by Patricia Fry
“Yeah. He’s gone missing? Well, we really need to get him back. Where are you? Where do you think the cat is? You say Emerald Street? Why don’t you meet me at the café off of First Street—the Cinder Café—in about ten minutes. Can you do that?”
Savannah asked Peter. “Do you know where the Cinder Café is?”
He nodded. “Just up the block a ways.”
“Yes, we’ll meet you there.”
Minutes later, as the two couples sat in a large booth in the café, Savannah whispered to Rochelle, “I’ll bet that’s him.”
Rochelle nodded. “I think you’re right. He looks like a detective to me, and he looks like he’s trying to find someone. Go tell him who you are.”
Slightly reluctantly, Savannah stood and walked toward the man who had just entered the café. “Hello, are you Detective Martinez?”
“Yes,” he responded, “Savannah?”
She nodded. “Please come meet my friends and we’ll fill you in on what’s been going on.”
“Good evening, folks,” the detective greeted when he approached the table.
Once Savannah had made the introductions, she explained, “As I think I told you, I’m here for the book fair that was held in the Bamford Building over the weekend. I write about Rags.”
The detective grinned. “I love hearing stories about that cat of yours. You’ve written a book about him?”
“Yes, and another author has been writing children’s books featuring Rags, so we were together this weekend promoting the books.”
“Children’s books?” the detective said, laughing. “Are they X-rated?” When Detective Martinez sensed that the others weren’t in the mood for frivolity, he put his elbows on the table and asked, “Okay, so what happened? You brought your cat with you because…?”
“Well, he helps sell the books,” Savannah explained.
“Of course he does,” the detective said. “And he got away from you?”
Savannah nodded. “Yes. We thought he was lost or stuck in the walls of the Bamford Building, but tonight we heard a cat at Rochelle’s friend’s mansion and we think she has him there on her property.” When the detective looked askance, she added, “A little boy told us he saw a woman with Rags. We didn’t take Simon too seriously, but…”
“Simon?” he questioned. “The street urchin?”
“Yes,” Savannah said. She motioned toward Rochelle and Peter. “He’s a friend of theirs. But when we heard what sounded like Rags on Alison’s property, we thought maybe Simon was right.”
“You know Simon?” Peter asked.
“Yes. That’s a sad situation.”
Peter frowned. “How so?”
“Well, you say you know him? Are you aware that he has a family? They just don’t seem interested in parenting, and Simon would rather spend time on the streets than go home, I guess. Oh, his parents are nowhere to be found and his aunt died, but there are shirttail relatives who are barely able to take care of themselves. Simon’s probably the smartest and most capable one in the pack.”
Peter and Rochelle looked at each other.
The detective narrowed his eyes. “Why? He hasn’t robbed you, has he?”
“No,” Rochelle said. “He’s been nothing but helpful and sweet. We’re thinking about taking him in.”
The detective was taken aback. “Are you sure?”
“No, we’re just in the thinking stages,” Rochelle explained, “but so far our encounters with Simon have been positive.”
“That’s wonderful,” the detective said, “but just take your time and understand fully what you might be getting into with a boy of the streets. Sometimes they never become domesticated, if you know what I mean. And they learn some slimy behavior from the adults they meet in that environment. Actually, Simon connected with a couple of women a while back and I think they were good for him. But one of the women was killed last month and the other one’s in a home. I believe a relative took her in.”
“Why is he on the streets? Isn’t there a law against children alone on the streets?” Rochelle asked.
“Like I said, he has hooked up with different people. He’s not totally alone. Oh, we keep an eye on him.” He smiled. “But to have him in a solid home… that would be wonderful. I hope you can make it work.”
“Thanks,” Peter said.
“Now about the cat; why do you think this woman would take him?” Detective Martinez asked.
Savannah and Rochelle looked at each other. Finally Rochelle said, “I’ve known Alison Drummond since childhood. I haven’t had any contact with her for around fifteen or twenty years, but I can tell you, she’s about as odd as they come. You never know what she’s going to do or why.”
“Well, that’s not a reason to accuse her of taking this woman’s cat, is it?”
“I guess not, but we happened to run into her recently, and she keeps showing up where we are,” Rochelle said. She leaned forward. “In fact, she seems to have some sort of fascination with the Bamford Building. We’ve seen her out there snooping around the outside of the place.”
“I found a broken buckle from one of her high-heeled shoes in the dirt up against the building,” Savannah said. She let out a sigh. “Well, Rags actually found it. So she’s been out there digging and snooping even in her good clothes.”
He rubbed his chin. “So she has been presenting some odd behavior. That’s no reason to think she took your cat.”
