Cat-Eye Witness (A Klepto Cat Mystery)

by Fry, Patricia

  “What happened?” Iris asked as she sat down on the floor beside Savannah, one arm around her shoulder.

  “This darn catalog.” She stabbed her finger into the open page. “See this red plaid lumberjack shirt?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what Joe Forster wore the night he…” Savannah put her face in her hands.

  Such an evil, evil man, she thought. He got it into his head that he should have Auntie Marg’s home because he was a blood relative of the Forsters and she merely married into the family. The way he harassed and threatened Auntie was terrifying enough, but then to have him break in and kidnap us and darn near kill us… It’s an awful nightmare that may never completely go away.

  “Well, we’re getting rid of that catalog right this minute,” Iris insisted. With a dramatic flair, she picked it up and let it dangle between her forefinger and thumb as if it were contaminated. Her face lit up. “Hey, we can have a ritual and burn and bury it.”

  Savannah remembered laughing at Iris and saying rather sheepishly, “I guess I really am being silly.”

  “No, no, you’re not being silly, Savannah,” Iris said tenderly. “What you’re experiencing is very real. And let me tell you, there are tricks you can use that will truly help.” She looked over at Savannah and said matter-of-factly, “I killed one of my ex-husbands once.”

  “What?” Savannah stared wide-eyed, mouth open.

  “Oh not really.” Iris laughed. “I just pretended that I did through a ritual. I made a crude doll that represented him. Then I stabbed him with pins and scissors, set him on fire and buried him in the backyard.”

  “You really did that?” Savannah asked.

  “Yes, and it worked, too.”

  “Oh my gosh, he died?”

  Iris chuckled. “No. But I stopped dwelling so much on the negative aspects of our relationship and breakup. I put my hatred of him to rest—at least to a point.” She leaned forward toward Savannah. “Our minds are strange. Either it takes over or we take it over. Now you decide. Do you want your mind to be in charge—to react to everyday things like that picture in this catalog and make you feel awful, or do you want to rid your mind of the negative hold this creep has on you?”

  Savannah recalls nodding. “Sure, I’d like to overcome the fears, anger and all that negative stuff.”

  “Well, let’s burn and bury those fears and that anger, then.”

  Savannah smiled a little upon remembering the look on Michael’s face when he saw the two women heading out the back door with a catalog, matches and a kitty-litter scoop (their makeshift garden spade). He told her later that he considered asking what they were up to. But, when he saw how intense they were as they chatted on their way out, he just smiled without interfering. He told Savannah that he was pleased to see she was making friends of her own.

  Once the office decorating was completed, Savannah found herself stopping by Iris’s home occasionally. Iris sometimes called her just to chat. In fact, it was Savannah who invited Iris to join the Cat Alliance group her aunt and Max ran.

  Iris had expressed an interest in getting involved in something outside her small world. She said that was part of her healing—to devote some of her energy to helping others—to do good for someone else. In this case, animals.

  ***

  After a minute or two, Iris returned to the booth. She set a glass of iced tea on the table in front of the detective and dropped a plastic bag with her hair sample next to it. She started to walk away, when she changed her mind. She moved in closer to where Sledge sat and quietly asked, her voice shaking, “Can I ask what this is for? Am I some sort of suspect?”

  “Uh, as I said, Ms. Clampton, strictly protocol. Thank you.” As if dismissing her, he reached for his tea, removed the straw and took a large swig.

  Savannah’s eyes narrowed. Well, that was rather rude, she thought. She felt Iris’s pain as she watched her disappear through the kitchen door.

  Soon, the detective swallowed down the last of his tea, stood and pulled three dollars out of his jeans pocket, tossing the bills on the table. “I’ll leave you to your lunch,” he said with a slight bow. “Ms. Jordan, I’ll be in touch.” He placed a business card on the table in front of her. “Please call if you notice anything else that might be of importance to us, would you?”

  Still feeling a bit dazed, she simply nodded.

