by Patricia Fry
“Oh, well, yeah, that’s right—isn’t that what you said?”
“You know that’s not what I said,” Martinez spat. “Hey, I have a crowbar in my car. If you don’t have a key, I’ll use it to break that lock. Or we can break a window. It’s your choice; either you open it or we’ll do some damage to your uncle’s pool house.”
“I think you’d just better get off this property,” Alison said. “Come back with a warrant.”
“And have you move the cat?” The detective chortled. “I don’t think so.”
“Then I’m going to call the police,” Alison threatened.
He grinned. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” When she stalled, the detective said, “Okay, Alison or Francesca or whoever you are, let’s go let that poor cat out, shall we?”
Alison thought for a moment, then said, “Hey, Savannah, I was just playing a little joke. No hard feelings, okay? I was going to get your cat back to you.”
“When, Alison? When were you going to give him back to me? And why would you play such a cruel joke—cruel for me and for the cat? Are you even feeding him?”
“Hey, there are mice out there, he can feed himself,” she huffed. “Yeah, I saw a mouse out near the pool house just the other day. I’ll bet he has plenty to eat.”
“You’re not feeding my cat? I’ll bet you’re not giving him water, either.” When she saw Alison’s wide-eyed look, she shouted, “What’s wrong with you?”
“He’s okay. I heard him meowing out there earlier this morning.”
“You…” Savannah started, taking a step toward Alison.
The detective put a hand on Savannah’s arm. “Let’s not cause any more trouble. Come on, let’s go get your cat.” He looked at Alison. “Are you going to give me the key or not?”
“Heck, I don’t care if you break the door or a window. It’s not my place.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured. So how’d you come to be here?”
“What does it matter?” she lamented.
“I guess it doesn’t; you’ll be going to jail one way or another.”
“Please, can I go get my cat?” Savannah whined.
“Gotta wait just another minute or so,” the detective said. When he heard a car approaching, he said, “Okay, backup’s here. Let me turn her over to them, then we can go get Rags.”
“You’re arresting me?” Alison wailed. “For what?”
“Oh, we’ll sort all that out down at the station. But let’s start with breaking and entering. I had a brief conversation with Leland Brown a few minutes ago and he said he doesn’t know anyone named Alison or Francesca who has a key to his house or permission to be here. Now where’s the young man who answered the door?” he asked.
“Oh yes, that’s it,” she shouted. “The homeowner is actually Chad’s uncle. Chad said he has permission to be here and he invited me to stay with him.”
“Like hell,” a man’s voice said from behind them. “I came along for her ride. I had no idea she was lying through her teeth.”
“Can we go get Rags now?” Savannah begged, wringing her hands.
“Yes. Take ’em in,” Detective Martinez said to the police officers. “I’ll be down to the station in a few minutes with the real homeowner’s statement.”
“Rags,” Savannah said when the door to the pool house was opened and he walked up to her. She picked him up and held him. “Oh, Rags, I was so worried.” She looked around. “There’s not a drop of water in here for him.”
“Maybe in the bathroom—is the toilet seat up?” the detective suggested.
“No,” she said from the bathroom, “but the faucet’s running.” She rubbed her cheek against the cat’s. “Oh, Ragsie, you remembered how to turn on the faucet, didn’t you? Good boy.”
“He can turn on a faucet?” the detective asked.
She nodded. “I had to train him to stop doing that because he was always leaving them running. He never turned them off. Thank heavens he remembered how to get water. But he’s probably awfully hungry. I have cat food in my tote bag in Peter’s car.”
The detective smiled. “Looks like he’s pretty happy to see you.”
She smiled and snuggled with him. “Yes, he’s my baby. Oh, Ragsie, I was so worried.” She asked the detective, “Can I take him home now?”
He scratched his head. “I think maybe we should go down to the station and sort this out. Do you have any way to identify him?” When she hesitated, he explained, “All cats look the same to me. I mean, there are different colors, but how do you tell them apart when they’re the same color?”
Savannah stared at him for a moment. “I know my cat. Besides, he has a chip.”
“A chip?”
She chuckled. “There’s a fairly new technique where they put a rice-size microchip just under a dog’s or a cat’s skin for identification purposes. Any veterinarian with a scanner can read it and verify ownership.”
“Well, I’ll be.”
“You don’t deal with many animal cases, do you?” she asked. “But what I want to know is why don’t you believe me?”
“It’s all part of protocol.” He chuckled. “We’ve already maybe broken protocol a little bit. Don’t want to push it.”
“Okay. Shall I text the others to pick us up at the police station?” she asked.
“Yes. That would be fine. I’ll see if I can get a veterinarian to meet us there and scan that chip thing.”
Just then an officer joined them. “Detective, there’s something I think you should see in the house.”
