The Escapee and the Case of the Cat-Napper (A Pattie Lansbury Cat Cozy Mystery Series Book 3)

by Nancy C. Davis

  “I get it now,” said D.C. Palmer, with a broad smile. “You can hide in the cottage, but in the village. Hence the disguise. Isn’t that a bit ridiculous, Mister Conrad?”

  “To you, perhaps, but it’s worked for me so far. In London I’d never get out of the door wearing a disguise like that. But here I can walk about as I please – or else, have my assistant do it for me.”

  “A nice big pair of sunglasses were too expensive for you?” asked the Detective sarcastically.

  “My methods are my own,” he said, finishing his drink and standing. “However peculiar you think they are, they are not illegal. And so I’ll bid you goodnight.”

  “Not so fast. That doesn’t explain what you were doing outside Mrs Lansbury’s house earlier this evening.”

  “I was walking from the cottage to the Post Office. I had some mail to go out and I fancied the walk. Show them, Angus.”

  The young man who had taken their coats appeared with a bundle of letters. He was wearing a jacket. “I was just about to take them myself, sir. Shall I?”

  “Yes, yes, Angus, go ahead. Thank you.” He turned to the two ladies. “So unless you have a by-law here that says a man can’t be ‘near a house’, then I think our business is done for now.”

  Pattie had already gotten to her feet. She’d seen enough of Mister Matthew Conrad. There was a lot about him that she didn’t like, but she was also quite sure that he hadn’t posted the note. After all, why bother when you had a servant to take the fall if he got caught?

  D.C. Palmer was not so quick to accept his innocence. “I’ll be watching you, Mister Conrad. Welcome to the village.”

  Chapter 15

  Pattie and the Detective walked back to Pattie’s house. D.C. Palmer muttered to herself about the magnate’s arrogance, but Pattie was too deep in thought to continue. Had she really been vain about this investigation? Could she have been so preoccupied with figuring the thing out, that she had been ignoring the possibilities that she knew were more likely…?

  They returned to find that Simon had come back and was sitting with Linsey having coffee. It was getting late. He jumped up when he saw his mother and gave her a hug.

  “Mum, are you okay? If I thought that he’d come back I’d never have left…”

  “I’m fine, Simon,” Pattie replied, tiredly mustering a smile to appease his worry. “The truth is, I don’t know who broke in and who is sending the letters. Juliette and I thought we had a lead, but it’s probably nothing. But where have you been?”

  “I went to Doncaster prison to speak with Hobey Powell, the Warden. I wanted to talk about Crowley with him. It turns out that for the last six months Crowley hasn’t said a word about you or Andrew. His therapist says he’s made a huge amount of progress when it comes to not blaming other people for his actions and his punishment. He’s still dangerous and should be in prison the rest of his life, but somehow he escaped. Normally the prisoners who are an escape risk are put in bright orange suits when they’re being moved from one building to the next, but this time he wasn’t. When he cut through the fence and ran off, everyone was looking for an orange jumpsuit. The manhunt’s still going on, but it really sounds like he has no intention of coming here.”

  “It could be a ploy,” said D.C. Palmer. “To throw the police off the scent.”

  Simon shrugged. “Maybe, but it really didn’t sound that way. The Warden was quite convincing.”

  “But if it isn’t Crowley, then who is it?” asked Linsey.

  “Leave that to us,” said D.C. Palmer, stifling a yawn. “I’m going to call my stakeout replacement. I’ll wait until they get here before I head off.”

  “I think it’s time we got to bed too, Mum,” said Simon, giving Pattie another hug. “We’ll figure this out. Don’t worry.”

  “I won’t,” said Pattie.

  When they’d all gone to bed, Pattie laid out some special treats for the cats, since it was past their usual bed time. She didn’t want them to feel neglected. Several of them sat on the settee with her as she took out her notepad and wrote down everything she knew about the case:

  · Probably female

  · Probably has small feet

  · Probably local

  · Probably about my age

  · Has grudge against me or someone close to me

  · Left-handed

  · Wants “honour” back

  Just the simple act of focussing on what she knew instead of what she didn’t made something click in Pattie’s mind. She sat up straight and looked at the closest of the cats, Coconut, who was cleaning her creamy white paws.

