The Nose Knows

By Holly L. Lewitas

The Nose Knows is the first book in the Spunky Murder Mystery series, a delightful series that’s drawing attention to what may be developing as a new “dog drama” genre. It is followed by book two, The Nose Sees All, and then the newest, one - book three, An Army of Noses.
Spunky, a twelve-year-old terrier mutt, is the narrator of all this tale of love and crime. She is sassy, funny, classy, and smart. She is loyal and easy-going with a sense of humor, but don’t under estimate her or push her too far—she’s fierce with her enemies. The other female protagonist, Dr. Hannah Richards, AKA Mom, is trying to build a new life by helping others reclaim theirs. She is a psychologist and eleven years ago, one of her patients held her hostage. The man was safely locked him away, but Dr. Richards was unable to harness her fear. She stopped working. Now, as a widow, she must begin again. She lives with Spunky and four neutered tomcats, named Fearless, Bobby, Fancy Pants, and Sweetie. Together, the animals, try to keep their Mom happy, protect her at all costs, and —whenever they deem necessary — assist in the counseling of her patients. The critters also help Mom in another arena: her love life. The success of their matchmaking relies on a series of animal shenanigans, involving smelly fish, a soapy bathtub, and a stolen steak. The humans do not realize what is happening to them, but we don’t hear them complaining.
Many strange things happen before it becomes clear that one of the clients is also a dangerous stalker. Spunky smells the connection to Mom’s past and is put to the ultimate test when the assailants attack. Later, in a police interrogation room, Spunky and Fearless must again face Mom’s adversary. Through unconditional love and forgiveness, these two critters put in motion his redemption.
The Nose Knows is a suspenseful, heart-warming, exciting, funny, —and romantic tale that proves critters can get away with a lot! The animals know people benefit from being around them, but they are wise enough to see that people need people, too. And if the humans are not smart enough to act on this need, then the animals believe it is their duty is to give them a shove in the right direction.
The Nose Knows is witty and charming, and it illustrates just how special the bond between animals and humans can be. Spunky and her cat companions are clever and endearing, and the human characters are well developed. Animal and mystery lovers are sure to be entertained, and they will look forward to the next book featuring the delightful and spirited Spunky. Clarion Review – Four Stars!
Holly L. Lewitas,has written an engrossing book, which centers on the connection between humans and animals,. it is a great mystery novel that keeps the reader engrossed in the story until the end.In addition, it is also a heartwarming story, which takes the reader on an emotional ride that will sometimes, makes you laugh, cry, cringe, sympathize and cheer. --- Pacific Book Review

• Language: English
• Publisher: Holly L. Lewitas
• Release date: Aug 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311192899

Holly L. Lewitas

Holly Lewitas grew up in Bay Shore, Long Island in the 1950s as the middle daughter of two World War II veterans. She had an idyllic childhood just like the old commercial – as American as apple pie and Chevrolet, until she went to college in the 1960s, when, as she puts it, “all the influences came to bear.” The 60’s expanded her world, her view of life and taught her to stand up for her beliefs even in difficult times. Holly Lewitas has always been an animal lover by nature. She’s a registered nurse by training, and an avid mystery reader. Little did she know that her years of work in psychiatry and animal rescue would all come into play when she created the well-received Spunky Murder Mystery series. Years ago, while living in Chicago, she rescued a terrier mutt puppy, and it quickly became obvious that Spunky was no ordinary dog. Years later after surviving the death of her beloved husband, she transplanted her-Yankee-self to Alabama to be nearer to her family. It was then that Holly felt it was time for the world to know this smart, classy, charming, lovable canine. She began to put words to Spunky’s personality and the unique voice of Spunky took shape. It was no stretch of the imagination that Holly saw this determined terrier as a solver of mysteries. With Spunky’s curious personality and terrier tenacity, it was the perfect match. Before long the need for alternative points of view became obvious and Holly’s rescued felines provided a plethora of potential characters. Holly has learned that one can see the whimsical in even the mundane, ordinary things if keep your mind open to the possibility. Her animals have always helped her view the world in the simplest and best way. She set out to write suspenseful tales that would enthrall the reader, give them a smile or two, and make them feel sorry when the story ends. According to the reviews, she certainly has done just that. She invites you to meet the wise, clever, and whimsical Spunky. She believes you too will fall in love with her.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Humans baffle me. Why do they complain so much? They miss so much good stuff! This sun puddle is a perfect example. It just popped through the window. A human would see it, step right in it, and keep on walking. Me? I see this sun puddle. I appreciate this sun puddle, and I fully intend to make the best use of this sun puddle. I’m going to stretch out this good-looking body of mine and have a great nap. Humans sure miss a lot, don’t you agree, Fearless?

