by Patricia Fry
"Call him," Craig suggested.
"Rags," Savannah called in a loud whisper. "Rags, come here, boy, come on Rags, come to Mommy." She spotted a couple of Siamese cats lounging on a cat tree, a black cat stepped out of a cozy kitty bed, a couple of orange tabbies darted off into another room, and a black-and-white tuxedo cat trotted toward her. She acknowledged some of the cats and kept calling for Rags.
Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar movement. She looked to her right, and that's when she spotted Rags stepping out of a tunnel attached to an elaborate feline jungle gym. He stretched and then trotted over to Savannah. "Meow!" he said loudly. "Meow!"
"Oh Rags," she whispered as she knelt down and began petting him vigorously.
"He seems as happy to see you as you are to see him," Craig said, watching the cat rub up against her and happily butt her with his head. "Okay, mission accomplished," he said. "Let's get out of here before he or she comes back."
"Wait!" Savannah hissed. "Rags, come back here."
The pair watched as the cat trotted toward the large cat tree. He dove into the tunnel and came out carrying something in his mouth.
"What's that he's got?" Craig asked.
"I don't know. Looks like a letter. Bring it here, Rags," she coaxed.
Instead, he walked toward Craig and dropped the envelope at the detective's feet. Savannah rushed to the cat and quickly picked him up. "I don't want you getting away from me again."
Craig, in the meantime, scooped up the envelope. He looked it over. "Hey, we'd better not press our luck. Let's get him out of here." He started to toss the envelope aside, but decided, instead, to stuff it into his jacket pocket.
"How will we get him up that ladder?" Savannah asked in a strained whisper.
Craig scratched his head. "I'll go up and you can hand him to me. Will he let me take him?"
She nodded. "I think so."
Once Craig was at the top of the ladder, Savannah climbed up one rung with Rags in her arms. Craig stretched is body out on the floor above and reached down toward the cat until he was able to grasp him with both hands. He then cradled Rags in one arm while lifting himself to a standing position and waited for Savannah to scurry up the ladder. She took Rags in her arms as they rushed out the same way they'd come in. After closing the pantry door behind them and pushing the cabinets back in place, Craig said, "Go on, Savannah. I'll be right there. I want to leave these keys so someone's bound to find them."
"You got him!" Rob exclaimed when Savannah entered the bungalow with Rags in her arms. After releasing him, she collapsed on the nearest sofa and feigned extreme exhaustion. In reality, she was extremely happy, and Rags seemed to be, as well, as he strutted around the room rubbing up against everyone, inviting neck rubs and petting.
"Where was he?"
"Where's Craig?"
"Did you see who took him?"
"Hey, enough with the questions," she said. "Wait for Craig and we'll tell you all about it." She turned to Rob and Cheryl. "Boy, you guys may have quite a story to film, after all." She reached down and scooped up the large grey-and-white cat. "Oh, Rags. I am so glad to have you back." She looked up at the others and announced, "He found something."
"What?" Margaret asked.
"We don't know, yet. Craig has it."
"Where's Craig?"
"Depositing the keys." She turned to Rob and Cheryl. "We didn't even need those keys."
Cheryl scowled. "Well, for Pete's sake. You mean I gave that massage for nothing?"
When Craig returned, he was a bit breathless. "Kill the lights," he hissed, reaching for the light switch on the wall just inside the door. Rob turned off a lamp. Savannah eased Rags to the floor and rushed to switch off the kitchen light.
"What is it?" Michael asked, joining Craig at a window that overlooked the expanse of land between the bungalow and the ocean.
"I want to see who that character is out there," Craig whispered.
"Who? Where?"
"The guy we think was holding the cat," he explained quickly. "I thought I saw him heading back this way." He pointed. "Wait, is that him?"
Savannah had joined the men at the window; the others peered out another window. She said, "I don't think that's him. That guy's walking upright—the one we saw was sorta hunched over."
"Oh, I guess you're right."
"That's Rupert, isn't it?" Cheryl asked.
