Patricia Fry - Klepto Cat 04 - Undercover Cat (19 page)

He pulled out his phone and began flipping through his photos. “Here it is,” he said with a laugh. He carried the phone over for Savannah and Michael to see and they chuckled with Damon.

“This was one of Colbi’s ferals,” Michael told Savannah. “Can you believe it?”

“No. She’s so relaxed.” Savannah sat back down on the sofa and
lay the kitten on what was left of her lap. Dolly laid on her back, her head draping down over Savannah’s knees, looking at everyone upside down. Savannah gently rubbed her exposed tummy and Dolly wrapped her front paws around Savannah’s hand. “She is just yummy—what a cutie. I’m such a sucker for babies. Guess it’s the hormones.”

“Well, you’ll have a baby of your own soon. When is your due date?”
Colbi asked.

“December 15
th
. Can’t wait.” Savannah looked around and asked. “Where did Rags go? I want to see how he interacts with little Dolly, here.”

Everyone glanced about the room. “Gosh, I didn’t see him leave,” Michael said. “Maybe he’s somewhere pouting. He’s probably jealous after seeing you holding the kitten.”

Michael reached over and ran his hand along the kitten’s tummy. Dolly grabbed his hand with her front paws and began kicking with her back ones. “Oh, a little tiger, huh?” he said, wrestling her a little with his hand. Then he pulled back and asked Colbi, “Do you have a wand toy for her?”

Colbi
cocked her head and looked at Michael questioningly. “A wand toy?”

“Well, the experts say you shouldn’t play with a kitten using your hand.”

“Oh that’s right,” Savannah said.

Together they recited, “Hands are for feeding and petting.”

Everyone laughed.

“Why?” Damon asked.

Michael explained, “I guess some feel it could confuse a kitten if you feed, pet and play with him using your hand. People who play real rough with a kitten can generally expect it to be a rough and even bitey cat.” He turned to Savannah. “We have some of those feather toys on wands around here, don’t we?”

“I’m sure—up in
Rags’s stash, probably.”

“I’ll go get one,” Michael said. In a few moments they heard him say, “Oops, here
comes Rags, down the stairs toward you.”

“Uh-oh,
whatcha got now?” Damon asked when he spotted the cat.

Everyone looked toward the staircase in time to see Rags ambling down the last step dragging something between his legs. He walked slowly toward the middle of the room and sat down. He dropped the item, looked around, then picked it up again and walked over to Savannah. He dropped it, then reached up, put his paws on Savannah’s knees and licked the kitten’s head. Dolly flipped herself over and sat on the edge of Savannah’s knees, staring eye to eye with the large grey-and-white cat. Savannah reached toward the treasure with her hand, swinging her knees to one side and leaning over sideways. When Damon saw her struggling to reach it, he rushed over and picked it up.

Damon held it out for everyone to see.

“What did he bring the kitten this time?”
Colbi asked.

Damon turned it over in his hands, studying it. “I don’t know. It’s
kinda dirty.”

“Savannah, is it yours?” he asked, holding it up for her to see.

She said, “Ewww, it
is
dirty. No, I’ve never seen it before.”

Damon walked it over so
Colbi could examine it. At the same time, Rags kept his eyes on his treasure and the kitten had her eyes on Rags.

“It looks like a lady’s hanky,”
Colbi said. “My grandmother used to collect old-fashioned hankies. Look, there’s a design on it—more tatting.”

“Tatting?
Is that like tattooing?” Damon asked.

“
Noooo. Remember I told you it’s like crocheting…sort of.” She reached out and took the item from Damon.

Just then Michael walked into the room carrying two feather toys on wands. “What did he have?” he asked, stopping to stand behind
Colbi’s chair. He looked down at the item.

She turned it over in her hands a couple of times. “Hmmm, what’s this?” she asked as if talking to herself. “Initials,” she said for everyone to hear. She strained to see it. “B, A…U…or maybe that’s a J. Oh wait,” she said, “Beverly A. Jones.” She dropped her hand, which was holding the hanky, into her lap.

