by Patricia Fry
The Celebrity Cat Caper
A Klepto Cat Mystery
Volume 6
by Patricia Fry
The Celebrity Cat Caper
A Klepto Cat Mystery
Volume 6
Author: Patricia Fry
ISBN: 978-0-9911065-7-8
All rights reserved
© 2014 Matilija Press
Chapter 1
James took a step back, his eyes focused firmly on the heap in front of him. He stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking and glanced over at his sidekick. "Is she dead?"
Just minutes earlier, the two men had stepped outside their travel trailer for a smoke. They'd barely had time to enjoy the rain-washed morning air when the Iveys' dog Lexie bounded down the porch steps. Savannah Ivey waved from the kitchen door, calling out, "Coffee will be ready in a minute."
When Lexie didn't return right away, Savannah walked out onto the wrap-around porch and peered along the south side of the house. "What does Lexie have?" she asked.
That's when James's sidekick, known to members of the film crew as Crank, slowly lifted his bulky frame from a lawn chair and ambled toward the barking dog. James, a wiry young man well into his twenties, reached Lexie's side first. Crank arrived seconds later. He stared down through bloodshot eyes under bushy white brows. Running one hand over his full beard, he muttered, "Well, hell." He nodded in response to James's question. "Yeah, she's dead, all right."
"What is it?" Savannah called from the porch, not wanting to walk across the wet grass in her slippers.
"Uh…ma'am," Crank said, "you'd better go get your husband…and call your dog, would you?"
"What's wrong?" Savannah asked.
Crank walked closer to where Savannah stood and spoke more softly, "There's been an accident, ma'am. Someone's been hurt. We need to call emergency."
Savannah, suddenly feeling her heart in her throat, glanced back at what appeared to be a pile of clothes draped across the rock edging next to the foundation of her home. She called Lexie and the two of them stepped into the kitchen. Savannah carefully lifted Lily out of the cradle swing and rushed to the bedroom with the baby in her arms. "Michael! Michael!" she called as she entered the room. When she saw him emerge from the bathroom, his face lathered with shaving cream, she could barely speak.
"What is it honey?" he asked, walking over to where she stood.
Finally, it came out. "Someone's been hurt." She hugged Lily to her and took a ragged breath before blurting, "Michael, I think someone's dead out there."
"What? Who?" he asked, his usual calm demeanor quickly unraveling.
"I don't know." She placed the baby in the middle of their bed and grabbed the house phone. "I have to call 9-1-1." After making the call, Savannah sat down next to Lily. She watched as Michael wiped his face dry and hastily pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair and headed out the bedroom door. "Oh Lily," Savannah said, lying down next to her, "what have I done, bringing all of these strangers into our peaceful life?" She closed her eyes and thought back to what had led to this decision.
****
It was several weeks earlier—the first day of Adam's spring vacation visit. Michael's son by a previous marriage would spend four days with the Iveys, and they'd made a lot of plans. Today there would be a picnic. Michael had gone to work at their veterinary clinic that Saturday morning as usual. Savannah was in the kitchen preparing for their guests when she heard Adam call out, "Savannah, the baby's crying."
She peered into the living room, wiped her hands, and promptly joined Adam and three-and-a-half-month-old Lily. "She looks happy to me," she said.
Adam glanced at his half-sister and said, "Oh. Well, she was making that crying face. I thought she was going to cry."
Savannah grinned at Adam. "Crying face?"
"Yeah, you know, when she scrunches up her face like this," he said, demonstrating the facial expression for Savannah. "Then she starts crying."
Savannah sat down next to the cradle swing and smoothed Lily's light-brown hair. The baby smiled and brought her stuffed calico-print cat up to her mouth with her chubby hands.
"Hey," Adam said, "cats aren't for eating, they're for petting." He took one of Lily's hands and moved it gently over the cat saying, "Pet it like this. See?"
Savannah smiled. "You are the best big brother ever, you know that, Adam? And you're a good teacher."
Adam looked down at Savannah's large grey-and-white cat and said solemnly, "Well, Rags isn't learning much from me."
