The Cats that Stalked a Ghost (The Cats that . . . Cozy Mystery Book 6)

by Karen Anne Golden

  He went back to the pickup and easily lifted the unconscious woman out of the truck bed. He carried her down the storm cellar’s stairs, and noticed she was coming around. She began to struggle. He lost his footing on the bottom step, fell off, and slid on something oily. He caught himself, but dropped the woman. She moaned. He wondered if he should go back to the truck and get more chloroform, but decided to get out of there instead. In the excitement, he’d forgotten his ski mask, and didn’t want her to see him. If the plan went south, the last thing he wanted was to be identified. Kidnapping wasn’t his specialty; arson was. But the boss lady wanted to keep the judge for a few weeks and make some money. He was terrible at finances. Let the boss figure out the ransom.

  Rushing up the steps and outside, he yanked the handle of each cellar door and pushed them closed. He reached for a metal-rod and inserted it into the ancient latch. For added security, he was supposed to lock a second latch with a padlock, but it had gone missing. “Damn,” he cursed, fumbling on the ground. “Where the hell is it?”

  He didn’t see the Siamese — AKA feline Houdini who could open many locks — crouching behind a decrepit shed nearby. Scout stood on the padlock with both paws. Her eyes were red, and her pupils were mere slits. She meant business.

  Irritated, the man walked around the asylum to the caretaker’s house, which was a dilapidated, single-story building with a rusted metal roof. The house looked like it would collapse any second. He found his contact waiting in the kitchen, drinking a beer. He counted three crumpled empties on the floor next to her.

  “Little early to be drinkin,’” he observed.

  “Here, let me get ya a cold one.” She reached down and opened the lid of a small cooler. Extracting a cold beer, she slid it across the slatted farmer’s table.

  “Are you freakin’ nuts?” he asked furiously. “I didn’t come here to drink beer. We need to take care of that woman in the cellar.”

  The woman snapped. “Didn’t you get my text?”

  “What are ya talkin’ about?” he shouted.

  “The deal’s off.”

  “What?”

  “He called me fifteen minutes ago. He said it was too risky, too many people around.”

  “Where?”

  The woman chugged the rest of her beer, squeezed the can, and threw it in the corner. “At the pink mansion, you fool! Are we on the same page here?”

  “I didn’t see any people. I was just there. The judge was gittin’ in her car, and I nabbed her.”

  The contact’s facial expression changed into a twisted, angry look. “What woman?” she shrieked.

  “The judge. She’s in the storm cellar like we planned. If you don’t believe me, here’s her purse.” He threw the judge’s bag across the table. It came to a skidding stop in front of the shocked woman.

  She opened the bag, and removed an expensive leather wallet. She extracted the Indiana driver’s license and read aloud, “Janet Hartman of 45 Oak Street, Erie, Indiana. Brown hair, blue eyes, one hundred sixty pounds, five-foot-three inches. This is her bag, you idiot, but that woman in the cellar is NOT the judge.”

  “How in the hell do you know it’s not her?”

  “Because he texted me and said he was with her.”

  There was an awkward silence, and then the man spoke hesitantly, “That gal in the cellar doesn’t match that description.”

  “Of course she doesn’t, you idiot, because she’s not the judge.”

  The man rubbed his forehead, and said, “She’s skinny as a rail.”

  The contact covered her mouth to smother a long chain of curse words.

  The man sat down. “Calm down, woman. No need to git your drawers in a bunch. There’s gotta be a way for us to git outta this.”

  The woman abruptly rose from her chair. “‘We?’ You gotta frog in your pocket? I’m getting out of here.”

  The man jumped out of his chair with such force that the chair sailed backward several feet, joining the empty beer cans in the corner. He gripped the woman by her arm. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere. Now sit down!”

  Fearing for her life, she acquiesced, but sat in a different chair. “Did the woman see you?” she finally asked.

  “No. She was knocked out cold. I came up from behind. She didn’t see a thing,” he explained, then changed the subject. He pulled out of his pocket the Swarovski-crystal foreband and necklace. “I brought you a present — a little peace offering.” He placed the jewelry in front of her.

