Meow Mayhem

by Lickel, Lisa;

  In the morning I woke to Isis pouncing on my feet. In my dream, I had been walking quickly along the bed of the Founders River but running to or from a man carrying a salesman’s sample bag, I did not recall. One thing was clear, however. My guest from last night had not found my house by chance.

  “Good morning, Isis. You’re in a playful mood, aren’t you?” She bounded up to nip my hand, but gently. “If you’re telling me to be careful about our midnight visitor, I agree. He was the perp who stole my purse. Right before the candy started showing up. I remember where I ran into him before. On the sidewalk.”

  An internal debate over whether or not to call the police backlit my entire morning routine. I should not have spent this much effort making this decision. I knew what my mother would say. She had not been openly hostile to Stanley, but neither had she been welcoming; not as she behaved with Adam Thompson.

  As I washed my breakfast dishes, I decided to give Stanley the benefit of my doubt and hear him out.

  Virgil telephoned about 9:30 for a consultation about Memnet. “We just finished hanging up the rest of the posters, Miss Ivy,” he told me. He sounded out of breath and I wanted to urge him to take it easy.

  “Thank you so much, Virgil,” I said instead. “You and the Seeds have helped me love Apple Grove even more.”

  “If only we could organize and find out how Mayor Conklin contracted that disease,” Virgil replied.

  That surprised me. “I agree. Donald invited me to move to Apple Grove. He was a constant friend and I’d dearly love to know what happened to him and to Tut. The mayor’s cat has been missing a long time, too.”

  “Well, well. I think we have a lot to talk about. Can we meet up some time to discuss this?”

  I wondered for an instant if he had read my email to Addy. Even if he had, I instinctively felt that he was on our side.

  “Yes. I agree. I’d like to talk to you.”

  “After we find your cat.”

  “Yes.”

  “Until then. Good-bye.”

  The next call I answered was, if possible, worse than finding out Memnet was missing. Little Jenny had apparently decided to look for him herself. According to her frantic grandmother, no one in the neighborhood or the family had seen her for several hours.

  Yolanda was in shock, I decided when I heard her strained announcement. “I—we—oh, Ivy, Jenny wasn’t in her bed this morning. Her daddy called me all in a panic, thinking she might have come here or even that he’d forgotten if she really had been with him. He’s so confused. All I can think of is that she went to search for Memnet.”

  “Yolanda, I don’t know what to say. Who told her we didn’t find him last night?”

  Raw emotion vibrated over the line.

  “Yolanda. We’ll find her. She can’t have gone far. Everyone will help. I’ll be right there.”

  The thought nagged at me that we might end up near the river. Had Jenny been around when we talked about the tunnels? She was quite a resourceful little girl. Where were the other entrances? I’d wait before I brought the idea up to the authorities, see if we found Jenny safe and well first. Just in case, I grabbed the flashlights we used last night, pulled out my old backpack and began to fill it with water bottles, crackers, and matches. What else? Rope? It might be melodramatic, but I wanted to be prepared for anything. I rummaged in the garage until I came up with the remaining plastic-coated coil I used to restring the clothesline. Cell phone. I pulled a whistle out of my purse. How about chalk to mark the walls? Well, it worked in the movies. Backpack full, jacketed and gloved, I was ready. We were to meet at city hall in ten minutes.

  Stanley stood in the driveway.

  “I thought you would call!” I was thoroughly worried and irritated. I kept walking to my car.

  “Your line was busy. Where are you going? On some hike? I didn’t know there were any trails around here.” Stanley followed me.

  “This is still not a good time. There’s a little girl missing. She’s trying to find Memnet and now she’s lost, too, and I have to help search for her.”

  The hairs Stanley combed across the middle of his forehead blew in the breeze. “But I saw Memnet last night.”

  My Christian charity was down to a trickle. “I told you, that was not Memnet.”

  His pale brows wrinkled as he tried to work this new problem. “Now you have two of those weird cats?”

  “Stanley! I don’t have time for this!” I slammed my door and started the engine.

