Black Cat and the Accidental Angel (Black Cat Mysteries Book 3) (13 page)

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, reaching for her glass. “Maybe you and Jack should go back down to the levee road and put up some
Lost Cat
signs. We’ll never find Thumper if we don’t let the community know where they were lost.”

“I’ve left messages with the animal shelters in Cloverdale and Healdsburg. They’ll let us know if someone turns them in.”

“Someone could be feeding them and they wouldn’t know where they belonged. You know how cats are. They’ll linger wherever there’s food. Maybe we should put some ads in the local papers, as well.”

“I can do that. Do you have a picture of Thumper? I’ll run off some posters and pin them up on the telephone poles along that levee road. It might work.” His smile looked positive, but his heart—not so much. If Sam couldn’t find the cats, he had doubts they were going to be found.

Kimberlee tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “If they’re alive, they’re probably together. I wish I had a picture of Noe-Noe.” Tears sprang to her eyes. She turned and put her arms around Brett’s neck. “Why did this happen? Thumper…” The tears trickled down her cheeks.

Brett’s jaw tightened. “I’m sure they’re alive, honey. Only question is, where are they?”
As if I haven’t beaten myself up about this enough already.
“It’s my fault. I was so worried about you and Amanda, I didn’t even notice they were gone. I’ve kicked myself a hundred times.”

Kimberlee jerked back, her eyes wide. “Oh, no, honey. No one’s blaming you. You were hurt too. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

Brett sighed. “I’m surprised Amanda is taking it so well. I thought she’d be heartbroken. Jack’s even more upset, poor guy. He was so sure Sam and Chance could find them. He really cares about Thumper.”

“It’s no surprise. Thumper was his cat until last year when I…well…shall we say…appropriated him. I hope they found a home where someone will love them as much as we did…do.”

Brett nodded. “Thumper’s easy to love, no doubt about that. You call the newspapers. I’ll put together some posters. Amanda and I can drive down tomorrow and tack them up along the levee road.” It was worth a try. It would make Kimberlee happy and Amanda would feel like she was doing something. “We’ll keep looking. Something might turn up.”

Chapter Fourteen

S
everal weeks later, just as the sun peeked over the pine trees, John sat on the front porch swing, sipping coffee and paying bills. The faintest scent of apple trees blended with the spicy scent of pines. Just yesterday, he’d noted little green apples had replaced the blossoms on the trees down by the vineyard. Summer was waning and fall was in the air.

John signed the last check, thanks to a loan from Barney, his friend from Sacramento. Enough to catch up two mortgage payments and the overdue phone bill. He peeled off stamps and pounded them onto the envelopes. A frown crossed his face. The unpaid tax bill still languished in the pile.
Before I can say Nelly’s Ghost, it’ll be time for next month’s mortgage payment
. With Barney’s loan he could beat the wolf from the door, but he could almost hear the beast howling in the distance.

It was Barney’s idea to raise the Emus in the first place. He suggested they would tide him over until the first grape harvest. ‘Only eighteen months until they’ll reproduce,’ he’d said. So part of the bank loan went to purchase the first twelve chicks. The ticking time clock was almost upon them.

Angel tippy-toed across the porch and reached her foot up his leg.
Meow!

“Hey, kiddo. How’s it going?” He reached down to stroke her pudgy belly. Over the past weeks, the cats had quickly become part of the family. So much so that, like Cindy, he’d almost begun to hope no one would see the posters and call.

John gazed across the yard toward the Emu enclosure. He checked the date on his calendar watch. Not long until the chicks were due to hatch. Maybe the firewood sales would pick up soon and maybe the chicks would hatch and get shipped out in the first week and maybe he
could
keep the bank off his back. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. A drowning man will clutch at any straw of hope floating by.

It was just about time to fix Cindy’s breakfast and then he’d have to get after that stand of trees he’d heard about. The price was right. Free for the taking.
All I have to do is cut those suckers down, buck them up and haul them home.
Should yield at least a couple cords of wood. Enough to put several hundred dollars in his pocket when they sold. A nip in the air promised that, before long, folks would be firing up their woodstoves more often.

What should he do about Carolyn? Hopefully, she had given up her plan to take Cindy. More likely, she’d met another man who kept her busy enough that she didn’t want to be bothered with her daughter, but how long would that last? John shook his head.

Carolyn had never understood why the vineyard meant so much to him. She knew things would be tough after the fire. But, he had to take out the loan to save the ranch. How could he walk away from his heritage? Carolyn jumped ship at the first opportunity and left him and Cindy to fight the battle alone. More likely, she took up with Charlie even before he got home from Iraq.

Eighteen months had passed since she left, and what did he have to show for it? An immature vineyard, a huge monthly loan payment he couldn’t meet, a child to raise alone and his whole life hanging on some green eggs that might or might not hatch over the next few days. When it came right down to it, nothing in life was really worth having if he wasn’t willing to take a risk. Succeed or fail. Live or die. Hold on to the ranch, or walk away? Never!

