Conspiracy of Cats by B.C. Harris - Book Tour

 

Book Blurb

    CONSPIRACY OF CATS… a supernatural murder mystery.

     An apprehensive Jos Ferguson travels from Edinburgh to northern Tanzania to visit the house her Uncle Peter built before he died.

     But Peter isn’t as dead as he should be… he was murdered, and he wants his niece to help him exact revenge upon his killer. With a little Maasai magic and a conspiracy of cats, Jos sets out to do exactly that.

     A beautiful house.

     A horrible death.

     A brilliant revenge.

     Who knew death could be so lively?

 

Amazon UK : https://www.amazon.co.uk/Conspiracy-Cats-B-C-Harris/dp/1800740328/r

Amazon US : https://www.amazon.com/Conspiracy-Cats-B-C-Harris-ebook/dp/B09CGHZ7K7

Excerpt
 ‘Vet thinks Imelda was hit by a car,’ Jude announced as she came in the front door toting said cat inside a pink plastic carrier, heels tap tapping across the tiled floor of the entrance hall. Her skirts swayed in layers of black crepe topped off with a floral chiffon blouse. Her once frizzy red hair was tamer these days, struck through with blonde and silver, piled up haphazardly and held in place with crystal encrusted combs and clips. Her make-up was immaculate as usual. A very attractive fifty something. ‘Common injury apparently. Cat runs in front of a moving car, car clips the back end, sending the cat face first into the kerb.’ Placing the carrier on the floor, she released Imelda who immediately fled past Jos on her way upstairs. ‘She’s lucky her jaw wasn’t broken, but she has lost a few teeth. I’ve to feed her by hand for a few days and see how we go.’

No response from Jos.

Glancing at her obviously distracted niece, sitting on the stairs next to the phone, Jude wondered, ‘Anything happen while I was gone?’

‘Beola called.’

On her way to the under the stairs cupboard to replace the cat carrier with several others stored in there, Jude stopped dead. ‘Beola Nyerere?’ As if there were lots of Beola’s out there just dying to call. Mostly Jude was wondering how the hell Beola had gotten her number.

‘She was looking for you.’

Jude opened the cupboard door and stashed the carrier. ‘I doubt that.’

Jos frowned, ‘Why would you say that?’

There was a time when any mention of Beola Nyerere would have inspired raging and ranting from Jude, but she kept a tight leash on those demons these days. At least on the outside. ‘Me and Beola never really gelled…’ she said. ‘I didn’t make much effort to keep in touch and neither did she. Seeing as Peter’s already dead perhaps she called to let me know Kissi died?’

‘Jude!’ Jos was open mouthed with shocked. ‘What a thing to say!’ Then she wondered, ‘Who’s Kissi?’

‘Beola’s husband. He was a ranger back then… maybe he still is. Maybe something ate him,’ Jude winked to counter her niece’s renewed shock. ‘Being a ranger is a dangerous job, Jos. What did you and Beola really talk about?’

‘The white house.’ The idea of it had stuck, and Jos was becoming increasingly sure she was going to go through with the crazy plan. ‘She asked if we would like to go for a visit.’

Jude sighed loudly. ‘I loved that house.’

‘So why leave it?’

‘Because Peter left it to Beola.’ Jude stood in the hallway outside the now closed cupboard, her gaze travelling upward until she was looking at twilight through the glass cupola high above. The sky was moving through deep red and violet into a blue, almost purple darkness. There really was nowhere else on Earth that delivered the long, drawn out sunsets regularly seen in Edinburgh. Except perhaps for Norway. Peter’s mother was Norwegian. Beautiful, blonde, statuesque Astrid, and her painfully handsome son. Jude had loved him so much and couldn’t believe that he’d fell for her as hard. But he had, and they were married within a few months of meeting. He was her Viking; her rich, educated, ambitious warrior. Peter had transformed Jude’s existence, had altered her all the way down to her very soul.

Standing there in her wide hallway looking up at the sky reminded Jude of being in the white house. Her face went slack, her gaze drifted inward. Briefly taken back in time to the hours and days immediately after her husband’s death. The shock of it all. The upheaval. The feelings of betrayal and loss. Forced to accompany his body back to Wiltshire because the terms of his will demanded it. Forced to wait

 Author Bio
B C Harris is a Scot who, at the time of writing, had just finished renovating a farmhouse in France.

 A labour of love that began from first sight back in 2016. No sooner had the final length of flooring been laid and the last paintbrush dried, than disaster struck in the form of pandemic. France went into a strict lockdown and, with time to do more than simply daydream about writing books, a new project began to take shape.

 Writing began as an escape from the fear and isolation that was soon affecting us all, and quickly flourished to become ‘Conspiracy of Cats.’ The global pandemic seems to be receding now, but the passion for writing has taken root. Find out more about B C Harris online.

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