A Box Full of Trouble

by Carolyn Haines

  They were all quiet a moment.

  Erin finally spoke. "I don't know why Shelby Rae's got so much family around New Belford. It's not like she grew up here, right? She's from Louisville." Before anyone could answer, there was a crash above their heads.

  "What was that?" Noah looked up at the ceiling.

  Zach's face clouded as he also looked up. His hands clenched his knees, and then he stood. "I'll be right back."

  Before he left the room, he retrieved a handgun from a drawer in a table beside the door. He held it so the muzzle was pointed down as he turned back to them. "Wait here."

  With the door open, Jocko began to bark.

  * * *

  Jocko’s excitement grabbed my attention as soon as we arrived. He's no rocket scientist, but he definitely exhibits plenty of signs that our visit to Chief Deputy Zach Wilkins' bucolic farmhouse was one of import to his minuscule brain. It was almost as if he expected a warm welcome. When the lord and master opened his front door, I was a bit stunned that he didn't at least let Jocko in. Back at the morning's murder scene, Chief Deputy Wilkins was pleasant to Jocko, but extremely dismissive of me, so his barring me from the house was hardly surprising. But once Erin set Jocko on the porch swing, he settled down to sleep in a most feline way and didn't move even when I set the thing swaying. What a useless skive that fellow is.

  I watch through the window. Erin does not seem happy to be here, though she was happy enough on the trip over. At least she and Noah are spending time together. I was worried they'd had a row earlier in the day. Young love is often fragile. Still, I have no doubt she and Noah are just right for each other.

  With Jocko sleeping, I find myself painfully bored. Hot as well. I investigate the half-full bowl of water near the front door but discover it's stale with canine drool, and there are no ponds or leaking hoses in sight. Returning to the porch swing, I give myself a vigorous bath so the swing will shimmy, just to annoy Jocko, but nothing wakes the foolish beast.

  Not in the least weary, I give up and decide to explore the area. The surrounding land, with its dull pastures and sagging, gray outbuildings, looks dry, as though the life has been sucked out of it. There's no springy, well-watered lawn, as at the Walsh estate. We're only a mile or two away from Erin's home as the crow flies, but it's an entirely different countryside. A pair of dusty horses stare over the fence. One rolls in the grass, giving itself a writhing scratch worthy of a Labrador Retriever.

  The scent of mice and voles is everywhere, and most of the trail scents lead into cracks around the old house's foundations. For a bit of fun, I stalk a chipmunk that quails inside a fallen planter, but that doesn't last long. It's dreadfully hot, and the rattling window air conditioners tell me it's much more pleasant inside the house. Truly, there seems to be nothing interesting here.

  When I return to the porch, Jocko is gone. Inside? That would be a smack on the snout for me! I pad around and find him on the outside staircase. He spots me and gives a small jump, a sign he's glad to see me. Then he dashes up the stairs to the landing outside the door and gives an encouraging yip. Humoring the daft git, I climb the stairs. He seems to want me to see something there. Now I'm interested.

  There's room on the outer ledge of the window right beside the door of the upstairs apartment for me to secure my footing. And just enough room in the window opening for me to slip my body through it. I land deftly on the floor. Jocko can't follow but keeps his yapper shut.

  Given the dog's excitement, I expected some horror on the other side of that window. Secluded rooms are often full of mystery, and this apartment is musty and appears little used.

  Inside, blinds cover the door, as well as the window I've entered, but the rest of the second floor windows—the ones that can't be easily viewed from outside—are uncovered, so that the room is filled with a murky light.

  I nearly jump out of my pants when I realize there are numerous people silhouetted in the room—people who have no heads! I give them a warning hiss, but they don't move. With a shudder, I realize the figures are not human at all, but mannequins. Each mannequin is female-shaped with a generous bosom and rounded hips—nothing like those skeletons one sees in fashionable stores. Two of the mannequins wear glittering evening gowns, and a third wears a tiny skirt and matching fitted sweater with some kind of logo on it.

