Kat Wolfe Investigates

by Lauren St. John

  The morning appointments ended at 11 a.m. By then, Dr Wolfe had worked her usual magic on both animals and owners. Even Mr Newbolt and Empress Sour Puss left smiling, albeit through gritted teeth. When her last patient had gone, Dr Wolfe came over to give Kat a hug.

  ‘Thanks, hon. I couldn’t have managed without you. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. You’ve barely sat down since we arrived in Bluebell Bay. Some school holiday this is turning out to be.’

  ‘I’ve had fun, Mum, honestly. It’s good to see you smiling. Don’t worry – we’ll find you a great nurse soon.’

  Dr Wolfe grimaced. ‘Hope so. Boy, do I miss Tina,’ she said, referring to the veterinary nurse who’d been her friend and ally at Nash & Craw Premium Pet Care.

  ‘Mu-u-u-m,’ said Kat.

  ‘Ka-a-at,’ mimicked her mum. ‘Go on – ask me whatever it is you’re dying to ask me.’

  Kat laughed. ‘This American professor called. His daughter’s around the same age as me. She’s been in hospital and is going to be laid up for a while. They’re struggling to find someone to exercise her horse.’

  ‘Horse or pony? I’m not having you riding some towering eventer.’

  ‘It’s a small horse,’ said Kat. ‘Pocket-sized, apparently.’

  ‘Then I don’t see why not. You’d love that, wouldn’t you, darling? Give me the professor’s number. I’ll call him once I’ve tidied up. Provided it’s above board, I’d have no problem with you helping out. If his daughter’s your age, you might even make a new friend.’

  8

  The Case of the Missing Pumpkin

  ‘A pet-sitting agency?’

  Dr Wolfe stopped so suddenly that the tourists behind her had to take rapid evasive action. She and Kat were on their way to the deli for lunch. It was only their second visit to Bluebell Bay High Street, and Kat had hoped that her mum would be so distracted by the shops that she’d agree to her daughter’s request without a murmur.

  Instead, anyone would have thought Kat had demanded a nose ring and a tiger tattoo.

  ‘Only for the holidays,’ Kat said hastily. ‘I already have two clients on my books. All I—’

  ‘Your “books”? What are you launching, a pet-minding corporation? Floating it on the stock market? Seriously, hon, why do you want to do this?’

  ‘Because,’ Kat said, ‘I need my own laptop. It’ll be a while before we – you – can afford one. That’s fine, and I understand,’ she went on as her mum opened her mouth to protest, ‘but I’d like to try saving for it myself. You told me that the professor wants to pay me something for looking after Harper’s horse. If Edith—’

  ‘You can’t charge the professor for giving you free use of his daughter’s horse, or Edith for walking Toby,’ her mum cut in, striding on briskly. ‘You know that.’

  Kat didn’t know, but wasn’t surprised. Nor would she be surprised if Bluebell Bay Animal Clinic went bankrupt by the end of the month. They’d barely been open a week and already Dr Wolfe had stamped ‘NC’ (No Charge) on the invoices of four pensioners, a student and an unemployed mum.

  Without missing a beat, Kat said, ‘That’s why it would be good if my agency had a few more paying clients.’

  ‘Darling, it’s one thing doing a bit of dog-walking for a senior citizen. It’s quite another for you to be venturing into the homes of strangers. We’re new to the area. For all I know, Bluebell Bay could be like one of those quaint English villages in an Agatha Christie mystery: a hotbed of kidnappers, poisoners and art thieves. I thought it was a safe place, but after last night I’m not so sure. It was like being on the front line of a war zone.’

  Kat laughed. Another detail Miles Mells had failed to mention was that number 5 Summer Street backed on to an army firing range. Every Tuesday evening, soldiers fought raging tank and machine-gun battles from 6 p.m. to midnight.

  As a result, Dr Wolfe was owl-eyed from lack of sleep. So was Kat, but for happier reasons. When the firing was at its noisiest, Tiny had come flying into his lair – AKA her bedroom. He hadn’t growled, spat or tried to attack her. He’d hidden in the depths of the wardrobe.

  To Kat, that was progress. Afraid, he’d chosen to run to her, not away from her. Well, he’d dived under her T-shirts and jumpers, which was practically the same thing.

  Her mum halted outside the deli. ‘Here?’

