by Jack Lugar
“I am Cornelius, and I will be at your service. Come this way, the others are waiting for you.”
“The others?” I thought to myself. Of course, I did receive an invitation, so “the others” must refer to other invitees. I wasn’t sure if I had come for a party or work. And it didn’t matter because an invite to the House of Hashimoto was special enough whatever the reason. You just didn’t say “no” to such an invitation.
The thought of other guests started my mind racing. Who else did Mr. Hashimoto invite? The mayor? The chief of police? The fat cat himself, Mr. Bigly? Maybe Miss Kitty was here… without her mangy dog. It never hurts to rub elbows with the elites of New Purrt because there’s always a chance to generate new business. The rich and famous always seem to be getting into some kind of trouble.
I followed Cornelius into the opulent foyer boasting soaring ceilings and ornate decorations of bronze statues and original works of art hanging on the walls framed with an overabundance of gold. He led me down what seemed like an endless hallway to a sprawling dining room with ceilings tall enough to be Cornelius’ basketball court.
As I entered the room, I saw my host, Hiromasa Hashimoto, sitting at the head of an extremely long table.
Seeing me enter, Mr. Hashimoto jumped from his seat and eagerly greeted me with a big hug. I’ve never been a hugger, so I was caught off guard by his generous display of enthusiasm and affection. In fact, if I were asked to describe Mr. Hashimoto in one word, it would be “enthusiasm.” He was downright bubbly. So much so, I questioned whether he was genuine. It also made me feel pretty confident that I’d been invited for pleasure and not work because what cat under the strain of an ongoing mystery would show so much zest.
He was a Japanese Bobtail – a cat known for its good fortune, of which Mr. Hashimoto appeared to have plenty. His short stature was accentuated when he stood near Cornelius. While he always looked taller in his pictures, everything else about his appearance was exactly as I expected from his crisp suit, colorful pocket square, and round wire-framed glasses. From the front, Mr. Hashimoto looked like any other domestic cat with his white fur with brown markings, but if you saw him from behind, you might think you were looking at a rabbit considering his bobbed tail.
“Mr. Katz!” he exclaimed.
“Yes… I mean, it’s actually Pajamas.” He already had me a bit flustered because of the hug and now I’d forgotten my name. “It’s Katz Pajamas. You can call me Katz or… Mr. Pajamas, I guess.”
“Fantabulous.” He stared at me with bright eyes. It was a stare that he held just a little too long. Was I supposed to say something? I’m not usually one short on words, but this cat had got my tongue. As he continued his wide-eyed stare, almost like the kind you’d see on a ventriloquist’s dummy, I returned his stare. Maybe it was a contest. Even though my eyes were burning, I fought hard not to blink. Who knew what prize could be at the end of this game.
And then with the blink of an eye, literally, the contest was over and no prize was
offered. Mr. Hashimoto clapped his hands together with fervor and turned back to his seat. “Well, let’s eat!”
With all the activity with Mr. Hashimoto, I’d not even noticed the other guests seated around his table. And that’s when it hit me. This was definitely not a party.
As I turned toward the stately table, I discovered three pairs of eyes watching me. In fact, they’d been watching me throughout my entire interaction with Mr. Hashimoto. I suspected that, while I was unaware of the audience, he was quite confident in his performance before them.
I could feel my skin turn red beneath my fur, and I may not have been too embarrassed except that the three other guests seated around the table were names and faces I was all too familiar with. Seated on the far side of the table closest to Mr. Hashimoto was Madame Buttercup, a famous expert in all things ghostly, which was ironic because of her ghostly white fur. A Persian breed, she was smartly dressed in a baby blue skirt suit and matching hat, a look that said the cost was of little importance.
She had risen in the public eye thanks to her work with the Cat Cops. They thought they were dealing with a ghost cat when she helped them discover the cat in question actually had 10 lives. Everyone thought the so-called ghost cat had expired because he’d used up all of his nine lives only to find out he had an extra one. Ten lives are not particularly uncommon with cats, but the only way to find out if you have 10 lives instead of nine is to exhaust all nine, and that’s a risk I’m not willing to take.
