Claws for Alarm by T.C. LoTempio Since inheriting her mother’s sandwich shop, Nora Charles is more about hot grilled paninis than cold-blooded murder—until her sister Lacey is arrested. The victim, an esteemed art collector and Lacey’s bullying professor, was stabbed in the heart. Apparently, all over a lousy grade. Off campus, things were just as dicey. The prof had an ex with secrets, a trophy wife set to inherit a fortune in masterworks, and a scorned student mistress. Going undercover, Nora realizes that investigating this crime is the biggest test of her sleuthing career. Because if she fails, even Nick’s animal instinct won’t be enough to rescue Lacey from a perfectly executed framing.
Author T.C. LoTempio Born in New York City, T. C. LoTempio is the national bestselling author of Meow If It’s Murder, the first in the Nick and Nora Mystery series. She has been a staff reporter at the young adult magazine Susabella Passengers and Friends for more than a decade. When she isn’t reporting or writing novels, she and her cat Rocco fundraise for Nathan Fillion’s charity, Kids Need to Read.
Excerpt
The
area appeared as deserted as a cemetery on Halloween, and twice as
eerie. Nick trotted along beside me as we made our way deeper into the
warehouse. Suddenly he froze, tail upright, the hairs puffed and fluffed
out like a giant fan.
“What’s
wrong?” I whispered, even though I knew he couldn’t answer. We stood in
silence for a moment, and suddenly I did hear something. A very faint
sound, from far away…like a door closing.
“Come
on,” I hissed. I lifted my head, sniffed at the air. It smelled pretty
stale, but there was another scent, cigarette smoke. I racked my brain,
trying to remember if I’d seen either Julia or Samms smoking.
Nick’s
tail swished and he pawed at arrows painted on the ground. He trotted
ahead of me at a brisk pace, and I fell into step. We followed the
painted arrows along a white-tiled hallway down to a door with a shade
pulled all the way down. A sign placed hap-hazardly in the window
proclaimed it CLOSED.
I tried the door which seemed to be
stuck. I looked at the doorframe, which appeared to be less than sturdy,
checked it for alarm wires. Seeing none, I raised my leg and gave the
door a swift, hard kick. It clicked open an inch, and I pushed it all
the way open. We walked into a tiny office not much bigger than a
postage stamp. A large metal desk and battered file cabinet took up the
majority of the space. Another door at the far end stood part-way open.
Nick suddenly tensed, and I saw the hairs on his back rise. His tail
fluffed out, and he started to growl, deep in his throat.
I frowned. “What’s wrong? What do you sense?”
Nick
reared up on his hind legs and then shot through the partially open
door. I had no choice but to follow. The room I now found myself in
appeared to be a slightly larger version of the previous office. Nick
crouched in front of a large metal desk and as I entered, he shifted his
body slightly. I caught a glimpse of two feet, very still, shod in the
pair of eggplant Louboutins I’d admired earlier in the evening.
“Oh,
crap,” I cried. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.” I
walked around Nick and peeped around the edge of the desk. I saw a
twisted figure in a white raincoat bunched up around shapely legs, a
tumble of black hair covering its face, the neck bent at an unnatural
angle.
“Shit,” I said.
“MA-ROW!” Nick yowled.
I
heard a sound behind me as Nick dived under a nearby chair. My heart
started to beat wildly in my chest. The last time he’d pulled something
like that I’d been caught next to a dead body and hauled off to the
police station. His fat rear had barely wiggled out of sight before the
door slammed back and I found myself looking first down the barrel of a
.45 and then, as I raised my gaze, at the grim, unsmiling face of
Detective Leroy Samms. He looked at me, then at the feet, then back to
me again. He lowered his arm, slipped his gun back into his shoulder
holster. “Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”
I responded almost automatically. “He didn’t drag me. I walked in on my own.”
One eyebrow quirked. “Pardon? It’s an expression, Nora.”
“Oh,
sure. I knew that.” The queasy sensation in my stomach was getting
stronger, and I really felt like gagging. I started to push past Samms
but his strong fingers reached out and encircled my elbow in a grip of
steel.
“No need to run off.”
I pressed my palm against my cheek. “I – I’m not. I just felt a little…squeamish.”
“Of
course you do,” he said, still not cracking a smile. “I’ve got some
Pepto back at the station. Fix you right up. Then we’re going to have a
chat, you and I.” His grip on my elbow tightened. “Ms. Charles, you’ve
got some explaining to do.”
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