Of course, Fearless was right in the middle of one of his endless cat-grooming rituals. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop him from answering me in that arrogant tone he knows I despise.

"Spunky—breath—has it ever occurred to you that humans—breath—complain a lot because they have to deal with you—dogs?"

Despite Fearless’s respiratory problem, he always has enough air to deliver a snide remark.

And so do I. Oh, quit being so uppity. The phrase ‘man’s best friend’ certainly was not inspired by a cat!

Fearless jumped off the file cabinet and batted me on the nose. He was well on his way to the kitchen before I could retaliate.

I growled. Hey, you coward, come back here. Try that again when my eyes are open!

Fearless kept walking. He’s a big, muscular cat with brown and black tiger stripes. He weighs in at almost eighteen pounds, and he’s also long of limb. Right now, he was putting those long legs to good use doing his haughty walk. You know the one, where he saunters away with his tail straight up while sashaying his hips. The walk that says, I’m better than you any time, any day!

Despite the temptation to snatch some fur off him, I didn’t abandon my sun puddle. One must keep their priorities straight. Glorious sun puddles like this one don’t come around every day. They shouldn’t be wasted. Any fool knows that, even a cat!

Besides, Mom was busy at her computer and didn’t see Fearless swipe my nose. If we started a tussle now, Mom might blame me and then Fearless would gloat all day. It was much wiser to let Fearless think he’d gotten away with it. There would be time for payback later.

Besides, I had to behave—a pair of eyes was scrutinizing me. They belonged to the new pup, Mom’s latest rescue, named Willy. My job was to shape him up while Mom worked on finding him a new home. So far, he’d been a good student. Nevertheless, the idea of training up another one was—well, just plain exhausting.

I wish Moxie were here. She was my mentor. Any critter with as many grey hairs as I have knows great wisdom comes from great mentors. Moxie was the best but she went over the Rainbow Bridge years ago. My two-legged Dad, who also was a great help with the rescues, has also gone over the Bridge.

Oops, the pup was heading my way. He needed to understand that a sun-puddle nap should never be interrupted. I issued a warning stare. Good, it worked. I used the one that said, Don’t even think about it. He read it correctly, did a three-point turn, and lay back down. I decided he might not be so hard to train after all.

My quiet moment was abruptly broken by cats yowling and Mom yelling. Oh, for heaven’s sake, what’s all the ruckus? You boys had better quit it right now, or I’m going to beat your butts! Bobby, do you hear me?

The commotion was occurring in the other room, so Mom was guessing at Bobby’s involvement. However, my ears had no trouble discerning the two voices involved—definitely Bobby and Sweetie. Mom headed to the kitchen. I had no fear she’d actually beat any butts. She’s all talk.

"Spunky, help!—wheeze—Sweetie is—wheeze—in trouble.—wheeze—Come quick!" Fearless sounded frantic. I ran to the kitchen.

Once there, I paused. No fool gets between two fighting cats. Claws are horrific weapons. My ears had correctly identified the culprits, Bobby and Sweetie. The other possible suspect, Fancy-Pants, was already halfway to the critter door. While I knew Fancy hadn’t been scared off by the cats’ fighting, Mom’s pounding feet and shrill voice must have convinced him he’d be safer outside.