  Kat nodded and swung an arm as a smiling family went by, nearly lopping the tops off their ice-cream cones. Despite the blustery weather, the cobbled street was packed with tourists enjoying the pastel-painted shops. Poppies and daffodils waved from every window box.

  As if to prove her mum’s point, an open-topped army vehicle roared round the corner, shattering the peace. It pulled up outside the pub and two athletic-looking young men in jeans and crisply pressed shirts hopped out.

  ‘Thanks for the ride, Chef Roley,’ said one to the driver, an older, thickset man in uniform.

  ‘Any time, Lieutenant Winterman. Enjoy your day off. Best of luck today. Hope she says yes.’

  ‘Thanks, sir. If she does, you’ll get an invite to our wedding.’

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world, son.’

  As the driver pulled away, Margo Truesdale came out of the deli. She waved to the departing army vehicle and clapped a hand on Kat’s shoulder.

  ‘I know that face! My niece wears the same expression when she’s hungry. Come in, come in. Let’s get you fuelled up. Dr Wolfe, put your wallet away. Lunch is on the house. Specials are on the board. I’ll be back to take your order in a jiffy.’

  Before they knew it, they were tucking into wild mushroom soup with crusty bread at a table spread with a blue gingham cloth. Behind a counter stuffed with local cheeses and cakes was a brightly painted mural. Pterodactyls wheeled over choppy seas while dinosaurs gnashed their teeth on the cliff tops.

  Kat was disappointed that her mum couldn’t see that her pet agency was the greatest idea since bubblegum, but she wasn’t about to give up on the laptop.

  ‘How about dog-grooming, then, Mum? I could do it in the kennels behind the practice. That way—’

  ‘If you’re looking for a first-class dog groomer, look no further than Alicia who runs Fluffy Friends,’ cut in Margo, putting a raspberry smoothie and a coffee on the table. ‘I’d have her do my own hair if she’d let me.’

  Kat’s face fell.

  Dr Wolfe sighed. ‘Margo, Kat was thinking of doing some pet-sitting over the holidays. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea.’

  ‘It’s an excellent idea. What are your concerns?’

  ‘Crime.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Do you get much around here?’

  Mrs Truesdale laughed so hard she had to grip Kat’s chair to stop herself falling over.

  A woman at the next table answered for her. ‘Bluebell Bay’s been voted the UK’s safest seaside town for nine of the past ten years, and it’s all down to one man . . .’

  The shop bell tinkled, and a policeman walked in.

  ‘Well, how about that!’ the woman crowed. ‘I’ve conjured him up.’

  Kat did a double take. Repeated exposure to TV detectives and the bobbies who patrolled her suburb in London had led her to believe that all policemen were doughnut-shaped. This one was as sinewy as a marathon runner. His collarbones jutted like wishbones from the neck of his white shirt. In a stiff breeze, all that would tether him to the ground would be his helmet.

  He removed the helmet now and tucked it under one arm.

  ‘We were just talking about you, Sergeant Singh,’ said Margo. ‘Josie here was telling our new vet, Dr Wolfe, that, as our town’s only policeman, it’s thanks to you that Bluebell Bay is a crime-free zone.’

  Sergeant Singh regarded her gravely. ‘I am most gratified, Mrs Truesdale, but a police officer cannot afford to be complacent. Anything can happen anywhere at any time. Constant vigilance is required. If one drops one’s guard for a second, criminals are waiting to strike.’

  Kat smothered a
snigger. She made no sound, but his eyes flicked to her as if he’d read her mind.

  ‘Yes, yes, but on the whole Bluebell Bay is as safe as houses,’ Margo added impatiently.

  ‘That’s a relief,’ said Dr Wolfe. She smiled at the policeman. ‘Great to meet you, Sergeant Singh, but I’m curious. What happened in the other year?’

  ‘Begging your pardon, madam?’

  ‘The year that Bluebell Bay didn’t make it on to the list of the UK’s safest seaside towns. What knocked it off the top spot?’

  A hush fell over the deli.

  Sergeant Singh shifted in his shoes. ‘That was an unfortunate incident, no doubt about it.’

  His radio crackled and he muted it before continuing. ‘Two years ago, on the night of May twenty-first, a pumpkin was stolen.’

  Kat put down her smoothie. ‘That’s the worst ever crime in Bluebell Bay – a stolen pumpkin?’

  ‘It wasn’t just any pumpkin,’ Margo said defensively. ‘It was a County Fair prize-winning, record-breaking pumpkin grown by Edith Chalmers’s son, Reg. It was so massive that a forklift was required to move it. He was devastated when it was snatched. The insurance company paid out, but he never got over it. Says money can’t mend a broken heart.’

