by Sofie Ryan
Mac folded me against his chest, rested his chin on the top of my head and laughed. “Charlotte’s right,” he said. “You are incorrigible.”
* * *
* * *
I got back to Searsport just after Elvis had gone through his second time in the ring. Once again he’d come in second. I found him happily eating a sardine while Rose spoke to the man she’d pointed out to me earlier, Debra’s friend Tim Grant. I remembered what Rose had said—that the man wasn’t a cat person—and as I studied his body language, I could see that she was right. Not only was Tim Grant standing back from the unzipped door of the tent where Elvis was licking the remaining half of his little fish, the top part of the man’s body was leaning back slightly as though he was recoiling from the cat just a little.
“Perfect timing, Sarah.” Rose smiled as I joined them. “This is Tim Grant. He’s a friend of Debra’s.”
“Nice to meet you, Sarah,” he said, smiling at me. He had pale blue eyes and pale, freckled skin.
“You, too,” I said.
Rose put a hand on my upper arm. “I hope I wasn’t overstepping, dear. I was just telling Tim how you wanted to look at the photos he’s been taking of the show.”
I did? I felt her grip tighten on my arm. I got the message. “Oh. Yes. I do.” I nodded to show my enthusiasm. Maybe a bit too much enthusiasm. Rose shot me a look that made me think I might have looked a bit too much like a bobblehead doll.
“I do have some shots of your cat,” Tim said. His long fingers played with the gold signet ring on his right finger, twisting it from side to side. “Rose mentioned you’re looking for photographs of the show overall.”
Rose’s nails dug into the underside of my arm, her way of telling me not to mess up whatever scheme she was working.
“I am,” I said. “This is Elvis’s first show. I’d like the photos for . . . posterity.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Will you be here tomorrow?”
I nodded again. This time with a little less vigor. “Yes, I will.”
Elvis had finished his sardine and washed his face. He stuck his head out through the open tent flap and meowed loudly at me. I reached over to stroke his fur, which meant Rose had to let go of my arm. Tim took another step backward.
“I’ll uh . . . I’ll bring my tablet and you can take a look at all the photos I have so far.” He hiked the strap of his camera a little higher on his shoulder. Elvis was watching him, green eyes narrowed as though there was something about the man he didn’t like.
“Thank you so much,” I said. “And of course I’ll pay for any photos I want.”
Tim held up a hand and shook it and his head. “No, no. You’re friends with Debra. I couldn’t take your money.”
“That’s so kind of you,” Rose said. She seemed to be doing her “sweet old grandmother” persona. I had no idea why.
“Okay then . . . I’ll see you tomorrow,” Tim said. He disappeared down the aisle before I could reply.
“Good heavens, that is a twitchy man!” Rose exclaimed.
“He’s afraid of cats,” I said.
“Merow,” Elvis said, a disgruntled expression on his face. That might have been because I’d stopped petting the top of his head and not because Tim Grant disliked cats.
“Then what on earth is he doing at a cat show?” Rose said.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s been friends with Debra and Christine since high school. Maybe he has a thing for one of them.” I raised one eyebrow and grinned at her. “Or both of them.”
“Debra is not the kind of person to get involved in some kind of love triangle,” Rose said firmly. She pushed her glasses up her nose and frowned at me. “And really, the best you could come up with was that you wanted photos of the show for posterity?”
“That’s what you get when you throw me into the pool without checking to see if I can swim. I had no idea what I was supposed to say.”
“Tim takes photographs all the time, according to Debra,” she said. “Christine is a volunteer, so the three of them were here for the setup and they’ll be here until takedown. Aside from an electrical issue at one of the booths, there haven’t been any problems so far, but that doesn’t mean our saboteur has given up.”
“You think those photos could help you figure out who that is?”
“Alfred has a list of everyone who signed in to get things set up,” Rose said.
Elvis looked at her and licked his whiskers, a not-so-subtle hint that he’d like another sardine.
“You’re looking for anyone who isn’t on that list,” I said.
She smiled and reached up to pat my cheek. “I knew you weren’t just another pretty face.” She reached past me and lifted Elvis out of the cage. “Millicent’s mother is going to give me her recipe for sardine crackers. We’ll be right back and then we can hit the road.”
She slipped around the table before I could find out if Millicent was a person or a cat.
I looked around wondering where Mr. P. was. I spotted him standing several tables away talking to a man and woman I didn’t recognize. They looked to be somewhere in their forties. She was tall, easily six foot, with hair brushing her shoulders and long side bangs. She wore black skinny jeans with chunky heeled boots and a long black sweater edged in white. And she had the kind of effortless good posture that made me think she’d been a model or a dancer. The man was wearing jeans, a white dress shirt and a burgundy wool sport coat. His hair was short on the sides, a bit longer on the top and more gray than brown, as was his closely cropped beard.
Alfred caught sight of me and gestured that I should join them. “This is our colleague, Sarah Grayson,” he said as I walked up to them. “Sarah, please meet Will and Chloe Hartman, our clients.”
So I was a colleague now. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, shaking hands with both of them in turn.
“You as well,” Will said.
