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

by Karen Anne Golden

“No, why should I?”

  “You idiot, the woman got away. A pickup just stopped for her.”

  “Damn, we’ve got to chase them down. I can shoot them, and make them crash.”

  “Go for it,” she said, climbing into her car. “See ya later.”

  “No, you ain’t leavin.’”

  “Use your truck. You’re not using mine.”

  He tugged his handgun from the small of his back. Pointing it at her, he said, “You’re drivin’.” He moved to the passenger side and climbed in. “Hurry up!”

  “But I’m drunk,” she implored.

  “Then maybe that will improve your lousy drivin’.”

  ***

  “Oh, no.” Katherine started to panic. She reached down and picked up Scout, and held her close. “Turn off my airbag,” she demanded. “If we have an accident, I don’t want her to get crushed.”

  “Done,” Stevie said. “Hold on.”

  Stevie tapped on the brakes, slowed down, and veered to the right. He drove between a row of apple trees. The truck hit the side of a ditch, went airborne for a split second, then landed safely in a weeded area. He swerved to avoid a fence post, then zigzagged across a farmer’s field of recently harvested corn. Driving through a barbed-wire fence, Stevie found a gravel lane to a farm. Its dilapidated barn stood on the horizon with both of its doors open; Stevie drove the Dodge Ram inside.

  “What are you doing?” Katherine asked, terrified.

  “We got to git out, and run.”

  “Where?”

  “Over yonder,” he pointed. “To the woods, so I can call for help.”

  Stevie jumped out of the truck, and opened his crossover toolbox. Katherine scrambled out and struggled to hold on to the anxious Siamese. “Scout, you can’t get down. Trust me, sweet girl.”

  “Waugh,” Scout disagreed, and continued to wriggle.

  Stevie joined them, carrying a nylon cord. He cut a length of cord with his pocket knife, and threw the remaining cord into the back of his truck. He walked over to Scout and inserted the cord into the metal D-ring of the Siamese’s collar, and quickly tied it. On the other end of the cord, he tied a small handle. Handing the improvised cat leash to Katherine, he said, “Run to the woods. I’ll catch up with ya later.”

  “How? I don’t have any shoes on.”

  Stevie grunted irritably, opened up the toolbox again, and extracted a pair of flip flops. “Here, it’s better than nothin’.”

  Katherine noticed he’d also extracted a handgun. He stuck it down the waistband of his jeans.

  “Stevie, I beg of you. Come with us? There doesn’t need to be any bloodshed.”

  “Ain’t happenin. See that bunch of dead trees in the middle of the woods?” he pointed. “There’s a path behind them. Follow it to a shack and wait for me.”

  “No way,” Katherine protested. “It’s getting dark!”

  “Woman, I ain’t askin’,” he said firmly. “Just go. I’ll explain later. Here, take my cell, and pray you get a signal out here.”

  “Waugh,” Scout cried, jumping from Katherine’s arms.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Katherine said. Scout took off, running toward the dead trees. Once again, Katherine was amazed at how smart her Siamese was.

  “Not so fast. I can’t keep up.”

  Katherine clutched the leash and jogged after Scout, trying not to think about the horrible pain she was suffering from wearing flip flops on the rocky ground. Looking over her shoulder, she could see a dark gray car speeding down the farmer’s lane. She wondered where she’d seen that car before. Was Stevie really trying to help them, or was he a part of the kidnapping scheme? There wasn’t time to figure it out. Several shots were fired from the car; one hit the Dodge Ram.

  Scout scampered at a faster gait, while Katherine struggled to keep up. The Siamese was leading the way, exactly to the area where Stevie told them to go. At the edge of the woods, the cat darted into the cluster of dead trees, then found the path. She stopped abruptly, and Katherine nearly fell over her.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered, picking Scout up. Scout swiveled her ears toward the barn. Behind a large rock, Katherine got down on her knees, and held the trembling Siamese. She peeked over, and saw three people in the back of the barn; one of them was Stevie. The other man didn’t look familiar, but something about the woman did.

  Katherine was startled when three shots rang out in the half-light. She ducked back behind the rock. A volley of other shots sounded, then silence. Not knowing what to do, she slowly peeked over the rock. She was relieved to see Stevie racing toward them, with his handgun pointed toward the ground. When he caught up to them, he said, “Gimme my cell.”

