How to Paint a Cat (Cats and Curios Mystery) (24 page)

A SIREN CALL TO THE STOMACH

“I CAN’T BELIEVE
you didn’t tell the police about this,” Hoxton Finn sputtered as the Previous Mayor led him down the open aisle beside the cubicles. “That’s cheeky, even for you.”

“
You
didn’t tell them about the backpack,” the PM retorted smoothly. “I’d say we’re about even when it comes to
cheek
.”

The politician beamed an impish smile. “How’s your ex-wife? I hear she’s getting hitched again. Did you get an invite?”

“No, I didn’t get an invite, but you probably did,” Hox sniped as the PM knelt in front of the ventilation shaft. “You’ll tell me how it goes, I’m sure.”

Snapping his notepad against his left leg, Hox leaned against the cubicle.

“And they’re not the same thing—this ventilation closet and the backpack. Not even close. I happened to remember a detail from the night of the murder. You’re . . .” Not wanting to characterize the PM’s actions in a formal accusation, he merely waved his free hand at the vent.

“Would you like me to call the police right now?” the Previous Mayor asked indignantly. He leaned away from the vent’s grated cover. Sitting on the heels of his wing tips, he reached into his coat pocket for his phone.

He began to press numbers into the display, but Hox wrapped his hand around the phone, blocking the Send button.

“Might as well wait a few more minutes.”

“I thought you’d see it that way,” the PM said smugly. “Now, help me get this cover off the vent.”

As the two men struggled to remove the protective grating, Rupert resumed his snorkeling sounds. The niece unzipped the stroller’s passenger compartment and reached inside.

“Shhh,” she whispered, stroking his head in an attempt to distract him from the remnant chicken smell from the carton left on Spider’s desk.

With a wrenching of metal, the grate fell away from its fittings. The two men looked through the hole at the box of documents in the space beneath the ventilation shaft.

“You think this is related to whatever Spider was carrying in the backpack?” Hox asked, reaching out a hand to page through the file folder tabs. “I wonder if the person who took the backpack knows about this other stash of documents.”

The niece thought about the photocopied picture of her uncle she carried in her jacket pocket. If Sam and her uncle had tried to hide something from Spider’s research, they might have missed a potentially damaging source of information.

“I looked through this box the other day when the janitor showed it to me,” the PM said. “I didn’t see anything of interest.”

There was a lack of sincerity in the PM’s voice that even the niece picked up on. Hox turned his steely gaze away from the ventilation shaft and toward the politician.

But as the pair stared tensely at one another, the niece felt a dreaded tingling inside her nose. The tickle of a sneeze had begun to work its way through her sinuses.

It was a familiar sensation. She experienced regular fits of sneezing, often several times a day—and always, the release came in a high pitched “Ahh-choo!”

This time was no different.

Wincing, she shut her eyes, afraid to look up over the cubicle partition. The Previous Mayor cleared his throat, a signal that she’d been spotted.

“I’m definitely not cut out for undercover work,” she muttered as she stood beside the stroller.

“Hello, Mayor,” she said sheepishly.

The reporter scratched his chin, studying her face as if he recognized it. “Aren’t you the cat woman from upstairs?”

The Previous Mayor nodded toward Hox and said, “She’s Oscar’s niece.”

The PM froze, realizing his mistake. The words had slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Brow furrowed, Hox quickly made the connection to the name Mabel had given him at the Lieutenant Governor’s condo. “Oscar?” he demanded. “Oscar from the antique shop?”

The PM smiled apologetically at the niece.

“We might as well tell him. He’ll figure it out anyway.”

Turning to Hox, he replied gravely, “I believe you know him as James Lick.”

• • •

AS RUPERT WATCHED
the interaction between his person, the reporter, and the Previous Mayor, a new smell wafted into the cubicle room, one that instantly triggered his fried chicken sonar.

It was the same scent he’d detected earlier, but from a dish with a far fresher preparation date.

Three days into his involuntary diet, his hunger had grown to ravenous proportions—even after the chicken dish they’d picked up at the Rincon Center.

Rupert knew he shouldn’t leave the safety of the stroller’s passenger compartment, but the siren call to his stomach was too strong. Without a second thought, he scrambled out of the hole his person had left open in the net cover and scooted at top speed down the hallway toward the door.

Isabella poked her head through the stroller’s passenger compartment and considered issuing a warning. Then she spied two familiar figures standing just outside the entrance to the cubicle room.

Silently, she leaped from the stroller and chased after her brother.

