A Purrfectly Perilous Plot

by Patricia Fry

  “Why did he do it?” Dora asked.

  Stunned, Rich stared at her. “Well, that will come out later. The motive is kind of a secret that will be revealed later in the book.” He cocked his head. “Actually, it’s hinted at early on. You didn’t pick up on that?”

  Dora looked at Savannah, who said, “I get that it’s for the rush. You—I mean, your character wants to see if he can get away with it, right?”

  “No, no, no. That’s not it,” Rich said. “He wants the girl dead.”

  Savannah thought she heard Marvin gasp.

  When no one else spoke, Bev asked, “So what now? Can I get up and go home? I’m tired of being a victim.”

  Meanwhile, Savannah said, “Hey, you aren’t finished here, are you? You can’t just leave. You have some cleanup to do, right?” When Rich looked confused, she said, “I wouldn’t have your character take off that mask too soon.”

  “Why?” Rich asked.

  “She may still be alive and she can identify her attacker.”

  “Yes,” Dora said, “I vote that she lives and she can identify her attacker through some unexpected and creative mistake Lance makes.”

  “He won’t be making any mistakes,” Rich asserted. “I tell you, this is a perfect crime.” “So how will your character get away?” Bev asked, rubbing her wrists after Marvin had removed the bindings. “Do you have a getaway plan? I mean, they have a way of identifying people by the shoe prints, tire tracks—all sorts of things. At least that’s what I gather from watching TV police detective programs.”

  Dora agreed. She pointed. “Although you’re wearing those shoe covers so that’s not a problem, but how will you leave the area without being seen by someone coming in at the bar or something?”

  Rich grinned. “Watch and learn. You notice that I left a mark on the victim. I want this guy to morph into a serial killer. I may want to use these clever techniques in a second and maybe a third novel.” He gestured. “I’m also wearing dark clothes now, and as I said, I left the shoe covers on so there won’t be any shoe-sole pattern. I’ll hop over that back fence instead of leaving a trail of footprints leading to that tract where my car’s parked. No one would ever believe that I—or my character—could hop that fence. They’ll go looking for someone back down at the bar or out east of the building there. ”

  “Lance will hop that fence?” Marvin asked. “Do you think that’s even plausible?”

  “Sure it is,” Rich said, running at the fence. The others stood in awe as they watched him launch himself to the top of the chain-link and gingerly step over a couple of strands of barbed wire to the other side, where he managed to get a foothold, despite the fact that he was still wearing the shoe covers. However, as he started down the other side of the fence his bandana caught on a barb. He yanked it and the handkerchief tore, leaving a piece of the fabric on the top of the fence. Rags saw the swatch fall and land on the ground near where he stood with Savannah. No one else seemed to notice, least of all Rich, who soon returned to the scene from a different direction, seemingly to gloat about his success.

  “I guess if you can tackle that big scary fence while you’re carrying a duffle bag, Lance should be able to do it,” Dora said.

  “That’s right. I’ve been practicing because I had to know it was possible before I wrote that part in.” Rich grinned. “Pretty impressive, huh? I practiced a lot at a gym that has one of those practice walls. Yeah, Lance will be able to do that without any trouble.” He chuckled. “He’s actually in better shape than I am.”

  “So will you have Lance leave that piece of plastic out here with the body on it?” Savannah asked. “Shouldn’t you wrap it up and hide it or something?”

  “No. It doesn’t matter if she’s wrapped up or not. There’s no DNA from the killer, so it just doesn’t matter.”

  “Well, I guess you’ll be reading your chapter about this murder at the next group meeting, huh?” Dora asked. “I’ll be interested in hearing your description of it.”

  “Yes, to see how you tell the story we saw here tonight,” Bev added.

  “Oh…um…yeah. I’ll try to get that chapter written by then,” Rich said. “Thanks for coming out, guys. You were a big help.”

  “Wow!” Bev said once the four witnesses were in the car cruising along on the highway. “That was even more weird than I thought it would be.”