“Okay.” He looked at Savannah. “I don’t want to leave you out here by yourself; why don’t you come along—you and the cat.” He looked at the officer. “Is that okay with you?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”
“What is it?” the detective asked.
“It’s a…well, I think you should see for yourself.”
Savannah, along with Rags, followed the two men to the terrace and through the open French doors into the living area.
“Wait here,” the detective said.
Savannah nodded. She watched the detective and the officer disappear up a wide staircase. This is sure a showplace. I feel kind of odd standing in here uninvited. Well, the owners sure didn’t invite me, anyway.
When Rags began to squirm in her arms, she sat down with him, put him on her lap, and crooned softly to him. She scratched his neck and ears trying to keep him calm and discourage him from leaving her lap. “It’s okay, Ragsie. Just settle down and relax. We’ll be going in a minute. We’ll go back to Peter’s and Rochelle’s and see the little birdies. Want to do that? They’ve missed you—especially Clayton.” Before she could continue, she heard something behind her. She held tightly to Rags and turned.
The sight was so startling that she lost her grip on Rags and he jumped to the floor and trotted away from her. “No!”
“What’s wrong?” the detective asked, quickly returning to the room. “Are you okay?” When he saw the look of horror on her face, he moved closer and muttered, “Good God.”
“Rags!” Savannah called, moving cautiously toward him. “Come here, Rags. No, no. He might hurt you.”
“Shoo!” the detective said, trying to scare away the intruder. “Shoo!” He started to move toward the cat, when Savannah grasped his arm.
“Wait,” she said. “I think they’re friends. Look, they seem to know each other.”
“An owl and a pussycat?” the detective murmured, running his hand through his hair. “Well, I’ll be. Yes, there is a familiarity there. Look at that,” he said, “they seem awfully happy to see each other.”
“What is that?” the officer asked.
“A great horned owl,” Savannah replied.
“I mean, what’s that in his beak?” He pointed. “There, he just dropped it in front of the cat.”
“It looks like a mouse,” the detective said. He gulped. “Great balls of fire, he brought food for the cat.”
Savannah
shook her head in disbelief after watching the owl deposit the dead mouse at Rags’s feet. “You know, Rags has had a lot of friends in his life, and he even has a couple of little parrot friends as we speak, but an owl?” She gazed out into the night. “I wonder how this happened.”
“Through the window of that pool house?” the detective suggested. “The owl must be roosting nearby.” He pulled out his phone and began snapping pictures.
Before Savannah could get her phone out, the owl spread her magnificent wings and flew silently into the darkness. “Darn,” she said. “Can you send me a couple of those pictures you took?” She suddenly lunged and ran toward Rags, who was sauntering after the owl. She picked up the cat. “Oh, Rags, so you have a new bird friend, huh? Wow! What a beautiful owl.”
“Now that’s something I’ve never encountered,” the detective muttered, “and I’m pretty much a wildlife buff. My wife and I love camping and the out-of-doors.” He shook his head. “A cat and an owl…that’s a new one on me.”
“Can we go now?” Savannah asked. “My friends are probably wondering what’s happened.”
“Yeah, we’re ready.” He flashed a piece of paper he had in his hand. “The officer was just showing me something he found upstairs.”
“Wait,” Savannah said. “Let me see that.”
“This?” the detective asked, holding out the paper. “Do you recognize this emblem? It was just lying on the floor of one of the guest rooms along with some ammunition, which we also confiscated.”
Savannah gasped. “Bullets?”
He nodded.
She pointed at the piece of paper. “Yes, I do recognize that emblem. I’ve seen that before. It’s carved into the foundation of the Bamford Building.”
“What?” Detective Martinez said.
She chuckled. “We were doing some detective work ourselves last night after Rags went missing and we found that very same emblem just below the dirt line close to where we saw Alison digging.”
Martinez scratched his head. “Are you sure? Hey, let’s take another look up there, shall we? Come on, Mrs. Ivey. Bring the cat.” He entered the room ahead of the others, led them to a large closet, and pointed. “We found it here next to this backpack. I took the liberty of pilfering through it. It appears to be Alison Drummond’s pack.”
When Savannah moved closer, Rags slipped from her arms. “No, Rags! Darn it,” she said, chasing after him. By the time she’d caught up with him, he was on the other side of the bed, pawing at the blankets. “Now what are you doing, Rags?”
The officer chuckled. “Looks like he wants to go to bed.”
Savannah grumped. “No, under the bed.” She lifted the quilt. Before she could reach for the cat, however, something caught her eye. “Rags, is this what you’re after?” she asked.
There, sticking out from under the mattress was what appeared to be a small binder. She gave it a tug and it fell to the floor, open to a page with June 1964 written across the top. Thinking out loud, she said, “These look like pages from an old journal that someone tore out of a book and recompiled in this binder.”
