Patricia Fry - Klepto Cat 03 - Sleight of Paw (5 page)

“The salad sounds fine. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty tired tonight. I’d like to eat light and go to bed early.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Meow. Meow. Meeeoooowwww.”

The couple looked over in time to see Rags pacing back and forth on the perch Michael had installed for the cats so they could view the out-of-doors through the large kitchen window.

“What’s wrong with him?” Michael asked.

“I don’t know. Something outside has his interest.” She started to walk toward him to look out the window when he scampered down the kitty staircase and darted into the dining room, through to the living room. Savannah followed him. “What is it, Rags? Did you see a critter?”

When she caught up with the cat, he was standing next to the front door in the living room, his front paws on the small sill. He seemed to be trying to peer out through the stained glass window. Savannah could hear a low growl coming from him. “Rags, what’s wrong?” Then she called out, “Michael, something’s wrong!”

Unbeknownst to Savannah, Michael was right behind her. He had also observed the cat’s odd behavior and he opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. Suddenly Savannah heard her husband yelling, “Let her go!” He then shouted, “Savannah, call the sheriff! Call the sheriff!”

She quickly followed Michael out through the door while dialing 9-1-1 on her cell phone. She didn’t know what the emergency was until she looked up and saw someone carrying Lexie down their long driveway toward the highway. She felt as if her heart jumped up into her throat as she watched Michael run after the person who was sprinting away, his arms wrapped tightly around the thirty-five pound dog.

“Let her go! Let her go!” Michael called.

Upon hearing Michael’s voice, Lexie began squirming and flailing her legs, making it difficult for the person to hold onto her. Finally, the dognapper tripped and fell, losing his grip on the dog. Lexie hit the ground hard. She yelped and then jumped to her feet and ran as fast as she could toward Michael. “Call Lexie!!” Michael shouted as he continued his pursuit.

“Come, Lexie! Come!” Savannah yelled, leaning over and slapping her right thigh with her free hand. She was just finishing up with the 9-1-1 operator when she saw Lexie slow toward Michael. The dog spotted Savannah and rushed past him to her. “Good girl, Lexie,” Savannah said as she pocketed her phone, lowered herself to the porch step and began petting and hugging the dog. Lexie wriggled and licked at Savannah, obviously happy to be safe. But the dog didn’t have Savannah’s entire attention. Her eyes were on Michael, who was still chasing the person they’d seen running away with their dog.

Not again
, she thought.
Please God, don’t let him get hurt
.

Michael was gaining on the sprinter. But just before he could get his hands on him, the would-be thief jumped into a waiting car. The passenger door slammed shut, and the driver drove off, spraying gravel up at Michael. He rubbed his eyes as he walked back to the house.

Savannah headed out toward him, Lexie at her side. “Who was it, Michael? Why did he have Lexie?”

“I don’t know.” Michael shook his head; he was breathing hard. “I don’t know who it was, but I’ll bet,” he said with venom in his voice and gasping for breath, “it was Pete Gamble. An eye for an eye. That’s about his speed, the jerk.” He then turned to Savannah and asked, while still trying to catch his breath, “How did he get his hands on her?”

“I let her out in the pen this afternoon not too long before you came home. I forgot about her.” She grimaced. “Gads, how could this happen?”

“It’s not your fault. We leave her in that pen all the time. There’s never been a problem before.” He reached down and ruffled the dog’s fur. “Come on, Lexie, let’s go in and get your supper.” The dog danced alongside the couple as they walked toward the house.

“I just hate this,” Savannah said, her eyes filling with tears. “Now our animals are in danger.” She momentarily took her eyes off the ground in front of her and looked toward the porch. Her limp-along pace suddenly quickened. “Oh no you guys don’t.”

Michael’s eyes followed hers and he, too, began walking faster. There, sitting on the top step, were Rags and Walter. Buffy was standing in the open doorway. “Come on kitties,” Savannah said, “the excitement’s over. Everyone inside where it’s safe.” She looked over at Michael. “At least I hope it’s safe for them. Oh Michael, now I
am
scared.”

