The Cats that Stole a Million (The Cats that . . . Cozy Mystery Book 7) (2 page)

Chapter Two

Stevie Sanders, the son of Erie’s crime boss, pulled his new red Dodge Ram into a parking space outside the Dew Drop Inn, a tavern owned by his father, Sam.  Stevie had been estranged from his dad for several months, when he refused to partake in any more of his dad’s illegal transactions.  Sam’s businesses ranged from operating a house of ill repute in the trailer court he owned outside town limits, to drug trafficking across state lines. The latter involved a network of backwoods boys who “cooked” meth, and other more sophisticated criminals who smuggled drugs throughout the Midwest.

Turning off the ignition, Stevie scanned the near-empty parking lot and recognized three of the vehicles parked in the gravel:  a Toyota Tundra pickup belonging to his father, bartender Eddie’s beat-up 1995 Saturn, and the rusted Jeep Cherokee of Stevie’s older half-brother, Dave.  Stevie wondered why Dave, who had gone “clean” long before he had, was at the Dew Drop Inn.

Stevie got out and headed into the deserted bar.  It took him a moment to adjust his eyes to the dimly lit tavern.  Typically, the place was the best jukin’ joint in Erie, but at three o’clock in the afternoon, only two men sat at the bar, while Eddie took care of them.  His dad sat on one of the bar stools, busy counting money. Dave was nursing his beer and staring blankly into the bar’s mirror.  Eddie looked at Stevie warily.

“Dad,” Stevie said, stepping over and taking the stool next to his drug-dealing father. He nodded at his brother.  “Dave, how’s it goin’?”

“Just fine, bro.  What brings ya this way?”

“I can ask you the same.”

Dave didn’t answer.

Sam Sanders didn’t look up, but continued counting.  “What can I do you for?” he asked in a disinterested voice.

“Well to start with — ”

The bartender interrupted.  “What can I git ya?”

“Bring me a Coke, but none of that diet stuff.”

“That’s a sissy drink,” Sam said. “I’ve got some mighty fine tequila.  Why don’t you have a shot of that?  It’ll take the edge off.”

“I’m workin’ today.”

The bartender tipped his head back and laughed. “Why don’t ya have a pint of Guinness like that Irish feller was drinkin’ a few months back.  The way he was beltin’ ‘em down, I’d say that’s a mighty good beer.”

Stevie shot him a dirty look.  “That Irish feller caused an explosion at Katherine Kendall’s place.  He told the cops someone here was buyin’ him drinks. Was that you, Dad?”

“Guilty,” Sam said, holding up one hand.  “I figured I was doing you a favor.”

“How’s that?” Stevie asked suspiciously.

“He was spoutin’ off about crashing the wedding.  It seems he had some kind of fling with Ms. Kendall.”

“That ain’t true,” Stevie fired off angrily.

“Hold on there, spitfire. I didn’t mean any disrespect.  I heard how that woman got you out of going back to jail.”

“Dad, I didn’t come here to talk about Mrs. Cokenberger.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right.  The wedding went on.  How unfortunate for you,” Sam said cynically. “My gut tells me you like this Kendall woman big-time.  If you ever want me to
do
something about that Jake guy, just say the word — ”

Stevie cut him off.  “Ain’t necessary. I’ve never had trouble gittin’ a woman, but killin’ her husband ain’t gonna cut it with me,” he said, then changed the subject.  “I’m here because I’m tryin’ to find Darlene.”

“What do you want with your ex-wife?” Sam asked, his face clouding.  He moved the metal cash box full of money aside, and for the first time, looked at his son.  “What the hell’s going on?” he demanded.  “You’ve been divorced for a good ten years, and now you’re looking to find her.  Why would you think that I know where she is?”

“Because she buys dope from you.”

Sam snickered.  “Like I sell dope to all my customers.  Son, you got it wrong.  My associates sell it to her.”

Stevie glared.  “I went over to Darlene’s trailer, and someone else is livin’ in it.  She didn’t know where Darlene was. I’ve got to find her 'cause I want to see my daughter.” 

“Get a lawyer,” Sam said, then added, “According to your ex, you ain’t paid child support in a long time.”

“I ain’t paid support because I can’t find her.”

“All right, I’ll stop jerkin’ you around.  I know where she is.  She went back to Kentucky to live with her mama; took Salina with her.  They came in asking for money, and a little pick-me-up.”

“What do you mean,
they
? Darlene brought Salina in here?”

“No, son, pay attention.  Darlene came in here with this beefy looking guy.  Salina was outside in the car.”

