“You had a good few hands in your time. Once or twice, they had been worth so much that I had to go back and check the camera feed to ensure you weren’t cheating.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know what she spent it on. Rent, food, and clothing, I guess.” Philip’s voice edged out of nostalgia into a world of sadness. “After she died, I certainly didn’t find it in the bank account, so I guess she used it up taking care of us.”
“Either that or had her own vices.” The laugh that followed along was hard and raw, bearing no relation to joy at all. I could barely stand to listen to it.
A phone rang in the room, and soon Philip was kicked out onto the landing, so the boss man could discuss ‘private business.’ The man who emerged from the room looked like a string bean who’d just received some terrible news.
I followed along behind Philip as he slowly made his way downstairs. If he’d been alert, I’m sure that the man would have noticed my presence as I stepped too close on more than one occasion. As it was, he seemed more tied up in trying not to cry.
The slump in his shoulders reminded me of the losing “Winners” gang back in Hanmer Springs. I judged that it wouldn’t take too much to tip this man right over the edge.
I had to stop that from happening. Philip was my best shot at getting things back to normal. All I had to do now was ensure that he got his hands on the money he needed, and the deliveries could be back to normal by tonight.
At that thought, all my bright ideas vacated my head and left nothing but static buzzing around. I had no idea where humans got their money from. I’d seen it in small piles, lying on the tall boy dresser in my human’s bedroom. Neat stacks of silver and gold, which I thought must be worth the most, holding down crumpled notes all bearing the profile of a lady in a tiara.
Well, unless I could spirit that stash of money to Christchurch in a few hours flat, that wouldn’t do me any good. Where else did people keep money? It had never occurred to me to question where it came from before it landed on the tall boy or tucked away in my human’s wallet.
Philip walked outside, then stopped. Not to sit, not to look at anything, he just ceased moving forward. His shaking shoulders were the only visible sign that he was alive.
I edged closer, wondering if I should nudge up against his heels to get him going. The next moment, he shook himself and started forward again, walking across to a small, beaten-up car.
“Hey, Philip!” a man called out when he had the door partially open. While Philip turned, waiting to hear what more the interrupter had to say, I slipped in through the door and jumped onto the back seat. “The boss told me to tell you that if you don’t have the money by tomorrow, he’ll start to sell off the different routes. Apparently, there’s a competitor who’s heard rumors that your customers are complaining. He’s put in a bid.”
“No.” Philip started to shake again, this time it appeared to be from fury. “He can’t do that. I told him I’d get his money, he just needs to give me a bit more time.”
“Sorry, bud. Don’t shoot the messenger, I’m just passing on what I was told.”
Philip sat down and slammed the door, reminding me that I still had a headache. He started up the engine, stamping his foot flat to the floor on the accelerator and heading straight toward the man who’d brought him the news, forcing him to jump out of the way.
“They want to sell my business. I should blow the whole thing to smithereens.”
I crouched low on the back seat, wondering if I’d hitched a ride with a mad man.
Chapter Six
By the time Philip pulled into his own driveway, he’d calmed down enough that I no longer felt in immediate fear for my life. He’d given up bashing his palm against the steering wheel and reverted to using it just for changing direction. When the car stopped, and he hopped out, I had to be quick to slip out through the briefly-opened door.
At least I didn’t strike the same problem with his house. Philip unlocked the door to let out a cloud of stuffy air, then left it open behind him while he went from room to room, opening the windows. He didn’t notice that I wandered in while his back was turned and hid away behind a stack of old magazines.
When it came to places to duck in behind, I was actually spoiled for choice. Philip’s home looked like every hiding place in the world had got together and decided to congregate in one location.
Alongside the stacks of magazines, smelling deliciously like old paper, were stacks of baking trays, a conglomeration of model airplanes still in their boxes, a yard-high mountain of chipped mugs, and in between and surrounding them piles of everything else ever known to man.
Long trails were carved in the floor to ceiling stashes. A person wide, so there was plenty of space for me. Although I was meant to have my eyes peeled for a money-making situation to take advantage of, I was soon distracted by the oddity of the hoarding and followed the stacks through room after room until I ended up in the attic.
I presumed it was the attic, anyway, given the height from the ground floor. In appearance, it just looked like every other room, with one notable difference. In the corner was space. Not just for a person to stand or walk through the room, but for them to spread out, do some aerobics perhaps. There might even be enough of a clearing to swing me about in a circle.
Fascinated by the haven in the midst of such muddle, I walked to the center of the clearing and tried to figure it out. Here, instead of old magazines or tin boxes that hadn’t held tobacco in fifty years, there was a sewing machine and a pile of half-constructed garments. Although an attempt had been made to dust and tidy, from what had accumulated in the various crevices, I concluded the room had been like this for many years.
Esme. That was the name that had made Philip feel sad. His wife, Esme.
I walked closer to the sewing machine, on the lookout for pins or needles that might have been knocked onto the floor. It was spotless, though.
I put my nose up close to the half-sewn fabric and inhaled deeply. The faded scent of a woman and the perfume she’d once worn still clung to the folds.
