Paws for Trouble

by Patricia Fry

  "Your parents are considered to be missing persons at this point. That's why we called you for help in finding them."

  Just then Savannah said, "Craig, Craig! I think Rags has found something."

  "Ms. Randolph, thank you for speaking with me. Let me give you my number in case you learn anything or remember anything at all that might help us to locate your parents. Meanwhile, we're working with a cat and he seems to have found something."

  "A cat?" Libby questioned.

  "Yes, I know, it's highly irregular, but this cat has helped us with some pretty sticky cases, and…"

  "A cat in Hammond? Is it Rags? He lives near my parents, doesn't he? Dad has told me about him and he sent me articles from the newspaper. You see, I rescue cats. I have a slew of them, but none have ever behaved like Dad describes Rags. I guess Rags has been over to visit in the past. Dad has even sent me pictures. He's grey and white, right?"

  Craig smiled. "Yes, let me send you a picture of what he's doing at this moment. He has his teeth into a piece of carpet or something and he's tugging at it like crazy. I'd better go and see what he's come up with."

  "Let me know, will you?" Libby said.

  "Yes, I'll be in touch." Craig turned his attention to Rags. "What does he have there?"

  "I don't know, but it's yucky," Savannah griped.

  Craig approached the cat and began pulling on what Rags was pulling on.

  "Look out!" Savannah shouted just as the thing came loose.

  Craig fell back and was sprayed with dirt. Rags ran out of the way.

  "What just hit me?" Craig asked, sitting up and holding his head.

  Savannah couldn't speak for laughing. Finally, she managed to say, "A buggy. A doll buggy. Oh, Craig, that thing really threw you."

  He stood up and dusted himself off. "A doll buggy?" he grumbled. "Rags, what were you doing digging up a doll buggy?"

  Savannah looked it over more closely. "An old one, too," she said. "It was probably the daughter's when she was little."

  "Yeah, she grew up here, I guess," Craig said.

  "So what did she say?" Savannah asked. "Was that her on the phone?"

  "Yes, she doesn't have a clue where her parents are. As far as she knew they had no plans to move or sell out. She did give me the name and number of a sister." When he saw Savannah pull out her phone and prepare to snap a photo, he looked in the direction she was focusing and saw Rags sitting in the dirty, broken—down doll buggy. He shook his head. "If the guys at the station could see you now, Rags." He couldn't resist taking a few photos of his own, saying, "This one's going up on the bulletin board at the station."

  "Along with this one?" Savannah asked, showing Craig the photo she'd taken of him on the ground with the buggy on top of him.

  Craig frowned. "No, let's not." He looked around. "What now?" he asked, not expecting an answer. "Rags, how about showing us something that helps us? Let's stop playing around, shall we?"

  "He may not be playing around," Savannah said. "You know, maybe they do have flooding around this area. How else would that buggy get buried like that? Doesn't this dirt look like silt? That little creek over there just might spill over when we get a good rain—you know, like we had last month."

  Craig removed his baseball cap and scratched his head. "I think you're right. So the buggy may have been washed downstream years ago." He looked back toward the house. "Or maybe not so many years ago. From the looks of the furniture and things in the house, Mrs. Randolph is into antiques. This might have been on display in the house. Maybe it wasn't Libby Randolph's toy."

  "Yeah, and what would that tell us, Craig?"

  "Well, I'm just wondering what else is buried out here. What else might have gotten caught up in a flood? Like you said, Savannah, we had a pretty good week of rain about a month ago. So do you think this creek runs deep at times?"

  She walked closer to it and said, "Yeah, I guess it does." When she saw Craig staring out at the creek bed, she asked, "What are you thinking?"

  He looked at her.

  She cringed. "Do you think they could have drowned?"

  He took a deep breath. "I guess it's possible." Craig chuckled. "Now what's he doing?" He walked closer to Rags, bent over, and picked something up.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "A receipt, it looks like." He scuffed up the dirt with his foot and pulled something else from the silt, announcing, "A check register."

  Savannah moved closer. She picked up a birthday card. "From Stella," she said.

