Powerful arms pulled me to my feet. I fought but there was no fight left in me. Another set of hands guided me into the van, and a familiar voice, thick with concern, spoke quietly.
“Lynley, it’s okay. We’re here.” It was Frannie, and as I gazed up into the face of my captor, I saw not a stranger but Special Agent Denny Paris, humane investigator for the Northwest Humane Society. He was a cop, but his job was to save abused and neglected animals. I gave a prayer of thanks he was here to save me.
The strong special agent hefted me into the investigations van and Frannie pushed in on the bucket seat beside me. Special Agent Paris threw himself in the driver’s side and took off in reverse, spinning tires all the way to the street. He was great! He didn’t ask me what had happened and I don’t think I could have told him. All I managed was to point at the bag in my lap and whisper, “Kitten!”
Frannie raised an eyebrow and then slipped the strap from my neck. Gently feeling the length of the bag, she pulled the zipper. Like before, it caught at the one-and-a-half inch mark, and then, miracle of miracles, opened like a song. The kitten jumped soundlessly into her lap and nestled in her arms. The van hit a pothole and down went the bag onto the floor—but it didn’t matter, since Spot was safe. In the light from the passing street lamps, I gazed at my little beauty.
Spot was the perfect name for her. Unlike any domestic cat I had ever seen, she was freckled black and white like a baby leopard. I stroked her tiny back and head. The sound of her purr rivaled the van’s big motor.
“Look!” Frannie exclaimed, pointing to the floorboards where the gym bag had spilled its contents.
“Damn,” exclaimed Special Agent Paris as he glanced at the miscellanea littering his carpet: a towel; a silk paisley shawl; a few suspicious baggies full of fat, white capsules…and numerous shrink-wrapped stacks of paper money.
I reached down and picked up something round and sparkling. “Cat toy. Yours?” I asked the kitten.
Spot extended a speckled paw and gently touched the plastic ball, making it rattle. I dropped it into Frannie’s lap and Spot curled around it like a potato bug.
Frannie picked up a packet of money and held it up to the street light. “I think I see the problem,” she said slowly. “These are hundreds.”
Paris glanced over and gave a whistle. “Looks like it’s got a currency strap. That would make them $10,000 each, and there are at least twenty.”
“What now?” asked Frannie.
“It’s time to go to the police.”
We pulled around a corner and were suddenly head to head with a light show of red and blue. A tactical-vested officer with a bullhorn shouted, “Stop your vehicle and get out of the car, hands where I can see them.”
Frannie grinned at me, her eyes wide. “I’d say the police have come to us.”
o0o
The sun was rising over the fir-treed dome of Mt. Tabor, slanting warm rays through my kitchen window. Frannie, Special Agent Paris, and I were having much-needed cups of coffee, and Spot was burying her face in a bowl of feline stew. There was a chorus of disgruntled meows coming from the other side of the kitchen door—my own cats. I had explained as I gave them their breakfast at an impromptu feeding station by the television that they couldn’t see the kitten until after she’d been cleared by the vet.
It had taken a little convincing to persuade the officer at the barricade that I was not a criminal absconding with the drug loot, but luck was with us. It turned out Special Agent Paris knew the man’s partner, and when they heard my story, they took the bag with its assorted contents, sans kitten, and ran off after the real criminals, leaving us in peace. We still had to make a statement or six, but that was later–for now, I was off the hook and blissfully out of danger.
“Lynley, what did you get yourself mixed up in this time?” Frannie was holding my hand. She had barely let go since she found me, and I hadn’t wanted her to.
“I have no idea,” I sighed, pressing an ice bag to a bruise on my face where Man in White had whacked me. Now that I was safe and in the comfort of my own home, the leftover adrenaline was making me bold and a little giddy. “I gave them a good run for their money, though! Whoever they were.”
“Yes, I’m sure you did,” she indulged. “But who were they?”
When I didn’t answer, Franny turned her gaze on Denny Paris.
“I gather from Jake—Officer Roland—they’re presumed to be drug dealers from somewhere south. There are a few new gangs in town, and law enforcement wants to stop them before they can establish here.”
