“What’s that?” Marge asked. “A clue?”
“Whatever it is, it’s not mine,” the first suspect said.
“Mine either,” said the second suspect.
The third suspect said something in Italian.
“It’s not his either,” said the security officer who had been to Italy. “I think. He either said that or asked where the bathroom is.”
Hoenekker sighed again. “I think we should all go someplace air-conditioned,” he told his people. “We’re in for a long round of questioning.”
“No, we’re not,” I said. “I know who tried to steal the monkey.”
For the solution to this story, please turn here.
The Fifty-Seventh Cat
by Sheela Chari
The manager said there were fifty-six cats. And Div wanted to meet every single one.
Div loved cats. She loved their cat eyes and cat fur and that cat expression they had when they checked you out and decided you were okay.
It was humid in Key West and Div’s hair was frizzing like crazy, even though they had flown in just a few hours ago. There was a line when they got to the museum, but it moved quickly. Everyone was dressed in shorts and tees and summer dresses—tourist clothes in December. One couple was not. The man wore a red suit and the woman, a white beaded dress fringed with feathers. Feathers? Red suit? Who were these people?
“One adult,” Mom said to the ticket seller. “One eleven-year-old,” she continued, eying Div, then Anya. “And she’s nine.”
“That’s two children and an adult,” the ticket seller said pleasantly. She took Mom’s credit card. “Where y’all from?”
“New York,” Anya said. “It was snowing when we left this morning.”
“Well, aren’t you glad you’re in Florida?” the woman asked. “Enjoy your visit! And the cats.”
“Cats?” Div repeated.
“Oh, yes. Do you like them?”
“My sister is bananas about them,” Anya said. “But our mom won’t get one. She says we’re enough work for her.”
Div poked her sister. Sometimes Anya said too much.
The woman pointed to the man in the front taking tickets. “He’s the manager. He’ll tell you about the cats,” she said.
And that’s when they found out about the fifty-six cats in Hemingway House.
“Goodness!” Mom said. “Why so many?”
“Because Hemingway loved cats,” the manager said, beaming. “And this is where he lived. Some of the cats are polydactyl. Do you know what that means?”
Anya and Mom did not. But Div had read about it in a book from the library.
“It means they’re six-toed,” she said immediately.
The man was impressed. “Well, I’ll be a crab shell. What’s your name?”
“Div,” she said, flushing. “Short for Divya. But everyone calls me Div.”
“Listen, Div, because you’re so smart, I’ll give you a puzzle to solve.” His voice dropped down a pitch. “Everyone will tell you there are fifty-six cats here. Except there are actually fifty-seven. Let’s see if you can find the fifty-seventh cat.”
Div suddenly grinned. She loved challenges, and she loved cats.
“What will you give us if we do?” Anya asked.
“Anya!” Div tugged on her sister’s arm. “It’s just for fun.”
The manager nodded. “That’s right. Just for fun. But if you find it, come tell me and you’ll get a special prize! Good luck, girls!” Then he was off talking to the other tourists.
“Come on,” Mom said. “There’s a lot to see.” She went ahead, entering the house.
“Who in the world has fifty-six cats?” Anya wanted to know. “I don’t see a single one.”
“Me either,” Div said. “No, wait, Anya, look!”
There on the lawn strolled a gray tabby cat. Cat number one. And stretched out near a tree was an orange one. Cat number two. And two long-haired cats snoozed nearby. Three and four. Div ran to the tabby. It sniffed her fingers and allowed Div to stroke its head. She examined the cat’s feet and counted the toes. Six.
By now her sister had caught up to her. “It’s a polydactyl, Anya!”
“That’s four cats. How will we keep track?”
Div kept stroking between the tabby cat’s ears. “We’ll write it down. You have that notepad you brought on the plane, right?”
“Yeah,” Anya said. She pulled it out of her backpack. “We’ll keep track by color. One: gray. Two: orange. Three: white and shoot—where did four go?” While they were talking, the other long-haired cat had wandered off. “This is harder than I thought!”
