Meow Mayhem

by Lickel, Lisa;

  Yolanda widened her eyes to signal me for what I assumed would be a private chat later.

  I mentally switched gears. “How about we have our lunch?” I said instead. I had cut up small squares of cheese and bologna earlier, and now served them on a plate with crackers to Jenny. I was glad I’d had enough lunches with the children of friends to be prepared. Jenny also enjoyed spearing cut grapes and sliced bananas with a toothpick while we ate shrimp salad. Watching Yolanda’s granddaughter made me acutely aware of my withering ovaries.

  After we finished eating, I set the little girl up with plenty of paper and crayons at a lap desk on the living room carpet. She drew pictures while we spoke in low tones at the kitchen table.

  “Memnet wasn’t out at all last week,” I told Yolanda.

  “I suspected as much,” she said. “Mr. Thompson’s cat is a slightly different color, isn’t it?”

  “Enough that Jenny wouldn’t think it was the same,” I said.

  “Then that leaves the mayor’s cat. Tut.”

  “Has Jenny ever seen Tut?”

  “The mayor has had his cat for a number of years. We did a story about it when Tut was new, but that was before Jenny was born. As you can imagine, the mayor didn’t let his cat out much, either. Whenever he came in, or we interviewed him, the cat was with him.”

  “But could Tut be on the loose now? Perhaps Tut escaped after Donald’s…death. What day did Jenny see him? And where, exactly?”

  “Last Tuesday. On the other side of the big bridge, behind the old theater.”

  Apple Grove meandered along Founders River, a shallow, weed-choked stream that erupted from a natural spring about four miles away. At one time, I read in a history of the town, it had washed with enough power to operate a gristmill. In the ensuing years, the dam was removed, and the resulting pond filled in. The slope slowly eroded.

  “You know,” Yolanda told me, “a couple of generations ago, the city council decided to prepare for possible floods. Boy, you think the folks complain now about taxes, you should read some of the stuff we printed when they built that bridge on the south side!”

  “I can hear it.” I smiled. “Since almost all businesses are on the west side.” A number of run-down buildings faced the empty gravel and weed-encrusted banks. The state had helped build a new, ugly cement bridge on the north side. Apple Grove’s movie house shut down about twenty years ago and, abandoned, was settling in upon itself behind the hardware store. I heard there was a small pool going about which buildings would collapse when. No wonder Donald felt desperate to revitalize this community.

  “Things wash up on the shore,” Yolanda said. “Sometimes kids wander along the streambed searching for anything valuable or interesting.”

  “Hmmm. Sounds like something I might do,” I said.

  “Can I ask you when you believe Mayor Conklin first—”

  “Disappeared?” I shook my head. “That sounds strange. You must have read the first police report. Routine procedure, I know, for the newspaper. Yes, I called in that I thought something was wrong with the mayor soon after he left. He’d planned that business, but I also knew he planned to attend the annual CAT convention and hadn’t registered, so I wanted to remind him. He didn’t answer my calls. Margaret didn’t seem to think anything was unusual. She claimed Tut was fine when I went to see her. But later, her assistant said Donald had his cat with him.” I decided against sharing the fact that Adam and I broke and entered Tut’s little temple.

  “You seem to hold a great deal of affection for Tut,” she said.

  Yolanda was beginning to believe me about the importance of finding Tut.

  “I don’t believe Donald would have willingly abandoned him. Yes, I do like Tut and I want to take care of him. He’s familiar with me. It’s all we have left of Donald.”

  Yolanda put her hand over mine in sympathy. “I understand the police have started an official investigation into the whereabouts of Margaret.”

  I felt ready to take another person into our tiny sleuthing group’s confidence. “With Tut and Margaret missing, there’s no one else to ask where they might have gone. And poor Donald…waiting all this time for a funeral.”

  “I heard that the Baders have hired their own private people to search for Margaret,” Yolanda told me. “And I understand that since Donald has no other family, and Margaret’s family won’t step in, Rupert Murphy is scheduling a memorial service for next Wednesday. The autopsy’s already been done and there’s no reason to hold the body any longer.”

  “He can do that? When will the autopsy report be available?”