Dave, who had been quietly hanging on to every word, added, “Darlene’s been livin’ with this guy down by the tracks.  Don’t know his name.  Just sayin’, your ex has a serious meth problem.”

Sam said, amused, “She should change her name to Crystal.”

“Not funny,” Stevie snapped.  “Why didn’t you call me?  And, you Dave, what’s your excuse?  I don’t want my daughter livin’ with a meth head.”

“Well, son, I’ll put it to you gently. No court’s gonna give you custody of your daughter when you’ve got a prison record.  Besides, I didn’t call because I figured you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.  That’s what you said, ain’t it, son?”

Stevie’s jaw hardened.  “Does Darlene’s mama still live at the same address?”

“Yep.”

“I’m gonna go git my daughter.”  Stevie grabbed his coat and started to leave.

“I wouldn’t drive in this weather.  Hell, you can get out of Indiana, but once you hit the holler where she lives, you’ll be neck-deep in snow.  And I’m not talking about that stuff falling from the sky.”

Stevie headed to the door, then turned.  He started to say something, then changed his mind.  He opened the door and began to leave.

Sam called him back. “Wait.  You can’t go down there without protection.”  He pulled a handgun from his hip holster and handed it to his son.  “The law can’t trace it.  Ditch it if you have to use it.”

Stevie nodded, then left, tucking the gun in the back of his jeans.

Dave slid off his bar stool. “Wait, Stevie. Give the gun back.  You don’t want to appear before the parole board again. I’m comin’ with.  I’ve got a license to carry.”

Stevie made a face, reluctantly handed the gun back to his father, and turned to Dave, “Yeah, you’re right.  I don’t want to do anything stupid.”

“You wanna drive or me?” Dave asked.

Stevie raised his brow. “I think I’ll drive.  Besides, you haven’t seen my new truck.”

“Let me git my coat.”

“You boys take care now,” Sam said, moving the cash box back in front of him.  He resumed counting.

Chapter Three

Madison Orson, an attractive woman in her late twenties — a blond, blue-eyed former model — sat at a secure reception desk located in the front room of a premier Manhattan jewelry store. A sliding, bullet-proof window enabled her to greet customers, receive and send mail, and perform a number of other tasks included in her receptionist duties. 

Behind Madison was a full glass wall, to which she could turn in awe and admire the many display cases filled with expensive jewelry.  Four impeccably dressed salesmen manned each of four counters.  Madison loved watching them.  To her, they were eye candy or future prey, depending on her mood or her plans to leave Manhattan.  But for now, Madison was solely interested in the tall, handsome Russian who was the daytime security guard.  She caught him looking at her.  She smiled seductively and then turned to face her computer screen.  She checked her watch, and noticed the time. 
Where is he
, she thought irritably. 
He should have been here an hour ago.

Madison’s reception skills were outstanding, and she had an excellent work record to prove it.  The owner of the store, middle-aged Nikolai Zhukov, was very impressed, and had contacted the temporary agency where she worked and asked if they would release Madison from her contract, so she could work for him full-time.  The agency was slow in responding because Madison was an asset to its firm, and she would be hard to replace. 

When Madison was in her early twenties, she worked for a renown modeling agency, commanding a high salary.  She modeled in fashion shows, did magazine shoots, and had several walk-on roles in the movies. But those jobs dried up when younger, thinner women were hired to replace the slightly older ones.  And years of cocaine abuse had not been kind to her skin.  It was a cutthroat world, but she missed the adrenaline rush.  Now she could hardly make ends meet working temporary reception jobs that usually ended before she’d had time to call her desk her own.  She was surprised her current one had lasted over a month.  She’d landed an utopian job in more ways than one.

Madison snapped out of her reverie.  A mailman in his fifties, who had too much to drink the night before, came in wheeling his one-handled cart.  Madison had been grooming him to trust her by using her gorgeous looks as a tool.  She instantly turned on the charm.  “Hello, Mike.  How are you today?  Did you catch the Knicks game last night?”

Mike looked her up and down.  “Good morning, sunshine. Yes, I had great seats. There’s a game coming up.  Wanna watch it from the sports bar down the street?”

“I’d love to,” she smiled.  “First round is on me,” she said.

A prospective customer walked into the store.  Madison assumed her professional stance, as did Mike.  “I’ll be with you in a moment,” she said to the well-attired woman with diamonds as big as the Ritz in each ear.

“I have an appointment,” the woman said impatiently, with her nose stuck up in the air.

