The Cats that Stole a Million (The Cats that . . . Cozy Mystery Book 7) (6 page)

Chapter Nine

On Friday at six o’clock, Chief London drove his Erie police cruiser and parked it in front of the pink mansion.  The sun had set, and Lincoln Street was very dark.  There were no street lights, but Katherine made a point to turn on both the outdoor post lamp and front porch light.  She and the cats watched him from the parlor window.  Two of the resident cat thieves were particularly interested in the chief’s arrival.  Abby jumped down from the window valance, her favorite perch that she shared with Lilac and Crowie.  Iris slinked around the Eastlake settee, and seemed to exchange a knowing look with Abby.

“I saw that,” Katherine said.  “Let’s not be picking the pocket of the police chief.  I guarantee you won’t like the food in jail.”  She rose from her chair and hurried to open the entry door to the front vestibule.  She had to open it before the chief pressed the ‘dreaded’ doorbell.  Dewey was terrified of its sharp sound, and if Katherine didn’t answer it right away, he’d go flying through the house, destroying whatever was in his wake.

Katherine was too late. The doorbell rang loudly.  Not once, but two shrill rings.  “Oops, sorry, Dewey.  It’s okay, little buddy.”

“Mao! Mao!” the kitten boomed, as he ran up the stairs, brushing the lamp on the stairwell table.  It wobbled on its base, then righted itself.

Katherine opened the door.  “Hello, Chief.  Come in.  Here, let me take your jacket.”

He removed his jacket and handed it to Katherine, who took it to the atrium and hung it on an antique Eastlake hall tree.

Returning, Katherine asked, “How have you been?”

“I can’t complain,” he said, walking in.  “The town has been quiet for a while.”

Katherine knew there hadn’t been much police activity since the arson fiasco and mansion explosion a few months back.

He carried a vinyl shopping bag.  “Listen, I’ve brought my Croc loafers so I don’t track snow on your parquet floors.”

Katherine laughed.  “I see your wife, Connie, has you well-trained.”

The chief chuckled and sat down on the Eastlake vestibule chair.  He removed his boots and set them on the boot mat.  “I didn’t see Margie’s truck.  Is she coming?”

“Yes, she just texted.  She’s on her way.”

Chief London, Margie, and Katherine formed the goodwill committee that met every month to decide what Erie townsperson or nonprofit project was to receive charity, what kind of charity, and when.  In a small town, where everyone knew everyone’s personal business, Katherine was amused that no one knew — yet — that she was the benefactor.

After the chief finished putting on his loafers, Katherine said, “Let’s sit in the living room.”  She slid open the closest pocket door, and the two walked in.

“Any particular chair?” the chief asked, eyeing the Victorian furniture.

“Take your pick,” she said. 

The chief chose the famous winged back chair that held a morbid history:  surviving a murder scene and an explosion.  It was also the chair where Abby and Iris hid their loot, but Katherine didn’t mention that little ditty about Jack and Diane. 

Katherine sat down on a Victorian reproduction love seat.  Her newer white vinyl sofa set hadn’t survived the smoke from the fire, so instead of having it reupholstered, she had it cleaned, then gave it to charity.  She decided to stick with the Victorian theme.

Margie arrived and knocked on the door, having learned that the new Siamese in town was terrified of loud noises.  She opened the door and walked into the vestibule.  “Hey, it’s me.  Where are you?”

Katherine called from the living room.  “We’re in here.” 

Dewey bolted into the room, in a full dead run, leaving cloisonné vases teetering on tabletops.  Katherine leaped off the love seat and caught him in a mid-jump. “Young man, please calm down.  It’s okay.”

“Mao!” the Siamese disagreed.

The chief said, “For a little cat, he sure is loud.”

Katherine sat down and set Dewey on her lap.  Iris leaped up on the arm and yowled.  Iris had adopted Dewey, and was showing him the ropes.  Katherine hoped that Dewey’s training program didn’t include theft.  “Miss Siam, you can sit here, too,” Katherine said, patting the seat next to her.

Iris had other plans.  She jumped down and joined Abby on the floor behind the chief’s chair.