  He put his hands on the car. “I want to help, too.”

  The stubborn knight to the rescue routine was also new for him. I rolled down my window and leaned out. I glared pointedly at his linen suit, his shiny leather shoes. “You can’t wear those clothes on a search and rescue mission,” I told him. “And you’ll get filthy. Stanley. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “I don’t care. I can help. I want to help.”

  I started to back out, but he ran around the car, grabbed the passenger door and managed to open it on the run.

  “Stanley!” I jerked the gear shift to come to a halt.

  He got in and closed the door, then pulled the seatbelt across his chest.

  “You used to be more meticulous about your clothes than my roommate freshman year. You recall Amy, who was in fashion design? The one you used to ogle when you thought I wasn’t looking?”

  “I told you, I’ve changed.”

  I drove downtown in tight-lipped silence. When I stopped at the four-way, I said, “You stole my purse.”

  “I can explain that.”

  “Really?” I found an empty parking spot behind the hall. I turned off the engine and eyed the milling crowd at the municipal parking lot. We had a minute or two before the search began. “I’d like to hear your side. But maybe I should just talk to the police.” Seeing two uniformed men, I started to open the door.

  Stanley put his hand on my arm. “Ivy. Wait. Please. I heard someone say that you’d moved. Just random, one afternoon when I had lunch. I don’t even know who…”

  I rolled my eyes and got out.

  He scrambled too. “I just needed time to think. I wanted to make changes in my life, but I was afraid you’d laugh or something. We were so used to doing the same things the same way. Then, this other career move came along—”

  “Are you telling me you’re not a chocolate salesman anymore?”

  “There’s more to it! We have a great product line. More than candy. It’s coffee—”

  “It’s not different, Stanley. I never cared what you did for a living, only that it was something you wanted to do. Now, what about my purse?”

  “I couldn’t believe it. I searched for you for weeks, and there you were. I got close enough to talk to you, but then…” he flushed an unattractive cream of tomato soup color. “I chickened out.”

  “How did you…?”

  “Well, I didn’t reach my hand in your pocket, in case you were wondering. It, um, I heard something fall, and after you went past, I went back to look. I didn’t take anything, Ivy. I just wanted to see where you lived. That’s all!”

  “You waited a long time before you returned it. And why didn’t you just call? Oh, yeah, I remember. You didn’t have my number. Excuse me, but I need to go help my new friends.”

  Stanley followed me to Virgil, who held a clipboard he used to check in and pair up volunteers. Stanley stated his name to Virg in a deep voice and offered his services. Virgil looked my former fiancé up and down. In the end, I took pity and vouched for him. Virg’s eyes narrowed, but he handed Stanley a whistle and told him to join Marty and Wilbur, two guys from the senior set whom I had met last night. Limp-fingered handshakes were applied to Stanley. Marion and Bob and the Gaineses made up another group, and I recognized quite a few people from church or through my work.

  “You know that guy from where, Ivy?” Virg asked me out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Previous life.” Ignoring Stanley, I went to Yolanda and hugged her. “We
’ll find her.”

  Yolanda held on to me, her whole body trembling. “This is so hard on Jim.”

  A whistle blast caused us to straighten and turn toward Virg.

  He held up a whistle in his right hand and the clipboard in his left for attention. “Folks, Yolanda thinks little Jenny went to look for Miss Preston’s spotted gray cat named Memnet. Some of you remember, Memnet disappeared yesterday and hasn’t been found. Yolanda also told me that the little girl thought she saw a cat near the Founders River earlier, so we’ll start our search there. Now, we’ll do it like this: spread out in pairs but keep the next closest group in your sight at all times. Walk slowly and carefully and use your whistle if you see anything suspicious. We’ll work both banks before we move inland. Any questions?”

  He dealt with “what if we just find her clothes,” or “what if we find her dead” with a swift instruction to “stay put and holler for someone to come and don’t touch anything” and sent them out.