  While I am a cat of the world who believes everyone should be allowed to express themselves in any clothing they desire, I find these fabulous ensembles uncharacteristic choices for the whiskered and gruff Chief Deputy Wilkins, and about six or seven sizes too small. Instead I envision him in generous tweeds and sensible low heels such as her majesty wears when visiting Balmoral Castle.

  The light is fading fast, so I take in the rest of the room quickly. There's little furniture except for a few tables, a shabby bean bag chair of uncertain vintage, and some rusting folding chairs that would be at home in any church basement. Wait! I hurry over to a table in a corner where an old typewriter sits in a field of dust. I’m put in mind of the typed ransom note. I try to pull the ribbon free, but it gets tangled. I'll have to take some other clue to Erin. Because clues are exactly what I'm looking at. Zach Wilkins is surely involved in Shelby Rae's kidnapping.

  The clothing on the mannequins is curious, but equally curious are the photos pegged to enormous cork boards on the opposite wall. Hundreds, perhaps even a thousand photos of one person—first of her as a smiling, round-faced middle-schooler holding some kind of certificate, of her blowing out birthday candles, or finishing a foot race, or posed with a bat or soccer balls. Her scowling in Halloween skeleton makeup, taller now. On a school bus, waving from the window or mugging for the camera beside a friend whose face has been oh so carefully excised from the photograph. Then the pageant photos—in dresses and swimsuits, her hair elaborately coiffed, her body tanned, her makeup perfect. She's young and lovely and would be perfect if not for a certain glint of shrewdness in her eyes that's visible even in the darkening room. It's a look with which I'm only too familiar.

  In the later photos—behind a desk, in newspaper wedding photos, in a sports car, sipping a glass of wine—she's much more recognizable as the woman I know. But even in these newer pictures, the faces of any other people have been carefully cut away. And in the wedding photos, the excising is particularly savage and pronounced as though the person doing the cutting was angry or in a hurry.

  There's something very odd and spooky about this deputy having all these photos and clothes. But the strangest thing is an elaborate tiara, its faux gems and cheap metal yellowed with age, resting in a Lucite display box in a place of honor on an otherwise empty table.

  How can I alert Erin? It's clear that Chief Deputy Zach Wilkins is obsessed with Shelby Rae and may be a danger to Erin and her family. At this very minute she's sitting in the man's living room, no doubt giving him details and information that might make it easier to cause all the Walshes harm.

  If Jocko and I go downstairs and start causing a ruckus, there's no guarantee they won't just secure me in the car with the windows cracked until they're finished. I wish they would cut their visit short. Chances are they're giving the deputy far more information than he is giving them. It's obviously in his best interest not to tell them a thing.

  There's no sign that anyone has been imprisoned in this apartment, in fact no sign that anyone spends much time up here except for a few candy bar wrappers in a rubbish basket and a used coffee mug at one edge of a table. The best thing for me to do is to get one of these old photographs to Erin and hope she understands where it came from. I'll have to steal it and hide it near Erin's car so I can get it home without the deputy seeing me.

  I choose a photograph of the girl in a pageant gown looking like a dog's dinner. In fact it's the selfsame gown that one of the mannequin wears. Taking the end of the pushpin in my mouth, I tug, careful not to swallow the thing, and let it drop to the tabletop. But the deuced photo floats down through the crack between the table and the wall, and
in my haste to retrieve it, I whip around only to knock the coffee mug to the floor. The crash resounds on the bare wood.

  They will surely have heard that downstairs, so my time for planning is over.

  Careful to avoid the shattered crockery, I find the photograph. It takes me several good bites to secure the thing in my teeth as the photographic paper is thick. Finally, with the taste of old paper on my tongue, I scamper to the window and ease my way out. The paper bends a bit, but it can't be helped. As I leap down the stairs two at a time past Jocko, he begins to bark. Below, heavy footsteps rush across the porch. Worse luck, a motion light mounted on the eave just above the apartment door floods the side yard with light.

  "Cat! Get down here!" The irate deputy starts up the stairs, aiming a gun at me. Jocko growls and nips at his ankles.

  If I didn't have a photograph impaled on my fangs, I would laugh as only cats know how. Midway down the stairway, I leap off its side to the ground. It's a good distance, but I’m a champion jumper even with my mouth full. The deputy won't catch me.

