by Patricia Fry
“No.”
“Can you describe these people you think you saw?” he asked.
She gazed at the bell tower. “Well, once we saw a piece of fabric blowing in the breeze up there. We thought it might be a scarf, maybe. Another time, I saw what looked like a woman carrying a bird cage, running—no, sort of gliding along the second-floor hallway toward the staircase.”
The investigator stared at Savannah. “Gliding? With a bird?”
“Yeah, sort of. I don’t know if she was real or one of those ghost figures like you see at Disneyland.”
He made some notes, then asked, “Who’s we?”
“Huh?”
“You said, ‘we saw someone…’”
“Oh, my aunt is working with me to trap the cats. We both saw something in the bell tower.”
“So, as far as you know there’s no one living in this place. Is that right?”
“Not that we can tell, only…”
“Only what?”
“There are several all-black cats that seem to stay inside and appear to be well cared for. We’re sure that someone has been taking care of them. But there’s no sign of anyone living here—no furniture, clothes, food or anything.”
He looked up from his notepad. “Just well-fed cats, huh?”
Savannah nodded.
He looked at the structure, then at Savannah. “So you’ve been inside there?”
“Yes. There’s an open door below the bell tower.”
He peered at her for a moment, then made more notes. “Ma’am, we’ve checked every door to this place and we didn’t find any that are open and the windows are all boarded up solid. There’s a broken window here and there, but there’s no way inside that place unless you happen to have a key or maybe a crowbar.”
She looked puzzled. “No, we don’t have a key…” she chuckled, “…or a crowbar.”
He stared at her for a moment before saying, “That small door you mentioned under the bell tower…well, that door seems to be locked from the inside.”
Savannah frowned. “I don’t know what to say.”
He tightened his lips. “I’d say there’s someone inside or someone with a key. Do you know which it is?”
Just then Savannah heard a familiar voice. “Well, I should have known the Iveys would be involved.”
“Craig,” she said, feeling a sudden sense of relief.
“You know the detective?” the investigator asked flatly.
She nodded.
Craig approached and put his arm across Savannah’s shoulders. “The Iveys are some of my best friends. Now, Leonard, why are you interrogating her?”
“Well…um…her husband found the deceased. She’s been hanging around out here doing something with cats and she says she’s seen people out here, but that no one lives in the building.” He squinted toward Craig. “Detective, the building is locked up. The door Mrs. Ivey says they found open in the past is locked from the inside. We believe someone’s in there.”
“Or,” Savannah reminded him, “as you said, someone may have a key.”
“Exactly.” The investigator looked her in the eyes. “Maybe we should talk to your aunt.”
Craig chuckled. “Oh yes, your aunt’s mixed up in this too, isn’t she?”
Savannah frowned. “Mixed up in what?”
Just then Michael approached with Lily in his arms.
“Hi, princess,” Craig said, addressing the toddler. “Sleepy, huh? Me too, after that big farm-style meal.”
“What’s going on?” Michael asked. “Can I take my wife and daughter home now?”
“Yes,” Craig said. “If we have any further questions, we’ll be in touch. Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”
Savannah stood up and Michael squeezed her around the waist. “Are you okay?”
“I guess so. For a while there I felt as if I’m some sort of suspect.”
“Why?” he asked, looking from Savannah to Craig.
“I guess because I’ve been spending time out here.”
“Oh, don’t take Investigator Leonard too seriously. He’s just trying to do his job. He’s after more feathers in his cap, you know. And he’s pretty good at what he does. What he doesn’t have yet is street sense—instinct. But he’ll get there.”
Savannah looked back at the building. “Craig, you heard him; he said the place is all locked up, but anytime Auntie and I have been here we’ve found that small door under the bell tower open.”
He rubbed his chin. “Now that is odd. So have you seen anyone else out here?”
Savannah thought about the question before answering. “We think someone’s feeding the black cats.”
“Huh?”
“There are maybe three black cats still inside and they seem to be well fed. Luke says they’re marked with some sort of odd spiritual symbol.”