  While the others went and searched along the river, I told Yolanda and Virg that I’d just walk up and down the streets of downtown, and look in all the alleys on the east side. Many of those businesses long ago fled, leaving gaps of empty darkened windows along vacant storefronts. Yolanda and I shared a lingering gaze, telling each other not to feel guilty. Small comfort, but comfort none the less.

  I wouldn’t admit that I had an ulterior motive. I wanted to check the alley behind the barbershop where I had spoken to the mystery man the night of the fire.

  Yolanda and Jim’s neighbors all came to help, as well as several teachers from the elementary school. The day was overcast, adding to the sense of gloom. I could hear calls of the searchers echoing along the riverbanks and under the bridge as I strode briskly along the sidewalk into the downtown shopping district. I realized I was close to Adam’s when Tiny’s deep fryer aroma clashed with the spicy scents from Lo Mah’s. I walked up Lombardy to Main Street, where I could see the blackened bricks of Mea Cuppa’s upper level. New windows and a power washing would take place one day next week, according to Bob Green. The roof had already been replaced and drywall hung. I ducked into the various alleys along the east side of Main Street.

  When I got to the barber shop, I paused, then crossed the street. Mea Cuppa was the middle of three shops, and the alley between Bob’s and Odds ’n Ends did not go all the way through. A tall fence discouraged anyone passing from Main to First. I walked back around the block behind Odds ’n Ends to First Street and then behind Bob and Adam’s.

  A fire escape to Toad’s apartment ended at the alley. Adam’s metal stairs zig-zagged down the wall. Big, dark green waste bins lined a brick wall. The mystery man had hidden in the shadow by one of them. I moved closer, tilting my head at a speck of color on the ground. I glanced along the pitted, mottled cream city bricks to Mea Cuppa’s back door and then Bob’s. Bob had a window overlooking the scenic bins. I toed the item, which turned out to be a turquoise crayon. I kept my hands deep in the pockets of my coat. Anyone could have left this here. Any child with a penchant for coloring. A child, perhaps, named Jenny.

  I didn’t touch the crayon but instead hauled out my cell phone and called Ripple, then Virg.

  23

  The almost-detective had only four blocks to come. Ripple, lights strobing, pulled up in his squad car only two minutes after my call.

  Virgil and Yolanda took three minutes longer, enough time for Ripple to take some pictures and start me talking.

  Yolanda positively identified the crayon. “See, it’s the way we tear the paper off as Jenny wears it down. Jim always does it like this, with the stub of his thumbnail. Those little ridges…see, it’s his nail impression, I’m sure of it.”

  Ripple bagged the crayon, shone his light under the bins and in all the recesses. The search crews gradually reported in as the news was passed along. Other teams reported crayons and went back to guard their finds until Ripple could meet them. Purple, silver and green crayons lined the way toward a great cement culvert overshadowed by the hulking State’s Bank. The grill covering the opening had rusted, a crackly voice came over the officer’s shoulder mic.

  One end of downtown, one of the tunnel system’s egresses. “Officer Ripple?” He looked startled when I explained about my suspicion that the little girl may have gone into the tunnels, either by choice or force.

  Yolanda never relaxed her grim expression and stepped in when Ripple questioned me. “Officer, the tunnels have been plugged for years. You’re not originally from Apple Grove, so I don’t expect you to know about them. But Ivy’s right. It makes sense.” She nodded at the culvert. “Building the bank might have caused some of the stuff we used to come loose.”

  “Let me get this straight. Apple Grove is riddled with tunnels?”

  “Not exactly riddled, Officer,” Virgil said. He squinted at the culvert as if he could see into it. “A couple of generations back our ancestors had the foresight to provide protection and storage in case of trouble. We were glad for the tunnels during the last big war. But when a young rascal came to grief, the city council, of which I was a member, I might add, took matters into our hands and blocked off the entrances.” Virg nodded his corduroy beret-covered head for emphasis.

  “But now you think they’re open again,” Ripple asserted. He glared at the culvert and got on his shoulder mic.

  Stanley approached hesitantly, blinking in the late sunlight as if he wasn’t used to it. “Any news?”

