Meet secondhand shop owner Sarah Grayson and her rescue cat, Elvis, in the first novel in the  New York Times bestselling Second Chance Cat Mystery series... Sarah Grayson is the happy proprietor of Second Chance, a charming shop in the oceanfront town of North Harbor, Maine. At the shop, she sells used items that she has lovingly refurbished and repurposed. But her favorite pet project so far has been adopting a stray cat she names Elvis. Elvis has seen nine lives—and then some. The big black cat with a scar across his nose turned up at a local bar when the band was playing the King of Rock and Roll’s music and hopped in Sarah’s truck. Since then, he’s been her constant companion and the furry favorite of everyone who comes into the store. But when Sarah’s elderly friend Maddie is found with the body of a dead man in her garden, the kindly old lady becomes the prime suspect in the murder. Even Sarah’s old high school flame, investigator Nick Elliot, seems convinced that Maddie was up to no good. So it’s up to Sarah and Elvis to clear her friend’s name and make sure the real murderer doesn’t get a second chance. Praise for the New York Times Bestselling Second Chance Cat Mysteries “A surefire winner.”—Miranda James, New York Times bestselling author “A series sure to appeal to anyone who loves a combination of felonies and felines.”— Richmond Times-Dispatch “Cleverly planned and flawlessly executed...full of humor, cat antics, intrigue and suspense...the best of both worlds for those who love cats and cozy mysteries.”—Open Book Society “Enjoyable from beginning to end; readers will look forward to more.”—RT Book Reviews “If you enjoy a cozy mystery featuring a lovable protagonist with a bevy of staunch friends, a shop you’d love to explore, plenty of suspects, and a super smart cat, you’ll love The Whole Cat and Caboodle .”—MyShelf.com “Enjoyable...Remember, everyone has a secret, even the cat.”—Kings River Life Magazine Sofie Ryan is a New York Times bestselling author and mixed-media artist who loves to repurpose things in her life and her art. She writes the New York Times bestselling Second Chance Cat mysteries and, as Sofie Kelly, writes the New York Times bestselling Magical Cats mysteries. Chapter 1 Elvis was sitting in the middle of my desk when I opened the door to my office. The cat, not the King of Rock and Roll, although the cat had an air of entitlement about him sometimes, as though he thought he was royalty. He had one jet-black paw on top of a small cardboard box-my new business cards, I was hoping. "How did you get in here?" I asked. His ears twitched but he didn't look at me. His green eyes were fixed on the vintage Wonder Woman lunch box in my hand. I was having an early lunch, and Elvis seemed to want one as well. "No," I said firmly. I dropped onto the retro red womb chair I'd brought up from the shop downstairs, kicked off my sneakers, and propped my feet on the matching footstool. The chair was so comfortable. To me, the round shape was like being cupped in a soft, warm, giant hand. I knew the chair had to go back down to the shop, but I was still trying to figure out a way to keep it for myself. Before I could get my sandwich out of the yellow vinyl lunch box, the big, black cat landed on my lap. He wiggled his back end, curled his tail around his feet and looked from the bag to me. "No," I said again. Like that was going to stop him. He tipped his head to one side and gave me a pitiful look made all the sadder because he had a fairly awesome scar cutting across the bridge of his nose. I took my sandwich out of the lunch can. It was roast beef on a hard roll with mustard, tomatoes and dill pickles. The cat's whiskers quivered. "One bite," I said sternly. "Cats eat cat food. People eat people food. Do you want to end up looking like the real Elvis in his chunky days?" He shook his head, as if to say, "Don't be ridiculous." I pulled a tiny bit of meat out of the roll and held it out. Elvis ate it from my hand, licked two of my fingers and then made a rumbly noise in his throat that sounded a lot like a sigh of satisfaction. He jumped over to the footstool, settled himself next to my feet and began to wash his face. After a couple of passes over his fur with one paw he paused and looked at me, eyes narrowed-his way of saying, "Are you going to eat that or what?" I ate. By the time I'd finished my sandwich Elvis had finished his meticulous grooming of his face, paws and chest. I patted my legs. "C'mon over," I said. He swiped a paw at my jeans. There was no way he was going to hop onto my lap if he thought he might get a crumb on his inky black fur. I made an elaborate show of brushing off both legs. "Better?" I asked. Elvis meowed his approval and walked his way up my legs, poking my thighs with his front paws-no claws, thankfully-and wiggling his back end until he was comfortable. I reached for the box on my desk, keeping one hand on the cat.