"Yeah," Rob said, "out looking for you, sweet thing."
Cheryl slapped Rob. "Stop it!"
"Well, that other guy has to come back sometime. Let's stake out the place and see if we can catch him," Craig suggested.
"And then what?" Margaret asked. "Arrest him for taking the cat?"
"No. I just want to talk to him." He turned toward Margaret, who, with Max, Rob, and Cheryl, was still at the window. "Don't you want to know who's living secretly in the basement of that mansion and why?"
"In the basement?" Margaret asked. "I thought... "
"Yeah, he has this great suite that takes up the whole basement of that place," Savannah explained.
"So did you find out if he has access to the second floor through the turret?" Michael asked.
"It appears so," Craig said.
Margaret turned toward Craig. "Vannie said you found something."
He slapped his jacket pocket. "Oh yeah, the cat brought it to us."
"What?" she asked.
"I don't know yet. Someone keep watching for that guy and I'll take a look at it."
"I'll watch," Rob volunteered.
The others gathered around Craig as he turned on a small lamp and retrieved the envelope. "Could be just a grocery list or someone's tax return," he said, as he lifted the flap of the envelope, pulled out the contents, and unfolded it. He was silent as he scanned the document. Then, "Good God."
"What is it?" Savannah insisted.
"There he is!" Rob interrupted. "He's dressed in black and hunched over a little."
Craig tossed the letter onto a table and took off toward the front door of the bungalow. He opened it slowly and stepped out. The others rushed to the closest windows.
"Holy cow, Vannie," Margaret said, "that's the creature I saw out there that night."
Savannah chuckled softly. "You mean the bear that was carrying the spider monkey?" Margaret nodded. "See, doesn't he look like a bear?"
Savannah raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, he kinda does, as a matter of fact." She watched as Craig moved with almost fluid grace through the shadows toward the figure, reaching the kitchen door before he did.
"Stop!" Craig commanded.
"The guy looks scared," Savannah whispered. "He's trying to decide what to do—whether to run or not."
"I just want to talk to you," Craig said in a soothing voice.
The figure stood in front of Craig, looking from side to side, apparently for an escape route. But he didn't run. He faced Craig, saying nothing.
"Who are you? Do you work here?" Craig asked. "What were you doing in the basement?"
When he didn't respond, Craig asked, "Why are you out here so late?" He walked closer to the figure and shined his flashlight toward him.
"No!" the stranger said, turning away. "Shut off that light. I can't stand light."
Craig took a few steps back and quickly switched off the flashlight. "Okay, okay." He tilted his head slightly. "What are you, some sort of vampire?"
The figure laughed a little. "You wish. No... I work here... like you said," he spoke hesitantly, "... I work here and... live in the basement. Now let me go; I need to get my sleep."
"What's your name? I don't recall seeing you here before."
The figure hesitated, then demanded, "Tell me who you are first. What are you doing out here. Are you some sort of cop?"
"My name's Craig Sledge. I'm visiting friends in the bungalow. I'm a friend of Charles Peyton's."
At that, the man darted f
or the kitchen door, attempting to push past Craig, but Craig grabbed him.
"Let me go, let me go. I have to get back. Please! Don't tell Mr. Peyton about me. He can't know about me. He's evil."
As Craig tried to hold him, the figure continued to struggle. Finally, he managed to get free of Craig's grip. He rushed through the kitchen door and into the pantry. Before Craig could catch up to him, he disappeared through the secret door and Craig heard a lock engage. He stood silent for a moment and then calmly walked back to the bungalow, turning on the light switch as he stepped inside.
"Well, who is it?" Savannah asked.
Craig just stared into space for a moment, creasing his brow. He then spoke slowly and quietly, as if he couldn't believe what he had seen. "A boy... a badly scarred boy." He looked at the others. "Evidently Charles Peyton doesn't know he's living in the mansion."
"He lives there?" Margaret asked.
"It appears that the whole lower floor is his domain. He lives down there with a bunch of cats... secretly, it seems."
