Black Cat and the Accidental Angel (Black Cat Mysteries Book 3) (7 page)

It was all he could do to keep food on the table and gas in the truck, selling firewood, much less meet his other financial obligations. Now,
Cindy wanted him to keep a couple of cats? What a sad day when he couldn’t afford to feed two little cats. Nope. They’d have to go to the animal shelter. First thing tomorrow.

His heart wrenched as he watched his daughter washing the breakfast dishes by hand since the dishwasher had broken and he couldn’t afford… Just one more example of the state of affairs around here.

Cindy asked so little. She’d shouldered a good share of the housework since her mother left. Much more than a ten-year-old should have to handle, but under the circumstances, what choice did he have?

He slumped into his chair and pushed the remaining envelopes back in the drawer. They were all pretty much the same. Overdue—in arrears—collection pending. He shoved the drawer closed.

Meow!
The little orange cat pawed his leg.

“Hey, Angel. What do you need?” He reached down, ran his hand down her back and up her thin tail. “What’s this? A kink at the end?” He smiled.

She pushed her head into his hand.

He stroked her back again, and again, and again, and then lifted her into his lap. His smile worked its way into the crevices beside his mouth. Felt good to smile. It had been a while. He rubbed Angel’s velvet soft ears. “Nice kitty. Did you get enough to eat?”

Angel tipped her head and peered into his eyes. She blinked and purred. The purr flowed through her body, vibrating into his hand and up his arm. Why did petting a cat feel so good? Something about the feel of her fur filled him with peace. He couldn’t stop smiling.

An idea! He
could
bring a spot of sunshine into Cindy’s life. How much could two little cats eat? Cats were good hunters, right? They’d probably pay for themselves, and keep the rodents in check around the ranch. Should have thought of it sooner.

“Hey, Cindy.”

“What?” She turned from the sink. “Oh, you’ve got Angel.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking. Why don’t we call the animal shelter and let them know the cats are here. We can keep them until their owners show up. How about that?”

“Oh, Daddy!” She dried her hands on the kitchen towel and dashed to the desk, pulling out scissors, paper and colored pencils. “I’ll make lost and found posters. We can put them at the little store and on the telephone poles down town. It’ll be fun.”

“Remember. They’re just visiting until we find their owners.”

She tipped her head and smiled.

Her happy face clutched at his heart. Who needed a leprechaun when his daughter’s smile was worth more than a pot of gold?

“But, in the meantime, we can pretend they’re ours.” Cindy carried her art supplies to the table.

John stood and dropped Angel to the floor. He swallowed the lump in his throat and headed for the door. “I’m going out and feed the Emus.”

Black Cat rolled toward the edge of the blanket as Angel flopped down alongside. Mountain air made him so sleepy. He closed his eyes. “What’s an Emu?”

The fur across Angel’s shoulders rippled in a shrug. She yawned, exposing all her sharp little teeth. “I think it’s sort of like a chicken.”

Cindy glanced toward the stove. “Oh, Black Cat, you’re awake.” She hurried over and knelt on the blanket. “Daddy’s going out to feed the mean old birds. I can’t go into their yard because I’m not big like Daddy. They try to bite me.”

Black Cat tilted his head toward hers. He tried to pretend he was listening, concentrating on every word she
uttered, when actually his thoughts were a mile away. He jerked his head back and stared dutifully into Cindy’s eyes.
Pay attention. Worship and admire.
It would make her feel important.

She beamed, as expected, and prattled on. “Gilbert is sitting on Myrtle’s eggs.” Cindy stroked Black Cat’s back. “The mama Emu lays the eggs and then she goes off and forgets all about them. The papas have to keep the eggs warm. Daddy’s going to sell the baby chicks. That’s how we’ll earn lots of money.”

Angel rolled over. “Told ya. They’re chickens. I know all about chickens. We had chickens on the ranch—”

“Where? Did you say
ranch
?” Black Cat sat up straight and glared at Angel. She hadn’t shared any of their past in spite of his multiple questions and she certainly hadn’t ever mentioned a ranch. “Tell me about this ranch. Is that where we lived?”

“
Uh
… Don’t bother me now. I’m sleepy.” Angel threw her paw across her eyes and rolled on her side.

Black Cat huffed and paced across the room toward the sofa. He’d been uneasy all morning. Something didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t quite put a toe on it. He and Angel had found a safe haven with Cindy and Daddy, and yet, the vexing itch behind his left ear meant one of two things. Fleas, or the harbinger of trouble. Since he’d groomed every inch of his luxurious fur right after breakfast, he felt safe rejecting the possibility of a six-legged critter.

For a while, he’d thought it might be the daddy’s suggestion to take them to the animal shelter, but Angel had worked her magic and now that Daddy was under her spell, his behavior was almost predictable. Apparently,
persons
were easy to manipulate, once taken over and properly trained by a competent feline, as Angel had demonstrated.

A gust of cool air whooshed as the door opened. The daddy rushed in, his face all squinched up and his chin jutting out. He threw his jacket on the sofa.

Angel glanced at him and scooted under the table.

“Something’s gotten into the nests again. Gilbert’s only sitting on eight eggs this morning. This is the second day in a row eggs have gone missing.”

“Did something get into Gabriel’s nest, too?” Cindy got up from the blanket by the stove and crossed to the sofa.