  Once the detective left, Michael centered himself on the booth seat and focused on Savannah. “What are you thinking about, hon? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

  “Just worried about Iris,” she said. “She seems so stressed. When you were talking with the detective, I saw her on her cell phone arguing with someone—probably her errant son. He is such a problem. I wish she’d just toss him out on his ear.”

  “Why doesn’t she?” he asked.

  “Oh you know,” she said, waving her hand in the air, “…typical mother.” She lowered her voice and became animated while imitating a whiney, over-protective mom, “‘He has no place to go.’ ‘He needs me.’ ‘He’s never been on his own…’ I think she’s letting mother love get in the way of her peace of mind and her other boys’ future.” She took in a ragged breath. “And she’s probably not doing Damon any favors, either.”

  “Who had the waffle and fruit?” the waiter asked in jest.

  “Oh hi, Frank,” Michael said. “What happened to Iris?”

  “Don’t know—had to leave all of a sudden. Said she isn’t feeling well.”

  Savannah shot Michael a concerned look. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes.

  As usual, Michael finished his meal first. He sat watching Savannah and then he reached for the newspaper that lay on the table. “Oh, there’s a story about what happened in the paper, already,” he said.

  “Oh no. I didn’t see it. What does it say?”

  “I guess they didn’t have much information when they went to press. It’s just a brief report—pretty much just the basic facts… ‘Man murdered at fundraiser on the Forster property.’

  Let’s see, he was Marvin Byrd, as we know. He owned several small businesses around town.

  Says he’s been here in town for ten years. He ran mostly construction companies and had his hand in businesses that supported construction and housing developments. He had a wife and three kids: Steven, whom we met, of course; an older son; and a daughter named Kathleen. Marvin Byrd had a brother—probably the uncle who was with Steven this morning.” He lowered the newspaper and shook his head, saying, “Gosh, that’s sure too bad. I just wonder what happened…why this happened.”

  ***

  “Don’t you just love a lazy Sunday?” Michael asked as he drove Savannah home from the diner.

  “Sure, only...”

  “Only what, hon?”

  “Only, I wish we didn’t have this awful…thing hanging over our heads. To think that someone died in my home—well, Auntie’s home. I just wonder who he was, really—what kind of man—and why he died. Why here? And who did it? Is it someone we know?” She turned in her seat toward Michael. “Do we know a killer?” She then clasped her hands together in her lap and shivered a little. “It just has me feeling so unsettled.”

  “I know.” Michael reached over and patted her knee. “It’s a tragedy. Things like this aren’t supposed to happen…well, in a place like this.” He pulled into the driveway of the Forster home, stopped the car and looked over at Savannah. “I have an idea.”

  “What?” she asked a hint of suspicion in her voice.

  “Why don’t you and Rags go adventuring this afternoon?”

  Savannah’s face lit up. “Good idea. He hasn’t been out since the last time Charlotte was here playing with him. I’ll go see if he’s up for an outing.”

  “Good, I’ll be on the porch swing reading my paper,” he said as they ascended the few steps to the large wraparound porch.

  “Wait.” Savannah suddenly stopped and looked around. “Do you notice something?”

  “What?
”

  “The stuff’s gone. The clean-up committee must have come early today and hauled everything away. Look.” She pointed toward the cluster of patio furniture on the porch. “They even hosed off this area and picked up the last of the trash.” She wiped her fingertips across her eyes and choked up a little. “Are they fantastic, or what?”

  “Was it like this when we left for brunch?” Michael asked.

  “I have to tell you, I didn’t even notice. They may have been here at the crack of dawn, for all I know.”

  Rags was almost always ready to go outside. He seemed to understand the tone and gestures—or was it the actual words or Savannah’s thoughts?—when she indicated that it was okay for him to go out. She’d search for the cat and, in a sing-song voice, lure him toward the kitchen door—never the front door. She didn’t want him becoming accustomed to going out that way, lest he try to escape when someone visits. Although the house was set back on the property, this exit was closest to the road and the driveway and Savannah didn’t want him anywhere near traffic.

  “Come on, Ragsie, wanna go outside, sweetie?”

