{"product_id":"the-fast-and-the-furriest-isbn-9781101991220","title":"The Fast and the Furriest","description":"\u003cb\u003eSarah Grayson and her trusty companion, Elvis, race to tail the right suspects in the fifth installment of the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling Second Chance Cat Mysteries.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSarah Grayson owns Second Chance, a shop that sells lovingly refurbished items, in the charming town of North Harbor, Maine. But she couldn't run the store without the help of her right-hand man, Mac--or her dashing rescue cat, Elvis.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMac's life before North Harbor has always been a little bit mysterious, but it becomes a lot more intriguing when a woman from his past shows up in town, and then turns up dead. Suspicion falls on Mac, but Sarah--and Elvis--know he can't be the killer, and they hope they can prove his innocence quick as a whisker.\u003cb\u003ePraise for the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e Bestselling Second Chance Cat Mysteries\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A surefire winner.”—\u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author Miranda James\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A series sure to appeal to anyone who loves a combination of felonies and felines.”—\u003ci\u003eRichmond Times-Dispatch\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Cleverly planned and flawlessly executed...full of humor, cat antics, intrigue and suspense...the best of both worlds for those who love cats and cozy mysteries.”—Open Book Society\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Enjoyable from beginning to end; readers will look forward to more.”—RT Book Reviews\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“If you enjoy a cozy mystery featuring a lovable protagonist with a bevy of staunch friends, a shop you’d love to explore, plenty of suspects, and a super smart cat, you’ll love \u003ci\u003eThe Whole Cat and Caboodle\u003c\/i\u003e.”—MyShelf.com\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Enjoyable...Remember, everyone has a secret, even the cat.”—Kings River Life Magazine\u003cb\u003eSofie Ryan \u003c\/b\u003eis the author of the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling Second Chance Cat Mysteries. She also writes the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling Magical Cats Mystery series under the name Sofie Kelly.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I set the sandwich on top of the dresser. I could tell right away      that Elvis was not sold on my idea of supper. He gave the blue      bubble glass plate a suspicious look and his eyes narrowed, but he      didn't say a word. He was exceedingly polite, for the most part.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Not to mention he was a cat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"What? You don't like it?\" I asked. \"It's peanut butter, dill      pickle and bacon.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His whiskers twitched at the last word. In Elvis's world      everything went better with bacon, except maybe peanut butter and      dill pickles.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I picked up half the sandwich and took a bite. \"It's good. I      swear,\" I mumbled around a mouthful of creamy, salty, crispy      goodness. Elvis may have been polite, but he wasn't a stickler      with respect to table manners. \"You know, this isn't that      different from the real Elvis's favorite sandwich,\" I told him.      \"Peanut butter, banana and bacon.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The cat made a huffy sound through his nose at me. As far as he      was concerned he was the \"real\" Elvis, a sleek black cat with a      rakish scar across his nose. I reached over and stroked his fur.      The top of his head was warm from the early-evening August sun. He      closed his green eyes and began to purr.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I set my food down and reached for the mug that held my coffee. It      was one of twelve I'd bought when a diner up in Belfast had closed      and auctioned off its contents back in the spring. The mugs had      replaced the mismatched yard sale collection we'd had in the staff      room. I'd also bought a mint green Hamilton Beach milk shake maker      and a box of 45s from the diner's jukebox to sell in the shop.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My shop, Second Chance, was a repurpose store, offering everything      from furniture to housewares to musical instruments-most of it      from the '50s through the '70s. It was part secondhand shop, part      thrift store. Some items even got new lives, like the tub chair      that in its previous incarnation had actually been a bathtub, or      the china cups and saucers that were now tiny planters.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The store was located in an eighteen hundreds redbrick house, just      where Mill Street began to climb uphill, in the town of North      Harbor, Maine. We were on the edge of the downtown, about a      fifteen-minute walk from the harbor front and close to a highway      off-ramp, which made it easy for tour buses to find us.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Elvis and I had stayed late to work on my latest project: turning      a small metal table with a glass top and a glass shelf into a bar      cart. I'd brought the sandwich makings with me for supper, along      with a bit of dry cat food for Elvis so we didn't have to go home      and come back again. Second Chance had been busy all day. We'd      been open for more than a year now and I was tickled to see that      some of the same tourists who had discovered us just a few months      after we'd opened were coming back again. I was happy the      repurpose shop was still busy as summer began to wind down, and I      was hoping that would continue into the fall, but so many      customers meant that I didn't get a lot of time to work on new      items to add to our dwindling inventory.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Right now we were replenishing our stock with things we were      selling on consignment for Clayton McNamara. Clayton had lived in      North Harbor all his life. In fact he'd been romantically involved      with my grandmother-when they were both in the first grade. Their      short-lived romance had ended when she kissed another man. In      Gram's defense he did have two peanut butter cookies in his      lunchbox.