Patricia Fry - Klepto Cat 05 - The Colony Cat Caper (16 page)

Colbi laughed. “Maggie, you really ought to be a writer.”

“Oh, that’s my phone,” Savannah said, reaching into her jacket pocket and retrieving it. “It’s Craig,” she said looking surprised. “Hello?”

“Hi there, how are you doing?”

“Pretty good,” she said. “Still out at the Fischer place.”

“Oh.” Craig hesitated. “I have a proposition.”

“Uh-oh, a proposition?” she said, turning and walking away from the others as they prepared to fold the chairs and load them into the car. “What kind of proposition?”

“It’s about your cat,” he said.

“Rags?”

“Yeah.” He paused. “What do you think would happen if you brought him back out to that place and let him wander around? You can keep him on a tether, of course. Do you think he would return to where he found the
diamonds?”

Savannah hesitated. “Um, gosh, he might. He does seem to have a great memory, especially for things that interest him. Are you saying you haven’t found any more gems? Are you sure there are more?”

“Oh yes,” Craig said. “If these diamonds are from the heist I think they’re from, there are also rubies, emeralds, and maybe more diamonds. Those guys got away with a lot. It was one of the biggest jewelry heists of that decade.”

“When was it?” she asked.

“April of 2003. We caught the thief red-handed. When we caught up with him, he had a bag of the gems on him, but we never recovered the rest of the haul. Evidently, he was released from prison a few months ago and he’s being watched. So far, he’s done nothing out of line and he hasn’t led us to the gems. It appears that Fischer may have been involved in this—not sure how he’s tied to it, though.” Craig thought for a moment and then said, “You know, I think it was shortly after the theft that old Anson Fischer was clobbered into his stupor. And now here we are searching for the treasure at his place. Yeah, he must have had something to do with it—knew the thieves, maybe. I wonder if he’s acquainted with Leta Barnes,” he said, thinking out loud.

“Interesting. Sounds like you have your work cut out for
you, Craig. And if Rags can help, sure—Michael and I can bring him out here again. When?”

“Today?” Craig said. “We’ve gotta get to those gems before someone else does and we don’t know how many people know about them.”

“Let me talk to Michael and I’ll get back to you, Craig.”

Ten minutes later, Savannah rushed through the back door of the Ivey Veterinary Clinic toward the employee restroom. When she exited, she found Margaret in the hallway chatting with their receptionist. “Hi, Dr. Savannah,” Scarl
ett greeted. “How’re you doing?”

“Pretty well, for someone in my condition,” she said. She smiled. “We came to see the kitten and his mommy.”

“Oh, little Frankie and Snowball?” she said with a grin. “They’re our favorite boarders. Dr. Bud moved them into the big pen. Go on out and see them. Snowball’s getting so she likes people—well, some people, and only sometimes.” Her eyes lit up as she said, “I got to pet her this morning—but only because I was holding baby Frankie.”

Just then they heard a muted din
g-a-ling sound. “Oh, someone’s coming in,” Scarlett said. “Gotta go.”

“Look how pretty she is,” Savannah said as she and Margaret approached the mother cat and her kitten, who were curled up in a deep-blue kitty bed in a secluded corner of the pen. “She’s
almost the same color as her baby, now.”

“Almost,” Margaret agreed. “Only his fur is new, more crisp white. Oh look at his little eyes. He’s trying to see us. Too cute.” She looked around. “Can we go inside?” she asked.

Just then, Bud walked around the corner toward them. “Hi Savannah…Maggie…” he said. “Come to visit our star boarders?”

“Yes,” Savannah said. “Gosh you have Mama Snowball looking grand. And the baby seems to be thriving.”

Bud’s smile widened. “Yes, we’re pretty pleased with how they’re responding—even to our touch.” He shook his head. “Brianna is over-the-top in love with these two.”

Savannah laughed. “Well, how could she not be? They’re gorgeous. And if they’re responsive, too—all the more to love.” She looked at Bud. “I’m so glad she’s
getting involved with animals.”

“Yeah, you ought to see her out at my place. She makes me hold off feeding the chickens until she gets there.
She
wants to do it.” He chuckled. “She even has a favorite steer on the property.”