  Katherine hurriedly handed it to him.

  “Did you call for help?” he asked.

  “No, I didn’t have time.”

  He punched in the Erie police’s number, and said, “This is Stevie Sanders. I need help at Clint Sanders’ old farm, off of Highway 41. Send an ambulance. A couple, driving a dark gray Ford Taurus, ran us off the road, and then opened fire. The driver may have been shot; she’s lying on the ground. The man with her is armed, and still out there.”

  Katherine was amazed at how easy it was for Stevie to describe what happened. She could barely get two words out without stuttering in shock, let alone calmly speak descriptive sentences.

  Stevie paused while the dispatcher said something. He answered, “Katherine Kendall is with me. She’s safe.” He started to say something else, but hesitated, then ended the call. “Come on,” he said to Katherine, heading down the overgrown path. “We need to hide.”

  Katherine picked up Scout to carry her, but had only walked two feet when a loud explosion sounded from the barn.

  Stevie lunged back, and stood with his mouth open. “The bastard is torching the barn. Oh, hell no. Not my new truck!”

  Katherine tried to turn to see who it was Stevie was calling a bastard, but Scout dug her claws in her chest. “Ouch,” she said in pain.

  Scout struggled to get free, so Katherine crouched over her, and held her down, to stop the Siamese from bolting. Looking through the tall weeds, she could see a glimpse of the barn, and the huge cloud of smoke bellowing out of its roof. Inside, a mass of flames consumed the Dodge Ram. Then there was a second explosion.

  Stevie grabbed Katherine by the arm and helped her up. “Here, I’ll take the cat.”

  Katherine objected, but was surprised Scout allowed Stevie to hold her without becoming a wild animal — all teeth and claws — like she’d been a few seconds earlier. Instead the cat snuggled against him, and cried a sweet “waugh,” which could have been “Thank you,” or “Hurry up and get us out of here.”

  Katherine followed Stevie, hurting from the wounds her darling “treasure” had inflicted on her, but she didn’t blame Scout for being frightened. She was, too.

  “Watch your step,” Stevie warned. “You can’t see the deep ruts in the path because of the undergrowth. This path ain’t been used in a while.”

  Katherine tripped on a root, but caught herself.

  “And the roots,” he snickered.

  “Gee, thanks. Where are we going?”

  “To my great-Grandpappy’s still. Back in the day, he was a moonshiner,” Stevie announced proudly.

  Katherine thought, Why am I not surprised? Seems like ‘back in the day,’ everyone in Erie made booze to make a buck.

  “I’m sorry about your truck,” she consoled.

  “It’s insured,” he said fatalistically, “but I’m not so sure about my tools.”

  Katherine made a mental note to buy Stevie whatever tools he needed. “Ouch,” she said, stepping on a rock.

  “Want me to carry ya?”

  “I’m okay,” she lied. Stevie had enough things to worry about. Number one, he was saving them.

  They walked into a clearing in the woods where Katherine observed several medium-sized, banded wood barrels, with corroded copper pipes sticking out of them, which sna
ked into other equally broken-down barrels. A rusted pot-bellied stove was behind them, dangerously close to a shack that had seen better days. The site was littered with broken Mason jars and other bits of debris.

  “Watch out for the glass,” Stevie warned.

  “We can’t hide in there,” she said. “That shack looks like it’s going to fall down any minute.” Several young maple trees grew out of a gaping hole in the roof.

  “We’re not. Keep on walkin.’ Believe it or not, we’re very close to the Erie town limits. There’s a buddy of mine who lives not far from here.”

  “Can I please use your cell to call Jake?”

  “Ma-waugh,” Scout agreed.

  “Sure,” he said, setting Scout down, and extracting the cell from his back pocket. When Katherine leaned forward to take it, a bullet hit the nearby tree, and startled the three of them. Scout darted into the woods.

  “Get down,” Stevie ordered.

  The second bullet shot through the phone, and exited out the palm of Stevie’s left hand. The third bullet hit him in the right shoulder, and he crumpled to the ground. Dropping his gun, Stevie moaned to Katherine, “Run!”