I was all set to distract the cats with one of my loud, angry barks, but then I realized they weren’t fighting. Bobby and Sweetie were roughhousing. It sounded like they were killing each other, but these two adolescent brothers were having a good old wrestling match.

This didn’t matter to Mom. She arrived armed with her squirt bottle. Both cats got a heavy dose of water. It worked. They backed away. Bobby started to advance again. He was being stubborn, not threatening. His ears weren’t even back. But Mom’s were, and this time her squirt caught him right in the head. Bobby, I mean it. Enough! She scooped Bobby up and tossed him out the back door. You just stay out there for a while and cool off. I heard the lock snap into place on the critter door. I also heard Bobby complaining, Hey, Ma, chill out!

Bobby and Sweetie are brothers. Like Fearless, they too are tiger-striped tabbies, but they are younger than Fearless. They’re not even two years old. From the front, these boys look a lot alike. But it’s a different picture from the back side. Bobby is a bobtail, Sweetie is not. If you’re observant, you’ll notice Bobby has rusty brown colors mixed in with his black stripes, while Sweetie’s colors are grey and black.

Their personalities are also poles apart. Bobby is the first to check out what’s going on. He has his nose into everything, especially if a human is involved. He lives out his belief that cats rule! Some cats rub on you. Bobby head-butts you. He’s clever and cagey. He’s also the reigning escape artist. He can sneak out a door so quick Mom’s oblivious until she spots him running toward the woods. Bobby loves a challenge.

Sweetie, on the other hand, stays in the background and waits to see what Bobby discovers. Maybe Sweetie’s the smarter one; he lets Bobby take the risks. Sweetie will always show up, but he’s never first. He’s a big, kind, gentle cat. Have you ever noticed that certain dogs or cats stay closer to you when you’re sad? It’s as if they know, at that moment, you need a friend. These critters are endowed with empathy that surpasses what the rest of us have. Sweetie was born with it—he has the gift of compassion.

In short, Bobby will make you frown, laugh, or yell. Sweetie will make you smile.

Sweetie, are you okay? Mom asked. By now, Sweetie was under the couch. He doesn’t like the squirt bottle or Mom yelling. Neither one really fazes Bobby. He backs off but he looks at Mom as if she’s crazy. Sweetie, however, gets upset.

Mom was down on the floor trying to convince Sweetie to come out. Finally he did. He climbed up in her lap and started rubbing her face. As Mom talked and petted, Sweetie’s purr volume increased. Oh, Mom, I love you. Please don’t yell anymore.

I looked around for Fearless. Fearless, are you all right? Hey, where are you? Fearless hates it when the other cats fight. As soon as they start quarreling, he usually vanishes. Whenever possible, I try to ignore the cat squabbles. I have to; there are four of them in this house and a bunch more outside. Heck, I’d never get a nap if I responded to every disagreement.

Fearless, on the other hand, is unable to ignore this behavior. A big, nasty tomcat hurt his mother when he was just a baby, so the sound of a catfight still causes him to panic.

Fearless, they’re fine. No one got hurt. Where are you, buddy? I walked into the bedroom. His scent was concentrated under the bed. I stuck my nose under the dust ruffle. Come on out, Fearless. It’s all over.

"You—wheeze—promise?—breath—Is Sweetie—breath—all right?" Fearless was more breathless than usual. He always needs to take extra breaths, but when he’s upset he wheezes, and then it’s even harder for him to catch his breath.

Yeah. He’s fine. Just calm down. Besides, you know as well as I do, Sweetie can whip Bobby’s butt. He weighs eight pounds more than Bobby does. No one can beat up Sweetie.

I know—I just saw Bobby—biting Sweetie’s neck—Sweetie yowled and—I got scared.