Seated next to Madame Buttercup was Dr. Bingo Flufferton, an American Shorthair, who was said to be the best mouser in all of New Purrt. In his years of work catching mice and other delectable pests, he had become so well known, he was cast as the star of his own reality show, Cat & Mouse, on the CATTT Network. CATTT stands for Cats All The Time Television, and they aren’t kidding. Every show is about cats. All the time. I don’t really get it because that’s my life. Cats all the time. Every single moment. I don’t get the fascination.
Across from the doctor sat another cat, but I could only see the back of his head. Even from the back, he looked familiar. Where had I seen those folded down ears before? The only cat I knew that was a Scottish Fold, called that because of the folded ears, was… He slowly turned to face me and confirmed my suspicion. It was Archibald Wigglebutt.
I know that name means nothing to you, but Wigglebutt and I have a long history. At one time we were friends. We had met when we were in training to be Cat Cops. From the very beginning, we were competing to finish at the top of our class, but that competition never interfered with our friendship. In the end, I edged him out by a whisker for the honor.
After we joined the force, we both rose through the ranks, starting as officers on the street and moving up quickly to detectives. If there were a case the Cat Cops needed solved, it was Archie or me that got the call. But now things are different. We are no longer friends or even friendly competitors. Today we are rivals.
Don’t let him fool you. Despite his innocent, wide-eyed look and plush gray-on-gray striped fur, Archibald has always been shifty and aggressive. One of my biggest mistakes was failing to realize that he was untrustworthy and would double-cross you if you let him. Sure, the Scottish Fold breed sounded fancy, but Archie, as I called him, was an unrefined cat from the rough part of Felinadelphia.
Whether I had been invited to a party or not, the mere presence of Archibald Wigglebutt meant this evening was going to be unpleasant. It was a well-known fact that there was no need for more than one professional investigator to work a case, so even if Archie weren’t in attendance, there also wouldn’t be any need for Flufferton or Buttercup either. Something smelled fishy about this dinner gathering, and it wasn’t on the plates.
Of course, I’m usually open to things that are fishy either because of the inviting smell (I love fish) or the potential mystery. However, tonight was a different story because at the moment the only mystery was why we were all invited.
As I walked over to the table, Mr. Hashimoto unnecessarily introduced me to his other guests. Each nodded cordially at me as their name was mentioned in Mr. Hashimoto’s enthusiastic manner, but when it came to acknowledging Archie, I cast him a cold glance reminding him that I would never forget what he had done.
I took my seat next to Archie and was promptly served a heavenly scented plate of salmon by Cornelius. It was almost enough to make me forget I was seated next to my archrival.
“I assume you like fish, Mr. Katz,” said Mr. Hashimoto.
“It’s one of my favorites,” I replied.
“Now that we are all present, I assume you would like to know why I have extended an invitation to all of you.”
“It is a rather unique gathering, Mr. Hashimoto,” chirped Madame Buttercup.
“Can’t say that the four of us have ever been in the same room at the same time before,” added Dr. Flufferton.
“Yes, and that is precisely why I have created this gathering,” responded
Mr. Hashimoto. “You see; I have a problem, which I need assistance in solving.”
“That’s all fine, but why are all four of us here, when you only need one to do the work?” inquired Archie.
“A cat of my wealth rarely goes about doing anything the way others would; so, yes, normally only one of you would be needed to help solve my mystery. In this case, though, I thought it would be more interesting if we had a little competition to see who could solve the mystery first or if at all before the night is through.”
I chose to remain silent through this interaction because I wanted to take all the information in, and the others were essentially asking the same questions I normally would. When I have the chance to listen instead of speak, I try to take full advantage of it.
“Well, I’ve never been so insulted,” Madame Buttercup protested. “I refuse to be a pawn in one of your games.”
