Cat Got Your Cash

by Julie Chase

“I don’t know about that, but Dylan . . . He’s . . . something. Their separation was ugly, and he fought hard for custody of those kittens. If he’s heard about Annie, he’ll be here wanting Cotton and Cashmere turned over to him. You might want to reconsider your role as caregiver.” Bryce turned to Jack. “She could become a target for his aggression. If you’d like, I can reassign the kittens’ care until Annie’s estate gets through probate. I’m filing with the courts Monday morning.”

  “Reassign their care?” I wiggled my hands in the air. “I don’t even have them.”

  “Oh.” Bryce slid a phone from his pocket and handed it to Jack. “Annie had the kittens tagged. You should be able to locate them with this app.”

  I frowned. “She put trackers on her kitties?” The sentiment was sweet, and the concept was interesting, but the idea of implanting Penelope with a tracking device bothered me. It went against my instincts about what was natural.

  “She had to,” Bryce answered. “Everyone knew how important the twins were to Annie, and that put them at risk.”

  Jack turned the phone to face me. Two little red dots pulsated on Esplanade Street. “Let’s go.” He returned the phone to Bryce.

  I set the alarm and motioned the men onto my porch.

  “Now you set it,” Jack snarked.

  I grabbed the new travel carriers and followed him outside. “You know who else lives on Esplanade?”

  He beeped his truck doors unlocked. “Who?”

  “PrettyCharlie86, a blogger with plenty of mean things to say about Annie online. I found him last night while I was baking.” I brought up a picture of Charlie on my phone and turned the screen toward Jack.

  “Nice work.”

  A black sedan pulled into the drive behind my VW.

  Jack changed direction. “My guys are here. Give me your house key.”

  I wrenched it off the ring and tossed it to him. “Do you know the code?”

  “Yeah. I just watched you punch it in. Give me five minutes.” He spread the fingers on one hand and held them over his head as he marched away.

  I climbed onto the passenger seat of Jack’s truck and hung my elbow out the window.

  He had a quiet conversation with two men in navy NOPD windbreakers before leading them into my house.

  “Hurry up,” I muttered.

  Bryce shuffled into sight and handed me a business card. “Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. I’ll be in town for a week. Beyond that, I’m attainable by phone or e-mail, and I can be back here in twenty-four hours if you need me.”

  “What if we get to the address on Esplanade and the kittens aren’t there?”

  A fresh hint of desperation played on his brow. “Call. I’ll give you an update if they’ve moved. If Detective Oliver is able to return the animals to your custody, how can you be sure this won’t happen again?”

  That was a good question. I didn’t know how it’d happened this time. “I’ll protect them,” I promised. “Whatever it takes.”

  He seemed skeptical. “I hope you’re right. If not, I’ll be in touch to reclaim the money.” He tipped an invisible hat and climbed into a rental car at the curb.

  * * *

  Jack parked outside a white two-story on Esplanade where teens jumped skateboards over crumbling curbs and a couple flipped burgers on a pint-sized charcoal grill. He unfastened his seat belt. “Wait here.”

  I opened my door. “Why would I wait here?”

  “We’re not exactly in the Garden District anymore.”

  A kid wearing a black hoodie and skinny jeans kicked his board into his fingertips and sauntered over to me. “Baby, you look like the kind of librarian who could make me read books.”

  I whipped my hand out and snatched his board. I tossed it onto the sidewalk behind me. “Go away.”

  The kid rounded his shoulders and stalked into my personal space, eyes narrowed into slits. “No one touches my board.”

  “I believe that.”

  Jack stepped between us and lifted his badge, effectively stopping the moron’s next witty refrain. “NOPD. Do you know the guy who lives here? Shaggy brown hair, goatee, late twenties. Recently acquired two Siamese cats.”

  Hoodie moved back two big boy steps. “Man I don’t know nothing.”

  I puffed air into my overgrown bangs. “Well, at least he’s honest.”

  Jack snorted.

  The kid released a slew of colorful phrases, flipped his discarded board onto its wheels, and rode away.

  I climbed the steps to Charlie’s house.

