Patricia Fry - Klepto Cat 05 - The Colony Cat Caper (12 page)

Margaret motioned toward the recovery room and asked, “When will those two be ready to go back?”

“Tomorrow is okay for the male. I’d like to keep the female for an extra day or two.”

“Any chance they could go into a home?” Margaret asked.

“Ahh,” Michael thought; hesitated. “I guess we won’t know much about that until they come out fr
om under the Ivey spell,” he said with a chuckle.

“Pshaw,” Margaret said laughing. “Ivey spell? Funny man.”

“Auntie, why don’t we curb the trapping for now,” Savannah suggested. “…let our ace trappers rest up and we can concentrate on the flea market.”

“Flea market?” Michael asked.

“Yeah, we’ve made a deal with that promoter woman, Leta, to do a flea market out at the Fischer place and that’s going to take some time and effort.”

“I agree,” Margaret said. “We’ll go out and feed and then spend our time o
n the details of the flea market. I’m just glad we don’t have to do the publicity, too.”

“But we do have a lot of calls to make and organizing to do. We need to delegate things like bringing in tables, chairs, and such.”

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

“Uh-oh,”
Michael said.

“What?”

“I feel a solicitation coming my way.”

Savannah grinned at her handsome husband. “Come on Michael, don’t be glum. It’ll be fun.”

“Why am I not convinced?” Michael said, winking over at Bud.

Chapter Eight

It was the last Friday in November. The plans were set. The industrious worker-bees from the Hammond Cat Alliance had put everything into motion toward a potentially successful event. Margaret had obtained a key to the old place and volunteers had cleaned the Fischer building inside and out. Thirty-five booths were being created in designated spaces throughout the ground floor, some encased in pop-up canopies, others simply marked by six-foot tables and banners. Participants busily decorated their spaces and were beginning to cart in and set up their wares, easels, and posters in preparation for the next day.

“Well that’s odd,” Iris said to Savannah as they sat in Iris’s booth sorting her beaded jewelry.

“What?” Savannah asked, glancing in the direction her friend was staring.

“T
hat woman’s shoes.” She pushed a wayward curl off her forehead.

“What about them?” Savannah asked, staring over at the stooped older woman. “They’re cute.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve seen them before.” She lightly punched Savannah in the arm. “So have you.”

“
Huh? When? Do we know that woman? I can’t see her face with that shawl pulled around her head like that.”

“I don’t think so,” Iris said.

“Iris, you’re not making sense. Do we know her or not?”

“Probably not. But I know those shoes. I saw them at Colbi’s
house. Remember? That woman…
Camille
…was wearing them.”

“Oh, popular style, I guess,” Savannah said going back to untangling a couple of fine chains.

“Well, they’re still cute,” Iris said. “Even on a ninety-year-old woman.” She looked over at Savannah. “So what will you have in your booth tomorrow?” she asked.

“Rags,” Savannah responded with a grin.

“You’re bringing your cat?”

“Yeah. The committee thought he would be a good spokescat for the Alliance. Michael and I will show cat-care videos and answer
questions for visitors. We were urged to bring Rags on his harness for show-and-tell.”

“Cool. Will he be okay around all the people?”

“I think so. He enjoys having everyone at the house for our meetings. He’s a people cat.” Savannah looked up. “Oh, here comes Leta.”

“Who?” Iris asked.

“The promoter gal,” Savannah said. She called out, “Hi Leta, everything going okay?”

The woman stopped briefly and looked down at the display of jewelry. “Yes, you are an amazing group. What a good turnout. Let’s hope you
get lots of sales tomorrow,” she said as she continued on her way.

Savannah watched as Leta, who was dressed in jeans, a drab sweatshirt and high-top moccasins walked off to another part of the building.
That’s odd,
she thought when she saw her stop, look quickly from side to side, and then begin feeling the wall with her hands—pushing and probing.
Maybe she’s looking for an electrical outlet.

Just then Michael appeared in front of Iris’s booth. “Hi hon,” Savannah said. “Been busy remodeling this place?”

He removed his baseball cap and readjusted it over his full head of hair. “Yeah.” He looked around. “I think we’ve made good progress. He looked into his wife’s face. I’ll bet you’re tired. We have a big day tomorrow; how about we go home where you can r
est.”