AN AFFINITY FOR CATS

“RUPERT! ISSY!” THE
niece exclaimed as soon as she noticed the feline void inside the stroller.

She looked up at Hox and the Previous Mayor.

“Where did they go? Do you see them? They were right here.”

The reporter stepped back, seeking to distance himself from the emerging cat crisis. He was allergic to cats—and any form of female panic.

“Hey, don’t look at me.”

Dropping to her knees, the niece started crawling along the floor, looking inside cubicles and underneath desks and chairs.

The PM watched her for a moment and then began striding up and down the aisle, assisting in the search. Hox stood next to the ventilation shaft, pensively observing.

The PM turned, hands on his hips, and motioned for Hox to help.

“But . . .” the reporter sputtered, visibly uncomfortable. He lowered his voice to ensure the niece wouldn’t hear, “I don’t even
like
cats.”

• • •

AFTER HURRIEDLY SEARCHING
the cubicle area, the niece rushed out into the hallway. She scanned the empty corridor, trying to keep calm.

“Rupert! Issy!” she hollered as loud as she could. City Hall was a large building in which to lose two cats.

The PM tugged Hox into the hallway.

“Maybe we should split up,” he suggested. “They can’t have gone far.”

Hox looked over the niece’s shoulder and pointed.

“What’s that over there?”

The niece spun around in time to see Isabella’s pink nose peek around the far corner—and then disappear.

She set off at a full sprint down the hallway. The Previous Mayor followed at a quick trot. Hox reluctantly brought up the rear, shaking his head as if he’d rather not be involved in any cat-chasing caper.

The niece reached the end of the corridor, scrambled through the turn, and anxiously peered into the space beyond. Another hallway stretched out before her.

It was empty, save for the same pink nose and orange-tipped ears once more poking around the edge of a distant corner.

“Issy, wait!” the niece called out, to no avail. The cat was gone by the time she reached the second intersection.

The niece was beginning to fear she might never corral her wayward cats, but as she cleared the second corner, she was greeted by a welcome sight. Isabella sat in the middle of the hallway, about twenty yards beyond the turn, placidly tapping the tip of her tail.

This time Isabella waited for her person to catch up. As the niece skidded to a stop beside her, Isabella stood and issued her instructions.

“Mrao,”
she said, rotating her head toward the opening of a smaller side corridor.

Isabella trotted alongside her person as she hurried the short distance to where Rupert sat in front of a now-empty paper takeout box. Given the container’s strong smell and the fresh smear of grease on the interior walls, the box had, until a few seconds earlier, held a cat-sized serving of fried chicken.

The niece flipped the lid of the green carton over so that she could read the gold text printed on the top.

It was a large looping
O
.

• • •

RUPERT BURPED CONTENTEDLY
as the niece scooped him up. She returned to the main corridor, kicking the green takeout container to one side before Hox or the Previous Mayor could see it.

“We’re over here,” she shouted, trying to corral Isabella as she carried Rupert. The cats were too big for her to pick up both of them at the same time.

The niece gave the men a hopeful look. “I need a little help,” she said, gesturing that her hands were full.

“I’ll go back for the stroller,” the PM offered, wisely avoiding the proximity of loose cat hair to his thousand-dollar suit.

“I’ll, uh . . .” Hox said, realizing he’d been out maneuvered by the cagy politician.

“Here,” the niece said, shoving Rupert at the reporter’s chest.

“I’m not really . . . a cat . . . person,” he protested as the heavy ball of fur landed in his arms.

Rupert gazed up at the reporter’s gruff face, snuggled happily against the front of his jacket, and let out a fried chicken–smelling burp.

“Trust me,” the niece replied as she reached down for Isabella, “I’ve given you the easy one.”

Now carrying Isabella, she breezed past him and headed off after the Previous Mayor.

As Hox moved to follow, he caught a sniff of Rupert’s fried chicken breath.

Glancing down the side corridor to where the niece had found the cats, the reporter’s eyes narrowed at the shadow of the green takeout container, kicked up against the wall.

• • •

WHILE THE NIECE
and her cat-chasing assistants were distracted, a man in janitor’s coveralls with an overgrown beard and matching red hair wheeled a dolly through the cubicle room toward the open ventilation shaft on the far wall. After swiftly lifting out Spider’s banker’s box of notes and files, Sam Eckles secured a protective plastic sheeting over the box and strapped it to the dolly’s base.

