How to Paint a Cat (Cats and Curios Mystery) (25 page)

THE SURVEILLANCE VEHICLE

HOX AND HUMPHREY
waited for more than an hour in the news van for signs of activity inside the Green Vase antique shop. All the while, the rain continued its nonstop drizzle.

From their parking space in an alley down the street, the pair had an angled view of the store’s front entrance. Even after the niece’s return, the “Closed” sign remained hanging from the inner side of the glass-paned door.

Despite Hox’s persistent stare, the door’s decorative iron frame hadn’t moved an inch.

“Maybe she’s not going anywhere else today,” Humphrey suggested with a yawn.

“No,” Hox replied curtly. “She’s definitely going out. The chicken takeout box was a coded message from her uncle, I’m sure of it. Who else would have stolen the file box while we were running around the basement?” He whacked the dashboard, still irritated at having been duped. “But he wouldn’t chance showing up here. She’ll have to meet him somewhere else.”

“Tell me the story again.” Humphrey laughed. “Especially the part where you and the Previous Mayor were chasing a couple of cats through City Hall.”

The stylist dodged a head slap from the reporter.

“So this James Lick fried chicken fellow is her uncle Oscar,” Humphrey mused. “That’s who you think she’s meeting?”

“Yes.”

“And this Oscar guy is Spider’s murderer?”

Hox’s steely gaze refused to budge from the Green Vase.

“I’m almost certain of it.”

• • •

SUDDENLY, A TAXI
van swung into Jackson Square and stopped outside the antique shop’s redbrick building. The door to the Green Vase opened and the niece pushed the cat stroller onto the sidewalk.

Hox craned forward in his seat, trying to see into the net-covered passenger compartment before the woman hefted the stroller through the van’s side door and followed it inside. As the taxi drove off, he leaned back in his chair, confused.

“Why is she taking the cats?”

Humphrey stuck the key into the ignition and started the engine.

“I always bring a feline or two along when I’m meeting hardened criminals. Helps to lighten the mood.”

Hox popped his notebook against his left thigh.

“Just drive, Humphrey.”

• • •

THE NEWS VAN
rolled out a safe distance behind the taxi, which was quickly picking up speed. The convoy was soon passing through North Beach, headed toward the Broadway Tunnel.

Hox pressed forward against his seatbelt, urgently feeding information to Humphrey as he navigated through traffic.

“They’re turning left up ahead. Get into the other lane.”

“No, I was wrong. Her cab was just squeezing around a double-parked vehicle. Shift back to the right.”

Gritting his teeth, Humphrey struggled to clear traffic through the van’s side mirrors.

“You know, I failed detective driving class at hairdressing school.”

Hox’s cell phone began to buzz before he could respond.

He glanced at the caller ID and groaned. It was his producer, no doubt wondering why he had absconded with both Humphrey and the news van and when he would be returning both to the office.

After weighing the pros and cons of answering, he punched the transmission button.

“This is Hox.”

He winced at the subsequent tirade that poured out of the receiver.

“Let me explain . . .”

The attempt only triggered a more vociferous diatribe from the woman on the other end of the line. Hox grimaced at the producer’s foul language. He wouldn’t have thought the mother of four had it in her.

Humphrey stole a quick glance over at the passenger seat. He could hardly contain his giggles.

Hox glared at the stylist while he waited for the producer to finish venting. When she finally paused to catch her breath, he spoke as calmly as possible into the phone.

“I understand, Connie, really, I do. But trust me, I’m on a hot lead.” He frowned at his own daring before adding, “I’m closing in on Spider’s murderer.”

The tone of the female voice on the other end of the line slowly transitioned from irate to capitulating. A moment later, Hox hung up and announced with relief, “She’s agreed to cover for us.”

Humphrey snorted his response. “What do you mean by
us
? You act as if I’m a willing accomplice in this hare-brained mission.”

“Don’t lose the cab,” Hox replied curtly.

As they turned onto Van Ness, the news van passed the wide windows of a car dealership. Humphrey noted the van’s reflected image as they drove by—and the bold logo emblazoned on its side.

He shook his head.

“You could have picked a less obvious surveillance vehicle.”

• • •

UNBEKNOWNST TO THE
van’s interior passengers, a third party had hitched a ride on the vehicle by grabbing onto the bumper and the rear door handle.

