The Cats that Stole a Million (The Cats that . . . Cozy Mystery Book 7) (9 page)

“Yep, a Corolla.  The car was reserved by a man named Vinny Bellini.  Do you know him?”

“No.”

The chief pulled a small note book he kept in his back pocket, and flipped several pages. “He’s from New York.” He read an address in Brooklyn. 

Katherine flinched.  “That’s close to where Madison lived when we were growing up.”

“Finish the part about the shooting.”

“The deceased, I mean Vinny Bellini — I assume it was Vinny Bellini because he rented the car,” she digressed.

“Yes, yes. We’ve established that point. Then what happened?”

“Madison left after he did, but when she saw the sedan pull up, she stayed on the porch and hid behind a wicker chair.  The shooter first fired on the rental car, then opened fire on the man.  When the car sped off, Madison ran to Stevie’s truck.  I think she meant to steal it.  I can’t be sure.”

“She probably figured the rental car wouldn’t operate with all the bullet holes.”

“Stevie’s truck door was locked, so she got in the rental and left.”

“Back up.  Where was Stevie during this?”

“He chased after Madison and was livid that she was trying to get into his truck because his daughter was in there.”

“Daughter?  What was she doing there?  Where is she now?  She could be a viable witness.”

“In my kitchen.”

“Okay, enough for now.  I want to talk to Stevie.  I didn’t see his truck.  Where is he?”

“He left.”

The chief threw his hands up, frustrated.  “What the hell?  Why?”

Katherine thought, but didn’t say out loud,
He said he had something to take care of
.

Salina, who had been eavesdropping on the other side of the pocket door, slid it open and poked her head out.  “My dad was looking for a place for us to sleep.”

The chief recognized Salina from the many times he had to come to her trailer to arrest her mother. “I’m very sorry about your mom.  I heard you’re moving back to Erie.”

“Yes, Sir.  Dad bought the house next door and we came to see if this lady here,” she said, looking shyly at Katherine, “would let us stay there tonight — before the bank did something.”

Katherine added, “Salina, before the house closes.  I’ll talk to your father about this when he gets back.”

The chief asked, “Salina, the man outside, did you see who shot him?”

“No,” she said quickly.  “I was hunkered down on my dad’s floorboard.  I saw a big black car, then I ducked.”

Katherine looked at the teen, and wondered why she’d told her father who she thought it was, but not the chief. She’d ask her later.  Instead she said, “Salina, can you slide the door closed and wait for me in the kitchen?”

Salina nodded and closed the door, but didn’t leave the spot.  She wanted to hear more about what the lady in the pink house was saying about her father.

“Finish your story,” the chief encouraged.

“Stevie asked if he could leave Salina here for a while, and I said yes.  That’s all I know, but what about Madison?  Where is she?”

“I don’t know.  Safe, I hope.”

“Where did you say you found her car?”

“I didn’t, but right about now it’s being towed out of a ditch close to Chester’s Snow Angel farm.”

“That’s off the highway, way out in the sticks. Why would she drive there?”

“I’m bankin’ the two in the Cadillac were following her, and she slid off the road trying to get away from them.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Tire tracks beside Madison’s car indicate someone stopped by to help her.”

“How can you tell?”

“Snow is like a blank canvas, and tire tracks in the snow are like fingerprints.  They indicate whether the vehicle is a car or a truck.”  The chief tugged at his short beard.  “We could see that only one person got out of the vehicle, and he had the biggest shoe size I’ve ever seen.  It looked almost like a giant snatched her out of the car.”

“I pray it was Chester.  He’s a big man.”

The chief shook his head.  “No, Katz, Chester is the one who called it in.  Your friend exited her car and got into the other vehicle.”

“Was there any sign of struggle?”

“None, so I’m hopin’ a good Samaritan picked her up and took her to safety.  I’m thinkin’ a family, because Madison’s footprints led to the left side of the other vehicle.  She sat behind the driver.  It was most likely a married couple, the wife riding shotgun.  I expect to get a call from these folks soon.  They’ll want to know what to do with her.”

“Chief, what if it wasn’t a good Samaritan?” she worried.

“I hope, for your friend’s sake, that whoever helped her wasn’t the shooter.”

Katherine buried her face in her hands. “This is terrible.”

Chapter Twelve

Stevie drove into the parking lot of the Dew Drop Inn, and was quickly disappointed that his father’s truck wasn’t there.  He had a hard time finding a space to park.  The place was packed. 

He walked into the smoke-filled bar, searching for someone he knew. A woman he used to date in high school sauntered over.  “Hey, Stevie, wanna buy me a drink?”

“Sure, Loretta, what’s your pleasure?”