  The woman picked up the foreband, and examined it. When she recognized it was a bridal headpiece, she struggled to catch her breath. Finally, she blurted, “The woman who owns the pink mansion was getting married today. I think you kidnapped Katherine Kendall.”

  “Who? I ain’t never heard of her.”

  “She’s a millionaire.”

  “Well, let’s hold her for ransom, instead,” he said, still attempting to get out of his earlier predicament with this angry woman.

  “Katherine Kendall has a lot of law enforcement friends. You don’t want to mess with her.”

  “All that because she’s got money?” he asked dully.

  “She’s like best buds with Chief London. Now, getting back to the problem in the cellar, this is how I see it. Get rid of her,” the woman said with a callous laugh.

  “I can’t just take her back.”

  “Figure it out, but keep me out of it. Do you understand?” she asked forcefully. She reached into her bag and pulled out a book of matches. “Here,” she said. “Knock yourself out.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Outside the mansion’s classroom, Jake sat on the picnic table beside his dad, Johnny. He held his head in his hands. “This can’t be happening,” he said, in shock.

  The Erie Fire Department had arrived, along with an ambulance; they filled the back parking lot, already choked with vehicles.

  Inside the basement, Jacky lay on the floor, screaming for help. A firefighter heard him, and raced to the above-ground, narrow window. When he saw the injured man, he told Jacky to cover his eyes, while he kicked in the thin pane of glass. “How badly are you hurt?” he asked.

  “I can’t walk,” Jacky said, sobering up. “I think I broke me leg. Shite, I know I broke me leg.”

  A petite firefighter named Sally walked up. “I can climb through the window. Let me assess his injuries, and stabilize him, before we move him.”

  She kicked in the remaining shards of glass and leaned in. Judging that the distance from the windowsill and basement floor below was a good four feet, she carefully climbed in and dropped to the floor.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Jacky Murphy. And what’s yours?” he asked, storing in his memory that he’d ask her out for a “thank you” drink before he flew back to New York.

  Outside the mansion, several firefighters went to the carport, porte cochère side, and with great difficulty tried to break down the heavy oak door. Another group had gone through the unlocked front door, heard the commotion from the dining room, and speedily opened the oak door for the other firefighters. The fire chief, Sidney Black, had assigned them to search the mansion for more fires, and watch for possible hot spots.

  Inside the basement classroom, it took four firefighters to clear the jammed doorway. They made their way through the former mechanical room, and then into the dark, deeper part, putting out small fires as they went. The third firefighter in a group of four men was also an EMT. He nearly tripped over what he thought was a rolled-up carpet on the floor, then to his horror, realized that inside it was a woman, severely burned. He spoke into his radio. “We got a woman down. Possibly dead.” He set his EMT bag on the floor.

  As more EMTs went in through the classroom, Jake couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. He lunged off the picnic table, and ran into the mansion. “Did you find her?” he asked the closest firefighter. Johnny, now joined by Daryl and Cokey, rushed in after him.

  The firefighter said, “Sir, you c
an’t come in here.” He looked at Jake’s dad, shook his head, and asked, “Hey, guys, can you take Jake back outside?”

  “Why?” Jake demanded, trying to barge through the cleared passageway.

  Daryl and Cokey seized his arms, and pulled him back. Jake’s dad put his hand on his shoulder.

  Another EMT came in, carrying a large orange bag over his shoulder. He knew Jake, and spoke compassionately, “I have to go inside. You need to step aside, please.”

  Jake’s face was clouded with worry. He thought, Have they found Katz? Is she dead? Is that why they won’t let me go back and see her?

  “Jake,” his dad said, squeezing his son’s shoulder. “Let them do their job. Okay, son? Let’s go back outside.”

  Chief London arrived, and stepped down into the classroom. He heard the EMT tell Jake to step aside. He’d already heard on his police radio that a woman was found, and was most likely dead.

  “Jake, I’m sorry,” the chief said. “This is a terrible shock to you, but I need you to leave, so we can do our jobs.”

