2 CATastrophe (7 page)

I explained the situation with the multiple records on the database regarding the cats going to Mrs. Miller. “I’m helping my friend with his app to scan those chips, and we just wanted to verify that you actually sponsored two cats with two different chips, since they went to the same person on the same day and were very similar in description.”

“I’m at home right now, but I can look that up tomorrow if you’d like. I can’t really tell you about the person who adopted for confidentiality purposes, but if you have the person’s name and address, I can certainly tell you if it’s a mistake or legitimate entry. Would that work?”

I agreed and told her that I’d meet her at 10am the following morning. Having put the file down, I had no desire to pick it back up again. It was approaching 9pm, and the thought of having nightmares about my sister again was more than I could handle. I’d had too many years of those dreams to ever need another. I chilled for a couple of hours watching TV and went to sleep without dreams.

The following morning at 10am, I was at Saved by the Bell, waiting on Allison. I’d been early, and no one from the facility was there yet. So I sat in the car and tried not to think about my sister and what else might be in the file. Allison finally showed up about 15 minutes after our meeting time, but since I was asking for a favor, I didn’t comment on her punctuality.

She unlocked the door, threw her purse onto the chair behind the first desk in the office, and fired up the computer. Even though it was after 10, she headed for the coffee pot and turned it on. I thought she was being very trusting, given that I was only a few feet from the door and her purse, but she seemed to think I was worth the trust.

After the coffee had brewed, she returned to the desk. “Now can you give me more information about the cats?”

I pulled out my phone and read the information on the microchips to her as well as giving her descriptions of the cats. The level of information I provided made her feel more comfortable that I was legitimate. I showed her the app and explained how it worked. I almost felt as though I was a salesman for Brett. Honestly, I think she was far more interested in the app than she was in the details I’d requested.

After about 10 minutes of discussing the pros and cons of the app, she finally pulled up the information. She broke out into a smile. “I remember these cats. They were adorable. They were adopted at about age three. They’d been together since birth. One of the cats was the definite alpha of the pair, and the other one followed him everywhere he went.”

My ears perked up at this last statement. “Is that normal? I thought cats were more independent.”

The girl sighed. “Most are, but you’ll see some dependency, especially if they’ve not had an easy life. They’ll rely on each other more than other cats would.”

Since I was still only working for Brett on his app, I tried to keep my questions related to the two cats. “So there definitely were two of them? And they were adopted together?”

“Yes, they were so attached that we wouldn’t have dreamed of splitting them up. It would have been too sad. They were in a good foster situation, so they could have stayed there until someone would love them both.”

Knowing the proprietary nature of adoption centers, I already knew that they’d have detailed information about the family who took the cats. “As I shared with you on the phone,” I said, “I know Mrs. Miller, but I’m not good friends with her husband. Did you meet him during the adoption process?”

“Just briefly. She was the person we dealt with most. Of course, since she lived in Ottawa Hills, there was little question that they’d be mistreated or that they couldn’t be provided for.” I saw the tinges of snobbery that would lead to Mrs. Miller getting away with details that other families would not.

I just nodded. “Mr. Miller is, errr was, a very busy man. I’m sure it was hard for him to find time meet with people.”

She gave me a broad grin, I presumed for understanding their position. “Is there anything else I can answer for you today? It does appear that your friend’s app is working properly. Does he have a timeframe for its introduction? I know a lot of people here would be interested in it. Right now, we have to use the services of a vet to learn this sort of information.”

“The last time I talked to him there were some issues that he had to ironed out, but I know he hopes to have it on the market soon,” I said honestly. I didn’t want to talk to her about the privacy issues of the app, since I’d just been asking questions about other people. It seemed hypocritical to say the least.

“Speaking of services, would you be willing to talk to a couple of our dogs today? We have a poodle with a nervous condition and a schnauzer with aggression issues. They’re here at the site today to see if we can get answers to their issues. If you could…” She let the words hang in the air.