"What are you trying to teach Rags?" she asked, her green eyes twinkling in amusement.
The boy's face lit up. "Tricks," he said excitedly. "I saw a cat on TV and he was doing tricks. They said only smart cats will do tricks, so I thought…"
Just then, they noticed Michael walking in through the front door. When he heard his son's statement, he laughed. "Well maybe old Rags here isn't so smart, huh?"
"Hi Dad," Adam said. "Are you through being an animal doctor today? Can we do something fun now?"
"You didn't have fun this morning?" Savannah asked, pretending to pout.
Adam blinked his eyes and said, "Yeah, you're fun, too. But Dad and I…we're going to do guy stuff today, right Dad?"
"Too many girls around here, huh, buddy?" Michael said with a laugh.
"Rags is a boy," Savannah said. "I guess that's why you were playing with him."
"Hey, what's this about teaching him tricks?" Michael asked as he sat down, removed his shoes and socks, and slipped on a pair of flip-flops.
"He saw a show where cats were doing tricks. He thinks Rags is smart enough to learn a few tricks," Savannah explained.
Michael picked up his daughter, kissed her on the cheek, and began making faces at her until she laughed. He placed the baby on his lap and smiled down at her. "Well, he is a smart cat," he told Adam, as he gently bounced Lily on his knee. "Maybe too smart."
"What do you mean, Dad?" he asked, standing and walking over to where Michael sat. He reached for one of Lily's hands and encouraged her to grip his finger.
"Well, Son, he might be too smart to want to do any silly tricks. He is so smart that he has decided he doesn't want to be a trick cat."
"Oh no." Adam pulled his hand from Lily's grip. "You can't eat my fingers," he said, giggling.
"What were you trying to get him to do?" Savannah asked, reaching over with a cloth diaper and wiping a little drool from Lily's chin.
Adam plopped down on his knees next to Rags, who had his front paws stretched out in front of him like an Egyptian cat statue. "Well, he likes to take things, right?"
Michael and Savannah both nodded.
"So I figured I could hide something and get him to find it—like hide-and-seek."
"If you hide, I'm sure he would find you," Savannah said. "But that's because he likes you. He would be motivated to find you."
Adam looked puzzled. "Motivated?"
"Yeah," Michael said, cuddling Lily close. "He would want to find you. He would be inspired to find you. He would have a reason to find you, because he wants to be with you."
"Oh," Adam said. He thought for a moment before suggesting, "So, I have to hide something he wants."
Michael nodded. "That's right."
"Like what?" he asked.
"Like a kitty treat, maybe," Savannah offered.
Adam jumped to his feet enthusiastically. "Yes, he would like that. Can I hide some of his treats and see if he'll find them?"
"Okay, but just a couple." Savannah pointed toward the dining room. "They're in the top drawer in
the buffet."
"Hide your eyes, Rags," Adam said, upon returning with treats in his palm.
Instead, Rags began sniffing Adam's fisted hand.
"No, Rags, that's not how you play the game. You have to let me hide these. No, Rags." Adam raised his arm over his head and Rags stood on his hind feet, resting one paw on Adam's leg, and reaching up with the other paw as far as he could.
About then Lily started to fuss. She drew her hands up to her mouth.
"I think she's hungry," Michael said. "Is it time for her to eat?"
Savannah nodded. "Sure is. Here, I'll take her while you two see if you can train the cat." She chuckled. "Good luck with that." As she headed down the hallway toward the nursery, she called out, "There's lemonade in the fridge, if you guys get thirsty."
Twenty minutes later, Savannah returned carrying a baby monitor. "She's sound asleep," she said. "And our guests will arrive for the picnic in…" she looked at the large clock above the fireplace, "…about half an hour."
"Yay, a picnic. Do you mean outside?" Adam asked.
Savannah smiled. "Sure. It's a pretty day."
"Can Rags go out with us?"
"We'll see about that," she said. "Maybe while we're eating he should stay inside with Walter and Buffy. Lexie can come outside with us, though."