  “Somebody should. There’s no reason not to. Donald had already purchased gravesites. And the autopsy comes back in parts, depending on what’s being tested. That’s all I can say.”

  “So, you don’t know the cause of death?”

  “No.”

  If Yolanda had been a cat, her fur would be raised.

  So sad. But Donald would get a proper send-off at least, with or without his not-quite-so-beloved wife, Margaret. But would I call it closure? Would anybody else care that he shouldn’t be dead at all? Time to ask another question from the growing list of motives I tossed around. “Yolanda, have you decided to print that article of Margaret welcoming MerriFoods to Apple Grove yet?”

  “Funny you should ask.” Yolanda pursed her lips. “Only yesterday I received information from officials at Feli-Mix in order to print their side, too. As far as they were concerned, a facilities committee to search location was still scheduled for next month.”

  “What did they say about MerriFood?”

  Yolanda gave me a serious, cocked eyebrow stare over her half-glasses. “That business didn’t come up.” She leaned back in the kitchen chair and folded her arms. “Now, what about that article you wanted to discuss?”

  I smiled, the tension diffusing. “I told you that my mother teaches criminology at Maplewood Community College and that she arranged for three of her students to do some fieldwork in Apple Grove. They’ll be here tomorrow, and I thought you, or someone, could shadow them, sort of like learning the ropes of small town law enforcement. With the right treatment”—I ignored her narrowed eyes—“it could be a nice profile for the town. Right?” I found myself adding, with just a touch of pleading.

  “I won’t guarantee that the article will come out with the angle you’re proposing. But I agree that this subject will make an interesting story. Something about examining our town through the eyes of others.” She frowned and leaned forward, drumming her fingertips on the table. “Unfortunately, with Jim so ill at the moment, I don’t have spare time to follow through. Do you have any suggestions, or any writing skills of your own?”

  I grinned, despite the unwelcome news that she had her own personal crisis. Also, I should have suspected that if I proposed an idea, it would come back to nip my heels. “Well, it’s not my secret ambition to become a reporter, but I do have a thought. We could ask the students to share their notes about their experience here, maybe do a debriefing every other day. If you could do some photographs in action, if there is any action, that is, that would probably suffice. Then one of us, or even me, or all of them, could do a whole story.”

  Yolanda nodded. “That’s an option. My photographer could follow the students once or twice and give his impressions, as well.”

  “Of course, you realize the real reason my mother arranged for the fieldwork to take place here, don’t you?”

  Yolanda nodded soberly. “I expect so. How do you feel about it? Or was this your idea, to bring them here?”

  Aware that the editor turned the tables on me, I was quick to deny my involvement. “No, it wasn’t my idea. Mother went ahead and arranged it with Officer Ripple and Chief Hackman. She told me what she’d done later.”

  Yolanda clasped her hands and bowed over them, almost in prayer. She was quiet for a minute, and then she shook her head dazedly and blinked at me. “Sorry. I get lost in thought sometimes.”

&nbs
p; “That’s all right. So do I. I’m sorry to hear about your husband. I didn’t realize he was sick.”

  “Jim’s whole family history is plagued by bad hearts. He had his first attack when he was forty. Then another three years ago. I think all that’s holding him together sometimes are wires and tape. He’s in the hospital for a while, having a pacemaker and medication regulated, and they’re having a tough time figuring out the dosage of blood thinner.”

  “I’ve heard that can be tricky. Yolanda, I’d like to help you.” I waved my hand at the empty equipment boxes I lined up to store in the basement when I was comfortable that I didn’t need to return anything. “Business is a bit slow for me right now.” I appreciated her sympathetic grimace. “What can I do? I worked at the college newspaper. I can help with layouts, maybe even some stories, if you need that. I understand the day-to-day stuff can be hard when you’re constantly being interrupted.”

  On cue, Memnet sped in like a shadow along the wall, tail twitching, with Jenny in hot pursuit. Memnet stopped at the screen door then put up a paw, indicating he would like to go outside now, please.

  “Can we go outside?” Jenny asked, frenetically hopping from foot to foot.