  I didn’t see the harm in repeating the theory about the tunnels. His shoes were no longer shiny and his shirt tail hung loose. He did not complain, though, or even perform his favorite trick: going to wait in his car and listening to music. The fact that he stayed by my side almost endeared me to him.

  Several uniformed officers showed up at that point. Must have been all of Apple Grove’s force, and then some.

  I acknowledged Larken and waved at Ann Dow.

  Behind the last car was the city’s main utility service vehicle. A man jumped up next to the folded crane arm and began unspooling yards of electrical cord attached to a wire-caged utility light.

  We were drawing a crowd.

  Margaret Bader-Conklin, resplendent in a short summer skirt and dark sunglasses, spoke to Gene Hackman.

  I managed to inch close enough to see her mouth tighten in displeasure at whatever he was telling her. He gave her a wide berth when he strode away to confer with the khaki-overalled and helmeted crew preparing to enter the culvert.

  Virg organized several of his Seeds into refreshment detail. Stanley got someone to take him back to my place to pick up his car. He contributed boxes of sample chocolates and packets of coffee to brew. He also pulled out a couple of camp chairs from the back of his company SUV and we sat waiting, as close as we could. A fresh respect for him grew as I watched him chat with my neighbors and acquaintances from church.

  Marion even gave me a furtive, questioning smile.

  Just as I wondered if the townspeople might break out the grills and start cooking supper right in the parking lot, a cheer went up from those gathered near the culvert.

  I saw Larken first, the big light held aloft in his hands. Dow followed, then Ripple, holding Jenny in his arms. From my vantage point, which meant standing on tiptoes—and I realized later, hanging on to Stanley’s hand—I saw Jenny gibbering non-stop.

  Yolanda folded her granddaughter into her arms.

  Jenny took her grandma’s face between her little hands and earnestly nodded her head up and down, lips moving and moving, eyebrows knit.

  Hackman came last, a huge torch in his hand. He handed that to Ripple, then began to coil a rope attached to a loop of his uniform belt.

  Stanley and I made our way to the little group.

  Yolanda’s face was pasty white. Beads of perspiration decorated her hairline and I reached for Jenny when her knees buckled.

  Hackman helped her to a seat and wrapped my sweater around her shaking shoulders.

  Jenny imme
diately transferred her attention to me. “Ivy, that man. You have to go back. He was nice. He shouldn’t be left in there. Ivy. Ivy, promise me you’ll help him and the other kitty.” Jenny’s voice began to go hoarse.

  I shifted her in my arms. “What man, honey? And a kitty?”

  “In there.” She continued to bob her head up and down vigorously, as if that would help us understand.

  Ann Dow approached, clipboard in hand. “Did that man hurt you in any way, or touch you, Jenny?”

  Jenny put her lower lip out. “He helped me. He said, ‘don’t be afraid.’ He’s so lonesome. You have to go get him. I think he’s scared. Memnet made him sneeze, so he said the kitty needed to go with me. But the other one ran away. I just went in there when I heard him.”

  “Memnet? Did you say Memnet was in there, too?” I began to search the area near the front of the culvert, turning my bundle this way and that. “Where is he, honey? Did he come with you?”

  Officer Dow wrestled the questioning back to her clipboard notes. “Did you go in there by yourself, honey?”

  “Yes, yes. I heard him.” She pointed to the culvert.

  “Heard who? The man or the kitty?” Dow persisted.

  “Kitty. Crying.” Jenny spared no more patience on the officer and grabbed my face, just as she had her grandmother’s. “Ivy, your kitty is coming out. He had to say good-bye to the other kitty. Memnet ran away when all the policemen came. He didn’t want everyone to see him.”

  Only a child would have understood my Memnet as well as I. Tears welled, and I had no doubt she meant what she said. Memnet would come when he was ready. But who was the man she spoke of? I had my suspicions of that, too. Ronald Grimm. And the other cat must be Tut, feeling threatened and anxious to hide himself so carefully.

  Margaret passed through the fringes of the crowd to us.

  The newspaper photographer, Gregg, snapped away.