“Oh, voodoo stuff, huh?” Craig complained. “Someone wants us to believe there are ghosts walking the halls? I hate those cases.”
“Do you get many of those, Craig?” Michael asked.
“No, thank heavens. They’re a pain in the butt. You don’t know what’s real and what’s illusion and who’s fantasizing and who’s rational.” He thought for a moment and said, “But when there’s a body involved, you know you’re dealing with a living being, not mirrors and smoke. And we do have a body.”
Savannah looked at him. “Who is it, Craig? Do you know?”
He shook his head. “A woman about five foot three, plump, in her early sixties, I’d guess. She’s wearing a lot of material and jewelry.”
“Material?” Savannah asked.
“Yeah, you know—layers of filmy fabric like some women wear.” Craig turned to the couple. “Did you happen to see a bird?”
“A bird?” Savannah asked, perking up. “A black bird?”
“Yeah, someone said it’s a raven.”
“No. I didn’t see it today. Did you?”
He shook his head. “But I guess someone did. As I walked up, they told me it watched from the bell tower for a while, then flew down and skimmed their heads while they were working with the corpse.”
“I saw that,” Michael said. “He darn near knocked that one gal’s glasses off her nose.”
Craig looked into the sky. “Now that’s odd. So Savannah, you’ve seen the bird before?”
“Yes, a couple of times. We think it attacked Rags inside the place one day.”
Craig just stared at her, then said, “Well, I’ll let you go. I’d better get to work here. Tell your aunt we may come a-knockin’ at her door with some questions.”
“Will do. Thanks, Craig.”
Chapter 6
“Her name was Charmaine Lorraine,” Margaret told Savannah the following morning over the phone.
“What about her?” Savannah asked.
“She’s the dead gal you found at the seminary yesterday.”
Savannah gasped. “Oh my gosh! That’s just too weird.”
“Why? Did you know her?” When Savannah didn’t respond, Margaret said, “Vannie?”
“Yeah, I did know her. I think she may have been my writing teacher. Her name was Char Lorraine.”
“Yowza! Now that is weird.”
“Not only that,” Savannah said, “Charmaine is the name of the witch or psychic or whatever that we were supposed to meet on Friday. What do you suppose happened?”
“Holy cow. That’s creepy.”
“Yes,” Savannah said, her voice an octave higher than normal. She shivered. “I’ve got goose bumps.” She paused. “Oh, wait, the house phone’s ringing. I’ll call you back.”
“You still answer that thing, huh? It’s probably a telemarketer.”
“Probably. I’ll call you. Hello,” she said into the landline phone.
After a period of silence the caller spoke. “Is this Savannah Ivey?”
“Yes.”
“I guess you heard what happened to your teacher. She’s
no longer among the living.”
Savannah felt her stomach tighten. So that was her. She paused, then asked, “Who’s this?”
“Oh…um…my name’s Rita Johanson. I just wanted to let you know that I’m taking over the class that Charmaine was teaching, only it’s been moved to a new location. Here’s the address: 1124 Samson Way.”
“That’s a residential street, isn’t it?”
“Um…yes…yes, I want to provide a more intimate setting where students will feel more comfortable.”
“Oh, okay,” Savannah said. “Do you want me to bring the assignment Ms…um…Ms. Lorraine gave us?”
“Oh…yeah…sure. Bring it. That would be just fine. I’ll see you at eight fifteen Wednesday night.”
“Eight fifteen?” Savannah questioned.
“Yes, I can’t start the class until eight fifteen. So tell your loved ones that you’ll be home later than usual Wednesday night.”
“Oh, okay,” Savannah said, feeling a little unsure about the situation.
Before hanging up, Rita added, “Oh, and bring your cat. I understand that you’re writing about your cat.”
“Huh?”
“Yes, students are to bring something representing the topic they’re writing about. So bring your cat. You can do that, can’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
“So, who was it?” Margaret asked when Savannah called her back a few minutes later.