“Yeah, good idea,” she said. She addressed Iris, “Can you do without me?”

“Sure, you go ahead. Thank you so much for all your help.”

“It was fun spending time with you. We’ve both been so busy…” she started.

“I know. I’ve missed you.” Iris stood and the two women embraced. Suddenly Iris pulled back. “What’s that woman doing?” she asked.

“Who?” Savannah asked, turning to look in the direction Iris indicated.

Michael craned his neck, too.

“That Leta woman. What’s she looking for?”

“Heck if I know,” Savannah said. “I saw her across the way a while ago patting down the walls.”

The three of them watched as Leta knelt and peered, pushed, poked and rapped on the baseboard running along the wall at floor level.

Savannah shook her head. “Her problem. Baby and I are going to take a nap.”

***

Later that evening after a nap and a light dinner, Savannah and Michael listened to music in the living room in front of a dancing fire in the fireplace. Suddenly, they heard rapping at the front door. Lexie, who was lying at their feet, raised her head. Buffy stretched briefly from her spot on the ottoman and then settled back down. Walter and Rags were equally disinterested.

“Who is it?” Michael asked as he walked over and peered through the stained glass window.

“Maggie, who do you think?” came the curt response.

“Hi, Maggie,” Michael said, opening the door. “Come in.”

Savannah turned in her seat on the sofa and said, “Hi, Auntie, is everything okay?” And then she saw Max following her in. “Hi Max.”

“No, everything’s not okay,” Margaret said.

“What’s wrong?” Savannah asked, her worry lines suddenly evident.

Margaret took a breath. “There’s been an accident.”

“Sit down, guys,” Michael said, motioning toward the living room furniture.

Margaret sat on the ottoman next to Buffy and began petting her.
Max perched on the floral wingback chair.

“What happened?” Michael asked.

Margaret responded. “Well the security people Leta hired just called—she gave them my number—someone was attacked on the Fischer property.”

“Oh no,” Savannah said. “Who? How…?”

“Well…” Margaret started, her voice cracking.

Max reached over and took her hand. He looked up at Michael and Savannah. “It’s evidently not someone we know—not part of the Alliance,” he explained. “He was there helping one of the artists set up her booth.”

“He was beaten,” Margaret said, taking in short breaths.

Max continued, “He was walking out to the porta-potty just after dusk, and someone came from out of the shadows and slammed him over the head with something. The authorities think it was a rock.”

“A rock?” Michael questioned.

“Is he…?” Savannah started.

“He’s at the hospital in Straley. They suspect a concussion,” Max said.

“Gads!” Savannah exclaimed. “Does he know who…?”

“He claims he didn’t see a thing,” Margaret said. “Someone found him o
n the ground going in and out of consciousness and bleeding quite profusely.”

“That’s awful,” Savannah said.

Michael ran his hand through his straight brown hair. “Yeah, kinda puts a damper on all the hard work you’re doing out there. Do they think the attack was related to the cats?”

“Related to the cats?” Savannah asked.

“Well, yeah, apparently you’ve had a lot of opposition from residents. It’s a wonder someone’s not out there poisoning those cats or something.”

“Michael,” Margaret reprimanded, “wha
t an awful thing to say.”

“Michael’s right,” Max said. “While we’re all passionate about saving the cats, there may be other people just as passionate about something
they
want to protect.”

“Like their peaceful neighborhood,” Michael said.

“Exactly, Michael,” Max said, nodding.

Margaret grimaced. “Oh, I see what you mean.”

“Well that poor guy,” Savannah said. “I just hope they find whoever did this.” She perked up. “Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with the property or the cats.”

Everyo
ne looked at her, waiting for an explanation.

“Well, maybe this guy cheated with the attacker’s wife, or they had a beef between them about something else,” Savannah reasoned.

“Let’s hope so, Vannie. Let’s hope so,” Margaret said. She stopped, pulled her phone out of her pocket, and said, “It’s Colbi.” Into the phone she said, “Hi Colbi, what’s up?” She walked into the dining room to continue the conversation.

“Interesting,” she said when she returned.

“What?” Michael asked.

“Colbi said Damon’s boss se
nt him out to talk to the man who was beaten up. Come to find out, Damon may have seen the attacker.”

“Really?” Max said looking over at his wife. “How does he know that?”