Mr. Hashimoto didn’t argue back, but instead continued to smile. “I understand, Madame, but you haven’t even heard what the mystery is. In fact, this mystery is particularly catered to your abilities as a paranormal expert.”
Dr. Flufferton interrupted, “Are you saying we’re dealing with a ghost?”
“Does that pique your interest, Doctor?”
“I’m not sure what that would have to do with me.”
Madame Buttercup’s disposition started to change as she replied, “You certainly have my attention, Mr. Hashimoto. You can count me in.”
“Wonderful,” Mr. Hashimoto bubbled with intensity.
“But it’s a ghost. I deal with pests,” the doctor explained.
“Ah, that is true, but this ghost has been a particularly pesky one. One I think your talents could aid in solving.”
Dr. Flufferton raised an exceptionally thick, intrigued eyebrow.
“And how exactly do I fit into this little game?” Archie questioned.
Mr. Hashimoto’s eyes brightened and his smile increased by at least 10 percent, if that were possible. “You and Mr. Katz…” Mr. Hashimoto didn’t seem to care that he continued to call me by the wrong name, “bring a special skill unparalleled in the world of solving mysteries.”
I was so focused on the fact that Mr. Hashimoto had essentially put me on par with Archibald Wigglebutt that I forgot to actually listen to what he was saying. Let me be clear that Archie is not a bad detective. He’s just not as good as I am.
Stopping my mind from wandering, I caught Mr. Hashimoto’s last few words. “And that’s why I’ve invited you here.” Of course, that didn’t help me much, but I decided not to ask him to repeat himself. I thought that would only make a poor impression, considering my line of work. I would have to inconspicuously glean the details through my deft investigative skills without letting anyone know.
“I want to thank each and every one of you,” Mr. Hashimoto continued, “for joining me this evening. I will assume that you are all willing to play my game and help rid my home of this pesky poltergeist.”
I nodded my head as everyone at the table also made some gesture affirming their commitment.
“Wonderful!” Mr. Hashimoto exclaimed as he finished his last bite of salmon and set his fork gently on his empty plate. “Now I will leave you to you work. You have a long evening ahead of you, and I don’t want to interfere with….”
Before he could finish his sentence a simultaneous flash of lightning and boom of thunder jolted the room. It was followed by the lights flickering on and off before going out completely, leaving us only with the orange glow of candlelight. It was so startling; a little scream came from across the table. At first I thought it was Madame Buttercup, but as my attention was first directed at her, I realized it was Dr. Flufferton who was covering his mouth with embarrassment. Considering the Madame was used to dealing with paranormal activity, it made sense that she would not be easily scared by such an event. Flufferton, on the other hand, was out of his element.
Since the distraction from across the table had temporarily drawn everyone’s attention, no one noticed the real mystery right in front of our eyes. Or should I say the mystery not in front of our eyes?
Quickly, we were all caught up to speed when Archie with a slight amount of shock in his voice blurted, “He’s gone!”
We all looked down toward the end of the table where Mr. Hashimoto had been sitting. He was no longer there. Was this part of his game? Did he intentionally disappear mid-sentence, or had this ghostly presence snatched him away?
“How is that possible?” I uttered in disbelief. I couldn’t help saying it out loud. Typically, a thought like that would cross my mind, but I would avoid verbalizing it. I think the setting of the Hashimoto House and being surrounded by other prominent sleuths had me off my game.
“Where could he have gone?” Flufferton said with a strong hint of worry in his voice as he lifted the table cloth and peered under the table. “This is most disturbing.” It was apparent that I was not the only one feeling a bit unnerved by the peculiar event.
The darkness of the room didn’t aid in our search. With only candlelight to guide us, the flickers of light cast strange shadows against the walls and ceiling that made the statues almost seem alive. I had my work cut out for me, and I didn’t even really know what we were looking for. Was this a search for the now missing Hashimoto, or were we trying to debunk the presence of a pesky ghost? In a case like this, where the mystery appears to be a mystery, I decided to do what I know how to do best. Follow the clues.