  The front door opened before I reached the top. The angry blog commenter stepped outside. “Man I don’t know,” he barked into a cell phone. A rainbow knitted scarf circled his throat. The matching beanie hat stood erect on his puffy hair as if someone had filled it with air. A yellow T-shirt and maroon corduroys emphasized his gangly shape.

  “PrettyCharlie86?” I asked.

  His attention snapped to me, and he covered the phone with one palm. “Yeah?” A slow smile spread over his lips.

  Jack pushed his badge into Charlie’s face. “NOPD. I’m here to arrest you for breaking and entering and burglary.”

  “And murder,” I added.

  Charlie ended his call, eyes bulging. “Murder?” He lifted his hands up. “I’ve never hurt anyone in my life.”

  “Tell it to the judge,” I said. “Where were you yesterday between two and four?”

  Jack fixed me with a hard stare.

  “Sorry.” I motioned for him to take over.

  He looked at Charlie. “Well? Answer the lady.”

  “I was working at the coffee house on Canal.”

  “Can anyone confirm that?”

  “Sure. Yeah, everyone. Ask anyone you want. Check the security cameras or the fitness app on my phone. My steps are charted so I can set goals.”

  “I will,” Jack said. “Now invite us inside to collect the cats you stole today.”

  “How do you know . . . ?” he trailed off.

  “Tracker chips,” I answered.

  After a long moment of debate, he swore. “Fine. Come on.”

  Jack gave his truck a worried look before following Charlie inside and closing the door. He beeped his locks and antitheft system to life through the window.

  “No one’s going to bother your truck,” I teased. “Who’s uncomfortable in this neighborhood now?”

  “I left the ten thousand dollars in there,” he said.

  “What?” Now I was worried. “When did you take the envelope?” I’d forgotten about the money once Bryce told us how to find Annie’s kittens.

  We moved slowly through the home. Jack kept one hand on his hip, ready to draw his sidearm. “I’m still deciding if you were brave or stupid with that kid.”

  “I needed to let off some steam, and I have enough at present to whistle like a teakettle.” Plus I knew Jack would protect me.

  Jack entered a small sitting room behind Charlie. “Listen.”

  Annie’s kittens mewed and growled somewhere deep in the home. Jack followed Charlie down a long hall and returned with one kitty in each arm. “Here.” He handed them to me.

  “Turn around,” he told Charlie. “You’re coming with me to the station.”

  “Why?” Charlie backed against the wall. “I didn’t kill anyone. Try one of her other haters. What about Gideon Fargas or some other blogger? Talk to them. It wasn’t me. Hey!” He dragged his feet. “Stop! I gave you the cats.”

  I cuddled the noisy babies. “You stole them, and you broke my door!”

  “What if I say I’m sorry?”

  I marched away. “Unlock your truck, Jack. I’m going to put these girls in their travel packs.”

  Jack followed me outside, pushing Charlie along by cuffed hands. “Why’d you do it? Ransom? Anger?”

  Charlie whined. “I’m not saying anything else without a lawyer.”

  A cruiser arrived moments later. Two uniformed women escorted Charlie to the back seat.r />
  I belted the carriers into the back of Jack’s cab and took my seat in front.

  He spoke with the officers before returning to Charlie’s home.

  Ten minutes later, we pulled away from the curb. Jack gave me a look. “I checked every room. No signs of a big cat head. Do me a favor and set your house alarm tonight. If Charlie’s alibi sticks, the killer’s still out there, and we don’t have any idea who might be after these cats and their money. In fact, that money might be the reason Annie was murdered.”

  I peeked at the passengers meowing behind us. Jack was right. Convoluted as it seemed, someone could’ve killed Annie to get custody of her kittens and their trust. If that was true, and I had the kittens, then I was in the killer’s way.

  Definitely not a place I wanted to be.

  Chapter Five

  Furry Godmother’s friendly reminder: Notoriety is lovely until the unwanted guests arrive.