Adam looked over at the Afghan-mix dog as she lay in her bed near the staircase. "Dogs can go to picnics, but not cats?"
Michael reached out and tousled Adam's dark-brown hair. "Yeah, that's about the size of it, buddy."
"Isn't that 'criminating, Dad?" he asked.
Michael laughed. "Discrimination? Well, not really. And let me tell you why."
Adam stared up at his dad, waiting for an explanation. "Well, Dad?" he asked, his blue eyes wide with anticipation.
"Uh, well, cats are cats, and dogs are dogs."
"Yeah," Adam agreed, waiting for more.
Savannah smiled at her handsome husband and his nine-year-old clone. "Go on," she egged.
"That's it," he said with a shrug. "Different strokes for different folks."
"Huh?" Adam seemed confused.
"Well, cats and dogs are different, that's all. There are a lot of things cats can do that dogs can't, and a lot of things dogs can do that cats can't or don't want to do. They're different kinds of animals and they have to be treated differently…uh, for their own safety and comfort."
Adam thought about this for a moment. He looked down at Rags and then back up at his dad and said, "So, discrimination, right, Dad?"
Michael pursed his lips…chuckled. "Well, yeah, I guess it is a form of discrimination, isn't it, Son?" He squeezed the boy's shoulder and said, "But that's the way it is. No cats allowed at the picnic—at least while we're eating." He turned to Savannah. "So what needs to be done before guests arrive?"
"You two want a guy job?" she asked.
"Yeah," Adam said, with a little skip and jump.
"Okay, how about deciding where we should eat—on the porch or out on the lawn. Then you can set up the tables and chairs," she suggested.
"The grass," Adam said.
"Huh?" Michael asked.
"I want to eat on the grass. That's my vote."
Michael nodded and headed for the side kitchen door. "The grass it is," he said. "Let's go move the tables and chairs to the grass, shall we?"
****
The guest list was long by typical Ivey entertaining standards, but short when compared to that of their festive holiday party three months earlier. The picnic guest list included Savannah's Aunt Margaret and her husband, Max; their good friend, Iris and the man in her life, Detective Craig Sledge; Iris's grown son, Damon and his girlfriend Colbi (one of Savannah's best friends), both of whom were reporters for the local newspaper; and Savannah's sister, Brianna (a newly practicing doctor), and her beau, Bud, the newest veterinarian on staff at the Ivey Veterinary Clinic.
Once the guests had arrived and had been served their beverage of choice, Savannah, carrying the baby monitor in an apron pocket and a tray filled with hors d'oeurvres, ushered everyone outside.
"Who decorated the tables?" Iris asked, smiling over at Adam.
"Dad and me," he said. "I picked the flowers. They're…" He turned to Michael. "What are they, Dad?"
Michael shrugged. "I guess some kind of daisy."
"Daisies," Adam repeated.
"Well, good job," Iris said.
"Are there place cards?" Margaret asked.
Adam looked at her. "Huh?"
"Are we supposed to sit in any particular chair?" she explained.
"Uh…no, I don't think so," Adam said. "You can sit anywhere—only…" he grinned, "you'd better choose a lucky chair."
Margaret squinted at Adam with renewed interest. "Lucky chair?"
"Yeah," he said. "Some of the chairs are lucky and some aren't."
"Which ones are lucky?" she asked, her brown eyes dancing under thick dark-brown bangs.
"I can't tell you that, Aunt Maggie."
"So I have to take my chances, huh?" Margaret said. She examined the chairs, chose one, and sat down, glancing back at Adam for a response. Adam, however, was engaged in play with Lexie by then, on the other side of the expansive lawn.
Once everyone was seated, Adam ran over to where Michael sat and waited for the opportunity to speak. Finally, he saw an opening and jumped in. "Dad, can we do the prizes now?" he asked enthusiastically.
Michael, noticing that all the chairs were occupied, said, "I guess we can." He stood and said, "May I have your attention, please," and then he sat down.
That was Adam's cue. The boy said in a loud voice, "Okay, we're going to play a game and there are prizes."
