The Purrfect Lie (Klepto Cat Mystery Book 12) (2 page)

“So what’s up?” Michael asked as Savannah handed Max a cup of coffee.

“Some of the cats got out last night.”

“Yeah,” Margaret added, “the gate to their pen was wide open this morning and three of the new ferals are gone.”

Michael frowned. “Oh, that’s not good. How’d it happen, do you think? Did a volunteer forget to latch it?”

Max shook his head. “I don’t think so, but I can’t be certain.” He took a breath and blew it out. “I just don’t know.”

“I’m worried about those kittens,” Margaret said.

“They’re kittens?” Savannah asked, concern in her tone.

“Well, they’re a late-season litter someone trapped and brought to us—they’re about four months old,” Margaret explained. “I just hate to think of them out there by themselves in a strange place in the cold.” She made eye contact with her niece. “Vannie, you know what happens to outdoor cats around here.”

“Yeah, I heard the coyotes again last night, as a matter of fact,” Savannah said sullenly. “So you think someone let them out on purpose? Maybe they took the kittens.”

“It’s doubtful. They weren’t socialized. He’d have a devil of a time getting his hands on those cats. I think someone just opened the gate and let them out, don’t you, Max?”

He nodded at his wife. “Or one of us may have neglected to latch it. Although that’s hard to imagine.” He looked from Michael to Savannah. “We’ve been routinely opening and closing the pens at our shelter without incident for going on eight years.”

“Just one pen was open?” Michael asked.

Both Margaret and Max nodded.

Savannah glanced at them inquisitively. “Did you go out looking for the missing kitties?” “Yes,” Max said. “Not a sign of them. We set some traps, but we wanted you to be aware and keep a watch for them over here, too.” He ran his hand over his thick, wavy, salt-and-pepper hair. “They’ve only been with us for a few days. If they wander off, they may not remember how to get back…even for food.”

“Why don’t you bring a trap over here,” Michael suggested. He narrowed his light blue eyes. “You say they weren’t socialized?”

Margaret set Lily down on the floor and followed her as she toddled around the room. “The little female was starting to respond to us,” she explained. “The boys were still pretty standoffish.” She picked up the toddler to keep her from tossing a toy into the dog’s water bowl. “Charlotte was doing pretty well with one male. We thought we’d have her come over sometime today and see if she can ferret them out—if they’re still…” She bit her lower lip. “God, I hope they’re okay.”

“I can’t imagine they’d wander off too far,” Max said

Savannah thought for a moment, then said, “They do have one thing going for them; it sounds like they’re used to being on their own. They could fend for themselves if they had to.”

“Not really,” Margaret said. “We have the mama cat, too. No, they weren’t alone, but I’m sure she taught them about the big bad world.”

“Were the three kittens the only ones in that pen?” Savannah asked.

Margaret nodded. “Yes, we just moved the mama to another pen yesterday. They’d probably be better off if we’d left her with them.”

“But the fact that she’s still there might be a good thing,” Michael offered. “The kittens may come back to her.”

“Could be,” Max agreed.

“What did they look like?” Savannah asked. “Are they the tabbies you showed me yesterday?”

“Yes,” Margaret said while following Lily around the kitchen again. She grinned. “Boy, is she walking well. She can out-walk me.” Margaret looked at Savannah. “Yeah, you met the little tabby family. They are so cute. I had high hopes for them.”

“Oh, you have high hopes for all of the rescues that come to us,” Max said, grinning.

“Well, they’re all special,” she insisted.

“You got that right,” Max agreed.

“Speaking of special cats,” Margaret said when she saw Buffy enter the room. “How are you, pretty girl?” she cooed.

“Ki-ki,” Lily said, pointing at the Himalayan-mix. “Ki-ki.”

Margaret picked up the baby and laughed. “Yes, that’s a kitty.” She turned to Michael and Savannah. “Wouldn’t you know one of her first words would be ‘kitty’?”

“Of course,” Savannah said. “Rags wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Michael smiled at his daughter, then said to Max, “How about we go out and snoop around—see if we can find those kittens.”

“Take Rags with you,” Savannah suggested. “If they’re here on our property, he’ll find them.”

“Good idea,” Michael said. “Rags,” he called, “wanna go for a walk?”

Everyone laughed when they saw the lanky grey-and-white cat roll out of Buffy’s pink canopy bed, stretch, and yawn.

“He sure knows how to make himself comfortable, don’t you, boy?” Margaret said, watching him stroll past her toward Michael.