  He nodded. "That's Mrs. Randolph's sister."

  "What's that you've got there, Rags?" Craig asked. When the cat dropped it, he picked it up. "An earring. Is it real?"

  Savannah cringed. "Oh my gosh. She walked closer and looked at it. "Heck, I'm not good with jewelry. Ask your wife; she'll know." She folded her arms across her chest. "Now I'm getting the heebie—jeebies." She looked around. "Craig, you don't think she was wearing that when…"

  "It's entirely possible," Craig said. "Rags, old boy, I think you may have found a meaningful clue there, unless…"

  "Unless what?" she asked.

  "Well, she might have simply thrown this out because she lost the mate or she was cleaning out her jewelry box before she left on her trip or moved or whatever. What we're finding could be trash that got washed away when the creek rose."

  "I sure hope so," Savannah said. "I'd hate to think that those innocent people, who apparently loved this place, ended up dying here at the hands of those crooked creeps."

  Chapter Nine

  "Well, I'm certainly sorry to hear about what you found out at Randy's place today," Michael said that evening after they'd put the children to bed.

  "Does Craig think those poor people drowned?" Gladys asked.

  "Or that they were killed and thrown into the creek," Savannah said. Before Michael or Gladys could respond, she continued, "We're hoping that what we found was simply refuse that got washed away and that the Randolphs are okay somewhere."

  "Doesn't sound good for them," Michael said.

  Savannah jumped when her phone chimed. "It's Craig," she announced. "Hi, Craig."

  "Hi, do you have a minute?"

  "Yes, I've been eager to hear from you. Do you have news?"

  He cleared his throat. "Yes, I have news, but it's not what we'd hoped for."

  "Oh no. What happened?"

  "Well, Mrs. Randolph's sister hasn't heard from them, either. She said she's tried her sister's phone several times with no response. She was planning to check in with a friend of Mrs. Randolph's—someone she knows through the church. Stella, the sister, stayed here for some weeks last year helping Mrs. Randolph recover from hip surgery. She says Mrs. Randolph healed up beautifully and was back doing her charity work, and there was never any talk of them retiring or moving away. Only…"

  "Only what?" Savannah asked.

  "The Randolphs' mail has been redirected to a post office box in Straley."

  "Really?" Savannah said. "So are you thinking they moved to Straley? Or could those crooks have done that in order to steal the Randolphs' identity?"

  "I thought about that. I checked, and the mail is being picked up. I've put someone at the post office to find out who it is."

  "Someone else from the crook gang, probably," Savannah said.

  "Could be. And if that's the case, we sure want to catch him or her in the act."

  Savannah thought about what he'd just told her, then asked, "So you didn't find anything buried on the property?"

  "Yeah, we found stuff," he said. "You know where Rags was digging out there today. I got some men behind shovels, and we uncovered more of what appears to be the Randolph's belongings. By the way, that earring the cat found is real. It's worth several hundred dollars, so it's not something anyone would toss into the trash. We found Mrs. Randolph's pocketbook, as well."

  "Oh no," Savannah said.

  "And it was filled with all the things women carry these days, including medication, pi
ctures, wallet, money, credit cards."

  "But you didn't find any bodies?" Savannah asked.

  "Not yet. All of those things were buried fairly shallow. We'll have heavy equipment there tomorrow at daylight in hopes of bringing this nightmare to a close."

  "So you believe they were killed?" she asked quietly.

  "I'm pretty sure of it," he said, "but there are a few things niggling at me that I don't yet understand. Maybe whatever they find tomorrow will clear that up for us."

  "Well, good luck. Keep me posted."

  "Um, Savannah…" Craig said.

  "No," she whined. "You don't want to take Rags out there again, do you?"

  He chuckled, then said, "Not at the moment, but I thought you might be able to help me with something."

  "What?"

  "Well, I have a hunch," he revealed.

  "Yes?" she prodded.

  "Give me a little time to think on it. There are a few things I want to check out. But if I decide I need you, do you have some free time tomorrow?"