“The other four nests weren’t disturbed and all the girls look fine. I didn’t see a break in the fence. Fox must have climbed the wire.” The daddy’s cheeks looked flushed, though hard to tell if it was from frustration or the cool morning air. He lifted a .22 rifle from the gun rack by his bedroom door and took a cleaning kit from the buffet drawer. “Think I’d better sit up tonight and see if I can catch—”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Black Cat jumped onto a kitchen chair. He scratched again at the irritating itch behind his ear. It might have been sixth sense or a premonition, but he knew… The source of the itch was just on the other side of the door.

Angel hunkered lower under the table, her orange stripes blending in a mass of gold, her fur puffed out twice its normal size. She felt it, too.

Cindy glanced at her father. Her eyes were opened wide and cheeks pale. Like Pavlov’s dog, reacting to his nod, she ran to her room and closed the door. How odd, they’d all felt it. Why such a reaction to the knock of an unexpected visitor? It could be the Avon lady, or a guy selling cable subscriptions…but not likely.

Black Cat crouched, half hidden under the tablecloth, yet affording him a clear view of the front door. From his position, he had the advantage of surprise, should he be called upon to defend this new household.

Daddy eased the front door open. “Yes?”

“Are you Mr. John Goldstein?”

A hand clutching a briefcase and a bit of dark sleeve was visible just beyond the doorway
. Definitely not the Avon lady.

“Maybe I am. Who wants to know?”

“I’m Mr. Adams, from Nevada City Mercantile Bank. May I come in for a few minutes? I came to discuss your loan.”

One of John’s hands held onto the doorknob, the other, knotted into a fist, lay on the jamb. He frowned and motioned the banker inside. “Make it snappy. I’ve got work to do.” He swept the wrinkles from the faded Indian blanket on the sofa. “Have a seat.”

Mr. Adams balanced on the edge of the sofa, only the smallest amount of his posterior perched on the edge as necessary, lest he fall on the floor. He gazed around the room, cleared his throat and laid his briefcase on the coffee table, then unsnapped the latch.

Black Cat oozed off the chair and ambled toward the banker.
My. My.
So, I see that he doesn’t want to
get his bottom dirty.
How can I further his discomfort?
He jumped onto the sofa and flopped down, and leaned heavily against Mr. Adams’s hip. That should do it.
Wouldn’t it be a shame if he got cat hair on his pin-striped suit?

John brought a chair from the kitchen and sat facing the banker, perspiration pooling in the creases above his eyes. He must have guessed what was coming. He picked lint off his jeans and then looked up. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, but thank you.” Mr. Adams pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase and laid them on the coffee table, retrieved a pair of glasses from his coat pocket and fit the wire frames over his ears. He cleared his throat again and smoothed out the papers. He looked down at Black Cat, pulled his jacket closer to his body and shifted his rump over a few inches.

Black Cat rolled to the left and leaned against Mr. Adams’s hip again. His whiskers twitched ever so slightly as he gazed with feigned adoration into the banker’s face.

Mr. Adams rolled his eyes and shifted on the sofa again. “Mr. Goldstein. It gives me no pleasure bringing you these papers. We’ve tried to contact you by letter and left messages on your phone—”

“I…I’ve had some business reverses and I’ve not been able—”

“We do understand, Mr. Goldstein, and I empathize. Things are tough on lots of folks these days, but the bank has a responsibility to our investors. Two years ago, you came to us and took out a loan to replant your vineyard after a fire. Naturally, we wanted to help you, being sympathetic to the needs of the community and all. But, you’re three months behind on your loan payment. We can’t allow this to continue.”

“You must understand—”

Mr. Adams put up his hand. A constrained note came into his voice. “I must add, as the lien holder, we’ve also received a notice that you failed to pay the second installment of your county property taxes. The bank has no choice but to begin foreclosure.” The air whooshed from his mouth as though he’d delivered his message without taking a breath.

John lurched to his feet, knocking his chair backwards. “You can’t do that. I spoke to the bank manager about an extension. He said everything would be okay. He said he’d take it to the board and recommend an exten—”

“I’m sorry. The board denied your request, and—”

“No.
You
need to understand. My family has owned this property for forty years. I was born here. Sure, I’m behind on things. The fire… But, you can’t march in here just like this and tell me you’re foreclosing.” John ran his hand across the top of his head.

Black Cat jumped to the floor. He exchanged glances with Angel, still hunkered beneath the table.
Wouldn’t you know it?
They’d landed in a hornet’s nest.

John paced the short distance between the couch and the kitchen. “All I need is a little more time, Mr. Adams. Next year, I’ll be able to harvest my grapes. I invested in the Emus to tide me over until then. I’ve got twenty-seven eggs due to hatch in several weeks. I have buyers lined up across three states. When I sell the chicks, I can pay the back taxes and the bank. See how close I am? Can’t you work with me? Just a few more weeks—”

“My good man, if it was up to me…but, sadly, it’s not. Don’t you see? It’s not personal. It’s business. We can’t wait another year for your first harvest. And, I hate to use such a tired cliché, but you really can’t
count your chickens before they hatch
!” A smarmy grin crinkled Mr. Adams’s face, as though he was tickled at his timely pun.

Black Cat looped around the room at a dead run. He skidded to a stop beneath the table beside Angel. How could Mr. Adams make a joke at a time like this? He came to throw a man off his property and makes a stupid chicken joke? What’s funny about ripping a man’s life to shreds? He was a skunk in a pin-striped suit if there ever was one.

“Anything could happen between the egg and the chicken
, heh, heh
.” Mr. Adams stuffed the papers back into his briefcase and stood.