Balancing his feet on the skateboard, Spider was enjoying the ride of his ghostly life, maneuvering over unexpected bumps and potholes. At one point, he narrowly avoided being squashed by a tailgating Muni bus.

His vaporous figure wasn’t visible in the rearview mirror—or any mirror, for that matter. The only indication of his presence was the skateboard, rolling along between the van’s rear tires.

TICKETS FOR TWO CHILDREN

THE TAXI VAN
dropped off the niece and her two cats inside Golden Gate Park, as close as the driver could get to the Conservatory of Flowers. The street running in front of the building had been closed to vehicular traffic, so he had to take an alternate route.

After paying the fare, the niece climbed out of the taxi and fished the stroller through the sliding side door.

The rain had once more lessened to a thick mist. The niece snapped shut the front of her jacket, all that she needed to keep herself warm from the dampness.

She adjusted the nylon cover over the stroller’s passenger compartment, ensuring her furry companions would stay dry. Rupert burrowed beneath the blankets, not taking any chances with the weather, while Isabella nudged her way to the front, eager to monitor where they were going.

As the niece set off down a side path through the trees, she noticed a news van parked around the corner from where the taxi had stopped. The bright colored logo stood out even through the gloomy weather and her mist-blurred glasses.

She wondered what news story had drawn the van to this location, but soon dismissed all thought of it. They were probably covering one of the many cultural events that went on in the park, she reasoned. On any given day, the area hosted numerous activities.

The niece pressed on, leaving the protection of the trees for the turnoff to the open yard in front of the conservatory.

A wide tunnel ran beneath the road where she stood. Beyond the tunnel entrance, a landscaped lawn rose to a small hill. A series of flower beds surrounded a wide staircase of stone steps that led up the gentle slope to the conservatory’s front entrance.

“Here we go,” the niece said, bumping the carriage up the slick stair-step incline. Isabella thrust her head against the net cover, offering concerned guidance and critique. Even Rupert poked his head out of the blankets to make sure they weren’t about to tip over.

After a few scary wobbles, the stroller cleared the top step.

“There, we made it,” the niece said, masking her relief. “I can’t believe you ever doubted me.”

She opted to ignore Isabella’s reply.

The woman guided the stroller across a paved area with a snack kiosk on one side and a ticket booth on the other. Shushing her two feline passengers, she approached the ticket booth and peered through the grating at the attendant reading a book inside.

“One adult,” she said, fishing a twenty-dollar bill through the slot. “And, uh, two children.”

Without the slightest glance over the wooden counter to the stroller, the attendant reached a gloved hand into the ticket box and counted out three printed passes.

“Enjoy,” she said, sliding the tickets and the change through the window.

The niece turned the stroller toward the conservatory entrance.

“I’m amazed every time this works,” she whispered.

From the front of the stroller, Isabella concurred with her own surprise.

“Mrao.”

• • •

HOX AND HUMPHREY
stood inside the tunnel beneath the main road, watching the niece maneuver the stroller up the concrete stairs.

“What’s she doing?” Hox muttered as the woman rolled her charges to the ticket booth.

Humphrey pulled up his coat collar to shield his neck from the water dripping from the tunnel’s roof. “Surely they don’t allow animals inside.”

As the niece rolled the cats into the glass-walled building, Hox stepped out from under the tunnel’s cover and began striding toward the steps.

“Come on, Humphrey,” he called out. “Don’t say I never take you anywhere nice.”

Humphrey scampered after the reporter, following him toward the conservatory entrance—leaving behind an empty tunnel save for a skateboard, propped up against one of the moss-covered walls.

THE GLASS HOUSE

AS THEY LEFT
the ticket booth and approached the conservatory entrance, the niece folded up the stroller’s nylon covering and slid it underneath the buggy so that Isabella could see out unimpeded.

Together, they looked up at the sixty-foot-high onion-shaped dome that formed the centerpiece of the long rectangular building. A skeleton of wood framing supported the structure’s innumerable glass panes. Many of the panels had been frosted with a translucent white paint, presumably to help moderate the inside temperature.

Water dripped down both sides of the glass-paned conservatory: on the outside from the rain, on the inside from the building’s artificially generated humidity.

