Snow Cat

by Edward Kendrick

  Mick had been taking notes. Now he stopped, asking, “Like the brakes were gone out?”

  “Yeah, maybe. For damned sure, they didn’t stop me. The tree did that.”

  “Are you sure you hit ice?”

  “Well I didn’t see it but then the snow was beginning to cover the highway.”

  Mick tapped his pen on the desk. “Could it have been a blown tire? Your right front one was. We figured it happened when you hit the tree—but maybe not.”

  “Maybe? I don’t know. I just know I’d lost control of the car then I was hitting the tree. Like I said, after that, it’s pretty much a blank till I woke up in the barn.”

  “So possibly—” Mick tapped the pen on his notes now, “—whoever took the car wanted to get it before someone—Paulie, in point of fact—discovered what had happened wasn’t really an accident. If that’s the case, and it’s just conjecture at this point, it means someone wanted you dead or at least incapacitated for a while.” He looked hard at Wynn. “Is that possible?”

  “Hell no! Who’d want me dead?”

  “That’s what I was asking you.”

  “No one. I don’t have any enemies or even someone who hates me enough to do that.”

  But Wynn knew that wasn’t the truth. There was someone. The problem was, how had that someone found him? And why try to arrange it so his death would look like an accident? That went totally against his enemy’s character. Unless…he frowned deeply.

  * * * *

  “Why the frown, Mr. Murphy? Did you think of someone who might fit the criteria?”

  Wynn shook his head, but Mick didn’t believe him.

  “I’m not the kind of man who makes enemies,” Wynn stated.

  “You haven’t pissed anyone off? A business rival maybe or someone in your personal life? Someone you recently had a run-in with in a bar that might hold a grudge? Someone who thought you’d stolen their wife or girlfriend?”

  Wynn chuckled suddenly. “That last is not an option.”

  Well now. That’s not quite the response I expected. Mick smiled to himself, seeing Wynn in a new light. Not that he’d say anything. It wasn’t his place and they had more important things to worry about than their mutual sexuality.

  “As for a business rival,” Wynn continued, “I’m an artist. I don’t think someone would want me dead because I painted a picture they didn’t like or made a bit more selling painting at a gallery than they did. As for family, if that’s what you meant by personal life, I don’t live anywhere near them these days. And that’s by choice, in case you’re wondering. I love them but I don’t want to be close enough for my father or older brother to try bossing me around.”

  “Know that feeling,” Mick said with a low laugh. “My father pushed long and hard for me to join the family business. My only escape was to move half-way across the country and join a police force. Finally I ended up here.”

  “As the sheriff?”

  “Not right away. I was a deputy for two years until the sheriff decided to retire. He suggested I take over, the city council agreed, and the rest was history.”

  “Not to change the subject, but I don’t suppose you or this Paulie cleaned out my car when it got to the garage. I had two bags with me, clothes and what have you. I could use them right now.”

  “We didn’t, but let me call Paulie and see if he did.”

  * * * *

  Paulie had cleaned out the car, which Wynn found out when he and the sheriff arrived there a few minutes later.

  “Here you are, Mr. Murphy. I forgot I’d taken them out when the other man claiming to be you came by—but that’s his fault. He was pushy and in a hurry. Hooked the damned car up to the tow truck before you could say lickety split and was out of here.”

  Wynn took the bags gratefully, thanking Paulie as he slung them over his shoulder. He started to leave the garage then paused when Mick put a hand on his arm.

  “Paulie,” Mick said, “did you get a chance to look at the car at all?”

  “Not really. Why?”

  “From what Mr. Murphy told me, the tire blew out on a curve and when he tried to use the brakes, they failed.”

  “Can’t speak to the brakes, but I did notice the tire. It was a new one, or so it seemed, so I figured it blew when it hit the tree. Not saying it couldn’t have happened earlier but it seems doubtful, unless someone tampered with it.”

  “Which would be possible?” Wynn asked.

  “Yeah, I suppose, if you knew what you were doing. Of course it could be you ran over something.”

