The Egyptian Cat

By Diane Reaves

An Atlanta bookstore owner, finds her life interrupted by a romantic male entity from another time and place. With her best friend and her ex-lover, the trio solve the mystery of the Egyptian cat and the man who invades Catherine’s life and her heart. The search takes readers to New York, England and Alexandria, Egypt sixty years in the past and travel without frequent flyer miles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diane Reaves
• Release date: Aug 21, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452391472

Diane Reaves

Diane has always been a writer of sorts, from making up stories in her head when she was a pre-teen, working for the high school & college papers, majoring in radio-TV journalism in college, and giving her talents to non-fiction as a public relations professional - a real job. In between, she co-authored two fitness books, one translated in several languages and brought in royalties for over 20 years. Now retired, she’s finally writing the fiction she imagined creating all along. Growing up in the Midwest and living in the Southeast, Northeast and now the beautiful Northwest, she includes her scenic travels in the stories she creates about the characters she has met and known. Diane and husband, Graham, co-authored restaurant reviews for a newspaper and co-hosted a radio program of romantic music for a non-profit station. Expect some romance in her books, including “Michael's Muse,” the sequel to The Egyptian Cat.Now her third book is "The Two Lives of Jake", visiting one of the lead characters of the series in a parallel life experience,

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THE EGYPTIAN CAT

by

Diane C. Reaves

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Diane C. Reaves on Smashwords

The Egyptian Cat

Copyright © 2010 by Diane C. Reaves

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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The Egyptian Cat

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Part One

Chapter 1: Catherine – By Catherine

Chapter 2: A Few Good Books – By Catherine

Chapter 3: Atlanta – By Leigh

Chapter 4: Research – By Leigh

Chapter 5: New York – By Catherine

Chapter 6: Saying Goodbye – By Catherine

Chapter 7: London – By Leigh

Chapter 8: The British Museum – By Leigh

Chapter 9: The Rain Hat – By Leigh

Chapter 10: Leigh – By Jake

Chapter 11: A Bit Of England – By Jake

Part Two – By Michael

Chapter 12: Alexandria

Chapter 13: The Greek Family

Chapter 14: A Special Outing

Chapter 15: Kate

Chapter 16 – A Special Gift

Chapter 17: The Egyptian Cat

Chapter 18: A Parting

Part Three

Chapter 19: Jake – By Leigh

Chapter 20: The Search Goes On – By Leigh

Chapter 21: Michael – By Catherine

Chapter 22: Catherine’s New Life – By Catherine

Chapter 23: Not To Be Ignored – By Catherine

Chapter 24: Relationships – By Jake

Chapter 25: The Traveler – By Jake

About The Author

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PART ONE

CHAPTER 1: CATHERINE – BY CATHERINE

Long before I knew that Michael existed, I sensed that someone, someone male, was in my house. It seems strange to pinpoint my awareness of him that first night as a smell, but I know that I could smell him.

His scent was so real and strong that there was no doubt in my mind. Someone or something was there, in whatever form, and that was a fact that I never once questioned.

I was raised in a large city and alert to the dangers the night could hold for a woman alone. So what might seem even stranger than the smell, even to people who don’t believe that such unexplainable things happen, is that I was not afraid.

Cautious and practical Catherine Kazan – that was me. Always trying to maintain a firm control over my world, to keep out the ever-lurking dangers of modern existence, and I was fearlessly and without question encountering the most unusual event of my life. Without question.

I wasn’t even angry that part of the strong aroma that I seemed to find pleasing was tobacco. I never allowed smoking in my house, including for the pleasure of my dearest friend or my wonderful mother, and I was accepting this presence--tobacco and all. I should have at least felt my usual annoyance about the smoke.

No fear, no anger, no question, just acceptance, as I left my den, and calmly went upstairs to bed. That first ethereal experience with him gave me the best night’s sleep that I could remember in weeks.