  She walked into her bedroom just in time to see him jump down from the bed. He trotted toward her, his tail high. Savannah smiled. “There you are—wanna go outside, huh?” she cooed. She walked through the living room and dining room toward the kitchen and Rags’s door to freedom. He trotted alongside her. She unlatched the door and propped it open. If something scares him, he can run into the house instead of up a tree or down the street, she thought. We do get vermin, as Auntie calls them. She chuckled to herself. She recalled, I have seen a few coyotes and some beautiful bobcats since I’ve been here.

  She knew that at fourteen pounds, Rags would present a challenge for most any owl, possum or raccoon, but the cat was not predator-wise. And that’s why he wasn’t allowed outside alone.

  Savannah smiled as she watched Rags stop at the open kitchen door and peer out—sniffing at what might lurk beyond the threshold. Apparently satisfied with what he sensed, he stepped out onto the porch and began exploring.

  “Hi Rags, old boy,” Michael said as the lanky grey-and-white cat came into view. Rags looked up at Michael and then strolled over and rubbed against his legs.

  “Come on Rags, let’s go out on the lawn and find something interesting,” Savannah urged.

  “Well that’s insulting,” Michael said feigning a dejected look. “You mean, I’m not interesting enough?”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, maybe to me, but Rags needs lizards, crickets and butterflies to chase.” She picked up the cat and carried him down the porch steps, placing him on the expansive lawn. Michael’s gaze followed her and he smiled. Gosh, I love that woman, he thought to himself before turning back to his newspaper.

  Savannah watched Rags crouch in the grass and slink over to the taller weeds along the edge of the manicured lawn. He darted in, out, over, and under bushes, flowers and shrubs, stopping once when a white cabbage butterfly caught his eye. Savannah laughed at the little head-bobble thing he did while trying to keep his eye on the flitting butterfly. He took a few steps and jumped at something either real or imaginary in one of the flower clumps.

  “Atta boy, Rags. Get some good exercise,” Savannah encouraged from where she sat on the lawn. Shoot, he seems to have forgotten that I even exist, she chuckled to herself. He’s in his own world now—a world of fascinating sights and sounds. Uh-oh, he’s getting a bit courageous. She stood and began to follow him across the lawn and around toward the south side of the house.”

  Oops, there goes my phone. She slid it out of her jeans pocket and squinted at the screen before putting it up to her ear. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Savannah, you said you were going to call me back.”

  “Oh, well, I was. I’m outside with Rags right now—following him around. Just got back from a late breakfast at the diner. What are you doing today?”

  “Well, I’m on pins and needles about the sheriff.”

  “The sheriff? What sheriff?”

  “Don’t play coy with me, Vannie. You know what I mean. Why were the cops at your house this morning?”

  Savannah knew she couldn’t keep it from her mother. Since the kidnapping ordeal with Joe Forster, Gladys had become even more protective of her older daughter. She was thrilled that Savannah had found happiness and was planning a future with a wonderful man, but the pain of almost losing her was still raw.

  “Mom,” Savannah finally said into the phone, “someone was a murdered yesterday.”

  “What? Who? Where?” Gladys shouted into the phone.

  “It was no one we knew. It happened at the fundraiser. We’re all just fine. There’s an investigation going on and we’re helping the sheriff with it, that’s all. Michael and I are just fine, so is your sister.”

  “Oh my God, Savannah! A murder in Hammond? Where, honey? Where did it happen? Wasn’t the fundraiser at Maggie’s home? Where you live? Oh no—Vannie…don’t tell me…”

  “Well…” Savannah grimaced. “Yes, Mom. I’m living at a crime scene.” She chuckled, trying to make light of the situation.

  “That’s awful,” Gladys said. “There was a killer at your house and he’s still on the loose? Oh, Vannie, you shouldn’t be staying there. Can’t you move in with someone? You could come home. That’s a good idea, why don’t you pack up and come home for a while?”

  “Mom, I’m fine,” Savannah insisted. “Really, I am. Remember, I’m a big girl. Michael is with me and I have friends… Oh, Mom, I have to go. Rags is wandering away and I need to head him off. Love you, Mom. Please don’t worry.”