  By the time Jack returned me to Furry Godmother, the autumn sun was low on the horizon, poised like a massive fireball preparing to eviscerate the city. In reality, the temperature had dropped into the low seventies, and I longed for a sweater. Traffic was backed up by an emerging dinner crowd, and shoppers were moving slowly along the sidewalks, heavy-laden with bags from a successful day on Magazine Street.

  I wrestled the cat carriers from Jack’s truck and waded through a crowd waiting to cross the street. I smiled at a barkeep rolling her happy hour sign onto the sidewalk. The kittens wobbled and complained inside their packs as the hard plastic smacked my thighs.

  Imogene met me at the door and pried a load from my aching hand. “Goodness.” She set the container on the floor and unlatched the little door. One of Annie’s kitties came screaming out.

  The other carrier bounced recklessly on the ground at my feet.

  Imogene jumped. “What have you got in there? A banshee?”

  I opened the door and released the second Siamese. “They’re Annie’s kittens, and they’re having a rough week. We should give them some slack.”

  She visually trailed their frantic paths around the room before reapplying her are-you-crazy look on me.

  I rubbed the bunching muscles at the base of my neck. “They’ll settle down once they acclimate.”

  A low hum drew my attention to the rear hall.

  Imogene giggled.

  Spot the vacuum-robot toted Penelope slowly in our direction. She sat proudly on top, squinting her eyes and feigning disinterest.

  Imogene bent forward at the waist, still laughing. “I had to see it to believe it, and it’s funny every time.”

  “How long’s she been doing that?”

  “Hours,” she said through another round of laughter.

  “What’s she wearing?”

  Imogene wiped her eyes. “Wings. She’s a fairy princess.”

  Of course she is.

  Annie’s kitties spotted Penelope and attacked, pawing and gnawing as Spot crept by.

  Penelope hissed and arched her back, vehemently defending her ride.

  “On second thought, maybe they should acclimate somewhere else.” I dropped my purse behind the counter and dialed my dad.

  “Hello, angel.” His jovial voice warmed my bones. “How are you holding up?”

  I rested my head on the counter. I hated needing help. I despised asking for it. “I need a favor.”

  “Anything. Why don’t you come over for dinner and we’ll hash out the details.”

  I bit my lip. “Okay, but Dad . . . I need you to keep two Siamese kittens for a little while. They were Annie Lane’s, and they’re homeless until her estate goes through probate.”

  He sucked air. “I’d love to! Siamese are wonderful companions. Have I ever told you how much I enjoy the breed? Simply fantastic.”

  I glanced at the low-intensity catfight brewing at my feet.

  Penelope shot me a look of betrayal as she defended the Roomba. “Yep. They’re super.”

  “It’s settled. Bring them over tonight and don’t forget your appetite. Your mother’s making gumbo. Wait until she hears about this.”

  I imagined smoke rolling out of my mother’s ears. “Okay. See you soon.” I disconnected and slid my gaze to Imogene. “Dad said he’d take them.”

  She pursed her lips. “Your mother’s going to kill you.”

  “Yeah.” I scooped Cotton and Cashmere into my arms and carried them to the stock room. “You ladies can hang out in there for a little while. No one will bother you, and I’ll bring you something yummy to eat in just a minute.” I made a quick trip to the bakery counter and ferried fresh water and salmon loaf to the stock room. “Voila. Dinner is served.” I did a dramatic curtsy.

  They overturned the bowls.

  I closed the door with a grumble and went back up front. “They should be okay until closing.” I grabbed a storage bin from behind the register and headed to the window. “I need to swap out this display before I miss the festival completely.”

  I removed pieces from my newest Furry Godmother line, Vive la France, and handed them to Imogene. “Was it busy while I was away?”

  “Lots of reporters at first, but I put a stop to that with a keep-on-walking spell. It was slower then. I took some orders for baked goods and spoke to your mother about the mess you got into last night.”

  I forced myself to not implode. I was a new shop owner, and she’d put a spell on my place that caused people to keep on walking. Had she considered her spell might be the reason we hadn’t had any customers all day? I wiggled my head. That reminded me. “How’s your friend with the ghost problem doing?”

