Chapter One "It is better to be a lion for a day than a sheep all your life." --Elizabeth Kenny How on earth did I get myself into this situation? I thought miserably, zipping my jacket up to my chin and wondering why I'd ever put so much faith in Polarfleece. On a dreary November evening like this one, I usually preferred snuggling up in front of a fireplace with my brand-new husband, Nick, and sipping hot chocolate, mulled cider, or some other beverage that was really good at adding warmth to the human body. It wouldn't have hurt to have my pets around me, as well, since my two dogs and two cats happen to be pretty good at that aforementioned snuggling. Instead, I found myself in the middle of Peconic Bay, huddling inside the cold, damp cabin of a boat that, at the moment, was being thrown around as if the turbulent waters were gearing up for a replay of The Perfect Storm. Even though I didn't remember having had a problem with seasickness before, the churning in my stomach told me that could be about to change. Icy rain pelted the windowpanes, through which I could see that darkness had settled around the dense gray fog surrounding the vessel. I was beginning to understand why all those sailors on the HMS Bounty had decided to mutiny. Right now, nothing sounded better than dry land. At least my traveling companions didn't come close to the Captain Bligh category. In fact, for what it was worth, they looked almost as miserable as I felt. Beside me, Betty Vandervoort Farnsworth sat hunched over, with her arms folded and her legs crossed. The oversize parka that nearly devoured her slender frame was the same shade as overripe limes, as if it had been designed to scare away bears. Even less fashionable was the multicolored wool cap she'd yanked so far down that it nearly concealed her sapphire-blue eyes. Her hat also covered most of her hair, although a few strands of her usually neat white pageboy stuck out at wild angles. Her husband, Winston, looked as if he was on his way to a Halloween party dressed as the Gloucester fisherman. He wore a bright yellow slicker topped by one of those hats that looks as if it's really good at redirecting rain toward the guy behind whoever's wearing it. Being British, he was doing a much better job of keeping a stiff upper lip. The only thing that gave him away was the slightly green tinge of his skin. Frederick looked a little green, too, although it was harder to tell, since he was covered with tan fur. It was also impossible to discern whether the wirehaired dachshund tucked beneath Winston's coat was trembling because of seasickness or because he was simply terrified by the storm. I might have been amused by the way Betty and Winston looked, if I wasn't wrestling with a slew of conflicting emotions. After all, they were the ones who'd gotten me involved in this in the first place. It had all started a few hours earlier as I lay on the bed in Betty's guest room, working my way through a stack of veterinary journals. I'd lived in the former gardener's cottage on her estate for years, but recent events had rendered it uninhabitable. Since June, Nick and I had been staying in Betty and Winston's residence, a luxurious nineteenth-century mansion I'd nicknamed the Big House. While Nick and I had every intention of looking for our own place, neither of us ever seemed to find the time. After spending a few years as a private investigator, Nick had decided to change careers. He was plowing through his second year of law school, which meant he spent every waking hour studying. There's a saying about law school: The first year, they scare you; the second year, they work you; the third year, they bore you. And year two was turning out to be as demanding as it was reputed to be. As fo Excerpted from Crossing the Lion: A Reigning Cats and Dogs Mystery by Cynthia Baxter All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