"Gads, I wonder who knows about him?"
"I wonder who he is?" Cheryl asked.
"I'd say he's Arthur Spence," Rob said quietly, "Charles Peyton's stepson."
Craig looked at Rob. "Bingo. That would be my guess."
"So he isn't dead? He didn't die in that fire?"
"Apparently not," Craig said. He hurried to the table where he'd left the letter, but it was gone. "Where is it?"
"Oh, the letter? I haven't seen it," Savannah said. She looked around at everyone in the room. They all shook their heads. Suddenly, Savannah turned toward the bedroom and called in a long drawn out tone, "R-a-a-a-gs?" She darted into the room and found Rags lying on the bed surrounded by pages of paper. "Oh Rags," she said, walking toward him. She petted him and then began to collect the pages and put them in order. She handed them to Craig with an apology. "Sorry; Rags thought it was his."
"So what does it say?" Max asked.
Everyone gathered around the room facing Craig, who read, "'To whom it may concern: This is a copy of a letter on file with my attorney. In case the original doesn't materialize, I've given this one to my son for safekeeping. Yes, he is alive, and, upon his eighteenth birthday becomes heir to my estate, as was intended upon the birth of my two children. Karen is dead, but Arthur lives and the legacy handed down through the generations shall also live on. Just as the royal offspring are granted the right to the throne in succession, my son has been granted the right to my inheritance upon his eighteenth birthday. If he does not produce any heirs, when he dies the entire estate, all monies and all holdings, will go to'... and she names some animal organizations."
Aghast, Savannah said, "Wow!"
Margaret sucked in a deep breath. "Holy cow!"
"But there's more," Craig said. "According to Henrietta, she will continue to receive the same allowance she gets now from the estate for the remainder of her life, but her son—when he turns eighteen—will control the estate. Once she dies, her allowance will also go to her son."
Rob chuckled a little. "That's going to be a shock to ole Charlie Peyton."
"Well, that sure gives ole Charlie motive for killing those kids off," Max said.
Craig pursed his lips. "Yeah, with them out of the way, as long as Henrietta's alive, he's still on the gravy train-in control of the money."
"But when she dies, he's out of the picture, right?" Cheryl asked.
Craig nodded. "Sure seems so, since the next in line for the estate are these animal organizations."
Rob shook his head. "Man, this whole thing is just bizarre."
"Your mystery is getting more mysterious, isn't it, guy?" Craig said, winking.
"You got that right. This may be the story of the year—or the century!" Rob exclaimed.
Suddenly, the occupants of the Azalea Bungalow heard a light knock at the door.
Rob stood. "It's two in the morning. Who in the hell could that be?"
"Well, go find out," Cheryl urged.
Rob walked cautiously toward the door, opened it, and stood stunned, staring at the unlikely visitor.
Chapter 11
"May I speak with Craig Sledge, please?"
"Who shall I say is calling?" Rob asked, wishing he hadn't and feeling foolish for having behaved so overly nonchalant, when he was actually a bundle of excitement and nerves.
Craig ambled to the door. "Arthur, come in."
The boy glared at Craig suspiciously. "How do you know my name?"
"You are Arthur Spence, aren't you?"
He nodded. He then glanced at the others and back at Craig. "I want to talk to you."
"We're all friends here, Arthur. We want to talk to you, too. Please, won't you come in?"
As the young man stepped into the room, one hand went up to shade his face. "Can you turn that light off? I can't stand bright light." He pulled a pair of dark glasses from his pocket and put them on.
"Sure," Craig said, flipping the switch. He motioned to Rob. "Shut that lamp off. Just leave the bedroom light on."
Craig faced Arthur. "Is that okay?"
He nodded.
Craig moved aside and motioned for the boy to sit down. He chose a straight chair close to the door. Once the visitor was seated, Craig also sat down. He then said, "This is Rob and Cheryl. They came here to show a documentary about a cat."
"Yes, I saw it in my quarters," he said. "Good story."