Everyone smiled at Adam; there were a few comments.
"Cool," Max said.
Brianna exclaimed, "Prizes? Oh boy!"
"Pick me, pick me," Margaret begged.
Adam smiled and continued, "You win if you have a note that says 'prize.'"
Michael noticed that everyone seemed confused and he whispered, "Tell them where to look, Son."
"Oh, under your chair," Adam said. "Look on the bottom."
The guests stood and examined their chairs. Brianna was the first to shout, "I have one. Yay! I won a prize. What did I win, cutie?"
"I have one, too," Damon said, holding up the piece of paper he found taped to the bottom of his chair.
Adam smiled widely. "That's it. Only two prizes." He leaned toward Michael and asked, "Where are the prizes, Dad?"
"Where did you put them, buddy? In your room?"
"Oh, I remember. I'll go get them."
When he returned, he presented Brianna with a picture he had painted. "It's a horse," he said modestly.
"I can see that," Brianna said, pushing a dark brown curl from her forehead. "I love it. Thank you, buddy." She reached out and hugged the boy. "You know what? I like this so much I'm going to frame it and hang it in my office."
"Your doctor's office?" he asked.
"Yes, right in the waiting room."
"Awesome," Adam said, smiling.
"But there's something missing here," Brianna said.
Adam's smile faded. "What?" he asked hesitantly.
"The artist's signature," she said. "Would you sign it for me?"
Adam looked at Michael, his eyes wide, and then back at the painting. "Uh, yeah. I guess," he said. "I'll go get a pen."
"Here's one," Bud offered.
"Thanks," Adam said, taking the pen and carefully writing his name at the bottom of the painting.
"Way cool," Brianna said. "Thanks."
Adam was still smiling shyly when he walked over to Damon, a gift bag in his hand. "It's an eraser. I won it at school."
"All right!" Damon said. "How'd you win it?"
"I spelled a bunch of words right."
Damon displayed his sideways grin and winked. "So since you can spell, you don't need an eraser anymore, huh?"
Adam stared down at his feet. Before he
could respond, Damon patted the boy on the back. "Thanks Adam. I can really use this. Good prize."
"Hey, who wants to help me cook the hamburgers?" Michael asked.
"I do, I do," Adam said, following his dad toward the house. "Can I flip them with your big turner-over thing?" he asked as they entered the kitchen.
Michael chuckled. "Flip them? They aren't pancakes, you know," he said as he pulled a tray of burger patties out of the refrigerator.
Adam, eyes downward, said, "Yeah, I know. Well, can I turn them?"
Michael studied his son for a moment and said, "We'll see. Maybe we can give it a try. You're probably big enough to handle that job."
Adam jumped up and down a couple of times. "Yay!"
"Only if you drop one, it's yours," Michael said with a grin.
Adam frowned. "Well, how would I know that the one I dropped is mine?"
Michael laughed. "If you drop one, that one is yours. That's how you'll know."
Adam thought about that for a moment and then he flashed his dad a wide smile and said, "Then I guess I won't drop any."
Michael laughed out loud and tousled his son's hair.
Within forty minutes, the meal was served. "Good job on the hamburgers, Adam," Max said after taking a couple of bites.
"Thanks," the boy responded. "I turned some of them over and didn't drop any." He took a bite of his burger, swallowed, and added, "I helped Dad make the sauce, too. It's a barbecue sauce. I squeezed the ketchup and mustard…oh, and the honey…"
Max set his burger down on his plate. "Impressive. Do you think you'd like to be a chef someday?" he asked.
Adam scrunched up his face. "A chef?"
"Yeah, a cook. You could prepare meals for the president."
The boy's eyes widened. "Of the United States?"
"Sure, why not?" Max said. "Or you could open your own restaurant," he suggested.
Margaret jumped into the conversation. She patted her husband's arm and said to Adam, "Max could be your mentor. You know, he used to be a chef."
"You did?" Adam said. "Did you cook for the president?"
Max laughed. "No. I was chef at restaurants in Chicago," he responded.
