Black Cat and the Accidental Angel (Black Cat Mysteries Book 3) (15 page)

John stomped his way across the front porch, paused, and then tried the handle. Finding it locked, he turned his key in the lock, flung open the door, and stepped inside. His face was as twisted and dark as a thundercloud.

Uh-Oh! That doesn’t look good.

“Where did this come from?” John shook a naked, headless baby doll.

Cindy’s face paled. She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not mine.” She looked toward Black Cat. “Maybe the dirty old man left it?”

“What dirty old man? Who was here?” John threw his sweatshirt on the chair and slammed the door, reached back and flipped the lock. He hurried to the stove and stooped down beside her. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Did someone come while I was gone? You didn’t let him in, did you?”

Cindy shook her head. “An old man came on the porch. He was dirty and walked funny. I locked the door and went into the bathroom, like you told me.” She leaned over the blanket. “But, Daddy, just look! Angel’s kittens are here. Four of them. Aren’t they sweet?”

His expression softened a bit when he glanced down at the kittens. “Yes, I see. But, Cindy, listen to me. This doll!” He shook the headless thing. “This doll…” His face paled and his voice faded, as though he had second thoughts about sharing the implications of a headless doll left on the porch when a little girl was home alone.

Even without much memory or experience in an evil world, Black Cat had enough sense to know that things might have been different if Cindy had opened the door.

“You should let Angel rest now. Come on away.” John took Cindy’s hand and pulled her to her feet.

“I almost forgot. Did you find the Emu?” Cindy ran to the window and peeked out, as if she expected to see the errant hen pecking bugs beside John’s truck.

John ran his hand through his hair. He shook his head. “When I got to the house, the woman didn’t know what I was talking about. She said she didn’t call. It must have been someone playing a trick…” John turned away from Cindy, poked at the fire, his head bowed, hiding his face from her.
What was he thinking?

The hair on Black Cat’s neck paraded down his spine. It wasn’t a
prank
any more than when someone stole the eggs or let the hens loose. Someone wanted John out of the house—wanted Cindy vulnerable. The headless doll on the porch was a warning.

If Mr. Skimmer was behind this, how far would he go? Would he hurt Cindy?
Doggone it. How can we protect her? We’re just cats, but we’ve got to find a way!

Chapter Sixteen

K
imberlee’s chair scraped the floor under the dinner table. She sat, bowed her head, took Amanda’s hand, and then reached for Brett’s hand, making a full circle.

“Thank You for this food,” Amanda prayed. “Bless Mama and Daddy Brett and…and…please God, take care of Thumper and Noe-Noe and bring them home safe.”

Brett lifted his head, glanced at Kimberlee and frowned. Hadn’t he called the Humane Society every week, until the lady at the counter recognized his voice at his first ‘hello?’ Hadn’t he run the Lost Cats ad in the Cloverdale paper for eight weeks straight without results?

Did Amanda have to pray for the cats at every meal and in every bedtime prayer? Sooner or later, she had to understand it was no use, no matter how much she wanted her prayers to be answered. He was almost getting used to the wrench in his heart every time she asked God to bring her kitties home.

Just that afternoon, while Amanda was at kindergarten, he and Kimberlee had discussed that very thing on the patio.

“Maybe we should get another kitten. I don’t think there’s much hope we’ll hear anything now. It’s been over two months since the accident. What’s the use of keeping up this pretense? They’re not coming back.”
Isn’t it time to let this whole Thumper-watch go?
“I asked her the other day if she wanted another kitten. She said if we got another kitten, Thumper would think she had stopped loving him.”

Kimberlee sighed and sipped her coffee. “I don’t know what to do. I hate to tell her to stop praying. It’s never a waste of time to give thanks for our blessings and ask for help when we’re troubled. Just last week, I heard about a cat lost for over a year, and it came home. Maybe—”

“Honey, stop. You’re just holding onto false hope. They’re gone. They’re probably dead. Something probably got them that first day. Maybe a hawk or a fox.”

Kimberlee put her hands over her ears. “
La la la
… I’m not listening. I’d rather believe they’ve found a good home and they’re happy somewhere.”

Brett shook his head. “If it makes you feel better, believe whatever you like. But, one of these days, we have to deal with Amanda. It’s not healthy for her to keep praying and risk having her faith destroyed. Better she should accept reality and get another kitten. Maybe I’ll get one from the local SPCA and bring it home. She’ll love it as soon as she sees it.”

“Not yet. Let’s give it a while, please?” Kimberlee touched his arm.

A while, she had said and he had no choice but to agree. Well, he would do some praying of his own, not for the cats—Amanda was taking care of that, but for Amanda—that she would not suffer a lack of faith when her prayers went unanswered.

The phone rang. “If you think that’s best.” Brett turned. “I’ll get it.” He pushed back his chair and picked up the receiver. “Hello. Clarke residence.”

“Brett?” The old crone’s voice jabbed into his brain, just like it had back in Texas, earlier that summer.

Brett glanced at Kimberlee, his face without expression. “Can you hold the line, please?” He put his hand over the phone. “Will you hang this up, honey? I want to take this call in my office.” He handed her the phone and headed into the house. “Okay, I’ve got it,” he called as he shoved the door shut. The phone clicked as she hung it up.

“Okay, I can talk now.” Brett’s stomach did a flip-flop as he sat at his desk. He ran his hand over his face. “How are you, Grandmother? What can I do for you?”

“I want to speak to my granddaughter. Is she there?”

A vein throbbed in Brett’s cheek. “She can’t talk right now. She’s giving Amanda her dinner,” he lied. “Haven’t you talked to her since we left Texas?”
I thought Kimberlee called her about taking Noe-Noe a long time ago.
His pulse quickened. Perspiration popped out on his forehead.