“I’m flat-out angry,” he said, his face still red from exertion and emotion.

Savannah put her hand on his arm. “And you’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

“Would you rather they got away with Lexie?” he snapped.

“Of course not, Michael. I’m sorry.” She held her breath in an attempt to stop the tears she felt welling up. It was too late. She was too frightened. The tears spilled over and flowed freely down her cheeks.

Michael promptly turned away, rubbed both hands through his hair, and said, “I didn’t mean that, honey. I’m sorry. I’m going to take a shower. Maybe I’ll feel better about things. Just keep the doors locked and the animals in.” He started down the hallway and then stopped. “Gotta feed the mare. I’ll do it, hon. I don’t want you going out there by yourself this evening.”

Savannah followed Michael into the kitchen and watched him leave through the side door. That’s when she remembered she hadn’t fed the cats. She grabbed a paper towel and dabbed at her eyes while murmuring an apology to them. After filling the cats’ bowls, she placed them on their mats and stared down at them for a moment as each cat engaged in their individual methods of approaching their food. Suddenly, she noticed that Lexie was also watching them. “Oh, you’re hungry too, aren’t you, girl?” She picked up the dog’s bowl and began preparing her supper.

Knock, knock.

Someone’s at the door,
Savannah thought. She glanced out through the window. She could still see Michael in the dimness of dusk as he closed the tack room door and headed toward the house. She placed Lexie’s food dish on the floor and then waited for Michael to walk into the kitchen. “Someone’s at the door, Michael.”

A look of apprehension crossed his face and he headed boldly toward the living room. He peered through the stained glass side panels and saw a blurred shape. He asked, “Who is it?”

“Craig Sledge.”

Michael swung the door open wide and invited the detective inside.

“It’s Craig,” Michael called out to Savannah, unaware that she had followed him to the door and was standing right behind him.

“I can see that,” she said, an impish smile dancing momentarily at her lips.

“Oh,” he said, jumping a little. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“Sneakin’ up on you, is she, Michael?” Craig laughed.

“Yeah, she does that.” He then looked over at the detective, motioned for him to come inside and asked, “What brings you out here?”

“I hear you had a problem just now,” Craig said as he entered the room.

Michael looked puzzled. “Oh yes, Savannah called. I didn’t expect
you
to answer the call personally. They don’t usually dispatch you, do they? But then I guess nothing is kept secret from you.”

“Not if you’re gonna to flirt with the law.” He laughed. Then furrowing his brow, he asked, “So what happened?”

Michael gestured toward a chair. “Here, Craig, sit down.”

Once they were seated, Savannah looked over and saw Lexie cautiously entering the room. “Come here, girl, it’s okay.” The dog walked slowly toward her and sat down, resting her chin in Savannah’s lap.

Michael reached over and petted the dog before saying, “Someone tried to take Lexie.”

“Lexie?”

“Our dog,” he said, motioning in her direction. “I chased him down and he dropped her, thank heavens.”

After Michael told the story, Craig asked, “Did you get a plate number?”

“No,” Michael said, lowering his head. “I was just so focused on getting our dog, and then I went for the guy. Didn’t look at the license plate. Damn, should have done that. I can tell you the car was a small, dark-colored, four-door, like maybe a Toyota or Nissan—an older model. It had tinted windows—at least the one in back. I couldn’t see inside.”

“Do you have a description of the guy who took the dog?” Craig asked.

Michael grimaced and shook his head. “I’m not even sure it was a guy. He was wearing a dark knit beanie down low on his head…I guess jeans and a sweatshirt. Yeah, a hooded sweatshirt, black or dark blue, maybe.”

Craig addressed Savannah. “Is that pretty much what you saw?”

“Yes.” She nodded.