Madison was taken aback for a moment, then looked at her computer screen.  “Name?” she asked, scanning the day’s calendar.

“Courtney Hughes.”

“Here you are.  Mr. Zhukov is expecting you.  I’ll buzz you in,” Madison said sweetly, ignoring the fact that the woman never once established eye contact with her.  She reached underneath her keyboard drawer and pressed the button.  Courtney walked in and was instantly greeted by Mr. Zhukov, who grabbed the woman’s hand and kissed it.

Madison rolled her eyes
.  Vultures
, she thought.

Mike said, “Penny for your thoughts.”

She lowered her thick, dark lashes, then looked up.  “My thoughts are worth more than that.”

“I’d love to find out,” Mike flirted.  “Listen, I have a package that requires your signature.”

Madison gave a cursory glance at the brown-papered package.  “My signature?  Are you sure?  Normally Mr. Zhukov signs for parcels.”

The mailman continued holding the package.  “Do you want it or not?” he teased.

“Of course.”

“Sign here and it’s all yours.”

“Got it,” she said, signing. 

The mailman passed the package through the opening in the glass.  Madison took it and studied the return address, then laughed.

“I guess it wouldn’t be professional for me to ask who it’s from?” Mike asked coyly.

Madison shook her head, then said dismissively.  “Text me later about the Knicks game, okay?” 

The mailman understood his cue to leave, so he wheeled his cart out of the jewelry store, turning around to check out the stunning ex-model one more time.

Madison wasn’t looking. Instead, she had picked up her cell, and was now talking animatedly into it.

Chapter Four

Jake drove several miles north on US 41, and turned onto a snow-covered road.  He reached down on the floorboard, between the seats, and pulled down the lever for four-wheel drive.  A snow plow had recently gone through, pushing the snow to the side of the road and creating a bank several feet high.

Katherine was riding in the passenger seat.  “We should have taken the Subaru,” she worried.  “You don’t have to slow down, reach down to get it to do its thing.”

“The Jeep’s doing fine. You shouldn’t say things that will hurt its feelings.”

“Should I be jealous?” she joked.  “How far is the farm?”

“A little ways down yonder,” Jake said, faking a thick country accent.

Katherine reached in her bag and took out her cell.  She tapped the weather app, but her screen remained blank.  “I should have checked the weather site online before we left.  I can’t get a signal out here.”

“Yep, deep in the boonies,” he continued with his accent.  “I checked your computer monitor before we left,” he offered mysteriously.

“Why?” she asked with an inquisitive look, her brows furrowed.

“To make sure the cats hadn’t surfed up any clues that might warn us about something.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, like we’d be caught in a blizzard and have to stay in the Jeep for a few days.”

Katherine was amused at the direction the conversation was heading, and rolled with it.  “And maybe we should have brought some blankets, snacks, and something to drink so we wouldn’t end up like the Donner party.  Well, what did the cats surf up?”

“That’s for the cats and me to know.”

“That’s my line.”

Jake laughed.  “I’m just messin’ with you.  The cats didn’t surf up anything.  But why the desktop background of an island beach?  I haven’t seen that one before.” 

“It’s psychological.  When I look at it, I think warm thoughts —”

“Then you should have a picture of me,” Jake teased.

“No, silly, I’m thinking warm thoughts because I’m literally freezing in our house.” 

Jake hit a large chunk of ice, and the Jeep skidded to the left. He quickly played the steering wheel, and drove out of the skid.  “Whoa,” he said. “That was a close one.”

Katherine clutched the Jeep’s passenger-side grab bar.  “Be careful.”

“Chester’s farm isn’t far.” 

“There’s the sign,” Katherine pointed, relieved they were almost there.  The large billboard was mounted on two rustic posts, and seemed out-of-place in the snow covered field.  She laughed out loud.  ‘Chester’s Snow Angel Farm.  Let’s make Erie, Indiana, the snow angel capital — one angel at a time.’”

Jake turned in and drove down a narrow country lane into a parking lot crowded with pickup trucks.  A ramshackle kiosk served as the office with two people standing inside behind a counter: an elderly man with a fur-lined cap and matching parka was selling tickets, and a younger woman was serving hot chocolate.  Several people were lined up for the cocoa.  Katherine made a beeline for the queue, while Jake did business with the man. 

“How ya doin’, Chester?” he asked.  “What do you think about this weather?” In Indiana, polite conversation usually started with a question about the weather.

“Snow comin’ down pretty hard, if ya ask me.  If it keeps this up, we could get a big one.”

