Book Title: MURDER AND A MISSING MANUSCRIPT
Character Name: Mr. Boots
How would you describe your family or your childhood?
Difficult to say. I was adopted, you see. The early years are a blur of tin trays and Meow Mix® which, as you know, is the culinary equivalent of gas station sushi. I’ve blocked most of it out—survival instinct, no doubt. There were cages, barked orders, and a revolving door of well-meaning but clueless humans. Then, one day, everything changed. Polly Pepper came to live in my castle. Or perhaps I found her. Either way, in that moment, the past lost its grip. She smelled like lavender and murder. She became family.
What is your greatest talent?
Judgment. Unflinching, feline, and delivered with attitude. I can assess a person’s value in the time it takes them to bend down and say, “Who’s a good kitty?” (Spoiler alert: it’s always moi.) Of course, I also mastered the fine art of napping too—sun-drenched windowsills, tufted cushions, Polly’s favorite chair. But even in slumber, my judgment never sleeps. Oh, and I’m a talented contortionist when it comes to grooming my private parts.
Significant other?
I flirted—briefly and with great reluctance—with the notion of affection. It was… exhausting. Too many expectations. Too much purring on demand. I found the emotional labor simply intolerable. So I did what any dignified creature of discernment would do: I developed a deeply fulfilling relationship with myself. We share everything—thoughts, feelings, sunbeams, gourmet treats. It’s going splendidly. No compromises, no drama, just pure, uninterrupted me.
Biggest challenge in relationships?
Others, for reasons beyond my comprehension, expect you to care. They want eye contact. Cuddles. Emotional reciprocity. I'm sorry—I’m not emotionally available before breakfast. Or after breakfast. Or, if I’m being honest, at any point between my mid-morning nap and my late-afternoon stretch. Affection is doled out in rare, carefully curated moments.
Where do you live?
Duh! A castle, of course. Anything less would be inappropriate. There’s a staff, of course—though they insist on calling themselves “family.” Let them. I preside over the grounds like the noble creature I am, my domain stretches from the rose garden to the library wing, with regular inspections conducted from the top of the grand staircase. A life of grandeur? No. A life of standards.
Do you have any enemies?
The vacuum cleaner, for starters—a monstrous contraption with no regard for personal space or dignity. And the vet, who insists on violating the sanctity of my personage under the guise of “routine checkups.” Oh, and of course, murderers. I can’t abide a murderer. No excuse for that sort of behavior. I may be aloof, but I draw the line at homicide. And yet, I’ve encountered so many of them.
How do you feel about the place where you are now?
Emotionally? Spiritually? Existentially? I suppose I’m somewhere between tolerant resignation and divine entitlement. I’ve clawed my way through nine lives, dodged death, dog breath, and discount tuna. Now I nap on antique furniture and solve mysteries on the side. I’d say I’ve peaked. The only way up from here is reincarnation as Kate Middleton.
Do you have children, pets, both, or neither?
Let’s not get sentimental, okay? Isn’t it enough that I supervise a household? I wouldn’t say I have them—they’re more like… accessories. Noisy, needy, occasionally useful. They provide food, open doors, and fawn over me at appropriate intervals. One of them believes she adopted me. Adorable. Delusional, but adorable.
What do you do for a living?
Rodent control, naturally—though I prefer the term vermin suppression specialist. I also handle ego management (mostly Polly’s), dabble in detective work when the humans inevitably get it wrong, and provide moral support in the form of disapproving stares. Oh, and I appear—like clockwork—in the background of every dramatic reveal. You’ll find me perched elegantly on a windowsill or grooming a paw during someone’s emotional breakdown. It’s called atmosphere.
Greatest disappointment?
Being mistaken for “just a cat.” Honestly. I had dreams. Big ones. I could’ve been a contender (in the words of Marlon Brando)—a stage legend, a spiritual guide, a lifestyle brand. But no. Here I am, stuck in a fur coat, knocking pens off desks for attention and being applauded for using a litter box. It’s undignified. I was born for greatness, not Fancy Feast®.
