Catnapped (A Klepto Cat Mystery) (2 page)

The oversized cat strolled into the room behind them. He sidled up to Margaret when she stopped near the kitchen table. She reached down to stroke his fur. Looking over at Max, she said, “This is Klepto, AKA Ragsdale.”

“What a handsome devil,” he said, “with that plush grey tuxedo he’s wearing. He’s a good-sized cat, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he can out-reach most cats,” Savannah said as she added more water and grounds to the coffeemaker in order to accommodate their guest.

“And probably leap tall buildings,” Margaret added with a hint of sarcasm.

Savannah gave her a playful smirk and then turned to Max. “So you have cats?”

“A few.” He winked and then squatted down to get a better look at Rags. “A klepto, you say? What does he steal?”

“I’m still looking for my reading glasses,” Margaret complained.

Savannah feigned a sheepish look and then changed the subject. “Auntie, where’s the princess? I thought I’d wait and feed the two kitties their canned food together. Rags can nibble on kibbles for now.”

“Sure. She’s probably still enjoying her beauty sleep. Or she’s hiding out. She doesn’t like strangers much, but she usually acknowledges Max.”

“It isn’t me, it’s my cats. She likes to get acquainted with them, even if only by proxy,” he said with a wide grin. He looked over at Savannah. “She has a love affair going on with the enticing feline scents on my shoes.”

“Well, she was one of your strays—poor little thing.” Margaret turned toward Savannah and said, “When he brought her to me, Vannie, I thought she was a drowned rat. I had to feed the scrawny kitten with an eyedropper. It was touch-and-go for a while. Now look at her—well, you saw her last night. Isn’t she a beauty?”

“She sure is,” Savannah agreed. “If I hadn’t had Rags fixed, I’m sure he would be interested.”

“I don’t think I’d allow that union,” Margaret quipped. “Not with this bad boy cat.”

“Well, I think Rags and Layla would make beautiful kittens together,” Savannah insisted.

Max suddenly took on a more serious demeanor. “And that’s what we don’t need—random breeding just to make beautiful kittens. There are already more cats than there are people to love them.”

The two women nodded in agreement.

Savannah walked over to the sideboard. She selected three mugs and carried them to the counter, placing them next to the coffeepot. She then removed a chair from around the kitchen table so her aunt could roll up closer. Max took a seat next to Margaret, and Savannah sat opposite him. She looked over at Max. “You know, when I first began to hear all the hype encouraging people to get their cats spayed and neutered, I was actually afraid that cats would become extinct and there would be no more kittens. I mean, a world without kittens—how dismal is that?”

Max looked down at Rags, who was rubbing against his leg. He ran his hand over the cat’s coat and gave him a scratch behind the ear. “Dismal indeed,” he agreed. And then he leaned back, his eyes focused on something behind Savannah and said, “I was a relative latecomer to the
movement
—if you would call it that. But my grandmother was a woman before her time when it came to the welfare of cats. She was known as the
cat lady
, and I don’t think in a kind way. Now she would probably be considered a
hoarder
.”

Savannah put an elbow on the table and rested her chin on the palm of her hand. She looked over at Max and asked, “When was this?”

“She had cats from the time I was a small child—in the late 1950s. She was always hauling a cat to the vet to be spayed or neutered or to be treated for an abscess, worms, broken bones—you name it. And it didn’t matter if it was her cat or not. Many of the cats wound up as her cats. She had big wire cages out behind her house, full of cats. I loved it. When I was a kid, going to Granny Jeffers was like visiting a zoo—a cat zoo.” He paused for a few seconds as if relishing the memory.

Savannah stood and walked over to the counter. “So how did she end up with so many cats?”

“Word got around and people started using her yard as a dumping ground for stray cats or cats they no longer wanted.”

“Or maybe cats just found their way to her,” Margaret suggested. She looked up at Savannah and explained, “We’re finding that stray or abandoned cats seem to have a way of locating colonies where they can get fed and be relatively safe.”

“Well, Granny Jeffers sounds like a kitty angel,” Savannah said while placing two mugs of steaming coffee on the table. “Cream?” she asked.

“No, black,” Max responded. “Thanks.”

