How to Catch a Cat (14 page)

A MURDERER AMONG US?

THE PASSENGERS AND
crew of the
San Carlos
gathered on Angel Island to complete the burial of their deceased—and dunked—comrade.

After the accidental overboarding, the body was retrieved from the water and carried onto the beach. There, the linen shroud was rewrapped and the corpse returned to its support plank.

With the dignity of the procession somewhat restored, the funeral party proceeded up a short hill from the beach to the burial site.

The clear morning carried a crisp breeze—one felt most keenly by Father Carmichael, now wrapped in a wet blanket, who shivered while he spoke the last rites.

—

AS SHOVELS PILED
heavy clods of damp earth on the burial mound, the niece glanced uneasily at the assembled ship members.

She’d always felt safe accompanying her uncle on his oceangoing commissions. A tomboy, she dressed in man’s clothes and kept a low profile. The ships’ military commanders had made clear that she was not to be touched or harmed in any way.

But now, she sensed a growing lawlessness, a dark nebulous force that, if left unchecked, threatened everyone on board the
San Carlos
.

She studied the surrounding mourners, wondering who among them was a murderer.

—

FIRST, THERE WAS
Captain Ayala, she mused, formulating a list of suspects.

He was a grim man, and his intensity was somewhat frightening, but she didn’t detect any malice within him. And besides, she thought, looking down at the two cats seated at her feet, for some reason, both Rupert and Isabella seemed to like the captain—even if he didn’t outwardly reciprocate their affection.

He must secretly harbor feline sympathies
, she concluded. In her book, that made him unlikely to commit murder.

The niece moved on to the first mate, Lieutenant Humphretto.

The dapper little man had a cheerful personality and gave every indication of being the most harmless soul on the ship. On the other hand, she had seen his dexterity with hair-cutting shears. His sewing proficiency made him the person with the closest link to the knitting needle knife that had been left next to the murdered deckhand.

No, Humphretto couldn’t be discounted, much as she doubted his involvement. He remained a suspect based on his skill set, if nothing else.

The niece shifted her focus to the Baron, who stood, as usual, apart from the rest of the group.

His presence on the boat was an anomaly in itself. In all of the years she’d spent on Spanish ships, she’d never encountered a person of such privately accumulated wealth. Her initial impression was of a calculating, conniving individual who no doubt planned to use the bay’s discovery to his personal advantage, but nothing in that agenda gave him motive to murder a deckhand.

The Baron was aloof and, it seemed, intentionally mysterious. For this reason, she determined, he remained on the suspect list.

—

THE LAST SHOVELFULS
of dirt fell on the grave as the niece concluded her assessment of the crew members gathered around the burial site.

There were a number of deckhands and other low-level workers whose names she hadn’t yet learned. Even a ship as modest in size as the
San Carlos
required a sizeable team of able-bodied sailors to man the complicated rigging system. They were kept busy constantly adjusting the sails to take advantage of the wind. The rigors of daily maintenance took up any free time that remained.

Some of the faces were familiar, sailors that she had seen on previous ships. Others were completely foreign to her.

Any one of the crew members, she reasoned, could be harboring a murderous secret.

—

THAT LEFT FATHER
Monty, a suspicious character if ever she’d met one. She watched as he doused the fresh dirt with a drenching of holy water.

The priest clearly lacked basic clerical skills. She was convinced he hadn’t been officially ordained.

More likely, she reasoned, he was an impostor who had hopped on board the
San Carlos
as a means of skipping town. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was wanted by the authorities in San Blas for some sort of ill-conceived scam or poorly executed theft.

I’d put my money on him
.

A gust of wind whipped across the hillside, tearing the blanket from Monty’s shoulders, revealing the sparkling gold robe beneath.

That can’t be an authorized uniform
, the niece thought, vowing to keep a close watch on the inept priest.

As she stared across the gravesite, she realized several of the surrounding faces reflected speculations similar to her own. The ship members were all conducting the same analysis: Who among them was the murderer?

She wondered what conclusions they had drawn about her.

A fuzzy figure stirred on the ground at the woman’s feet. Isabella lifted her head, sniffing the breeze floating in from the water.

A second later, the niece detected the uncanny scent of a lemony-sweet perfume, and she was forced to second-guess her entire analysis.

At the time of the murder, everyone on her suspect list had been seated at the table on the ship’s top deck, waiting for the fried chicken feast to begin. All of the ship’s passengers and crew had alibis, verified by multiple witnesses—all except for her uncle, who had been wrapping up the last meal items down below in the galley kitchen.

She refused to even contemplate the notion that he might be guilty of such a crime.

Nose crinkling at the strange odor, she glanced nervously over her shoulder and down the embankment toward the—supposedly—empty ship. Only her uncle had remained on board so that he could prepare the morning meal.

Perhaps it was time to consider the bizarre rumor that the
San Carlos
harbored a psychopathic stowaway.

TAUNTED

RUPERT RODE IN
his person’s arms as the passengers and crew of the
San Carlos
returned to the ship for a postfuneral brunch.

It had been an entertaining morning, Rupert thought, glancing over at the tall priest in the gold robe. That Father Monty was a funny fellow, what with all of his tripping, falling, and dunking. Highly amusing stuff.

Rupert hadn’t paid much attention to the actual funeral ceremony. He’d quickly tired of listening to Monty’s incomprehensible Latin phrases. In his view, the burial ritual could have done with someone tumbling into that big hole before they filled it in—a little excitement to jazz things up. And he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t been allowed to dig in that tempting pile of fresh dirt.

After Monty nearly splashed holy water in his face, Rupert had wandered off a short distance to a bluff overlooking the bay.