I sighed. “I guess so.”

She led the way to the back of the offices. If the dogs were here now, I highly suspected that they’d been brought in by their foster families while I was talking to Allison in the front. These pets were typically pampered and kept by trusted families until they could be adopted. I wouldn’t dream of leaving a nervous dog alone in a strange place, so I knew that they wouldn’t either. I’d been had, and now I was paying the price for my information.

The poodle was an easy case to diagnose. The dog had quite obviously been abused. He was scared of loud noises, any sudden motion, and especially any time I raised my hand above my chest level. Otherwise, he seemed like a good dog. I put on my show for Allison, playing with the dog, nodding my head as if in agreement, asking questions that would later be used as part of my analysis of the situation. After about 10 minutes, I stopped, petted him gently and looked up at the woman. “I’m sure you can guess that he’s been abused. From what he said, he was hit on a regular basis, and sudden movements and arm raises frighten him. He told me that he thinks he can get over it with time, but you’ll need to be patient with him.”

Allison nodded her head. “I thought so. I’ll call the foster family in a bit to explain the situation to him. They’ve worked with abused dogs before, so they know how to treat him.”

We walked over to a second crate. The schnauzer seemed at ease in the crate. I opened the door and sat down for her to check me out. She came up to me sniffed, and then began to prod me to do what she wanted. When I refused, I received a rough growl in return. I did a few more things with her, all the while talking to her as if we were carrying on a conversation. I lay prone on the floor, and she jumped on top of me. I petted her while she stared down at me from her perch. I finished up a few more games with her before looking to Allison. “She was the alpha at her old home. She’s used to being the boss. The other dogs and the humans did what she said and she was vocal about telling them if they ignored her. She said she feels very useless at her new home. She’d like it more if the family gave her tasks to do or showed her how to help out. She went from being queen of the home to a hanger-on, and it feels uncomfortable to her.”

Allison had been nodding along with my words. “You’re just wonderful. I don’t know how you talk to them, but they always tell you the most interesting stories. Thank you so much. I hope you can come back soon to tell us more about some of our other pets.”

I gave her a smile and headed out the door. Now that I found out that the second cat was a follower, I wanted to know what it had followed and why.

When I returned home, I found the newspaper lying in the yard. Chalk one up to Detective Green for insisting I should do my chores. My hair had been another matter. It had become frozen to the ice during the fight for my life on Lake Erie last winter. As a result, it had been a decision of cutting my hair or pulling it out by the roots. The EMTs made the wise choice in my mind.

The result was that I was beginning to feel like I actually blended in more as someone who tried to be “normal” at everything, rather than hiding behind the lack of interest in my clothing, appearance, and upkeep. Perhaps the changes would make me more invisible than if I took no care at all?

I opened the paper as I sat down with another cup of tea. The headline was bold and unavoidable. “Miller’s ex-wife is implicated in inventor’s death.”

I immediately saw that Green had been busy after we talked. The police had tracked down the first wife at her home, questioned her, and then requested her presence at the station. I knew from experience that the requests were anything but that. They were merely a way to take away the security of the person being questioned and put them in an awkward environment. I hoped that Evangeline Miller had a good lawyer. She’d be needing one.

The paper included a photo that was likely ten years old, taken at a time when they were still married, when she’d had both money and a father. She had dark hair with streaks of gray in it. Her face was turned slightly to look at Miller, and the look in her eyes said that she loved him very much. There was warmth and admiration in her smile. Little did she know what would happen, I thought.

The paper went on to tell that she had been Evangeline Vires before her marriage. Her father had been an inventor until his untimely death. Adding to her grief, she and Miller had divorced about six months after the suicide. He had cited irreconcilable differences. She’d later counter-sued for adultery.

She attempted to resume her career as an actress following her divorce. She worked with the Adams Street Theater group until Miller had become a major sponsor of the organization. She’d refused to work with him on any projects there, and finally severed her ties with the group. The paper didn’t have any information on her following that.