  “Yes,” Dora agreed. “What’s your take on that guy?”

  “I think he’s maybe a little too obsessed with murder,” Savannah said.

  “Do you think so?” Bev asked sarcastically. “I mean, he seemed to get way more pleasure from that reenactment…”

  “Or as my mother says, pre-enactment,” Savannah said.

  Dora chuckled. “Good one.” Hesitantly, she asked, “So Bev, do you think he has a killer’s heart? Would he actually hurt someone?” She turned to Marvin. “What do you think? You were awfully quiet out there. You sort of kept your distance.”

  Marvin stammered, “Um…yeah…well, I was kind of distracted tonight. I probably shouldn’t have come. I have some things on my mind. Oh, this is my street,” he said. “Turn right.” When Savannah slowed the car in front of his building, he said, “Thanks for the ride. See you all next week.”

  Dora watched as Marvin walked quickly toward his ground-floor apartment. “I I Wwnder what’s wrong with him. Did anyone else notice his mood change once we got there?”

  “And when he saw Angie,” Savannah said quietly.

  “Maybe he’s bipolar,” Bev suggested. She asked, “So you noticed it too, did you, Savannah?”

  “Yes. I got the impression that there was something personal about what happened back there tonight. I kind of wondered if someone Marvin cared about was murdered—you know, a long time ago or something. But if that were the case, why would he agree to participate tonight?

  “He didn’t actually participate much,” Dora said.

  “You’re right,” Bev agreed. “He didn’t, but something sure made him uncomfortable. I thought he seemed rather put out at Rich for some reason.”

  “Now it was Rich who brought Marvin into the group, wasn’t it?” Dora asked.

  “Oh yes,” Bev said. “I think it was.”

  “But you’re right,” Dora said, “it doesn’t appear they’re very friendly. I don’t think they were actually friends, maybe coworkers or neighbors or something.”

  “I’m not very familiar with either one of them, being the new kid on the block in this group,” Savannah said, “but I get the impression that Rich and Marvin have some sort of a connection—a tie—a history.” When no one responded, she added, “Yes, there was definitely some unspoken friction between those two.”

  After dropping Bev at her home, Savannah said to Dora, “Well, I’m halfway glad I came tonight. It was interesting.”

  “I feel as though I just watched an actual murder,” Dora said. “I mean, I’ve seen things like this on TV, of course, but to be involved up close and personal with someone who has planned such a thing—it’s a tad disturbing.”

  Savannah nodded. “It was rather creepy. It’s as if Rich really did kill someone. I guess his story will be believable, and that’s what he wants. He appeared to be satisfied in that respect.”

  “Yes, I suppose he is.” Dora turned to Savannah. “How’s your book coming along?”

  “Pretty nicely, actually,” Savannah said. “I’m making more headway than I expected with my busy family, and now I’m involved in a play. Well, Rags and I are.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, in San Francisco.” She faced Dora. “You might be interested, as it’s a fundraiser for those cats they rescued about six weeks ago or so.”

  “The abuse-and-neglect case? A fundraiser, huh?”

  Savannah nodded. “Yes, Rags and I’ll be doing three shows in May to help raise funds. I hope I can live up to the expectations.”

  “Oh, Savannah, you’re such a multitalented young woman. I’m sure you will.”
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br />   Chapter Three

  On Monday morning two days later Savannah received a call from Dora. “Did you hear about the murder? Oh my goodness, I’m just sick. I can’t believe it!”

  “What, Dora? What happened?”

  Dora’s voice was barely a whisper. “I think Rich killed that girl.”

  “Rich?” Savannah repeated. “What girl?” She felt her heart skip a beat. “Dora, you aren’t saying…he didn’t really…”

  “Yes,” Dora said, “just like he planned it Saturday night. Just like that.”

  “Oh no,” Savannah groaned, lowering herself into the nearest chair.

  “It’s on the morning news,” Dora said. “Oh, Savannah, what have we done? Are we witness to an actual murder—a murder before the fact?”

