A Picture-Purrfect Christmas (A Klepto Cat Mystery Book 13)

by Patricia Fry

  “And you think she may be out there someplace?” she asked, feeling an ache in the pit of her stomach.

  He tightened his lips and chose not to respond. Finally he said, “We have people all over the streets showing her picture to folks in the homeless community, shopkeepers, joggers…and they’ve come up with nothing. I’ve got to follow all leads, clues, and hunches, even those coming from a cat.”

  An hour later, the pair rode single file along the trail toward the meadow where Savannah and Shelly had taken most of their scenic shots. Upon their arrival, the detective scanned the horizon from horseback. “Wish I knew what I was looking for,” he said. As if speaking to himself, he added, “Look for what doesn’t belong.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “Oh, it’s a rule of thumb thing I learned a long time ago from an old hunter. He’d say, ‘look for something that’s out of place…that doesn’t belong.’” He peered at Savannah. “Know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I think I do,” she said, raising her camera and snapping a few photos.

  As she lowered the camera, Craig asked, “So do you see anything that doesn’t seem to fit out there?”

  When Savannah shook her head, Craig said, “Well, let’s keep looking. Show me where you took that picture of the…”

  “Greenhouse?” she said. “Come on; follow me.”

  “How far do you think it is to that area?” he asked once they’d ridden to the top of the knoll.

  “As the crow flies?” she asked, “…or on horseback? Probably half-day’s ride.”

  He held binoculars up to his eyes and studied the area in the distance. “It does look suspicious. Do you think the little girl noticed this the day you were out here with the students? Maybe those dirt bike dudes you told me about took her to keep her quiet.”

  Savannah thought before saying, “I can’t imagine that. She wasn’t up on the knoll. She paid more attention to macro-shooting.” When he looked confused, she explained, “Close-up shots of bugs, fish, and flowers.” She shook her head. “No, she didn’t have any contact with those guys. In fact, I didn’t actually see who it was that broke Chuckie’s camera. Shelly and I assumed it was the same two dirt bike guys we’ve encountered out here a couple of times before.”

  As the pair made their way down the knoll, Craig muttered, “Another darned dead end. When are we going to get a break?” He turned to Savannah, saying in an accusatory manner, “It appears that your cat’s losing his touch.”

  “And it seems that you’re losing your patience, Craig.” Savannah hesitated, then continued, “We probably jumped to the wrong conclusion. Maybe what Rags showed us wasn’t a clue at all.”

  “So why did we come all the way out here? I don’t have time for a wild-goose chase, Savannah.” He stood briefly in his stirrups, gazing across the vast wilderness. “And that little girl may not have much time left…if she’s even still…”

  “Don’t go there, Craig,” Savannah snapped, her eyes welling up. “She will be home for Christmas. She just has to be!” She spoke more harshly. “And don’t lay this on me; you’re the one who thought it was a clue worth following.”

  The detective grimaced and looked down at the reins in his hand. “Yeah, Christmas was my goal for her, too. What’s that…three days away? I guess we’re both doing a lot of wishful thinking. I’m just so...”

  “I know, Craig. I’m disappointed, too…and horribly scared for Marissa. With so little to go on, what else can we do but reach for straws?”

  “I guess,” he said, sighing deeply. “…even if it means listening to your…cat,” he spat.

  “He’s been right before,” Savannah reminded him. “You know he has.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said, removing his baseball cap and sliding it back on. He pulled his coat collar up around his ears and shivered. “Let’s get out of the weather, shall we?”

  “Sure. Come on, Peaches,” she said, reining her mare around. She stuffed her free hand into her jacket pocket, her heart heavy with sorrow and dread.

  ****

  Two hours later, as the pair headed home in the borrowed truck, Savannah clicked through the photos she’d taken that day. Neither she nor Craig had much to say after their cross words. He sure can get cranky, she thought to herself. It’s as if he blames Rags for this…as he says…“wild goose chase.” That’s absurd. She glanced at the detective. Poor guy. I’m sure he’s as worried about Marissa as I am, and he knows more about what danger she might be facing than I do. I hate to think about what causes that crusty persona that comes out when he’s facing a tough case involving an innocent child. And I hate it when he snaps at me.