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e At the urging of his daughter and his nephew, my friend Glenn, the      old man was trying to make some space in his small house and clear      out several outbuildings on the property. I'd bought some pieces      of furniture and kitchen items from one of those buildings. They      were projects I hoped to get to in the fall. The rest, most of      which had belonged to Clayton's father, was being sold in the      shop. We were getting ready to tackle the house next and we were      also planning a yard sale for September. Work was pretty much all      I'd been focusing on for the last couple of weeks and that was      fine with me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I took another bite of my sandwich. Elvis was the only guy in my      life at the moment. \"Which is also fine by me,\" I said aloud.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He turned to look at me and he almost looked a bit puzzled. \"It's      okay with me that you're the only guy in my life,\" I said by way      of explanation, in case his confusion was from what I'd said. \"You      know what Liz says: 'A woman without a man is like a fish without      a bicycle.'\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It was hard not to miss the irony in hearing Liz say those words.      Elizabeth Emmerson Kiley French had been married and widowed      twice, and everyone who met her was charmed by her-unless they      made the mistake of getting on her bad side. She was smart,      beautiful and tart tongued. Men, even those a lot younger than she      was, tended to lose their ability to think straight around her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Liz was one of my grandmother's oldest friends. She, along with      Charlotte Elliot and Rose Jackson, were sort of my fairy      godmothers. They spoiled me a lot, nagged me on occasion and      weren't shy about sharing their opinion on whatever was happening      in my life. I'd suggested once that Liz should learn the words to      \"Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo,\" the fairy godmother's song from the Disney      version of Cinderella. Liz hadn't been shy about telling me what      she thought of that idea.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Rose and Charlotte both worked part-time for me at Second Chance.      The rest of their time was spent working at their detective      agency, Charlotte's Angels, along with Rose's gentleman friend,      Alfred Peterson, quite likely the world's oldest computer hacker.      Mr. P. had met all the requirements for becoming a licensed      private investigator set out by the state of Maine. For the past      several months Rose had been working as his apprentice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Cases just seemed to fall into their lap. Their first      investigation had started when their friend Maddie Hamilton was      arrested for murder. The Angels' most recent case had begun to      unwind after Rose had gone to make a very unauthorized delivery to      a customer and seen a body that subsequently disappeared.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The Angels didn't have a case at the moment and I was hoping it      stayed that way for a while. Because when Rose and her cohorts      were investigating I always ended up getting pulled into things,      no matter how vehemently I swore it wasn't going to happen this      time. It had been nice to have nothing more pressing to worry      about than what color to paint a trash-picked rocking chair. The      only lump in the gravy was that a reality TV crew had been      shooting in our neighborhood for the past three days. They were      filming a pilot for some kind of treasure hunt show and the street      had been clogged from early in the morning until after dark.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Thankfully, they had moved elsewhere in town right before lunch.      Just that morning Rose and Elvis and I had arrived at the shop to      find the parking lot more than half-full of the crew's      vehicles-without my permission-and a dusty half-ton truck blocking      the entrance to the space. The driver was behind the wheel,      intently watching the camera crew doing something in the middle of      the street several buildings away. He wore a backward Yankees ball      cap and I could see several days of scruff on his face. The hat      alone was enough to get him the stink eye in North Harbor, where      everyone bled Sox red.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Before I could do anything, Rose had marched over to the truck and      smacked the hood with the flat of her hand. The sound had echoed      down the street. The driver had jumped, slopping coffee, or      whatever he'd been drinking from the take-out cup he was holding,      onto his shirt. As he turned toward the driver's side window I saw      that the front of his green T-shirt said Kale Yeah!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I'd watched Rose talk to the man. He had wide shoulders and wiry      arms under smooth brown skin and he seemed to be shrinking back      into his seat. Although I couldn't hear Rose's words, I knew her      body language. It had struck fear in the hearts of more than one      middle school student back when she was still teaching.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e After a couple of minutes she came back to my SUV, a satisfied      look on her face and her ubiquitous tote bag over one arm. The      truck pulled away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"What did you say to him?\" I'd asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I simply reminded that young man of the importance of manners and      respect for other people's property,\" she'd said. \"And I may have      mentioned how many of the nice young men and women on the town's      police force are former students of mine.\" She'd given me an      innocent look that could rival any of Elvis's. \"Then he remembered      a previous engagement so everything worked out just fine.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Okay,\" I'd said slowly, looking down the street in the direction      of the camera crew. \"Do you think he's involved in the production      somehow?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Rose had shaken her head. \"I think he's just another looky-loo. If      he were working then why wasn't he actually doing something other      than blocking our parking lot?