“Thank you for volunteering your cat as a cover,” Chloe said. “I think for now it’s better if everyone doesn’t know that we’ve hired private investigators.”
“We don’t want anyone upset unnecessarily,” Will added smoothly. His right hand tapped against his leg as though he were keeping time to music only he could hear.
“I understand,” I said. Rose had said that Chloe was related to Stella Hall, but I could see none of practical, down-to-earth Stella in the woman in front of me.
Mr. P. smiled. “Don’t worry, we’re very good at flying under the radar, so to speak.”
I looked around. No one seemed to be paying any attention to us.
“The last thing we need are these ‘incidents’ disrupting the pet expos that will be taking place in conjunction with the next several shows,” Chloe said. She waved one hand through the air and I noticed that her nails were a deep shade of pink and as beautifully manicured as Liz’s always were. “We have vendors coming in from all over the East Coast and we’re expecting visitors from several states as well as Canada. People spent close to ninety-nine billion dollars on their pets in the past year. There’s no reason some of that shouldn’t be spent here.”
I worked to keep my expression neutral. Ninety-nine billion dollars? I’d had no idea that pets were such big business. I could see that getting some of that business was very important to Chloe Hartman; not surprising, since Rose had said the AFA—which was sanctioning this show—had more of a money-making orientation than other cat associations.
“People want their pets to be happy,” Will said. “We want to help them make that happen. We’re animal lovers ourselves.” Once again he’d stepped in to take the edge off his wife’s words.
“We understand your concern,” Mr. P. said. “We’ve added extra security to the remaining Maine events, starting with this one. There will be cameras at all of the shows and all participants must have their ID badges to gain ac
cess to the floor before and after hours—no exceptions.”
I nodded my agreement as though I knew what Alfred was talking about. He may have looked like the stereotype of a doting grandfather in his blue zippered sweater and hiked-up pants, but he was very smart and very resourceful, with computer skills that rivaled the best hackers a fraction of his age. I was both impressed by his confidence and a little concerned about where and how he’d gotten all the equipment. With respect to Mr. P.’s activities during a case, I’d learned that sometimes it was better not to ask too many questions.
Alfred went on to assure the Hartmans that the “security detail” would check the entire building after everyone had left and again before the building opened to show participants in the morning. “And I’ll see you both in the morning for another check-in,” he added.
Chloe and Will both seemed happy with what they’d heard. I repeated that it had been a pleasure to meet them and they left.
I waited until they were out of earshot, talking to the owner of a Siamese cat, before I turned to Mr. P. “We have a security detail?” I said.
He looked a little puzzled. “Of course. Did you think I was lying to our clients?”
“No.” I pulled a hand over the back of my neck. It had suddenly knotted up on one side. I hadn’t meant to imply that Mr. P. was being deceitful. I looked around fervently hoping the “security detail” wasn’t just Rose and Elvis. “Are they here?” I asked.
Mr. P. looked around. “Right over there,” he said, pointing in the direction of the main doors.
I leaned sideways for a better look. At first I didn’t see anyone that I recognized and then . . . “Cleveland?” I said, my gaze swiveling back to Mr. P. “Cleveland is our security team?” It had taken me a minute to spot the trash picker since he wasn’t wearing his ubiquitous plaid shirt and UMaine Black Bears ball cap.
Mr. P. smiled. “Of course not.”
I felt the knot ease in my neck and then it occurred to me if the team wasn’t Cleveland, did that mean it was Rose and my cat?
“Memphis is helping as well.”
I looked across the space again. Cleveland’s younger brother, Memphis, was in fact standing beside him. Cleveland and his many siblings had all been named after American cities. Memphis caught sight of me looking in their direction and raised a hand in hello. I waved back at him.
“You look skeptical,” Mr. P. said.
“It’s not that I don’t trust your judgment,” I began. I stopped. That was exactly what it was. I took a deep breath and let it out. Alfred must have had a good reason for hiring the brothers. “Why Cleveland and Memphis?”
“You know Cleveland was in the army?”
I nodded. “I know. He was one of the people who came to help when we painted the veterans’ drop-in center.” I’d learned a lot about the man that weekend just watching him interact with people.
Mr. P. took off his glasses and cleaned them with a little cloth he took out of his pocket. “Cleveland was army intelligence. He’s smart and resourceful, which is more than enough reason to work with him. But he also has skills and experience that I believe will help us stop any more sabotage.” He smiled and folded the little piece of fabric back into a perfect square. “And as for Memphis, he’s never met an electronic device he couldn’t figure out. He’s renting us the cameras we’re using.”
About six weeks earlier we’d taken on the job of clearing out a house at the opposite end of the street from Second Chance. We’d been hired by the granddaughter of the owner. She’d convinced him to move closer to her in the Boston area. She’d stepped into the house, taken one look around and called us at the suggestion of Glenn McNamara, who owned the sandwich shop and bakery, where she’d gone to hide out with a giant cup of coffee while she figured out what to do.
The old man had been a paranoid conspiracy theorist with a home security system that included cameras, motion detectors and an alarm that sounded like an air horn, all connected to a laptop with a password he had refused to divulge to his granddaughter. A password Mr. P. might have been able to crack if he hadn’t been out of town at the time.