“No, Anya,” Div said. “This will be fun! So many cats!”
They circled the grounds, walking past pink and white camellias in bloom and the base of palm trees dotting the corners of the yard. And everywhere there were cats: little, big, striped, plain, large-eared, long-haired, friendly, snarly, snoozing, sharp-clawed, timid, and bold. Div loved all of them. Tourists snapped pictures, their voices murmuring like bees in the sun.
“Fifteen,” Anya declared, by the time they made it to the back, past the cat houses and onto the pebbled walkway leading to the gift store.
“Let’s go inside,” Div said.
The store was filled with books, postcards, and posters of Hemingway. Mom said he was a very famous writer. She had studied Hemingway in high school, and she figured Div and Anya would someday, too. Div walked around and at one of the tables, she picked up a cat calendar painted in bright, tropical colors.
“Cute, right?” asked a saleswoman with a pretty, suntanned face. Her name tag said Judy. “You gotta love the cats.”
Anya shoved her way forward. “Actually, we’re looking for the fifty-seventh cat. Do you know where it is?”
“Hmm,” Judy said. “You should ask Shel. He’s our cat keeper.”
Anya’s eyes grew round. “You have a cat keeper?”
Judy smiled. “Shel is the best. And Shel is . . . well, do you want to meet him?”
“Um, sure,” Div said, surprised.
Judy showed them out the back door, her heels clicking against the pavement. Outside, they found a young guy in a green polo shirt and jean shorts near the cat homes, which resembled bird houses stacked one on top of another.
“Excuse me, you’re in Marilyn Monroe’s way,” he said to Div.
Div looked bewildered until Judy gently pulled her back and a slender white cat flashed past them and jumped into Shel’s lap.
“All the cats are named after famous people,” Judy explained. “That’s Marilyn Monroe, Shel’s favorite, right, Shel?” she asked him shyly.
Shel didn’t seem to hear. “Does the lady Marilyn want her snack?” he said to the cat tenderly.
“You must love cats,” Anya observed.
“I love Hemingway cats,” Shel corrected her. “Isn’t that so, Shirley Temple?” he crooned to an orange tabby. In his hand he held cat treats shaped like small, delicate fish. Marilyn Monroe and Shirley Temple were chomping them up.
“Do you know about the fifty-seventh cat?” Div asked.
Shel’s face instantly clouded over. “You’re not one of those people,” he said.
Before she could ask what he meant, a voice called out. “Shel, Fred Astaire has gotten into the magnolia bush again. We need you to fish him out.”
Shel nodded curtly at the girls. “Excuse me. Duty calls.” He grabbed an extra handful of treats and was off.
“What was that about? He seemed mad,” Anya said.
Judy looked unhappily in the direction Shel went. “He’s very sensitive about the cats. But every time a cat does something wrong, Shel’s the one who gets blamed.”
Anya watched her. “You really like him,” she said in a singsongy way.
Div poked Anya. There she was, saying too much again.
Judy blushed, but she didn’t say no to Anya either. “Somebody has to look out for the guy,” she said. Abruptly she excused herself to
go back to the store.
After Judy left, Div said, “Anya, you can’t just say whatever you’re thinking!”
“What? She does really like him. I can tell.”
Div reached down to pet Marilyn Monroe. “Well, even if she does! How many cats now?”
Anya consulted her pad. “Seventeen. I don’t think we’re going to get to fifty-six.”
“Maybe we don’t have to,” Div said thoughtfully. “Maybe we just have to find the fifty-seventh one.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
Div shook her head. “There’s something we’re not seeing yet. A trick. Come on, let’s go inside the house.”
They entered from the front and stepped into the drawing room, which had shelves full of Hemingway’s things: typewriters, books, papers, photographs, a pair of reading glasses, an old pair of binoculars. Just then, Div felt someone jostle past her. It was the man in the red suit, and he was talking to the woman in the beaded dress and feathers. He seemed upset. “I can’t rest until I have it,” he said.
“It’s just a cat,” the woman muttered. She gave a look of disdain. “Speaking of which, I’m not a big fan with the whole bunch of them crawling around here.”
