Cat-Eye Witness (A Klepto Cat Mystery)

by Fry, Patricia

  “And you believe that’s why he’s behaving so differently?” She thought about it, and said, “I don’t know if something like that would upset Layla all that much.” Her brown eyes grew rounder as she added, “Unless someone hurt her.”

  Savannah became sullen. “You know, Auntie, Rags may have been hurt.”

  “Really?”

  “I remember the first time I picked him up late that night—well, I pulled him out from under the bed, and he bit at me. I thought he might have been hurt. But he was moving okay and I couldn’t find any obvious injuries.” Savannah reached back and lifted her blond hair off her neck, letting it fall back across her shoulders before saying, “Auntie, do you think the killer hit him or something? It’s just hard for me to imagine that a cat would be so terrified just from watching an act of violence between two people he didn’t even know.” She paused, “Well, I hope we don’t know the killer.” She grimaced and squeezed her eyes closed.

  “Hey! I have an idea,” Margaret said. “We have a cat psychic here in town. We’ve been trying to get her to join the Alliance. Have you met her?”

  Savannah’s face brightened. “Actually I think I have. Are you talking about Caroline?

  She comes into the clinic with her cats. Interesting gal. Gee maybe it would be worthwhile to take him to see her.”

  “Or better yet, have her come out here,” Margaret suggested. “She makes house calls.”

  “Great idea. I’ll call her now. Do you want to start the tea water boiling? I made some apple-raisin muffins.”

  “Well, what did she say?” Margaret asked when Savannah walked into the kitchen to join her.

  “We have an appointment for 2:30 this afternoon.”

  Time rushed by as the two women shared a morning snack and caught up with the details of each other’s lives. It was noon when Margaret rose to leave. She carried her empty plate and teacup to the sink counter. “It’s been great visiting—just like old times when I was gimping around on my broken foot.” She put a hand on each side of Savannah’s face and, pursing her lips, she said, “I have missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too, Auntie. This house just isn’t the same without you.”

  “Speaking of being alone in this house, when are you and Michael getting married?”

  Savannah took a breath and held it. “Still no date, I’m afraid.” She exhaled and smiled broadly. “But we’re going to set one soon—very soon. I’m sure not going to wait around as long as you did. Poor Max. What were you thinking?”

  “Hell if I know.” She winked at her niece. “Sure am glad I came to my senses.” She clapped her hands together and said, “Hey, gotta go. I have some errands and then we’re taking in some new cats this afternoon.” She looked over at Layla who was curled up on the ottoman. “Come on little one. Your play date’s over.”

  She walked toward the sleeping fluff ball, but, before she could pick up the little cat, Savannah said, “Oh just leave her here, Auntie. We’ll bring her home this evening when we come over for dinner.”

  Margaret stopped—looked from Savannah to Layla. “Okay. That’ll be fine.” She kissed her fingers and then touched them to Layla’s head. “’Bye sweet thing.” She then glanced up at her niece, her brown eyes twinkling. “Now don’t forget that yummy chicken soup you make.”

  “Oh, I won’t. You’re making biscuits, right?”

  “Yes, and Max is making his famous pineapple upside-down cake.”

  “Yum. We haven’t had one of Max’s creations in a while. Does he do much cooking, anymore?”

  Margaret thought about it and said, “Yeah, he’ll jump in when he gets tired of my simpleton way of cooking.” She laughed and then said in a more serious tone, “I think he likes to practice his culinary skills from time to time.”

  “Hmmm, I guess it’s like anything else,” Savannah said. “Use it or lose it. Do you think that applies to chefs, too?”

  “Probably.” Margaret shrugged. She looked at her watch, scooped up her purse and jacket and said, “Hey, gotta go.”

  “See you later, Auntie. I enjoyed the visit—just you and me.”

  “Me, too.” Margaret opened the front door, stepped out and called over her shoulder, “Let me know what happens with the psychic.”

  Savannah nodded and followed her aunt out onto the porch. She shivered and pulled her lightweight cardigan around her as she watched her aunt rush toward her SUV eager to get in out of the wind. Margaret opened the car door, set her things inside and looked back at Savannah, her loose-fitting purple-print blouse blowing against her ample body. “I’ve been summoned to the sheriff’s office this afternoon. Did I tell you that?”