  Wynn frowned. “I didn’t see anything, but then I was more worried about the driving conditions than what was on the road, even if I could have seen it.”

  “It wouldn’t have taken much—nails, tacks—hell, even some sharp rocks.”

  Mick nodded. “We’re probably too late, Mr. Murphy, but if you’ve got the time, let’s go take a look.”

  “At the moment I have nothing but time,” Wynn replied. “Can we stop by the hotel you mentioned first and see if they’ve got a room?”

  “Sure, come on.”

  “Hang on,” Paulie called out as they were leaving. “I thought of one more thing. If someone slashed the tire, but not all the way through, the air pressure would have done the rest.”

  “But I’d have noticed if it was slashed,” Wynn protested.

  “Not if they did it on the side facing in. Not unless you were used to crawling under the car to check.”

  “Not hardly,” Wynn said with a tight laugh.

  “That could be your answer then. If someone did that and messed with your brakes to cause a slow fluid leak, bingo, you have one ready-made accident. Would explain why the guy was in such a hurry to get his hands on the car.”

  “Especially,” Mick said thoughtfully, “if he thought you’d crawled off and died. Or he dragged you out and left you to die somewhere. He wouldn’t have wanted us examining the car too closely.”

  Wynn nodded slowly. “He thinks he killed me, comes by, impersonates me to get the car, and thinks he’s home scot-free. I suppose that scenario works as well as any.”

  “Thanks for the idea, Paulie,” Mick called back, as he hustled Wynn out of the garage. “Let’s get you settled in then we talk about who wants you dead.”

  “I told you, no one does.”

  “Doesn’t look like it from where I’m standing.”

  Avoiding Mick’s doubtful look, Wynn quickly walked to the car.

  * * * *

  Mick dropped Wynn off at the hotel, waiting long enough to be certain they had a room available for him.

  “As soon as you’ve unpacked and cleaned up, come down to the sheriff’s department and we can continue our discussion,” Mick said before leaving.

  “Will do,” Wynn replied with a brief smile as he headed to the elevator.

  The moment he got to his room, he put his bags down on the bed and opened the smaller one. It contained a digital camera, sketchbooks, pens, pencils, and his watercolors. A fast check told him everything was still there. Taking out the camera, he looked at the last two pictures he’d taken. He usually used the camera for shots of animals in the wild for future reference. The last time, however, he’d caught more than that.

  “Got you dead to rights,” he murmured. “Which is why you didn’t want me making it back.” He started to put the camera back in the bag and paused, looking around the room. With a shake of his head, he called down to the front desk to ask if they had a hotel safe. They did and were willing to let him leave any valuables in it. With that settled, he put the camera under the mattress for the moment, unpacked his other bag, and went to take a shower.

  Twenty minutes later he was dressed again, his hair tied back with a leather band. Grabbing his jacket, he retrieved the camera and left the room, making certain the door was locked behind him. After stopping at the front desk to give the clerk the camera and watching to be certain he put it in the safe, Wynn headed out into the cold and snow, walking
briskly down to the sheriff’s office.

  * * * *

  Mick looked up and nodded when Wynn rapped on his open office door, pointing to the vacant chair beside his desk. “All settled in?” he asked when Wynn was seated.

  “Yep.”

  “Good. Now we talk. It’s pretty damned obvious, at least in my book, that someone wanted you out of commission or dead. Frankly, I don’t believe you don’t know who.”

  “There’s no one who has any reason to do that,” Wynn said adamantly.

  A bit too adamantly as far as Mick was concerned. He was good at reading people and Wynn’s denial was too quick and he’d glanced away, just briefly, as he’d replied, before looking back at Mick, but it was enough that Mick was certain he was hiding something.

  “You said that before, Mr. Murphy, but people don’t try to kill people without having a reason, and the intended victim usually knows what that is.”

  “Maybe he got the wrong car?”

  Mick cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. “Do you really believe that? When he came to claim your car using identification that said he was you?”

