Meow Mayhem

by Lickel, Lisa;

  “That’s why you wanted a picture of Donald?” She laughed. “I knew you weren’t going to hang it in your office. Of course, you told the police what you found.”

  “What? That I know where the building is that I got a creepy call from? And then what?”

  “Well, officially, Donald died from a disease he got from his cat that’s been lost so long that it’s probably dead.” Marion was a dog person.

  I forgave her for calling Tut “it.”

  We were quiet for a few moments.

  “So, what’s the plan you wanted to tell me about?” I asked.

  Marion’s face cheered considerably. “You know how Georgine Crosby’s not just the city engineer, but also sits on the zoning commission? She alerted the state authorities about the illegal work being done and MerriFood contractors spent all day pulling their people and equipment off the site. They’d started a structural skeleton over their cement pad, too, all without the approval of city council or even the permits. Margaret took their fee, but the permits were denied. She didn’t tell them.”

  “Wow. Margaret must be really annoyed.”

  “We hope this will force her hand by making her try for the rest of the money by funneling it through her fake companies. Then we can catch her. Or make her leave town. Jeff said he knows about her financial state, but he can’t say anything due to privacy laws.”

  That made as much sense as usual. “I still think Tut’s involved some way. Adam and I found all these fancy collars at Tut’s house—”

  “Tut’s house? When were you there?”

  I squinted. “Um, forever ago, I guess. Before we found Donald.”

  Marion’s eyes were full of melted sympathy. “But what does a cat have to do with it? If he has the disease, he’ll have to be destroyed, if he’s still alive. And you shouldn’t get in the way of the police.” She popped one of my chocolates in her mouth.

  “Oh, Marion, you can’t believe Donald died of a disease that’s not known to be fatal? There has to be more to it. Are you watching how Margaret’s using the community improvement money?”

  Marion pursed her lips. “Yes. So far, we’ve just paid out the bills that were approved before…before…”

  “Then why is MerriFood building? They must think they’re getting money somehow.”

  “There’s been nothing wrong done at city hall so far, Ivy,” Marion insisted. “I gotta get back and pick up the kids from Bob’s mom.”

  I saw her out. Donald’s death must have taken place at Merris. But how? He must have been moved then back to Apple Grove. Ha! I remembered that van. And where I had seen it before—both at city hall, and later at Tut’s house. But where was Tut? If Margaret didn’t have him, maybe Addy Bailey could help me figure out more hiding places for a cat in Apple Grove. My thoughts unraveled. If Margaret didn’t have him did that mean Tut hadn’t been with Donald when she…killed him? Had Donald hidden him? Why? And now…Tut had escaped but was too afraid to go home?

  Oh, boy.

  I hoped Addy Bailey, Margaret’s good friend, really meant it when she said she was tired of keeping her secret. Maybe she’d already gone to the police and told them everything. Only one way to find out. I’d have to ask her. Once I figured out what to say.

  ~*~

  The first time I went into Tiny’s Buffet last April, I only picked up a take-out box. Tiny’s regulars stared their silly heads off at me. Jeff Hanley had been right to poo-poo Tiny’s coffee at that long-ago council meeting. I threw it out when I got home.

  I’m not sure why, when Marion asked the next day after our chat about Margaret’s business woes and my trip to Chicago if I wanted to go there for an early supper, I agreed. Loneliness can make a person goofy.

  “If you can find something not too greasy, the food’s really pretty good,” Marion said. It was Ladies Night, which meant we could order a free appetizer. We chose onion petals with a horseradish sauce that wasn’t half bad.

  “So, what have you heard from Adam?” Marion asked.

  I stared at the faux granite laminate table top. A mental image of Adam’s laughing profile and the other woman’s long legs flashed in the gloss of the surface. I rubbed at the place with my finger. “Nothing since the other day when he came to talk to the builders and took me out for a quick bite,” I replied. “He said it would take a while to go through his mother’s business.”

  “That’s sad.” She shuddered. “I just hope I don’t know it if I ever lose my marbles.”