  “I love you, too, Vannie. Stay in touch, will you?” Before Savannah could hang up, Gladys added, “And let me know when you set that wedding date. Soon, I hope.”

  “Sure will, Mom.”

  Looks like Rags wants to investigate the area inside the yellow tape, she thought as she pushed the phone back into her pocket. She watched as he slowed his pace and walked cautiously toward the ladder that still lay on the ground partially hidden by shrubs. Cats have a way of noticing when there’s something out of place. Savannah smiled. He’s never seen that ladder. It’s usually in one of the sheds. I suppose I shouldn’t let him walk around in there—it is part of the crime scene, after all. But what’s to stop neighborhood cats from going in there or wild animals? she reasoned. It’s probably okay.

  Suddenly, Rags disappeared under a large azalea bush and Savannah noticed the plant begin to vibrate. “What are you doing, Rags?” She could see him peering out from under the bush and it looked as if he was pawing at something. She walked over to him. Hmmm, that’s strange, she thought. He’s digging in some soft dirt at the base of the shrub. It looks like someone dug a hole here then covered it up. She examined the rest of the ground in the area—the dirt was smooth and compact.

  Savannah looked around. Off to the left, she spotted one of the gardener’s shovels stuck blade-first in a raised garden bed. She looked back at the cat in time to see him starting to squat. “Oh no, Rags—I don’t think you should do that…” But it was too late; Hmm, perfect litter box, she thought. “Come on Rags. You’d better stay out of here. We might get in trouble.” She scooped the cat up in her arms and walked away with him, but not before making a mental note: I wonder if I should tell the detective about the loose dirt. She sloughed it off, thinking, Oh, it’s probably nothing. Maybe it happened when Juan stood the ladder there to climb up and wash the windows. Or Antonio loosened the soil around the plant for some reason. Could be a gopher hole.

  ***

  Iris heard a knock on the door and looked up at the plastic wall clock above the refrigerator. Five o’clock. The detective is prompt, she thought as she dried her hands on a terry kitchen towel, I hope this goes fast. I just want this to be over with before…

  She pulled open the front door. “Hello, Detective,” she said flatly. “Come in.” She considered offering him some of the coffee she’d just made, but didn’t want him
to have a reason to linger; wanted him to leave just as quickly as possible. After motioning for him to sit on a straight-back chair against the wall, she perched on the seat of one across the room. She picked up the remote from the arm of a faded, worn sofa and clicked off the TV.

  “Hey, I was watching that,” Brett said.

  “Go watch it in your bedroom. Or better yet,” she said, “get busy on your homework.”

  “Awwww…” he started as he reluctantly stood and headed toward the hallway to the bedrooms.

  Before he was out of sight, Iris stopped him with a question. “Brett, do you know where Damon is?”

  “Nope—not my day to watch him,” he said, laughing as he walked on.

  “Damn him,” Iris said under her breath.

  “Something wrong, Ms. Clampton?” the detective asked.

  “I told him to be here this afternoon. He knows you want to question him.” She tried to sound calm. But she wasn’t calm.

  “Don’t worry about him just now. We’ll find him when we need him.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Iris mumbled.

  “What’s that?” Sledge asked, not hearing her comment.

  “Nothing.” She moved her knees slightly to the left, reaching down to adjust the strap on one of her sandals. Sledge couldn’t help but notice the delicate chain she wore around one ankle. She sat upright and asked, in a less-than-pleasant tone, “So what do you want from me?”

  He snapped open the case he’d carried in with him, took out a pair of glasses and slipped them on. “Ms. Clampton, I’d like to print you.”

  “What?” she said, her attractive face twisting into an unbecoming scowl.

  “Get your fingerprints. I have a kit with me…if you don’t mind.”

  Iris shot him a disgusted look. “I don’t suppose I have a choice, do I?” She watched as he pulled his chair closer to where she sat and reached into the satchel. “I’m guessing this is your way of ruling out innocent people?” she said, using a questioning tone.