“Ki-ki,” Lily said excitedly, pointing at Rags. The baby watched as Michael strapped Rags into his harness, but she wasn’t the only one watching.

When Lexie, their part-Afghan hound, saw the harness go on Rags, she rushed to the wall where her leash hung and began dancing around, nosing it.

“I’m sorry, girl,” Michael said. “No dogs allowed on this pursuit. You’ll scare the kitties.”

“Come here, Lexie,” Savannah said. “I’ll get you a treat and we’ll go for a walk later.” She shivered. “…when the sun comes out.”

“Bye-bye,” Lily said, when she saw her daddy and uncle Max walk out through the kitchen door with the cat.

Both men responded with a smile and a wave.

“You are just talking up a storm, aren’t you, little one?” Margaret said, hugging the baby, who struggled to get down. When Margaret eased her to the floor, Lily walked toward Buffy, who had reclaimed her bed. Before Lily reached the little cat, however, Savannah enticed the toddler with a toy.

“Wasn’t it easier before she could crawl and walk?” Margaret asked, watching the baby head back toward the pets’ water dishes.

“Oh yes,” Savannah said, scooping Lily up in her arms. “Let’s go play in the living room far, far away from the water bowls and sleeping kitties.”

Margaret followed. “Wanna make some music?” she asked as she lowered herself onto a large quilt on the floor next to where Savannah had placed the baby. She picked up one of Lily’s musical toys. “Here pretty girl, let’s play a tune.”

****

In the meantime, Michael and Max walked around the Iveys’ acre with Rags on his leash, looking for signs of the missing kittens. “Let’s check the tack room,” Michael suggested. “If they made it this far, they might have curled up in the hay.”

“Hey there, Peaches,” Max said, greeting Savannah’s horse. He then gazed at the small building. “How would they get in there?”

Michael chuckled. “Oh they could get in; squirrels and rabbits do. They’ve managed to gnaw their way through the walls and floorboards.”

“You don’t mind if critters break in?” Max asked. “Won’t they chew up your tack?”

“That could be a problem, for sure. I patch the holes fairly often. So far we haven’t had any damaged tack; they seem to be after the grain,” Michael explained as he unlatched the tack room door. When he opened it and started to step inside, Rags balked. The cat raised his nose and sniffed the air. “Must be something in here,” Michael said quietly. He flipped the light switch. “Do you see anything?”

“There.” Max pointed. “What’s that?”

As if on cue, Rags darted forward and pounced on a small pile of hay.

Michael pulled back on the leash. “No Rags.” He then said, “A field mouse,” as the two men and the cat watched it skitter across the floor and disappear in the stack of hay. “Better feed Peaches while I’m out here,” he said, handing the cat’s leash to Max and skimming a few flakes of hay from an open bale.

Max continued to scan the area in search of the missing kittens.

“Nothing, huh?” Michael asked.

“Nope.”

“Well, let’s keep looking. Come on, Rags,” he urged, taking the leash and heading toward their small orchard. Shortly, Michael nodded. “There’s our new neighbor.”

“Mr. Crankyshaw?” Max said under his breath.

Michael chuckled, then called out, “Good morning, Mr. Crankshaw. A might chilly out today, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, downright cold; but the dog needs walkin’ anyhow.” He narrowed his eyes under thick white brows and said, shaking his head, “Walkin’ yer cat? If that ain’t the oddest thing I seen.”

Michael reached out and petted the Crankshaws’ standard poodle. “We’re looking for a litter of kittens. Have you seen any out and about this morning?”

“No, and there’d better not be any cats showin’ up at my place, neither, or I’ll...”

“You’ll do what, Mr. Crankshaw?” Max asked.

The man scowled. “I’ll chase ‘em away, that’s what. Cats don’t need no handouts. They kin fend fer themselves.” He glared down at Rags. “I don’t know why you treat that cat like a dog. He ain’t no dog. Turn ‘im loose, I say—let ‘im be a cat, for cripe’s sake. Humph! If cats was meant to be pets, they’d be more obligin’.”

“Thank you for your suggestion, Mr. Crankshaw,” Michael said, trying not to sound too patronizing. He nodded toward the house in the distance. “Are you enjoying your new home there?”

The man glanced back at his place before responding. “It’s all right. I’d rather be in the city where you can get a shoeshine or a bratwurst on any corner. But the missus, she wanted the peace and quiet of country livin’.” He leaned toward the men. “It’s too quiet, if you ask me, except when the hawks screech and the coyotes howl. God, how I hate hearing those animals. I hate animals.”

