Cat Pay the Devil

by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

(Joe Grey Cat Mystery Series, Book 12)

Morrow (a HarperCollins imprint), 2007
Hardcover: ISBN 0060578106
Paperback: Avon, ISBN 0060578130
E-book: HarperCollins
Large print: Center Point, 1602855676
Audio: Sound Library, ISBN 978-0792746195
Audiobook: Download and digital rental (CD no longer available)

Nestled quietly on the Pacific Coast below San Francisco, Molena Point is a quaint hamlet--not the kind of place an escaped convict would choose for a hideout. But it just happens to be the home of a state's witness who put a thief named Cage Jones behind bars--until he broke out, that is.

Wily tomcat Joe Grey senses trouble is on the way, but he never expected a federal officer would be shot or that two locals would be brutally murdered. With danger closing in, the feline detective, his girlfriend Dulcie, and their tattercoat friend Kit--an indomitable trio with special powers that only a few select humans are privy to--must put paws and whiskers together to capture a very nasty criminal before he strikes again.

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Quotes from the reviews

"Murphy's surefire plotting makes this more than just another cute cat cozy." --Publisher's Weekly, December 29, 2006

"Murphy makes it easy to believe in cats that talk, think, and read better than many humans and solve mysteries as well.... These felines have more abilities than the animals in Rita Mae Brown's novels and are certainly more intelligent than those helping out in the Lilian Jackson Braun stories." --Library Journal, November 1, 2006

"As usual, the felines and their human coterie are appealing ... and the virtually nonstop action will keep the series' fans whipping through the pages." --Booklist

"Whether you are a feline fancier or not, you'll find Cat Pay the Devil an irreistible mix of riveting action and purr-fectly marvelous two- and four-footed characters. Murphy has captured the essence of cat attitude so well you won't doubt this is what goes on in their little, furry heads." --Bob Walch, Monterey County Herald, March 25, 2007

"Even if you don't own a cat, you'll enjoy this series set on the [California] Central Coast. On the other hand, if you share your house with a cat or two, the feline attitudes Murphy's characters display will be something you can easily relate to. Five silver pens out of five for Cat Pay the Devil. --Salinas Californian, April 7, 2007

"Molena Point, Calif., is going to the cats! Literally. In this delightful installment of the Joe Grey mysteries, Murphy again intertwines felines and humans into a great crime-solving combination. Tight plotting and well-crafted scenes enhance the tension as the stakes continue to rise with each chapter. Feline lovers will especially enjoy the crime-solving cats and the relationships of their human counterparts." --Sanda Martin, Romantic Times Book Reviews, March 2007

"A keeper! For fans of cat mysteries, this tale is one you will enjoy and keep to enjoy again and again. . . . Talented author Shirley Rousseau Murphy opens a new door to the cat mystery that you will willingly step through to follow adventuresome cats and great human characters through the maze of crime solving with its attendant motives and emotions." --Anne K. Edwards, NewMysteryReader.com, February 2007

Excerpt from the story

At the edge of the sea the small village baked among its oaks and pines smothered by unseasonal summer heat; the scent of hot pinesap mixed sharply with the salty stink of iodine at low tide. Among the tangle of cottage rooftops the three cats, avoiding the crush of tourists on the narrow streets below, sprawled high on the shingles in the shade of a stone chimney; panting and washing their coats, they waited futilely for a breath of cooler air, or maybe even a break in the weather. The coastal heat, mixed with high humidity from the sullen Pacific, produced a sweltering steambath that had lasted through all of July, and was not typical for the central California coast. It was the longest hot spell anyone could ever remember for this time of year. Heat had baked into every shop wall and had turned the roofs into a giant griddle; if a cat stood for a moment on the concrete sidewalk he’d come away with blistered paws--Joe Grey’s white paws felt blistered. The gray tomcat sprawled limp across the shingles, his white belly turned up to the nonexistent breeze, as he tried to imagine cool sea winds.