  I agreed. “So, how’re the election plans coming along?” I knew that would keep my friend occupied for a while, telling me all the latest news. I enjoyed attending Bobby’s summer football league games and had even gone to a swim meet to see Colleen Bailey compete. Just because I wasn’t a parent didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy community events. Bob and Marion and their kids made up a great family in my opinion, fun and Godly people who, by example, made me long for a husband and children of my own. But with whom?

  Marion might enjoy talking, but she was no mean gossip. “So, the election will be held next February,” Marion said. “Both Margaret and Rupert wanted it earlier, due to the emergency and all, but NAM said the procedure was in place to prevent spur-of-the-moment decisions or revenge elections. They sent a representative to check over the ordinance book. Some of it was plumb falling apart, I tell you. I needed to photocopy the whole thing.”

  I tuned out of her prattle while I scanned the dinner crowd.

  Jeff Hanley raised his glass to me.

  Great.

  “…she’s managed to alienate half the board. The ones who are still on it, that is,” Marion said. “That Fourth of July cancellation was a bad publicity stunt. So far, let’s see…” She ticked off on her fingers: “Knute Granger, the communications officer, resigned when Margaret tried to pass an ordinance that called for the mayor to oversee all advertising. She tried to separate and outsource the printed materials to a new copier place she wants to bring in, and use some new specialty envelope-stuffing firm to take care of mass mailings. Nobody knows where these companies are coming from. The Chamber of Commerce already says they’re cutting ties with city hall. As far as the council goes, that makes Arnie Cappler, Needa Jones, and Gretchen Peterson, four who all quit so far. Soon they won’t have a simple majority to do business. And did you hear the latest?”

  “No, what?” I prompted Marion.

  “Oh, hi, Jeff.”

  “Evening, ladies. May I join you?” Hanley asked from behind my shoulder.

  “Sure. Have a seat,” I said.

  He slid onto the booth beside Marion.

  I wasn’t about to mince words, no matter who could hear. “So,” I said. “How’s your best friend Ronald these days, Mr. Hanley?”

  He winced and held up his hands. “You got me. But Ronny and Letty split up a long time ago.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “I haven’t seen him lately, if that’s what you’re after.”

  “I’m not after anything, Jeff, except to find Donald’s killer. I think your friend might have some answers. Do you know how I can get in touch with him?”

  “No, Ivy, I don’t. Donald contracted an infection which unfortunately killed him. And I wouldn’t count on Ronny Grimm for anything. That’s one of the reasons Letty left him.”

  “Where’d you get the money for investing in Mea Cuppa?” I asked, trying to throw him off balance, poking for weaknesses in his armor of smugness.

  “You’re asking fairly personal questions. If I answer, can I ask you a personal question?”

  Touché to you, too, buddy. “Sure.”

  “I’m a banker. I make a good salary and I know how to follow safe markets for high returns. The more I invest, the more I make.”

  I stared at him, willing him to blink first. “So, you didn’t use any of the community grant money?”

  His smile didn’t reach his eyes. He folded his hands in front of him on the table and leaned toward me.

  M
arion squirmed, but she might as well not have been there, for all the notice we took of her.

  I’d make it up to her later.

  “That’s two questions, Ivy,” Jeff said. “My turn first, and then I’ll decide if I want to keep playing this game.”

  I twitched my lips to the side. “All right. What do you want to ask me?”

  “How did you get Donald to tell you about the twelve million dollars? He didn’t even tell his wife.”

  Easy enough to answer. I was puzzled at his tack, though. “He didn’t tell me. He told Adam Thompson, and Adam told me. Me and my mother, that is.”

  The muscle at the side of his smooth-shaven jaw clenched. “Why would your mother be involved in this?”

  “Ha! I didn’t say you could ask another. My turn.”

  Marion grabbed her purse and twisted in the seat. “Excuse me! I need to go to the ladies’ room.”

  My heartbeat suddenly skipped. “Wait, Marion, I…will you come back?”

