Cat Call (Crazy Cat Lady Cozy Mysteries Book 4)

by Mollie Hunt

  “She’s calling the cops,” Victoria bawled.

  “She’s just calling an ambulance for Roger there. Don’t you want your husband safe?”

  Ray took a few more steps into the weedy yard, coming up even with Roger’s immobile form. He glanced down, seeing the injured man’s eyes open and glazed. “You okay, buddy?”

  Roger gave a little nod.

  “Help is on the way.”

  “Help... her...” Roger heaved, each word a grievous effort.

  Ray nodded and crossed another two feet of ground. “Hold on now, Vic,” he crooned. “Don’t do anything you’re going to regret.”

  “Regret?” she blurted—‌half laugh, half wail. “What do you know about regret?”

  Another step. “Perhaps you could tell me.”

  She pushed the hair out of her face and sighed hard. Tears ran down her face. “I’m not a bad person.”

  “Of course you’re not. You’re a lovely, kind-hearted young girl with her whole life ahead of her.” One step, two.

  She looked him in the eye. “You really think so, Ray? Because I did some really bad things. You don’t know. You’d hate me if you did.”

  “Why don’t you try me?” His next step brought him closer but she was still edging toward the tree.

  “Well, for one thing, I killed Jason Prince. It was an accident, but he’s dead just the same.”

  “You shot Jason?” he said cautiously.

  “Yeah, that was me, not Angela—‌I mean Davit. And I was perfectly okay with letting an innocent man be charged with my crime. I didn’t feel any remorse, for either act. What kind of person does that, Ray? What?”

  “A confused person,” he answered softly. “A person in shock.”

  She shrugged. “I kidnaped Lynley. I made Roger help me. Sweet Roger,” she wept, looking at his body on the ground. “He didn’t have a cruel bone in his body and I made him do unspeakable things.”

  “I’m sure he was just trying to help.”

  “I wanted him to... hurt her. To... kill her. And when he wouldn’t do it, I killed him. I’ve ruined everything! I can’t believe what I’ve done!”

  In a swift move, she backed up against the chestnut trunk and held the sharp knife against her own neck. The look on her face—‌such sorrow, such agony—‌was something I will never erase from my mind if I live to be one hundred.

  “No, Victoria!” I cried, starting toward her.

  Ray motioned me back, perfectly calm. I don’t know how he did it.

  “Roger’s not dead,” he said evenly. “He’s alive, and he needs you. He needs you now more than ever before.” Ray took a long, slow stride in her direction, reached out his hand, palm upward. “Now give me the knife and go to him.”

  Victoria hesitated. She eyed Ray and then stared again at Roger. His eyes were open and he managed to gasp her name.

  “No, I can’t!” she howled. “There’s something wrong with me. I’ve got to get out of here! Got to get out!”

  All of a sudden, she ran at Ray Anderson, knife bared. Though he could hardly have been expecting it, he moved with the speed of a trained soldier, stepping to the side and catching her by the wrist as she closed. Grasping the knife hand, he twisted. With a cry, she let go and the tool fell into the grass. He swung her arm behind her back, securing her in a painful but harmless hold. She writhed against him for a few moments, then collapsed like a boneless sack of flesh.

  “Lynley, get the knife,” he commanded.

  I dashed out from the stairwell and grabbed it up. I could hear the sirens now, approaching fast. I’d asked the 911 operator for police as well as ambulance. Ray just needed to keep the unbalanced woman subdued for a few minutes longer.

  It didn’t look like Victoria was going to be much of a challenge. All the fight had drained out of her and she was sobbing softly into Ray’s expansive chest. He still held her in the arm grip, but loosely so as not to hurt. He looked at me, his brown eyes wide and questioning. I gave him a slow blink, a cat blink of assurance.

  “You did good,” I mouthed.

  He smiled briefly, then his face closed as he concentrated on holding the murderous, penitent, crazy Victoria Logan.