Several flocks of birds had swooped past the location, some of them directly over his head. He’d taken a few running leaps into the air, but the targets had easily eluded his attempts at capture.

He hadn’t realized he looked like a plump bunny rabbit with pointed orange ears until his person rushed over and scooped him up, shooing off the hawk that was diving toward him, talons extended.

Birds
, Rupert thought with a frustrated sigh. They always got the best of him.

But as the niece climbed up the ship’s gangplank, Rupert caught sight of a huge plate of leftover fried chicken on the deck dinner table.

The sigh transformed into a delighted squeal.

He could always depend on Uncle Oscar’s cooking to save the day.

•   •   •

SOON RUPERT AND
Isabella were seated on the floor beneath their person’s chair, munching on their servings of chicken. Given his loud smacks and slurping, Rupert could barely hear the voices of the humans seated at the table above.

Isabella, however, listened closely to the conversation, even while eating her portion of the leftovers—and making sure her brother didn’t steal any food from her plate.

With the somber business of the burial completed, Captain Ayala was eager to organize teams for the day’s surveys and reconnaissance.

As the crew sat down to eat, he began barking out orders.

“Humphretto, you’ll be in charge of the ship while I lead a launch party to the bay’s south shore.”

Isabella stared thoughtfully at the captain’s wounded foot, which he had propped on a short block beneath the table. Ayala had been limping on the walk back to the ship. The injury was far worse than he let on. Perhaps the captain was in denial about the extent of his incapacitation.

Regardless, he had no business tromping across the wetlands that afternoon.

Plus, she needed him to stay on board and guard his ship.

No offense to Humphretto, but he was no match for the Knitting Needle Ninja.

Isabella’s eyes narrowed as she devised a plan.

•   •   •

A FEW MINUTES
later, Rupert licked the last greasy residue from his dish and, with a contented sigh, lifted his head from his plate.

He blinked drowsily, contemplating a nap—but then suddenly returned to full wakefulness at the sight of his sister’s abandoned plate about a yard away. She’d pushed it to the other side of their person’s chair, but he could see a few chicken morsels had been left unattended.

Odd for Isabella to be so careless
, he thought, stealthily sneaking around the chair. But he didn’t hesitate to gobble up the remaining bits.

His sister’s plate was centered beneath the end of the table. As Rupert swallowed the stolen bites, he heard a familiar rustling above his head: the distinctive sound of parrot claws gripping the wooden table.

I’m ignoring you
, Rupert resolved with determination.

A shiny red head with a green collar peeked over the table’s edge. Petey blinked a teasing yellow eye at the plump feline.

Nope.
Rupert kept his face firmly planted in the plate. There wasn’t much left other than a greasy film, but the parrot didn’t need to know that. He wasn’t going to get drawn into another one of the bird’s pranks. Not this time.

No matter. Petey knew how to provoke his furry friend.

The parrot dipped under the table, pinched his beak around a clump of fluff from Rupert’s tail, and yanked. Carrying off his prize, the bird disappeared into the sky over the ship.

Rupert jumped into the air and spun around, upending the now-empty dish.
Where is that parrot? That’s it. I’m eating him for dessert!

Emitting a loud
squawk
, Petey swooped down from the heavens, a feather-coated missile. He aimed his trajectory at a narrow opening between two chairs. With fighter pilot precision, the parrot dove through the gap and glided beneath the length of the table.

Rupert charged after the bird, slamming into table legs and human shins in his effort to catch his feathered tormentor.

A chain reaction registered in the startled faces of the seated crew members. Knees banged against chair legs and the table’s bottom surface, generating a rolling wave of clinking plates and glasses.

Halfway down the table’s length, Rupert knocked over the wooden block supporting the captain’s tender foot.

The wounded appendage hit the ground with a
thud
—immediately followed by a deafening roar of pain.

—

ONCE THE COMMOTION
died down and Captain Ayala’s foot pain subsided, the crew members regrouped for the afternoon’s mission. It was clear Ayala was in no condition to lead the exploratory team to the bay’s south shore. Reluctantly, he switched assignments with Humphretto.

Retrieving Rupert from the mêlée, the niece discreetly wrapped him in a blanket, hoping against hope that the captain hadn’t realized the cause of the ruckus that led to his intense foot pain.

As the canoes for the launch party were lowered down the sides of the ship, Ayala monitored the preparations from a comfortable chair that had been set up on the top deck. A pillow-topped stool propped up his foot, a steadier and more comfortable brace than the wooden block he’d tried to hide beneath the table.

Petey perched on the pillow next to the captain’s swollen foot. The parrot preened his feathers, diligently running his beak through the quills, not looking the least bit guilty for his role in the earlier caper.

Father Monty sidled up to Ayala’s chair.

“I’d like to do a little exploring myself, Captain.” He coughed into his fist. “If you don’t mind.”

Ayala raised a weary eyebrow.

The priest pointed at the island where they’d buried the deckhand. “Here, on Angel Island.”

With a grunt, Ayala shrugged his shoulders. “Why not. Let me know what you find.”

The niece watched this interchange, wondering what Monty aimed to accomplish. Was he just hoping to spend a few hours on land or did he have an alternative agenda?

She recalled her earlier pledge to keep an eye on the suspicious priest.

From the ground beneath the table, Isabella nudged the niece’s hand, encouraging her person to act on the impulse.

“I’ll come along. I could use a walk.”

Ayala grimaced his response. He glared at the orange and white bundle curled up in the woman’s lap.

“Fine. Take that thing with you.”

Affronted, the niece stood and turned toward the stairwell leading to the kitchen and her lower-level quarters. Isabella followed as her person stomped down the steps to prepare for the outing.

Maybe Ayala wasn’t a secret cat sympathizer after all.

He had just moved up a notch on her suspect list.