  Craig broke the ice. “Anything unusual showing up—in your pictures, I mean?”

  “Not that I can see,” she said.

  The detective was silent for several miles before announcing, “I’m going to have dogs brought out here.”

  She faced him. “Really? Still going on a hunch, are you?”

  “Yes, and logic.” He glanced at her. “You saw those mine shafts.”

  She nodded. “But we rode all through that area and didn’t see a sign that she’s out there.”

  “You’re not a search dog. They’re trained, you know.” He looked at her. “I think it’s worth a try.”

  “Why would someone take her out there?” she asked, choking up. She lowered her voice. “What makes you think she’s out there somewhere?”

  “Savannah, investigative work is based on several things—the facts, hunches, and what we know about human nature.”

  “Human nature?” Savannah questioned. “Anyone who would hurt that defenseless sweet girl or hold her against her will is not human in my mind, but go on,” she challenged. “I’m interested in your thought process.”

  “Okay, her father is a lowlife—always looking for a way to use her to make a buck. He sold her once; maybe he did it again. Maybe he sold her to someone who wants to exploit her in some way.” He glanced at Savannah. “We saw the picture of the boy tied up—it occurred to me that he could have been held in one of those mine shafts. You saw how dirty he looked. Makes sense that this is where he is…or was…being held. Could Marissa have fallen prey to the same scumbags?”

  Suddenly, Savannah shouted, “Craig!”

  “What?” he asked, flinching and looking around.

  She leaned toward him. “That little boy—the one in the picture all tied up—I saw him out here. That’s where I saw him. On the back of a bike with one of those creepy guys. It was him!” she shouted. “That’s where I saw him before.” She put her hands up to her mouth. “Oh my gosh, Craig, do you think they stole that little boy?”

  The detective was quiet for a moment. He then asked, “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, pretty positive. Shelly saw him, too. Let’s show her the picture and see what she says.”

  “Good idea. Now, when was it you saw him?”

  “Last Tuesday…a week ago Tuesday when Shelly and I went riding. When did you say he went missing?”

  “Sometime earlier this month—around Lily’s birthday party, as I recall.” He picked up his phone and made a quick call. “I want search dogs out in the Mule Flats area ASAP. Let me know when they can be delivered to the trailhead and I’ll meet you there with the scent material. Better requisition dirt bikes or all-terrain vehicles of some kind.” He listened for a minute, then said, “We have five hours of daylight. I want them out there today!”

  After he ended the call, Savannah said, her eyes darting across the terrain as her mind revved into high gear, “Maybe those guys did see Marissa…she was out of my sight for a few minutes. Do you think they followed her into town and snatched her? Maybe her father had nothing to do with her disappearance.” She took a deep breath through gritted teeth. “Oh, I just wish we knew where she was. She has to be all right. She just has to!”

  Craig reached over and patted Savannah’s hand. “Okay, let’s get these beasts back in their corrals.
Do you mind if we leave your horse at the Teagues’ place? After I get my car and drop you off, I’ll make another run out to Mule Flats. Let’s hope the dogs can do their job before it’s too late.”

  “I don’t want to hear about too late, Craig,” she demanded.

  “Savannah, be realistic.”

  “No!” she said. “You be realistic. God couldn’t possibly let anything evil happen to that sweet spirit.” Savannah was sure Craig had more to say, but was glad that he decided to hold his tongue.

  ****

  When Michael arrived home from work that evening, he found Savannah in the office staring at photos on the computer screen.

  “Da-da-da-da-da-da,” Lily chirped when she saw her daddy.

  “Hi, punkin’” he said, lifting her from her little blow-up house where she’d been playing with some of her toys.

  He kissed Savannah. “Whatcha doing, hon?”

  “Just scrutinizing these photos.”

  “From your ride today? What have you found?”