You don’t seem so scared when you try to do that neck biting trick on me!

"Oh, well that’s different—You don’t have any real claws!" His breathing was returning to normal.

Good thing for you I don’t! Are you going to stay under there?

Yeah, it’s peaceful.—I’m okay now. Thanks—for checking on me.

Okay, see you later.

Mom had already headed back to her office. I stopped to say hello to Sweetie, who was curled up on the sofa. So tell me, Sweetie, did you start this one or did Bobby?

Sweetie swiped his paw across his whiskers. Bobby deserved it; he was gloating. He was bragging that he got the most fish at breakfast. I had to knock him down a peg or two. Besides, we were just messing around. It’s not my fault Mom’s hearing is so underdeveloped. She can never tell the difference between play and serious!

Yeah, she doesn’t like squabbling. But tell me, why is Bobby always the scapegoat? I noticed once again he’s locked outside while Mom loved on you. Do you think that’s fair?

Sweetie’s whiskers swept upward. Well, let me put it this way, which of us do you think is going to get the most fish tonight?

Point well taken. Now do you think you can keep the noise down awhile? I was trying to take a nap.

Oh, Spunk, I’m sorry we woke you up. Go ahead and take your nap. I’ll keep the peace.

Most days Sweetie is a sweetie, except when he’s teaching someone a lesson.

Luckily, my sun puddle still had some warmth left in it. As I settled into it, I thought of all the nonsense that goes on around here. It wasn’t always this way. When Dad was alive, there were no cats, only dogs. Moxie, a Golden Retriever, was their first puppy. They had her for two years before Dad brought me home from the shelter. I was only six weeks old. My first humans had abandoned me. I was one scared, tiny, scruffy mutt. The Humane Society labeled me part terrier and part Labrador. They said I’d grow up to be about fifty pounds. That was fine with Mom; she definitely didn’t want a small dog. Her opinion was small dogs were either sissies or yappers. Fifty pounds, huh? Well, that never came to be. Soaking wet, I weigh in at about twenty pounds. Labrador? True, my fur is black, but that’s where the similarity ends. There’s nothing sleek about me. From the top of my head to the tip of my tail, I have black scruffy fur sticking out in all directions. Absolutely no resemblance to a Labrador whatsoever. For years, my coat was solid black, except for four white stockings and a white patch on my muzzle. However, now that I’m twelve, there’s an increasing amount of white hairs showing up.

My ears are big and they stick straight up. When I was little, they looked even larger, and Mom said I must’ve been bred with a mule! From what I know, that’s certainly not true; but I am a M-U-T-T, which stands for Mixed Unknown Terrier Type. Given my terrier bloodlines, of course I’m very smart, with just the right amount of independent sass. It didn’t take long to show Mom my smaller size didn’t matter. She soon learned I was a big dog in a small package.

Three years after I arrived, Mom rescued another shelter dog. Her name was Molly. From her teeth they guessed she was already pretty old. She looked like Benji, the movie star. I liked her. She, Moxie, and I were friends for about four years. But by the time Dad died, it was down to just Molly and me. Then less than a year later, it was just us two girls, Mom and me. By then I was almost eight and Mom thought I was too old to contend with a new puppy. Truth of the matter, Mom was the one who wasn’t up to training a new pup. Whatever her excuse, I sure didn’t mind having her all to myself. The occasional visit from a canine rescue kept my social skills well honed.

In my heart of hearts, I knew my single critter status wouldn’t last long. At my annual physical, I heard Mom telling the vet, Dr. Steve, about all the stray cats in the neighborhood. The neighbors referred to it as the cat problem; Mom called it ignorance. There simply wasn’t enough spaying and neutering going on. Mom set up outside feeding stations and established her three-day rule. If a cat showed up to eat for three days, it became hers. She trapped the cat and took it to see Dr. Steve. Once she knew that they were healthy and fixed, she released them back into the same woods from which they’d emerged. After that if, they headed back to their original home that was fine, but at least this way there were fewer fights and a lot fewer babies.

