by Patricia Fry
“I can,” Gail said. “One of the feral cats brought it with her when she moved in here. I see her carrying it around sometimes.”
“Well, I’m sorry Rags is coming over and bothering you like that. We really need to figure out how he’s escaping.”
“Oh, he’s not a bother. I enjoy his company. But I’m sure you don’t want him running amok. Does he do that often?”
“No, but every once in a while he finds a way out and takes advantage of it until we discover the problem and fix it. It’s been a long time since he’s done this, actually.” She glanced in the direction Michael had gone. “Hey, my husband can come by and pick him up. He has a job for him this evening at the clinic.” She thought better of telling Gail that one of her precious kittens was missing. “He’ll be by in a few minutes, okay?”
“Sure.”
Once she’d ended the call, Savannah went looking for Michael. She bumped into him as he entered the kitchen saying, “I can’t find him.”
She cringed. “I know. He’s at Gail’s again.”
“What?” he bellowed. “How…?”
“I don’t know. I told her you’d come to get him, but I didn’t tell her why you want him. I don’t think we need to worry her about the kitten.”
“Yeah, right. Okay. I’m off.”
“Wait,” Savannah called. “She lives in the basement—the entrance is back there behind the house on the other side of that trellis.”
“Okay,” he said. “Wish us luck.”
Savannah cleaned up the kitchen and had just joined her mother and the children in the living room when her phone rang again. She reached for it and said, “I hope that’s Michael with good news.” She looked at the screen and muttered, “Oh, it’s Craig. Hi, Craig.”
“Hi. What’s going on at the Ivey household tonight?”
“Not much except that Rags escaped to take Gail a garden glove and now he and Michael are at the clinic trying to flush out a missing kitten.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “Craig, are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Just trying to digest the details of your crazy life. How’d my partner get out? Did Lily open a door?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “We haven’t figured it out, but I don’t think Lily can quite manage the doors yet, and we try to keep the bolt at the top of the door locked. So what’s going on with you? Anything new about the Ronnie Griffith case?”
“Not really. Did you go into the Allen house?”
“Yes! Iris and I saw it this afternoon. Didn’t Iris tell you?”
“She started to,” he said, “but she got a call from Rupert, then took off to straighten out a reservation mix-up or something at the inn. Do you have time to clue me in?”
“Sure. Well, there’s not much to tell. It’s pretty much a traditional turn-of-the-century—or maybe earlier—home in pretty bad shape, but not so much that it can’t be made livable, and that’s just what Gail has decided to do. Michael might help with some of the repairs, and Iris is in charge of the décor. She has already given Gail a list of things that need to be done—purchase new or used appliances, have upholstery cleaned and floors refinished and all.”
Craig was quiet for a moment, then asked, “So did you find anything unusual in there?”
“What do you mean by unusual?”
“Well, a reason why they would close up that house for all those years and neglect it like that? It’s just such an odd thing to do. I thought the old place might hold a secret.”
After pondering his statement, Savannah suggested, “I think it’s more an emotional thing for Gail. She hasn’t been in the best mental health for a long time. She probably just didn’t want to deal with—you know—the memories in the place and the work it’s going to take to refurbish it. She’s kind of an emotional wreck, but she started to come alive when we talked about helping her fix the place up. I think she needed some support and direction.”
“What about the brother?” Craig asked. “Does anyone know what happened to him? Are you sure Gail doesn’t have contact with him?”
“Um…I don’t know. Why?”
“It just seems odd to me that Ronnie Griffith and Tyrone Allen would disappear without a trace at about the same time, and no one seemed to miss Tyrone. There was never a missing-person report issued on him, as far as I can tell. Is he really missing, or is he hiding out? Maybe he’s taken a new identity and the family has been protecting him for all these years.”
“Protecting him?” Savannah questioned.
“Yeah, maybe he’s a fugitive and the department just hasn’t been informed of that yet.”
“Huh?”