“Except for the fact that Simon saw her, or says he saw her.” Savannah glanced at Rochelle. “At least we’re pretty sure it was Alison that he saw with the cat. She fit his description. Otherwise why would he finger her? He doesn’t know we have any connection to her at all.”
Rochelle added, “As for Alison, she never seems to have a valid reason for anything she does. In college once, she took a student’s rosary, pulled off all the beads, and gave it back to her in a paper bag.”
“Really?” Savannah said. “That was mean.”
“Yeah,” Rochelle said, “that poor girl was super religious and she used that rosary every day. It had been given to her by her grandmother, who raised her in Honduras. Another time,” Rochelle continued, “Alison bought a bunch of those feeder mice from a pet store and turned them loose in the dorm. She stole students’ homework more than once. She has a mean streak and I guess she needs attention. She gets attention all right, but not the kind most people would want.”
“Okay, where is it you think you heard your cat?” he asked.
“Emerald Street—two forty-four.”
The detective looked puzzled. “Two forty-four? Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Rob said. “That’s what it said on the curb in front of the place. It’s quite large with lion carvings alongside the gates at the entrance and…”
“The house is painted pink, of all things,” Rochelle added.
“Well, that sure sounds like Leland Brown’s place. Maybe she’s a friend of his.” He tilted his head. “Although, I’m pretty sure the Browns are out of town. I was told they’re taking an extended vacation in Europe. She could be the housesitter.”
“Yeah, that would be Alison’s style—pretend she owns a magnificent home, when she’s actually the servant,” Rochelle said. Remembering something, she added, “Although we found a note to someone named Margie. I think Margie is actually supposed to be taking care of things.” She said under her breath, “Unless she’s Margie.”
Savannah leaned forward. “So, Detective, will you go with us to get my cat back?”
He glanced around the table. “And how do you propose we do that? Anyone have any ideas? Where did you hear the cat? Do you think he’s inside the house?”
“No, outside behind some shrubbery,” Savannah said. “We caught a glimpse of a small building—maybe a shed or a pool house. I could smell chlorine. It was dark out in that area.”
The detective looked at Rochelle, then back at Savannah. “You didn’t tell me why you think she would do this.”
> “She probably had an opportunity and took it, is my guess,” Rochelle said. “She doesn’t like me. Well, she doesn’t like most people.”
“Then why would she invite you to her house?” he asked.
“To show off, I’m sure…” Rochelle suggested.
“Plus,” Savannah said, “she was interested in schmoozing with Rob to represent a book she might write. Rob’s Rags’s agent.”
Phil Martinez gave Rob a second look. “You don’t say?” He stood up. “Well, let’s go see what we can find out, shall we? Mrs. Ivey, want to ride with me? The rest of you can follow along, but stay out of the way unless we contact you.”
Chapter Six
“It looks like someone’s home,” Detective Martinez observed, driving slowly past the mansion. Now, where did you hear the cat?”
Savannah pointed. “On that side of the house in the back.”
He looked around. “Good, I know the folks who live next door. Let’s start there.”
“You aren’t going to confront Alison?” she asked.
“I thought about that, but I’m wondering if we’d learn more and be more successful if we do a little detective work first.”
Savannah grinned. “You’re a lot like Detective Craig.”
He looked puzzled. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, he often uses unorthodox methods to get the information he wants.” When she noticed his eyes were still on her, she added, “I like it.”
He grinned and reached for the door handle. “Come on. Let’s go find out what we’re dealing with, then we’ll go talk to the…um…alleged catnapper.”
Savannah followed as the detective approached the front door of the large home next to the mansion. “Hi, Mary,” he greeted. He winced. “Listen, this is Savannah Ivey. She has lost her cat and…”
“Cat?” Mary repeated. “I’ve been hearing a poor cat for the last few days. I think that crazy niece of Leland’s has it locked up somewhere.”
Savannah’s eyes lit up.
“That’s what I wanted to know,” the detective said. “Where do you think the cat is?”
“I know exactly where it is and I plan to call animal control tomorrow.” She pointed. “It’s just on the other side of my fence there. It’s probably locked in the pool house, and it’s not a happy cat.”
The detective looked in the direction Mary indicated. “Is there access from your yard to Leland’s?”
“Yeah. Why? What’s going on over there, do you know? I have to tell you, Leland and Beverly always inform me anytime something different is going to occur at their house—as we do when we’re having company or going out of town and have a dogsitter, for example. But neither of them said a thing about having a niece stay at their place while they’re gone this time. I’ve never even heard of this niece. Her name’s Francesca. She and her friends have sure taken over the place. I hope she’s on the up and up.”
The detective glanced at Savannah, then asked, “Mary, will you show us where the gate is, please? I’d like to see if the cat that’s yowling belongs to Mrs. Ivey, then we’ll deal with the…ah…niece.”