However, almost all of them stuck around.

One cold December afternoon, Mom and I heard a whole lot of meows coming from the front side of the house. Mom wouldn’t let me out front to see, but the cries told me a critter was in serious trouble. She took him straight to Dr. Steve. Later, I learned Mom had found a baby kitten that had a bad head injury and was very sick. The inside of his mouth was also torn so he couldn’t eat on his own. Mom said that since the kitten had made it to our yard she wanted to do all she could to give him a fighting chance.

The best thing that little critter ever did was to end up at our house. I knew it wasn’t by happenstance. The neighborhood dogs told me how he’d gotten to our house. Some momma cats banded together and took turns carrying the little one. Apparently, our place is famous for its bowls of cat chow. It was no accident that the baby found his way into the garden beneath Mom’s bedroom window.

A week later, I heard Mom on the speakerphone talking to Dr. Steve, who said the little boy had begun to eat and was making progress. But I heard him say this one couldn’t survive outside. He needed to live inside where it was safe.

That posed a problem. Why? At that point, I’d never met a cat. As I said, our home had always been a dog’s house. Mom didn’t know how I’d react. Outside, the cats always stayed out of my way or ran up a tree. I’d never been up close and personal, although I knew what they smelled like from a distance. Now, if it had been a new dog, we both would have known exactly what to do. But this was different. Mom did her research and then sat down and talked to me. She said something about smelling under a closed door so we’d get to know each other. I must admit, I didn’t know what the word kitten meant. But I did see her put a cage and a box filled with sand in the laundry room. She then repeatedly opened and closed the door and kept testing the lock. Maybe she was bringing home something ferocious!

Later when she returned, I immediately smelled the new critter. It certainly wasn’t a dog. I could hear Mom talking on the other side of the laundry room door.

You’re fine now. This is going to be your new home. Well, it won’t always be just this room, but for now it will be so you’ll be safe. Hey, do you want to say hello to Spunky? See that little black nose sticking under the door? That’s Spunky. Come and say ‘Hi’.

A critter’s paw appeared under the door. I sniffed. Smelled like a cat. I wagged my tail. It sure was a tiny paw. I could hear Mom’s happy tone. Good girl Spunky, be gentle. Okay, you two, this is wonderful. Let me open the door just a smidgen so Spunky can see your face.

She opened the door a crack. A furry blur rushed past my nose. The critter was loose! Mom panicked. In a very firm voice she said, Spun—kee…you’d better be nice.

The critter didn’t waste a single moment. He turned and walked straight at me. He stared me right in the eye. Bold little one. He was a cat all right—but a miniature one. But something was wrong with his head. It was on crooked! I moved in to get a good sniff—BAMM—his claw got me right in the nose! I went after some fur! Mom grabbed my harness.

She was laughing. Don’t you even think about it! Besides, Spunk, I think he can take care of himself. He sure is fearless.…

Yup, that was the day Fearless earned his name.

Once things settled down and he apologized for the unauthorized use of his claw, I asked him, Hey, little guy why is your head on crooked?

"I don’t know—breath—I wasn’t born like this—breath—I was at Dr. Steve’s—I didn’t like it there—breath—he’s really nice—breath—but I don’t like that place at all.…"

Boy, he could talk, and it took a lot of breaths to get all his words out. I had to interrupt.

And what about your head?

Oh, yeah—one morning, I woke up and—it had tilted to the left. Just like that!—I can’t get it to go straight—It’s just kind of stuck that way.

Does it hurt? Is it a spasm?

Nope—it don’t hurt. I had a leg spasm once—now that hurt!—But not my head, it just tilts!

Will you grow out of it?

Don’t know.—Dr. Steve told your mom—sometimes a ‘head tilt’ will just go away and—sometimes it stays that way. I don’t know what—will happen to it.

Could it be like that forever?