  She looked as if she wanted to cry. She blinked, checked the door, the other patrons, and slowly rested her gaze on me. She nodded. “Yes.”

  Hanley was already standing, and she slid out. He reseated himself and folded his hands once more.

  I didn’t think I wanted to play poker against this man.

  “Why shouldn’t the mayor include his wife in a plan to shore up Apple Grove?” The thought haunted me. I didn’t care if their marriage had been crummy. Bad marriages were common enough, although usually divorce, not murder, took care of those issues.

  “Margaret’s run through her money and most of Donald’s. I’ve been using my position at the bank to hide the facts, but the truth is, she’s about to lose the house. Donald didn’t want anyone to know.”

  Marion returned almost immediately and sat beside me.

  Hanley barely spared her any attention before saying, “He figured he’d lose the next election if certain information got around.”

  Marion bounced us a little as she got settled. “Rupert Murphy’s been after him for years,” she said, as if she’d heard the entire exchange. “Always challenging his position. Donald didn’t win by that much in the last outing,” she muttered reluctantly.

  “That’s a moot issue now, isn’t it?” I couldn’t keep the asperity from my voice.

  Marion and Hanley stared at each other.

  “What will happen if Murphy wins the election?” I asked.

  “Nothing much.” Hanley snorted. “He’s all gas and no gumption. Tell me why your mother is involved.”

  Marion cut in. “Her mother teaches crime classes. She sent Elvis and the girls here.”

  Hanley leaned back, the plastic seat making a scrunch sound.

  Tiny’s one tired waitress came to refill our cups and ask how we were doing.

  I told her we were fine.

  When she left, Hanley said, “So that’s what those kids were up to.”

  “They were here for their fieldwork credits,” I snapped, upset at Marion’s revelation of information to Hanley.

  He eyed Marion. “So, what did Elvis come up with, Marion?”

  “Well, he found those newspaper pictures.”

  “Marion.” I tried to stay calm.

  Her face lit up. “Oh! And the tunnels. Jeff, you remember. Underground. I heard you guys had all kinds of parties before they—”

  “Were blocked. Yes, Marion, I remember.” Hanley’s speculative gleam turned to me. “Some of us kids knew that when you went to the antique store, all you had to do was pretend to use the back exit. We turned the old key to the basement door, went down the steps, slid past the old store dummy, crawled through the broken mirror frame into the back room and pulled open the trap door.” He nodded his head, chuckling. “At least, that’s what we called it. Big adventure. But not anymore. Those tunnels are out of reach. A generation of kids ago.” Hanley leaned forward across the table once more. “So, what about the tunnels, Marion?” He asked her, but his eyes never left mine.

  I took a chance. “I think that’s where Ronny may be hiding out.”

  “Who else did you tell, Ivy?”

  “Adam Thompson.”

  “And now he’s gone,” Hanley said, his voice dropping into an intimate range that was out of context with time and place.

  “He’s keeping on top of the reconstruction. He’s coming back!”

  Hanley merely smiled.

  21

  The hazy humid August morning fueled my gloom. Going home to my mother sounded like a decent idea about now. Apple Grovers could keep their little village of horrors.

  I sighed. I wasn’t about to crawl back home, no matter how much I craved my mother’s love and protection. I wouldn’t yield my independence. It had taken me long enough to find it. And maybe cost me the love of my life, who only appeared for half a day earlier in the month to talk insurance and remodeling with his partners. He’d taken me to lunch, then left right after to get back to work. Swell.

  While vacuuming, I recalled Elvis’s claim that Officer Ripple had spent a lot of time on the case. I should talk to him. But what would he do if I told him I suspected the vice president of State’s Bank was holding the mayor of Apple Grove’s look-alike cousin hostage in the inaccessible tunnel system under the city? So that he and the mayor’s wife could funnel twelve million dollars into their own pockets?

  Ripple would not simply tell me to call the hospital this time. He would probably take me there himself.