#

My large brick 1920s two-story, in one of Atlanta’s older tree-lined neighborhoods on the edge of Piedmont Park, was no more than a mile from the small bookstore that I owned. Usually I took the city bus that stopped at my corner. But the late autumn breezes that signal the end of Atlanta’s oppressive summer heat, was one of the times of the year that I skipped the bus. The chance to take the short-cut across the stone bridge through the park to the shop was just too tempting.

This brisk early fall day definitely called for a walk, and I felt alert and full of energy. I thought it was going to be a good day.

Hey, Catherine. Great day. Don’t tell anyone you saw me away from my office. I wasn’t the only one taking advantage of the beautiful weather.

Your secret is safe with me, I responded to a friend.

The scents of the park triggered thoughts of last night’s aromas, and I slowed my pace, wondering what had actually happened and why. There couldn’t possibly have been a man in the house without my knowing, could there? I would have seen signs of entry or something out of the ordinary. But my walk was over too quickly for any revelations that were realistic. Maybe I would never know why I had experienced those obviously male smells.

Within minutes of my arrival at my shop in a small strip center, customers and business as usual crowded out any memories of the previous night’s events. I wasn’t ready to switch my focus to the book store, but when I walked in, responsibility took over. My assistant manager had accepted the day’s delivery from one of the book distributors, and was trying to sort and price the new arrivals while keeping an eye on one or two early browsers.

Glad you’re here. I think New Leaf sent most of what the professor wanted, but I’m not through with the inventory on it yet, he called out from behind the back counter.

Henry was good at juggling more than books and customers. I knew I didn’t have that kind of energy, but I was grateful to have his at my disposal. Hiring him had been one of my best business moves. He still looked like the scruffy undergrad I had first met when my business had expanded and an entry-level assistant was all I could afford.

I side-stepped one or two customers with a smile for each, and peeked over the counter where he worked. Let me handle the customers, since you’re already on a roll with those boxes, I said to him. I was curious about that particular order, since it held, we hoped, quite a few books for a favorite customer from one of the local universities. But my taking on that chore would have meant starting over.

Just fill me in on what didn’t come in, and I’ll check with Baker and Taylor. One of our distributors should have what he wants, especially the new book on reincarnation.

One customer couldn’t find what he thought he wanted, and another was ready to buy his mystery paperback.

Oh, watch out. I said to one of my regulars, who had just entered the shop, and was about to crash into a display case.

That wasn’t there before, was it? she said, about the new shelves I had installed in an effort to coax some more display area from my already crowded retail space. The shop still looked cozy, not cluttered, but space was at a premium.

The day moved at a normal pace, with little time for me to think about who or what might have been in my house. Maybe someone had been there earlier in the day without my knowing. The idea of an intruder made me feel creepy, so I dropped that train of thought. I would have to check all the locks when I got home.

Business was good – sometimes almost too good for my small staff. The residents of this inner city neighborhood read lots of books. And most of the young professionals who frequented the shops in the area had the cash to buy them, in spite of the way retail prices continued to climb. The larger chain bookstores that were the latest 1980s rage in some cities hadn’t taken over in our small neighborhood. So far, we were doing well, and my biggest competitor was another independent store. I had specialized in some book genres that gave me an edge. Yes, I had finally made the right career decision, after several false starts.

The mid-afternoon lull would have been a good time to think about my night-time visitor, but that dear friend of mine, who co-owned a gourmet food boutique in the same shopping center, arrived with a sample of the shop’s latest chocolate delicacies. Okay, I was going to be distracted until business picked up again.

Now don’t forget that you promised to talk to my guest chef tomorrow when she’s through with the cooking demo. Leigh was a terrific businesswoman and I appreciated that quality in her.

You probably don’t need to remind me, but thanks anyway, I said.

Leigh had a non-threatening professional aura about her –- today in gray tailored slacks, a turtle-neck and a cardigan to match. Her curly light brown hair was cut close, making her high cheek bones and strong chin more pronounced. She could be formidable.

The chef is anxious to push her new cookbook. It’s a shame the book shipment won’t arrive from the publisher in time for this demonstration. Any thoughts, Cath?