  Savannah’s brow creased. “No, why?”

  “The investigator wants me to look at photos. He thinks I can identify some of the people who were here Saturday.”

  “Oh yes, he sent me some pictures through email to identify. I didn’t know everyone and told him you might.”

  Margaret glanced down and brushed at a little cat hair she’d picked up on the knee of her new dark blue jeans. “Makes me nervous going down there for something like this.” She squinted over at Savannah. “You know, everyone’s a suspect until they find the killer.”

  Savannah scoffed. “What are you talking about, Auntie? Why would they suspect you?”

  Margaret’s eyes widened. “Think about it, Vannie, who found the body?”

  “Oh, you read too many mysteries on that Kindle of yours.”

  “Well, who do you suppose they suspect?”

  Savannah’s face twisted into a worried frown. “Frankly, Auntie, I’m afraid they think Iris had something to do with it.”

  ***

  Caroline Smith was a slight woman of around forty with long, stringy, light-brown hair and a fringe of bangs. When she arrived at Savannah’s home that afternoon, she wore pink sweats and a sweatshirt with a screen print of a kitten lounging in a hammock on the front.

  “Hi. Cute shirt,” Savannah said upon greeting her guest at the front door.

  “Thanks. Great house,” Caroline said as she looked around the spacious living room and open dining room.

  “Yeah it is. It belongs to my aunt. I really appreciate you coming out here on such short notice, Caroline.”

  “Hey, you and Dr. Ivey have been there for me and my fur girls forever. I appreciate what you do. I’m happy to help, if I can.” She wrinkled her brow. “So what’s the problem?”

  “Well, you’ve probably read about the tragedy that occurred here this week.”

  “Yes, I’m so sorry. It must be hard for you—for everyone. No suspect, yet?”

  Savannah sighed. “No, not yet. But we think Rags—Ragsdale—my cat—may have…”

  “Don’t tell me anything more,” she cautioned. “Let me see what I can find out from him…” She looked inquisitively at Savannah and added, “…or her?”

  “He’s male.”

  “Where is he?” She looked around and spotted Layla lying on the ottoman watching the two women.

  “Oh, look at this,” Caroline cooed. “Is this Rags?”

  “No, she’s my aunt’s cat, Layla. Isn’t she pretty?”

  “Yes, she is.” Caroline knelt down and gazed at the faux Persian. Within a few seconds, Layla looked up at her, and they made eye contact. Caroline said, “And she knows it. She feels so much love around her and is grateful for the life she has.” She continued to stare into Layla’s eyes. “She had a rough start, didn’t she? She was a throwaway kitten?” She shook her head. “It’s hard to believe, looking at her now.”

  Savannah stood still, stunned at Caroline’s accuracy. She then said, “Yes. My aunt and her now husband rescued her and even had to bottle feed her—actually, I believe with an eye dropper.”

  Caroline continued, “She didn’t want to live until they showed her love. Then she changed her mind. Bless her sweet heart,” Caroline said, her voice cracking. She reached out and petted Layla. “She is a dear thing.” She stood
up, took a breath and said, “Now, let’s meet Rags.”

  “Oh, isn’t he a handsome fella?” Caroline said while lying on the floor looking at him as he huddled under Savannah’s bed. “Will you come out to see me?” She shook a bag of organic treats and set a few down in front of her. But Rags wasn’t interested in coming out even for a fish-flavored treat. “No matter, Rags. We can talk here, just like this.” Without taking her eyes off Rags, she said, “Dr. Jordan, you can stay or go—doesn’t matter. If you stay,” she said, keeping her eyes focused on Rags, “just sit across the room somewhere, okay?”

  After several minutes, Savannah saw Caroline push herself back onto her knees. Using the bed, she pulled herself up to a standing position. Savannah stood and asked, “What did you find out?”

  “He’s traumatized, all right. I used some mind-talk to help calm him, I hope you don’t mind,” she said, rubbing her hands together and glancing back at the bed.

  “No, no, not at all,” Savannah responded. “I know he understands things…”

  “Which is probably why this has upset him more than it would the ordinary cat.”