  Jake hung his head low, and left reluctantly. As he stepped out of the classroom, he headed back to the picnic table, then stopped. He thought he heard a baby crying. Was it a baby, or a cat? The sound seemed to be coming from the carriage house.

  “Did you hear that?” he asked his dad.

  “Hear what?” Johnny asked, looking around.

  Again, a cry sounded from the carriage house — a loud cry. “Raw!” it shrieked.

  “It’s Abra,” Jake said, breaking into a run. He’d barely cleared the door, when he found Abra collapsed on the concrete floor. She tried to get up, but fell back down. Next to her was a dirty rag.

  Jake kneeled down, and began examining Abra for wounds. She appeared to be okay, but seemed to be exhausted. He carefully picked her up and held her. “It’s okay, baby girl. I’ll get you out of here,” he said.

  “Raw,” Abra cried weakly. Her lean brown paw pointed toward an object on the floor.

  Still kneeling and holding Abra, Jake saw what the Siamese was pointing at, reached over and picked up a USB flash drive. He dropped it into an inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket.

  Daryl walked in. “Is everything alright?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve got to get her to the vet. I just found her collapsed on the floor. Daryl, she was lying next to that rag on the floor. Check it out, would ya?”

  Daryl stooped down, and pinched the rag on its edge. He carefully brought it to his nose to sniff. It had a pungent, acrid odor. Daryl, having been an ace in high school chemistry and a trained deputy, knew what it was. “It’s chloroform.”

  Abra snuggled on Jake’s chest, and purred lightly. Jake said, “What’s it doing here?”

  Abra lifted her paw and pointed toward the driveway. “Raw,” she cried.

  Daryl gave a curious look. “Did that cat just try and tell us something?”

  Cokey came in, and saw Abra. “What in the Sam Hill? How’d she get out here?”

  “Cokey, I need a favor. Can you take her to the vet? We think she’s been exposed to chloroform.”

  “Chloroform? How did that get out here? Oh, never mind. I’ll take her,” Cokey said, taking off his suit jacket. “Here, let’s wrap her up in this like a little burrito.”

  “I’ll do it.” Jake took Cokey’s jacket, put Abra in it, and swaddled her. Abra looked at Jake adoringly. She blinked an eye kiss.

  Jake caught the blink, and said to the Siamese, “You’ll be okay. Love you, baby girl.”

  He handed her to Cokey, and asked, “Where are you parked?”

  “In the alley.”

  “Thanks, Uncle. I’ll call Dr. Sonny, and let him know you’re coming,” Jake said, as he called the vet on his cell phone.

  ***

  When James O’Ferrell left the armory with Mum and Colleen in his Lady Moo truck, the two women were frantic. “Hurry! Hurry!” they both yelled at James, who was already speeding.

  The driver shouted back. “What do you expect? It’s a milk delivery truck, not a pace car at the Indy 500.”

  “Tell me again why you’re drivin’ this?” Mum asked James irritably.

  “My Mercedes is in the shop,” he retorted.

  Before he’d completely stopped the truck in front of the pink mansion, Mum and Colleen leaped out the open side door, and ran. Mum hurried down the driveway, while Colleen rushed up the mansion’s front steps and through the front door. Mum stopped and screamed, “Colleen, get back here,” and then to the group of firefighters standing at the back of the drive, “Help! My daughter ran into the house.”

  A firefighter dashed down the drive to see what was wrong. “What part of the house?” he asked.

  “The front door. Go get her.”

  “Ma’am, there are other firefighters in there. She won’t get far, but I’ll look for her anyway.”

  He sprinted off to the front of the house.

  “Bless your heart,” she called after him.

  Mum then walked to the back, shouting, “Where’s Katz? Where’s Jake?”

  Jacky, who had been rescued, was lying on a gurney when he heard his mother. He yelled, “Mum, over here.”

  Mum rushed over. “For the love of Mary, ‘tis a nightmare. What happened to you?”

  “It is what it is, Mum. I broke me leg.”

  Mum’s date, James, caught up with them. He seemed to be out of his comfort zone, and didn’t know what to do.

  “James,” Jacky acknowledged, “take hold of Mum, I need to tell her somethin’.”