  “Veda? She’s okay, but she’s getting old, and it’s harder to be effective once you get into triple digits.”

  I did a slow blink and handed her a set of A-line skirts with poodle prints. “Your friend’s one hundred?”

  “Yeah,” she sighed, “and she’s getting tired.”

  “I’d imagine.”

  The door swung open, and a group of women wandered in, arms loaded with shopping bags. The spell must’ve worn off.

  “Welcome to Furry Godmother,” I said. “I design custom creations for pets and bake fresh organic treats daily.”

  The women didn’t look like they cared.

  Imogene arranged a stack of satin pet pillows embroidered with things like “Oh, la la” and “Oui! Oui! Cheri!” on a merchandising shelf near the register.

  I carried a replica Eiffel Tower to the counter, stepping around Penelope as she cruised by. “This can go in the stock room.” As soon as Annie’s kittens were gone.

  Imogene returned to the display window with glass spray and a roll of paper towels.

  A woman with ivory skin and raven hair pounded through the door, spinning my little welcome bell in a tizzy. “These are pet supplies?” Her Gothic garb fell somewhere between dramatic teen and Count Dracula.

  I smiled. “I make organic treats and custom couture for our furry loved ones. Is there something I can create for you?”

  Thick liner circled her smoky eyes and black-painted lips. “I need a studded collar.”

  “Sure thing.” I dusted my palms and spun an accessories rack. “Gems or rhinestones?”

  “Spikes.”

  I leaned around the display for a look at the girl’s face. “Color?”

  “Black.”

  “Size?”

  She wrapped her hands around her throat, then extended them to me as if her neck was still in the center.

  I left the rack and went to stand by her. “You want Vamp Tramp on Royale. Take the St. Charles streetcar to the Quarter. It’s cheaper than a cab and faster than walking. Vamp Tramp’s prices are reasonable, and the workers are very knowledgeable.”

  The woman almost smiled, then left.

  Imogene quirked an eyebrow. “Vamp Tramp?”

  “I was Elvira for Halloween once.”

  She shook her head.

  The shop phone rang, and I grabbed it to avoid further interrogation about my younger
years. “Furry Godmother, where every pet is a princess and every day is a royal celebration.”

  I secured three orders for pet treats while Imogene cleaned the window.

  “All set.” Imogene returned the cleaning supplies. “What will it be this time?”

  I went back to my window and absorbed the blank canvas. So many possibilities. I liked to coordinate my display with the time of year or a significant event in the city. This presentation needed to reflect the Faux Real Festival and all its magical fun. “I’m thinking this should be artsy and theatrical.”

  I began with a deck of cards, carefully fanning them out and gluing them in place. Next I hung individual playing cards from clear line, as if they floated over the deck. I fixed a white stuffed bunny in the corner and tied a black satin magician’s cape around his neck, flipping the corner up to reveal a scarlet underside. Behind him, I strung a line of twinkle lights and hung pendant banners for the festival. I fetched top hats in every size and shade of felt.

  I paused to admire my work.

  The door whooshed open again, and a string of evening customers walked inside, holding their hats. Wind whipped lost flyers down the sidewalk.

  Imogene greeted the newcomers, while I finished the display. Shops often grew crowded after dinner, when satiated guests stumbled from nearby restaurants, ready to walk off their meal.

  I packed the leftover window display items into a labeled and lidded tote while absently pondering the reason Charlie would’ve stolen Annie’s kittens. It wasn’t to hurt her—she was already gone. It wasn’t for the money—he had no way of collecting. Could Charlie have been a thief for hire? Was someone hoping to collect ransom? If he was, then someone besides Annie’s attorney knew about the trust. Who?

  The bell jingled, and a man wearing three-hundred dollar jeans and flip flops strode inside. He levered black aviators onto his forehead and scanned the room, apparently looking for someone. Maybe he hadn’t noticed the sun had set.

  I stretched upright and straightened my dress. “Can I help you?”

  His red-rimmed eyes and grim expression worried me. I imagined his body in black coveralls with a big cat head on top.

  “I want to talk to Lacy Crocker.”

  I waved.