Margie walked into the room.  “Sorry I’m late.  I’m working on this house on Owen Street, and I couldn’t find my truck keys.  I looked all over.  Found them in a weird spot.  I think one of my workers is playing a trick on me.”

“Where were they?” Katherine asked.

“In the sink,” Margie laughed.  “I probably spaced out and put them there.”

“Maybe the house has a poltergeist,” the chief kidded. “Wife and I just watched the movie,” he added.

“Oh, before I bring the meeting to order,” Katherine said, “Jake gave me a huge box of chocolates before he left for Chicago.”  Katherine reached over and removed the lid from a large, heart-shaped box.

“Yum,” Margie said.

“I’ll pass,” the chief said.  “Believe it or not, I’m a rare breed.  I don’t like chocolate.”

“I love chocolate, but I’m allergic to walnuts.  Before you two arrived, I was reading the ingredients, and unfortunately, written in fine print was the fact they may contain walnuts.”

“If that doesn’t beat all,” the chief said.  “I’m bankin’ you can’t eat any of them.”

“Eek, that’s unfortunate, Katz,” Margie said, pulling a chocolate out of its paper sleeve.  “How long is Jake going to be away?”

“He left yesterday.  He’ll be back on Sunday — ”

The chief interrupted, “You know my wife says I don’t have a filter, but weather forecasters in Indy said conditions are lining up for another storm like the one that hit central Indiana in 1978.”

“Knock on wood.  I don’t want to have to go through that again,” Margie commented.

“Sounds ominous,” Katherine said.  “I’ve been through bad winter storms in New York and Indiana.”

The chief continued, “I was twelve when the blizzard of ‘78 happened.  We got hit with a hellava load of snow and record low temperatures.  Wind chills were sixty below zero.  My parents and my four brothers lived down on Owen Street, close to where you’ve been workin’, Margie.  Our power went out, but we were lucky to have a wood-burning fireplace.  I remember my brothers and I huddled underneath a blanket, eating animal cookies.”

“Animal cookies?” Katherine repeated.

“My mother was well-organized and had the pantry stocked with soups and canned meats, but what kid wants to eat that stuff?”

“You’re lucky you had a fireplace.  The gas fireplaces in the mansion have electric starters. If the power goes out, that wouldn’t do Jake and me any good.”

“Many folks throughout the state weren’t so lucky.  The storm went on for three days.  At the end, Indiana got up to forty inches of snow.  Do you know what that’s like?” the chief asked, not waiting for anyone to answer, then continuing, “The weight of the snow collapsed roofs, trapped folks in their homes.  I’m sorry to say, but there were many casualties of folks freezing to death.”

Katherine forehead furrowed with worry lines.  “Now I’m
really
worried.  I tried to talk Jake out of going.”

“Typical Cokenberger,” Margie tried to comfort.  “Stubborn as a herd of donkeys.”

The chief eyed Margie curiously.  “Herd of donkeys?  That’s a good one.  Katz, I wouldn’t worry.  The storm could fizzle out or miss us entirely.”

“On that doom-and-gloom note, let’s bring this meeting to order,” Katherine said, trying to regain her happy disposition.  “Chief, it’s your turn to hit me with your best shot.  Who in Erie needs help?”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard it or not, but someone you know very well has met on hard times.”

Margie nodded.  Katherine wondered what the chief was going to say next, and how Margie seemed to know already. 

“Who?”

“Stevie Sanders.”

“What?  I thought things were going well for him.  He’s back on the job because I see his truck go by.”

“Then you haven’t heard?” the chief asked solemnly. 

“Heard what?” Katherine leaned forward in her chair.

“His ex-wife overdosed on meth.  Folks at the diner said Stevie drove down to Kentucky to find her, and found out the bad news.”

Margie said, “Katz, her name was Darlene.  She’s been messed up for years, and even did a stint in jail.”

The chief added, “Petty thief, shoplifting, possession, to name a few.  She’s got quite a rap sheet for a small town.”

“I didn’t know Stevie had ever been married.  Personally, I don’t think of Stevie as the marrying kind,” Katherine noted as an afterthought.