  ‘Especially when you never had one to begin with,’ muttered a nearby diner.

  ‘Ghastly business,’ Josie told the Wolfes. ‘Divided the community. Friends turned on neighbours. Wives accused husbands. Bosses threatened to fire workers. Sergeant Singh left no stone unturned in hunting down the culprit, but no one was ever brought to justice.’

  Sergeant Singh gripped his truncheon. ‘But they will be. I’ll solve this mystery if it’s the last thing I do. Criminals who believe they’ve got away with their crimes become vain and arrogant. That is their undoing. When the pumpkin thief boasts of what he has done, sooner or later it will reach my ears. It’s then that I’ll pounce. He or she can expect no mercy.’

  Walking back to the practice, Dr Wolfe put an arm round Kat. ‘If the most dire incident ever to befall Bluebell Bay is the Case of the Missing Pumpkin, you can start your pet-sitting agency with my blessing. What are you going to call it?’

  ‘Paws and Claws.’

  ‘Paws and Claws? What a cute name. That’ll keep you entertained for the holidays.’

  9

  The Honesty of Parrots

  There were no appointments until mid-afternoon because Dr Wolfe was out on a farm visit. At Bluebell Bay Animal Clinic, Kat spent a happy hour designing and drawing business cards. She also made a sign for the reception desk:

  Paws & Claws Pet-Sitting Agency

  Holiday Blues? Business High-Flyer?

  Leave Your Furry Pals in Safe Hands

  Kat Cares! Phone: 07782 016923

  When she was done, she went out to the kennels to check on a stray cat that had been brought in. The calico had been found in a barn scheduled for demolition. She was scrawny and her coat was mangy, but she was surprisingly friendly for an animal that had only ever lived outdoors.

  Kat had named her Hero. She’d been fighting to survive since she was born. Somehow, she’d kept her spirit and her sweetness. That made her a hero in Kat’s book.

  Unfortunately, finding Hero a home would be difficult. Few people wanted ageing cats, and those who did wanted pets, not feral mousers.

  ‘I wish we could keep her,’ Kat had said longingly to her mum, though she knew Tiny would never tolerate another cat in the house. He barely tolerated her.

  Strolling back to reception, Kat heard a peculiar sound. Speeding up, she flung open the door.

  ‘FREEZE!’ barked an unseen man. ‘KEEP YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE ’EM, OR YOUR NEXT MOVE WILL BE YOUR LAST. I’LL PUT A BULLET BETWEEN YOUR EYES! DON’T THINK I WON’T RID THE WORLD OF ONE MORE COCKROACH.’

  The metallic double-click of a revolver being cocked chilled Kat to the marrow.

  Instinct took over. She threw herself into Move 5 – a Way of the Mongoose front break-fall – followed by a forward-roll that carried her behind the reception desk.

  A high-pitched cackle greeted her efforts.

  So much for Bluebell Bay being as safe as houses, Kat thought grimly as she crouched low and awaited further demands. No doubt the armed robber would want her to open the till. He’d get a shock when he saw how empty it was.

  A shadow loomed over her.

  ‘What a catastrophe!’ cried Mr Newbolt, who’d acquired a dark tan and a foreign accent in under two hours. ‘Now I’ll never get a pet-sitter.’

  Kat blinked. It wasn’t Mr Newbolt at all, but a bronzed man in a similar blue-grey trilby. He extended a hand and helped her up.

  ‘Ramon Corazón, at your service. On behalf of my naughty bird, please accept my sincere apologies.’

  ‘Your bird?’

  Kat’s heart was pounding. She’d thought for a second she might die.

  ‘Si. A yellow-crowned Amazon.’ He went over to a pet carrier and took out a small parrot with exquisite green, yellow and scarlet plumage. It sidled up his arm and nibbled his ear affectionately.

  ‘May I introduce Bailey, named in honour of Florence Augusta Merriam Bailey. Like myself, Florence was an ornithologist – although, unlike me, she was a legend. I’m only a humble bird artist.’

  ‘You draw birds?’

  ‘Paint them. Apologies again if Bailey frightened you, miss. Hold me responsible, not him. Parrots can become stressed if they’re left alone. For years I was in the habit of putting DVDs on for him if I was out birdwatching. Ever since, he’s had a habit of reciting scenes from action movies when he’s anxious. It’s got us into trouble more than once, but I’ve been unable to train him out of it.’