“You don’t use cream, do you, Auntie?”

“Just a tad of sugar.” Margaret reached for the cut-glass sugar bowl. And then she said, “Max has followed in his grandmother’s footsteps. He has quite a wonderful facility next door.”

“Oh, so you rescue cats?” Savannah asked, sitting down at the table with her cup of coffee.

Max wrapped his hands around his coffee mug and stared into the black liquid. “Rescue, treat, rehabilitate, adopt, relocate—whatever it takes.”

“He’s one of those kitty angels,” Margaret quipped.

“If only we could save and protect them all,” Max said, suddenly turning sullen. He then glanced up and sat back in his chair. “Sorry ladies, I didn’t mean to gloom up your morning.”

***

Meanwhile in another part of town, two fourteen-year-old boys stood on a corner. The taller one pulled his jacket collar up around his ears which were covered by a dark knit cap. He peered up and down the street. “So do you think that guy will show?”

The second boy scrunched his hands deep into the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt. “Heck, who knows. He’s one creepy guy. But the work’s not bad for the pay.”

“Yeah, if we don’t get caught.” The first boy looked up in time to see a vehicle slowing. “That’s him. You get in first.”

“Why?”

“Just friggin’ do it,” he said in a loud whisper as the automobile stopped alongside the pair and the passenger door swung open.

“Git in, kids; we don’t have all day,” the man inside said impatiently. He didn’t seem to notice the elbow-nudging and face contortions of his two passengers as they silently communicated their disgust at his body odor.

This is one day I’ll be glad to get to school,
thought the taller boy.
This guy friggin’ stinks.

The smaller boy had the displeasure of sitting closest to the grubby man.
Phew! I hope we score and earn some money fast. I can’t wait to get outta here.

The driver was silent, as well, caught up in his own thoughts.
Stupid kids. Stupid job. I’m gonna git what I’m owed one way or t’other, so I don’t hafta do this shit no more.

***

“It’s okay, Max,” Margaret crooned while leaning forward and placing a hand of comfort on his arm. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. You know we will.”

“What’s going on, Auntie?” Savannah asked quietly.

“We’ll talk about it, later. In fact, you may learn more about human nature before the week is out than you ever wanted to know.” She gave her niece a knowing wink.

I should have expected there would be more to this visit than playing nursemaid for my aunt,
Savannah thought to herself.

“Well, good morning, Lady Layla,” Max said in a sing-song voice as Margaret’s faux golden Persian strolled in, looked around the room, and headed for Max’s shoes.

Rags, who had been lounging nearby, jumped to his paws and greeted her, as well. At least he tried to be cordial. His attempt at rubbing up against her was met with a hiss.

The visiting cat seemed puzzled by Layla’s reaction to his friendly overtures and he sat down, cocked his head, and stared at her, as if contemplating his next move.

Time to intervene, lest we wear out our welcome,
Savannah thought
.
“Auntie, why don’t you two visit? I’ll be down in a minute. I want to hear more about your cats, Max. Come on, Rags.” She motioned for the cat to follow, as if he actually understood. Maybe he did, for he ran after her into the living room and bounded up the stairs ahead of her. When she neared the top of the wide staircase, she noticed that he sat waiting for her on the landing. “Show off,” she said with a laugh. She stared into his quizzical face for a few seconds and then, in a more serious tone, she asked, “Now I want to know, where did you put Auntie Marg’s glasses, you naughty boy?”

As Savannah rounded the corner into her guestroom, Rags leaped onto the bed, walked over to the headboard and stretched up as tall as he could toward the window. She put her hands on her hips and scolded, “Rags, move on. I want to make the bed.”

He responded by jumping in the middle of the bed, rolling onto his side, grabbing a wad of the sheet between his front paws, and kicking at it playfully. Savannah wanted to be annoyed, but couldn’t help laughing at his antics. She picked up the pencil she’d used to work a crossword puzzle the night before and tossed it on the floor. Just as she thought he would, the frisky cat dove off the bed after it. She took that opportunity to pull the blankets up and cover them with the handmade quilt that had adorned the spare rooms in Aunt Marg’s homes for years. Savannah had lost track of who made the now slightly faded patchwork quilt—a great-grand or great-aunt somebody. But she remembered having seen it in every house her aunt had lived in since Savannah was old enough to notice the intricate design of the pretty pastel-print fabrics. In fact, the pattern became imprinted in her memory the summer old Jed Forster died in a barn fire on the property.

