Undercover Kitty

by Sofie Ryan

  Safe Paws, it turned out, didn’t manufacture their own products like a lot of the other vendors I’d seen at the pet expo. They were a source for a variety of products including Guardian Pet Security’s restraint systems. So damage to the Safe Paws booth indirectly was damage to Guardian.

  “Did you find something?” Mac asked.

  I held up a finger but kept my eyes on the phone screen. “Maybe,” I said.

  I went to Guardian’s website. They actually had a page about their participation in cat shows across the country. It seemed they did almost half of their business through the pet expos that ran in conjunction. Half their business. That was a lot of money.

  I looked at Mac. “I think I know what Christine meant when she said maybe the vandalism had nothing to do with the shows. Maybe it was personal. I think someone is after this company.” I pointed at the tarp covered in harnesses. “Guardian Pet Security’s products were targeted in three instances. There’s something fishy going on.”

  Mac nodded. “Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action. Ian Fleming.”

  “All I have to do is figure out who’s behind that enemy action.” I looked around, wishing a clue would somehow appear out of nowhere. All I saw was Cleveland approaching, pushing a cart holding two large black fans. Mac went to help him just as Jacqueline joined Rose and Mr. P.

  I started unpacking the closest box. The straps and harnesses in this one were barely damp. They wouldn’t take long to dry, especially with those oversized fans. The guys got the fans set up and plugged in.

  “I’ll turn them on once we have everything spread out,” Cleveland said, putting another box next to the one I already had half emptied. His sleeves were pushed back and I could see what looked like hives on his right wrist. He noticed my gaze and smiled. “At least I won’t get a rash from cleaning up this mess.”

  “Are you allergic to cats?” I asked, thinking of all the times he’d picked up Elvis.

  “No,” he said. “That’s not hives. It’s papular urticaria—hypersensitivity to fleas. I’ve had it before; one of the drawbacks of crawling around a lot of abandoned buildings. Lots of critters.”

  “So it’s because of the mice?”

  Cleveland nodded. “Probably.”

  “Are you sure they were pets?”

  “Yeah, they were too tame not to be.”

  I was still holding one of the padded vests.

  “Don’t you wish you invented that?” Cleveland asked as he pulled three more out of the box he’d just set down. “It made millions for the company last year.”

  “Really?” I said. I turned the vest over in my hands. Mesh and nylon over memory foam padding with adjustable straps that attached to a car’s seat belt system with a tether; it was simple but ingenious.

  “Oh yeah,” he said. “That harness system is the company’s best-selling product.” He tipped his head toward a large, and droopy from the water, poster hanging in the Guardian booth.

  I stared at Cleveland, who was feeling the sides of the box, probably trying to see if it was damp. I felt as though I was putting a puzzle together, studying pieces, turning them, trying them in different configurations. Suddenly they were snapping together where they hadn’t before, making a picture.

  It can’t be so simple, I thought. But it was. All the little pieces fit. I got to my feet. Mac was untangling a knot of leashes. He glanced up at me and smiled. Then did a double take when the expression on my face registered. “What’s wrong?” he said.

  “I know who did it.” I gestured at the tarp. “This and the mice and all the rest of it at the other shows.” I pointed at Jacqueline across the room talking to Mr. P. and Rose. “It was her.”

  “The social media person?” Mac looked confused. I didn’t blame him.

  “Did you notice the rash Cleveland has on his arm?” I asked.

  He nodded. “He said one of the mice must have had fleas.”

  “Jacqueline has the same rash. I thought it was because she’s allergic to cats.”

  “Okay,” he said. “But how do you get from a rash to her being behind the vandalism?”

  I rested one arm on the top of my head. “When the two mice got into this booth, Jacqueline thought Guardian was upset enough that they were leaving the pet expo show, but Mr. P. saved the day. He found a better location for their booth. She didn’t seem completely happy about that. I thought she was a bit jealous because she hadn’t found a solution and Mr. P. had. But what if she didn’t want a solution?”

  “Because?”

  “Jacqueline told me that her mother had invented a padded pet harness, but nothing came of it.” I held out the padded vest still in my hand.

  “You think the company stole her idea?”

  I pulled out my phone again. “Let me know if she starts to leave.” I went online and googled Guardian’s name and the word “lawsuit.”

  Nothing.

  I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. Think, I said to myself.

  I looked up the company’s history. I wasn’t even sure exactly what I was looking for and then I found it. The company’s name had changed when one company merged with a second one six years earlier. I put the first company’s name and lawsuit into a search engine. Once again, nothing. But I hit pay dirt on the second name. An Arianne Flynn had sued them over a design for a pet restraint system she claimed they stole from her. I pictured the business card Jacqueline had given to me earlier. Her middle name was Arianne.

  I looked at Mac. “I have it,” I said.

  Rose and Mr. P. were still talking to Jacqueline. I couldn’t put this off. I couldn’t take some time to think about it. I’d looked for answers. I’d found them. Liz would say, Be careful what you wish for.

  “Are you all right?” Mac asked. I could see the concern in his eyes.