“You mean blizzard?”

“Yep, if the wind kicks up.  But for right now, the snow is a light and powdery, which is good for the angels.”

“I see you’ve got the plots staked out this year,” Jake said, looking at the orange grid of plastic stakes marking off each angel section.  A long wooden platform, topped by a railing, stood south of the staked plots.  A few parents stood on the platform to take photos of their angel-making children.  “I admire how scientific you are,” he added.

“Yep, gotta put Indiana on the map.  So far we have three hundred and fifty-three angels.  I hope the weather doesn’t keep folks from comin’.”

“How’s your daughter doing in school?” Jake inquired, looking over at the young woman serving steaming cocoa to Katz, who was grinning ear-to-ear.

“Doin’ fine.  You know, she just got a letter in the mail.  Seems she’s been selected to take your wife’s computer class come March.”

“No, I didn’t know that.  Great.”

“Okay then, Jake,” Chester said, taking Jake’s money.  “The Cokenberger section is over yonder with the red ties on it.  You just missed Cokey, Margie, and the kids.  Your grandpa was just here, too, but your grandma stayed home this year.”

“Maybe my grandfather should have stayed at home with her.  I admire him for braving the cold.”

Chester nodded, then came out from behind the counter and took Jake by the arm.  He led him a few feet from the kiosk so that what he had to say would be out of earshot from the other customers.  “Did you hear who bought the tract of land across from me?” he asked, whispering.

Jake answered in a low voice. “No. I know it’s been for sale for a while.”

“Sam Sanders.”

“You don’t say,” Jake said, surprised.

“Yeppers, he’s gonna start a windmill farm.”

“Wow, maybe that’s a good thing.”

“You know that man is a crook, right?”

Jake shrugged, but didn’t answer.  He left gossiping duties to other nosy Erie townspeople down at the diner.

“Well, I gotta say,” Chester continued.  “He keeps the road to the old farmhouse pretty darn plowed.  I think he’s havin’ the place fixed up, because I see a lot of trucks goin’ in and out.”

“Could be.”

“Good to see ya, Jake,” Chester said, walking toward a man who had just gotten out of an extended cab pickup. 

Jake joined Katherine at the kiosk.

She handed him a Styrofoam cup of steaming hot chocolate.  “Here, get warmed up before we have to go flip around in the snow,” she kidded. 

A middle-aged woman, carrying a digital camera, came over and spoke to the couple.  “Hello, Jake.  So happy to see ya.  Is this the new Mrs.?”

Katherine thought,
No, she didn’t just refer to me as “the new Mrs.”
 

“Yes, Angie, this is Katherine.”

“Pleased to meet ya.  I’m a friend of Jake’s mom.” 

“Nice meeting you,” Katherine said.  “Are you taking photos of the event?”

“Sure am.  When you’re finished with your angels, make sure I get a pic of your handiwork,” she said, walking away.

Jake whispered.  “Sweet Pea, I saw your reaction when Angie asked if you were the new Mrs.  She didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You mean she wasn’t making a reference to your first wife?”

“No, that’s just the way folks talk around here.  There’s a lot of Hoosier ways you need to learn.”  He reached over and kissed her on the cheek. 

She smiled, and sipped more of her hot chocolate.  In a few minutes, Jake finished his and threw the empty cup in a metal garbage can. 

Katherine finished hers and did the same. “Okay, let’s get a move on before we freeze to death.  I feel like we’re in the middle of a scene from Fargo,” she kidded.  “Where do we go?”

“See those red ties.  They mark the Cokenberger section.”

“Amazing.  I had no idea this tradition existed.”

“It’s an Erie tradition.”  Jake took her by the arm and led her to the site.  “I’ll go first.”  He carefully tip-toed to the blank section of snow, then fell back. 

Katherine began laughing.  She couldn’t stop. 

Jake moved his arms and legs, then got up, careful not to make too much disturbance in the snow.  He yelled at Cora’s friend with the camera.  “Angie, got an angel for you.”

Angie trudged over and snapped the shot.  “That’s a beauty, Mr. Jake.  Your turn, Mrs.”

“Katz,” Katherine answered, more sharply than she intended.  “My friends call me Katz.”  Katherine moved to the site next to Jake’s, slid on snow, and fell face forward.  Leaning up, she asked, “What do I do now?”

“Fling around like a fish out of water,” Jake advised, grinning.

Katherine followed the instructions, then got up, brushing the snow away from her face and hair. Fortunately, there was no one standing on the observation platform to see the
faux pas
.  Jake moved over and helped. 

