11 The Cats that Cooked the Books

by Karen Anne Golden

  “A good journalist wouldn’t do that.”

  “Maybe they were sisters who both worked for the magician?”

  Salina shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Ok, so when your dad gets home, ask him to find out if Rachael was a cat wrangler.”

  “Why?”

  “So, we can put her name in the title.”

  “I’ll ask him, but in the meantime, I want to put the video online. Why don’t I title it, “Former cat wrangler reunites with Siamese cats she hasn’t seen in years?”

  “Too many words, but not bad. We’ll tweak it a little.”

  Chapter Eight

  Later that Evening

  Katherine sat on the wood atrium floor. Scout and Abra were cuddled on her lap. The other cats had fled upstairs when they heard the first clap of thunder.

  Jake walked in from the back of the house. “Weather channel says another storm’s heading our way.”

  “I think it’s already here.”

  “You don’t look very comfortable sitting there,” he observed.

  “I’m not,” Katherine answered. “My leg’s been asleep for an hour,” she exaggerated. “When I try to get up, they both throw a cat fit.”

  “Let me take over,” he said, sitting down next to her. He moved both Siamese and held them close.

  Katherine stood up and sat down on the settee, “Thanks.”

  “What’s going on with you two? Why are you being so clingy?” he asked the cats.

  “Ever since Rachael Thomas was here, the girls have been restless.”

  “Maybe Rachael’s presence conjured up bad memories for the Siamese?”

  “I don’t think their memories are entirely bad or else they wouldn’t have jumped on her lap.”

  “True.”

  “I have a hunch she had something to do with the Hocus Pocus show.”

  Abra hissed; Scout growled.

  “Girls. Girls. It’s okay,” he comforted. “You’re safe with us. Katz and I would never let anyone harm you.”

  “They really get upset when we mention anything to do with that show.”

  Jake noted, “I’d say Rachael was an animal handler.”

  “I think so to. She gave it away when she called the cats by their showbiz names, and miraculously the Siamese went right to her.”

  “I’ll have to try that the next time I want them to do something for me,” Jake joked. “Usually, they do the opposite of what I want.”

  “She definitely cared for them in some capacity. I’d say she was a cat wrangler.”

  Jake sighed. “I’d love to get past this part of Scout’s and Abra’s history.”

  “I thought we had, but with Rachael showing up today, her visit puts us right back into the vicious circle.”

  “Katz, it was pure coincidence she had a connection to the girls.”

  “I’m not sure I believe in coincidences. I’m suspicious that she moved to Erie to —”

  Jake read her mind and finished, “To take them. Nah, I don’t think so. Random events like this happen all the time. It’s a part of life.”

  Katherine shook her head. “I’m not convinced.”

  Scout and Abra grew tired of Jake’s attention, rose and trotted over to Katherine. They collapsed against her legs, for one blissful moment, then began to wrestle. Abra bit Scout on the neck. Scout returned the favor. The two launched off of Katherine’s legs and scampered up the stairs.

  “Ouch,” Katherine complained, rubbing her leg.

  “Whoosh,” Jake said, amused. “I guess their feline funk is over.”

  Katherine smiled.

  Jake got up. “Come to the kitchen. If you toss the salad, I’ll bake a couple of salmon steaks.”

  At the mention of fish, Scout and Abra began shrieking at the top of the stairs, in their “I’m excited about getting salmon tidbits” voice.

  A flash of humor crossed Jake’s face. “Hurry up and run before seven cats charge down here. Last one to the kitchen is a rotten egg.”

  Katherine raced ahead of him.

  “Cheater,” he called after her.

  Chapter Nine

  A Bar in Atlantic City

  Thursday

  Marcel Blumberg, a man in his late sixties, with silver-gray hair, was dressed in a designer business suit. He sat at the bar drinking a vodka martini. He scanned the room for Ray Russo, who was supposed to meet him an hour ago.