The Brannon siblings and their families had all converged on Tom and Margaret’s home for a weeklong stay. Savannah had just turned eleven; her sister Brianna was nine. The two girls shared this room with their twin girl cousins Melanie and Roxy, while the boy cousins slept on the screened-in porch. Each set of parents had their own rooms. Since Savannah was the oldest of the children, she got her own bed. The others shared beds and used sleeping bags. At that time, Savannah was devouring
Nancy Drew
and
Hardy Boy
mystery books. She was practically addicted to suspense and anything mysterious. And she had a rather morbid curiosity about the details of her great-uncle’s demise. She took every opportunity that week to listen when the adults spoke about the details of the deadly fire that had occurred a month or so earlier. One detail she wishes to this day she hadn’t heard was the speculation and possibility that someone had set the fire on purpose and killed the old man.

That was her first lesson in the dangers of eavesdropping. Yes, she remembered the quilt.
I could probably describe every inch of it if I had to in a court of law, after lying awake staring at it every night that week afraid that the murderer would come back and burn me alive inside this big, old wood-frame house
, she thought.
I wonder what ever happened to the clue we found the day we were digging around out there in the fire area. We should have told someone about it, but we didn’t want to get into trouble for going near the burned-down barn. It was off-limits to us kids, and way too tempting for a junior sleuth like me to ignore.

As Savannah pulled a soft blue tee shirt and a pair of her comfiest jeans out of the suitcase, she remembered something else. Her two boy cousins, Jake and Jimmy, hid the clue the day they all left for home.
Oh my gosh, I remember where they hid it. Could it still be there?

Her thoughts were interrupted by her aunt’s voice over the room-to-room intercom. “Savannah, your coffee’s getting cold and Layla is hungry.”

“I’ll be right down,” Savannah called into the speaker.
I should unpack and hang up my clothes,
she considered. And then,
Later,
she decided.
I want to hear more about Max’s cats.
She stopped, a thoughtful look crossing her face.
And what did Auntie mean about getting to the bottom of it? The bottom of what? It’s obviously something about cats…and human nature. Max and Aunt Marg seem so concerned. What could be going on?

She rushed into the bathroom to wash up and brush her teeth, then took the knot out of her hair and ran a brush through it while Rags lapped at the stream of water coming from the spigot. She secured her hair in a ponytail and hurriedly donned the clothes she’d set out. With the cat leading the way, Savannah jogged down the staircase. Her first stop was at her aunt’s temporary bedroom. She turned over shoes, poked around in the bathroom again and lifted the dust ruffle to look under the bed. She peered into the various little dishes and other containers on the two dressers and checked the drawer and shelves on the nightstand.

Oh wait, Auntie Marg saw Rags climbing out of her lingerie drawer. What was he doing in there—depositing something?
She pulled the drawer open and felt carefully through the silky unmentionables—
bingo!
She worked her fingers through some folded fabric and pulled out a pair of glasses.
Boy, will Auntie Marg be pleased. I saw her relying on these a lot last night as we looked through some old photo albums.
Savannah smiled.
That was a nice walk down memory lane—seeing pictures of the family when I lived here many years ago. That was before Margaret married Tom Forster.

Margaret was the only Brannon left in their hometown. She’d followed her second husband back there after meeting him at a class reunion. He was a member of an earlier graduating class and had come to the reunion with his younger cousin. He and Margaret hit it off right away. She’d been single for five years, when they married. After his parents died, they moved into the old Forster place to take care of his grandfather, Jed Forster. Fourteen years later, Margaret became a widow, and, when there was no opposition from other family members, she inherited the property.

I can see why no one else in the Forster family wanted this old place. It’s charming and all, but there’s so much upkeep. Auntie always did like a challenge.
Savannah sighed as she looked around the room—one of several that had yet to be refurbished.