Angel rubbed against his leg. He gave her head another pat. Best get after that stand of trees. They wouldn’t chop themselves down. He’d take Cindy with him since the job would take three or four hours. She could bring a book or her dolls and sit in the truck.

He hoisted his body from the porch swing and trudged into the house. “Come on, Cindy. Let’s go. Daddy’s got to cut down some trees today. You’re coming with me.” He pulled the bread and peanut butter from the cupboard, flopped a couple slices of bread on the counter and removed a knife from the drawer.

“What about Angel? Will she be alright home alone?”

“Don’t worry about Angel, she’ll be fine. Even if her kittens come while we’re gone, she’ll know what to do. Cats have had kittens without any help since time began. Get your dolls. I’ve just about got some lunch ready.”

Black Cat followed John to the front door.
Don’t worry, John. I’ll take care of things while you’re gone
.

John patted his head.

Black Cat wandered back to the stove and flopped onto Angel’s blanket. Logs crackled in the potbelly, snapping in the dying embers. Angel gave an occasional little snort as she slept.

John and Cindy were gone about an hour when Black Cat awoke. That itch right behind his ear again! Wait. Something or someone was outside in the yard. Had John come back already? He got up from the blanket and slunk across the rug to the window. Best not wake Angel.

By sitting on the back of the sofa and peering between the curtains, he could just see into the Emu enclosure. Just there! At the edge of the clearing. A man crouched behind a bush.
What’s he up to?
The man darted between the trees, headed for the Emu enclosure.
The Emus!

Black Cat’s hair rose on the back of his neck
. Rrooww!
He pawed at the curtains. No way out.

Angel lifted her head. “What is it, dear? Is something wrong?”

“Someone’s out there. He’s over by the Emu enclosure now.” Black Cat scratched on the window pane. “We need a cat door.”
Hopeless!

The man crept to the Emu’s gate, unlatched the hook and opened the door. He looked back toward the house. Then he slunk back into the trees and disappeared.

Black Cat hopped on the floor and then back onto the sofa. “He opened the door but he didn’t go in and disturb the nests.”

“He was probably afraid to, with those six foot tall papas on guard,” Angel said.

The Emu hens wandered around the enclosure, eyeing the open gate for several minutes before they stepped through the gate. How different it must have looked, outside the enclosure. They pecked at bugs close to the gate and gradually wandered across the yard and down the long driveway.

Oh, John. Come home. Your hens are getting away.
Black Cat ran from the kitchen window to the living room window, keeping the birds in sight until four of the hens wandered beyond his view. Several disappeared down the road, others turned back toward the vineyard.

Two hens clunked across the front porch. Angel crouched on her blanket as the mama Emu pecked at the window glass, and then disappeared behind the house.

Black Cat hopped from the floor to the couch.
Trapped like a rat. There’s nothing I can do.

The dedicated papas may have wanted to follow the hens, but stayed at their post, standing on occasion to turn the eggs, and then hunkering down on their nests. What a tempting situation. Black Cat admired their devotion. What they must be thinking.
Eh? Open gate
…
hens gone
…
bugs
…
grass
…
must sit on eggs! Open gate
…
freedom
…
bugs
…
duty? Hard, lumpy eggs
…
Hungry
…
bugs outside open gate
…
tempting
…
must turn over eggs
(big sigh)…
Fatherhood
…
Darn eggs
…
darn hens
…
darn duty
…

Black Cat kept vigil at the front window through the long afternoon, hoping against hope that the hens would return. What else could he do?

Towards late afternoon, John’s pick-up truck chugged up the driveway and sputtered to a stop. As soon as he pulled into the driveway, he jumped from the truck. His face was nearly purple. He raced to the enclosure and slammed the gate shut.

John’s muffled voice came through the window as he ran back toward the house. “Cindy. Run up there and stand by the gate. Get ready to open it if I can find the hens and drive them back. Eight of them are missing!”

Missing eggs, now missing hens! Angel was right about a human causing the trouble. John must have come to the same conclusion. These were not accidents.

An Emu squawked. Myrtle ran across the yard with John close behind. She rushed into the enclosure and Cindy slammed the gate behind her.
One down, seven to go.

John motioned Cindy to come back to the house. “Keep watch through the front window. If I find another hen, I’ll give a shout and you run out and open the gate.” John took off running toward the vineyard.

Cindy hurried into the house.

Black Cat scuttled between her legs before she could close the door. If he could find the hens, maybe he could help. He did a quick loop around the yard and the nearby fields and tried to pick up their scent. They certainly smelled bad enough.

The aroma of pine needles drowned out any remnant of the giant gross-ugly stupid birds and despite a thorough search, none of the missing hens could be found. Even if he could locate them, not having an ounce of sheepdog in him, how could he drive them home? For that matter, he didn’t have any kind of
dog
in him.