to clear them all, preferably before Monday night's concert. Life's hard for a veterinarian, accountant, lawyer, and ABBA tribute band.

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Excerpt

“This is a rare Sphynx cat,” Johnny intoned in his softest accents, returning his attention to the rare Sphynx. “Someone paid a lot of money for him and now grieves his loss.

Suddenly interested, Dianne studied the yowling, spitting cat. I figured she was calculating the possibility of a reward. Patrolling the edge of the crowd to force them back further, she murmured, “I didn’t know cats came in Pure Ugly.”

“Eye of the beholder, sweetie,” I whispered as I passed.

Johnny continued his cat whispering murmur as our intern appeared in the doorway. In case Johnny’s Zen approach didn’t work, Darryl held the animal control officer’s chief tool, a five-foot catch pole with a net on the end. His leather gloves came up to his elbows, in case five feet wasn’t enough distance. I’ve seen his expression in photos of young men his age on their way to the war du jour, whether Vietnam for my grandfather’s generation, or Afghanistan and Iraq for mine.

The cat growled a low ostinato. We got the crowd quiet enough and far enough away that we could hear Johnny’s murmuring, the hanging plant’s creaking as it rock-a-byed its shivering burden, and in the distance, Grandmother caressing the piano keys to bring forth “Silent Night.” Finding the show dull, some guests drifted o! to their cars rather than stand outside in the cold. They had a point.

Dianne moved around the far end of the porch, in case the cat decided to leave that way. I covered the center, in front of our patrolling party elves, in case he came into the front yard. My one hope was that he wouldn’t dash into a group of people. His claws were as long as fish hooks, his teeth worthy of his wildcat ancestors.

Some people might have gone inside for cocoa and marshmallows, but they don’t live with Dr. John Ky Ly, whose personal goal is to save all the cats in the world. So we hung around.

I’d decided that Johnny was waiting for all the guests to leave, but after losing only another third of our audience, Johnny took one step closer to the Sphynx: the moment of ultimate trust.

That was too much.

With a howl of betrayal or battle cry, the (alleged) cat sprang from his basket and landed on the next one. Dianne shrieked, a mother’s cry for her endangered child.

Now at eye level with Johnny, the beast leapt again, this time landing on the floor. His claws scrabbled on the wood as he struggled to gain purchase while making a beeline for the door.

Darryl tensed as his moment arrived. He held the net like he was going to scoop tadpoles in the bayou. The Sphynx didn’t slow down, just sailed right over the net and into the house. Alarmed, Darryl stumbled sideways, crashing into decorations before landing on the Pittman & Davis fruit boxes.

I took the porch steps in one leap and burst into the house, with Dianne and the Christmas elves right behind me. She slammed the door and locked it. We blinked and snuffled the grapefruit miasma out of our eyes and noses.

“Go change clothes, Darryl,” commanded Johnny. “Citrus upsets the cats.”

Dripping grapefruit and orange juice, Darryl staggered to the adjoining cat clinic. I couldn’t see the invader, but I saw where he’d been. The gingerbread houses on the gallery-hall’s right side looked like Tornado Alley. The piano crooned “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” The gingerbread pieces did indeed lie still.

Johnny folded his arms across his chest. “I’m letting him settle down. He’s frightened.”

“Do we have enough insurance for that?” I asked Dianne.

About the Author

After stints in professional orchestras, law firms, cat rescue, bookkeeping, and technical communication, M. R. Dimond returned to a childhood dream of writing fiction, which has turned out to be about musicians, lawyers, veterinarians, accountants, and cats. Watch for the next Black Orchid Enterprises mystery in May 2023, Family Matters.

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