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Good point,\" I'd said. \"At least I can pull in now. Thank you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She'd smiled. \"You're welcome, dear.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She'd started for the back door and I pulled into the lot. After      I'd let Rose and Elvis into the shop I'd gone in search of the      person in charge of the treasure hunt project. Half an hour later      the crew's vehicles were still in the parking area but I had a      check in my hand large enough to take the edge off my annoyance.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I ate the last bite of my supper now-fishing out a bit of bacon      for Elvis-and finished my coffee. I pulled my hair up into a      ponytail and then I got to work, using a screwdriver and a      thin-bladed putty knife to remove the glass top and the shelf      below it from the cart. I was the only one still around. Rose and      Mr. P. had gone to watch Rear Window at the library as part of      their weeklong Hitchcock film festival. Liz's teenage      granddaughter, Avery, who lived with her and worked part-time for      me, had gone home for a short visit with her parents.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Liz and Charlotte were having dinner with Maddie. The three of      them had been sorting books for the upcoming library book sale.      Charlotte had called earlier to tell me that she had set aside      several books she thought might be valuable to get a second      opinion from me. I knew a little bit about old books from my      mother, who had a small collection of first editions of some      classic children's books.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Bring them with you tomorrow,\" I'd told Charlotte. \"I can always      take photos and e-mail them to Mom if I need to.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Mac, my right-hand man and jack-of-all-trades, was out sailing.      And my best friend, Jess, was at her shop down on the waterfront,      working on a gorgeous gold dress for one of her customers who was      planning a fall-themed second wedding. Since everyone else was      busy, it had seemed like a good night to get some work done.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It had been a beautiful day, with the sky an endless, cloudless      blue overhead, but now heavy clouds were rolling in from the water      and I wondered if we'd get some rain later.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e For now I was happy to be outside working. Elvis seemed content to      stay just inside the garage door, stretched out on the top of the      dresser that Mac had finished sanding and cleaning earlier in the      day, watching me and making little murping comments from time to      time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Owning a repurpose shop hadn't been my plan when I graduated. I'd      worked in radio after college, eventually hosting a popular      evening program playing classic rock and interviewing some of the      genre's best musicians. Then one day I was replaced by a      syndicated music feed out of Los Angeles and a nineteen-year-old      who read the weather twice an hour and called everyone \"dude.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Growing up I'd spent my summers in North Harbor with my      grandmother. It was where my father had been born and raised. I'd      even bought a house that I'd renovated and rented. When my job      vanished, I'd landed at Gram's planning to hide under the covers      and eat grilled cheese sandwiches. I'd ended up opening Second      Chance instead.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I'd been working for about half an hour, sanding the metal frame      of the cart, when a white Audi roadster pulled into the parking      lot. The driver, in strappy flat sandals, easily had a couple of      inches on my five-foot-six height. She was in her early thirties,      I guessed, and the sleeveless blue and white sundress she wore      showed off her dark skin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Her hair was a mass of gorgeous, caramel-colored ringlets, worn      chin length. Like a lot of women with straight hair, I'd always      secretly wanted curls like that.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This woman could easily be a model, I thought, and not just      because she was so striking. She had perfect posture and she      seemed to glide, not walk, as she made her way over to me. I felt      grubby and sweaty in comparison.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I pulled the sanding mask off my face and wiped the dust from my      hands with a rag. \"Hi,\" I said, smiling at her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She gave me a polite smile back. \"I'm looking for Mac McKenzie,\"      she said, glancing around. \"Is he here?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I shook my head. \"I'm sorry. He won't be back for a while.\" Mac      was crewing on the boat of a friend who wanted to get in some      practice time before an upcoming race.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The woman exhaled softly, giving her head a little shake. \"Do you      by any chance know where I could find him?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I explained about Mac being out on the water, sailing. \"It'll      probably be a couple of hours before they come back in. Is there      anything I could help you with?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She shook her head. \"Thank you, but I need to talk to him. It's,      uh, personal.\" She was holding what looked to be a tiny carved      wooden bird and she turned it over in her fingers. Some kind of      talisman or good luck charm? I wondered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Mac had worked with me for over a year and this was the first time      anyone had shown up looking for him. I couldn't help wondering why      this woman I'd never seen before wanted him now. He was intensely      private, so even though we worked together every day, I knew very      little about his life both now, and before he'd arrived in North      Harbor about eighteen months ago.","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300142010597,"sku":"NP9781101991220","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781101991220.jpg?v=1767739299","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-fast-and-the-furriest-isbn-9781101991220","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}