  Marcel worked for one of the top casinos in Atlantic City, but quit when he decided his legitimate job was not paying for his lifestyle of collecting expensive houses, cars, and women. He also decided that illegal loans to compulsive gamblers wasn’t generating the income he wanted either, but the new world of online banking was right up his alley. Internet money laundering was the name of the game, and where the big bucks were. He was riding high on the hog until Ray’s mealy-mouthed fiancée, Emma, stole the flash drive that had the ledger on it. Since then, Marcel had to keep squeaky-clean, for fear that some big-shot authority would shut down his website. Or worse yet, the Feds would indict him for not registering his business with the Treasury Department.

  Marcel blamed Ray for the foul-up. Ray was too lenient with that skinny broad. He should have corrected her when she did wrong. Better yet, he should have dumped her.

  Marcel didn’t get it. Ray was a handsome man. What did he see in her in the first place? She was a middle-class bookkeeper who worked nine-to-five, probably made zip in salary. She had dishwater-blonde hair, long and stringy, and she dressed like a throwback to the 1970s. But the biggest thing, besides Ray’s bad taste in women, was how he set up a joint bank account with a woman he wasn’t even married to, and shared a safe deposit box with her. All it took to mess up a good thing was for Emma to get ticked off at Ray, go to the bank and take the flash drive — the flash drive that had the account numbers and credentials for overseas accounts of every Tom, Dick and Harry. And the most incriminating contents were in-depth PDF files about the website, how it worked, who was involved, names of shell companies— enough information that could put a lot of people, including himself, behind bars for a very long time.

  Marcel sighed. He wished he hadn’t let the mob in on his cash cow. Now they were making demands for the return of the flash drive.

  The mob boss wasn’t pleased with Ray either. The word on the street was they would continue to protect Ray, but only if he found Emma and got the flash drive back. Also, those involved knew Emma could have made copies of the files, and if she did turn up, who could trust her to give up everything she had? Hell, she could have handed over the flash drive to the FBI for all we know, Marcel thought. That’s why everyone in the business was minding their P’s and Q’s and worried that at any moment the bomb would drop on their operations.

  Marcel knew Ray was doing everything he could to find Emma, which meant a huge outlay of cash — mob money — for private detectives and computer geeks to apply their online search skills. After a month, with no leads or information about Emma’s whereabouts, people on the inside thought Emma had met her demise, but in truth, Emma had simply disappeared without a trace.

  Ray walked into the bar and sat down next to Marcel. “Sorry I’m late,” he apologized. “My new security job at the casino doesn’t exactly have fixed hours.”

  “I don’t know why you bother to work, when our business is raking in the dough.”

  “What can I say? I like working at the casino.”

  “Whatever,” Marcel tsked dismissively. “I’ve been sitting here forever. You could have at least called.”

  “I don’t make personal calls while I’m on the job, especially when I’m patrolling the casino floor.”

  “Relax. Order a drink.”

  “I don’t mind if I do,” Ray answered, then said to the bartender, “Bring me what Marcel’s drinking.”

  The bartender went to the other end of the bar to mix the drink, then brought it back and set it down.

  “Thanks,” Ray said
.

  “No problem,” the bartender said, moving to the middle of the bar to help another customer.

  “Did you hear the news today?” Marcel asked.

  “Enlighten me? Where’s this going?”

  “Remember Rose Martinez that was a co-worker of Emma’s?”

  “Yeah, I roughed her up, searched her phone and didn’t find anything. What about her?”

  “Her body washed up on the beach.”

  “What?” Ray asked, surprised.

  “She’s dead.”

  “When was this?”

  “This morning.” Marcel cast a suspicious look at Ray.

  “Don’t look at me. I didn’t kill her,” Ray answered in a low voice.

  “It sounds fishy that she’s dead. Maybe she knew more information about Emma than she told you. Maybe the boss had her bumped off?”

  “Or she went out for a swim and drowned.”

  “On a work day?” Marcel asked incredulously.

  “I’m not a psychic. The old biddy said she didn’t know where Emma was, so I let her go. End of story. Did you kill her?”

