GALLERY CAT CAPER, THE

by Patricia Fry

She turned and saw a large man rushing past her into the garage—a second man followed. Savannah stepped away from the garage and began to cough. When she spotted her mother with the baby half block away, she walked quickly toward them.

  "Vannie, are you all right?" Gladys asked. "Thank heavens those men showed up."

  "Yeah, where did they come from?" she asked, looking around.

  "I guess they heard the commotion. I think they came out of the apartments there," Gladys said. "I called 9.1.1."

  Savannah coughed and cleared her throat. "Oh good; I hear them coming."

  "I called Michael, too," Gladys confessed.

  The women watched from a distance as the two men opened the automatic garage door and carried Dawna out into the fresh air away from the fume-filled garage. They laid her on a patch of grass and one of them leaned over her.

  "Looks like she's moving," Savannah said. "I'll be right back, Mom."

  "Vannie, I'd rather you…" Gladys started.

  But Savannah was not one to stand idly by. She walked swiftly to where the woman lay and knelt down next to the man. "Is she…?"

  "She's still breathing," he responded without looking at Savannah.

  "Dawna," she said, reaching out and shaking her by the shoulder.

  Dawna groaned and rolled her head from side to side.

  "Excuse me, ma'am," a paramedic said as he approached Dawna with an oxygen mask. Savannah stood and moved back a few feet. She watched as he fitted her with the mask and then began checking her over.

  "What happened here?" a policeman asked Savannah.

  "She was in the garage with the car running. I broke out the window and…" she looked around, "those men," she said, pointing, "went in and got her out of there."

  "Savannah," Michael said, walking up to her. "What's going on?"

  "Oh, Michael, Dawna was in the garage with the car running. She's been overcome by the fumes." She looked at Dawna as they put her on a stretcher. "Are they taking her to the hospital?" she asked the officer.

  He nodded. He then focused on Savannah and asked, "Did you go inside the garage?"

  "No. I started to, but those men showed up and pushed me away."

  Michael took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. "Savannah, Savannah," he said shaking his head slowly.

  Is she a friend of yours—a relative?" the officer asked.

  "No," Savannah said, sheepishly. "I don't know her very well."

  He looked carefully at her. "Are you feeling okay, yourself?"

  "Yes, I'm okay," she said, continuing to glance in Dawna's direction. When Savannah saw that Dawna was being loaded into the ambulance, she started to walk toward her, but Michael took her arm and held her back.

  "Let's go, hon," he said gently.

  "But Michael…" Savannah protested, attempting to squirm away from her husband's grip.

  "Step back," a policeman said to the small crowd that had gathered. "Give us room here."

  "Okay," Savannah said, walking away with Michael toward the beach. "Let's stop in and tell Peter about this. He needs to know." She turned to her mother. "Mom, would you take Lily back to the house. We'll be there in a little while."

  Several minutes later, the couple knocked on the back door of the gallery. "Who is it?" Peter called.

  Michael responded. "Michael and Savannah."

  "Hey, what are you doing out so bright and early?" Peter asked, after unlocking and opening the door.

  Savannah cringed. "Bringing disturbing news, I'm afraid."

  "What's happened?" he asked. "You look…well, kind of upset."

  "Yes," she said. "Mom and I were walking with the baby and we found Dawna in the garage with the car running."

  "What?" he said, looking confused. "Why would that be odd?"

  "The garage was closed up. She was overcome by fumes."

  Peter grabbed his head with his hands and looked up at the ceiling. "Good God," he said. He looked at Savannah and Michael. "Is she…?" he tried to ask.

  Michael nodded. "She's alive. They took her to the hospital."

  "Yeah, we really don't know her condition. But she is alive," Savannah confirmed.

  Peter turned away, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why...? How…?" he started.

  "I guess we won't know what happened until she can talk to someone," Savannah said. "Is Kara coming in today? I can stay here at the gallery if you want to go to the hospital," she offered.

  His eyes darted as he tried to digest the news and figure out what to do. "No, I don't want you to do that," he said. "Yeah, Kara will be here later this morning. I'll just close up until then. It'll be okay," he said. He headed toward his office, then turned and walked up to Savannah and Michael. "Thanks for letting me know," he said, hugging Savannah. He squeezed Michael's shoulder. "Thanks, you two."