Margie added, “Yep, he’s got a reputation as a regular ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’ type of guy.”

The chief said in a matter-of-fact voice, “So, my candidate this month is Stevie.”

Katherine looked amazed.  “Really?  He drives a brand new truck.  It seems there are other people in Erie who need more help than Stevie.”

“Not that I’m a fan of the Sanders,” Margie began, “but I think Stevie’s trying to get his life back on the right track.  And then again, kiddo, he’ll need furniture for that big old house next door.”

Katherine asked amused.  “How did you know he bought the house?  I just accepted the offer.”

“Little birdie told me,” Margie said sheepishly.

“One named Lucy — the realtor?”

“Ain’t sayin’.”

The chief scratched his beard, which he kept stylishly short.  “Not sure how he came up with the money for a house.  That’s none of my business unless he got it illegally.  I have no way of knowing.”

Margie interjected.  “I know the answer to that, Chief.”

Katherine eyebrows rose in wonderment of Margie’s ability to find out information.

“His mother died several years ago and left him money.”

“If he’s inherited money, I don’t understand why I should give him more money when there are so many other people in Erie that need help.”

Margie answered, “Lucy said Stevie spent the entire inheritance to buy the Foursquare.”

“But why would he do that?  My mom used to say never put all of your eggs in one basket.”

The chief said, “It all makes sense to me.  He wants to lead a respectable life.  What better way than to buy a house in a nice neighborhood.”

“Where does Stevie live now?” Katherine asked, picking up Dewey and kissing him on the head.  Dewey struggled to get down, jumped off her lap, and trotted into the atrium.

“I know the answer to that,” Margie said.  “Bill, one of my drywall guys, said he lives with a friend down by the tracks.”

“Surely not.  I’ve driven down there.  It’s a mecca of dilapidated mobile homes.”

“You mean trailers.  Folks around these parts call them trailers,” the chief offered.

“Wow, if I’d only known,” Katherine said.  “I’ve already paid off his hospital bill.  Oops, I didn’t mean to divulge that.  This is strictly private and confidential.  I don’t want folks down at the diner to know this.”

Margie answered, a little offended, “Of course, nothing that is said in this room leaves this room.”

The chief nodded.

Katherine continued.  “I owe a lot to Stevie.  He saved my life, and Scout’s.”

“Waugh,” Scout agreed from the middle turret window, sitting on the windowsill and watching snow fall.

The chief gave Katherine a concerned look.  “Katz, the Sanders are an untrustworthy and treacherous bunch.  I’m not completely convinced that Stevie will stay in the good graces of the law.  I’d watch your back, if I were you.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” she answered, then, “I’ll have fun with this charity.  I love shopping for furniture.”

Looking around the well-appointed period room, the chief said, “Well, kindly suggestion, I don’t think Stevie is the type for fancy Victorian furniture because it looks nice, but plays hell on your back.”

Katherine smiled.  “Okay, I’ll buy some manly furniture.”

Margie suggested.  “I know a furniture store that sells mission-style.  There’s a recliner that I bought for Cokey and he loves it.”

“Does the furniture store have a web address?  I like to do things online.”

“Sure, I’ll email it to you.”

The chief started to get up, then sat back down.  He let out a loud laugh.  “Look at that little varmint.”  He was gazing across the room at Iris, who clutched a silver pendant in her V-shaped jaw.  She was straddling the chain like a giant spider. 

“Iris, what do you have?” Katherine asked, getting up and investigating the scene.  “Drop it!  Oh, good heavens.  It’s my wedding necklace.  The one Mum gave me.”

Margie leaped out of her chair.  “What?  No way.”

“If I recall,” the chief began.  “It’s the one you lost last September.”

“When I was kidnapped!  Where did you find it?”

“Wasn’t me who found it.  The caretaker of the old asylum found it in the shack next door.  It was stuck between two floorboards.  He said it was the darndest thing because he’d been in and out of that room a dozen times, even polished the floor, and didn’t see it.  But one day the sun was coming through the window, and the silver in the necklace beamed up like a light ray.”