  Savannah was eager to hear more.

  “He was definitely a witness to violence.” Caroline turned to face Savannah. “I even got a sketchy picture of the murderer from him.” She rolled her head from side to side. “If only they allowed cats to testify in court. They’d be really good at it, don’t ya know?” She laughed a little before saying, “And it would be job security for people like me.” She winked. “…being a cat interpreter, and all.”

  Savannah chuckled.

  Caroline became serious again, looked at Savannah and added, “I don’t think he knows the guy.”

  Savannah tilted her head. “It was a man?”

  “Yes, I’m almost positive…according to the picture he showed me.” She looked squarely at Savannah before saying, “And the guy kicked him.”

  Savannah caught her breath and squeezed her eyes closed. “Oh my gosh, no.”

  Caroline glanced back toward the bed. “Yes, this seems to be the thing that has him most upset—not the violence he saw, but the violence he experienced.” She spoke haltingly. “Oh, he’s sensitive to…what happened to the other guy, but…more so about what happened to him. He’s…he’s still in pain. But you know cats…” She turned to face Savannah. “Well, of course you do. They are good at dealing with pain. There’s nothing broken, but there is bruising on his left side in the upper ribcage area.”

  “Oh, that’s why he bit at me when I picked him up that night,” Savannah said, her voice catching with a surge of emotion. She then collected herself. “This has been most enlightening, Caroline. Thank you so much. What do I owe you?”

  “How about a trade?” She walked toward the bedroom door. “My girls are due for inoculations soon.”

  “Hey, I’m good with that. Just request me when you call for an appointment and I’ll take care of your girls—Sophie, Mitzi and Karma?” she asked as if not quite sure?

  “Close; Sophie, Missy and Karma.”

  The two women started to leave the room, when Caroline looked back and saw a green eye peering out from under the bed ruffle. “Oh, there he is. Hello Ragsdale. It’s been a pleasure.”

  Rags hesitated before crawling out. He stopped in the middle of the room and stretched his paws in front of him with his butt up in the air. He stood tall on all fours, shook, and then walked confidently over to Caroline. She put her hand out and he head-butted it with a little jump—his front paws coming off the floor. “He’s really a smart cat, isn’t he?” She turned toward Savannah, looked at her expectantly and asked, “Does he have any unusual non-catlike habits? I mean like carrying things around in his mouth—which is more doglike?”

  “Actually, yes. He steals things.”

  Caroline smiled down at Rags. “A klepto cat? How cool is that? I haven’t known many of them. Does he have a stash?”

  “Oh yes. When we lived in the burbs in Los Angeles, he went out some and he was always bringing things home—sunglasses, bathing suits, sponges, chamois, shoes, toys. He doesn’t get out much anymore—too many predators here. But he’s starting to take things from people who visit. He’s a character,” Savanah said with a wide grin.

  “I can see that.” She knelt down. “Nice to meet you, Rags. Thanks for coming out for a proper greeting.” She roughed up the fur on his head and stood to leave.

  “This has been fascinating,” Savannah said as she opened the front door for Caroline. “Thank you so much for…well, for talking to him.”

  Caroline stepped out onto the porch and glanced back at the cat who had followed Savannah into the living room. “My pleasure…truly.”

  ***

  In the meantime, that same afternoon, Detective Sledge and Sergeant Gonzales walked into the Home and Garden Real Estate Company owned by Fred Garfield.

  A petite Hispanic woman in her forties looked up from her desk as the two men approached. “Hello, may I help you?”

  The detective handed her a card. “We have an appointment with Fred Garfield.”

  Just then, a balding man in his early-sixties entered the outer office. He wore slacks and a long-sleeved dress shirt. A thin fringe of light-brown hair mixed with grey almost covered the back of his collar. “Detective?”

  “Yes, Detective Sledge and Sergeant Gonzales,” Sledge said nodding toward his partner. Garfield looked from one to the other, then turned and said, “Come in.”

  The two men followed him into a private office where they were invited to sit down opposite Garfield at a large desk.

  The realtor leaned forward and folded his hands together in front of him. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

  Sledge glanced quickly around the room. “Nice setup, Mr. Garfield.”