“Try not to be conspicuous,” the niece cautioned as she pushed the stroller into the front lobby. Despite the woman’s best efforts, Isabella insisted on pushing her head against the passenger compartment’s top netting. There was too much to see and smell.

The niece handed over the tickets to another distracted volunteer and slipped the stroller through the doors leading into the central domed area—where they were immediately hit with a wall of humidity.

Isabella murmured in wonder at the sudden atmospheric change. Rupert dug himself out of the blankets, which had become far too warm.

They had entered a man-made rain forest. A jungled mixture of bamboo and other tropical trees grew in the center, their leafy limbs reaching up toward the dome’s frosted skylights. At ground level, various forms of moss and lichen covered the sides of moist boulders and many of the rougher tree trunks.

Additional glass-enclosed rooms were attached to either end of the domed center. The niece rolled the stroller down the guided walkway toward the door for the next transition. She noticed a gauge mounted to the side wall, measuring each room’s temperature and humidity. Squinting at the dial, she was unable to interpret the readings, but the fog-streaked blur on the opposite side of the glass provided a visual predictor for the conditions in the area labeled “Aquatic Plants.”

As the niece propped open the door and pushed the stroller through, an even denser humidity filled in around them. Dew formed on the stroller’s nylon sides; moisture condensed on her glasses.

“I feel like we’ve just stepped into the equator,” she murmured.

“Mrao,”
Isabella concurred.

Rupert shook his body, trying without success to release the wetness from his fur.

• • •

HOXTON FINN GREW
increasingly agitated as he watched the niece and her cat-filled stroller enter the conservatory. With Humphrey in tow, he hurried over to the ticket booth.

The attendant looked up from her book as Hox scanned the admission prices.

“How much for just a quick look around?” he asked hopefully.

“Five dollars,” she replied dryly. “Each.”

Hox pulled out his wallet, thumbed through the bills, and pulled out a single fare. Handing the money through the grate, he said, “One ticket for my friend here. I’ll just watch from the outside.”

The woman raised a skeptical eyebrow, but didn’t comment. She tore off a ticket and slid it through the opening.

Hox handed the paper to the stylist. “You go in and check things out. There’s less chance the niece will recognize you.”

“That’s right,” Humphrey said wryly. “I’m not a famous newspaper reporter.”

Hox tapped the jacket pocket where he kept his cell phone. “Call me the second you see this James Lick character.”

Humphrey gave the reporter a sarcastic grin. “And what does Lick look like, exactly?”

“You’ll know him when you see him,” Hox replied. He turned the stylist toward the conservatory entrance and gave him a push.

• • •

HOX HUDDLED BENEATH
the awning of the snack food kiosk as Humphrey proceeded through the front foyer and into the conservatory’s main building.

Wiping his forehead, the stylist immediately began unbuttoning his jacket and loosening his collar. He’d had no idea that the building would be so muggy.

Before he could locate the niece and the cat stroller, his cell phone began to ring.

Puzzled, he yanked it from his pocket and held it up to his ear. Hox’s voice growled through the speaker.

“What—are you performing a strip tease in there?”

Muttering under his breath, Humphrey terminated the connection.

• • •

HOX SOON LEFT
the protection of the kiosk’s eaves. It was too far away from the conservatory’s glass walls for him to monitor the movements inside.

The reporter ambled casually through the falling mist as he positioned himself closer to the main entrance. He tried at first to appear nonchalant, but that effort lasted only a few seconds. There was too much at stake. He had to know what was going on. Cupping his hands over his brow, he stared at the blurry images circulating behind the frosted glass.

With relief, he picked out Humphrey’s fogged figure. He watched the stylist make his way through the center domed room toward the doorway leading to the structure’s eastern terminus.

The conditions in the next section must have been even more oppressive than the first. Humphrey reacted to the second slap of humidity by removing more layers of clothing. He took off his jacket and folded it over his arm. Unbuttoning his cuffs, he rolled up his shirtsleeves.

Hox spied the niece, standing by the stroller next to a lily pond. Hoping for an update, he dialed the stylist’s number again.

Thinking Hox was calling with more mocking commentary, Humphrey raised his phone in the air and pointedly set the ringer to mute.

Cursing, Hox pulled out his wallet and stomped over to the ticket booth.