  “I’ve been so stupid!” she declared. “If only I hadn’t panicked and gotten distracted by outside factors, I’d have figured this whole thing out before afternoon tea!”

  Then she saw a shape move behind the curtain of the patio window. Pattie froze, and watched. The silhouette was that of a person, standing on the patio outside. The person seemed quite short, but one could never tell with shadows. The person fumbled around the lock at the French doors, and to Pattie’s amazement, unlocked it from the outside and pulled back the sliding glass.

  A gloved left hand began to pull back the curtain. As quickly and quietly as she could manage, Pattie jumped up from the settee and dashed towards the edge of the curtain, where she wouldn’t be seen by the intruder.

  The curtain came back. A short figure enshrouded in shadow stepped into the unlit room. It stooped, peering at each of the cats, and was soon in the centre of the lounge. At this point, Pattie leapt forward and slammed the French doors shut.

  The intruder jerked at the noise and whirled around.

  Pattie snapped on the light. “I knew it was you! Just what do you think you’re doing?”

  Simon’s voice called down from the upstairs landing. “Mum? Are you alright?”

  “Simon, please come down here! We have a guest!” Pattie called.

  Simon and Linsey ran down in the dressing gowns and slippers, and stared agape at the grey-haired lady standing in Pattie’s living room. “What the heck is going on?”

  “Allow me to introduce my new nemesis,” Pattie said triumphantly. “Mrs Carol Emerson, of Crook’s Hollow!”

  Simon scowled at the lady. “Mrs Emerson? What are you doing here? Did you send my Mum those threatening letters?”

  Mrs Emerson lifted her nose and closed her eyes. “I don’t see why that has anything to do with you. This is between Patricia and I.”

  “I think we’d better call in Juliette, don’t you?” Pattie suggested. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

  A few minutes later, they were all seated in frosty silence in the lounge. Mrs Emerson had refused a drink, but Pattie was happily sipping a mild Ceylon tea to combat her adrenaline. Simon, Linsey and D.C. Palmer had accepted coffees, but nobody seemed to be drinking.

  “I suppose I should fill you in,” Pattie said to them all. “It’s quite simple. This whole thing had nothing to do with John ‘Doberman’ Crowley. Really, the answer had been right under my nose the whole time.”

  Pattie nodded at the cat who was sitting happily on her lap, purring away. It was Coconut.

  “A few weeks ago I got a call from the station about a stray that someone had brought in. We checked for proof of ownership, but Coconut here doesn’t have an ID chip or a collar. She was quite undernourished and looked very much like she was in need of rescue. So I took her in and took care of her – not realising that Coconut already had an owner: Mrs Emerson.”

  “That’s a lie!” snapped Mrs Emerson. “You stole her from me! Everyone knows that you’re mad about these cats, and you saw her and just wanted her for yourself!”

  “Oh, nonsense,” said Pattie, dismissing the other woman with a wave of her hand. “I presume that you had only very recently gotten Coconut? From a rescue shelter, I presume, which accounts for her skinniness when I found her? If you hadn’t let her out of the house so soon, Coconut wouldn’t have strayed. One should keep new cats indoors for at
least two weeks, so that they have time to recognise it as home. They need to learn on which side their bread is buttered.”

  “Her name is not Coconut!” snapped Mrs Emerson. “Her name is Honour!”

  Simon groaned and covered his face with one hand. “I should have guessed. Everyone knows that Mrs Emerson has peculiar taste in names.”

  “My children have perfectly sensible names!” she snapped. “How dare you! Chastity and Virtue would be deeply offended!”

  “I’m sure they already are,” Simon muttered.

  “Carol, here is your cat back. Please take good care of her.” Pattie handed over Coconut, who mewed pleasantly. “I’m sorry that you thought she’d been stolen. If only you had talked to me about it instead of going to such insane lengths to get her back, this could have been resolved days ago.”

  “I assume you’re going to press charges?” said D.C. Palmer, finally drinking her coffee.