Pulling back, I accidentally entangled a claw in the material. Although I tried to work it free without disturbing the pile, it proved a fruitless endeavor, and soon everything was on the ground.
My stomach sank. How awful. What would poor Philip think if he came upstairs and discovered this mess lying in the middle of the shrine to his beloved wife?
I was better of just slinking home now. I couldn’t cure the terrible things that were happening in this awful, loud city and the longer I stayed here, the more I’d ram that fact home.
Just the thought of not curling up with my human on the couch tonight made me feel like howling. Imagine that. No better than a dog crying to the pitiless moon.
In my distress, I pulled back dragging even more of the fabric with me. Finally, though, my claw came loose, and I was free to walk around the piles, observing the damage. Not only had I knocked and dragged the half-finished garments across the floor, but I’d also somehow pulled off the lid to the sewing chest.
Great job, Thor. Line up for your medal.
A strange smell wafted out of the old trunk. There was the oil of old pine, the sharper hint of varnish, but something lay underneath those. Weirder than both. A smell that I’d never scented before.
I crammed my body close in beside the chest, curiosity overriding the shame at my behavior. And there I saw the gift that Esme had left for him, stored away before she died. A present of stacks of paper money, all with a woman in her tiara on the side.
Chapter Seven
I yowled until Philip came running. His shock at finding a cat in his house soon gave way to horror at the state of the room. Both of those were overturned when I jumped into the chest, and he saw the piles of money lying underneath me. He scooped me up and pressed me close against his chest, while he stared down, open-mouthed.
The trip back to the warehouse and van parking lot was quickly accomplished. Philip held me tucked u
nder one arm as a ‘good-luck charm’ while he carried a bag of cash in the other. Ignoring the warnings from the minions floating about downstairs, Philip skipped up the steps to the big man’s office and dumped the whole lot out onto his desk.
“Philip. You having a laugh?”
Able to see the man for the first time, I saw no reason to change my opinion. He did indeed appear to be like Fat Bobby, only with less hair and a longer scar.
“What? That’s more than enough for what I owe you. Maybe as much as double.”
“But it’s old money, Philip. I can’t walk into a shop and expect them to accept this.”
The fat boss-man held up a couple of notes and rubbed them together. “Oh. That stinks. I’d forgotten just how bad our cash used to smell.”
“It smells great to me!” Philip rejoindered and I had to agree. A good thing too as the redolent odor appeared to have affixed itself to my nose. It was sure better than the mess of oil, substandard food, and grease that I’d put up with while traveling in the van.
“The Reserve Bank will change it for you. They’re bound to accept it by law.”
“The Reserve Bank.” The fat man sat back in his chair and laughed. “What about me looks to you like I’m the kind of guy who can just stroll into a bank with a whole lot of cash?” His chair thumped down onto the floor. “It’s useless to me, Philip. You’ll have to find another way to pay me back.”
“You don’t walk into an actual bank. You send it to them up in Wellington, and they’ll send you a check back in return.”
The quick reply just made the big man snort, a gesture that managed to be as unappealing to the eyes as it was to the ears. “I’m not spending a couple of weeks trying to turn your old cash into gold. I need the money now, Philip.” He pushed the pile of cash back across the table. “I’m not the one who should be working hard to get it.”
“I told you. There’s more money there than I owe you. It’s worth the trouble.”
“Not to me, it’s not.”
Philip’s shoulders started to slump again, and I jumped down on the table and started to nose at the bills. “A pawnbroker,” Philip said, satisfaction rising back into his voice. “I’ll call a pawnbroker down here, and he’ll probably pay you out for it on the spot.”
The fat man’s face clamped down in annoyance, his eyebrows bumping together like hairy caterpillars getting into a fight.
“I don’t have time to—”
“I’ll call one.” Philip waggled one of those annoying electronic rectangles in the boss man’s direction. “I’ve got a good guy’s number loaded into my phone.”
He turned on his heel and left the room, mobile thrust up against his ear, leaving me alone with the fat man.
“What the hell did you bring your cat for?” he shouted, sweeping his arm across the table. Half the cash was caught out by the angry gesture, but I quickly jumped above the limb and bounced safely out of range, then down to the floor.
Since I was a cat who knew when he wasn’t wanted, I strolled on out of there, leaping down the stairs with the energy of a kitten. I’d done it! Or we’d done it! Or some combination, hopefully.
I couldn’t see Philip in the ground floor warehouse, and after a quick dart of panic speared my heart, I rushed outside to check that he hadn’t abandoned me here with these thugs. Although I didn’t find him, the car was right where he’d left it. Slightly mollified I was about to head back inside when I caught sight of someone I knew.
Or two someones.
I’d last caught sight of those low-lives as they attempted to chase Agnes down on the street and pop her back down in their cellar. The two men had high-tailed it out of sight when they realized that the police were on their way.
I needed to alert somebody. Thanks to them, poor Agnes had spent a terrible time strapped to a chair in fear for her life while her husband was distraught on the other side of town.
I kept a close eye on them as they drew close to the warehouse door. When I couldn’t stay outside any longer without being spotted, I ducked back and hid behind the partially-opened door.