“My new weird writing teacher. Auntie, I thought Char Lorraine was strange, but her replacement sounds just as peculiar. Maybe it’s the way teachers are these days.” She chuckled. “Actually, I wasn’t all that thrilled with Char—may she rest in peace. I can only hope this teacher has more to offer me.” She let out a sigh. “I guess I’ll find out Wednesday night, won’t I?”
****
“Got your binder and pencils—and an apple for the teacher?” Michael teased as Savannah prepared for her writing class a few nights later.
“Yeah. I’m all ready, just waiting for my aunt. She’s driving tonight.”
“Now, why is your aunt going with you?”
Savannah smiled. “She’s thinking about writing a book focused on managing cat colonies and she thought the class might help her get organized. She’s not sure if she wants to make it a how-to or a have-done.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, you know, whether she should teach others how to do it or write about her experiences with cat colonies.”
“I can’t imagine your aunt a writer.”
“I don’t know why not.” When she saw the approaching headlights through the window she said, “Oh, here she is.” She kissed Michael and Lily, then picked up Rags’s leash and led him out into the night, calling over her shoulder, “See you later.”
“Hi,” Margaret said as Savannah opened the door and urged Rags to jump up onto the seat. “What’s he doing here? Has Michael refused to take care of him?”
Savannah ignored her aunt’s remark. “Michael wonders why you’re coming with me tonight. He can’t see you as a writer.”
“Oh?” she said, obviously offended. “I don’t know why not.” She grinned. “Maybe he means I’m not weird enough. Yeah, that’s probably it.”
“Probably,” Savannah said, grinning.
“So why do you have your cat?”
Savannah looked at Margaret. “Well, you could have brought cats too. We’re supposed to bring something that represents what we’re writing about.”
“You didn’t tell me that. Yeah, I could have brought Layla.”
“She’s not a colony cat.”
“No, but she’s a pleasure to have around.” Margaret glanced at Rags. “Unlike someone else we know.”
Ignoring her aunt, Savannah asked, “Do you know where Samson Street is?”
“Yes, I think so.” Once they had turned onto the street, Margaret said, “Holy cow, how many people are in your class, anyway?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I don’t see any place to park. The whole block and…well, another half block are loaded with cars.”
Savannah pointed. “There it is, 1124.” She glanced around. “Gosh, there is no place to park, is there?”
Margaret continued to drive around the corner and almost to the end of that block, then she looked at her niece. “Okay if I park here? It looks like quite a walk.”
“Yeah, that’s okay. I need my exercise.”
Before getting out of the car, Margaret reached into the console. “Glad I carry this flashlight in my car…with extra batteries.”
“You still do that, huh? I mean, I know you started doing that after the fiasco in the swamps of San Francisco.”
“And I’ve never wavered. I always have a working flashlight with me.”
“You are disciplined; I’m proud of you. Come on, Auntie, light the way.” The two women walked the block and a half or so struggling a bit with Rags as he wove himself in and out and between their ankles and tried to explore some of the neighborhood yards. Finally, Savannah picked him up and carried him the rest of the way. When they drew closer to the house, she slowed. “That’s odd. It looks dark in there.” She looked at the house number again. “Yup, 1124.”
“Maybe they’ve already started and someone’s reading a spooky story, so they dimmed the lights.” Before Savannah could respond, Margaret said, “Oh, wait, I meant to bring a trap. I figured I could share a trap—and maybe educate people while doing my show-and-tell.”
“Oh, you have one in your car?”
Margaret nodded. “I’ll be right back. Want me to leave the light?”
Savannah shook her head. “No, you’ll need it more than I will. Besides,” she said, placing Rags on the ground and digging in her purse, “Michael gave me this little flashlight and made me promise to always carry it.” She turned it on. “See, it’s pretty bright for being so small. Go on, I’ll see you in a few.”
“Okay,” Margaret said, heading back toward her car.