  “Why don’t you visit the bathroom first, girl? Give Memnet a rest for a minute.” Yolanda was kind, but firm.

  “But then, after? Can we? Can we, Ivy?”

  If you don’t hear the answer you want to your question the first time, keep asking until you do. I remembered the saying from somewhere and laughed. “If it’s all right with your grandma, Jenny, you and Memnet can go outside. But you have to stay in my yard, all right? It’s a rule with Memnet, and he knows the boundaries. Can I trust you?”

  The little girl nodded quickly, then made a beeline for my bathroom.

  Yolanda shared her light-lipped smile. “No time for the necessary when you’re that age.”

  Memnet sat calmly licking his outstretched toes, the need to go outside apparently not so urgent now that his pursuer was out of sight.

  “We can watch them from the window,” I remarked. I had a window that overlooked the yard, thanks to a detached garage. “Mem’s not too crazy about the neighborhood children—not that they’re mean or anything—he’s just used to being quiet. So, he knows where to hide. I think they’ll be fine.”

  Yolanda ducked her chin in agreement. “I am acquainted with most of the families around here. Nice folks. They treating you all right?”

  Interview time again. “Oh, they’re all nice.”

  Jenny came prancing back into the kitchen, and after reassuring her grandmother that she had indeed washed her hands, she cautiously opened the door for Memnet then followed him outside. He headed for his favorite tree, the weeping willow that grew near the edge of the yard. I enjoyed watching Mem frisk among the long skinny branches as much as he got a kick out of batting them. Jenny danced among them like a sprite from a fairytale in pink shorts and sandals.

  “I think the criminology students should read through back issues of the Gazette, see if there’s some information we’ve missed along the way,” Yolanda said. “I’m so close to everyone in Apple Grove that sometimes I can’t see the forest for the trees. And you’ve only just arrived. I can’t expect you to figure out all of our secrets. I can’t put my finger on it, but Jenny’s claims of seeing another cat like Memnet down by the river is important. There might be something told once upon a time in the paper that I’ve forgotten. They can be reviewing police records for trends, as a cover-up.”

  “That sounds good to me.”

  “About your help…well, I can’t really pay much. Gloria helps on Sunday and Wednesdays to do set up and the main typing. Jim and I do the rest. The photographer, Greg, gets paid by the photo.”

  “I’m not looking for make-work, Yolanda. I have a small trust from my grandparents that’s been well-tended. I’m not rich and I need to earn some money, but I’m not destitute, either. Whatever you want to give me by way of compensation works in my favor. And of course, if you talk up my business, word-of-mouth advertising covers a lot of bases.”

  Yolanda clasped her hands in front of her. “I suppose you can type. You know how to work with layout software?”

  We worked out a flexible deal, where I would come in for a few hours on Thursday evenings to help Yolanda answer phones and write some copy, which she would assign. I’d get free advertising and lunch once in a while. Suited me just fine. I was glad to have a friendly conversation more than anything else. I loved my house and my neighbors so far didn’t seem consumed by the gossip yet, though not everyone around Apple Grove had accepted me.

  After another half-hour or so of chatting, Yolanda continued to thaw toward me. In a profession that demanded objective observer status to life in a small town, it must have been hard for her to have any friends at all. I told her a little of what it was like for me to grow up with a single parent, and I think she was bracing herself for what would happen to the paper if Jim could no longer continue to run it. Most of their assets were tied up with the business, she let slip. I liked Yolanda Toynsbee.

  After she and Jenny left, I took a walk along the river, enjoying the late afternoon sun. I couldn’t figure out where a cat would hide. Even the bridge area had no rocks or crevices or bits of garbage to hide under. I stared across the expanse of the stream, thinking about what made a place a home. The ’burbs were comfortable because that was what I knew.

  But there was nothing like a real small town, a great place to settle down and raise a family, with a man like Adam Truegood Thompson. I wondered how our cats would do if we ever got the point where we wanted to set up housekeeping together.

  9

  On Sunday afternoon, as promised, Mom’s posse showed up in my driveway, stuffed into a tiny car. As the young people pried themselves out of the little metallic blue automobile, I noted that the driver stood a head taller than the others of the group.