"This is Margaret and Max. And Savannah and Michael. The cat in the film belongs to them."
Arthur looked in their direction. "You got your cat back?"
Savannah nodded, then demanded, "Why did you take him?"
Craig put up his hand toward Savannah, motioning for her to take it easy.
"It's okay," Arthur said. "I shouldn't have done it. But he wanted to come in and see the other cats. He likes it at my place."
Just then, Rags strolled up to the young man, rubbing against him and butting him with his head. Arthur petted the cat. "I didn't hurt him. I took good care of him."
"But he isn't your cat and you knew that," Savannah scolded. "Shame on you."
He looked down, saying, "I'm sorry." He then glanced up at Savannah. "I'm glad you got your cat back. He's a cool cat."
"Thank you," Savannah said. "How many cats do you have, anyway?"
Arthur snickered. "Lots of them. I don't actually know how many there are now. How many do you have?"
"We have three cats and a dog."
"And a baby girl," Michael added, smiling.
Arthur studied Michael and Savannah. "Nice," he said.
"So what did you want to talk to me about?" Craig asked.
"You were in my suite earlier and you took something. I want it back."
Craig sighed. "Oh, yes. Sorry about that. The cat brought it to us and I accidently carried it back here."
"I noticed the cat really does steal things like in the movie," Arthur said, laughing a little.
Craig picked up the document off the table and handed it to the boy.
Arthur stared at him. "You read it didn't you?"
Craig nodded. "... just the letter your mother wrote."
"So you know."
"We know that you are heir to her fortune."
"And you know that my sister was killed."
Craig took a deep breath and leaned toward the boy. "Who did it, Arthur? Do you know?"
He nodded. "I was intended as the next victim, but my mother saved me and hid me away without Mr. Peyton knowing."
"Did he kill your sister?" Craig asked.
The boy hesitated before answering. "My mother doesn't want to lose her status. She likes being on the arm of a gallant gentleman in public. She likes things just the way they are and she's good at keeping secrets."
"This shouldn't be about her, Arthur," Craig said. "You have a voice. You can demand justice for your sister and for yourself."
He
hung his head. "And betray my mother, who has done everything for me?"
Craig studied the boy for a moment. "Do you have any friends? Do you ever go out?"
"I go out into the swamp at night. I have animal friends. The deer let me watch them graze. There's a badger family that's coming around me more and a couple of foxes... "
"Did you hit me with a rock?" Margaret asked, bringing her hand up to the wound on her forehead.
Arthur peered at her for a moment. "I... don't know. Was that you?"
"Yes, it was me. Why did you do that?" she demanded.
"I... don't know... I feel so much freedom when I'm in the bog. I become a gladiator. My imagination... "
"So I was a figment of your imagination?" she asked.
"I really am sorry. Are you all right? I truly don't know what happens when I go out at night like that."
"I think I know," Craig said. "You've had no other outlet for what—seven years?"
Arthur nodded. "My mother says I can't go out in public during the day. I would scare people." He seemed a little confused as he made eye contact with everyone in the room. "You don't seem to be frightened."
Craig scowled. "Another tactic of your dear mother's to protect her precious lifestyle, no doubt."
"You know, you could get plastic surgery for your burn scars," Savannah said.
"Oh no. My mother says my burns are too severe."
Craig thought for a moment and then explained, "Well, son, that's probably part of her plan—she can't get a plastic surgeon involved. The more people who know about you, the greater chance of Charles Peyton and others finding out."
Savannah added, "And, as long as you have the scars, the less inclined you'll be to go out and tell her ugly secret."
"I guess," Arthur said. "Only I sure yearn to be with people like some of those I see on TV. I just seem to get lonelier and lonelier."
"How old are you, Arthur?"
"I think seventeen. I remember having my birthday parties in July, so almost eighteen." He glanced around the room again and said, "Well, thank you for giving this back to me. I'd better be going."
"Thank you for giving us our cat back," Savannah said, smiling.
He looked down. "I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have... "