One of the boss man's other minions went outside to greet them. “What are you two idiots doing here?”
It seemed everyone appreciated them just as much as me.
“What do you think?” one of the kidnappers retorted. “We’re here to get paid.”
“Paid.” The minion snorted as though that was the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “Good one. For what? Doing the exact opposite of what the boss told you?”
“Hey, now. That’s not fair,” Kidnapper number two protested. “Sure, we went a bit far with the woman, but the boss told us to scare Agnes, and we sure did that.”
The fact that he sounded proud of those actions made my throat tighten with rage.
“Wrong Agnes.”
“What?” Back to kidnapper number one again. His voice sounded genuinely puzzled. “How do you mean? He told us, Agnes, we got Agnes.”
“Yeah, numbskull. You got the wrong Agnes, though. Didn’t it ever occur to you to check her surname?”
From the long pause that followed, I guessed that it hadn’t.
“But it’s… See Agnes from the dairy is…” Kidnapper number two’s protestations mumbled into silence, while number one fought back.
“He told us Agnes from Hanmer Springs. That’s all he told us.”
“He told you that she was married to a millionaire in Hanmer Springs. Did it not occur to you to check your facts before acting? Does someone having to work in a dairy past the age of sixty sound like they’re married to a millionaire?”
“Plenty of folks like to keep working.”
The minion let the insanity of that response develop in an elongated silence. Finally, he turned and came in through the door, knocking it so far open that it almost squished me. “Come on. Boss man still wants to see you. I’d forget about demanding payment for the job while you’re up there if I were you.”
The two thugs, now chastened, walked past him silently and mounted the stairs like they led to a scaffold, complete with a waiting noose and trap door.
“There you are,” Philip exclaimed, picking me up around the middle. “I’d wondered where you got to.”
While I tried to explain that he was the one who left, not me, he turned to a man walking close behind him in a tattered green vest. “It’s just upstairs, but we can wait here until the room’s empty. Best to have a receptive audience.”
The other man didn’t appear fussed either way. He sat down on the bare floorboards, cross-legged and pulled out a notepad.
“Um, I can probably sort you out a chair, if you’d prefer,” Philip offered. From the hesitation in his voice, it sounded like he might be biting off a bit more than he could chew. His companion seemed to think so, too.
“No, I’m all right. Long as it doesn’t take us past six, I’m all yours.”
Philip cradled me close to his chest and started patting my back with long strokes. I purred in appreciation, on the verge of going to sleep when the door upstairs was flung open, as though with a hearty kick.
“I’ve already had to shut down the factory with a fake health inspector, thanks to you two. Now, get out there, do the job I told you too, and don’t come back until you’ve sorted it properly!”
The two kidnappers exited the office and trotted downstairs with their heads hanging low.
Philip turned wide, uncertain eyes toward his guest, but the man didn’t seem bothered. He just got to his feet and started the walk upstairs when the other two men had gone past.
After a moment, Philip hurried to join him.
It took a few minutes for the pawnbroker to count through the money, then he jotted down some figures on his pad. “Where’d you get this?” he asked, nodding to the boss man and turning to Philip. “I take it, I’m not going to have a nasty surprise if I take it off your hands?”
“Nothing like that,” Philip said, shocked. That he could be so in the middle of what appe
ared to be a mob shake-down, set me chuckling to myself. When heads turned my way, I transformed my laughter into a loud purr.
“My dear, departed wife—Esme—had tucked it away for a rainy day. I used to have a problem with gambling—” the boss man chuckled, appearing to be amused by the use of the past tense “—so she often tucked away cash when I had it on hand. After she died, I presumed that she must have just spent it on housekeeping and suchlike. Then this little fellow found it upstairs this afternoon.”
Philip held me out to the pawnbroker as though that was evidence to his tale. The man just nodded and jotted down another sum.
“I’m willing to go out on a limb and believe you,” he said. “For my troubles in getting this converted, I’ll offer you the full amount less 20% off the top.” He glanced down at his watch again. “I can let you think about it, but if it goes past six o’clock then it’s 30% off the top, so I recommend you hurry.”
The boss man didn’t seem to appreciate being told to hurry, but when the pawnbroker handed over his calculations, his eyes widened, and he nodded. “It’s a deal.”
“How much?” Philip asked, cradling me so close that I had to struggle for room to breathe. He craned his neck over to read the figures on the notepad, then his entire body sagged with relief.
“Thank goodness. So, that squares off my debt?” Philip asked the boss man, who grudgingly nodded.
“It does.” The fat man grinned. “Until the next time you drop by the poker table.”
Philip shuddered, closing his eyes as the big man struggled to his feet and gathered up some papers.
“I’ll get somebody to come by and collect the rest of them.”
“I can take them,” Philip offered in a rush. He bent over to let me down on the floor, then looked around. “What else is yours?”
The boss man issued directions, and when he’d finished, Philip labored under the weight. The last thing that he collected was the check from the pawnbroker. “Just in case I don’t see you again downstairs.”
Food Bowl Mysteries Books 1-3 Page 9
