Mansion of Meows (Klepto Cat Mystery Book 9)

by Patricia Fry

  Mansion of Meows

  A Klepto Cat Mystery

  Volume 9

  by Patricia Fry

  Mansion of Meows

  A Klepto Cat Mystery

  Volume 9

  Author: Patricia Fry

  ISBN: 978-0-9908313-2-7

  All rights reserved

  © 2015 Matilija Press

  Chapter 1

  Savannah tightened her arms against her body. Was she trembling because of the damp chill or from pure fright? After all, she didn't know where she was, how to get help for her injured aunt, or the intentions of the strange woman who had emerged from the thick fog.

  She looks a little scary—maybe unbalanced, Savannah thought. But I guess we have to trust her—what other choice do we have? Auntie's hurt pretty bad. She narrowed her eyes and asked, "What are you doing out here, anyway?"

  The woman cackled, her voice gravelly. "I could ask you the same question."

  "I told you... " Savannah started.

  "Your story sounds fishy to me." Savannah could feel the stranger's steely-eyed glare as she probed: "What were you doing at the mansion, anyway... with a cat? And why would two grown women chase a cat out into the bog... at night?" She pointed a crooked finger. "Maybe you escaped from prison." She glanced down at Margaret, who lay still on the ground, holding Savannah's t-shirt against the gash on her forehead. She then studied Savannah before adding, "Maybe you're witches, or just plain crazy. ... looking for a cat ... likely story."

  "Please," Savannah pleaded, "can you help us? My aunt needs attention."

  The woman held up her lantern and peered more closely at Savannah, then lit the area where Margaret lay. "What happened to her?" she asked. "Did she fall and hit her head?"

  "Yeah, after someone clobbered me," Margaret muttered. She looked suspiciously at the woman and asked in a weak voice, "Was it you?"

  "Twasn't me," she said, "and there's no one else out here." The woman knelt next to Margaret and lifted the bloody t-shirt. "That might need stitches. Keep pressure on it like you're doing." She stood and addressed Savannah. "I guess you two are harmless. Can she walk?"

  "I sure don't want to stay here all night," Margaret responded in her usual crusty manner. With obvious effort, she lifted her head and rolled a little to one side. "Oooh, I'm dizzy. It hurts," she said, easing back down onto the ground.

  Savannah took a deep breath and let it out. "How far are we going, anyway? Can you tell us where you're taking us?"

  The woman looked briefly at Savannah. "To my home. Or you can stay here all night and catch pneumonia or be eaten by a pack of coyotes."

  Savannah studied the woman, looked down at her aunt, and quietly said, "Okay. Let's go."

  "Ohhhh," Margaret moaned as the two women helped her to her feet. "My head's throbbing."

  "Just hang in there, Auntie," Savannah coaxed. "Lean on us; let us help you. You'll be okay."Gads, I hope I sound more reassuring to my aunt than I do to myself, she thought.

  As the threesome carefully made their way through the marshland and intermittent stands of spindly trees, Savannah thought back to the events leading up to this dangerous predicament she and Margaret had found themselves in.

  ****

  It was two days earlier. The sun shone down on the old two-story home at 33 Cranberry Way in Hammond, Northern California, but the occupants didn't notice. Savannah and Michael Ivey were focused on saying goodbye to their precious baby daughter.

  "You are too much," Gladys said, hands on hips. "You'll only be gone for a few days. She won't even notice. Now just go. Grammy will take good care of everything here."

  "Of course you will, Mom," Savannah said between sniffles. She hugged the baby to her. "I'll just miss her so much."

  "I know, honey," Gladys said, gently. "I remember how hard it was to leave you for the first time. You'll be okay once you're on the road." More determinedly, she added, "... and Lilliana will be just fine!"

  "One more cuddle," Michael said, lifting the seven-month old from his wife's arms. "Good-bye sweet girl," he cooed. "Daddy loves you."

  "Mommy loves you, too," Savannah said, taking Lily's hand and kissing it. She took a ragged breath. "Okay, let's go. We have an adventure ahead." She hugged Gladys. "Thanks, Mom." Pulling back, she looked into her mother's brown eyes and spoke sternly. "Call our cells if you have any questions."