“Brianna?” Margaret said unb
elieving.

“So will she be taking the cats to her apartment?” Savannah asked.

“Uh, I think they’re going to live with me. Brianna’s at my place more than she’s home. They’d be alone too much over there in Straley.”

“So it sounds like
you
got two new cats, Bud,” Margaret pointed out.

He shrugged. “Okay with me. I haven’t had a housecat in a long time. I’m looking forward to it.” He saw Savannah peering in at the cat and kitten and said, “Go on in and handle them. We want everyone to help socialize them. T
hat’s one reason we’re leaving them here for a while longer. You can sit there on that cat-tree thing,” he said as an afterthought.

Savannah opened the gate and slipped into the large pen. Snowball stiffened a little as Savannah ran her hand over her lush
angora fur, but she didn’t object. Savannah then gently petted the kitten. He responded by raising his little head and mewing softly. His little body shook as he tried to hold his head up. She wrapped her fingers around his tiny body and lifted him to her—Snowball kept her eyes on her baby. Savannah snuggled with the kitten, cooed into his little ears, and then placed him on her lap, always keeping the kitten in Snowball’s sight. The protective mother cat sat up and watched. Then she stood, walked over to Savannah, and sniffed her kitten. Savannah reached out and petted the cat.

“She’s doing so much better,” Bud said. “I think she actually likes the petting; she’s just not sure she should succumb to the pleasure of it. She will in time, don’t you think?” h
e asked, looking from Savannah to Margaret.

“Yeah,” Margaret said. “Half the battle in socializing a feral cat is getting it to allow the petting. The more it allows petting, the more it comes to realize it likes it.” She grimaced, and said, “It’s those t
hat never allow it that we lose.”

“Do you want a turn with the kitties?” Savannah asked her aunt.

Margaret thought about it and then said, “You’re doing just fine. I’ll take my turn another time.”

“Well, I don’t want to wear out my welcome,” Savannah sa
id. “And Michael and I have an appointment back out at the Fischer building later, so I’d better go rest.” She picked up the kitten and cuddled him against her cheek and then laid him back down in the little bed. She reached over and petted Snowball one more time, and stood to leave the pen. “Owww,” she said bending over.

“What’s wrong?” Margaret asked, concern in her voice.

“Just a twinge,” she said. “I get them sometimes. I’m okay,” she said standing up and rubbing the right side of her stomach.

***

Later that afternoon, Michael waved at Detective Craig Sledge as he parked near the fencing around the Fischer building.

“Thanks for helping us out with this, guys,” Craig said as he watched Michael lift the cat carrier from the back of a smart-looking mid-
sized SUV. “Hey, new car?” he asked.

“Yeah, we finally bit the bullet,” Michael said. “When Savannah told me all the stuff you need when you travel with a baby, I started looking for something that would handle it all.” He closed the tailgate and said, “
I think we’re ready for him or her now.”

Craig glanced over at Savannah as she stepped out of the passenger door. “Yup, you don’t have much longer to wait, do you?” He looked back at the car. “Nice-looking car. Do you like it?”

“Yes, so far,” Michael said.

“It’s easier to get in and out of than the low-riding Accord,” Savannah said.

“Oh hello, Maggie,” Craig said when he saw her come from around the other side of the car.

“Hi. I hope you don’t mind my tagging along. I want to see my nephew cat in actio
n.”

“No,” Craig said shaking his head. “For this covert cat operation, we might need all the help we can get. Plus, you have the key, right?”

“That’s right,” she said with a laugh. “I’m the one in control.” She cringed a little and said, “I just wonder what in the heck old Anson Fischer’s attorney will think about what’s been going on here under my watch.”

“Okay, I have one flashlight; did you bring any?” Craig asked. “It’ll be dark soon.”

“There’s electricity inside. Don’t need flashlights,” Margaret said.

Craig scratched his head. “Well, isn’t that odd?”

“Yeah,” Michael said. “Evidently, someone is paying the water and electricity bills. Why, we just can’t imagine.”