  Instead, Katherine took the gun, sprang behind the trunk of a huge Tulip tree, and listened for any kind of sound — a leaf crunching, a branch moving, or a twig breaking — that would indicate the shooter’s location. She prayed that Stevie was going to be okay, and that Scout had gotten away. She flinched when a volley of shots hit the tree, and then heard the voice of an angry man.

  “Come out from behind there. How the hell did you get out of the storm cellar?”

  It was exactly what Katherine needed to hear to pinpoint where the shooter was. He was standing only a few feet in front of the tree. She stayed where she was, and held her breath. She waited for the man to step around the tree. When he did, she raised the handgun and shot her kidnapper in the arm. He dropped his gun, and clutched his wound.

  “I’ll make you pay for this,” he said threateningly.

  “That ain’t no way to talk to a lady,” Stevie said. He staggered over to the man, and kicked the gun away.

  Katherine rushed to Stevie’s side. “You’re hurt.”

  “Help me get my shirt off, so I can use it to stop the bleedin’.”

  Katherine carefully pulled Stevie’s T-shirt over his head. She’d remembered when Jake had been shot in the shoulder, and how he had gone into shock and passed out. But why is Stevie still standing, she wondered.

  “Thank you, Ms. Kendall, or is it Mrs. Cokenberger now?”

  “Yes, it’s Mrs. Cokenberger, but you can call me Katz.”

  Stevie smiled, then became serious, staring angrily at the man lying on the ground.

  “Hey, Paul, you made a big mistake settin’ fire to my grandpappy’s barn. I’ll see to it that it’s the last barn you’re gonna burn in these parts.”

  Katherine dropped her jaw in startled amazement. Stevie Sanders, whom everyone in town thought was a criminal, saved the day, and had caught the copycat arsonist.

  Paul started to get up. Stevie shook his head, “Do not git up until I say so.”

  Katherine asked, “How do you know Paul?”

  “Paul’s son is being tried for arson,” he answered, then said to Paul, “Apples don’t fall too far from the tree, old man, do they?”

  Katherine chimed in. “I guess you’ve been the one setting fires around town to take the heat off your son.”

  “You got that straight,” Paul said sarcastically.

  Stevie offered, “Judge Hartman’s presidin’ over the case this Monday. And she don’t play.”

  Paul gave a sardonic laugh. “No, she ain’t.”

  “And why’s that, Mr. Big Shot?” Stevie asked.

  “Because she’s dead. Just heard it on the radio. Got herself blown up —”

  Katherine moved beside him. “What did you just say?”

  “Judge Hartman’s dead. She got herself blown up big time.”

  “Where? When?”

  Paul ignored the questions, and said, “I’m bleedin’ on my shirt. Do somethin’ about it.”

  In a déjà vu moment of an event already played in Katherine’s dream, she tore a swatch of material from the hem of her wedding dress, and started to lean down to help the prone man.

  Stevie took her by the arm, and led her a short distance away. “Wait.” Then he said to Paul, “This kind lady is goin’ help ya. You do anythin’ stupid, and I’ll shoot ya right between the eyes.”

  Katherine looked at Stevie’s angry face, and suddenly understood why the Sanders’ family had a reputation for being formidable. Although Stevie was gentle with her, he was not someone to be trifled with by anyone else.

  “Okay,” she smiled. “I’ll be careful.” Katherine moved over to Paul, stooped down, and gently tied the fabric around his arm. He murmured a weak “Thank you.”

  “Why did you kidnap me?” she asked.

  “I thought you were the judge.”

  “Did the radio say where the judge was when she died?”

  “At Orvenia Colfax’s old house — the big pink one.”

  Katherine panicked. “My house blew up?” A wave of terrified emotions ran through her mind. She wanted to run, find help, and get back to the mansion.

  “That’s what the news said,” he answered with difficulty. He clutched his arm even tighter.

  They heard multiple sirens screaming in the country night.

  “Cavalry’s here,” Stevie said to Katherine. “I’m sure the chief will press criminal charges against me. I don’t know if that woman back there is dead or not; I hope she’s not. If she is, I’ll be going back to prison for a long, long time.”

  “No, Stevie, you don’t know that. I’ll vouch for you. From what I could see, you were defending yourself.”