  "Wait. Don't shoot the cat!" Erin's terrified voice follows me into the warm night. "Leave him alone!"

  Bless the child. Thank goodness she came out in time.

  I disappear into the darkness, confident that Erin will understand I'm smart enough to find my way back to her house on my own.

  * * *

  “You almost shot my cat!" Erin was furious. "How dare you." Just like you shot my mother, you creep, she wanted to add.

  Zach Wilkins stood over her, equally angry. "Your damned cat shouldn't have been messing around in my place. He's lucky he's not dead."

  Erin was glad Noah put a hand on her shoulder to hold her back because she was thisclose to shoving the deputy.

  "How could the cat have even gotten in upstairs?" Noah kept his voice even, his hand on her shoulder. "I mean, he's a cat. What could he do? But we've got to find him. He doesn't even belong to Erin."

  Erin was worried. She felt foolish about bringing Trouble to Zach's with her. While she was confident that he was more help than mischief-maker, he hadn't been allowed into Zach's house and had probably been irritated at having to stay on the porch with Jocko. Maybe he could find his way home. Trouble really was a smart cat. But what had he been doing upstairs?

  "Window's open to keep it from getting musty up there." Zach now sounded defensive rather than angry.

  Erin picked up Jocko. He was growling low in his throat, and Erin was sure it was because of Zach and the gun. She stroked him gently behind one ear. I don't like him either, boy.

  "Let's go after him. You've got more flashlights in the gun room, right, Zach?" Noah started toward the front door.

  "Sure."

  * * *

  Jocko followed behind Erin and Noah as they searched. Zach walked ahead of them all, leading them toward the garage and the nearby shed containing his tractor and deck mower. The grass and dirt in the path of the flashlights showed gray in the light.

  Erin called for Trouble again and again, and was only answered with the hooting of an owl.

  When Zach threw open the doors to the shed, something scrabbled quickly into a corner. Erin gasped and lunged to grab Jocko to keep him from running in after it.

  "Raccoon," Zach said dismissively. A blur of gray fur disappeared through a hole in the wall. There was nothing else alive inside the shed that was larger than a mouse.

  The garage was a newer metal building with a glaring lamp over the door, and its interior was hung with overhead fluorescents. A smattering of last fall's leaves, and gravel from the driveway, covered the floor. But the only occupant of the big garage was a classic 1972 Camaro with its hood missing and its engine partially disassembled.

  "You've done a lot of work." Noah ran a hand approvingly along the Camaro’s body.

  "As much as I can. Anytime you want to come out, you're welcome. But I guess that would be what they call a busman's holiday, yeah?"

  Noah looked down at Erin and she saw the pride in his eyes. "Zach got me started working on cars. You should've seen the '82 Trans-Am we fixed up and sold. It was badass. Zach split the money with me."

  Erin nodded, but she really didn't want to chitchat about old cars. What she wanted was to find Trouble. She looked back at the darkness beyond the door. Because of the light around them, the barn was a barely visible rectangle in the distance.

  "What about the barn? He could be hiding there."

  Zach led them out of the garage and slid the enormous door closed. "It's possible, but I want to wait until daylight. The barn's got a serious rat problem. I've got traps set everywhere, and I don't want you two getting hurt."

  Seeing the concern on Erin's face, he put a hand up. "No worries about your cat. Cats are smarter than that. But most of the lights in there are burned out. If he's in the barn he's probably already holed up for the night."

  * * *

  Erin drove home with Noah in the passenger seat, Jocko on his lap. The car felt emptier without Trouble.

  "He might even be home when we get there. Maybe he's running through these very fields." She gestured to the darkness outside the window, trying to sound more positive than she felt. In her mind she couldn't stop thinking about the phone call she would have to make to Tammy Lynn if they didn't find Trouble. She wished she hadn't taken him to Zach's in the first place.

  "What do you think he was doing up in that apartment?" Noah asked. "I wonder if he really did go in through the window like Zach said he did. Wasn't it weird how he and Jocko both ran to sit on the porch as soon as we got there?"