  She introduced herself as Sonja Guth, and apparently was also the leader of the pack. She held out a hand immediately upon meeting me and spoke in a no-nonsense manner. Her grip was firm. I glanced up at her. A brown-eyed blonde, she possessed a sharp, nasally voice that made me grit my teeth for the first three sentences. I gradually learned that if I stayed with her long enough and got used to her speaking tone, her operatic laugh made up for it.

  Her female counterpart, Lucy Ballentine, was sharp and not inclined to waste words. Deep grooves graced the space between her dark eyebrows and she had an unusual patch of white hair over her left ear. “It’s always been like that,” she said as soon as she noticed my gaze lingering in that direction. Lucy struck me as someone who could melt into the background, despite the hair, compared to Sonja, who stood out like a Valkyrie.

  A copper-headed young man with matching penny freckles and bearing the unlikely name of Elvis Thorson completed the trio. “What can I say?” He shrugged when Sonja introduced him, and he saw my smile at his first name. “My mother was a believer.”

  It appeared as though he had quickly cased the whole area and relaxed only after he determined there was no hint of danger. Elvis was to stay with Adam while the girls would share my guestroom. I showed them inside, and then I telephoned Adam.

  “Can I get you some lemonade or something else to drink?” I asked them.

  “Maybe after we settle in,” Sonja answered for them all. The girls took their bags to my guestroom while we waited for Adam.

  Elvis asked about my business and I pointed him upstairs to my office. He took a keen interest in my equipment. We held a juicy technical discussion regarding connection speeds and methods of storing information. Elvis had a rapid-fire curiosity, which translated into an ability to ferret details I didn’t know existed.

  “Here’s a site,” his fingers flew over my keyboard, “that will allow you secure space to save some of your most important files…”

  The young women joined us, crowding around the largest screen of my computer system.

  The do
orbell rang.

  We all tromped down the steps.

  “Ah, sharing trade secrets?” Adam asked as I ushered him in, explaining what we’d been up to. “New methods of taking fingerprints, or detecting falsified voices?”

  “Nothing so mundane.” Sonja stretched to her full height and reached for his hand. The “interested, available” gleam in her eye took me aback. I hurriedly pulled Lucy forward for her introduction and chided myself at Adam’s mock grin at my discomfiture.

  Sonja jumped back into the lead. “And this is Elvis, Elvis Thorson. He had a preliminary interview with the FBI last trimester break and was invited for training.”

  I was impressed. Adam and I congratulated the young man whose face had almost attained the brilliance of his hair.

  “It’s a long-term goal of mine,” he said with a shrug. “After graduation.”

  “Professor Preston filled us in on some of the merits of the case,” Sonja said. “But now that you’re both here, we’d like to get your side of the story. May we?” She indicated my living room where we adjourned. Lucy held a legal pad and three pens while the other two checked and started an MP3 recorder and a newer model digital personal recorder.

  “We talked about the details on the way here,” Lucy said. “We’d like to learn about the cat fancier’s group you all belong to, how long you’ve been there and how you got to know each other.”

  Sounded reasonable to me. Adam and I traded shrugs about who would start. He deferred to me with a head bob.

  Memnet wound through my legs and jumped onto my lap.

  “That’s your cat?” Sonja was goggle-eyed at him. “He really does have spots. And big ears.”

  “I’ve had Memnet since I was in college. When I had my own apartment, I was lonely at first, so I decided to adopt a pet. I fell in love with this rare breed called Egyptian Mau and got Memnet. I wanted to learn more about the cats and meet other people, so joining this group, Cat Association Titlists, covered both bases. That’s where I first met Donald Conklin. We owned different colored Maus, and sometimes competed against each other. Tut’s a bronze. Mem is a silver, only slightly different from Isis, who’s a smoke. We became friendly—just casually friendly. He told me about his work and how his wife didn’t care for cats, and I told him about…me. He was just—” I broke off a second to search Adam’s neutral expression—“supportive. Nice. I didn’t seek him out other than when we met a few times a year, and he spent time with a lot of different people at the meetings. Murder…just seems unreasonable.”