  “Katz, the gun I used isn’t mine.”

  Katherine’s face dropped. “Oh, no.”

  A tall, heavy-set man ran down the path, waving a flashlight. “Comin’ through,” he said in a gruff voice.

  Katherine flinched. The man had long, unkempt black hair, and looked like a younger version of Charles Manson. She was surprised when Stevie spoke to him. “Hey, Ted,” he greeted.

  Ted came over, and beamed the light on Stevie’s wounds. “Dude, we gotta get you to the doctor.”

  “I got some explainin’ to do to Chief London, so I better wait,” Stevie answered.

  Looking perplexed, Ted said, “Are you out of your mind? You can’t just stomp out of the woods into the line of fire. Erie cops will shoot you first, and then ask questions.”

  “How’d you know I was here? I didn’t text you.”

  “I figured so much. Psychic, I guess,” he answered mysteriously. Then he spit out a wad of chewed tobacco into the weeds, and laughed, which sounded like a honking goose. “I’ve got a police scanner app on my cell. Dispatcher said Clint Sanders’ old barn was on fire, then something about you and a woman.” Ted glanced at Katherine, “That be you, ma’am?”

  She nodded.

  Stevie said, “That’s Ms. Kendall. She lives in the old Colfax house on Lincoln Street.”

  “You must be the gal who inherited all that money.”

  Katherine became more nervous than what she already was. She didn’t like the last thing Ted said. Was he going to kidnap her, too, and hold her for ransom? Her vivid imagination didn’t even want to go there.

  Stevie said, “Katz, this is my buddy. He’s the one I told you that lives close by.”

  Ted said loudly. “Yep, I thought I’d cruise on in the back way, and check it out.”

  “What are you talkin’ about?” Stevie asked.

  “Erie bad boys need to be forewarned to get out of Dodge. Comprendo? Dude, you’re a person of interest.”

  “I’ll go out first,” Katherine said, starting to walk down the path. “I’ll get help and come back.”

  “No, you ain’t,” Stevie protested adamantly. “Word around Erie is that new cop in town, O
fficer Friendly, is trigger-happy. I don’t want you to get shot.”

  “I’ll take that chance,” she said stubbornly.

  Stevie said to Ted, “Go with her.”

  “No,” Katherine said. “Someone needs to stay with you.”

  Ted handed Katherine his flashlight. “You the boss. Just don’t forgit where we are.”

  “And me, too,” Paul added, in a weak voice.

  “Shut up, Paul,” Ted and Stevie said in unison.

  Katherine proceeded down the path to the area of the dead trees. She called Scout’s name, hoping her cat would appear out of the brush, and leap into her arms, but the Siamese didn’t appear. I’ve got to find her, Katherine said under her breath, tears blinding her eyes and choking her voice. Where is she?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Russell Krow, reporter extraordinaire for the Erie Herald, was the first official to arrive on the scene at the old Sanders’ barn. He looked around at the devastation, and figured his partner-in-crime had set another fire, but this time it was a big one. Not only was the barn burned to the ground, but two vehicles had also been torched.

  “Good show, my man,” he said out loud, as if he were talking to Paul. “But why did you pick this piece of crap location? You were supposed to burn down the pink mansion, you stupid jerk.”

  He got out of his car, opened the trunk, and pulled out a tripod. Carrying it, he walked briskly to a safe distance in front of the fiery inferno. He set up a camera atop the tripod, adjusting its height to take in the whole, glorious fire. He turned the camera’s shutter speed to a lower setting for night shooting. Checking that the settings on his camera were correct, he began taking photographs in rapid succession.

  When the chief arrived, Russell picked up his tripod and positioned it to face the entrance of the gravel lane. He began videotaping the emergency vehicles arriving at the scene. The next vehicle to arrive was Erie’s fire truck, loaded to the max with firefighters, many of whom he knew.

  Sidney Black, the fire chief, rode up front with the driver, John Landers. Russell questioned whether the driver could even read a map. Must have good GPS, he thought cynically. Two ambulances pulled in, as well. Officer Troy hadn’t mentioned anyone being injured. He wondered who the buses were for, then noticed the overturned, partially burned Taurus several feet from the barn. He cringed when he saw the Erie Realty sticker on the back windshield.