The man was aghast. “What are you saying? Are you forgetting what we do?”
The woman sighed. “Of course not. Just not my taste.”
Div listened in fascination. The man didn’t mean he wanted one of the cats, did he? He did give off a weird vibe. But did that make him a cat burglar? Div decided to follow them.
“Wait,” Anya called out. Div signaled to her to be quiet, then went upstairs where the couple was headed. She couldn’t hear what they were saying anymore because a tour group crowded in between them. But she stayed close behind until everyone was inside Hemingway’s bedroom.
“Here we have Hemingway’s room,” announced the tour guide.
“Another cat!” Anya pointed to a bed that was roped off from everyone. Everyone laughed. Square in the middle of the roped-off bed was a dozing black-and-white cat.
“Good thing he’s sleeping, right?” The tour guide winked at Anya. “No telling what he’ll do when he’s awake!”
As Anya wrote in her pad, Div saw the couple next to a display in the back, peering at it intently. Div wondered what could be so important. Another typewriter?
“There you are!”
Div jumped at the sound of her mom’s voice.
“I’ve been looking around for you two,” Mom said.
“Mom, we found eighteen cats and I don’t think we can find any more,” Anya pouted, holding up her pad.
Mom smiled. “I’m sure they’re hiding from all these people.”
Div craned her neck to hear what the couple was saying but they were already walking to the next room. She shuffled around the tour group until she got to the display. When she bent down to get a better look, what she saw made her pause for a whole moment and then she grinned wide.
Div and Anya argued on the way downstairs.
“I’m sure the manager man meant an alive cat,” Anya said.
“But even you said there’s no way we can find fifty-six cats. The fifty-seventh has to be something else. It has to be that statue!”
“Who is Picasso anyway?” Anya asked Mom as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “I thought the Hemingway cats were famous. Now there’s a Picasso cat, too?”
“Picasso was a famous artist,” Mom said. “The cat statue on that shelf was a gift he gave to Hemingway. That’s what the sheet next to it said.”
“Is Picasso as famous as Hemingway?” Anya asked.
“They’re both famous,” Div said. “For different reasons.”
Last spring she’d gone to a Picasso exhibit with her dad. She remembered the paintings she saw of women with faces and eyes in the wrong place. Dad said it was called cubism, whatever that was. Even the Picasso cat didn’t look completely like a cat either. Dad said that was what made art interesting—things not being where you expected them.
She couldn’t wait to talk to him on the phone. He was still in New York finishing up with a client. She’d tell him how she’d solved a mystery in Key West—her first one!
At the bottom of the stairs, they ran into the woman from the store.
“Hey, girls,” Judy said. “Have you seen Shel?”
“Wasn’t he at the magnolia bush?” Anya asked.
Mom was surprised. “How do you know that? Who’s Shel?”
Judy gave them a distracted glance. “Sorry to bother you. One of the cats is missing. He’s a frisky one, and might be in the house. I can’t seem to find Shel either. I guess I have to look for Elvis Presley myself.” With that she went upstairs.
“Wait,” Mom said. “Did she just say she was looking for Elvis Presley?”
Div shrugged. “Cat stuff.”
On the front lawn, they saw the manager talking to Shel, who had a long-haired cat in his arms. Div knew Anya would interrupt them, so she grabbed her sister. “Don’t say anything,” she whispered. “They’re talking.”
“The magnolia bush has to go, Mr. Frost,” Shel said to the manager. “Fred won’t stop eating the flowers and it’s making him sick.”
“Shel, we can’t relandscape because of the cats,” Mr. Frost said. “Let’s be reasonable.”
“Mister, we found the fifty-seventh cat!” Anya exclaimed, butting in like she always did.
Div frowned. Was there no way to stop her interrupting sister?
Still, Div couldn’t help adding, “It’s the Picasso cat.” After all, she was the one who solved the puzzle.
Mr. Frost beamed. “You figured it out! Such smart girls!”
“I know!” Anya burst out, smiling.