  I thought about exploring the tunnels as I watered the philodendron I’d had since high school and the parsley that Mem liked to nibble on. I couldn’t access the tunnels from Mea Cuppa while the store was closed. Cal Stewart had begged the police for permission to reopen, even while remodeling was going on upstairs, but had been denied due to safety concerns.

  I switched chores.

  Brandishing my feather duster, I thought about the city council meeting I attended last night out of curiosity. I heard first-hand about the planned expenses of the upcoming special mayoral election, the high school’s request to block off Main Street for the Homecoming Parade next month and the emphatic denial of the requested zoning change from agricultural to industrial for MerriFood. No one from the company represented its interests, and Margaret had been livid. She wielded that gavel as if she possessed a superhero’s hammer. Only four council members showed up, so the council couldn’t do official business. That meant not being able to bludgeon through a final vote on the zoning board’s recommendation to deny the change, but neither could the change be accepted. If looks could kill, Georgine Crosby would have been a steaming puddle on her seat.

  Chores completed, I headed for the computer where I worked steadily until lunch. In between fixing bugs in Tiny’s website, not the restaurant, thank heavens, and correcting Netty’s posts on her flower blog, I thought up an approach to ask Addy Bailey for a last-ditch effort to help find Tut, even though I had to believe he might have died. I must have reached for the phone half a dozen times until I finally emailed.

  Addy, you said that you wanted to help me.

  Can we meet later today to discuss a matter of mutual concern?

  I’m flexible and can get together at your convenience.

  Thanks...

  At noon, the emptiness of my house finally caught my attention.

  Isis lounged under the kitchen table on the cool floor.

  “Where’s our Memnet?” I asked her, squatting to stroke her head.

  Isis twisted to her feet and trotted to the back door. “What do you mean, girl? Memnet! Mem! Treats. Where are you?”

  I had never known him to completely ignore me. What if he was sick? Trapped? I raced to the basement, up and down the stairs to my office, looked in all the closets, under the bed, in the bathroom. “Memnet!”

  Isis remained poised at the back door in the kitchen. “If you want to go outside, Isis, you’ll just have to wait until we find Memnet.” By 2:00 I needed to face the fact that Memnet was not in the house or th
e yard.

  Panic. Memnet had never been so…gone before. I glanced at the kitchen clock for the third time before the pointed hands of my grandmother’s rooster-shaped timepiece registered. Was Mom done teaching? Or at least in between classes? What day was this? I made a concerted effort to focus and thought I could try to call anyway.

  “Hello, daughter.”

  Ah, the comforting voice of Mom.

  “Ivy Amanda? Are you there? Are you all right?”

  The words just couldn’t cross my tongue. “Mom,” finally came out as a shaken whimper.

  “Darling, what’s wrong?”

  “Me-Memnet.”

  “Oh, sweetheart. He was getting up there in cat years. It was bound to happen. I’m so sorry.”

  “He’s not dead.” My voice sounded stronger. “At least, I hope not. He’s—he’s missing.”

  “Ivy, there, now. I’m sorry. When did you notice?”

  A rational response I could work for. “Um, about noon or so. I was working.” As if I could excuse myself. I could not imagine being a mother and ignoring a living child so completely. I’d better stop daydreaming about having kids of my own.

  “And of course, you looked everywhere inside.” She wouldn’t ask the obvious questions.

  “Do you…do you know…”

  “Where to call?” Mom guessed.

  “Mmhmm.” Sniff.

  “You could try the police station. If they don’t work with missing animals, they might direct you. Does Apple Grove have an animal control department?”

  That’s when I started to cry. All the strays were still being rounded up for disease control. Maybe they’d confuse Mem with Tut and…and…

  “Ivy! Ivy, listen to me. You should call that vet. She would know something. Weren’t people supposed to turn in cats to her? Ivy!”

  “I hear you.” I could hardly get the words out. “Thank you. I’ll try her now.”

  “You let me know what she says, or if Mem turns up. I’ll call you later. I’m sure he’s just confused. Cats probably have senior moments, too, you know.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I love you.”