by Patricia Fry
“Sure,” he agreed. Moments later Michael joined them in the kitchen. “Well, you and your group members can relax. Craig said they just booked your stalker or whatever he is—a Mr. Rich Lang.”
“Killer,” Savannah said. “He’s a killer.”
He nodded. “I guess the authorities agree with you.”
“Good. So after analyzing all of the evidence, they figure he did it, huh?” Savannah snarled, “Damn lowlife jerk.”
Michael started to respond when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He shouted, “Look out!” But it was too late.
Lily had been entertaining herself by squeezing a sponge and watching bubbles float into the air. Rags evidently saw the bubbles and they intrigued him, so he made a leap and found himself sinking into a sink full of soapy water creating a sudsy tidal wave that soaked Lily.
Michael caught her as she lost her balance and started to fall from the chair. “Are you okay?” he asked his daughter.
“No!” she wailed.
“Did you get soap in your eyes?” Savannah asked. “Let’s rinse your eyes, punkin.”
“No!” she protested.
“Can you open your eyes?” Michael asked, wiping at her face with a towel. “Open your eyes; let’s make sure you don’t have soap in there.” When she blinked a couple of times and looked at him, he said, “Yeah, you’re fine.”
“I’m all wet!” she cried. “Rags splashed me. Why did he do that?” she wailed.
“You’re okay, honey,” Savannah crooned.
“I’ll take care of her,” Michael said. “Better go catch your cat before he splatters soapy water all over the house.”
“Which way did he go?” she asked, grabbing a towel.
“Living room,” Gladys called, struggling to keep from laughing. “I think he went behind the couch.”
“Rags, come here, sweet boy. You poor thing. Come here and I’ll dry you off.” When Savannah saw him behind the couch frantically licking his fur, she said, “Mom, can you stand at the other end so he doesn’t get away from me. I think I can get my hands on him.” Once she’d grabbed him, she wrapped him in the towel and began rubbing him.
“You probably want to give him a bath in clear water, hon,” Michael suggested. “You don’t want him licking the soap. It might clean oil off baby ducks, but it could make him sick.”
Savannah let out a sigh. “Yes, you’re right. Come on Rags,” she said, heading for the bathroom with him. “You need a good rinsing.”
“I’ll put our daughter into some dry clothes,” Michael said, walking swiftly toward Lily’s bedroom with the drenched child wrapped in a towel.
When Savannah returned to the living room, Gladys looked up from the book she was reading to Teddy. “Got him all cleaned up?” she asked.
“Yes, to his chagrin, I’m afraid.” She smiled. “And I blow-dried him.”
“Was he a handful?”
Savannah looked down at the cat. “Oh, he’s pretty good, actually, but he doesn’t much like a bath.”
“He got two baths out of that,” Gladys said, “one in the bubbles and one in the shower.”
“Yes, he did,” Savannah agreed, running her hand over Rags. “You’re so nice and smooth and clean now, Rags. I was actually going to bathe him before the play, but now, if he doesn’t get into any mud or anything, I may not have to. Feel him, Mom,” she said, holding him toward her. “His fur’s so smooth and soft.”
“Looks to me like you rubbed it the wrong way,” she quipped.
“Yeah, he’s not entirely happy with me. But he didn’t complain too much.” Savannah hugged him. “You’re a good boy, huh, Rags?” When he squirmed in her arms she let him go and he immediately sat down and started licking his fur.
“I’d better call Dora and Bev,” Savannah said, walking away. She stopped and tweaked Teddy’s toes. “Having a nice story time?” she asked. He kicked his feet and smiled at her. She smiled back at him and ran her hand over his head.
“Yup, he’s in the slammer,” Savannah said to Dora a few minutes later. “You’re safe to take your kitties out for porch time. No worries. You have your life back. Okay?”
“Oh, Savannah, are you sure?” Dora asked.
“Yes, Detective Craig said they booked him. Would you call and let Bev know? I haven’t rehearsed at all today and I’d better get to it so I’m not the laughing stock of San Francisco next month.”