  “No,” I said. “Come with me?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  Rose smiled as I joined them. “Jacqueline has some good news,” she said. “USA Today is doing an article on the increasing interest in regional cat shows. They’re sending a photographer to take photos of some of the cats, including Elvis.”

  “That is good,” I said. I didn’t sound at all enthusiastic. I didn’t feel it.

  Mr. P. frowned at me. “What is it?” he said.

  I studied Jacqueline. I was certain she was behind the vandalism at this show and the others. Could she have set the fire that killed Christine? “Guardian stole your mother’s idea,” I said.

  Jacqueline didn’t say anything, but her face flooded with color. Rose frowned.

  Mr. P.’s eyes moved from me to her and back again. “Sarah, what’s going on?” he asked.

  Mac gave my hand a squeeze. “Jacqueline damaged the sprinkler system,” I said. “She brought the mice into the show. She’s behind the vandalism at the other shows. For all I know, maybe she started the fire that killed Christine.”

  “I didn’t start that fire,” Jacqueline said, anger flashing in her eyes. “I can’t believe you could think I would do something like that.”

  “You did this.” I held out both hands.

  Her chin came up. “It’s not the same.”

  “Because Christine was a person and this”—I waved one hand in the direction of the Guardian booth—“this is a company.”

  “A company that cheats people,” she said. “A company that steals other people’s work.” I could hear the bitterness in her voice.

  “They cheated your mother,” I said. Part of me felt sorry for her, I realized.

  “You were the one who tried to sabotage the shows?” Mr. P. said. He was frowning as though none of what he’d just heard made sense.

  “I’m sorry, Alfred,” Jacqueline said. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I didn’t have any other alternative. Nothing else worked.” She
looked almost defiant, shoulders squared, hands clasped in front of her.

  “Why did you damage the cages?” I asked. “Guardian doesn’t make those.”

  “I wanted everyone to think someone was trying to sabotage the shows, not one of the businesses. I didn’t mean for any of the cats to get hurt. I swear.” I saw her swallow a couple of times. “Guardian makes a huge amount of money from the pet expos and the cat shows. Their restraint system was my mother’s design. They stole it. I wanted to drive them away. I wanted to drive them out of business.”

  She didn’t see how futile her efforts were. More people were shopping online than ever before. If the cat shows weren’t bringing in enough sales, it would just push Guardian into doing more business online.

  Jacqueline turned to me. “What did I do wrong?” she asked. “How did you figure it out?”

  I pointed at her arm. “That rash. It’s not hives from a cat allergy. It’s a reaction to a flea bite. Cleveland has the same thing.”

  Rose hadn’t said a word. She looked . . . sad more than anything else. “Did you start that fire?” she asked. “The truth.”

  Jacqueline was shaking her head before Rose finished the question. “I swear I didn’t.”

  I wanted to believe her, but she’d fooled me up to this point.

  “Christine knew who my mother was, that she’d tried to sue over her design. She’d taken a business course and it was one of the case studies—just a fluke. I told her I didn’t want people to know. She promised not to tell anyone and she’d kept her promise, but I think she might have been starting to get suspicious.”

  That would explain Christine’s comment to me about the vandalism being personal. For Jacqueline it was.

  Jacqueline looked around the arena. “I can prove I didn’t start the fire,” she said. She pointed at Memphis, who was wheeling out another fan. “That was the night before the pet expo opened. I was over in the other building supervising the banners being hung. Memphis was there checking the security cameras. Ask him.”

  No surprise, Memphis confirmed Jacqueline’s alibi.

  “I have to call the Hartmans,” Mr. P. said.

  Jacqueline nodded. “I know you do. Go ahead. I’m not going to try to take off.”

  He stared at her for a moment then stepped away and pulled out his phone.

  Jacqueline looked at me. “I was afraid I’d slipped up when I mentioned my mother to you,” she said. A strand of hair had slipped free of her ponytail and I wanted to brush it back off of her face. It struck me that she wasn’t much older than Avery.

  “It was just one of the pieces,” I said.

  She smiled then. “And I meant what I said before. Elvis deserved to win. I really did want the show—all of the shows—to be a success. I just wanted Guardian to suffer a little.”

  Mr. P. wasn’t on the phone very long. He walked back over to us, his expression unreadable. “The Hartmans don’t want to call the police because they don’t want the bad publicity,” he said to Jacqueline. “But you are fired and they won’t give you a reference.”

  “I . . . I understand,” she said.

  I wondered if Mr. P. had had anything to do with the decision not to call the police.

  “You’re angry and I would never tell you not to be, but in the end the only person it will destroy is you.”

  She nodded, her eyes suddenly bright with tears. She took the lanyard with her ID card from around her neck and handed it to Mr. P. As she turned to go, Rose stepped in front of her. She handed Jacqueline a business card. “This is an honest lawyer who will tell you the truth about whether your mother has grounds for another lawsuit. Whatever he says, think carefully about what you decide to do next.”

  Jacqueline swiped at her cheek with one hand. “Thank you,” she whispered. She started for the main doors.