Craig cleared his throat. “See if you can find anything among Gail’s possessions indicating his whereabouts, will you? You’ll be helping her clean out that place, won’t you?”
“Yeah, I sort of volunteered for that, if she’ll let me.”
“Good. See what you can learn. I’ll follow some of the leads I found in the evidence box—family members who could still be alive, and all. There was an uncle of the Allens living in the boondocks in Idaho. Maybe Tyrone traded in his life in small-town California for a new, more obscure one in the back country of Idaho.”
Savannah didn’t know what to say about Craig’s speculation, so she just suggested, “Well let’s touch base in a few days. I’d better get back to my family.”
She and Gladys had just finished putting the children to bed when Michael returned with Rags. Gladys was headed up the stairs to her bedroom, but stopped when she saw Michael. “That grin,” she said. “You have a story, don’t you?” She laughed. “And I’ll bet it has to do with your little sidekick there.”
“Yup,” Michael said, removing Rags’s harness.
She sat down on the ottoman. “I think I’ll stay up for this.”
Savannah smiled at her mother from across the room. “So what happened?” she asked, giving Rags a face and neck rub when he approached her.
Michael sat next to Savannah on the sofa and grinned down at the cat. “He never ceases to amaze, and even sometimes amuse me.”
“What did you do, Ragsie?” Savannah urged, ruffling his fur.
“Well, he found the Marshmallow,” Michael said.
“Marshmallow?” Gladys asked.
“That’s what Bri calls the white kitten. She’s the one who was missing.”
“Where’d he find her?” Savannah asked. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t doubt if one of her nine lives flashed before her eyes.” When Michael saw that the women were waiting for more, he continued, “Bud and Brianna had looked everywhere—well, almost everywhere, as it turned out. They even tried luring her out from wherever she was hiding with some of that smelly tuna you use for trapping. Nothing. Not a sign of her. We figured she must have found a cozy place and curled up for a snooze, so we looked in every nook and cranny and still couldn’t find her.”
“Wasn’t Rags any help at all?” Savannah asked.
“I’m not sure he knew what we were looking for. He led us to each cage, sniffed all the critters, upset a few dogs…”
“Upset them?”
“Well, he got them excited. But Rags kept eyeing the gate to the outdoor kennels where the boarders are. I told him, ‘No way would a kitten go out there. Too many dogs.’ Plus the door was closed. Then Brianna noticed something.”
“What?” Savannah and Gladys asked in unison.
“The cameras.”
Savannah chuckled. “Did she want to audition?”
“No. She suggested we check the surveillance cameras to see if they caught the kitten roaming around anywhere.”
“Good idea,” Savannah said brightly. “Did they?”
“Well, sorta-kinda.”
“What does that mean?”
“What it showed was the reverberation from what was probably the kitten,” Michael explained.
Savannah frowned. “Huh?”
“Yeah, how’s that?” Gladys asked
.
Michael ran his hand over Rags’s fur and laughed. “Well, it showed the dogs in the pens watching something. It was obvious that they were interested in something that was moving through the area, but the camera didn’t catch what it was. Of course we figured it was the kitten.” He snickered. “As it happened, Rags was on the little whippersnapper’s trail by then.”
“So where was she?” Savannah asked.
“Do you remember the cat that was hurt at Gail Allen’s place? We’re about to release him to his forever home, and we have him in one of the outdoor pens, along with a few boarding cats. Well, that’s where we found the little rascal. I turned Rags loose out there. It’s enclosed, so I knew he couldn’t escape. We followed Rags through the dog aisle and watched him disappear into the area where the cats are. We turned the corner and found Rags sitting next to Blackie’s pen with one paw on the little marshmallow, as if he was holding her down for us.”
“How cute,” Savannah gushed.
“I think Bri got a picture for your scrapbook.”
“Good boy,” Savannah cooed, petting Rags. She asked, “So how’d that little thing get out there, for heaven’s sake?”