Meanwhile, Savannah walked up to the house, leading Rags. Hmmm. It is weird that it’s so dark in there. She checked the number again. Oh wait, there’s a note on the door. Maybe class was cancelled. She read the note. “Door’s open. Come in.” Maybe Auntie was right—the class is in session and they’ve darkened the room to create a mood. She dropped the flashlight into her pocket, pushed the door open, and stepped one foot inside the room. When she didn’t hear anything, she called out into the stillness, “Hello.” Then she heard a woman’s voice.
“Come in.”
Savannah took a step inside, then hesitated. “Where are you?” she called quietly. But before anyone could reply, Rags emitted a low growl. Uh-oh, she thought. Danger. She started to back out through the door, but promptly ran into something solid behind her.
She felt a hand on her arm and a man said into her ear, “You’re not going anywhere.”
Once he’d rather forcibly ushered her into the room far enough that he could close the door, Savannah heard the woman speak again. “Get the cat.” She also heard the door lock engage.
Oh my gosh. What’s going on? I must be at the wrong house. Who is that? What do they want? Savannah held tightly to Rags’s leash. She felt as if her heart would pound right out of her chest. “No!” she asserted when someone—probably the man, she thought—roughly pulled on the leash. Despite her attempt to hold on, he pried Savannah’s fingers from the leash, picked up Rags, and walked away with him.
“What’s going on?” Savannah demanded. She looked hard in the direction the man had taken Rags and could just see the outline of two figures standing in the shadows. The one carrying Rags wore a cloak-like garment with a large hood. He looks like the damned grim reaper, she thought. The other one is a woman—the teacher, Rita? What is this, some sort of initiation? A game we’re playing in class tonight? Well, I don’t think it’s funny. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice quivering.
“What do I want?” th
e woman repeated from across the room. “I want my sanctuary. You’ve disturbed my sanctuary—you and that other female, the young man you brought there and, of course,” she cackled and scowled at Rags, “this cat.”
“What are you talking about?” Savannah asked. “What sanctuary?”
“Oh, people have been coming around now and then, but you,” she said with venom, “you won’t leave. You keep coming back and bringing others. You must be punished just like Charmaine was.” The woman’s voice accelerated. “I have work to do there and I can’t let you interrupt it.” She spoke more sternly. “If you hadn’t brought that man and that little child out there Sunday, they’d never have found her. But oh no, the man—your husband, I presume—had to snoop around and then the place was swarming with people, all wanting to destroy what I’ve built.” She slammed something down hard on the desk and shouted, “I won’t have it!”
Savannah gasped. She didn’t mean to say it, but the words just tumbled out. “Oh my gosh, you killed Charmaine Lorraine!”
“Yes. She was trying to destroy my life’s work. I don’t know who she thought she was. She pretended to be a friend, then stabbed me in the back when she brought all those black cats in there and began taking over.” She snarled, “Well, those cats aren’t long for this world, I can tell you that. She won’t be needing them any longer, anyway.”
“Oh my gosh. You mean the seminary. No, don’t harm the cats. We’ll take care of them. We’ll take them off the property. I promise.” She paused, her head spinning, her mind trying to process what was happening. The woman’s crazed. Maybe I can talk my way out of this. “We’ll leave. We’ll take all the cats and leave. Don’t worry,” Savannah said, backing toward the door, “we won’t bother you again.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” the woman said, her tone reeking of evil. “Nelson will see to that.”
Savannah became aware that the man was now standing behind her blocking the door. She felt the most awful pang in the pit of her stomach. Her heart raced. She looked around the room. God, they’ve covered the windows with black paper. And he’s guarding the door. How will I ever get out of this?
“You won’t get out of here alive,” the woman said. She laughed. “You probably wonder how I knew what you were thinking. I’m psychic. I hear what’s in people’s minds. And I think you should know that this is your last day on earth—in fact, the moments are clicking away. Is there anything you’d like to say before you die?” The woman laughed again. “Never mind. You won’t be given the chance. You’re going to drink this potion, then Nelson will take you where no one will find your remains and you won’t ever be able to disturb my peace again. Grab her, Nelson!” she demanded.