  Chapter 30

  Cat Cafés are an upcoming trend in many of the world’s major cities. The main attractions are the cats who can be watched, played with, and in many circumstances, adopted. The first cat café was opened in Taiwan in 1998 and quickly became a tourist destination, drawing cat fans from all over the globe.

  “It’s good to be up and about again,” said Rhonda. “I can’t tell you how depressing it was to be out of commission for all that time.”

  The June day was pleasantly hot. After the compulsory rain we’d had for Rose Festival week, it was nice to finally be able to call it summer. Rhonda and I were sitting on striped canvas lawn chairs in the little garden of her tiny home, enjoying the shade of a red maple. Bees buzzed lazily among the peonies and calendulas. The soft breeze was scented with heirloom roses.

  “I’m so glad you’re feeling better. I bet you can’t wait to get back to work.”

  “They’re the ones who can’t wait to get back to work,” she said, nodding toward the two golden cats who lounged in their hammock bed near a burbling water feature. “They get bored and expect me to entertain them. Sometimes it feels like a full-time job.” As if following the conversation, Cary Grant gave a huge leonine yawn. Rhonda laughed and so did I.

  “What’s the next project, now that McCaffrey & Jack has finished filming?”

  “They have a spot in an independent film—‌probably a week’s worth of work—‌and our agent has us lined up for a few commercials, but nothing like McCaffrey. I so hope it gets picked up for a series. That would be fantastic.”

  “I’d love to see that. It seemed like it would make a great show.”

  She shifted in her chair and from the grimace on her face I could see the leg was still hurting. “I suppose I should be thankful the pilot’s going to air at all,” she said. “It was touch and go there for a while.”

  “Yes, I was glad they managed to bounce back from Jason Prince’s murder and Victoria’s and Roger’s arrests.”

  “To say nothing of the scandal of Angela T. Moore’s outing.”

  “Oh, well, her turning out to be transgender is probably good for publicity,” I commented. “Revealing a famous writer who is actually going through the complicated process of changing gender identities will be inspiring for others in her situation. There’s still a lot of misunderstanding and prejudice about that sort of thing, but there’s also a lot of support, if you look in the right places.”

  “The tabloids certainly loved the story,” Rhonda mused.

  “It helps that she was innocent. You know how they are. If she had been guilty, they might have written her story from a less generous perspective.”

  We were both quiet for a moment, rethinking the strange tragedy that had unfolded on the set of McCaffrey & Jack.

  “So catch me up, Rhonda,” I said finally. “I went home right after the ordeal with Victoria and haven’t heard much since. Did Vera enjoy her cat handling stint?”

  “Yes, she did a fine job. She had worked with a few of the crew before so she felt right at home. She even took on some of Victoria’s and Roger’s jobs when she wasn’t herding the boys.”

  “And what about Victoria?” I asked. “Last I saw she was being escorted into a police cruiser, hands cuffed behind her back.”

  “Grace told me she really lost it once she was taken into custody. They had to admit her into treatment for mental collapse. She really was suffering, poor girl. That whole series of events—‌the demoralizing abuse from Jason Prince, the guilt from his death and then keeping it secret, bottled up inside—‌it put her over the edge.”

  “What’s going to happen to her now?”

  “She’ll go to trial, once they deem her competent. A bunch of us got together and hired her a good lawyer—‌even Gerrold pitched in
, believe it or not. They should go light on her for the shooting of Jason since it was so obviously aggravated self-defense and accidental as well. There are several people who will testify to the fact that he was not a very nice man when it came to young women.”

  “But she did cover it up.”

  “Not for very long. Less than twenty-four hours actually, though it must have seemed much longer to you, being in the midst of it.”

  I nodded in definite agreement. “And Roger? Was he alright after Victoria cut him?”

  “He’s fine but lucky he got to the hospital when he did. The knife hit an artery and he would probably have bled to death if he hadn’t got help in time. Since it was such a clean cut, they were able to avoid any lasting nerve damage.”

  “Is he in trouble for helping his wife cover up her crime?”

  “Oh, yes. You can’t go around aiding and abetting someone who killed a man. He’d knowingly kept Vic’s secret, after all. Impeding a police investigation, I think they call it.”