Gladys asked, “Was the kitten in the pen with her friend?”
Michael shook his head. “No, she was outside the pen looking in at him.” He addressed Savannah’s question. “We think she squeezed through a hole left when we switched out the cooling system a while back—a hole I will be patching tomorrow. But how their pen came to be open, we still don’t know. Maybe Marshmallow’s mom is just one clever cat.”
“So are you ready for more of Gail’s cats?” Savannah asked.
“Sure am. Bring them on,” he said. “I guess you made arrangements with Isabel, over at Sheltered Cats, to take the two little families. She’s pretty sure they’ll find ideal homes for some of the kittens during their open house in a few weeks. Then we’ll have the moms spayed. Gail wants them back, right?”
“Yes. I’ll set traps in the morning and we might have something for you by evening.”
“How many are left?” Gladys asked.
“About six or eight, maybe. I’ll check tomorrow. I’m going over in the morning to help Gail clean out some of her personal stuff.” Savannah winced. “I think she needs emotional support.”
“If it’s painful, why doesn’t she just toss it all out?” Gladys suggested. “That’s what I’d do.”
“You would?”
“Well, maybe not. Yeah, I’d want to see what was there and cling to those things that bring back good memories.”
****
Savannah arrived at Gail’s house around nine the following morning.
“I’m in here!” Gail called when she heard Savannah’s voice.
Savannah joined her in the kitchen. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “You’ve been a busy beaver, haven’t you?”
Gail chuckled. “Yeah, only I seem to be tearing down the dam rather than building one.”
Savannah smiled. “That’s what housecleaning’s all about. You have to make a big mess in order to…well…create order.” She looked around. “So you’ve decided to clean things out before washing things down?”
“Yes,” Gail said. “It just made more sense to me. Everything in here’s dirty; why wash everything down, then start pulling grimy clothes and things from the closets and drawers?”
Savannah shrugged. “Makes sense, I guess.
Gail motioned with one arm. “Just look at all of this stuff that came out of the cupboards in here. I don’t remember my mother being such a hoarder.”
“Doesn’t look like she was a hoarder, Gail. This is what most of us have in our kitchens—the things we use every day and those things we keep because we might use it once a year or we think we might need it someday. It’s okay to get rid of the things you don’t want or that are just too grody.”
“Grody?” Gail questioned.
“Yeah, disgusting, like that crusty, dented cake pan.”
“And this ugly black pan?” Gail suggested.
“Oh, no,” Savannah said. “You’ll want to keep that. Every kitchen needs a cast iron skillet. There are just some things that are better cooked in one of those.”
Gail scrunched up her face. “Okay, if you say so.”
Savannah picked up a saucepan. “I do think you’ll want to replace these aluminum pots and pans, though. They have probably outlived their usefulness. I’d invest in a nice set of modern cookware.”
“Thank you,” Gail said smiling. “I was hoping I could do away with those.” She ran her hand over a stack of plates. “I’d like to keep these because they’re beautiful, but I don’t think I want to use them all the time…know what I mean?”
Savannah nodded. “Absolutely. Let’s put those on a top shelf or in the pantry there, out of the way, to use on special occasions.” Savannah grinned impishly. “Like when you invite us over for dinner.”
Gail laughed. “Yes! I like that idea, only…”
“Only what?” Savannah asked.
“Only I really don’t know much about cooking.”
“You can serve takeout pizza. That would work.”
“You’re a kick, Savannah. You make me laugh and,” she faced Savannah, “I haven’t had a reason to laugh in a long time.”
Once the women had gone through the kitchen utensils and cookware, Gail asked somberly, “Do you have time to help me with my brother’s room?”
“Sure,” Savannah said. She looked at her watch. “I should get back home by lunchtime. That gives us an hour or so. Have you dealt with your bedroom yet?”
“Oh yes,” Gail said. “I was up most of the night going through my room. What a stroll down memory lane.”