  “Fat chance,” Marcel huffed. “I don’t like to get my hands dirty. I’m just saying that it would be a shame that poor woman died for keeping Emma’s whereabouts secret. According to the news, she had a big family and lots of grandchildren.”

  “Who cares! She’s a dowdy old bag.”

  “She was a dowdy old bag. Now, she’s in the morgue.”

  Marcel turned his attention to the TV monitor up high on the wall. The eleven o’clock news broke for a commercial. He slammed his fist on the bar. “Do you freakin’ believe this? Another damn commercial.”

  “Take it easy! What’s eating you?” Ray asked.

  “I’m going to be drunk by the time they get to the sports segment.”

  “Maybe you should slow down on the drinking so you don’t miss it.”

  “Right,” Marcel said irritably.

  The news came back on. The attractive female news anchor said, “We have lots of sports to talk about, but first let’s show what’s trending on social media. Posted on YouTube by wolfy is fat from Erie, Indiana. Attention cat lovers, you’re going to love this.”

  A still image of Emma holding Scout and Abra was frozen on the screen.

  The anchor continued, “Who says cats don’t remember? This pair of Siamese cats haven’t seen this woman in ten years, but look at their faces when they see her for the first time. Talk about a heartfelt reunion.”

  Ray wasn’t paying any attention until he heard the anchor say something about a woman reuniting with Siamese. He remembered Emma was always talking about these two Siamese cats she’d trained or took care of; he couldn’t remember which. He leaned forward and stared at the screen. The video unfroze and started to play. On the screen, his missing fiancée sat in a chair with two cats on her lap.

  Ray’s mouth dropped open in astonishment.

  The anchor announced in a perky voice, “In 2009, Emma Thomas worked for a magician who performed in the Catskills. After a performance, she was assaulted while taking care of the cats, which just finished their act. When she regained consciousness, one of the cats was missing.”

  Ray shouted at the barkeeper, “Hey, turn that up.”

  The bartender didn’t answer but grabbed a remote and turned up the volume. He gave Ray a dirty look, then moved down to the other end of the bar.

  The anchor said, “What a coincidence!”

  Ray slid off of his barstool and continued staring at the screen.

  Marcel choked on his drink. “Isn’t that Emma?”

  “Speak of the devil. The thief finally turns up.”

  Marcel started to say something else, but Ray put up his hand and shushed him.

  After the short clip was over, the anchor finished, “What are the odds of that? From showbiz to a little town in Indiana called Erie.”

  Her voice droned on, but Ray wasn’t listening. His face changed from one of shock to rage. “Erie, Indiana. I don’t know where the hell that is, but I’m soon to find out,” he spat.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to track her down and get back what she stole from us.”

  “Why you? The boss might want to send somebody else.”

  “I don’t want her dead.”

  “Then what are you going to do to her?”

  “I’m going to make her so sorry she’ll wish she hadn’t been born,” he threatened.

  “Better tell the boss.”

  “I’m on it.” Ray picked up his phone and stepped away from the bar to make the call. After a few moments, he returned. His face was red with anger.

  “What did he say?” Marcel asked.

  “He’s sending somebody else because he doesn’t want me to mess it up.”

  “What did he mean by mess it up?”

  “How the hell would I know?”

  Chapter Ten

  YouTube Nightmare

  Friday

  Salina was ecstatic that her YouTube video had gone viral. She couldn’t wait for her dad to get home so she could tell him. He was running late, which wasn’t unusual, but then he pulled up in front, parked and walked to the house. Salina threw open the door, “Dad! Dad! I have to show you something.”

  “What?” he asked, taken aback by his daughter’s excitement.

  “Remember that video Shelly helped me edit, well, we put it on YouTube and it’s gone viral.”

  “What video?”

  “I told you about it.”

  Stevie shook his head. “No, you didn’t. What’s viral mean?”

  “Everyone in the whole world is watching it!”