  Before Wynn could reply, Mick’s phone rang. He answered it, listened for a long moment, then said, “You’re certain he ran away?” Mick nodded at whatever he was being told, his frown deepening. “We’ll be there in ten minutes or so. Don’t worry, Mrs. Peters. He can’t have gotten far, not in this weather. We’ll find him.”

  He hung up and went out into the squad room. “John, Augie, we have a runaway kid, Ralphie Peters. Seems he and his mom had an argument about him doing chores. According to her, she sent him to his room until suppertime. When she called him down, he didn’t come. She went up and he wasn’t in his room, or anywhere else in the house, and his jacket’s missing.”

  “I’ll let the others know,” Mary, the dispatcher, called out from her desk, immediately doing just that.

  Mick popped back into his office to grab his coat, realized Wynn was still sitting there, and said, “Sorry, we’ll have to continue this later.”

  “I heard. No problem. If you need another pair of eyes…”

  “Thanks for the offer but you don’t know the area well enough.” Mick smiled slightly. “I don’t want to have to be searching for you as well.”

  “Understood.” Getting up, Wynn zipped his jacket and headed out, closely followed by Mick and his deputies.

  Chapter 3

  The cat leapt onto a low hanging branch then climbed to a higher one, his long, sharp claws digging into the thick bark to give him purchase. Now high above the house and yard, he scanned the area, looking for any signs of the missing boy.

  Below, he could see the sheriff and deputies fanning out to start the search. The coming darkness and a light snowfall would impede their progress. Not so for the cat. Swiveling his ears, he listened for any sound that might reveal the boy’s whereabouts even as he searched the ground around him for any signs of his passage.

  His sharp eyes saw the rapidly disappearing evidence someone had left the yard, going into the surrounding trees not more than a few hundred feet from where the cat was perched. Leaping to a limb on the next tree and then onward in the same fashion, the cat followed the dim trail. It ended suddenly at the edge of a small stream.

  Jumping to the ground, the cat listened as he peered along both edges the stream, searching for anything that would tell him where the boy had gone. He saw faint impressions in the muddy bank along the far side and with one swift leap, he was across the water.

  Now tracking the boy became easier. What the searchers might miss, the cat had no problem seeing. The trail went on for several yards before turning into the trees again. The cat wondered if the boy had a destination in mind or if he was just traveling without thinking.

  He found out several minutes later when his sharp hearing picked up the faint sounds of sniffling. Moving quickly but silently toward it, he came to a small clearing. The boy sat huddled against a fallen tree trunk, his face buried in his hands.

  Inch by inch, the cat moved closer, mewing to let the boy know he was there, as he dropped down on his stomach to appear less threatening.

  The boy looked up, his eyes widening in surprise, a trace of fear mixed with interest on his face. “Wow, you’re big,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

  The cat mewed again.

  Tentatively, the boy reached out one hand to touch the cat’s forehead. “What are you? A snow cat?” He sniffled again, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. “I’m Ralphie, and I’m lost,” he whimpered.

  The cat stood slowly, gently taking hold of the jacket’s other sleeve with his teeth and tugging.

  For a moment Ralphie resisted, pulling back fearfully. The cat mewed softly again and the boy stood. “Can you…? I want to go home.”

  Still holding the boy’s sleeve, the cat began to walk at a snail’s pace out of the clearing into the trees and the boy followed without resistance. Soon the cat released the sleeve, sensing Ralphie would come with him on his own. The boy hesitated again when they came to the stream, but when the cat took hold of his sleeve again, Ralphie carefully walked across it with him.

  Finally they were close to Ralphie’s home. The cat and the boy heard the searchers as they called Ralphie’s name. The boy hesitated then wrapped his arms around the cat’s thick neck, hugging tightly as he whispered “Thank you.” Seconds later he was racing through the trees to the nearest voice, shouting “Here I am.”

  The cat started to leave, paused, then climbed up the nearest tree to a high limb so he could watch the happy reunion as Ralphie’s mother dashed through the yard to pick him up in a tight embrace. Then, leaping down, the cat sped into the trees, his white fur melding in with the snow-covered ground as he vanished from sight, heading back toward the stream.