  "Sure will. Now you two have a good time. No worries, okay?"

  "No worries," Savannah said, kissing the baby one more time before Michael handed their child over to her grandmother.

  "'Bye Gladys," Michael said. "Thank you for coming up and helping us out."

  "My pleasure," she said, holding Lily close and smiling brightly.

  Savannah glanced around the room as she picked up her purse. "Where's Rags?"

  Michael pointed. "In the car. Let's go," he said, ushering her through the front door. "First stop is your aunt's house, right?" he asked, driving out of their long driveway onto the open road.

  Savannah nodded. "There's Max bringing out their luggage. Hi!" she called as they pulled onto his property which happened to be right next door. "Are you ready?"

  "Sure am," Max answered. He then shouted, "Maggie, they're here!" He looked at Savannah and Michael, who had both stepped out of the car, and said quietly, "She's still kissing Layla, Sissy, Gizmo, and who knows which of the other cats goodbye. Can you imagine?"

  Savannah and Michael grinned at each other. He said, "I thought I'd never get my wife out the door this morning—she couldn't stop hugging our daughter."

  "Me? He was as bad—maybe worse," she insisted.

  "What's funny?" Margaret asked when she stepped out onto the porch and heard their laughter.

  "You had to be there," Max said, carrying a suitcase toward the SUV. When Michael opened the back of the car, Max noticed a cat sitting in a large pen. "Hi there, Rags. They've got you sequestered, do they?"

  "Sure do," Michael said. "We can't have the star escaping before we get to Frisco." "Pshaw," Margaret said as she walked up to the others carrying an overnight bag. "Star? All he did was trot around acting like a cat in front of a film crew. Layla could have done that."

  "But, Auntie," Savannah reminded her, "Layla hasn't made the news like Rags has."

  Margaret chuckled. "You got that right; she minds her own business and stays out of trouble. She certainly doesn't steal things like he does."

  "Did you notice he's dressed for the occasion?" Michael asked, moving out of the way so Max could slide his suitcase in next to the pen.

  "Yeah, in his permanent tuxedo," Savannah quipped.

  Margaret smirked playfully. "Is that what you call it? He looks more like a white cat that someone poured a bucket of grey paint on."

  Max added, "Or a grey cat that drank from a vat of milk and dribbled it down his chin."

  Michael motioned toward the cat. "No, I meant he's wearing a new harness."

  Before Margaret or Max could respond, Savannah said, "You two hurt his feelings. Look how sad he is."

  "He's sad because he's in the pen," Michael reminded her. "He's used to having the run of the car." When he heard the cat let out a meow, he reached his fingers through the wire and scratched him around the neck. "Sorry, buddy. You need to be confined for now. Just relax."

  Once the two couples and the cat were on the road, Savannah asked her aunt and uncle, "So, who's taking care of things at the cattery?"

  Max responded from the front seat. "Becky and Glen. Our regular volunteers will pitch in as usual. I'm sure things will run smoothly."

  Margaret pouted. "O
nly I'm concerned about the inside kitties. They've never been without a lap."

  "Isn't Charlotte coming over to give them some attention?" Savannah asked.

  "Yes, she is," Margaret said, now smiling. "Layla and Sissy love Charlotte's visits. Reba's coming with her. She said she'd bring her laptop and work while her daughter plays with the cats. The little sister—what's her name?"

  "Ruby," Savannah offered.

  "That's right, Ruby—she's going to a summer program at the church." Margaret briefly touched Savannah's knee to get her attention. "She's allergic to cats."

  "I know, which is why Charlotte can't have one of her own. It's nice for us, though. She's always willing to help out with our cats." Savannah thought for a moment before saying, "I considered inviting Charlotte to Rags's documentary premiere this weekend, but thought maybe it would be too much of a responsibility."

  "I don't think so," Michael said from the driver's seat. "Even though she has Downs, she's pretty savvy. I think she would have been fine."

  Margaret grinned. "I'm glad you didn't invite her. I'm really counting on her to keep our kitties company." She then asked Savannah, "So the premiere is being held at some rich guy's mansion? Why not in the great theater district?"