  “No one really expects a husband to rat out his wife, do they?”

  “It wasn’t just that. Roger admitted to pushing the gargoyle off the apartment roof as well as starting the fire so Victoria could catnap the boys and demand the show stop production. I don’t know if I can ever forgive them for using my precious kittens as pawns in their crazy scheme. I’m sure they would never have hurt them, but still.”

  “I don’t get their involvement with the hexter myth. Were they in on it all along?”

  “Not according to Roger. They were as baffled as everyone else. But the hex served their purpose, so they decided to take it up on their own.”

  “Why would Roger and Victoria want the show to close down? They seemed such loyal workers.”

  “They were, at least I thought they were. But then Victoria got the offer from the Vancouver studio. Because of her contract with McCaffrey & Jack, she would have had to decline. If McCaffrey shut down, however, it would be a whole different story. She’d be free to go for the Lionsgate job. If there ever was such a job.”

  “You think she was lying about her dream job?”

  “I think she may have been deluding herself. Do you know how hard it is to get work with Lionsgate? You need to have a degree in your field or tons of references and a glowing list of endorsements. I looked into it once; they’re as choosy as any of the major studios.”

  “So Victoria was unbalanced even then. I never guessed.”

  For a moment, we contemplated the conundrums of life, then Rhonda asked, “Have you thought about what would have happened if Ray Anderson hadn’t come along when he did?”

  I shuddered. “I’ve really tried not to speculate. I like to think Victoria would have come to her senses in time.”

  “I wish I could have been a bird on the wall, watching big Ray take down his villain...” She gave a great guffaw. “...with a prop pistol!”

  I smiled but couldn’t bring myself to laugh. “Somehow he convinced her it was real.”

  “Ray Anderson is a great actor, and no one can say differently.”

  I nodded. “He’s a wonderful man with a huge heart. The first thing he said to me after Roger and Victoria were taken into custody was that she really didn’t mean to hurt anyone and that Roger just loved her so much he got caught up in her fantasy.”

  “Yeah, that’s our Ray.”

  “I wasn’t so sure at the time, but as soon as I got to thinking, I knew he was right. I was glad I didn’t press charges. I wasn’t hurt and both of them seemed sorry afterward.”

  “That’s big of you, but I think you did the right thing. We have to remember that before this happened, Roger and Victoria were lovely people. Kind, helpful, cheerful, honest. Jason’s ongoing abuse was just too much for Vic. He wore her down, and then when she accidently shot and killed him, it was too much for her and she snapped. I’m hoping with help she can put it behind her and be that lovely girl again.”

  “I doubt she’ll ever be quite the same,” I said sadly.

  “No, you’re probably right, but maybe she can take something good away from this experience.”

  “Rhonda,” I laughed, “you are ever the optimist!”

  She laughed too and fanned herself with her hand. “I’m beginning to swelter. Would you like a glass of ice tea?”

  “Love some,” I readily agreed, happy to move on to a subject less disturbing than that horrible hour in the courtyard. I could make light of it now that it was over and everyone was safe, but at the time I was scared for my life, and that sort of trauma doesn’t heal easily or quickly.

  “I’ve got some made in the fridge.” Leaning heavily on her cane, she hefted herself to her feet.

  “Here, let me help.” I followed her into the tiny house. The place, not much bigger than her trailer, had been designed to offer all the amenities of a normal home in a two-hundred square foot area. It was nice and did seem efficient but I personally would have been claustrophobic without my three-story space to run.

  “Glasses are up there.” Rhonda pointed to a compact row of shelves above a miniature sink. I retrieved two tall tumblers and placed them on the sideboard. She opened a lower cupboard revealing a mini-fridge. Withdrawing a frosty pitcher, she poured the drinks. “Lemon?”

  “Yes please.”

  Adding a crisp wedge to both glasses, she turned and handed me one. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all that, Lynley. I would never have asked you to sub for me if I’d had any idea how treacherous it would become.”