“Are we talking about a drink or . . . ”

Stevie shrugged off the innuendo. “If I remember, you like Bloody Marys.”  Stevie moved over to the bar. “Hey, Eddie, one Bloody Mary for the lady, and a Jack and Coke for me.”  Then to Loretta, pointing at the bar stool, “Ladies first,” he said. 

“Always the gentleman,” she flirted, hopping up on the stool.  “I never see you anymore.  Where ya been hangin’?”

“I have a new business and it takes all my time,” he answered, then said to the bartender, who had slid over the two drinks.  “Where’s my Dad?”

“He’s in the back.”

“But I didn’t see his truck.”

“Wrecked it headin’ to Chicago.  Rented a Cadillac.”

Stevie tried to hide his murderous feelings. 

Loretta said, slurring her words, “I wrecked my car last month.”

Stevie ignored her.  “Excuse me,” he said, walking away.  He headed for the back room, where his father, Sam, had his office.  Sam was talking to two other men Stevie didn’t recognize.  “I need a word,” he said abruptly.

Sam looked surprised.  “Good evening, son,” he said, then addressed the two men, “We’re done here, right, fellas?  I’ll catch ya later.”

The men got up, threw Stevie a curious look, and left.

“Shut the door,” Sam yelled after them.  One stepped back and obliged.  After they left, Sam said, “Dave tells me you got your girl.  I bet you’re real happy about that?”

Stevie was so angry, he couldn’t speak.  The muscles in his neck contracted, then he spit, “That man you shot in front of Katherine Cokenberger’s house wasn’t Jake.”

Sam got up from his chair.  “What are you talkin’ about?”

“Shut up, Dad.  I know you put the hit on him, but to think you’d do it with Salina —your granddaughter — in the truck is so freakin’ unreal, I can’t believe you’d be so callous.”

“You make no sense.”

“What if Salina had been killed by one of those bullets?”

“I’m tellin’ ya.  I didn’t do it.”

“Eddie just said you wrecked your truck and rented a Cadillac.  That’s a four-door sedan, right?  Is it black?”

“No, it’s blue.  Didn’t you see it parked outside?”

Stevie began to realize his father might be telling the truth and didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.  He tried to calm down.

Sam came around the desk and stood next to Stevie.  “Listen, son, I’ll send out feelers about what happened, but you best get back to your daughter.  Where is she?  Is she outside in your truck?  I know you didn’t bring her in here.”

“No, she’s at Mrs. Cokenberger’s house.”

“Then, you get over there.  Drive-by shootings don’t happen in Erie for nothin’.  Something ain’t right.”

“I’m leavin’, but Dad, do you know anyone who uses an automatic pistol?”

“Fully automatic?  Nope, not in my operation.  Sounds pretty damn sophisticated.  You go on now.  Make sure Salina is safe.”

“Thanks,” Stevie said, leaving.  As he headed out of the office and to the front door, Loretta called after him, “Ain’t you stayin’, sugar?”

“Another time,” he said. 

Chapter Thirteen

Early in the morning, after the previous night’s shooting, Katherine walked into the atrium and picked up the handset of the landline phone.  Scout leaped on top of the marble-top curio cabinet and tried to knock it out of her hand.  “Get down,” she scolded.

“Waugh,” Scout cried haughtily, and leaped down.

“Is that butter on your face?  You’re not supposed to have butter.” 

Scout wiped her paw over her lips and licked it.  She crossed her blue eyes and curled her lip, exposing one fang. “Na-waugh,” she disagreed.

Katherine pressed the number of the Premier Hotel in Chicago, where Jake was staying.  A friendly sounding robot answered, ‘If you know the number of your party, please press the room number and then press the pound key.’

Katherine entered Jake’s room number — 615 — and drummed her fingers on the curio, impatiently waiting for Jake to pick up.  After seven rings, the call bounced back to the robot, which went through another annoying menu of options.  “Oh, shut up already,” Katherine said into the phone, pressing zero for the operator. 

The front desk answered.  A woman with a British accent answered.  “Premier Hotel.  How may I assist you?”

“Hello, my name is Katherine Cokenberger.  My husband, Jake, is a guest at your hotel.  He’s in room 615.  I’ve been trying to call him, but he doesn’t answer.  Is there a way I can have him paged?”

The woman laughed slightly, then continued, “We don’t page guests.  Why don’t you leave a voice mail?  The light on his phone will flash red; when he returns to his room, he’ll see it and call you.”

“I’ve left several voice mails.  Listen, it’s an emergency and I really need to speak to him.  Can you at least have someone check his room?”