The good news was I had four other witnesses excluding myself: Buttercup, Flufferton, Wigglebutt, and Cornelius. I looked around the room to spot Cornelius. Check that, I only had three other witnesses. Cornelius was also nowhere to be seen. Was he not around for the disappearance? Had he returned to the kitchen before Hashimoto’s magical disappearance? How had I not noticed?
“Where’s Cornelius?” I heard from across the table. Apparently, I was not the only one to have missed Cornelius’ exit.
“He’s gone too?” Flufferton inquired in a tone that was increasingly panicked. He turned from side to side scanning the room.
Archie laughed at the doctor’s growing level of hysteria. “Settle down, Doc. The tall cat slipped out the door over there.” He pointed to a side door.
“Do you think that leads to the kitchen?” the Madame queried.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Archie replied.
Archie rose from the table, and the others followed suit. It was at that moment, I realized I’d hardly touched my meal. I contemplated taking a few more bites. How could I walk away from what promised to be the best fish I’d eaten in a long time? But somehow I did. My instinct to my investigative duty clicked in, and I pushed myself away from the table.
I began to follow the others toward the door when I hesitated. I quickly turned back to my seat and crammed three quick bites into my mouth. Oh, it was delectable! Savory and tender. Momentarily lost in the heavenly taste of salmon, I speared one more bite and forced it into my already full mouth. I have to admit it was not one of my most professional moments, but I have little regret.
Snapping back to the reality of the mystery before me, I turned to join the others. Walking past Mr. Hashimoto’s opulent chair at the head of the table, I heard the floorboard creak, which made me jump a little because I was once again caught off guard. It was a
sound that I often heard in my office because of the age of the building and deteriorating condition. Old buildings, even ones that are maintained, will start to make creepy, creaking sounds. Maybe that was all it was since Hashimoto’s mansion had been built over fifty years ago.
I pressed my foot up and down on the creaky board a couple times as I pondered what it might mean before I hurried to join the others.
We all paused at the closed door. What was on the other side? We could see light flickering through the gaps between the door and its frame. Was Cornelius innocently prepping dessert behind it? Maybe Hashimoto was there too. Most of the options that crossed my mi
nd had to do with more food being served or an excuse to return to the table and finish my meal. Obviously, I needed to refocus my thoughts.
Archie put his hand on the door and slowly pushed it open as we all cautiously peered in with hopes of seeing Cornelius.
The room appeared empty. Madame Buttercup was right; it was the kitchen, and a lone candle dimly lit the room. Of course, it was nothing like my kitchen, which consisted of the simple necessities of a sink, oven range, and fridge. This space had the feel of a restaurant’s kitchen ready for a full-on production, creating five course meals for diners of exquisite tastes. The room alone sadly reminded me of the salmon I’d left behind.
We each entered the room in our own way to look for clues. While I held back to survey the situation and take an accounting of what was where, I noticed the same security camera as at the front of the house with it steady red light mounted in the corner. It was also impossible to miss the food prep island in the center of the room that was almost large enough to be a real island.
As I continued to scan the room an odd, high-pitched sound started coming from the Madame. It sounded like she was saying some ritualistic chant the was supposed to summon ghosts. “Here, kitty. Here, kitty. Come forth, kitty kitty…”
I tried to ignore her because she sounded rather silly, and the chant just made me want to laugh.
Dr. Flufferton stayed behind me for some reason. He acted as if his shoes were cast in stone and unable to move. Feeling a tug at my sleeve, I realized he was grasping the arm of my jacket. While I’m usually hesitant to say this about a professional peer, Dr. Flufferton was a scaredy-cat.
Archie, completely the opposite of Flufferton, charged right into the room like a bull going after a matador. Where I tend to think through options before taking a course of action, he typically lets his actions lead the way to see what might hit him first. Literally. Quite often in our work together, his rash, aggressive nature led to useful clues, but often at the expense of injury.