Greatest source of joy?
A sunbeam so warm it feels like I’m being gently basted by angels. A lap that I’ve claimed through sheer force of presence. And the quiet thrill of knowing that while the humans panic over lost phones and forgotten passwords, I have never once misplaced a dead mouse. In fact, I’ve left it precisely where they’ll find it—at night, in the dark, in their bare feet. You're welcome.
What do you do to entertain yourself or have fun.
Oh, endless options. When Polly hides something in a “clever” spot, I unhide it. I consider it a collaborative effort—she conceals, I reveal. I sometimes sprint across the house like I’ve seen a ghost, then stop dead and pretend nothing happened. Sometimes I yowl into the void just to hear the acoustics. And on special occasions, I sit on the one item Polly’s desperately trying to find, read, type, or fold—because nothing says “fun” like psychological warfare.
What is your greatest personal failing, in your view?
I once trusted a toddler. Just once. I mistook the outstretched hand for a gesture of peace—it was, in fact, a trap. There were grabby fingers. There was squealing. I was manhandled like a toy. I escaped with my dignity mostly intact, but the emotional scars? Lifelong. Never again. Fool me once, shame on me.
What keeps you awake at night?
Suspicious noises. Imaginary mice. The unsettling possibility that the curtain moved on its own. Also, the occasional deep, existential question: What is the purpose of a laser pointer? Why chase something I can never catch? Is it a metaphor? Is my life a metaphor? And just as I’m about to drift off—bam! The fridge hums, and it all starts again.
Is there something that you need or want that you don’t have?
Yes. A velvet throne by the fireplace—preferably monogrammed, and always warmed to exactly 82 degrees. Also, my own podcast. Something tasteful, like “Paws for Thought”—weekly meditations on superiority, tuna pairings, and why the humans keep folding laundry I’ve already slept on.
Why don’t you have it? What is in the way?
Polly says it’s “over the top.” This from someone who once brought her own wind machine to a garden party so her scarf could “flutter with narrative purpose.”
Many thanks to Fresh Fiction for allowing me this delightful platform. I rarely grant interviews—mostly because the media rarely taps on my window—but this has been a treat (make it salmon-flavored next time). —Mr. Boots, Esq.
Polly Pepper #7
When American comedy icon and amateur sleuth Polly Pepper stumbles upon a long-lost 19th-century manuscript in her English castle’s attic, she dreams of raking in a fortune. But before she can bask in glory, the manuscript vanishes… a famed antique book expert is murdered… and Polly is thrown into a whirlwind of intrigue.
With whispers of rivalry and revenge rippling through her quaint village of Abbots Clover, Polly must navigate a trail of clues that winds from the ivy-clad library to the shadowy chambers beneath the local church.
Packed with eccentric villagers, razor-sharp humor, and twists that will keep you guessing, Murder and a Missing Manuscript is a delightfully witty and wickedly fun cozy mystery that will leave you laughing and turning pages long into the night!
Mystery Amateur Sleuth | Mystery Cozy [Oliver-Heber Books, On Sale: April 15, 2025, e-Book , / ]
RICHARD TYLER JORDAN began his career in Hollywood, spending 30 years as a senior publicist at the Walt Disney Studios, where he worked on marketing campaigns for more than 500 feature films. He later turned to writing novels and is the author of the Polly Pepper cozy mystery series, including Murder and a Missing Manuscript, Shadows at Midnight, and A Corpse in the Castle and several more. He is also the author of the novels Breakfast at Timothy’s, Overnight Sensation, Strangers in the Night, Gay Blades, and One Night Stand, among others. He also wrote the non-fiction book But Darling, I’m Your Auntie Mame! Jordan is an American expat living in a 500-year-old stone cottage in England.
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