  * * * *

  Mick and the rest of the deputies joined Ralphie and Mrs. Peters, all of them smiling at the joyful reunion. She thanked them profusely for their help, still holding Ralphie tightly until he told her she was squeezing the air out of him. After putting him down, but taking a firm hold of his hand, she offered coffee to everyone. The deputies declined, saying they had to get back to work. Mick accepted as he wanted to talk to the boy.

  Once inside, Mrs. Peters hurried to the kitchen to make the coffee while Mick and Ralphie sat on the sofa in the living room.

  “Are you mad at me, Sheriff Greene?” the boy asked a bit fearfully when Mick frowned at him.

  “I’m not happy you ran away and made everyone worry about you,” Mick replied. “You know it was a very stupid thing to do. You could have gotten really lost and frozen to death out there.”

  Ralphie nodded, looking chastised. “I suppose…but I didn’t. The snow cat found me and brought me home.”

  “The what?”

  “The snow cat. He was real big, about this tall—” Ralphie held his hand about three feet above the floor, “—and as long as…as the sofa…and he was all white with real pretty eyes…and he sorta meowed, but not really…and he liked me…and he showed me how to get home.”

  “Okay, slow down. Are you sure you didn’t imagine this?”

  “Nope. He was real. Honest. I was in a clearing and I was scared ‘cause I was lost. He came and he pulled my sleeve and made me follow him.”

  “Ralphie,” Mrs. Peters said as she came into the room carrying two cups of coffee, “don’t you be telling the sheriff stories.”

  “I’m not, Mom, honest. It really happened!”

  “I suppose,” Mick said pensively, “it could have been an albino mountain lion. Though why it helped him is the question.”

  “‘Cause I needed help,” Ralphie said, as if that was a given. “And he wasn’t albino ‘cause his eyes were blue. We studied that in school and albinos have pink eyes.”

  Mick chuckled. “If you say so. So where is this cat now?”

  “Uh, I don’t know. Maybe gone home?”

  Mick nodded, setting his coffee down on the side table. “I
’m going out back and see if I can find any trace of it,” he told them, buttoning up his coat and taking out his flashlight.

  Ralphie started to get up and follow, pouting when his mother told him he wasn’t going anywhere now except up to bed after Mick came back to tell them what he’d found, if anything. Mick chuckled, promising Ralphie he would let him know what he discovered then left the house.

  Crossing the yard and going into the trees to where Ralphie had shown up, Mick followed his footprints away from there. A few hundred feet later, he stopped when he saw animal prints along with the boy’s. Kneeling, he studied them. They were large, too large to be a cougar’s and definitely too big for a lynx or any other cat he could think of that prowled the forest. Standing again, he searched for where the cat might have gone after Ralphie had left it. Prints led to a tall tree, ending abruptly. Looking up, Mick saw a heavy branch that wasn’t covered with snow like the others.

  Damn, it must have been one hell of a big cat to have jumped that high.

  It took him only a moment to realize the cat hadn’t jumped. It had climbed up, leaving deep claw marks in the tree’s trunk. Circling the tree, he saw where the cat had jumped down again and he followed the prints until they disappeared at the edge of a stream.

  Now what kind of cat will willingly walk in the water? And what kind of cat is smart enough to know that he can’t be followed if he does?

  He remained long enough at the Peters’ house to tell Ralphie and his mother he’d found some pawprints. “Probably a female cougar that herded him home because she sensed he was scared then went on her way. I’ve heard stories about that happening before.” Ralphie didn’t look convinced but when his mother agreed with Mick, he didn’t argue, which was fine as far as Mick was concerned. He had the feeling the big cat had moved on and he didn’t want Mrs. Peters worrying it wasn’t safe to go outside.

  Then, after profuse thanks from Mrs. Peters, he returned to town. As he drove, he pondered the question of what sort of cat it was that had rescued the boy, vowing to do some research the first moment he had some spare time.