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    Justine and the Psychic Connections: Cat Clues, #1
    Justine and the Psychic Connections: Cat Clues, #1
    Justine and the Psychic Connections: Cat Clues, #1
    Ebook131 pages1 hour

    Justine and the Psychic Connections: Cat Clues, #1

    By Ruth Hay

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    About this ebook

    A new UK-set series from the author of the Prime Time and Home Sweet Home books! Perfect reads for fans of women's fiction and cozy mysteries alike.

    Everyone has secrets.
    Nothing stays secret forever.

    Justine Jordan arrives in the small village of Lenzie hoping to find peace and quiet. Instead she finds a Siamese cat on her new doorstep, a clear sign she's about to be pulled into a mystery that must be solved. Can she help her new neighbour whilst protecting her own secrets and adjusting to her new life?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRuth Hay
    Release dateNov 26, 2019
    ISBN9781393959458
    Justine and the Psychic Connections: Cat Clues, #1

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      Book preview

      Justine and the Psychic Connections - Ruth Hay

      One

      I knew as soon as I saw it.

      I felt it was right as soon as I stepped inside.

      Whoever lived before in this house was content.

      Above all the things I needed at this point in my life, a sense of peace and contentment was paramount.

      So many miles I had travelled. So many sleepless nights of seeking and here, at long last, was the answer.

      There were furnishings in place. I walked slowly around the main floor and touched the fabric of the sofa and matching chairs. It was soft, a velvety green with a diamond pattern incised into it. The rug by the fireplace was old and had been hand-made on a frame. The cut ends of its wool were flattened in the centre where feet had rested to get direct heat from the fire. I stood in the prints and saw they were made by a man. The sensation of warmth rose up through my feet.

      This was good.

      This was all good.

      I dismissed the real estate agent with a cursory promise to meet her outside in a few minutes.

      I needed to confirm my first impressions before I committed to this small house, on the edge of a small village, on the edge of a big city.

      A downstairs cloakroom with toilet and washbasin, essential since my leg was not perfect and never again would be. A galley-type kitchen with a door leading onto a well-maintained garden, surrounded by a ring of fencing, concealed behind a variety of climbing plants.

      Privacy. A thing I craved almost as much as peace and contentment.

      Then, up a short staircase I went, helped by a handrail on each side. The more I saw, the more I was led to believe the former resident, or residents, were older rather than younger than I.

      The bathroom had a shower instead of a bath and an extractor fan in the window to remove excess steam.

      Last of all, there were two bedrooms, with windows overlooking the garden. One room must have belonged to a woman, as I judged from the wallpaper and the drapes. The second was more sparsely furnished. Possibly intended for a man, or a visitor? I appointed this room as my dressing room and storage facility. Undoubtedly, there would be extra space above in the attic, but my chances of getting up there safely, were next to nothing.

      I stood and breathed in the atmosphere and noticed nothing of concern. A faint hint of lavender assured me of my safety. Lavender has always been near me wherever I have settled for any length of time.

      The agent was seated on the low wall by the front gate. She was delighted to hear my decision and began to provide details about the former residents and the village amenities. I cut her off abruptly and asked her to let me keep the keys in exchange for a deposit. She agreed, and went off happily to her car to make up the rental agreement.

      As I closed the front door, I noticed the house number. 23 was always a lucky number for me.

      I stood there and looked around. The afternoon sun was sliding behind the hills in the distance. I could hear no sound apart from a dog barking. A car drove slowly along the street but made hardly any noise.

      I could feel the tension in my muscles melt away. The headache that had been my constant companion for so long now, began, at last, to dissipate.

      This was it. This was my place. Here I could be safe, and content, and free.

      I slept so soundly that when my eyes opened I felt completely disoriented and could not recognize my surroundings. My heart began to race, then I saw my cases piled against the door to ward off invaders, and the bright, comfortable, knitted blanket I travelled with everywhere covering my body. I was safe in my new home.

      I sat up and stretched. This was the first day of my new life and there was much to be done.

      Dressing gown. Slippers. Heating system?

      The air felt cool for an early summer morning. I hesitated to set a fire in the fireplace since I had not yet thought what my plan for the day would be. I knew enough not to leave a house with a fire burning away unguarded. A mental list of things to be checked on, or purchased, began to form in my head.

      Coffee.

      I searched the cupboards for the means to make a hot drink and found at last a small sachet of powdered coffee and two cups or two mugs to choose from. Definitely two persons lived here before me. There was no kettle but a small saucepan would serve to boil water.

      I let the tap run for a minute in case anything had accumulated in the pipes.

      When the water was bubbling away, I remembered a sugar packet from the plane and fetched it from my coat pocket. Passing the front door, I felt the impulse to open it and review the front garden for a moment. To my surprise, there, on the doorstep, stood a bottle of milk.

      I did not stop to question my luck, just grabbed the bottle and took it into the kitchen. It was perhaps one of the best cups of coffee I have ever drunk in my life and it was not because of the powdered stuff. Rather it was the sense of delight that a Canada goose must feel having journeyed so far from the north and found itself in pleasant, restful, southern pastures at last.

      Carrying the hot mug, I opened the back door and walked out onto a pathway that wound around the sheltered back garden. I could tell from the condition of the flowerbeds that the previous owners had not been long gone. A mere half an hour of gentle weeding was all that was required to return the garden to perfection. I blessed the work of the hands that cared this much for growing things and for creating beautiful surroundings.

      Back in the kitchen again, I stowed the milk bottle inside a tiny fridge set under the countertop, and after opening a few more cupboard doors, I discovered an equally-tiny washing machine installed there also.

      Mirabile dictu! Number 23 was getting better and better.

      Two

      An hour later I was dressed and ready to venture forth. My mental list of necessities was now quite lengthy. I had hopes of finding some food nearby but larger items, like new bedding, might have to wait for a shopping expedition to the nearest town centre.

      The decision about which direction to take was simple, as my cottage was on the edge of the village with a field beyond it. I could see a cluster of buildings further along the road so I set out with high hopes and the excitement that only the first day in a new location can bring. Everything was noticed and admired. There were houses on both sides of the road now with pretty gardens to the front and tall trees shading the roofs. I could see the spire of a church in the distance but I came to the local shop well before that and entered, to find myself the only customer.

      Good morning! How can I help you?

      Accustomed as I was to huge supermarkets where the customer is independent, I startled at this unexpected request but summoned a half-smile and asked the shopkeeper behind the counter if I could just take a look around first.

      Would you be the new resident at number 23? I says to Bernie last night that I could see a light on upstairs and I hoped it wasn’t burglars breaking in.

      Yes, that must have been me. I need some supplies.

      I knew I was being dismissive, but it was not my intention to be the chatty neighbour and the time to start was now.

      I’ll just take one of your baskets and see what I can find.

      There was the sound of a disappointed sigh behind me and I knew I would be reported as ‘a snooty madam’ but that was a price I was willing to pay.

      Let me know if you can’t see what you want. I can ask my supplier to bring it here on his next trip. I am Sadie Turner, by the way.

      I was hidden behind a row of shelves by then and keen to make my escape. I had to be mindful of the limited shelf and fridge space in the cottage, so I tried to choose wisely among dry packaged goods rather than frozen. It soon became apparent that visits to the Turner shop, or some other further away, would need to be done on a regular basis. I did find a shelf of appliances and chose a kettle and a toaster and a frying pan. These I would pay for and collect in my car later in the day, along with other

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