  She nodded. “Nothing. I see nothing that would give us a clue. I want a clue. I want a clue so badly.”

  “I know,” he said. “It’s rough not knowing. Waiting can be agony.” He stared into the screen and suggested, “Can you print them out—maybe get a different perspective in a better light and with a magnifier? Maybe print them in eight-by-ten size.”

  “Yeah, I printed a couple of them.” She turned to him. “Craig may have identified the little boy in that…awful picture. Michael, his family has reported him missing. They think he was kidnapped.”

  “Good Lord,” he said. “So how do you think your photographer friend ended up with that picture?”

  She shook her head slowly. “That’s a puzzle. A seriously daunting puzzle.” She turned toward him. “But it appears that Rags’s and Marissa’s instincts about that guy are valid.” She paused. “…if, indeed, that picture did come out of Esse’s backpack. We don’t even know that for sure.” When Lily began to fuss, she said, “Hey, do you two want supper? Helena made us some enchiladas when she was here cleaning house this morning.”

  “Sounds great. I’m starved.” He then asked, “How did the photo class go today?”

  “Oh, we cancelled it. With Marissa missing and Christmas so close, we decided…”

  “Makes sense,” he said.

  Savannah picked up the photos and walked into the kitchen with Michael and Lily. “Hi, Rags,” she said when she saw the cat walking toward them. “Want supper?”

  “Did he eat today?” Michael asked, putting Lily in her high chair and snapping a bib around her neck.

  “A little,” she said. “I’ve never known him to go into such a funk. He’s better, though. I invited Charlotte over for some therapy this afternoon.” She shook her head. “Imagine—using a child as therapy for a cat instead of the other way around.”

  He smiled at the thought. “Was he happy to see her?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Well, good. So what did they do?” he asked, absent-mindedly as he began flipping through the photos Savannah had placed on the table. Rags sat nearby, watching him.

  “Charlotte helped him clean out his stash.”

  “Oh really?” Michael chuckled. “What did they find in there this time?”

  “Oh, the usual—tea bags, receipts, baby toys, bread crust. I found one of my socks I’d thought the washing machine ate. Oh, and the water bill.” She shook her head. “It was due today, so I called and paid it over the phone.”

  “Crazy cat.”

  Suddenly, Savannah jumped and grabbed her phone. “It’s Craig,” she announced before answering hesitantly, “Hi Craig. Any news?”

  “Not really,” he said. “The dogs didn’t find anything. In fact, the handler said they acted confused—like maybe someone had sprayed or sprinkled something to knock them off the track. It was evidently a disastrous experiment.”

  Savannah was quiet. She then said, “Craig?”

  “What?”

  “Well, I’m not sure,” she said rather apprehensively as she stared down at one of the photos on the table. “Michael, look at this.”

  “What’s going on, Savannah?” Craig asked.

  “Just a minute, Craig. Michael look—what do you see there?” she asked. “Use the magnifying glass.”

  “What is it, Savannah?” Craig asked again.

  “Well, I was looking at that photo I took the other day—the one Rags tore up. I printed it out again. Craig, I just spotted something. You know what you said about looking for something that doesn’t belong?”

  “Yeah,”

  “Well, there’s a dot off in the distance here that caught my eye. Do you see that, Michael? It’s that yellowish dot, right there to the left of that shrub.”

  “Yeah,” Michael said, straining his eyes. “What do you think that is?”

  “Craig,” she said, “it could be someone in the distance watching us. Good God, Craig, I think it’s…I’m pretty sure it’s…Esse.”

  Chapter 6

  Later that evening after Lily was in bed, Savannah sat on the sofa staring at the photo. “It could be a figure, but it takes some imagination to see it,” Michael said.

  “That dot is the same color as the head wrap that photographer wears. It could very well be him.”

  “And if it is, what’s wrong?” Michael asked, playing the devil’s advocate. “I mean, he is a photographer. You said he’s been in that area taking pictures before.”