  Mrs Emerson’s face dropped.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Pattie. “Assuming she pays for the repairs to my front door, and returns the patio door key she stole from me during the break-in, I think we can chalk this all up to a little misunderstanding, don’t you?”

  D.C. Palmer looked appalled. “Mrs Emerson, the way you’ve acted is illegal – not to mention completely out of order. If I suspect you of doing anything like this again, there’ll be serious consequences, do you hear?”

  Mrs Emerson nodded. She tried to gather the last scraps of her dignity as she scooped up her cat and left the house – closing the door quietly and politely behind her.

  “I’d better go and write all this nonsense up,” said D.C. Palmer wearily. “Mrs Lansbury, if you need any help cleaning up this mess, just give me or Thomas a call, okay?”

  “Yes, and thank you, Juliette.”

  Soon only the Lansburys were left in the house. “Thank goodness this didn’t wake up little Claire,” said Pattie.

  Simon wasn’t so quick to sweep everything under the carpet. “Mum, you handled all this really well. I’m proud of you!”

  Mother and son hugged one another. In the arms of her loving child, Pattie said, “Well, of course. My son was a policeman, you know.”

  *

  *

  Story Two - The Case of the Cat-napper

  Chapter One

  Pattie Lansbury, owner of the Pat’s Whiskers Feline Retirement Home and Veterinary Practice, opened the door and called for her next patient. In walked a relaxed-looking bald man with a mewling black-and-white cat in a carrier.

  “Mister Townsend? Please come through.”

  “Thanks,” he said, and sat down opposite Pattie. He put the plastic carrier on the desk and a round-eyed, furry face peered out.

  “Now,” said Pattie, smiling patiently from across her desk, “what can I do for this little chap?”

  Pattie hadn’t always run a veterinary practice. In fact, it was a brand new enterprise, and a brand new experience for Pattie – something she hadn’t quite gotten the hang of yet.

  Her ‘office’ was really her downstairs spare room, adjacent to the lounge, where her dozen feline residents had been relegated for the afternoon. They weren’t too happy about it, but there was nothing to be done. With the new ‘at-home vet’ business, the doorbell could ring with anything on the other side, from moggies with the measles or rabbits with the runs. Only one of Pattie’s cats could stomach an encounter with D.C. Downey’s German Shepherd, for example, and that was Tyson, who seemed to consider himself a dog in all but appearance.

  “He’s a newby,” said Mister Townsend, wiggling his finger through the mesh of the carrier. “My wife and I just picked him up on Wednesday. He’s a rescue and they said he doesn’t have a chip or any vaccination records, so we just wanted to sort all that out.”

  “He’s lovely,” Pattie said, smiling softly. The little cat gave a high-pitched meow. “Let me get him registered for you. What’s his name?”

  “Tyke,” said Mister Townsend, pursing his lips. “It seemed appropriate. He’s feistier than we thought…”

  “Okay, if you can fill out this form, I’ll make sure Tyke is registered. I’m doing much of this by paper at the moment, because I’m not quite used to all these new machines! Soon I’ll get a computer system up and running and be able to register you that way, but for now it’s good old-fashioned paper and ink.”

  “That’s no problem,” said the man, taking a Biro out of his shirt pocket. “It’s great that we finally have a vet in Little Hamilton, you know? I live one village over, and we have to travel through here all the way to York if we want a vet…”

  “That’s very kind of you to say. Maybe in the future I will have a separate premises, but the house will do for now,” Pattie replied. “This room used to be my husband’s study. He’ll be so pleased that I’m finally doing something with it!”

  In truth, Pattie was a little daunted by the giant desk, stacks of shelving, and heaps of new technology purchased with her investment money. She had never been one for computers, but her investor had demanded a modern approach, and Pattie wondered if it wasn’t about time she came to grips with all this newfangled stuff that her son wouldn’t stop talking about. Well, she’d survived without the internet for the last fifty-six years, what use did she have for it now…?

  It didn’t take long to get Tyke registered, and Pattie injected him with a new owner’s chip in case he ever got lost, along with the first of his jabs. She gave his owner a timetable for the rest of the inoculation regime, and waved them both goodbye just after six o’clock.