“Well, according to Colbi, Damon had gone around the north side of the building where the porta-potty was to see if he could find a way to bring water in to one of the exhibits using our hose. He thinks he may have passed the man who was attacked on his way back to the front of the building.”

“Yeah?” Savannah said.

“But he saw something else out there, too,” Margaret said. “…another man—he thinks it was a man—standing against the building in the shadows. Damon said he almost bumped into him. The man moved suddenly and startled Damon. He said it was hard to see the mysterious man because he wore all black—black slacks and a black long-sleeved, turtle-neck shirt. He said the guy may have been a black guy because, thinking back, his skin looked dark, too. But when he thought about it later, Colbi said that Damon remembered seeing a flash of blond hair as the man disappeared from sight.”

“A black guy with blond hair?” Michael said. “Do any of you remember seeing someone like that out there today?”

Margaret shook her head slowly.

“No,” Savannah said. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh,” Margaret said, “Damon thinks the guy was wearing ordinary sport shoes.”

“Black?” Michael asked.

“No, white with maybe a fluorescent orange accent. That’s why he noticed them.”

“Damon’s pretty observant, isn’t he?” Savannah said.

“Did he see where the guy in black went?” Max asked.

“Colbi said he didn’t think about it, just figured he walked away—but maybe he’s the one who attacked the guy.”

“Ooohhh spooky,” Savannah said.

Michael took Savannah’s hand. “Honey, I want you to be extra careful tomorrow. I’ll help yo
u get set up in the morning and then I’ll join you after work at noon. But please, will you stay where there’s a crowd?”

“Excellent advice, Michael,” Max said. He looked at Savannah and then at Margaret. “You gals practice the buddy system.”

***

It was j
ust after noon on Saturday when Michael pulled up to the flea market and walked with his usual long strides into the Fischer building. He looked over to where he and Savannah had a booth and saw her sitting there talking to a couple with a small terrier-mix dog on a leash. “Hi hon,” Michael said upon approaching. “Hello, Jay and Fiona,” he greeted, and then he bent down and petted the dog. “How’re you, Foxy?”

“He’s interested in getting to know Rags,” Savannah said with a grin.

Michael laughed as he stepped into the booth with his wife. “Is that so?”

Just then a woman approached the Ivey Veterinary Clinic booth with a small boy. “What kind of cat is that?” she asked, looking over at Rags, who was sitting on top of a large wire p
en staring at the crowd of people milling around outside the booth.

Savannah stood, glanced back at the cat, and smiled. “Just a cat—a large, ordinary male cat.”

“How old is he?” the boy asked.

“He’s six.”

“I’m six!” the boy said with a toothless smile. He looked back at his mother. “We’re both six.” He then focused his attention on the cat. “Can he do any tricks?”

“Um, tricks?” Savannah asked, pondering the question. “Not like a dog can be taught to do tricks. But he does have some crazy habits.” She
leaned down toward the boy and said, “He’s a thief.”

His eyes grew wide. “A thief?”

“Yes, he steals things out of people’s purses and pockets.”

“Would he take something out of my pocket?” he asked.

“He just might.” She thought for a moment and then picked up one of her business cards. “Here, put this in your pocket so it sticks out a little and let’s see what he does.” She walked over, untied the leash from the wire cage, picked up the cat, and carried him to the front of the booth where the boy stood. She set him on the table and then said, “I’ll hold his leash and you can pet him. Let’s see if he wants that card.”

In the meantime, Michael, who was talking to a woman at the other end of the booth, called to Savannah, “Did you bring any brochures about
flea control?”

“Yes, I think they’re in that box on the table in back.”

“Where?” he asked.

“Here,” she said to the boy, “would you like to hold Rags’s leash for a minute?”

His face lit up. “Yeah!”

“Now hold tight,” she instructed. “I’ll be right back.
”

Savannah walked to the back of the booth and started looking through a box for the information. In the meantime, the boy’s mother saw a couple she knew and she turned to speak to them. The boy grasped the leash in his fist, until something caught his ey
e. He looked up at the snap that was attached to the harness and decided to examine it. He pulled the fastener back a couple of times and let it snap closed. The third time he did it, Rags pulled away and the snap came loose from the harness. “Uh-oh,” the boy said as he watched Rags leap from the table onto the floor and dart off amidst the jungle of feet.