  "I never have free time, Craig. Not with two small children, all these animals, and a spread like ours."

  "A spread, huh? Is it too much for you, Savannah? Maybe you should move into an apartment."

  "Funny," she said. "So what do you have in mind? How much of my valuable time might you need?"

  "Maybe as many as three hours tomorrow afternoon, and you may as well plan to bring the cat."

  She let out a sigh. "Okay, Craig, if you think it'll help you close the case. I must say I've become attached to the Randolphs, even though I don't know them all that well. I sure hope you find them safe and sound."

  Craig heaved a sigh. "That's mighty optimistic of you, based on what we've found so far."

  "Well, that's what I want, and I think you do, too."

  "Right," he said. "I'll check in with you tomorrow."

  "Okay," she agreed. "Good night."

  ****

  "Was that Craig who just called?" Michael asked the next afternoon.

  Savannah nodded. "Yes, he said a woman picked up the Randolphs' mail in Straley. A sheriff's officer followed her to a home outside the city. He wants me to help him find out who she is and why she's picking up the mail."

  "Aren't there any women in the sheriff's department that he could work with?" he asked.

  Savannah grinned. "Apparently none with a cat."

  "So Rags is going with you?"

  "Yes. Come on, Ragsie, let's get you ready. Uncle Craig is coming by any minute. Oh, here he is." Savannah snapped the harness onto Rags, picked him up, and walked to the door. "See you in a while," she called. "Oh, hon, don't forget we promised Lily she could watch that video if she takes a good nap. And try to spend time outside with the kids, since it's a nice day. Get them to toss a ball or something."

  "Okay," he agreed.

  "Mom should be home around four. I heard from her a while ago; she and Auntie are enjoying a gay old shopping spree."

  Michael smiled. "Good for them."

  Savannah kissed him, then walked toward the door, calling over her shoulder, "See you soon."

  "What's the deal?" Savannah asked, once she'd buckled her seatbelt in Craig's car.

  "As I told you, a woman, clearly not Mrs. Randolph, picked up the mail and the officer followed her to a house in a rural area outside the city. We want to find out who she is and why she's collecting the Randolphs' mail."

  Savannah chuckled. "So am I going to just knock on the door and ask, 'Why did you take that mail?'"

  Craig smirked. "No, you're going to knock on the door looking for a lost cat."

  She grinned at him, then frowned and said, "Wait. Are you saying you want me to…"

  "Sure, he'll come back—you know he won't go far. Yes, I think we should turn him loose, then you knock on the door. Let's hope she opens the door and he runs inside like he normally would do, right?"

  "He probably would, but…"

  "But what?" Craig asked.

  "How about if I say I found a lost cat and when she opens the door I allow him to go inside? That sounds like a more certain way for us to get in." She faced him. "Why do you want me inside?"

  "I don't," he said. "I want Rags inside. I figured you could arrange that better than I can."

  "Why?" she asked. "What do you want him to do?"

  "I don't know. We won't know until we get inside."

  "You're going with me?" she asked.

  He shook his head. "Probably not."

  "Craig, what if she's a criminal? She might have a gun."

  "I thought about that, which is why I'm going to wire you."

  "Do what?"

  "Put a wire on you." Craig explained, "Savannah, I don't know what we're up against with this gal, but I believe—it's a hunch, now—that we're dealing with an organized group of criminals. They often operate just under or above the radar. They're connected in ways you can't imagine, but there's always a weak link, and that's what I'm hoping to find today—the weak link."

  "The weak link?" she asked.

  He nodded. "Yes, in my experience, he or she is usually on the innocent side—you know, not privy to the inner workings of the crime in progress. And they're dispensable. If they learn too much about what's going on, they're dispensed with. The lucky ones are simply tossed aside and left to go on with their miserable life."

  "So if this gal is small potatoes, why are you pursuing her?" Savannah asked.

  "Because, Savannah, sometimes they're given a big—potatoes job to do, and they're generally so naïve that they can be made to talk about it. Know what I mean?"