  “That’s true. Oh, I don’t know, Michael. It’s just that Rags doesn’t like him and neither does Marissa. Craig seems to think that Rags pointed us to that area.”

  Michael thinned his lips. “Because he chewed up a picture you took out there? That’s a stretch, hon.”

  “Well, if this is Esse, what was he doing out there at the same time we were there? Why didn’t he speak to us?”

  “From that distance?” Michael said, grinning.

  She peered at him for a moment. “Well, I think it’s just too coincidental that he would show up where Craig’s searching for Marissa. Don’t you?” She faced him. “Gads, he could be leading some sort of double life—camera-shop clerk by day, kidnapper by night.” She shivered and growled. “Makes me sick!”

  “That’s a strong accusation.”

  “Think about it, Michael. I told you about the game he was playing with the children behind our backs. That was just too weird. I don’t trust that guy and the more I think about it, the more concerned I am that he’s involved in Marissa’s disappearance.”

  Michael creased his brow. “So what did Craig say?”

  “He’s going to check Esse out. He said he’d let me know what he learns.”

  Just then the house phone rang. Michael looked at his watch. “Who could that be this time of night?”

  “Telemarketer. We need to get rid of that phone—all we get on it is telemarketer calls. Let it go,” she suggested.

  “I’d better get it—don’t want it to wake up Lily.” He walked to the phone and picked it up. “Hello?” After a few moments, he said, “Yes. Just a minute,” and he held the receiver out for Savannah.

  “A telemarketer?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I don’t think so,” he said.

  “Hello?” she answered hesitantly.

  “Hello, is this Savannah Ivey?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I understand you’re a friend of Marissa Sanchez.”

  “Yes,” Savannah said, straightening. “Who is this?” she almost demanded.

  The woman hesitated, then continued, “My name is Mabel Roberts. I…um…I think Marissa is my granddaughter.”

  Savannah’s mind raced. “Granddaughter?” she repeated.

  “Yes.” Savannah could hear the woman’s voice crack. “My husband and I saw her picture in the paper this morning and we’re certain she’s our deceased daughter’s child.” She cleared her throa
t and continued. “We’ve only seen her twice before—once when she was born and again when a man, presumably her father, came asking for money. She was only four then. He called her Rachel.” She paused, then said in a strained voice, “He promised to bring her back the next day for a visit, but…we never saw her or him again.”

  “Rachel?” Savannah questioned. “What makes you think Marissa is the same child?”

  The woman choked up. “She looks just like her mother did at ten. Besides, I understand it isn’t unusual for the…street people…especially those with a tendency to break the law…to use different names sometimes.” She spoke more quietly. “The picture in the paper showed the child’s little crooked legs. They’re just as they were the last time we saw her. Oh yes, Mrs. Ivey, we’re positive Marissa is our granddaughter.”

  Savannah began to weep. “Oh my gosh,” she said through tears, “she has grandparents? Where have you been? She has needed you every day of her life. She’s had it rough, you know—she’s had to endure stuff no child—especially one as special as Marissa—should have to.”

  There was silence on the other end. Finally the woman sniffled, saying, “I know. We have searched and searched for her. We’ve wanted her with us ever since she was born. But they took her—our daughter and that man. They wouldn’t let us see her. We heard that our daughter had died. We hired people to find the child, but they were met with dead ends. If she is still—I mean—when we find her this time, we will do everything in our power to keep her with us and make sure she is safe.”

  “Where are you?” Savannah asked quietly.

  “Massachusetts.”

  “Massachusetts?” Savannah said, frowning. “The story about Marissa was in your newspaper?”

  “Oh no, we’ve been subscribing to many newspapers in and around San Francisco online since we moved away five years ago. Like I said, we want our granddaughter with us. We read the papers from that area every day in hopes of seeing a clue as to where she is.” She started to cry. “And now she’s missing…possibly in danger.” She collected herself and said more calmly, “We’re flying to Frisco and driving to Hammond as soon as possible. We’d like to meet you and her teacher, who has also been a friend to our granddaughter.”