  "Let us know what you find out, will you, Peter?" Savannah said, as the couple walked toward the back door.

  "Sure will, guys. Thanks again."

  ****

  "Had some excitement this morning, did you?" Craig asked, when he saw Savannah and Michael appear on the deck.

  "Gladys told us about it," Iris said. "How is she?"

  "How's Peter?" Craig asked.

  "He's closing up shop to go see her at the hospital," Savannah explained. "As far as we know, she's alive. She was moving when they put her in the ambulance."

  Iris glanced at her watch. "He opens his gallery this early?"

  "Not usually. He was getting ready for his Sunday crowd. He opens around nine, I think, on Sunday." She focused on Iris and then Craig and asked, "So, do you have to leave this morning?"

  "Yes, we need to get back to the real world," Iris said. "This has been so much fun. Thanks for sharing it with us."

  "We're glad you could come," Savannah said.

  "Did Peter say anything about what happened last night?" Craig asked.

  "No, why?" Michael asked.

  "Just wondering what he found out about the two guys I heard talking."

  Savannah tilted her head. "What guys?"

  "I'm guessing they were homeless. But I overheard them talking about Peter," he explained.

  "Craig, was one wearing a baseball cap with some sort of little animal on the logo?"

  Craig took a sip of coffee, then nodded. "Yeah, a fox or weasel," he said. "I didn't recognize the logo—probably some local business. Let me know what Peter finds out about him," he said. He then added, "Oh, and he had a Popeye tattoo on his hand."

  ****

  It was after noon when Peter placed a call to Michael's phone. "Hi, Michael. Just wanted to let you know she's going to be okay. She says someone knocked her out and put her in the running car. Who would do that to her? I don't think she has any enemies of that caliber. Why would they do it?" he asked, not expecting an answer.

  "Well, that is odd," Michael said. "Glad to hear she's going to be okay."

  "Let me talk to Peter," Savannah said, reaching for the phone.

  "Hi Peter. That's good news. How long will they keep her in the hospital?" she asked.

  "Overnight, for sure. After that, I don't know. Depends on her condition, I guess."

  "How is she…I mean mentally?" Savannah asked.

  "Hard to tell," he said. "As I told Michael, she says someone did this to her."

  "Oh!" Savannah exclaimed. "I thought…"

  "Yeah," he said. "I think it is an obvious assumption that she would do this to herself. But she said some guy knocked her out and dragged her down to the garage and put her in the car. She didn't know anything until she woke up outside there on the grass with strangers around her."

  "Can she have visitors?" Savannah asked, flatly.

  "I guess," he said. "They didn't say anything to me about restrictions. Are you going to see her?"

  "Yes, I'm thinking about it," she said. "Thanks for letting us know, Peter." She hesitated and then asked, "How are you?"

  There was an exaggerated silence, and then, "Oh, I'm okay. Just a bit bea
ten down…know what I mean?"

  "Yes, I think I do. Well, you take care. Be kind to yourself. See you later."

  ****

  "Can't sleep, hon?" Michael asked later that night when he found Savannah wrapped in a blanket in a chair on the balcony. "Are you feeling okay?"

  "Yeah, I'm okay," she said, reaching out her hand to him. He took it. "I just can't stop thinking about Dawna," she said, quietly. She looked up at Michael. "Why would she do this?"

  Michael pulled a chair closer and sat facing Savannah. "She's troubled, honey. But didn't Peter say someone did this to her?"

  "Yes, but I'm not sure I believe that. It seems far-fetched to me. I think she did this to herself. But why? She has a future. When I was with her the other day, she was talking about her future." Savannah looked Michael in the eyes. "Michael, I'm going to see her tomorrow."

  Michael took in a deep breath and let it out.

  "What? Don't you think I should?" she asked. Both of them were silent for a moment and then she said, "I feel responsible."

  "What?" he almost shouted. He toned it down and said, "You feel responsible for what she might have done to herself? Why, for heaven's sake? That doesn't make any sense at all, Savannah."