Angie took the picture, then said, “Can’t tell if it’s an angel or not, but it ain’t bad, if I say so myself.”  She walked away before Katherine could answer.

Jake grabbed her hand, and they tromped through the snow to the Jeep.  He fired up the engine, and turned up the heater.  “I’m freezing,” she complained, her teeth chattering.  “Your heater takes forever to warm up.”

Jake fished around the back of the passenger seat. He pulled up a towel.  “Here, dry with this.  Oh, and by the way, thanks for coming with me today.”

Katherine rolled her eyes and sneezed, “No comment.”

*     *     *

On the way back to Erie, close to the outskirts of town, Katherine’s cell phone rang.  Reaching into her bag, she extracted the phone and answered it.  A very excited and loud realtor was on the other end.

“Hi, Mrs. Cokenberger!” the voice shouted.

Katherine moved the cell a few inches from her ear.

“This is Lucy from the Star Realty.  We’ve got an offer on your property.”

“Which one?” Katherine asked.  She had more than one house currently on the market.

“The one next door to your house.”

“The yellow Foursquare?  That’s amazing, but I haven’t signed the paperwork yet,” Katherine answered.

“Please do sign it.  Send it right away.  And don’t forget to complete the disclosure form.  The buyer needs this information.”

“The For Sale sign isn’t even up yet. How did the buyer know about it?”

“Oh, he came to my office and was looking for a house in the historic district.  Lucky me, huh?” the realtor said enthusiastically.

“Yes, definitely, but is it proper to make an offer on a house he hasn’t seen?”

“Oh, but he has seen it.  I just showed it to him.”

“Okay,” Katherine said in a tell-me-more voice.  “Jake and I haven’t been gone more than an hour, how could you show him the house without us seeing a vehicle parked outside?”

“By photos.  He didn’t want to see it.  He said he was familiar with the neighborhood.  Then he made an offer,” Lucy said, still almost shrieking in an excited voice. 

“Wonderful.  Thanks so much, Lucy.  Can you email the offer to me. I’ll look for it when I get home.  Thanks again,” she said, hanging up.

Katherine turned to Jake. “Well, that’s good news.”

Jake answered, “I think I heard.  The lungs on that woman.”

Katherine laughed.  “We have an offer on the Foursquare, and I haven’t even finished the paperwork.”

“Katz, you’ve been wrangling with the disclosure form for too long.  There isn’t a check box for ghost.”

Katherine said almost inaudibly, “I hope the ghost is gone for good.”

“I heard that.  Katz, you have to stop worrying about that house being haunted.  Katrina is gone.  End of story.”

“I know, but according to law, I have to tell the buyer about the haunting, at least if I’m asked.  Do you think it will hurt my chances of selling the house to this buyer?” she asked, already speculating on the answer.

“Not all people believe in ghosts, so maybe you’ll be lucky, and the new owner will be a skeptic like me.”

Later, at the pink mansion, sitting in front of her computer, Katherine downloaded the offer and sent it to the printer. 

Jake stood nearby and removed the sheet of paper.  He stopped reading after the first line.  “Interesting,” he said, handing the document to Katherine.

Katherine’s read the prospective owner’s name, then her jaw dropped.  “Stephen Sanders?  Stevie wants to buy the house.”

“Yeah, probably to keep an eye on you,” Jake said suspiciously.

“Contrary to your opinion of Stevie, which isn’t good, Stevie is not a stalker.  He saved my life. He saved Scout’s life.  I will always be grateful to him for that.”

“I hope not too grateful,” Jake joked, hiding his true feeling that Stevie might be a threat to his relationship with his new wife.  “Oh, really?  You could have fooled me. Every time I see him drive by in his new truck, he’s practically hanging out the window.”

“I have no fear of Stevie.  He’s not a stalker.  End of story.”

Jake threw up his hands in exasperation.  “Okay, case closed.  What did he offer?”

Katherine read on, and said with a smile.  “Full price.”

“What bank is going to give him a mortgage with his criminal record?”

“Jake,” Katherine said, looking up with a disapproving look. 

“I’m serious.  He just started his electrical business.  The down payment will be at least twenty percent.  Where does he have that kind of money?”

Katherine read the offer again.  “It’s in cash.  All cash at closing.”

Jake’s eyes widened and he blurted, “Cash?  I won’t go there.”  He took the document and read it again, this time more thoroughly. “Katz, it’s your house.  Are you going to accept it?”