Could be. Dr. Steve said it won’t matter—I can still grow up to be—a big strong cat—just like any other cat—except my head will be crooked.

Why do you have trouble catching your breath?

I got kicked in the face—by a man—it did something to my airway—makes me breath hard—but it don’t hurt either. Hey,—does my crooked head—make me look funny?

I paused. Naw. In fact I think it makes you look…special.

Truth of the matter, he did look funny. But that little head tilted on that little body made a cute package. I may be tough, but I’m still a girl, and cute is cute.

As it turned out, Fearless never did stay very long in the laundry room, except when Mom wasn’t home. For months, she never left us alone together by ourselves. Good thing too, or Fearless might have ended up being a bobtail. He was cute and I certainly gave him a lot of leeway since he was so little and handicapped, but apparently cats think stalking you is a good thing. Dogs do not. His ability to jump up onto things and stay out of my reach saved him on. I will admit he was smart. He quickly learned the meanings of my different growls, so he knew when to back off.

At night, Mom shut him out of our bedroom. He always wanted to play instead of sleep! He didn’t mind being on his own at night. I think he liked to do his nightly stalking without anyone watching. Over time, we got used to each other. With his tilted head and the rough start to his life, I cut him a lot of slack. Truth of the matter, I also admired the little guy’s courage.

Fearless was my first cat buddy.

CHAPTER TWO

You would call our Mom Dr. Hannah Richards. She’s a licensed psychologist. She used to see clients the old-fashioned way, face-to-face talking together in an office. But then eleven years ago everything changed. Mom stopped seeing clients. Mom stopped practicing. Mom stopped feeling in control of her life. In fact, Mom stopped doing too many things.

A patient had held her hostage. It brought her life to a screeching halt.

The circle of her life shrunk to just Dad, a few trusted friends and of course her ever-expanding family of critters. For six years, she lived a simplified life. She took care of the house, the garden, Dad, and her rescue dogs. We had no cats back then. Right after the traumatic event, she saw a therapist, but eventually she stopped. She told Dad she was fine with her life just the way it was. Dad told her he thought she was wrong to quit therapy. He said she still needed help learning how to cope with what had happened. Mom listened for a while, but then she wouldn’t discuss it anymore. When Mom draws a line there isn’t much that can get her to move it. Finally Dad quit trying to change her mind and went on doing what he did best—he just loved her.

Then five years ago Dad suddenly died. Mom had to draw on every ounce of her energy and will to keep on living. It took time for her to learn how to live without him. Besides learning how to survive her terrible grief, she also had to learn how to be comfortable living alone. When Dad had been in the house, she’d known he’d keep her safe. After he died, even the doorbell would make her jump. One time, the bell rang and she dropped a box of cereal right on my head. To this day, whenever I hear someone coming up the walk, I check to see if I’m in harm’s way.

Over time, she adapted to being alone. For example, now when she hears a strange noise, she’ll look in my direction. If I’m not reacting to the sound, she figures all is well. When humans are anxious, their hearing is heightened. They notice the sounds we critters hear every day. Like the house settling or the branch scratching the roof. It scares them. Mom has now learned that if I’m not on alert status, she can relax.

Gradually, Mom began to focus on more things outside of herself. However, years passed before she decided to resume her practice.

Money wasn’t the reason she decided to work again. Dad had made sure Mom would be financially secure. Mom’s a caregiver by nature. She likes to take care of people and animals. When Dad was alive, she could get this need met by taking care of him. After he was gone, well, she simply became intolerable.

Take the brushing situation. Previously, Mom only brushed me every now and then. I’m a scruffy dog so I don’t need it and I certainly don’t like it. Heck, one day she went nuts and started brushing the cats and me every day! I thought I’d go bald!

It was her friend, Judy, who saved my butt from becoming hairless. One afternoon when she was over having coffee, she said, "Hannah, today when we were in the grocery store, you crossed a line. You know I love you, but someone