“It looked like somebody else wanted to stop them too,” I muttered. “Back in the courtyard, someone was shooting at them.”
“Could it have been the police?” Frannie asked.
“Wouldn’t police have identified themselves? These guys just started firing. Caught the wrestler twins by surprise.”
“Rivals. Drug wars.” Special Agent Paris shrugged. “You don’t think about Portland that way, but we’re as susceptible to those elements as any other growing city.”
Spot had finished her food, licked the bowl sparkling, and was now batting at a piece of lint on the floor. Frannie rummaged in her pocket and came up with the plastic toy from the bag. “Maybe she wants this.”
I took the ball from Frannie. It was weightier than I had expected. I jiggled it in my hand, creating a satisfying rattle, then tossed it down where it skittered on the floor. Spot was on it in a flash. She volleyed it about until it rolled under the refrigerator and she lost interest. With a leap that defied gravity, she was in my lap, snuggling and mewing.
Spot must have been between two and three months old, and though hungry, she looked clean and well fed. “I wonder where she came from? How she got herself into the gym bag in the first place?” I petted her thoughtfully. “I don’t imagine she belonged to the drug dealers.”
“You know how kittens are,” said Frannie. “They can get into the smallest of places.”
“But if that’s true, then why couldn’t she get out again?”
Frannie sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “Theory? The bag was unzipped when she first jumped in. She began to play with the zipper and it got stuck on loose a thread.”
“Or maybe whoever made the drop didn’t know she was in there when he zipped it closed,” offered the special agent.
“Maybe they can tell more when we take her in for her check-up,” said Frannie.
I looked at the clock. Still only six a.m. and too early to get hold of the doctors at Friends of Felines. I felt around Spot’s scruff and found a capsule-shaped lump. “I think she might be microchipped.” I wasn’t sure whether I was happy or sad that the kit might have real people out there somewhere. I’d become quite attached to her in our short but thrill-filled time together.
Spot had curled herself into a polka-dot circle and was snoring softly, as kittens do. “It’s probably for the best,” I sighed.
“What is?”
“That she already has a home. Otherwise, I’d want to keep her.”
“And how many would that make?”
“Only six,” I giggled.
Frannie gave me a mock-stern look. “And you wonder why they call you a crazy cat lady!”
“I’m not crazy.” I gave Spot a scratch on her ear and added, “At least, not yet.”
About the Author—Mollie Hunt
Mollie Hunt lives in Portland, Oregon with her husband and a varying number of cats. Like her character, Lynley Cannon, she is a grateful shelter volunteer. She also fosters for the Oregon Humane Society and visits hospice patients with her feline Pet Partner, Tinkerbelle. Currently she is working on her Crazy Cat Lady Series, beginning with “Cats’ Eyes” (2013) and “Copy Cats” (2015). “Cat’s Paw”, 3rd of the series is anticipated sometime in 2016. Besides mysteries, Mollie also writes in the cat science-fantasy genre.
Mollie’s website: https://lecatts.wordpress.com
The Nerd In Shining Armor
Isabella Nor
se
May the fur be with you.
“Where’s a hero when you need one?” Abby sighed as she looked at the sad remains of her beef and broccoli oozing across the floor just outside of her apartment. “I had my stomach all set for that, too.” She juggled the bags, books, and purse cradled in her arms until she was able to twist her wrist just so and slide the key into the lock. There was just one problem. It was the wrong key. “I can hear Granny now, ‘That’s what you get for trying to carry everything in one trip.’ Yeah, yeah. But, why make four trips when one will do?” Biting the corner of her bottom lip in concentration, she fumbled through her keys, feeling for the one she needed. “Let’s try this one.” The key slid in and turned smoothly, the bolt clicking back with a satisfying thunk. “Ha! Take that, Granny!”
She staggered across the threshold, divesting herself of items as she walked. Keys went in the bowl on the table by the door. She shifted the plastic bag in her right hand to her teeth and hung her purse on the hooks above the table. Then, it was a few short steps into the small kitchen where she deposited bags willy-nilly on the counter. She grabbed a couple of paper towels and headed back to the hall. Halfway to the door she reconsidered, turned around, and grabbed the entire roll.