“Thank you again, Savannah. And thank you for suggesting I request an officer stay with me. I felt much safer with him here. Now I can send him on his way.” Dora paused. “I’m so glad. I’m sad that Rich turned out to be a—oh, I just hate to think about it. But I am glad he’s been arrested.”
****
So will we meet tonight as planned?” Bev asked on the phone late Friday morning.
“Yes,” Savannah said.
“It will be weird meeting after what has happened. I wonder if Marvin will be there.”
“Hard to tell,” Savannah said. “But yeah, I plan to host the group this evening. I just finished a chapter I’d like critiqued.”
“So we’ll meet at your house?” Bev asked. “That’ll be nice. I’ve always wanted to see the inside of that grand house you live in. It’s the old Forster home, right?”
“Yes.”
Bev moaned, saying, “I still can’t believe Rich actually did that. What is wrong with him?”
“You know how writers are,” Savannah quipped. “We can be a bit quirky and, I guess, even homicidal.” She chuckled. “Be glad we’re writing about something less wicked.”
“Indeed,” Bev agreed.
Savannah’s next call was to her friend, Colbi. “Hey, are you and or Damon coming to the meeting tonight—the writers group meeting?”
“Yes, we’re planning to. We both have some things we’d like critiqued. Can we participate in the critique sessions our first time at a meeting?”
“I haven’t heard of any rules to the contrary. Sure, bring what you have,” Savannah said. “We generally allow around fifteen minutes per reader, and that includes the critique, unless we don’t have very many who want to read, then we’ll give readers more time if they require it.”
“So it’s kind of loose when it comes to rules?” Colbi asked.
“Right,” Savannah said. “Only we do ask that the critique be kind, positive, and helpful. No bashing.”
Colbi let out a sigh. “Oh, good. I can be so easily intimidated. Hey, Rosemary’s waking up from her nap. Gotta go. I’ll see you this evening.”
“Sure. Remember, it’s at my house at seven.”
****
Savannah was first to read that evening at the writers group gathering and Marilyn was first to comment. “That’s just wonderful. Your story is so easy to follow. I feel as though I’m there with Rags when you describe his antics.”
“And you have such a great understanding of cats,” Dora said, “but then, you did study to be a veterinarian. I just so appreciate the way you portray Rags with your words. Well done.” Dora gazed at Rags from across the room. “Can’t you all just imagine Rags behaving that way and moving the way she describes? Superb.”
“Thank you, guys,” Savannah said. She turned to Edith. “I really appreciate your suggestions earlier for words I can use to make my sentences stronger. That was very helpful.” When her phone vibrated, she ignored it until the focus was off her and on Colbi. She waited until Colbi had read her pages, then glanced at her phone screen. Craig, she thought. I can probably call him back. When she noticed that her phone had registered a transcript of his voicemail, she read it. “Oh no,” she said quietly. “Oh no.”
“What?” Dora asked from the chair next to Savannah’s.
She started to show Dora the transcript when the lights suddenly went out.
“Didn’t pay your electric bill, huh?” Bev called out.
At the same time, Savannah stood up. “We need to lock the doors and windows.” She stumbled around until she found a
flashlight, which she handed to Damon. “Would you help me lock everything up?”
When Michael appeared in the room with a second flashlight, she said, “Oh, I thought you were asleep. Did we wake you?”
“Yeah, with all of that praise for your wife’s writing?” Marilyn asked.
Michael chuckled, then headed for the back door saying, “I’ll go check the breaker box.” “Michael,” Savannah called, running after to him. “Craig just left me a voicemail and...”
“Can’t you tell me about that when I come back in?” he asked.
“No!” she asserted. “Michael,” she hissed, “Rich is out of jail. They had to let him go. It could be that he’s here. He’s been threatening some of us.”
Michael stared hard at her for a few moments. “And you didn’t tell me this because?”
“I thought it was all over,” she said defensively. “He was in jail, but things have changed now. Oh, Michael, what are we going to do?”
“Call Craig and get someone over here now,” Michael insisted.
“What’s wrong?” Damon asked, joining Michael.