“In a good way, I hope?” Savannah said.
“Yes and no. I felt so alone, like I’d been abandoned by everyone I’ve ever loved. There were so many memories of so many people who are gone. I even found a crude drawing Ronnie did for me once. Here, I’ll show you.” Gail disappeared into her bedroom and returned with a shoebox. “It’s a picture of a cat. Ronnie was intrigued by cats.” She picked out a small piece of paper and placed the box on a nearby table. She unfolded the paper and handed it to Savannah. “See, it’s a cat that he drew from my name. Clever, huh? He used my whole name in drawing the cat.”
“Very clever,” Savannah said. “Interesting. I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“And look at this,” Gail said, excitedly. “It’s a cat made out of his cat’s fur.”
“What?” Savannah exclaimed. “Now that’s different.” She examined the tufts of fur Ronnie had evidently brushed out of a cat and carefully glued onto construction paper, creating the shape of a cat. “He could probably be making money doing this stuff. Cats are huge now.”
“Yeah, he might actually be doing that somewhere.”
Savannah looked at her. “You believe he’s still alive, don’t you?”
Gail stared at her hands. “I don’t know. I did for a long time, but now I’m not sure.” She looked up at Savannah. “If he were alive, he’d be here with me right now. He would never have left me.” She returned the artwork to the box and closed it. Through tears, she said, “I can only take so much of that. I’d better put it back.”
“So much of what?”
“Of spending time with the things in this box—things that meant something to Ronnie and me. It’s too painful,” she said, walking away.
****
The women had been removing things from Gail’s brother’s closet and dresser for about twenty minutes when Savannah asked, “What’s this?”
“What?” Gail asked, tossing an armload of old clothes onto the bed and joining Savannah.
“Well, I felt something in that jacket pocket and found this in there. It looks like a religious medal. My grandmother showed me one like this once. I think she called it a Christopher medal or something.” When Savannah saw Gail’s reaction, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
Gail reached
for the medal and turned it over in her hands. “His St. Christopher,” she whispered. She stuttered, “I…Savannah…I gave that to him.”
“To your brother?” Savannah asked.
“No,” Gail wailed, “to Ronnie.” She closed the medallion in her hand, and held it to her chest. “It’s Ronnie’s. Oh my God, Savannah, Skipper had Ronnie’s St. Christopher medal. How? Why?” She sat down on the bed and began to cry.
Savannah moved some old clothes aside and sat next to her. “What are you thinking, Gail?”
“The unfathomable—that Skipper hurt my Ronnie. Oh my God, I knew he hated him. He was so overly protective of me—he and my father both were. They hated that I was seeing Ronnie. They had no idea how deep our love was. I guess they didn’t care.” She sat up straighter and looked into Savannah’s eyes. “Do you think they could have…did they hurt him?”
Savannah wrapped her arms around her. After several moments, she pulled away and asked tenderly, “Gail, are you sure that’s the same one? It looks just like the one my grandmother had.”
Gail abruptly sat up. She turned the medal over in her palm and held it out toward Savannah. “See, I had it engraved.”
Savannah read, “Be safe my love.”
Just then, they heard another voice. “Gail!”
“It’s my cousin,” Gail said, taking the medal from Savannah and wiping at her eyes. She called out weakly. “In here, Delli.”
“What’s wrong?” Adele asked when she walked into the room. She stopped and said compassionately, “Having an emotional moment, are you, hon? It’s bound to happen.” She put her arms around Gail. “I’m sorry you’re having a rough time.” She looked at Savannah. “What brought it on? What happened? Did you find something that touched your heart?”
Gail pulled back from Adele’s embrace and held up the medallion. “Delli, we found this in Skipper’s pocket.”
“What is it?”
“It’s the St. Christopher I gave to Ronnie. Skipper had it.”
“You call your brother Skipper?” Savannah asked.
Adele responded. “Yes, but I think only family calls him that, don’t you, Gail?”