  "Don't you think a mansion would be more exquisite? Michael pulled it up on the computer." Savannah rolled her eyes for effect. "It's quite a place."

  "Who all will be there?" Margaret asked.

  "I'm not sure. Us... " Savannah turned and looked at Margaret, her blond highlighted hair flaring over one shoulder. "... Iris and Craig will be there sometime tomorrow."

  "What about that big burglary case he's been working on?" Margaret asked. "How can he get away?"

  "I think his partner Ramon takes over when Craig's out of town. Craig seems to be kind of semi-retired since he and Iris got married."

  Michael joined the conversation. "Yeah, a part-time detective who can handpick his cases." He made eye contact with Margaret briefly in the rearview mirror. "Our friends Peter and Rochelle are invited—not sure if they can make it. They're in the process of moving his art gallery from Southern California to Frisco."

  Savannah shifted in her seat. "I imagine the documentary crew will be there, and the investor. Heck, I don't know, beyond that—maybe some Hollywood bigwigs."

  "Now, what are you wearing?" Margaret asked, giving her niece her full attention.

  Savannah smiled. "I actually bought a new dress. It has sparkles."

  "Sparkles?" Margaret asked, frowning. "Like diamonds?"

  "Not quite."

  "She'll wear diamonds for the Oscars," Michael teased.

  Max scoffed. "Oscars?"

  "Sure; don't you think Rags will win an Oscar for his performance?" Michael asked, tongue in cheek.

  Margaret laughed out loud. "Only if they leave in that scene where he stole your wife's bra and she ran down the stairs trying to get it away from him."

  Savannah gasped. "They'd better not. That was embarrassing."

  Meow.

  Savannah twisted in her seat and looked back at the cat. "Oh, Rags, do you want out?" Tapping Michael on the shoulder, she asked, "Okay if I let him out for a while?"

  "I guess so." He glanced in the rearview mirror. "Can you reach the latch?"

  "I think so," Savannah said, removing her seat belt and leaning over the backseat. "There you go, boy. Come on, Rags," she lured, as he stepped out of the pen. "Come sit with Auntie and me."

  The cat promptly jumped up on the back of the seat. He stood there surveying his options, then stepped on top of the pen, where Savannah had folded a large blanket for him to lie on. He settled there to watch the scenery rush past.

  "He doesn't want to miss anything, does he?" Max said, peering into the backseat. "Is that what makes him so unique?"

  "That's part of it," Savannah agreed. "As you know, most cats are curious creatures. But Rags takes curiosity a step further, don't you think? He doesn't have the common fears that most cats have—of riding in the car, for example. While the typical cat will fight the car-ride experience, he embraces it—seems to enjoy it."

  "That's right," Michael said. "He doesn't just sniff, bat, and walk away from something that interests him; he claims it. He takes charge of it."

  "He steals it," Margaret said with flourish.

  Savannah grinned. "That's part of his charm."

  "And it's what made him a star," Michael added.

  Margaret tilted her head and peered into Savannah's green eyes. "So he's being rewarded for his bad behavior?"

  Savannah responded in the cat's defense. "No, he's being celebrated for his creativity and uniqueness."

  ****

  It was later that afternoon when Michael announced, "San Francisco, here we are!"

  "Cool," Savannah said, looking out the car windows. "Just as I remembered it."

  "So where's the mansion?" Max asked. "In the city?"

  Michael shook his head. "No, out in the country somewhere. I have the address plugged into the GPS."

  "How neat that we get to stay there," Margaret said, bouncing up and down a little in her seat.

  "Well, I don't think we're staying in the mansion itself, but in a bungalow on the property," Savannah explained.

  "Still pretty exciting."

  Max turned toward Savannah. "Who else will be staying there?"

  "I don't know. I guess the film crew."

  "Sure hope there's not a repeat of what happened when that film crew stayed at your house," Margaret said, hesitantly. "I'm not ready for another murder in my midst."

  Michael grimaced. "I don't think any of us are. Oh no, this weekend will go as smooth as silk. I'm counting on it."