  "I don't know what that was about. Except Jocko likes everybody. Shelby Rae says he'd move in with anyone who would have him. Except he seemed to change his mind about Zach." When Noah didn't answer, she realized she'd probably insulted Zach, and Noah obviously cared about him a lot. Was it going to be a problem? Zach had been nice to answer their questions, even if he wasn't terribly helpful.

  A few moments later, she turned the Challenger into the driveway and parked. The garage doors were all closed, which usually meant both her father and Shelby Rae were home.

  "I'd ask you in, but it's been kind of a long day. Who knows if Shelby Rae is even speaking to me tonight, and if she is she'll probably be rude to you, too." It wasn't that she didn't want to spend time with him. She was tired and concerned that she'd crossed a line, but she was also anxious to see if Trouble had made it back yet.

  "That's okay. Hey, do you think you'd come to my house for dinner tomorrow night if I asked you?" Noah sounded nervous. "My dad is gone for a couple nights, and my mom's a great cook. I know she’d really like to see you again. You were so nice to her at the party, with the glasses and everything."

  Erin thought of the silent dinner she would probably have with her father and Shelby Rae. Even a firing squad sounded better.

  When they both began to talk at the same time, Erin laughed and said, "You first."

  "If you want to do it some other time, that would be good, too."

  "No! Tomorrow night would be great. Honestly." She wanted to thank him about a hundred times but put a lid on her enthusiasm. She didn't want to sound like a dork. "You really think Trouble will show up?"

  "Yep. Any cat that can escape Zach and his revolver is no dummy. I bet he didn't even use up any of his nine lives." He smiled and opened the car door. Jocko jumped out and ran for the doggy door at the back of the house. In the mellow glow from the dome light, the dimple in Noah's chin was more pronounced than ever and his eyes were a deeper brown. "Great. I'll text you my address. See you tomorrow. 6:30." Then he was quickly out the door.

  Erin got out of her side of the car. Should she wait in the driveway to see him off or go inside to look for Trouble? Her decision was made for her when Noah secured his helmet and cranked the bike. Then he waved goodbye and disappeared down the driveway. She felt a small stab of sadness. Was she just upset about Trouble, or was she a little disappointed that neither one of them had attempted to kiss the
other goodnight?

  Once inside the house, Erin went to her room and searched upstairs for any sign of Trouble, but there was none. Downstairs, after looking in all the unoccupied rooms, she quietly entered the family room where her father and Shelby Rae were watching a Real Housewives on television. Or rather her father was snoring lightly in his favorite recliner, and Shelby Rae was reading something on her phone. Shelby Rae glanced up.

  "I wish you'd let me know you took Jocko out with you. Text me or your Dad. I thought he ran off. The only sign of anything was that motorcycle in the driveway." Now Jocko was settled on the couch, his head lolling against Shelby Rae's leg. Shelby Rae wore silk lounging pajamas, and her newly-cut hair was pushed behind her ears. Her face was scrubbed of makeup and glowed with expensive moisturizer. Bare-faced, Shelby Rae was truly pretty. Erin never understood why she rarely came downstairs without layers of makeup on.

  "Sorry," Erin whispered. "Jocko really wanted to come, and I didn't know you'd be home before I was. Hey, have you seen Tammy’s cat?"

  "Ugh, no. When is she coming back, anyway?" She darkened her phone and picked up the television remote to turn off the battling housewives.

  Erin's father startled awake. "Guess that means it's time for bed." He gave Erin a pleasant smile as he stood, his eyes wide and strangely cheerful the way some people's are when they wake to find other people watching them. "Have fun tonight?" When Erin nodded, he said, "Good. Good. This is one day I'm glad has come to an end.”

  He kissed Erin on the cheek, and she felt the roughness of his late-day beard. "Night, Dad. Love you."

  "Don't stay up too late, Shelby Rae. Come up soon."

  "I'll be up in fifteen, honey."

  Sometimes Erin thought Shelby Rae exaggerated her affection for her father just because she was around. Or maybe she'd just become too suspicious of her stepmother recently. Nothing had come of the row about the tattoo. Erin wondered if Shelby Rae was saving it up for some other attack. She followed Shelby Rae into the kitchen.