  "No," she said, chuckling. "I feel responsible for her life." She looked out over the ocean. "I can't explain it…but it was because of me that she didn't die. She either wanted to or someone else wanted her to…we don't know for sure. But she didn't die and it's because I found her. I don't know…there's a part of me that feels…well, responsible. I want to see her. Maybe I need closure. I'm not sure, but I need to see her."

  Michael ran his hand through his hair. "Okay, then. You should go see her, if they let you in—if she lets you in."

  Chapter 7

  "Be careful," Michael said as Savannah prepared to leave in the car the following morning. "Traffic here is different than in Hammond. Do you remember how to use the GPS?"

  "Yes, it still has the hospital address in it. I'll be fine. See you later, hon," she said, kissing him.

  Thirty minutes later, Savannah walked up to the reception desk at the hospital. "Dawna…" she started to say to the receptionist, when she heard her name called. She turned. "Oh Peter, hello. How is she?" she asked.

  He shook his head. "Not good," he said. When he saw Savannah turn glum, he said, "Oh, she's going to be okay physically, evidently, but otherwise she's a mess. Wouldn't even talk to me. Just kept crying."

  Savannah grimaced. "Gosh, poor thing."

  Peter frowned. "What are you doing here?" He glanced toward the elevators. "You didn't come to see her, did you?"

  "Yes, actually, I did…But…"

  "She may respond to you, you know?" Peter said. "She doesn't seem to have many friends."

  "Well…I'll go in and see if she'll talk to me, then. I guess I sorta need…well, maybe closure. Some part of me needs to know she's all right."

  Peter thought about that for a few moments, then said, "Savannah, can I talk to you?" He looked around and then led her to the waiting area. Once they were seated, he said, "You feel responsible, don't you?"

  She looked surprised. "Well, yes." She hesitated, then asked, "Did you talk to Michael?"

  He shook his head. "No, but I think I know what you're going through." He looked down at his hands. "I saved someone once who had tried to commit suicide." He looked off into space. "I dated her a few times and then moved on to another gal. I guess she thought we had a relationship. I was just into…you know…casual dating. Well, one night I ran into her at a club. Of course, I was with another woman. I didn't think much of it when she stormed out of the place, but when I got home, there was a message from her. It sounded…well, it made me head straight for her apartment." He paused. His voice cracked when he said, "I got there just in time. She had taken pills. They told me that a few minutes longer and it would have been too late." He looked at Savannah. "I know that feeling of responsibility. Because of me, she was alive even though she evidently wanted to be dead. But, of course, it was because of me that she wanted to be dead. So I had a double burden."

  "Gosh, I guess you did," Savannah said. "So what did you do?"

  "I started seeing her…but only as a friend. Something inside me needed to make sure she was okay. I took it upon myself to make her life better. I spent time with her. Made sure she ate. Took her places that I knew she enjoyed…things like that. She thought we were dating, and, I guess we kind of were. But my heart wasn't in it. I mean, I didn't have feelings for her outside of…well, obligation." He laughed. "Now how can you enjoy a relationship based on obligation?"

  "But how does this relate to my going to see Dawna?" she asked.

  He looked at her, studying her face. "Well, I guess it doesn't, really. My point in telling you this is to caution you to be careful. Don't get drawn into something that isn't right for you…that could interfere with or destroy your life."

  "How could that happen? I just want to make sure she's okay and see if there's anything I can do to help," she said.

  "Yes, I know. But someone who has the capacity for suicide…"

  "We don't know for sure it was suicide, do we?" she asked. "Isn't it possible that the same person who stabbed her put her in the car?"

  Peter was silent. He sighed deeply. "Interesting theory," he said, lowering his brows. He tilted his head. "You think this was attempted murder, do you?"

  She shrugged. "Heck, I don't know. Could be, I guess."

  "Who would want to do this? As I told Michael, I don't think she has any enemies."

  Savannah opened her eyes wide before saying, "That man seemed to be angry with her the day we went for coffee."

  He locked eyes with her. "Oh yes, you told me about that."

  "He seemed to be stalking her. She was quite uncomfortable, but tried to brush it off, I think, for my benefit."