  By the time the front door was closed and Pattie could turn the sign to ‘PLEASE COME BACK TOMORROW AFTERNOON’, she was thoroughly exhausted. She went into the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove, then opened the door to the lounge.

  Several cats burst out, having waited for her to come and free them. Some hadn’t gotten used to her new routine yet. Simba, a ginger tabby, was especially glad to see Pattie again, and ran around her in purring, stroking circles. Even the grouchy Archie came to say hello, along with Mischief who jumped into her lap even though she was only crouching to pet them.

  “Oof, get off me, you big lump!” Pattie said, laughing. “Now, who wants dinner?”

  It wasn’t always easy, laying out food for twelve cats all with differing dietary requirements, but it was a joyful part of Pattie’s day. Back when she had simply run a home for abandoned, stray and very old cats, she’d sometimes gotten weary with all the chores. Now that Elliott, the local GP and Pattie’s best friend, had finally persuaded her to open up as a vet, those chores didn’t seem so bad any more.

  Even better, a helpful citizen had discovered a litter of feral kittens under their garden hedge. The parents had abandoned them, and after watching for almost twenty hours the man had decided that they needed rescuing. Pattie had been the sensible choice to find them a home. Amazingly, two of Pattie’s cats had taken to caring for the litter. Tyson was her feisty silver striped tabby. Harlequin was almost identical, except for her missing back leg – she’d lost it after she had come in contact with a speeding car. Her owner had taken her to the vet in the city, but couldn’t afford the treatment and had abandoned her. The vet had phoned Pattie, and she’d paid the bills and adopted her. Unfortunately Harlequin had lost a leg to the accident, and was a very timid little animal. But upon arrival of the kittens, Harlequin had taken it upon herself to raise them as a foster mum, perhaps because they were all silver tabbies like her.

  “Good Lord!” Pattie said to herself, as the kittens all piled out of their enclosure and bounded around her playfully. “I just realise that I’m looking after twenty cats! I must be mad, mustn’t I, Harlequin?”

  The relaxed cat lay on her side, blinking sleepily. Pattie thought that the kittens were about two months old, and so Pattie wasn’t worried about feeding them on solid kitten food. In any case, there was no mother for them to suckle. At least they were full of energy, and none the worse
for their abandonment: most were the usual boisterous, inquisitive type that Pattie expected from young kittens, but there were two who stood out. There was a fairly obvious runt, a skinny and frail tom. Like his siblings, the little boy was unnamed as of yet. Another was his opposite, a surprisingly large and strong little chap who was extremely good at bossing the other kittens around. He seemed to exude a natural charisma that made him a perfect leader: whatever this little cat did, his siblings followed. Pattie thought that ‘Churchill’ was the most appropriate name for him.

  Churchill was the first to the giant bowl of food and gobbled up the pale chunks with his tiny needle teeth. The others followed behind him, allowing him to eat first before venturing close for their own dinner. The runt idled in the background, mewling at Harlequin who cleaned his face patiently.

  “You’ll have to stand on your own four feet, little one,” Pattie told him, stroking his trembling back. “Don’t let the ones with all the power push you around.”

  Just then, the doorbell rang. “I’m sorry, we’re closed until tomorrow at twelve,” Pattie called wearily. She just couldn’t face another customer with a sick Spaniel right now.

  “Patricia? It’s me!”

  Pattie opened the door. On her doorstep was a sight for sore eyes: Elliott Knight, the local GP and ad hoc village vet. He was a handsome devil at the best of times, but today he’d brought dinner in a picnic basket. If Pattie had been a younger woman, she would have thrown her arms around him.

  “Oh, Elliott! I’m so grateful to see you, it’s been the longest afternoon…!”

  “Fear not, your saviour has arrived!” he proclaimed, and gave her a gentlemanly kiss on her hand before taking off his shoes. “Have the monsters been released into the wild?”

  “Oh yes, my cats are all free now. The customers are away, which means the cats can play. Come and see – I’d like to sit with them for the last few hours before bedtime, I’m worried they’re feeling neglected. “