  “No. It can’t be,” Savannah insisted.

  “They haven’t released her name yet or her description, but—oh my gosh, they found her strangled and stabbed at the abandoned building above the Bodega Bar!”

  Savannah remained speechless for a few moments, then said, “I’m sure that’s just some sort of strange coincidence. Oh my gosh, though. It gives me goose bumps. This is just too horribly weird. Have you talked to Bev or Marvin?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  She swallowed hard, then suggested, “Dora, let’s not jump to any conclusions. You say the story aired on the local TV station?”

  “Yes. Just now. Savannah, what are we going to do?”

  “First of all, let’s try to stay calm. Let me find the story. It may be online. Then…” she paused, “well, maybe I’ll call our detective friend and see what he knows about it. I think what we need, Dora, is to know that this had absolutely nothing to do with what we witnessed Saturday night.”

  “Yes,” Dora said. “Please. Please. I feel so awful, like I’m somehow responsible.”

  Savannah was quick to say, “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Maybe we could have stopped it,” Dora wailed.

  “But as far as we know…” Savannah started.

  “I know, it was all make-believe. Call me back, Savannah, when you know something, will you?”

  “Absolutely. Now you just try to relax. Go snuggle with those kittens.”

  Dora chuckled. “Yes, good idea. Thank you, Savannah.”

  After checking on the children, who were playing in the living room, Savannah sat down on a sofa near them and placed a call to Detective Craig Sledge. “Hi, how are you guys?”

  “I was perfectly fine until you interrupted my breakfast,” he grumped.

  “Why are you eating so late? It’s almost nine.” When he didn’t respond right away, Savannah suggested, “Hey, Craig, how about if I call you back? Or you call me when you’re finished.”

  “Never mind,” he said. “I think I’ve had enough. So what’s on your mind, Savannah?”

  “Well, I hear that a young woman was killed out near the Bodega Bar last night and…”

  “Word sure gets around,” he complained.

  “Evidently it was on the TV news this morning.”

  “Good God. Now I’ll have to deal with reporters. How can we get our job done with reporters hounding us all day?” Before Savannah could comment, Craig asked, “So what’s your interest in this, anyway?” He chuckled. “Your cat didn’t witness it, did he?”

  “Possibly,” she said. When he didn’t speak, she took a deep breath and let it out. “Craig, I might know who did it. I mean, if you can give me some of the particulars and let me give you some, I can tell you whether I think I know who did it.”

  “Savannah, what in the hell are you talking about?” he cranked. “You’re not making any sense.”

  “Have you arrested anyone?” she asked.

  “Not yet, why?”

  “Like I said, I think I know who did it.” Savannah hesitated, then asked, “Who was killed? Was it a forty- or forty-fiveish-year-old brunette woman named Angie?”

  “How did you know that?” he groused. “Has that information been released as well?”

  “I don’t know. Was she strangled with a piece of her own clothing and maybe carved up or stabbed with a pocket knife? Were her hands tied behind her back? And what about cat hair—did you find any cat hair on the body?”

  “Savannah, what…?”

  “I know who did it, Craig. A man from my writing group. His name’s Rich Lang, and that’s exactly the scenario he plans to write in his novel.”

  “A novel? How do you know what he plans to write?” Craig asked, giving Savannah his full attention.

  “He took a few of us from the writers group out to that spot just above the Bodega Bar Saturday night and we reenacted…or I should say pre-enacted the murder.”

  “Why, for Pete’s sake?” the detective asked.

  “Rich wanted our input,” Savannah explained. “He wanted to know if his idea for a murder was feasible, and he thought other writers could help him make it work—you know, so his character could legitimately get away with it.” She took a ragged breath. “I’m just so freaked out that this actually happened.”

  “And the cat hair?” Craig asked. “You mentioned cat hair.”

  “I think he planned to leave some around. Why he wanted to do that I don’t know, but he asked me all sorts of questions about cats and DNA. I assumed he planned to implicate someone else—you know, in his story.”