  Now that she’d recovered, Kat thought an action-film-loving parrot the funniest thing ever. ‘You made a comment about a pet-sitter. Do you need one?’

  He clapped his forehead. ‘I almost forgot. That’s why I’m here. I have urgent business in my home country, Paraguay. I’m due to fly tomorrow, but disaster has struck. My cleaner has a family emergency and is unable to take care of Bailey. I’ve asked practically everyone in the village, but no luck. Then Mrs Truesdale told me that the new vet’s daughter is a pet-sitter. Where can I find this Kat?’

  ‘I’m Kat. Katarina really, but most people call me Kat.’

  ‘You? That will not do at all. With respect, you are a mere girl.’

  He looked sadly at his parrot. ‘After everything, to fall at this final hurdle.’

  ‘I am not a mere girl,’ Kat said crossly. ‘I’m twelve, and I can do anything—’

  She got no further because Bailey suddenly launched himself into the air and flew across reception. He came swooping in, green wings spread wide, and landed on her shoulder.

  ‘Te quiero,’ he cooed, caressing her cheek with his beak.

  Ramon was astounded. ‘In all our years together, I’ve never once seen him do such a thing. Bailey is mostly a one-man bird. I rescued him from a cruel trader, and he has always distrusted strangers. Not only has he now chosen to fly to you, he is telling you he loves you in Spanish. It is something he says rarely, and it’s revealing.’

  Kat decided that Bailey was a bird of impeccable taste and judgement. ‘Why is it revealing?’

  ‘Because, unlike humans, parrots never pretend to like someone when they don’t. They’re honest to the bone. The main difference between a parrot and a person is that a parrot is incapable of lying.’

  ‘Animals are the world’s greatest truth-tellers,’ agreed Kat. ‘They might not all be able to talk, but if you look closely, their eyes and body language always give away their real thoughts and feelings.’

  ‘Interesting, interesting,’ murmured Ramon. ‘Perhaps all is not lost.’

  Kat rubbed the parrot’s head. It crooned with pleasure. ‘How long are you away for, Mr – er, Corazón?’

  ‘Ramon, please. Thirteen days.’

  ‘And you live in Bluebell Bay?’

  ‘Si. I’m renting Ava
lon Heights.’

  ‘The eagle’s-nest house on the cliff? So you’re the telescope man,’ she said with a smile.

  The change in him was dramatic. ‘What are you talking about? Have you been spying on me?’

  ‘Spying? No! We only moved here last week. I was looking out of the attic window and I saw someone with a telescope on your deck. I suppose you were birdwatching.’

  Ramon ran a hand through his hair. ‘Sorry, Kat. My nerves are not what they should be. I’ve been out of my mind about Bailey and what would happen to my business if I couldn’t find the right person to take care of him. He’s my best friend, you see. Yes, it was me with the telescope. Birdwatching, as you say.’

  Under the guise of fussing over the parrot and returning him to his master, Kat studied the Paraguayan. He had a strong, decent face, but it was haunted, perhaps with worries about his business trip. Despite the cool weather, he was sweating too. When he’d lifted the parrot from its carrier, his shirt had clung to his back.

  ‘Forgive the question, but something puzzles me,’ he said. ‘Faced with what you believed was an armed robber, your reaction was an unusual one. Are you a student of Brazilian jiu-jitsu?’

  Kat shook her head. ‘I’m a student of a martial art invented by a baker from Shanghai. You won’t have heard of it.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘It has a funny name: the Way of the Mongoose.’

  Ramon slapped his thigh. ‘Unbelievable! When destiny calls, she doesn’t take no for an answer.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You may be the perfect pet-sitter after all. I myself have been a Mongoose practitioner for over a decade. How about you?’

  Kat was overjoyed to meet a fellow WOM enthusiast. ‘I’m only a beginner and I’m struggling to learn it on my useless mobile phone. That’s why I’m pet-sitting – to save up for a laptop.’

  The reception door swung open, and in came her mum, medical bag in hand. She greeted Ramon warmly. ‘Hello! I’m Ellen Wolfe.’

  The Paraguayan whipped off his hat. ‘Ramon Corazón. I’ve heard many good things about Bluebell Bay’s new vet, and now I’ve met the director of Paws and Claws. I was about to ask if she’d care for my parrot for a couple of weeks.’