Whistling to himself, Sam rolled the cart out of the room, down a side hallway, and through a service door to the loading dock behind City Hall. A second janitorial imposter waited behind the wheel of the white cargo van, which was backed up to the door, its engine running. The box was quickly loaded into the rear cargo space, along with the dolly, and the van drove off, disappearing into the pouring rain.

• • •

THE PREVIOUS MAYOR
returned to the cubicle room in time to catch a glimpse of Sam and the box turning for the exit. He stroked his chin for several seconds, thoughtfully considering this development, before fetching the cat stroller.

THE STAKEOUT

THE TRIO OF
the Previous Mayor, Hoxton Finn, and the niece stared at the empty ventilation shaft next to Spider’s cubicle.

“
Now
there’s no reason to call the police,” Hox said sarcastically.

The Previous Mayor attempted to look surprised as the niece tapped her fingers against the stroller handle, silently pondering.

Isabella, of course, knew where the box had gone. She lifted her head proudly as she sat inside the stroller. She had played her part well—in her modest opinion. Although, she reflected, her brother could have shared a bite or two of that tasty snack.

For his part, Rupert lay sprawled across the stroller’s passenger compartment, spreading his body as wide as possible in the restricted space. He cared nothing about the missing file box or its contents. He was happily immersed in dreams of fried chicken.

• • •

“DO YOU NEED
a ride?” Hox asked the niece as the group disbanded.

“Oh, I can catch a cab,” she replied, perplexed. The reporter was suddenly far more pleasant than he’d been throughout their entire interaction. “Unless it’s stopped raining. Then we’ll just walk.”

“No,” he said. “I insist. It’s no problem. The news van will be stopping by to pick me up. Where are you headed?”

“Home to Jackson Square.” She glanced down at the stroller. “I’m afraid Rupert is going to need a litter box break before too long.”

“Give me a minute to make the arrangements.”

Hox stepped into the hallway with his cell phone. He punched the quick dial button and waited impatiently for Humphrey to pick up on the other end of the line.

“I need you to drive the news van over to City Hall,” he said as soon as he heard the stylist answer.

“Didn’t they have one there to cover the inauguration?” There was a pause as Humphrey walked to the nearest window. “Oh, I see it pulling into the parking spot outside our building right now.”

“Great,” Hox said brusquely. “Run down there, grab the keys from the afternoon crew, and drive the van back over here.”

Humphrey appeared unconvinced.

“Why? Are you afraid you might get your hair wet on the walk back to the office?”

Hox clenched his fist. “Just . . . bring it over here, ASAP. I need you to pick up me and a, uh, friend.”

Humphrey’s interest was immediately piqued.

“A friend?” he gushed. “What kind of friend? Should I call the paper’s gossip columnist?”

“Not if you value your life,” Hox spat back. “And it’s not that kind of friend.” He paused, contemplating his next course of action. “Tell the station we may need the van for a couple of hours.”

“But . . .”

“Just do it!”

• • •

A HALF HOUR
later, Humphrey pulled the news van to a stop outside City Hall’s front steps and honked the horn.

“Took you long enough,” Hox griped as he ushered the niece to the side cargo door and helped her lift the stroller into the rear seating area. She climbed in next to the cats while Hox slid through the front passenger door.

“Jackson Square,” he said sternly to the stylist. “The corner of Jackson and Montgomery.”

“I’ll be expecting a tip,” Humphrey muttered. Then he jumped, startled, as a feline voice piped up from the backseat.

“Mrao.”

• • •

“YOU CAN STOP
here on the right,” the niece called up to Humphrey as the news van reached Jackson Street. “I’m the redbrick building in the middle of the block.”

Humphrey slowed the van outside the Green Vase antique shop, and Hox hopped out to help lift the cat stroller from the cargo area to the sidewalk.

“Well, uh . . . ” the niece said awkwardly. “Thanks again.”

“My pleasure,” Hox replied with his trademark frown.

“Okay.” She wasn’t sure what to make of the gruff reporter.

Hox watched as the woman rolled the stroller to the store’s front door. She gave him a bewildered wave before disappearing inside.

“Now what?” Humphrey asked as Hox returned to his seat.

“Drive around the corner,” Hox instructed tersely.

“And?” Humphrey prodded.

“And we wait.”

Humphrey stared out the front windshield.

“Are we on a stakeout?”

Hox thumped the side of his nose, a mocking indicator that Humphrey had guessed correctly. Then he growled out his order, “Well come on then. Don’t just sit there. Drive!”

Humphrey shifted the gears and pressed on the gas pedal.

“Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe that you’re divorced.”