“Oh, they let that murderer out and he’s been threatening some of the members.”
“Why?” Damon asked.
“Come hold the light for me while I see if I can get the power back on. I’ll catch you up to speed.” Michael mumbled, “Although the program keeps changing every fifteen minutes.”
“All locked up,” Damon said when the two men returned.
“No lights?” Savannah asked.
Michael scowled and shook his head. “Line’s cut. You called Craig?”
“Yes, someone’s on the way.”
Michael took a deep breath, lowered the flashlight, and said quietly out into the room, “I want you all to go into the hallway. Follow Savannah. Just stay in the hallway. Damon, there’s a baseball bat in the bedroom. Savannah, get that for Damon. Stay quiet, everyone,” he whispered. When the din in the room accelerated slightly, Michael hissed impatiently, “Quiet!”
“Oh, Michael, be careful. Please be careful,” Savannah whispered.
“Go,” Michael said to her, pulling Damon aside to discuss a course of action.
“I want to help,” Marvin said, hanging back in the living room with the two men.
Michael looked at him in the dimness. “Okay. Come on.”
Before they could finish laying out a plan, they heard the tinkling of glass breaking, and then the alarm blared.
“There he is,” Michael said. “Let’s hope the alarm scares the jerk away.” He whispered, “Give me the bat, Damon.”
“Got it under control Dr. Mike,” Damon insisted.
“I found this electric fan,” Marvin said. “Okay if I have to use it?”
“Go for it,” Michael said, gripping the large flashlight defensively.
Just then they heard a thud and a man’s voice shouted. “No! Stop!”
While the two other men lifted their weapons, Michael shined his flashlight in the direction of the scuffle and saw a man laid out on his back on the dining room floor. Rags sat directly on his face. When Marvin saw the man reaching for the large knife he’d dropped, he kicked it away.
“Police!” came a call from outside the front door.
“Detective Sledge!” he shouted. “Open up in there.”
“Hi, Craig,” Damon said, opening the door.
“Have you seen him?” Craig asked quietly. “Has he shown up yet?”
Damon stepped aside, saying, “Yup. There he is.”
“Well, I’ll be,” Craig muttered. “My feline partner’s on the job as usual.”
“A cat?” a rookie officer exclaimed. “Is that a cat?”
“Yes,” Craig said, watching two officers flip the intruder over onto his stomach, cuff him, and help him to stand up.
One reached out and petted Rags. “Good job, there, pussy-cat.”
Once the man was on his feet, Craig pulled the intruder’s sweatshirt hood off and said, “Well, if it isn’t Rich Lang. To what do these fine folks owe this friendly visit?” When an officer picked up the knife from the floor with a handkerchief and displayed it to the others, Craig said, “Oh, maybe this wasn’t such a friendly visit.” He growled, “What did you have in mind, anyway, jerk?”
“Look at this,” another officer said, as he rifled through a small backpack. “Tape, bandanas, and two brassieres.” He looked at the intruder and repeated, “Brassieres?”
“Most likely to strangle someone with,” Savannah said quietly, when she and the other women slowly returned to the living room.
“Yeah,” Rich snarled, “you snitches deserve to die. You messed up my perfect crime.” He looked at Savannah. “You!” he said. He focused on Dora, then Bev. “And you two.”
“Why did you kill Angie?” Savannah demanded.
Rich started to speak when an officer began leading the prisoner toward the front door.
“No wait,” Craig said, “I’d like to hear his explanation.”
“Yes, I want everyone to know what I’ve been through these past few years. I’m tired of suffering alone. Sure, I’ll tell you,” Rich whined.
Craig put his hand up. “So you’re waiving your right to an attorney? You do know that what you say here can incriminate you in a court of law.”
“Who cares?” Rich said. “It’s over. It’s all over.” He twisted around and glared at Marvin. “You! She wanted only you.”
“Who?” Craig asked. “Who wanted Mr. Stanley?”
“That witch, Angie.” He grinned. “She was my play toy while you were married, did you know that, loser?”
Marvin looked down at the floor.