  “Oh, Rhonda, please don’t say that. I had a great time for the most part. And I’ve got no lasting scars. It was a wonderful, unique experience and I met some fascinating people. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way.” She looked down at the tile floor. “I really didn’t want you to hate me.”

  “Hate you? On the contrary. I’m very thankful. Being a cat handler was really fun, to say nothing of way cool.”

  She smiled, a glint in her eye. “You’ll probably get a mention in the credits.”

  “Really? Does that mean I’ll be listed in IMDb?”

  She laughed. “I don’t know about that. We’ll have to wait and see.”

  Clark Gable and Cary Grant, who had seen us retire to the kitchen, decided it was time for a snack. They wound around our ankles, luscious fur smoothing against our legs, pleading golden eyes following our every move.

  Rhonda scooped Clark into her arms. I picked up Cary, and for a few moments we enjoyed a four-way pet-fest but the cats had other plans. Hopping down, Clark gave his silent meow and Cary encored with a not-so-soundless mrrrowweeow.

  Rhonda reached into a drawer for the treat bag. As she rattled it teasingly, both cats sat on their haunches, waiting patiently.

  “How do you get them to do that?” I marveled. “When I give out treats, my cats climb all over me.”

  “Training,” she said, deeming the cats had sat long enough and giving them their reward which they tucked into without restraint. “It’s clicker training, mostly.”

  “I’ve tried clicker training but never had much luck. I may just have to admit that in my house, the cats train me.”

  “Do you mind if we stay in for a while?” sighed Rhonda. “My leg is beginning to throb and elevating it helps.”

  “Of course.” I glanced outside. “The sun’s beginning to move into to our shady spot anyway.”

  We took our drinks into the living room, only a few steps from the kitchen but with a distinct mood of its own. Rhonda had decorated tastefully with original artwork and her small but select collection of vintage Roseville pottery. A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf held both books and knick-knacks, mostly cat-themed. Comfortable retro-style furnishings were arranged intimately on a plush Persian carpet. The shades were pulled against the summer heat, giving a cozy, old fashioned glow.

  Rhonda sank into a trim easy chair and set her leg onto a narrow ottoman. I sat on the small two-person sofa and took a tha
nkful sip of my drink.

  “So one interesting thing came out of the experience,” I said with a grin. “My granddaughter Seleia is dating Freddie, Grace’s great-nephew. It seems to be a good match.”

  “Oh, really?” Rhonda snickered. “And you approve?”

  I shrugged. “It’s not up to me. Seleia’s a smart girl and I trust her, and Freddie seems like a good kid. So far it’s only trips to the museums or the library, and her dad’s keeping a fatherly eye on things. But she’s seventeen, ready to get a little moderated experience under her belt.”

  “Ah, to be young again.”

  We clinked glasses. “Back at you, girl.”

  “Speaking of age, I’ve been meaning to ask you, Lynley. I know you had a birthday recently.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, second week of May but I sort of skipped it this time around. Last year was the big six-oh and that was enough of a party to last me for the entire decade.”

  “Well, I want to take you out anyway, lunch or a drink?”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I deferred.

  “I know I don’t, but I’d like to. Now that I’m actually getting around again, I want to do everything I’ve missed in my convalescence.”

  “Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse? Where would you like to go?”

  “You’re the birthday girl. You pick the place.”

  I thought for a moment. “How about The Blue Cat?”

  “The cat café?” Rhonda exclaimed. “Oh, that would be fun! Believe it or not, I’ve never been there. I always meant to go but it just hasn’t happened yet.”

  “I love it. Sitting in the cat room with a shortbread cookie and a cup of jasmine pearl tea—‌you can get Oregon wines too. It’s energizing and relaxing at the same time. The owner is an old friend of my mother’s, a true cat aficionado. Friends of Felines supplies the cats. They always get adopted quickly from the café because they show so well.”

  “I’d wondered where they got their cats. I knew it was local, but I didn’t realize it was your shelter.”

  “Yes, there are special volunteers who take care of transportation and the adoption process. I’ve never done it myself.”