  "Do you know who it was? Did she say anything about him?" he asked, obviously interested.

  "No, only that…she hates homeless people."

  He looked down at his hands. "The homeless, huh?" he said. He looked at her. "You know, your friend the detective was suspicious about a homeless guy the night we went on the art walk. I told him I'd see what I could find out about him. But I kinda forgot until now." He perked up. "Well, I'd better get to the gallery. Good luck with your visit," he said.

  Savannah nodded. "Thanks. And thanks for the…warning." She lifted herself out of the chair and then turned and asked, "What room is she in?"

  "Four-oh-four."

  When Savannah stepped into the room, she saw Dawna lying on her back in the hospital bed, eyes closed. Savannah stopped just inside the door. She looks so small in that bed…insignificant, she thought. Her aura of confidence seems to have drained from her. Just then, Dawna opened her eyes. "Dawna?" Savannah said.

  Dawna rolled her head in the direction of the voice. "Savannah," she said without emotion.

  Savannah walked closer. "How are you feeling this morning?" she asked, trying not to sound too cheerful.

  Dawna rolled her head back and forth on the pillow. "Okay, I guess." She looked at Savannah. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

  Savannah put her hand on Dawna's arm. "I came to see you—wanted to make sure you're all right."

  "I'm still here," she said rather sarcastically. She smirked and said more quietly, "…whether I want to be or not."

  "So what happened?" Savannah asked. "Did someone…" she started.

  "Dawna Paulson?"

  The two women turned toward the sound of the voice and saw a man and woman standing just inside the doorway.

  "Yes," Dawna said.

  Savannah recognized the woman as Sergeant Markle from the police department and nodded to her.

  The sergeant acknowledged Savannah and then walked toward Dawna, who had raised the head of her bed so she was sitting up straighter. "I'm Sergeant Markle and this is Detective Reed. We have a few questions, if you don't mind."

  "Oh, God," she said. "W
hat do you want to know?"

  The sergeant glanced at Savannah, who said, "I can wait in the lobby."

  "No," Dawna said. "I'd rather you stay, if you don't mind."

  Savannah looked at the officers, who glanced at one another and silently agreed it was okay. She moved to the other side of the bed and leaned against the wide windowsill near a small stack of pillows and blankets.

  "Ms. Paulson," the detective said, "can you tell us what happened yesterday?"

  "Sure, I've been waiting to tell my story. Where have you damn cops been, anyway?" she snapped.

  "Um, actually, Ms. Paulson," Sergeant Markle said, "we have your statement here. You spoke to officers after you were admitted yesterday. Don't you remember that?"

  "No," she said, frowning. "Whatever I said yesterday isn't valid. That isn't a valid report," she insisted. "I didn't know what I was saying. I don't remember talking to any cops at any time until now."

  "Okay," the sergeant said, "so what do you remember about what happened to you yesterday morning at your home?"

  "Well," she said, eyes darting around the room, "a man dragged me out to my car and…knocked me out, and I guess he turned on the car and tried to kill me," she said.

  "Can you describe the man?" Markle asked.

  "Uh…he was probably one of the homeless. They're always hanging around."

  "What did he look like?" the detective asked.

  "He was grungy; had a beard and long hair."

  "Were there any identifying marks or clothing?" he asked.

  She thought. "Not that I can remember. But he got me out of bed, so I wasn't really wide awake."

  The officers were silent and then the sergeant asked, "Did you sleep in your clothes that night?"

  "Uh…" Dawna said. "Yeah, I guess I did." She chuckled and then began to babble. "Sometimes I do that. I'm so tired after my workday and then I paint some at night. I often go to bed fully dressed. Sometimes I don't even take my shoes off."

  "Have you seen the man before?" Sergeant Markle asked.

  Dawna hesitated, then said, "Oh, you mean the man who…? Uh…no, I don't think so. But they all look alike, you know."

  The sergeant smirked. "Yeah, beard, long hair, grungy," she said, referring to her notes.

  Dawna plopped her head back down on the pillow, closed her eyes, and said, "I don't think I can take any more right now. I'd like it if you'd leave."