“That’s the name on that letter Rags found, isn’t it?” Savannah asked.

“Yes,”
Colbi said.

“Where in the world is Rags finding this stuff belonging to someone we don’t even know?” Michael asked.

“Well guys,” Damon said, “better sit down. We have some things to tell you.”

“Uh-oh,” Savannah said. And then she lurched forward.
“Auntie! Is she okay?”

“Yeah,” Damon said. “Everyone you know is just fine, but…” he grimaced, “guys, there was a murder.”

Savannah closed her eyes and let out a long breath. She collapsed a little into her seat. “Not again,” she said.

“Where?”
Michael asked.

Damon glanced over at
Colbi and then back toward Michael and Savannah. “Your orchard.”

Savannah gasped. “Oh
my gosh, who?” The kitten took a step off her lap and walked across the sofa cushions toward Michael. He leaned back so she could climb up onto his lap, but she just curled up next to his leg and began licking herself.

“It was this Beverly Jones woman,”
Colbi said, her voice accelerating. “Someone hit her with something and she died right out there. That person or someone else—we don’t know, yet—spread copies of my picture, dripping blood, all over the yard that same night.”

“What?” Michael and Savannah cried.

Damon explained, “Well, they were pictures from one of Colbi’s newspaper columns. Someone had painted streaks of red all over them, making it look like blood. One of the pictures ended up in the house—right in Colbi’s room. But no one knows how that happened.”

“Yeah, just like we don’t know how that hanky with Beverly’s initials got in here or that letter addressed to her.”

“Not only that,” Damon offered, “Rags had the mate to a glove Beverly was wearing when she died.”

Savannah and Michael sat stunned.

“Who is…was…this woman?” Savannah asked quietly.

“Craig said she was living like a homeless person in the
Tindles’ shed and feeding animals—wild animals—at night. She was dressed in this white gown and they found these little lanterns among her stuff. So that’s probably what you were seeing late at night,” Damon said.

“We probably won’t be seeing that again, now that poor Beverly’s gone,”
Colbi said.

Savannah shook her head. “I’m in shock. Do they know who killed her?”

“No,” Colbi said quietly.

“
Jeesh, is there a killer running around loose?”

Everyone sat silent.

“We’ve had a sheriff here since Sunday,” Colbi said. “Didn’t you see him out there?”

“No,” Michael said. He stood up and the kitten rolled toward Savannah. She ran her hand along Dolly’s back and the kitten settled back down to sleep. Savannah looked over at Michael as he started to pace. Suddenly he stopped. “How in blazes are these things winding up inside this house? That’s what I want to know. Who’s bringing them in?” He perched on a chair. “Who has been in this house—I mean aside from our usual visitors and Helena?”

Damon and Colbi both shook their heads slowly. “No one, Michael,” Damon said. “That’s what’s so puzzling. Craig asked us over and over about Rags going outside, but Maggie and both of us kept telling him Rags does not go out by himself.”

“That’s right,” Savannah said. Thinking out loud, she said, “Now he
has
been known to sneak out. I had a problem with him doing that when I lived in LA, but that was in summer when we had windows open.” She looked over at Colbi and then Damon. “He had this knack for pushing screens out and escaping. When I discovered this, I nailed all of the screens on.” She thought for a moment. “No, he has no escape route in this house. And we aren’t leaving windows open in this weather.”

“Speaking of weather,”
Colbi interjected, “is that rain I hear?”

Damon walked over and pulled a curtain back. “Yup, it’s raining.” He started to drop the drapes and then pulled them back again. “What’s that?” He squinted to see and then said, “Oh, I guess the officers are changing shifts.” He watched the unmarked car grow near and then waved out at the driver before letting the drape drop.

“Who was it?” Colbi asked. “Ben? Tim?”