We can do an autograph party some other week, Leigh, but I don’t think it’ll sell as many copies for her without the cooking demo to go with it. I’m sorry. What do you think about a repeat demo visit?

I knew that autograph parties, as glamorous as they seemed to everyone else, were usually a big disappointment to the authors and an even bigger space waster to the bookstore. A major celebrity would draw a crowd, but not a local chef. A gimmick, like food, might help.

We can ask her. If the bookstore promotion goes along with the demo I’ll bet she’d be willing. Bring your calendar with you tomorrow when you talk with her. Okay?

Sure. Remind me, I suggested. My Friday was probably going to be busy and I couldn’t afford to spend too much time on cookbook authors. My small establishment could only keep a few of the many newly published cookbooks in stock.

How’s Jake these days, Catherine? was almost a parting obligatory remark. I knew that Leigh was not terribly impressed with my latest male relationship.

Oh, he’s in New York for a while, doing research. I’ll try to go up for the bookseller’s event early and get in a week-end with him before he comes home. He really knows New York, so I enjoy the time there with him. It’s nice that our trips coincide. Hope I can get some work done too while I’m in town.

So you’re batching it for awhile again? she said with one of her knowing looks. Well, it seems to suit you. Don’t know why you insist on his living at your....

Let’s not get into that again, Leigh. Please. I feel good today, and I don’t want to spoil it.

Perhaps you’ve had a date while the cat’s away? came out with more sarcasm, and more than just passing interest.

No. I’m too busy and, well, content. There are some good things about being alone right now, and some with being with Jake. I don’t know if...oh, speaking of cats! Did I tell you that Maya had her kittens?

"When? What did she have--or can you tell? Can you tell?"

We both started to laugh, maybe with relief to get away from the subject of Jake and into some humor. Our friendship had survived all sorts of crises in both our lives--divorces for each, illnesses, childbirths (Leigh’s), jobs that should never have been, the plunge into business, and through it all, the humor and our friendship endured. We had tried not to let the men in our lives affect that friendship.

I can’t believe I didn’t tell you. This week has been chaotic, and the kittens are one of the reasons.

How many?

That’s one of the amazing things about that birth. Five kittens! Abyssinians hardly ever have more than 2 or 3 in a litter. That poor little cat had to outdo herself with five. When we have some time, I’ll tell you the whole story. Even though you’re not wild about cats, this story is a goodie.

Well I am a mother, so I could at least muster up some sympathy for all that effort, was the best Leigh could do. She didn’t look or sound enthused, but I thought the full story of the night of the delivery would intrigue her.

But it wasn’t just the protective qualities of motherhood that stood out in her personality. There was a balance to Leigh, and a concern for the health and happiness of others was a strong part of that balance.

I would have never picked the food business as her line, but it was those instincts that must account for her success with it, I thought.

The rest of the day zoomed by, and I managed to get away in time for my water exercise class. The water certainly massaged away any tension, and it was also the only way I could possibly keep Leigh’s desserts from turning into pounds. It was lucky for her that she never seemed to put on weight. I tried not to envy her that, but it wasn’t easy. Tall and slender, she had been blonde when we first met. Funny, I still thought of her as a blonde.

#

Home for the evening meant I might have time to figure out who or what had been in my house that smelled so good. I checked all the doors and windows for signs of broken locks or damage. Nothing there. My house was still in orderly condition - the way I always kept it. Then a check on the kittens and their rapidly slimming mother. Next a quick preparation of a light meal in my renovated kitchen - a reward to me for a good business year.

It was after nine before I sat down in the den. I was sorry that my Maya had chosen to have her kittens in the upstairs linen closet. But at least she had been considerate enough to choose the floor of the closet, and not one of the shelves of clean linens. I’d heard plenty of horror stories from fellow cat owners about the extremely clever and equally inconvenient spots their cats had chosen for delivery. When I had caught Maya showing a special interest in the closet, I had put an old sheet on the floor and made sure that she had access to the usually closed door. I was not about to have my tidy linen closet disrupted.