  “That might be stretching it a bit,” Stevie said with a gleam in his eye, proud of his daughter who was learning new computer skills every day. “Why don’t you show it to me?”

  “Come to my computer.” Salina led the way to the back room where her computer was set up. “Hang on a minute, while I bring it up.”

  Stevie made himself comfortable in the chair next to her desk and waited patiently for Salina to play the video.

  “Here it is! I took it the other day when Rachael visited KC. Watch it!”

  Stevie’s face clouded with worry. “Wait, you took a video of Rachael? Why would you do that?”

  “Just watch it.” Salina clicked the title and the video played.

  Stevie said, concerned, “Rachael seems very upset. Does she know you did this?”

  “Oh, I haven’t shown it to her yet. I don’t know her email address. Do you have it? I can send the link right now.”

  “Salina,” Stevie began seriously. “You don’t post videos of people without their permission.”

  Salina stuck out her lower lip and pouted. “Oh, you always find fault with me.”

  “Salina, you owe Rachael an apology. To make things right, I want you to apologize now. Get your stuff, then get in the truck,” he said angrily.

  Salina studied his face and realized he wasn’t kidding.

  Stevie left the house and got in his truck. Salina reluctantly followed him and climbed in. She sulked the entire way to Rachael’s.

  Stevie drove up to the storefront and parked behind Rachael’s vehicle. He rang the bell several times. Salina brooded behind him.

  Rachael finally answered the door and when she saw who it was, she smiled brightly. “Hello, you two.”

  “Howdy, Miss Rachael,” Stevie said, “Can we come in for a minute?”

  “By all means. Please do.” Rachael opened the door wide.

  Stevie and Salina strode in.

  Rachael noticed Salina wasn’t her usual bubbly self. “Everything okay?” she asked her.

  Salina didn’t answer. She cast her eyes down to the floor.

  Stevie said in a “get down to business” voice, “Salina has something to show you.”

  “What do you have to show me?”

  Salina began to speak in a shy, quiet voice, “I posted something on YouTu
be and it went viral.”

  “Why that’s great, Salina. What did you post?”

  “I can show you.” Salina reached for her phone.

  Stevie corrected, “It’s better to see it on a bigger screen.”

  “I can’t wait to see it. Follow me to the kitchen.” Rachael led the way. She moved to her laptop and clicked on the YouTube icon. “What’s the title I’m looking for?”

  “Former Cat Wrangler Reunites with Siamese Cats.”

  Rachael looked up, worried.

  Stevie caught the look. “I’m not one to beat around the bush, but my daughter filmed you the other day. She failed to get your permission.”

  Rachael entered the text description in the search window and the video appeared. Before she pressed the play arrow, she scanned down the main page and noticed that there had been millions of hits. Then she played the video, which included a short narrative Salina had dubbed in. She brought her hand up to her face, and began shaking her head. “Oh, no. Oh, no. Salina, what have you done?”

  Salina was surprised and said innocently, “I thought you had a sweet reunion with Scout and Abra.”

  “I’m afraid you did more than that,” Rachael answered but didn’t elaborate. She had a terrible premonition that her cover had been blown, that Ray would see the video, and come after her, but then she relaxed a little. She knew that Ray wasn’t one for surfing the Internet. “Salina, I’m going to log off. Do you remember your YouTube password?”

  “Yeah, it’s wolfyjoe15. Why?”

  “Because you’re going to log in and delete the video.”

  Salina nervously twisted a strand of hair. “But why should I delete the video when its already been shown on the news.”

  “News? What news?” Rachael blurted.

  “National news.”

  Rachael brought her hand to her forehead and brushed her hair out of her face.

  Stevie walked over and ran his hand through the back of her hair. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked tenderly.

  “Not really. I think I need to go lie down. I’ve suddenly got a horrible headache.”

  Salina apologized, “I’m so . . . so . . . sorry. I shouldn’t have done it without asking you. I’ll delete it. Right now.”

  Rachael shifted from the counter-height stool and let Salina sit down in her place.