  Suddenly the travelers heard a loud meow. Margaret looked at Savannah and began to chuckle.

  Savannah joined her in laughter. "Oh no you don't, Mr. Ragsdale," she said sternly.

  "What's he doing?" Michael asked, glancing briefly in the rearview mirror.

  Savannah made eye contact with the cat, who was back in the pen. "Nothing yet."

  "But he could be planning something," Margaret explained.

  Max turned to look at the women. He frowned. "Planning something?"

  Savannah nodded. "Yes, we're hoping for an uneventful weekend, but we have Rags with us, so... "

  Margaret jumped in. "There are no guarantees with that cat." She suddenly lurched forward. "Yowza! Look at that place!"

  "It's beautiful," Savannah said, swooning a little.

  Max shook his head. "Obscenely extravagant."

  "Hmph, that's what jealous poor people say about rich people's homes," Margaret said. All of a sudden, she turned in her seat and attempted to look out the back window. "Hey, was that the guy who plays the doctor on the soap opera I used to watch?" She craned her neck to get a better view. "I'm sure it was. He just climbed into that Jag."

  "I didn't see him," Savannah said.

  "Wow, my first movie-star sighting." Margaret gazed out the window again and exclaimed. "Hey, there's Jamie Lee Curtis!"

  Savannah frowned. "No, I don't think so. Kinda looks like her, but that woman just got out of the UPS truck. Look, she's delivering a package."

  Max began to laugh. "Maggie, I think you're star-struck."

  "I am not," she said, indignantly.

  "I hope you don't embarrass us at the premiere tomorrow night, Auntie"

  "How would I embarrass you, Vannie?" she asked, innocently.

  "You're kidding, right? By shouting out if you see a star," she explained.

  Max chuckled. "Or a star look-a-like."

  Margaret sat back and pouted a little. "What do you think I am, some silly teenager? I'm not going to embarrass anyone, or myself. Holy cow!" she shouted. "That's the guy who plays on that sitcom—you know, the one—it comes on Tuesday nights. He's the gay guy. That's him, right over there! Slow down, Michael; I want his autograph."

 
"Maggie," Michael complained, "I can't stop here."

  Savannah started to laugh. "Auntie, that man's a gardener. Didn't you see the logo on the back of his shirt? It matches the one on the little truck parked in front of the place." She reached out and patted Max on the shoulder. "We'd better put blinders on her tomorrow night."

  After driving past a handful of large homes separated by expansive, well-manicured grounds, Michael noted, "That seems to be the last of the luxury homes. The GPS says to continue on this road." He raised his voice a little. "Hon, what do your written directions say?"

  Savannah pulled a piece of paper from her purse and began to read: "Stay on the narrow road for two miles and follow it straight into the main drive. Turn right at the first opportunity. You'll see a series of bungalows. They are assigned as such: the Iveys and the cat, the Hyacinth Bungalow; the Sheridans, the Gladiola Bungalow; and the Sledges, the Acacia Bungalow. The film crew can spread out in the remaining bungalows to suit their needs. We will meet in the mansion drawing room Friday night at seven for cocktails before dinner. The premiere begins at eight Saturday night in the theater. Meals will be served at your bungalow upon request."

  Margaret slapped her knee. "Oh, darn, we missed lunch."

  Max squinted back at his wife. "You had lunch."

  "Yeah, a hamburger at a drive-through. I might have had something more sophisticated here," she lamented.

  "Like what?" Savannah asked, giggling.

  "I don't know; something French that I can't pronounce would be nice."

  Michael suggested, "They probably serve tuna sandwiches and chips." He then commented on the road. "Sure is narrow."

  Max agreed. "One-and-a-half cars wide." He pointed. "That must be the mansion."

  "Where?" Margaret asked, scanning the horizon in front of them.

  "Straight ahead. I see turrets."

  "Wowie, wow, wow!" Margaret exclaimed, as the mansion came into view. "That is some place." Then she groaned. "Oh no... "

  "What?" Savannah asked, creasing her brow.

  "I need to go shopping."

  Max turned in his seat. "What? You brought practically your whole wardrobe—'three dresses, just in case,'" he mimicked.