Mr. Frost was looking ahead at the water fountain, where Div noticed that same couple from before. The man in the red suit still seemed agitated, and the woman still bored. The man waved a red business card in the air.
Mr. Frost sighed. “Here’s that prize we talked about. Some complimentary postcards of the Picasso cat! Good work. Now please excuse me.” He headed off to talk to the man in the red suit.
“Postcards?” mumbled Anya. “I thought we would get candy.”
As Mr. Frost and the odd man talked, Shel stroked Fred Astaire nervously. “I have a bad feeling,” he said.
“About what?” Div asked.
“They think that money talks. But there are some things money can’t buy.” Shel walked off with Fred Astaire.
“Wait, Judy was looking for you,” Anya called out.
“He didn’t hear you,” Div said. “He was too busy being mad about something.”
Meanwhile Mr. Frost finished talking to the man in the red suit.
“You have my business card,” said the man. “The offer stands until New Year’s Day.”
Mr. Frost sighed again. “I’ll let you know, but realize you can’t just walk in and change a tradition.”
“We’ll be around,” the man in the red suit said over his shoulder.
The woman in the beaded dress tugged on his arm. “I want a selfie,” she said.
“You know I hate those,” he whined.
“Just one by the pool,” she said. “But no cats!”
They laughed, sauntering away.
“Now where’s Shel?” Mr. Frost murmured.
“He went that way,” Anya said, pointing.
By now, Mom was ready to leave. “Next stop,” she said, “swimming with the dolphins!”
“But I want a picture with a cat,” Anya said.
So did Div. They took several photos around the gardens and pool and verandah.
“Hey, there’s Judy again,” Anya said. “I wonder if she found Shel.”
Near the back door, Judy stood, her eyes darting back and forth. She opened her hand and Div saw what Judy was holding. They were the treats Shel was giving to the cats. Then Judy did something really strange. She stuffed them in her mouth!
“What on earth!” Div exclaimed. “
Did you see, Anya? She ate the cat biscuits!”
“Haha, maybe she’s the fifty-eighth cat.”
Div giggled.
“Let’s go,” Mom said. “We have enough pictures.”
They got to the entrance when they saw a crowd at the gate. Not only that, the gate was locked with two police officers standing in front! Mr. Frost waved to everyone to be quiet. “Ladies and gentlemen, we require your assistance. Please form an orderly line. We need to ask each of you a few questions before you leave. Single file please.” Everyone looked baffled.
“What’s going on?” asked Mom. “We have reservations at Dolphin Paradise in one hour.”
Murmurs went through the crowd.
The man in the red suit was angry. “You can’t hold us against our will!”
“Yeah, due process, people,” said the woman in the beaded dress.
“They’re holding us because of what happened,” said a woman in baggy pants, standing behind Div.
“What happened?” asked Mom.
“The statue—it was stolen,” said the woman in the baggy pants. “Didn’t you hear? A few minutes ago. In broad daylight!”
“The Picasso statue?” Anya asked, surprised.
“Yeah, that’s the one,” the woman said.
“They can’t hold us,” the man in the red suit repeated. “It’s against the law.”
More murmurs went through the crowd. Meanwhile, Div looked up and down the line. Did the police and Mr. Frost think one of the visitors had taken the statue?
“I don’t get it,” said Anya. “Didn’t we just see the statue?”
“No, remember we stopped to take pictures,” said Mom. “I knew we should have left already. We’d be on our way to Dolphin Paradise by now. Let’s see if I can move the reservation.” She got out her phone.
On the ground, Div spotted something—a red business card. When she picked it up, she remembered the man in the red suit holding it out to Mr. Frost. On the front it said “Wally Stevens & Lizzie B., Art Buyers, specializing in rare art. ‘We get what we want and so will you!’”
Art dealer! Cats! The pieces suddenly clicked together.
“That couple wanted the Picasso cat!” Div whispered to Anya. “Only Mr. Frost didn’t want to sell it. And neither did Shel!”
Super Puzzletastic Mysteries Page 5