  “Yes, I like it. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No, thank you,” the two said in unison.

  Sledge started the questioning. “I understand you attended the fundraiser at the Forster place over the weekend.”

  Garfield leaned back in his expensive leather desk chair. “Yes, my family and I were there. It was quite a success…except for…”

  “Except for what?”

  “Well, the murder, of course, and the robbery…”

  Sledge remained silent for a moment before saying, “I notice in the photographs taken at the event that you were wearing gloves.”

  “Um, yes.” Garfield looked quickly from one man to the other before explaining, “I have a skin condition and I have to wear gloves anytime I’m outside…and a hat.”

  Sledge looked over at the man’s hands and noticed that they were, indeed, blotchy. He made some notes. “Mr. Garfield, did you have occasion to go inside the Forster home last Saturday during the party?”

  He leaned forward, allowing the chair back to sit upright. After thinking about the question for a moment, he said, “No, I don’t believe so. Why?”

  “Think hard, Mr. Garfield. At any time that day did you go inside the home?”

  Garfield shifted his eyes from side to side and finally a weak smile emerged. He spoke with confidence, “Oh, yeah…yes, I did. Being a realtor, I’m always interested in what’s on the market. In fact, Margaret Forster…er…Sheridan… plans to list the old place probably sometime next year.” He avoided eye contact. “Of course, I wanted to take a look around.”

  Sledge fiddled with his pencil. “Why did you have to stop and think about that question, Mr. Garfield? Is there something you’re hiding?”

  Garfield shifted in his chair, looked out the window, took a deep breath and said, “Well, no. Why?”

  “You seem kind of nervous, Mr. Garfield.”

  He said, “Anyone gets nervous when they’re being interrogated, don’t you think, Detective?” He spoke faster now. “In fact, I can tell you that I was wrongly accused of something once and darn near sent to prison. It’s frightening and it does happen—I mean there are innocent people in prison. They’re discovering
more and more of them all the time.” He stood up and began to pace. Glancing quickly at Sledge and Gonzales, he said, “I have high blood pressure, you know, and I’m under a lot of stress in my work and at home. I just don’t like it when I feel as though I’m being backed against a wall.”

  Sledge frowned. He shook his head. “How are we backing you against a wall, Mr. Garfield? All we’re doing here is asking you a couple of questions. So you went inside the house…”

  Garfield raked one hand over his head and said, “Yes, I guess I did, actually.”

  “Did you go upstairs?”

  “No,” he said, looking down at the floor. “No, I didn’t go upstairs at all—just the kitchen and I walked around in the living room and dining room. That’s all.”

  “Did you happen to see anyone else go upstairs?”

  Garfield stopped pacing and appeared to be thinking. “I didn’t notice anyone, but I wasn’t really paying that much attention.”

  “Did you see anyone behaving in an unusual manner that day that you can recall?”

  “Hmmm. Strange questions,” he said, as he walked over to his chair, settling back down into it.

  “Not really, when you consider we’re investigating a murder, do you think Mr. Garfield?” Sledge looked hard at the man for a few moments. “Mr. Garfield, did you know Marvin Byrd?”

  “Um, I think so. He has come to city council meetings a few times. I didn’t know him in any sort of personal way,” he said shaking his head and looking down at something on his desk.

  “Are you a friend of Iris Clampton?”

  Sledge was sure he saw an increase in perspiration beads forming on Garfield’s forehead. After some hesitation, Garfield said, “I know Iris. Yes. I eat at the diner quite often during the week. It’s too far to drive out to my home for lunch every day. I have my dinner there on meeting nights. You know I’m on the city council…”

  “Do you have a personal relationship with Iris Clampton?”

  He looked confused. Suddenly, as if understanding the question, he responded, “Oh no. No, no, no, nothing like that. I like her—she’s a nice lady. But no, I’m happily married to a wonderful woman.” He then looked at his watch, stood up and said, “Now, if there’s nothing else, gentlemen, I have to show a house. Gotta keep the flow of money coming in so I can afford this luxury office, you know.” A nervous smile visited his lips, but only for a brief moment.