“You seem to like your dog,” Max said, nodding toward the poodle.

Mr. Crankshaw squinted up at Max. “Who says? This here’s my wife’s dog. She makes me take her out walkin’…says I drive ‘er crazy and she wants me outta the house.” He leaned toward the men. “Truth be told, I like gettin’ away from ‘er. That’s the reason I agree ta walk the damn dog. Only, I don’t stay gone long enough for her to spend all my money.”

“Spend your money?” Michael questioned.

“Yeah. She watches those commercials on TV and can’t resist ordering all that damn stuff.”

“Well, Mr. Crankshaw. It’s been nice talking to you. Tell the missus ‘hello’. And do let us know if you see those kittens, will you? Max, show him a picture so he’ll know what we’re looking for.”

The older man peered at the cell-phone photo. “Yeah, yeah. A cat’s a cat. All the same to me.” He glared at Rags. “And they should be turned loose, not kept on a tether like a dog or a horse.” He shook his head in disgust as he walked away, muttering, “What’s this world comin’ to?”

“Mr. Crankyshaw, indeed,” Michael said as the two men continued on their path toward the orchard.

Max chuckled, “‘If cats was meant to be pets, they’d be more obligin’,” he said, mimicking the old man. “I gotta remember that one. That’s classic.”

“Yeah, classic drivel,” Michael said.

“Agreed, but couldn’t you see that on one of those bumper stickers or calendar photos? I mean, it is rather funny, like the one about dogs being obedient and cats wanting to be served.”

“Dogs have owners, cats have staff,” Michael quoted.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

The two men walked in silence for a few moments, then Max asked, “You don’t mind him cutting through your yard? I mean with that snarky attitude of his?”

Michael chuckled. “Oh, I don’t take him seriously. Who knows; I may have the same temperament when I’m his age.” He looked at Max. “He cuts through your yard, too, doesn’t he? I’ve seen him over near your place.”

Max nodded. “Yeah, it gives the housecats a thrill. Gizmo, Gretchen, Sammy, and Jack like watching the poodle through the windows as she goes by…especially Jack, the newest member of our family.”

“So he has a forever home with you guys, huh?” Michael asked.

“Yes,” Max said, smiling. “He’s a keeper, that’s for sure.” He turned solemn. “You know how hard it is to place a cat with a chronic illness.”

“Yeah, it’s a responsibility not many are willing to take on, that’s for sure,” Michael agreed. He turned to look at Max. “You know, he’ll live a long and comfortable life with the right care.”

By the time the men had scoured the orchard, the gardener’s raised vegetable beds, and the shrubs around the house, they were ready to return to the warm kitchen, where Margaret met them eager to hear good news. When she saw the look on her husband’s face, she said, “No kitties, huh?”

Max shook his head. “I just hope the new neighbor didn’t eat them for breakfast.”

“What?” Margaret asked, her mouth gaping.

“Oh, you ran into Mr. Crankshaw?” Savannah asked while rinsing a dish at the sink.

Michael chuckled. “Yeah, Max calls him ‘Mr. Crankyshaw.’”

Savannah and Margaret both laughed.

“He
is
grouchy,” Savannah agreed. “But his wife seems nice.”

“Rags found a mouse in the hay,” Max announced.

Savannah smiled. “Leave it to Rags.” Her smile faded quickly. “You didn’t let him have it, did you?”

“No,” Michael assured her. He removed the cat’s harness, took off his jacket, and poured two cups of coffee, handing one to Max.

“Could the kitties be under the house?” Savannah asked.

“No,” Michael said.” Remember last year when I repaired all the screens around the foundation after we discovered that Rags was escaping? There’s no place for cats to get in or out anymore.” He turned to Max. “What about your place? Could they get under your house?”

He grimaced. “I don’t know. Didn’t think to check.”

“How about we finish our coffee, then I’ll walk over with you and we’ll look around.”

“I’d appreciate that, Michael. Thanks.”

****

Upon their arrival at Max and Margaret Sheridan’s place, the two men entered the former commercial greenhouse that Max had converted into a cat-rescue shelter. They checked the pen where the kittens had been. “I left it open in case they return,” Max explained, looking inside. He checked their covered litter box and the elaborate kitty condo. “Doesn’t look like they did.” He motioned toward the gate latch. “See here, Michael, nothing’s broken. Like I said, either we left the pen open or someone opened it deliberately to let the cats out. We don’t lock the pens…too risky in case of emergency.”