For now the nursing mother needed her privacy, and I needed to relax in the den. It didn’t have a fireplace, which would have been comforting on a cool fall night, but it was small and cozy, lined with a variety of books of every size, on all my interests and more. Jake had taken over a couple of shelves for some of his current reading too. It was the right place to read and to think. And tonight it was the right place to remember and wonder about that presence I had sensed--and smelled--the night before.

My imagination had always been strong. But strong enough to imagine smells that really weren’t there? And why the tobacco? Why a male presence when I wasn’t trying to imagine anything? I couldn’t smell anything now.

Leave it alone, Catherine, I told myself aloud. If you’re here, whoever you are, you’ll have no help from me, I added in an even louder voice.

The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped. I made a trip to the hall thermostat and also grabbed an afghan--one of my mother’s colorful blue and beige knit creations--before curling up with that book I hoped to read.

The radiators were clanging all through the house--a reminder that I hadn’t drained the water out of my luxurious steam heat boiler recently. The pleasures of old houses were numerous, but. . .

Damn, why is it getting colder?

And then I knew he was there. The air was cool in a way that had nothing to do with the heating system. And the smell was back. It was more than tobacco. It was leather and a hint of male cologne, and male sweat, yet clean.

The scent was stronger than I remembered, and I felt that its strength was trying to penetrate a barrier. There was a force behind that maleness that wanted to make itself known. And again I was not afraid.

All right. I know that you’re here, I offered in a voice not quite as loud as my earlier proclamation.

Some of the strength subsided, and I tried to pull it back with a louder, Don’t go away yet.

It stayed.

"Who are you?" It got stronger, and I felt warmer. And the phone rang.

I tried to ignore the insistent rings, but he, the presence, didn’t cooperate, and was quickly gone.

Yes? I responded on the 6th ring.

What a nice greeting. Are you in the middle of something?

Oh, Jake. No. Well, I was, but it’s okay. How is your work going? I didn’t want to share what was happening to me with him, and I didn’t stop to think about why.

I could spend more time at home instead of in the New York Public Library if they’d cooperate with inter-library loan like everyone else, he complained.

But then you wouldn’t have such great excuses for being in New York and getting to enjoy all the other perks. Have you been to the theater this week?

Of course. There’s a Tom Stoppard play I want to go back to when you’re here. I think you’ll like it. It’s wordy, like all of Stoppard’s work, but everyone says it’s better at second listening.

Well, it won’t be long before I’m there.

Miss you.

Yes. It’s quiet here. I’m sorry you’re missing the kittens. I’ll take pictures every couple of days.

Are you okay, Catherine? You didn’t even ask the name of the play.

I guess I’m tired, and . . . I’m really all right. The emphasis on the last few words must have reassured him.

That sounds more like you. I’ll call day after tomorrow, okay?

Yes. Saturday. Jake, call early. I might try to have dinner with someone or something.

Why don’t I just call late Sunday morning? No, your mother calls then. Why don’t you call me after you’re through talking to your mother?

That sort of consideration was so typical of Jake. He was from a large family and had grown up learning to give care to the needs of others. And I was reaping the benefits. I could just imagine the look of concern on his handsome face – how to find a time most convenient for me.

Jake, are you sure you won’t want to be out somewhere?

I’ll wait for your call. Okay, Cath?

Yes. Goodnight.

Goodnight, Catherine.

Jake!

What?

Nothing. I’ll tell you about it when I see you. Something . . . funny. Night.

I wasn’t sure what I would tell Jake about the presence or why I had described the experience as something funny. For that matter I now thought that I didn’t want to tell him about this other male in my life at all. I didn’t usually hide things from Jake. We were such good friends. I could decide when I saw him.

I couldn’t go back to the book I’d planned to read, and he didn’t seem to be in the room. I went upstairs and counted the kittens. All five of them. At least no new ones had appeared since that first long night. I would have to tell