  “And he told you all this? Why would he do that if he actually intended to carry out a murder?” Craig asked.

  “I don’t know,” Savannah wailed, “but the part about the cat hair, he discussed with me privately. I don’t think the others heard that.”

  “Who else was with you?” Craig asked.

  “Three other writers—Dora Lipton, Bev…um, I think her last name’s Chrisman or something like that, and Marvin Stanley. So, Craig,” she asked quietly, “is the woman’s name Angie?”

  “Yes, Angie Stork. She’s divorced twice and was out on the prowl again, it seems—a regular at the bar out there. Well, thanks for your input, Savannah. I’d better get down to the station and see what forensics has learned. I may need a signed statement from you and the members of your writers group. Will you be around today?”

  “Yes, I need to study my lines. I have another long-distance rehearsal tomorrow.”

  “Oh yes, Iris told me about your acting debut. Rehearsing for a play that will be performed a hundred miles away. Now that’s pretty unusual, if you ask me.”

  “Seems to be working,” she said.

  “Yeah, but the real proof in the pudding is when you go on stage for the first time.”

  “Did you have to say that, Craig? Now I’m getting nervous.”

  “You should be,” he said. “Hey, I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Did I hear you say someone was murdered last night?” Gladys asked from across the room after Savannah ended the call.

  Savannah nodded. “Yes, a woman I actually saw at that outing—you know, the murder pre-enactment I attended Saturday night.” More panicky, she exclaimed, “She was there!”

  “How awful!” Gladys said. “Was she part of your group?”

  “No, she was partying at the bar,” Savannah explained. “Rich actually said she was going to be the victim of the murder he’d planned.” She shook her head. “Which was supposed to be fictional, of course. Only it turned out to be real.” She looked at her mother. “Were we duped? Did Rich get us out there under false pretenses? Didn’t he ever stop to consider that if he went through with it, we’d be witnesses to his crime?” She shook her head. “I can’t believe he actually did this. I’m just so confused and shocked.”

  Gladys studied Savannah for a moment. “Maybe one of the other witnesses did it in order to blame Rich.”

  Savannah grinned. “Or maybe you’re reading too many suspense novels.” She thought about what her mother had suggested. “That’s bizarre. Why would anyone want that poor girl dead? No one but Rich knew her.” More slowly, she said, “And maybe Marvin.
” She faced her mother, her eyes wide. “But I guess someone could have been hiding in the shadows watching Rich go through the motions of murder, and did it for kicks.” She shrugged. “Or for some other reason. There are some crazies running around out there.”

  “Out at that bar?” Gladys asked.

  “Everywhere out there,” Savannah sputtered. She shook her head with exasperation.

  “I just don’t know. Any scenario I can come up with is just plain bizarre.” She stood up. “Hey, I need to rehearse while it’s relatively quiet. Can you keep an eye on the kids for a bit? Give me an hour, okay?”

  ****

  Savannah had been practicing her lines for nearly half an hour when her phone chimed. She saw that it was Craig and took the call. “Hi. Have you found out anything new?”

  “Yeah, there was a cat involved—well, at least someone with a cat. Do you know if Mr. Lang has any cats?”

  “I don’t think so. He didn’t seem to know anything about cats. I figured that’s why he took me aside and asked those questions about cat DNA.”

  “Hmmm,” Craig muttered. “Well, someone at the bar said that Angie Stork used to be married to a guy who had cats and that she left him because she’d developed an allergy to cats and he wouldn’t give them up. Evidently he wasn’t happy about her decision. He supposedly hounded her for quite a while after that, or at least that’s what she told her drinking buddies. So we paid him a visit. Sure enough, he has a houseful of cats.”

  “A houseful?” she asked.

  “Well, I saw maybe three or four; that’s a houseful in my world.”

  Savannah laughed. “You have five or six cats at Iris’s Kaiser Inn and one at home.”