  I put my arm around Rose. “You gave her Josh Evans’s card,” I said. It wasn’t a question. Josh was the best lawyer I knew. We’d been friends since we were kids and he’d gotten the Angels out of a tight spot more than once.

  “I did,” Rose said. “I suppose I’m a foolish old lady.”

  “No, you’re not,” I said, leaning my head against hers. “You’re the best person I know.”

  Chapter 20

  I went for a run in the morning. It was cold and windy, it had been windy all night, and I felt like I was fighting the gusts no matter which direction I was headed. Mac was waiting for me when I got home, sitting in his truck in front of the house.

  “How about we go out for breakfast before we head over to the arena?” he said.

  “Yes,” I said. “I need coffee and pancakes. Lots and lots of coffee. My cheeks are frozen.”

  He pulled me to him and kissed me. “Still frozen?” he asked.

  I nodded. “I think you’re going to have to do that again.”

  Rose poked her head around her apartment door when we stepped inside.

  “We’re going out for breakfast,” I said, “but we’ll be back in lots of time to get over to the arena.”

  “There’s no need to hurry,” she said. “The power is out in that part of town. We won’t be able to get into the arena until this afternoon because even with the backup generators there isn’t enough light to work.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Mac and I went to a little diner just on the edge of town. I had blueberry pancakes. Mac had sausage and eggs with fried tomatoes. I swiped half a sausage. We were lingering over a third cup of coffee when my phone rang.

  I looked down. “It’s Michelle,” I said. “Maybe she’s talked to Kimber.” I swiped the screen.

  It turned out Michelle had talked to Kimber and to James Hanratty. “I’m sorry, Sarah,” she said. “They both have an alibi for the time of the fire. They were together in a motel in Rockport. They had dinner in the dining room. The charge is on the judge’s credit card.”

  “That’s not too smart considering Hanratty wears a wedding ring,” I said.

  “To use an old-fashioned word, he seems besotted with Ms. Watson.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “I’m not sure I get it. She’s a . . . prickly person.”

  “Rose would say there’s someone out there for everyone. Liz would say there’s probably five or six someones.”

  Michelle laughed. “I like the way Liz thinks.”

  I looked at Mac sitting across the table, watching me over his coffee cup, a hint of a smile playing across his face. I liked the way Rose thought.

  “There’s also security video of Hanratty and Ms. Watson walking to his room. I’m sorry you didn’t get the answers you all were looking for. We’re still investigating.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “I know you are,” I said. “Thanks for . . . everything.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said. “It wasn’t a big deal. I can’t believe Rose was actually willing to step back for once, though.”

  It was my turn to laugh. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”

  We said good-bye and I promised to let her know when we had anything else to share.

  * * *

  * * *

  Debra’s car was gone when we got back. I knocked on Rose’s door to see if she’d heard whether the power was back on.

  “It’s not,” she said. Socrates was happily curled up on her lap.

  “I think you’ve made a friend,” I said.

  Rose smiled. “I’m going to hate to say good-bye. I’ve been trying to convince Debra to stay a bit longer, but she says she needs to get settled in her own place. She’s gone to look at an apartment in a different building owned by Christine’s landlord. I offered to go with her, but she wanted to go alone.”

  “Has she talked to Tim?” Socrates lifted his head and looked up at me. I reached down to scratch the top of his head. He gave a happy little sigh.

  “She
says she’s going to do that when he comes to help her pack up.”

  “He seems to think if he just hangs around long enough she’ll change the way she feels,” I said.

  “If that worked, then your last name would be McNamara and Clayton would be your grandfather because he tried that on Isabelle,” Rose said.

  I shrugged. “But in Clayton’s defense, he was only six.”

  “And he still took the hint a lot quicker than Tim Grant has.”

  “Well, Gram has never been the type of person to beat around the bush,” I said. “Can you imagine her spending years eating potato chips she doesn’t even like just to spare someone’s feelings?”

  Rose shook her head. “No slight intended to Debra, but I can’t imagine anyone doing that.”

  * * *

  * * *

  It was late afternoon when the power was restored to the arena and the surrounding area. Both Elvis and Socrates went with us. The photographer for USA Today was meeting us there. Jeffery was waiting with Nikita. The beautiful white Persian looked regal and elegant as would befit a potential national champion.

  I also got to talk to and take a photo with the owner of the big ginger tabby who had come in second to Elvis. She was somewhere in her midtwenties, with a warm smile and an even better laugh. She wore a sparkly cat ear headband and a T-shirt with a cartoon cat on the front and the caption: I did the math. We can’t afford the dog.

  The photo session took longer than I expected, but we finally got our staging area taken apart and everything packed up. There was almost no one around by the time we were done.

  Debra had pulled Tim aside to talk to him. Rose glanced in their direction. “That doesn’t seem to be going well,” she said. Based on Tim’s body language, he wasn’t very happy with the conversation.

  “Do you want to take the tent home or to the shop?” Mr. P. asked.

  “I was thinking about the shop,” I said. “It could either go up in my office or maybe even in yours. I know Elvis spends time out there with you.”