Near Joe, the long-haired tortoiseshell lay panting, lifting her head occasionally to lick one mottled black-and-brown paw. Kit had the longest coat of the three so she was sure she suffered the most. Only dark tabby Dulcie was pacing, nervous and irritable.

Joe watched her, convinced she was fretting for no reason. You couldn’t tell Dulcie anything, she’d worked herself into a state over her housemate and nothing he could say seemed to help. Below them on the narrow village sweets, the din of strangers’ voices reached them and the shrill laughter of a group of children. Tourists wandered the streets by the dozens dressed in shorts and sandals, lapping up ice cream and slipping into small shops looking for a breath of cooler air; the restaurant patios were crowded with visitors enjoying iced drinks, their leashed dogs panting beneath the tables. Strangers stared in through the windows of shaded cottages that were tucked among bright gardens--the shadowed sitting rooms and bedrooms looked cool and inviting. Lazily Joe rose to peer over at a pair of loud-voiced, sweating joggers heading for the beach to run on the damp sand, as if they might catch up to an ocean breeze. Behind him he heard the hush of paws, and Dulcie came to stand at the edge of the roof beside him; but she stood silently frowning, looking not down at the busy street below but up at the round hills that rose above the village--hills burnt dry now, humping against the sky as brown as grazing beasts.

They could see nothing moving there, no human hiking the dry, dusty trails, no rider on horseback; the deer and small wild creatures would be asleep in the shade, if they could find shade. Even among the ruins hidden among the highest slopes the feral cats would be holed up in cool caverns beneath the fallen walls. For a long time Dulcie stood looking in that direction, her peach-tinted ears sharp forward, her head tilted in a puzzled frown.

“What?” Joe said, watching her.

“I don’t know.” She turned to look at him, her green eyes wide and perplexed. “I feel like . . . as if they’re thinking of us.” She blinked and lashed her tail, “As if Willow is thinking of us, as if she knows how I feel.” She narrowed her green eyes at him; but then she rubbed against his shoulder, rubbed her whiskers against his. “I guess that makes no sense; maybe it’s the heat.”

Joe didn’t answer. He knew she was upset--and females were prone to fancies. Who knew what two females together, even at such a distance, could conjure between them. Both Dulcie and the pale calico had that fey quality that humans found so mysterious in the feline. Maybe Willow did indeed sense that Dulcie was worried and fretting who knew what she was capable of? But Dulcie was worrying over nothing, as far as Joe could see. Dulcie’s human housemate had gone off before for the weekend, driving up the coast to the city, and Dulcie had never before fretted as she was fussing now,

Now, she thought she had reason. Joe looked at her intently. “Prisoners have escaped from jail before, Dulcie. That, and the fact that Wilma is later than she promised, does not add up to disaster. You’re building a mountain out of pebbles.” Dulcie turned hissing at him. “Cage Jones better keep away from her. She’s done with supervising badass convicts and with the kind of stress they dumped on her for twenty years. She doesn’t need any more ugly tangles and ugly people messing up her life.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

On the short flight, and again as he swung into the cab outside the little peninsula airport, [Greeley] thought about them two village cats. Them talking cats--he’d had his share of them. Hoped they kept their distance, this time. He sure didn’t want them hanging around him, nosing around. Them cats saw too much. They got into too many places, always snooping, damn near as nosy as his sister. And talk about judgmental. Them Molena Point cats . . . Not judgmental like the black tom who used to run with him, who used to break into stores with him, Azrael’d been opinionated, al right, and he sure as hell said his piece.

But that black tom, he wasn’t never hot for law and order. That Joe Grey and his tabby friend, those two thought they were God’s gift to law enforcement. He didn’t need them nosing into his business.

Somewhere he’d heard, maybe from his ex-wife, there was a third cat hanging around with them. Another snoop, you could bet. He didn’t want no truck with cats, no more than he did with cops. Just wanted to be left to his own business.

Read a longer sample from inside the book

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