Stepping over rapidly congealing stir fry, she began swiping at the mess. While the paper towels rapidly soaked up the broth, the stain just seemed to spread, chunks of beef and broccoli as far as the eye could see.
“I’m here to rescue you.” A familiar voice sounded from near Abby’s elbow. There was a brief pause before it repeated. “I’m here to rescue you.”
Recognizing the line from one of her favorite movies, Abby turned to greet her savior. Words failed her when she saw no one except a rather battered brown tabby hunkered down licking the gravy, a look of feline bliss on his face. Her head swiveled as she looked for whoever had spoken.
Then, she heard it again. “I’m here to rescue you.” She looked down. There was no doubt about it. The voice had come from the cat. She reached out a cautious finger and stroked the tabby behind the ear. He leaned into her touch while continuing his feast. He paused long enough to look at her with large green eyes, blinked, and said “I’m here to rescue you.”
Forgetting about cleaning, Abby dropped to her knees and stared. However, she couldn’t help answering in kind. “Fine. I’ll play along. Aren’t you a little short–and furry–to be a stormtrooper?”
Her hero didn’t answer. A deep purr began rumbling through his chest.
The door to the apartment across from hers opened and a harried young man with flyaway brown hair rushed out. “Have you seen…” His gaze fell to the cat and he sagged against the doorframe, resting his head on one forearm while the other hand clutched his chest. “Oh, thank God!” He turned his gaze to Abby, his eyes as green as those of the cat. “I thought for sure Lucas was gone! The folks at the shelter would have killed me.” He twisted the old-fashioned cut-glass door knob a couple of times. “That does it! The landlord has got to fix this door. It doesn’t always close well and this guy—” he nodded at the cat “—is a regular Houdini.”
Abby stood and brushed off the knees of her slacks with her free hand while searching for somewhere to put the wad of soiled paper in the other. No community trashcans magically appeared in the hallway.
Her predicament must have reached the newcomer because he ducked back into his apartment and came out with a waste basket which was already just this side of overflowing. “Put your trash in here. I was planning to empty it later tonight, anyway.”
“Thanks.” She shoved the used paper towels in the proffered bag, then tore off a clean one and wiped her hands before offering her right one. “You must be my new neighbor. Hi. My name is Abigail, but everyone calls me Abby.”
“Hi, Abby. I’m Ryan.” He placed the trashcan on the floor and wiped his hands on his jeans before shaking hers.
“I’m here to rescue you.” Lucas chimed in from his seat at the floor-level buffet.
“So I’ve heard.” Abby smiled at the cat, then turned her attention to Ryan. “Care to tell me what’s going on? I feel a bit like Alice standing on the edge of a Star Wars-themed rabbit hole.”
“Oh, Lucas is part of a project I’m working on for Unconditional Love Animal Shelter.” Ryan nodded at the mess on the floor. “Hand me some paper towels. I’ll help you clean this up, then I’ll show you.”
They worked side-by-side until the worst of the spill had been removed. Abby left Ryan to dispose of the paper waste while she ran back into her apartment for a damp mop. Lucas seemed disappointed when the last of his feast was wiped away before his eyes. He chirruped once, sat down, wrapped his tail around his feet, and began bathing.
Ryan scooped up the cat and headed back to his apartment. “C’mon.” He used one hand to motion for her to follow.
“I, uh, appreciate the help.” Abby followed slowly, clearing her throat. “I’m just not comfortable going into your apartment. We just met. I don’t know anything about you.” She met his eyes briefly, then looked away. “Sorry. I guess that sounds pretty mean.”
“It’s understandable. How about this? You can stand here in the doorway and just look while I give you an overview of what I’m doing.”
Lucas twisted his head around to look at her. “I’m here to rescue you.”
Abby laughed. “How can I resist such a smooth talker?” She propped her mop against the wall outside Ryan’s apartment, stepped into the doorway and leaned against the doorframe. His small living room was cluttered with enough electronic equipment to stock a small store. “Wow. This stuff looks pretty serious.”