“Come to think of it, I did notice some sort of emblem or writing on the back window.” Michael thought about it for a moment, struggling to remember. Finally, he cocked his head and said, “You know, I think it might have been one of those memorials. I couldn’t read what it said, but it looked like a lot of writing across the lower middle section of the back window…like with a name and date of the deceased.”

“An ‘in memory of’ decal.” Craig nodded. “You see a lot of those these days. You couldn’t read the name, though?”

“No.” Michael jumped to his feet and walked across the room in front of Savannah and Craig. He then turned toward Craig. “I’d bet that freak Gamble is behind this, don’t you think?”

Craig nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“But it sure has us spooked, as you can imagine.” Michael walked back toward his chair. He thought for a moment and then sat down. “My son was coming for a visit this weekend, but you know what? I think I’d better tell him not to come. I just can’t risk something happening to him…”

“Maybe Gamble will be in jail over the weekend. Would you feel safer?”

Michael’s eyes lit up. “You can do that?”

Craig stood and moved toward the front door. He stopped and turned. “Possibly. I’ll let you know if we find out the car belongs to him or that he had something to do with this. Don’t change your plans yet, Michael. Let me see what I can do, first.”

Michael reached out and shook the detective’s hand enthusiastically. “Okay. Thanks, Craig.”

Craig glanced over at the dog. “By the way, is the dog okay?”

“Seems to be,” Michael said.

“Good.” He started to exit, but then looked back at Michael. He scratched his head. “So where was the dog when this…person got his or her hands on it?”

“She was in the dog run in the backyard.”

“You don’t keep that locked?”

“She’s not out there very often or for very long.” Michael thought for a minute and then said, “I’m going to start locking that gate when she’s in there—the horse corral, too.”

Savannah stood and walked toward the men. “Rags saw the guy take her. He’s the one who alerted us.”

“Rags?” the detective repeated. “Oh, your cat. How did he…alert you?”

Michael responded. “He was looking out the window and started meowing and getting all upset. He must have seen the whole thing and he…well, he told us there was something wrong.”

“He told you, huh?”

“Yes,” Savannah said. “Animals have a lot to say if humans will only listen to them.”

“No kiddin’?” Craig said, only partially hiding his skepticism. And then he let out a breath through pursed lips and added, “Your cat sure had a hand…er…a paw in solving our last big case, didn’t he?”

“Sure did,” Savannah agreed.

Craig started to turn toward the door again, but changed his mind. He looked from Michael to Savannah and said, “If we find out it was Gamble, you may want to get a restraining order against him.”

“Good idea,” Savannah said. “Honey, let’s do that for sure.”

Michael’s face grew rigid. He looked down at his feet. “Yeah, what good does it do?”

“If he comes around, you can have him arrested. You don’t want him anywhere near you or your property, do you?” Craig asked.

“Sure don’t want him near me, my family, or my animals,” Michael said defiantly. He then looked Craig in the eyes and said, “That reminds me; he wants his dog. I have him on ice. Can I arrange to get the dog back to him through a police escort or something?”

“Yeah, talk to Jim about that—I’m sure he’ll arrange it for you.”

***

“Gosh, I can’t believe it’s only Tuesday. A lot has happened these last few days,” Savannah said while standing at the stove stirring a cream sauce.

“Yeah, too much. How’s that knee feeling?” Michael asked.

She reached down and touched her left knee, then bent and flexed her leg a couple of times. “It’s better, I guess. I think the swelling is down some.”

“You probably aren’t resting it as much as you should be,” he said.

Savannah turned toward her husband. “Well, treating animals for a living isn’t something you can do sitting down with your leg elevated.” She creased her brow. “You aren’t still having headaches, are you?”

“No. And the swelling in my face is going down. I guess we’ll survive, babe.”

“I’m counting on it. We have things to do and babies to welcome into the world.”

“Babies?” Michael walked over to Savannah and repeated, “Babies?”