  James took Mum by the arm, and she jerked it away. “Tell me what?”

  “I think Katz is injured — ”

  Mum shrieked and ran over to the two firefighters standing outside the classroom door. “Don’t you just stand there. Do something! My two girls are inside the house. Help them!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  It started out being a quiet, relaxing day, the chief thought, riding in Officer Troy’s cruiser to the pink mansion. He’d gotten up before his wife, Connie, and surprised her in bed, with a tray of pancakes and locally made maple syrup — her favorite. Then he had mowed the grass, played with their six-year-old German Shepherd, Riley, and helped Connie plant two rose bushes in the garden.

  Later, when the couple arrived at the armory for Jake’s and Katz’s wedding reception, they were pleasantly greeted by two ten-year-old twins dressed in tuxedos. The boys — Jake’s cousins from Ohio — handed out wedding mementoes: A photograph of the bridal couple, taken in the mansion’s parlor, each bound in a gilded frame. The chief chuckled when he realized the picture also included the couples’ seven cats.

  Entering the main floor, the chief and his wife moved from table-to-table, searching for their names on engraved place cards. “Oh, we’re right here,” Connie said. “Isn’t it cool that Jake and Katz are at the next table?”

  After seating Connie at the table, he’d moved over to the bar and ordered two Mai Tais, a cocktail they’d fallen in love with on their trip to Hawaii — a trip paid for by Katz. Returning to the table, he’d found that another couple had been seated. Mark Dunn, Katz’s former estate attorney, was sitting next to his girlfriend, Detective Linda Martin. They chatted about old and new times, as they casually waited for Jake and Katz to arrive and “start the wedding reception show.”

  Then, all hell broke loose. With the sound of the explosion, the chief sprung out of his chair and rushed to the front entrance. Officer Troy had pulled up, and shouted through the opened window, “It’s the pink mansion.”

  Getting into Officer Troy’s cruiser, he had barked rhetorically, “Is the damn arsonist setting off bombs now?”

  Officer Troy replied, “A bomber in Erie. That’s a first.”

  A worried voice had come over the police radio, and announced the grave news. “Woman down,” the dispatcher said. “512 Lincoln Street. Basement.”

  The chief said, “How could a woman be down, when everyone left for the reception?”
/>   “Or did they,” Officer Troy offered.

  Katherine Kendall, the chief thought with a heavy heart. The first time he’d met her, it wasn’t under happy circumstances. She’d just moved from New York City into her late great-aunt’s house. Dear old Orvenia had the whole town up in arms when she left her fortune to a great niece she’d never met. Poor Katz moved to a small town, where she didn’t know anyone, and had to contend with people who were angry about not getting money that Orvenia had promised them. Then, within the first week of living in the pink mansion, Katz had found two people murdered in the basement.

  At the time, he had predicted that the normal gal from out-of-town would have booked it back home, but not Katz. She was tougher than nails, but unfortunately, a magnet for murder. He admired her courage, and her ability to bounce back when these terrible things happened. Now with the explosion, he shuddered at the thought of what he’d find.

  He cared about her. He didn’t want to find her dead. She was a kind soul.

  Officer Troy couldn’t find a parking space, so he parked across the street. The chief muttered to himself, “Katz, you’ve paved your way to heaven with your kindness to others.”

  “What was that you said?” Officer Troy asked.

  The chief didn’t answer, but hurried down the drive. Officer Troy followed. The chief stepped down into the classroom, and approached Jake.

  “I’m sorry,” the chief said. “This is a terrible shock to you, but I need you to leave, so we can do our jobs.”

  He walked past the firefighter into the mechanical room, and then into another. There, lying on the floor, was a badly burned woman. Burns covered her entire body except for her face, which was still recognizable, but turned to one side. A small foreign object was stuck in the back of her neck. An EMT got up and shook his head. “She’s dead.”

  The chief knew the EMT. “Hey, Charlie, is it Katherine Kendall?” he asked solemnly, not really wanting to hear the answer.

  “Nope.”

  The chief was relieved, then felt a pang of guilt for the victim on the floor. “Who is she?”