It was Mac who had suggested I ask Cleveland if he knew anyone who could help. “Cleveland is the only person in North Harbor who probably knows more people than Rose and her cohorts,” Mac had said.
“We can take care of it,” Cleveland had said as we’d stood in the parking lot next to his old truck. “Memphis and I.”
In the time that I’d known the man he’d been true to his word. I’d had no idea how they’d disable the security system, but I knew Cleveland had a better chance of accomplishing it than I did. Cleveland and his brothers had installed solar panels on the roof of his house and his ancient truck ran in even the coldest weather. All I’d managed to do with that security system was get shocked twice and probably damage my hearing permanently.
They had somehow disabled the system and removed the cameras, wires, motion detectors and whatever device it was that delivered a small electric shock to anyone who tried to open the garage door.
Now I had a better idea why they’d been so successful. I looked up over my head. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Cleveland and Memphis coming toward us.
“You won’t find the cameras,” Mr. P. said. “He’s that good.”
The men joined us before I could answer. Cleveland was wearing black trousers and a long-sleeved gray T-shirt. His dark hair threaded with gray had been cut shorter than he usually wore it. He generally had a couple of days’ worth of stubble, but today he was clean-shaven. Liz would have said he cleaned up well.
Memphis was a couple of inches shorter than his big brother. He was dressed in all black, his thick hair pulled back in a ponytail. Where Cleveland was still and steady, there always seemed to be a current of energy running through Memphis.
Cleveland smiled. “Hey, Sarah,” he said. “How’s Elvis doing?”
I smiled back at him. “So far, so good. No surprise, he loves the attention.”
“He wasn’t the slightest bit shy during the judging,” Mr. P. said with an edge of pride in his voice.
“‘Shy’ is not a word that comes to mind when you think about Elvis,” I said. The cat’s personality had charmed more than one customer in the shop.
“Sarah, do you have any clue where Elvis was living before he showed up in town?” Memphis asked.
I shook my head. “He has that scar across his nose and a couple of others that are covered by his fur so he got into some kind of a fight at some point in his past. Other than that, the vet said he seemed to have been well taken care of. Whoever he lived with had to have been good to him. He likes people.” I gestured with one hand. “He’s in his element here.”
I noticed that while Cleveland seemed to be listening to the conversation his eyes had done a quick scan of the space.
“Any problems so far?” Mr. P. asked.
Cleveland shook his head. “Nothing unexpected. A few people trying to get in early without their passes. A couple of complaints when we wouldn’t let anyone park in the fire lane.”
“The cameras are working,” Memphis added. “And we’ve been checking the judging areas regularly. So far so good.” His right thumb tapped a rhythm against his leg.
“We’ll do one last walk-around before we lock up tonight,” Cleveland said to Mr. P. “I don’t expect any problems. I’ll be in touch if there are.”
Mr. P. smiled. “Thank you,” he said.
Memphis held up a hand, fingers crossed. “Good luck tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” I said. I watched the two men walk away. I’d been a bit too quick to judge Mr. P.’s decision to hire them, I realized.
I turned to him, tucking my hair back behind one ear. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I underestimated you. I should know better.”
He smiled. “Apology accepted. And it’s nice to think I
still have a surprise or two up my sleeve.”
I smiled back at him. “That you do.”
There was a young woman making her way toward us and I realized she was trying to get Mr. P.’s attention.
I touched his arm. “I think someone is looking for you,” I said.
He turned to look in the direction I had indicated and smiled. “That’s Jacqueline.”
Before I had a chance to ask who Jacqueline was, the young woman had joined us. She was tiny even wearing black ankle boots that added a good three inches to her height. The boots were paired with matching black tights and a green floral wrap dress. Her long red hair was pulled back into a high ponytail.
“Sarah, this is Jacqueline Beyer,” Mr. P. said to me. “She’s the Hartmans’ social media director. And she knows the real reason we’re here.”
“Hi, Sarah,” Jacqueline said. She had a strong handshake. Her nails were clipped short and unpolished, not unlike my own. “I hear Elvis caused a bit of a shakeup in the companion category. He’s already generating a bit of a fan base online.”
“Really?” I said.
She nodded. “I got a great close-up shot of him during the judging. He’s looking at the audience and his head is tipped to one side. So cute!”
She turned her attention to Mr. P. “I’ve been posting photos from the show all day and we’ve been getting a lot of comments. There hasn’t been a single thing said about any vandalism, just the usual trolls being nasty about the usual things.”
She turned away and sneezed twice into her elbow. I noticed her eyes were a little red.
“I’m sorry,” she said, giving her head a little shake. “I’m allergic to cats. And yes, I know how weird it is that I’m working at a cat show.” She looked at Mr. P. again. “Tell Rose I tried the Neti pot. I think it’s helping.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Alfred said.
Jacqueline reached into her pocket and pulled out a flash drive. “Here’s a copy of all the photos I took.” She glanced at me. “There are maybe a dozen shots of Elvis. Download a copy of anything you want to keep.”