She had stopped attending social functions. She rarely contacted her fellow actors from the troop. She’d sold her interest, inherited from her father, in the business that Miller now ran. She’d only had enough of the company to be a nuisance, but not to impact the growth or focus of the company. I could understand that after multiple crushing blows, the desire to lock yourself away could be overwhelming. My mother barely left her home these days. She ordered everything she needed from groceries to clothes from online vendors who delivered it to her house.

According to the article, Evangeline had been questioned extensively at her home in Southwyck and then taken in for additional questioning. This was not in my favor on two counts. First, I wouldn’t be able to talk to her about her knowledge of the cats and the trick that had been used on her father. Second, it also meant that Detective Green would not be available to talk either. I was stuck with only the reported news as a source of information, which was of little help since it couldn’t answer any questions for me.

I thought about going downtown to the Adams Street Theater to learn more about Evangeline, but given the fact that it had been more than five years now along with Miller’s financial involvement in the troop, I doubted that I was going to get much information on the matter. Maybe even less information than the newspaper had to offer. It was a shame, because I’d started to develop a few theories about Miller’s death. However, the questions I needed answers to would never be included in an article. I’d have to specifically question someone about Evangeline to learn what I needed to know.

While I waited a reasonable amount of time to call Detective Green – I still wasn’t sufficiently over my grudge to call her Sheila again, I decided to make a few phone calls. I called Brett and let him know that his app was fine. Two cats had been chipped at the same location and the same day. He expressed his gratitude, and we wasted 20 minutes discussing the privacy issues he’d run across and how he’d opted to get around them. I admired him for his tenacity. I’m not sure that I would have stuck with it for so long.

That made me wonder about Miller and Vires. Had Vires really developed all of the apps that had been attributed to him by others or had he just had the kernel of an idea that Miller had developed? With both men dead, I thought it unlikely that we’d ever know for sure. Collaborations were like that. Where did one man end and the other begin?

Finally I decided that any action was better than no action. I got in my car and drove to the theater. The doors were locked, but an older man answered the door when I knocked.

“If you’re a reporter, take a photo of my right side. It’s my better one,” he said, giving me the profile to use. “And don’t misspell my name. It’s Harry Armitage.” He spelled it for me.

“Thank you, but I’m not a reporter. I work with the police sometimes,” I said, feeling that in the theater a little dramatic license was allowed. “I had a few questions that I wanted to ask you about James Miller and Evangeline.”

He threw his hands up in the air. “When is enough? They’ve already been here twice this morning to ask questions. What now?”

“When was the last time that you saw Evangeline?”

“It’s been a long time. Three years, maybe four. We ran into each other at a fundraiser for a small dramatic arts company that was trying to get started. What was their name? They made a lot of money that night and lasted perhaps six weeks before going under.”

“Did she ever talk to you about her father?” I wanted to get this over with fast. If the police had been here twice already, a third time was not impossible. I didn’t want to be here when that happened.

He threw the back of his hand across his forehead and swooned slightly. “Oh yes, constantly for the first few years after his death. We called her ‘Ophelia’ after a while. She was obsessed with his death and how it happened. She called it murder long after the police had determined it was a suicide. It was just sad after a while.”

“It appears that it really was murder. New evidence has come to light in the case.”

Armitage shrugged. “Cassandra perhaps would have been a better nickname, I suppose, since she was correct and no one would listen to her.”

Now came the question that I really wanted the answer to. “Do you know if she still had access to make-up and costumes, either here or at home?”

Armitage laughed. Of course, it was a guffaw that would have captured the attention of everyone around, if anyone had been there. “It’s like asking a reporter if he has a pen. Of course, she did. She said that her husband complained that she had enough materials to outfit her own company if she’d wanted to. She had a room at her home that was just used to hold her items from the theater.”