“No, I’m afraid that won’t be possible.  Here at the Premier Hotel, we respect the privacy of our guests.  Hold on one second.”

The woman put Katherine on hold for an unusually long time.  Scout had returned to the curio table and was rubbing Katherine’s arm, wanting to be petted.  She reached down and kissed her on the back of her neck.  “Sweet girl,” she said into the phone, not knowing that the woman had returned to the line.

“Come again?”

“I’m sorry.  I was talking to my cat.”

“Oh,” she said, without interest.  Then, “I checked our guest register, and Jake Cokenberger is no longer staying at this hotel.”

“What?” Katherine asked, spitting out the word in shock. 

“It’s against our policy to release over the phone when and what time our guests have checked out.”

“I’m not just somebody.  I’m his wife.”

There was silence at the other end.  Katherine tried a different tactic, “I have a power of attorney.  Give me your fax number or an email address.  I’ll send you a copy of it.  I demand to know when my husband checked out.”

“No need to get snarky.  He checked out at four o’clock a.m.”

“No way,” Katherine said.

“Thank you so much for calling.  Have a pleasant day!”

“Just one second,” Katherine said, irritated.  “You’ve got the worst fake British accent I’ve ever heard.  Maybe you should watch
Downton Abbey
!”

Katherine slammed the receiver down so forcibly that the phone fell on the floor.

Scout thought it was a game and pounced on the phone. Abra joined in. The two began wrestling for it.

“Give it to me,” Katherine said, annoyed and worried. Retrieving the phone from the feisty cats, she said, “Cats, Jake is missing.”  A tear slid down her cheek.  “Can you surf me up a clue where he is?”

“Ma-waugh,” Scout cried, trotting off to the next room.  Abra caught up with her and playfully smacked Scout on the back. 

Someone knocked loudly on the door, and Katherine walked over to open it.  “Margie, come in.  I’m so worried.  Jake checked out of his hotel at four o’clock this morning.”

“But why, kiddo? Wasn’t he supposed to stay until Sunday?”

“That was the plan.  Why would he leave the hotel in the middle of a snow storm?”

“Makes absolutely no sense,” Margie said, sitting down to remove her boots.  “That wind is terrible.” 

“Did you drive over here?”

“No, I harnessed our yellow lab to a sled, and he brought me over,” Margie joked.  “Just kidding.  Actually, I did drive.  I know there’s a state of emergency, but I’ve got to have food for my kids’ breakfast.  The police can go ahead and arrest me.  Give me milk and no one will get hurt.”

“You picked a good time to stop by.  The last of the investigators have just left.”

“I nearly had a wreck when I saw the crime scene tape.  What happened?  You’re okay, right?”

Stevie Sanders walked out of the dining room, and stopped.  “I thought I heard someone talkin’.”

Margie fired a quizzical side glance at Katherine.  Katherine put her hand up, and mouthed the words, “
Stop!  I’ll explain.
”

Margie said, “Hello, Mr. Sanders.”

“Hello, Mrs. Cokenberger.  Care for breakfast?  I made enough to feed an army.”  Stevie smiled brightly.

“Thank you, but I’m on my way to the store to get some food.  It better be open.”

“Ma’am, don’t waste your time.  It ain’t open.  I mean, it
isn’t
open,” he corrected. “I checked earlier,” he finished.

“I got groceries yesterday.  What do you need?  I can fix you right up,” Katherine offered.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver, but I bet you don’t have my kids’ favorite breakfast cereal.”

“Probably not, but why don’t you make them your famous pancakes.”

“Yep, I can do that, but I’m out of syrup.”

“Got ya covered.”

Stevie cleared his throat.  “Nice seein’ ya.  Got corn muffins in the oven.”  Stevie left.  Iris followed him, nipping at his heels.  “Hey, quit it,” he said to the rowdy cat.

“Katz, what’s going on?” Margie said in a suspicious tone.

Instead of answering, Katherine steered the conversation to Jake.  “The last time I talked to Jake was last night, around six.  He was off to a faculty dinner at a different hotel.  I haven’t heard from him since.  He’s not answering my voice mails.  She quickly filled in Margie with the events of the previous evening, beginning with the fact that a friend she hadn’t seen in years suddenly shows up at her front door. 

Margie slowly began, “This is scary.  I shudder to think that criminals in our town have guns that can fire like that.  It has to be an outsider.  Do you think it was a drug thing?”

“I have no way of knowing.  The man who was murdered lived in my old neighborhood in Brooklyn, close to where Madison used to live.”

“That’s odd, with the millions of people who live in New York City.  Maybe your friend fell for the guy next door.  Just sayin’.”