“I don’t know,” Damon said.
“Couldn’t see through the tinted windshield.”

Knock-knock
.

Damon turned back toward the door and peered out the stained glass window next to the front door. “Looks like Craig. Oh, that’s
right, he was coming by this evening.” He pulled the door open wide.

Craig stomped his feet and wiped them on the mat before stepping inside. “Boy, it’s coming down out there,” he said. “Where can I put this raincoat?” he asked.

Savannah stood and walked toward him. “Here, give it to me, I’ll just drape it over this chair near the heater vent.”

Craig took the coat off and spread it out over the chair before turning to her and saying, “Welcome home? Good trip?”

“Yeah, very nice to get away.” She frowned. “But I hear you had some excitement while we were gone.”

Michael stood and greeted Craig. “Does it ever end?
What’s going on, anyway, Craig?”

“Not in my business, no, it never ends,” he said rubbing his hand over his head to smooth his graying hair. “There’s always another grudge, another jealous rage, another crazed spouse, another distraught man or woman.”

“Which category does this killing fit into?” Savannah wanted to know.

“We’re not sure, yet. Could be the old woman was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Oh Detective, any leads on those awful hoarders?” Colbi asked shuddering.

He hesitated.

“Sit down, Craig,” Savannah invited. She motioned toward a chair across the room.

Michael took his seat next to Savannah, and Dolly jumped down on the floor and strutted toward the kitchen with her tail held high.

Craig said, “We think we have a lead on them in South Carolina, but we’ll know more once we do more investigation. It’s complicated to locate Internet scammers, but I’m learning that there are ways to pinpoint their whereabouts if they don’t change location, computers, and hook-up too often. Some of them actually do their scamming using library computers.”

Colbi
thinned her lips and shook her head. “What really has me puzzled is what did Beverly Jones have to do with the pictures of me and why would she scatter so many of them around like that?”

Craig leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Remember,
Colbi, there was someone else out there that night—the killer. She didn’t whack herself over the head.”

“Oh yes, the killer,” Damon said. “So you think he brought the pictures here?” he asked. “But you don’t think this is the same person who kidnapped
Colbi?”

“Hard to tell.”

“Well I have been doing some research while I’ve been resting,”
Colbi said. “And I’ve seen what I believe are some of the same photos the hoarders have used before. In fact, if any of those cats are still alive, you might be able to take pictures of them to compare with the photos I saw on the Internet just today.”

“Are they asking for money?” Michael asked.

Colbi nodded. “Yes, and they’re using pretty much the same type of spiel as they were before. I think it’s them.”

Craig sat up straight. “Can you get that stuff to us,
Colbi? Or I can have our tech experts come over and see what you have—maybe they can use their expertise to locate these people.”

Colbi
nodded. “Send them over. I’d sure like to catch those…” She grimaced and wiped at her eyes, trying to catch the tears before they began to fall.

Craig cleared his throat, looked down at the floor. “I came here to share something with you.”

The room suddenly went silent. Just then Savannah noticed Rags walking toward her. She reached out to him and he head-bumped her hand. She recoiled, creased her brow. “Rags, you’re wet.”

Everyone looked at the cat. “He tracked something on the carpet. What is that?” Michael said.

Just then, the cat jumped up with his front paws on Savannah’s knees and she said, “Mud! Rags, where in the world have you been?”

“You know, I took a shower earlier in the downstairs bathroom; maybe he went in there and got his feet wet,” Damon said.

“And then he played in that potted plant I told you not to put in there,” Michael said to Savannah. “You know how he likes to dig around in the dirt.”

“Yeah, especially when it’s been a while since he’s been outside,” Savannah said. She shook her head. “And he does like water. I’ve seen him put his face up to the bathtub spigot to drink and he doesn’t even mind if the water splashes him.” She ran her hand over his head. “You are such a high-maintenance cat. I just don’t know how I’ll have time for a baby
and
you,” she said with a sigh.