“That’s right. You thought she left because of your mangy cats. No, she left because she wanted me—until she didn’t. She started talking about you more and more. All she wanted, she said, was a chance to make your marriage work. She even went and got allergy shots. Did you know that, loser?”
“I never encouraged her,” Marvin said. “I’ve moved on. She even married again. What makes you think…?”
“I just know. Yeah, she denied it, but I knew and I hated you. I wanted to kill you. That was my original plan, then I decided to let you live in hell like I have for all these years. Jail hell for you, loser.”
“So you killed Angie Stork?” Craig asked.
“Sure I did. He wouldn’t have had the guts to do it, and somebody had to do it. She was a waste as a human being—no good to anybody. She didn’t want me, I didn’t really want her, but it hurt that she didn’t want me. I hated that she hurt me like she did and I decided to use my strong point and devise a way to ruin her life,” he glared at Marvin again, “and yours, loser. And I would have accomplished that if it wasn’t for those busybody women and that damn cat. God, how I hate cats.” He looked at Rags, who lowered his head and emitted a low growl. “He’s vicious,” Rich said. He nodded toward Marvin. “And you’re a big-time loser.”
Craig shook his head then gestured dismissively. “Take him away.”
But as the officers walked him through the dining room, Rich evidently saw Buffy sitting in her canopy bed peering out, and he attempted to kick her.
Rags, who was sitting in the shadows, watching, a few feet away, leaped into the air and dug his claws into Rich’s leg, causing the man to scream out in pain.
“Get him off me! Get him off me!” he bellowed.
When an officer attempted to put his hands on Rags, Craig pulled him back. He winked, “Could be dangerous. Better let the cat work out his anger.” Several seconds later, he nodded at the officer, indicating that he could remove Rags from Rich’s leg.
“Better let me do that,” Michael said. “He’s pretty riled up.”
Once Michael had Rags in his arms, Rich shouted at him, “I’ll sue you for everything you’ve got! And you, too, loser,” he said to Marvin.
Craig chuckled. “Man, I think you’ve got things all wrong. The only loser I see in this room is the one sporting all the
claw marks.”
****
“Who knew that a writing career could be so dangerous?” Iris said when she and Savannah chatted by phone the following morning. “Craig told me about your ordeal last night.”
Savannah chuckled. “So your husband shared something from his work with you did he? I thought he liked to keep you in the dark about his professional life.”
“Oh, there are times when he’ll talk to me. So how are you?” Iris asked.
“Okay,” Savannah said. “I think I’ll just stay in my cubicle and write all by myself from now on, although I am getting a lot out of the critique group. I feel like I’m learning a lot.” She huffed. “But I don’t think I’ll do any more field trips like we did with Rich Lang. That was a bit much.”
“I’d say so,” Iris said. “So what tripped the guy up?” she asked. “I mean, from what I heard, he seemed to think he’d committed the perfect crime.”
“I’m pretty sure it was the cat—Marvin Stanley’s cat,” Savannah said. “Rich thought he was being pretty smart using the cat to implicate Marvin. I guess he thought that Marvin was a believable suspect, since he was once married to Angie and their parting was less than amiable. Plus, she seemed to be running kind of wild. I can see why that would upset a former spouse. But I’m still not clear as to why Rich wanted her dead. Oh, he ranted about jealousy and being rejected and all last night, but it wasn’t all that believable to me. I still wonder why he did it.”
“Didn’t he explain his motive in that book he’s writing?” Iris asked.
“No,” she complained. “Not so far, but he hasn’t finished writing it.”
“Wait,” Iris said, “Craig’s here and he has something he wants to say.”
“Hi,” Craig said into the phone. “You want to know Rich Lang’s motive?”
“Have you figured it out?” Savannah asked. “So was that diatribe he spouted last night a bunch of baloney?”
“I think so. Yeah, they found the whole story on his laptop.” Craig chuckled. “But while he rots in prison, he needs to rewrite the ending. His story didn’t end quite like he’d planned.”
“I guess not,” Savannah said. “So why did he do it?”