“Here, let me get you a key.” She frowned. “I’ve kept the gate locked since that bunch is there.” She then said, “Wait, I’ll turn on the light.”
The detective stopped her. “No. Don’t do that.”
She looked confused, then pointed. “Well, the gate’s just on the other side of that rose bush—the one with white blossoms.”
“Okay, I see it,” he said. “Thank you, Mary.” As they walked away, he said to Savannah, “Francesca? I thought you said her name’s Alison.”
“Well, she seems to go by Alison sometimes and Francesca sometimes. According to Rochelle, she’s also been known as Candy, Ginger, and I don’t know what all.” She faced him. “So what are we going to do?”
“I want you to get close to where the cat might be. If you’re sure it sounds like your cat, we’ll go ask Alison or Francesca about it. If she won’t let you see him, we may have to get a warrant.”
“By then she’d move him. I might never get him back,” Savannah complained.
“Well, come on,” he urged, walking through the gate. “Nice pool. Call your cat,” he whispered. “Will he respond to your voice?”
“Most of the time. Rags!” she called out quietly so as not to be heard from the main house. “Rags, kitty-kitty. There,” she said. “I hear a cat. Rags!” she called again. “Yes,” she said, “it sounds like my cat. That’s him.”
“How can you be sure—don’t all cats sound the same?”
“Absolutely not,” she insisted. “There are quite a range of sounds they make and voice tones. Yes, that’s my cat.” She approached a door and tried to open it. “Locked.”
“Yeah, a padlock.” He pulled a small flashlight from his pocket. “Looks like the door’s been busted in and someone added this lock.”
“Is there a window?” she asked. “Yes, look,” she whispered. “There’s a window. Darn, the shade’s pulled down. Rags!” she called, tapping on the window.
“Here’s another window,” the detective said from the other side of the pool house. “Hey, I see a cat in there. Come look; is that your cat?” He chuckled. “Looks like he tore the heck out of this window shade.”
“And the window’s open a little.” Savannah leaned toward the opening and called quietly, “Rags. Rags, it’s Mama.” She stepped back and shook her hand. “Ick. What is that? There’s something gross on the windowsill.”
What happened next startled both of them. “Look out!” the detective hissed, pushing Savannah aside and sheltering her.
“What was that?” she asked, her voice quivering. “Is someone shooting at us?”
He laughed. “No, it’s more like someone’s hooting at us.”
“What?”
“It’s an owl. We’re probably close to her nest.” He stood up and glanced around.
“There she is,” Savannah said, pointing.
“Where?”
“On that fence post. She’s watching us.”
“Well, let’s get out of her space, shall we?” he suggested. “I don’t feel like being sliced up by her talons this evening. I want to have a little talk with Ms. Alison-Francesca.”
Savannah started to walk away when she suddenly felt overcome with anger. “Darn it, anyway. What does she think she’s doing? Why does she have him locked up like this? Why did she take him in the first place?”
“Does she know about his fame?” he asked.
Savannah shook her head. “I don’t have any idea. I sure didn’t talk to her about him.” She slapped one hand over her mouth. “Oh, wait. I guess I did talk to her about him once.” She cocked her head. “But I don’t think I said enough to…”
Before she could finish, the detective urged, “Well, come on. Let’s go up to the house. Hello,” he said when a man opened the door. “Is Alison here?”
“Um…”
“Who is it?” a woman called. “Is Rob back?”
“As she approached, Detective Martinez said, “Alison Drummond?”
“Yes. Oh hi, Savannah.” She looked at the two of them and asked more defensively, “Say, what’s going on? Where’s Rochelle and Rob?”
“If you’ll stop talking long enough, we’ll tell you what we’re doing here,” the detective said. “This woman believes you have her cat.”
“What?” she shrieked. “Cat? Savannah, I told you I don’t even like cats.”
“Alison, I know that you have my cat locked in that pool house out there.”
“Prove it,” she said smugly.
“Prove that you don’t,” the detective challenged.
“Um…well, sure. How do you want me to do that?”
“Accompany us out to the pool house and open it up. We know there’s a cat in there. If it isn’t Savannah’s cat and you aren’t aware that there’s a cat inside, then we need to let him out before he starves to death.”
“Oh, well,
I don’t think I have a key to it, actually. I’m housesitting, you know.”
“You told us this is your place,” Savannah challenged.
“Yeah, well, I was playing around with Rochelle. I stay here for my, um, uncle while he travels.”
“You’re Brian Stanley’s niece?” the detective asked.
“Um, yeah. Do you know him?”
“No,” he said, “but I know the man who owns this house, and his name’s Leland Brown.”