  "I guess so." She shook her head. "Your work can certainly be complex, can't it?"

  "Well, yes. What did you expect, that I sit around all day drinking coffee and eating donuts?"

  She grinned at him. Both of them sat with their own thoughts until she asked, "So which idea do you like best? Can I pretend that I found the cat? I really do think that's an easier way into the house—that is, if she'll open the door."

  "Okay, we'll do it your way," he agreed. "Yes. I can see that working."

  After a while, Craig drove into the parking lot of the Straley police station. He motioned for Savannah to go inside with him, but on the way to the door, Rags pulled away from Savannah and jumped into a large cement planter.

  "Now what's he doing?" Craig groused. When he saw officers at a window, he said, "Sheesh, Savannah, is he going to take a dump? Does he have to do that here in front of my colleagues? Come on, Rags, that's embarrassing."

  Savannah couldn't stop laughing. "Craig," she said between chortles, "it's a natural feline response to Mother Nature. They won't let him use their bathroom inside, and he has to go. What else is he going to do?"

  "Okay, you just stand there in front of him. Try to block him from view. I'm going in. I don't want to be seen with a cat that's so…well, unrefined."

  Savannah was still laughing when Rags finished his job. She picked him up and carried him into the station, where Craig was taking a lot of razzing.

  One officer said, "So this is the cat you brag so much about? Can't you control his behavior, Sledge?"

  "Yeah," another officer said, "we could arrest him for public urination."

  "Or exposing himself in front of police officers, for heaven's sake," someone else said.

  Craig put up his hand. "Okay, okay, have your fun. A cat's gotta do what a cat's gotta do." He pointed at one of the officers. "Parrish, I'll bet your canine partner has been known to take a leak out in the field."

  "Sure," he said laughing, "out in the field, not in our flower garden in front of all of his team members." He shuttered the laughter and asked, "So what's up, Sledge? You're chasing down someone who's operating over here?"

  "Yes, I'd like to borrow a wire and maybe a couple of guys or gals, just in case we need backup. We're targeting a home out on Briar Road."

  "Sure," Officer Parrish said. "Things are slow here, and I'd like to see the cat in action." He laughed
again. "I mean, police action, not relieving himself in our flowers."

  Craig glared at Savannah, who smiled sheepishly.

  Once they'd fitted Savannah with a mic, Officers Wallace and Parrish followed her and Craig in their cruiser to a spot about two blocks from the house on Briar Street. Craig walked with Savannah as close as they could get to the house and still remain concealed, which was easy because the house was surrounded by thick shrubs. Savannah removed Rags's harness, picked him up, and walked to the front door of the small house.

  A tall woman who appeared to be about thirty—five opened the door. She had short—cropped curly dark hair and was wearing capris and a t—shirt.

  "Hello," Savannah said. "I'm wondering if you know who this cat belongs to. I found him just wandering…"

  "No," the woman said, "I see cats around here, but I don't think I've seen that one."

  "So you don't have cats?" Savannah asked.

  "No, not anymore," the woman said.

  "Do you know anyone around here who does?" Savannah pushed.

  "Um…I'm not sure," the woman said. "I haven't been here long. I don't know too many…"

  Savannah surprised even herself when she pulled the screen door open and said, "Here, maybe you can see him more clearly without the screen in the way." She pretended to clumsily drop Rags in the doorway, and he did what she'd hoped he'd do—he darted into the house. "Oh no," she said, walking in after him.

  This took the woman by surprise. She stepped aside and said, "No, no, you can't come in here. Please, I'm not allowed. Here, let me help you catch the cat, then you have to leave." But, when the woman reached for Rags, he ran into the kitchen. The woman trotted after him, only to have him race past her into the hallway. "No!" she shouted.

  That was Savannah's cue to see what she could learn. She walked into the hallway after Rags, calling, "Here kitty—kitty. Come here, cat!" When Rags stopped and sniffed, then began pawing at a closed door, Savannah asked, "What are you doing?" She laughed giddily. "I don't know what he thinks he's doing. What's in there that he might be interested in, anyway?"