Rags joined her on the floor next to the binder as she read, “The old building’s abandoned now—no one’s going near it, so it’s a perfect place to bury the problem. Who could have predicted this supposed cousin of mine would be a whistleblower without an ounce of business savvy. Naw, he’s not cut out to be on my payroll and he can’t be trusted with what he knows. I’ll continue correspondence with his family abroad so they aren’t the wiser and that’ll ensure the money for room and board will continue. Another smart move on my part. After all, the lad still has a position. He’ll be watching over the treasure we’ve stashed for safekeeping. That’s all he’s good for now. In a few years when the missing money’s forgotten, it will be there waiting for us. Then life begins anew.”
“Holy moly,” the officer muttered.
“Let me see that,” Detective Martinez said, moving closer. He closed the binder using a clean handkerchief and whistled through pursed lips. “There it is, that heart and cross symbol.” He looked around. “So who’s the author of that journal entry? Is there a name on it?” He flipped to the first page and read, “G. W. Graham.”
“I believe that’s Alison’s grandfather,” Savannah explained.
He looked at her. “But you can’t be sure, right?”
She shook her head.
He pushed the binder back under the mattress. “Well, let’s go down to the station and see what she’ll tell us, shall we?”
“You’re not taking that for evidence?” Savannah asked.
“No. I’d better get a warrant first. Besides, that could belong to the Browns.” When she saw the look on Savannah’s face, he said, “You’re convinced it’s evidence, are you? Why?”
She nodded. “Because Rags found it, that’s why.”
The detective studied her for a moment, then ran his hand over Rags’s fur. “Well, thanks, Rags, but I think we’d better follow protocol on this. Come on.”
◆◆◆
“Oh Rags,” Rochelle gushed, when she saw Savannah walking toward her with the cat in her arms. “Is he okay?”
“Was he locked in that pool house?” Peter asked. “Why did that gal do it, do you know?”
“He seems to be okay,” Savannah said. She chuckled. “He made friends with an owl while he was locked up.” When she noticed that Simon was with the Whitcombs, she smiled. “Hi, Simon. Good to see you again.”
“Hi,” he said, staring at Rags. “Is that your cat? I’m glad you found him. Did that lady have him?”
Savannah nodded. “She sure did, Simon. Thank you so much for telling us about that. Your tip helped us find him.”
“He was locked up with an owl?” Simon asked, wide-eyed.
“That was going to be my next question,” Rob said.
Savannah shook her head. “No. The owl must have lived in a nearby tree and they got acquainted through a window, I’m guessing. It looked like the owl had been bringing Rags food and pushing it through a window that was open just a few inches. After we rescued Rags, the owl flew into the mansion to see him and brought him some supper...a dead mouse.”
Rob shook his head. “Wow! You got pictures didn’t you? That’s going to be one amazing story. I can’t wait to send it to Tina.”
“Yeah,” she said. “The detective took some.”
“So your cat’s going to the birds, is he?” Peter joked, running his hand over Rags’s fur. He looked around. “What do we have to do now? Can we go get some dinner?”
“I had dinner with those people,” Simon announced. “We had spaghetti with vegetables. They sure like vegetables over at that house.”
“Well, we haven’t eaten yet,” Peter said. “Maybe you can get a piece of pie or ice cream while we have dinner.”
“Yeah,” he cheered. “I wouldn’t mind that. Let’s go.”
“Hold your horses,” Savannah said. “They need to check Rags’s chip to make sure he belongs to me…”
“Oh, brother,” Peter complained.
Savannah looked at Rochelle. “And I guess I might have to file a complaint against your friend.”
“Hey, she’s no friend of mine, the crazy, lying, stealing witch.”
“Whoa,” Peter said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that kind of talk coming from those sweet lips.”
Meanwhile, the detective opened the door to the station and called, “Ms. Ivey, would you bring the cat in, please?” He nodded toward a man dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. “This is Dr. Stillman, the veterinarian with the gizmo that can read your cat’s chip.”
“Thank you for coming,” she greeted.
He walked closer to her and ran his hand over Rags’s fur. “Nice cat. Part Ragdoll?”
“How did you know?” Savannah asked, surprised. “He doesn’t look anything like…” When she saw the grin on the veterinarian’s face, she stepped back and studied him.
“Don’t you remember me, Savannah
?” When she appeared bewildered, he said, “You brought him to a clinic in LA when you first adopted him. I was an intern there.” He chuckled while preparing his equipment. “I tried my best to flirt with you that day, but you only had eyes for the cat. Don’t you remember, I tried to talk you out of naming him Rags?” He frowned. “I thought it was so dull for a cat with his energy and inquisitiveness.”
“Oh, yes,” Savannah said, blushing. “You were working with Doctor Ray Randolph.”
“So you do remember me,” he said, grinning widely.