“It is–and it isn’t. I’ve always been fascinated with movies and making them. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid. My hobby comes with a lot of fancy equipment. A year or so ago, I started volunteering with the animal shelter.” He shrugged. “There are so many awesome animals in need of homes–especially adult dogs and cats–that I decided I needed to do something more to help. It dawned on me that I could put both of my passions together. I’m going to make knockoffs of some popular films, using the animals as stars, in an effort to help them find homes. My first project is called Claw Wars.”
“And Lucas?”
“Lucas will be playing the role of Luke Pawwalker in the film. Look out!” Ryan warned as a black cat darted for the door. “I forgot to tell you—standing in the doorway also means you get to play cat goalie and stop any of my feline guests from escaping.”
Abby snagged the black cat and settled him in her arms before noticing something was wrong. She examined him closer. “What happened to this guy? He’s missing a foot.”
“That’s Darth Jellybean, and he was born that way.”
“Darth Jellybean?” Abby giggled as she tucked the cat into the crook of her arm. He seemed eager for the attention and snuggled close to her.
“Black cats and dogs are the hardest to find homes for. I remember reading a story about a shelter volunteer who started naming all black cats Jellybean and it helped! The name caused people to stop and look at the cats they would normally ignore and they got adopted.” He nodded at the now purring bundle in her arms. “So, this guy is Jellybean. And, since he’s missing a foot, he’s perfect for the Darth role. But, you asked what happened. When he was born, the umbilical cord was wrapped around his foot. He lost the foot but the leg healed cleanly. He gets along fine with just three feet.” He chuckled–a warm sound. “He doesn’t realize he is supposed to be any different.”
Abby scratched her new buddy under the chin. He pressed his face against her hand, urging her to scratch harder. “What? No raspy breathing from the villain?”
Ryan laughed. “Initially, I planned to make the film and dub the voices in later. Then, I had a ‘brilliant’ idea. I worked with a friend of mine who is an electronics wizard. He came up with a small recorder for me to put on their collars. That way, I could record the lines for each cat and trigger them as needed with this.” He rummaged arou
nd on the top of his table for a moment and came up with the smallest remote Abby had ever seen. “Lucas–who was named for George Lucas, by the way–was the first test of the system. As you can hear, there are a few bugs to work out.”
“I’m here to rescue you.” Lucas leaped onto the table, scattering papers and electronics everywhere. He rammed his head into Ryan’s hip searching for attention.
Ryan scratched him behind the ears absent-mindedly. “So, what do you think?”
“I’m impressed.” Abby nodded as she took in the equipment, the movie posters decorating the walls, and the comic books–er, graphic novels–scattered across the coffee table. “You’re a regular nerd in shining armor.”
Ryan’s face lit up and he executed a bow. “Why, thank you, madam. I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“So, why Star Wars?”
“Well, it’s both an easily recognizable classic and my favorite movie.”
“Mine too.” Abby ducked her head.
“Seriously? I would never have guessed.” He nodded at her work attire. “You look so… not Star Wars,” he finished lamely.
“Then, my disguise is working.” Abby threw caution to the wind, stepped just inside the apartment, and leaned back against the wall. “I’m both a bookkeeper and the youngest person in my office. None of my coworkers understand my fascination with Star Wars and other stuff like that. So, I dress the non-nerd part during the day, then let my hair down after work. Not that there’s been much time for that recently. The person I’m replacing left everything in a mess. I’ve been working a ridiculous number of hours the past few months. I’m just starting to get my life back.” She laughed. “My dark purple hair is my one non-conformity. I think the boss would like to tell me to get rid of it, but since I have been kicking butt and taking names job-wise, he hasn’t.” She jerked her head back toward her apartment and continued. “All of this excitement happened before I had a chance to change.” Her stomach growled. “Sorry. It’s been great to meet you. All of you,” she added, including the cats. “However, since my supper wound up on the floor, I really need to go in search of sustenance.” She gave Jellybean one last scratch under the chin before placing him on the couch and heading for the door.
Nine Deadly Lives Page 9