“Coincidence or naught, I hope the chief can find his family to let them know he’s dead.  I hate the fact that my house is such a murder magnet,” Katherine said gloomily.

Margie gave a sympathetic look.  “Hear. Hear.  Let’s change the subject.  Why is Stevie here?” she asked nosily.

“It doesn’t look like what it seems.  Stevie showed up while Madison was here.  He brought his daughter.  They wanted to stay next door, but as you and I know, I haven’t had time to order the furniture yet, so I offered to let them stay here.”

“Oh, kiddo, I didn’t mean to imply . . .” Margie’s face reddened as her voice trailed off into silence. 

*     *     *

Jake drove at a snail’s pace on US 30 to Merrillville, Indiana, bumper-to-bumper in a long line of cars and semi-trucks.  With the Jeep’s tank nearly empty, he eagerly searched for a gas station.  His eyes burned from watching the windshield wipers keep up with the snow, and his knee ached with pain from riding the clutch.  He admitted to himself that he should have driven Katherine’s vehicle.  Spotting a twenty-four hour gas and convenience store, he parked in front of the closest available pump. 

Several hours earlier, Wayne had nodded off.  When the Jeep stopped, he woke up and looked around.  “Where are we?” he asked sleepily. 

“We’re still on US 30, close to where Merrillville meets the interstate.”

“How far is that from the hospital?”

“On a good day, that’s about an hour and a half from the City.”

Wayne looked at his watch.  “Eight o’clock!  We’ve been on the road for four hours!  I must have really conked out.”

“Pretty much.  I think you could sleep through a tornado.  The wind was buffeting the Jeep like a Tonka toy in front of a fan.”

Wayne smirked.  “I call a bathroom break,” he said, getting out of the Jeep, and heading to the store. 

“I’ll fill the tank.  Be there in a second.  See if they have a pay phone, would ya?”

Jake filled up the tank, then parked in a space close to the door.  A snow plow had pulled up and the driver got out.  Jake approached him.  “Hey, my friend’s wife is in labor.  He needs a ride to Lafayette.  Can you take him?”

The driver looked suspicious.  “Sorry, not allowed. It’s against the rules.  Listen, buddy, if I don’t use the bathroom now, I’m gonna explode.”  The driver rushed off to the men’s room.

Jake trudged into the store, noting that there was at least a foot of snow on the ground.  He glanced around for a pay phone.  Instead, he found something better — a kiosk with prepaid cell phones.  He quickly bought one, and was about to punch in Katherine’s number when the snow plow driver came out of the men’s room.  Jake followed him over to the coffee dispenser.  Wayne came out and Jake motioned him to come over.

Jake began, “How’s the Interstate?”

The snow driver filled his cup, then said, “Closed between here and Crown Point.  It’s hard to keep up, when the wind is gusting at forty miles an hour.”

“What about south of Crown Point?”

“There’s one Southbound lane open.  I think the storm is pretty much done south of here.”  The driver put a lid on his cup and proceeded to the cashier.

Jake and Wayne walked after him.  “Excuse me, Sir, this is my friend, Wayne,” Jake introduced.  “We were both in Chicago attending a conference. Now we’re just trying to get back to our wives.”

The cashier, a woman with gray hair, and in her late sixties said, “Ah, now, ain’t that sweet.”

Wayne interjected. “My wife is having our first child.  I need to get to the hospital as soon as possible.”

After the driver had paid and was heading to the door, Jake offered, out of earshot of the cashier, “We’ve been stuck in traffic for hours.  I can pay.”  Jake took out a hundred dollar bill from his wallet.

The driver eyed it hungrily. “You wanna ride, too?  The two of you?”

“If it’s possible,” Jake said.

“What about your vehicle?”

“I’m going to leave my Jeep here, then hire a flatbed towing service to pick it up when the weather gets better.”

The driver said, “Okay then, hang on just a second.  Let me see if I can get you boys back home.”  He got back into his cab, talked to someone on his cell, then powered down his window.  “I can only get you to Crown Point.  From there, you’re on your own.”

“That works,” Jake answered. 

“But I can’t take both of you.  Only one,” he continued in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Wayne, you go.”

Wayne was already removing his laptop from the Jeep.  He yelled to the driver, “Is there a car rental place there?”

“Yeah, that’s where I’m takin’ ya.”

Wayne turned to Jake, “Thanks. You’re a good friend.  When I get to the hospital, I’ll make sure I call Katz and tell her what’s going on.”

Jake held up the new cell he’d bought.  “I’m hoping I’ll reach her first.”

Wayne climbed into the cab and waved.  Jake waved back.  Jake stepped back into the convenience store to call Katherine.