“No. I haven’t heard from Kimberlee. I suppose she’s still mad at me over that misunderstanding when you were here.” Grandmother’s voice raised a notch.

“Misunderstanding? That’s a curious way to put it, considering what happened.”

“Well, never mind that now. That’s not why I called. It’s about my cat. Juan said the last time he saw her was the day you folks left. He thought you might have taken her. I couldn’t believe you’d do such a thing. I’m not saying you did, mind you. But, if you know something about it, you better tell me. If you have my Noe-Noe, I want her back.”

A trail of perspiration trickled down Brett’s forehead. Bad enough they had
appropriated
the cat when they left the ranch. They’d figured Grandmother wouldn’t miss the cat, or might not care. Or, considering the grief she had caused Kimberlee during their visit, she might leave well enough alone.
Probably wistful thinking.

Well, that ship had sailed. Grandmother wanted her cat back. That would be the cat they lost, over two months ago. The cat left behind on the levee road with Thumper the day of the accident. The cat that disappeared from the face of the earth, in spite of posters and newspaper ads and a child’s constant prayers. Now, how was he supposed to fix this?

Why hadn’t Kimberlee called and straightened this out? How could he tell Grandmother at this late date, that her cat was not only missing, but probably dead?

“Well, Grandmother, I don’t know how to say this. We can’t give her back because—”

“What do you mean, you can’t give her back? So you admit you
stole
my cat? I invited you here for a wonderful vacation and this is how you repay me?”

Brett gulped, and took a breath.
Wonderful vacation? What a laugh
. “If things had been different, Grandmother, we
would
have told—”

“I was near death in the hospital, and you stole my cat? What kind of people are you?”

“We
should
have called you in the hospital before we left but—”

“What an ungrateful child! And to think I almost left my entire estate to Kimberlee.”

Now wasn’t that the biggest joke of all? Despite their current problems with Grandmother, she was right. They should never have taken Noe-Noe without permission. Well, it was too late now to think about
shoulda, coulda, woulda
.

“Listen, Grandmother, it was all rather sudden. Believe me. We didn’t plan it. We were on our way home. Noe-Noe just sort of…well, found her way into Thumper’s cage…
um
…by mistake.”

That’s not quite true but it’s always easier to ask forgiveness instead of asking permission. No point in going into details about the cats’ disappearance.

“Some mistake. I suppose she opened the wire door and sneaked into the cage when you weren’t looking?
Humph!
You knew what you were doing. You
stole
her to get even with me because Kimberlee was mad.”

What?
“Look, I’m sorry. We thought, considering your convalescence, the cat would be better off with us. We thought—”

“Hogwash. I’m calling the sheriff and filing charges. Cat-napping, that’s what it is. Downright, malicious,
pre-medicated
cat-napping.”

“Go ahead and call the sheriff. While we’re at it, let’s put him in touch with the Los Angeles detective you hired and the plans you had for Amanda.” Brett slammed the phone down. Even if he wanted to give the cat back, what could he do about it, anyway? The cat was gone. Brett’s hand lingered on the phone. Now, what was he supposed to say to Kimberlee?

Maybe it would be better not to even mention Grandmother’s call. Considering her role in the Texas fiasco, he doubted she would ever have the nerve to press the issue.*

*See
Black Cat and the Lethal Lawyer
for events that took place in Texas with Thumper, Noe-Noe, Kimberlee, Grandmother, and Amanda.

Chapter Seventeen

C
indy is going with John again today.” Black Cat’s fur rippled down his back as John pulled the door shut and headed for his truck. “He’s going to cut down some trees.”

Angel pulled her ears back “When does he plan to sleep? He’s been up half the night patrolling the yard. He’s starting to look like a raccoon and he hasn’t shaved his whiskers for three days.”

“He says he has to make sure none of those two-legged skunks that hanker for a man’s land is skulking around. And, it gives us some alone time with the babies.” Black Cat jumped sideways and gave the tiny tortoiseshell kitten a playful swat.

“More time to act goofy in front of the kiddies without giving up your
macho persona
in front of John, is what you mean.” Angel yawned and rolled onto her back, her four feet in the air. “At least the house is quiet and I can get some sleep.”

Black Cat stared shyly at the eight creamy-pink dots peeking through her white tummy fur, and then averted his gaze. “Angel! You’re much too cynical, but still cute as a button.”

The next morning, before breakfast, John ran out to the enclosure to check the nests.

Black Cat tagged along, patrolling the fence line, checking for any sign of intruders. Not that he could do much about it if he found any, but it was important that he do his part to protect the family. All the hens were back, safe and sound, thanks to an ad in the local paper and help from the Humane Society when neighbors spotted a six-foot-tall feathered intruder in their back yards.

On the days John took Cindy to the vineyard, Black Cat would tag along. The sun warmed the
Gewürztraminer grapes
, botanically designed to grow at higher elevations and in cooler weather, like the weather in Nevada City, California, just west of the Nevada border. Puffy white clouds hung low in the sky. The apple trees along the field were now heavy with young apples, promising a good harvest.

John pruned the young grape vines while Black Cat and Cindy scampered through the rows and played hide and seek.

Cindy pulled off a piece of vine and dragged it back and forth in front of Black Cat’s nose.

He chased the vine from left to right, his imagination running wild. In his mind’s eye, Cindy disappeared, and the other little girl with the bouncing brown curls took her place.

He chased the child through the front yard, past the porch covered with purple flowers climbing across the rafters. Sailboats with bright colored sails bobbed beside the dock next door.