“Hmm,” Craig said, “even after the place has been vacant for so many years?”

“Awww, that lawyer’s probably paying the bills without noticing what’s being paid. Fischer must still have lots of bucks, right?” Margaret asked.

“I suppose,” Craig said as he followed Margaret into the building. Savannah and Michael trailed behind with Rags in
tow. “Where’s the light switch?” he asked.

“Shine your light over here,” Margaret said. “Oh, there it is.”

Michael set the carrier down against a wall. “So how do you want to do this?” he asked.

“Why don’t you put his leash on and let him do the drivin
g?” Craig suggested with a chuckle.

Michael opened the door to the carrier, reached in, and snapped a long tether to Rags’s harness. He then tugged on it, urging the cat to step out. Only Rags didn’t want to come out. He sat down, lowered his head and pee
red out through the opening.

“Well that’s a first,” Savannah said. “Usually he’s wild to get out of that carrier.”

“He’s been here before,” Margaret said. “Maybe he needs time to regroup—get his wits about him.”

Everyone waited. Finally, Rags laid down
and closed his eyes.

“He’s meditating,” Margaret said with a laugh.

“Can’t you make him get out and walk around the place?” Craig asked.

Michael, Savannah and Margaret stared at Craig.

“What?” he asked.

“He’s a cat, Craig,” Margaret said, “not a dog,
a horse, an elephant, or even a trained rat. You can’t make a cat do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

“Oh,” he said, as if in defeat. “So what do we do, wait until he wakes up from his…meditation?”

The quartet stared down at the cat in silence.

“
I have an idea,” Margaret said. “I’ll call Caroline.”

“Oh, now that’s an idea, Auntie,” Savannah said.

“It’s short notice, but I can give it a try. Okay, Craig?”

“Who’s Caroline?” he asked, dryly.

“A cat psychic.”

Craig cringed, took a breath, looked
hard at Margaret, glanced at the others, and then down at the cat and said, “Cat psychic? You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not,” Margaret said. “You may not recall—or maybe you didn’t know—that it was the psychic who helped Rags solve your murder case las
t year.”

He ran his hand through his thick, graying head of hair. “I hate to involve too many people in this, but if it helps us to find what we’re looking for, yeah—let’s give it a try.”

Caroline arrived eighteen minutes later and Michael and Craig greeted her outside the fence with flashlights to show her the way in. “Thanks for coming,” Michael said.

“Is something wrong with your amazing cat?” Caroline asked. “What’s he doing out here?” she asked scouring the area with her eyes.

“Well, it’s a long story,” Michael said.

“The short of it,” Craig offered, “is that Rags was out here for the flea market…”

“Oh yes, I remember that,” she said.

“He found something that day and we want him to show us where he found it.”

“He’s not telling, huh?” Caroline asked.

“Nope,” Michael said. “He’s being tight-whiskered.”

Once inside, greetings were exchanged and Caroline knelt down to acknowledge Rags.

“He won’t even come out of there,” Savannah said.

Caroline looked at Savannah and then at Rags. “Well that’s weird. My cats are always eager to get out of their carriers.”

“Okay,” Craig said, “here’s the deal. The cat found a little white pouch with a drawstring somewhere, probably in this room. We think we’ve narrowed it down to…”

“No,” Caroline said. “Don’t tell me.”

Craig looked surprised.

She explained, “I don’t want any interference. I want to be clear so I know it’s the cat communicating with me.” She then looked at the foursome. “Would you all move away—maybe stand over there near the entrance and remain quiet, please?”

While everyone else claimed standing space against the west wall of the building, Michael found a small protruding footing where Savannah could sit. He helped her ease down to the makeshift seat and all four focused on Caroline and Rags.
The thirty-something-year-old woman twisted her stringy brown hair into a messy bun. She pulled her sweatshirt around her slender body and leaned toward the cat. She tugged on his leash, encouraging him to come out, where she could assume a more comfortable position. As if on command, Rags stepped out of the carrier and sat just outside the opening. Caroline shifted until she was sitting Indian-style. Continuing to hold the leash, she stared at him—concentrating on his green eyes—not uttering a word.