by Doris Hay
She ends the call, and another comes in hot on its heels. It’s the alarm company, from the sounds of it. She tells them not to alert the police, but they’re going to send a car around to check things out.
“That’s service,” Zorro mutters.
I’m not sure what he means. I’m too busy listening to Doris as she tells Gemma, “You’re more than welcome to sit with me until the security force arrives.”
“Oh, thanks, Dori. You’re a lifesaver.”
I expect Gemma to use the gate at the front of their lot and come around that way, but she surprises us all by shoving her phone in her back pocket, gripping the top of the fence with both hands, and pulling herself up and over.
“Oh dear!” Doris says as the neighbour lady throws one leg and then the other over the fence. “Do you need a hand? No, you’re doing just fine.”
Gemma lands in the grass. Her feet are bare, but there’s a spring in her step. “You didn’t expect a 62-year-old woman to be capable of that, now, did you?”
“It’s less your age than your height,” Doris confesses. She’s gazing over the fence at the house next door. The alarm has stopped blaring. The company must have turned it off remotely. “What’s going on? Was there someone in the house?”
“I haven’t the foggiest. It’s possible I activated it somehow, without realizing.” Lowering her voice, she says, “Ever since that incident with the safe, I haven’t felt perfectly… well, safe in my own home. Whenever I’m alone in the house, I switch on the alarm system. For security, you know.”
“I understand completely,” Doris assures her.
“We really don’t use the system much, I must confess. Certainly not when we’re at home. Any time we go out, we activate it. Tommy’s a stickler, especially. He turns it on when he takes the dog for a walk, but I’m not used to having it activated when I’m inside the house.”
Doris nods reassuringly, and pets Gemma on the arm like she’s one of us. “Well, come on inside. Let’s get you a nice cup of tea and we’ll talk about something more pleasant, keep your mind off all this awful stuff.”
I’m about to follow along when Zorro says, “That’s odd.”
Well, I can’t resist finding out what’s odd, so I ask what he’s talking about.
“Odd that she didn’t want the police. She has no way of knowing we were the ones who set off the alarm. Shouldn’t she have been more scared?”
“She looked plenty scared to me.”
Zorro doesn’t seem so sure. And when I glance at her through the kitchen window, I begin to agree. She’s s smiling and laughing, helping Doris with the tea. Butterball has joined the party. Any time he thinks there might be scones involved, he’s always first on the scene. Where there are scones, there’s butter, and he wasn’t called Butterball by accident.
“Are you saying you think Gemma was involved in the robbery?” I ask.
“You saw how limber she is. She could easily have hopped onto that little balcony just like I did. From there, she could have unlocked the glass door from the outside, as we’ve proven, and snuck right inside.”
“But why would she do that? She lives here.”
“Maybe she dressed all in black like a real cat burglar. Maybe she made a bit of a spectacle of herself so the neighbours would notice. This was a daytime robbery, after all.”
I shake my head. “The alarm would have gone off.”
“You heard Gemma—she said that, until this safe burglary, they never used it.”
“No,” I correct him. “She said they didn’t use the alarm when they were at home, but if they went out they did turn it on. And she said Tommy used it all the time, even if he was just taking Oopsie for a walk. And that day he took Oopsie to the groomers. He was out for hours.”
“I still think Gemma could have used that opportunity to sneak in—”
“No, she couldn’t have!” I cut him off. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve just remembered something that throws a wrench into both of our theories. “Ed and Gemma were out of the country when the safe was burgled. How could I have forgotten that? It couldn’t have been Gemma and it couldn’t have been Ed because they weren’t even on this continent when it happened!”
Zorro doesn’t say anything. Neither do I. We watch through the kitchen window as Doris puts a dab of butter on her finger and allows Butterball to lick it off.
Gemma makes a sour face.
From all the way outside, I can hear her saying, “You allow your animals to jump up on the table? Aren’t you worried about fleas in your food?”
Doris grimaces, but her sweet smile quickly returns. She’s a nice lady, our Doris. She’s nice to practically everyone.
“They could have hired someone to break in and steal the cash,” Zorro says.
“Who could have?”
“Gemma, Ed, either, both.”
It’s possible. Anything’s possible.
Still, I ask, “How could a hired hand have timed the heist so perfectly? He knew exactly when to break in—when Tommy took Oopsie to the groomers. Not when he was just out for a short walk around the block, but when he’d be out for a good chunk of time.”
“Surveillance,” Zorro says easily. “These guys are professionals. They know how to do their job.”
“A hired hand would need the code for the alarm system, too.”
“That’s easy. Whoever hired them gave them the code. Keep ‘em coming.”
I don’t know what else to say. I’m out of questions. Worse than that, I’m out of energy. I don’t even want to think about this mystery anymore. What’s the point, anyway? Gemma thinks her son stole the money. Whether he did or he didn’t, who even cares?
Tommy is the culprit. Guilty or innocent, it’s not like he’s going to jail. So what difference does it make?
I hear a car pull up outside Gemma’s house. Through the trees in their yard, I can just make out that it’s white with the logo for a security company on the side. There’s Gemma’s saviour from the alarm system. If he’s thorough, he’ll find the door to the balcony bedroom ajar.
Doubtful he’ll trace it back to us. Humans don’t tend to believe cats are capable of all the things we do.
Anyway, I’m off the case. Zorro can run with it if he wants to, but I think he only involved himself so I wouldn’t feel silly investigating on my own.
Gemma and Doris hear the car door slam when the security guard gets out, and they head out the front, leaving the table unsupervised. If I get in there real fast, maybe I can gorge on all that butter before Doris gets back. She’ll never know it was me. She’s sure to blame the usual suspect.
How’s that for the perfect crime?
Chapter 9
“Will you kindly quit your moping, child?”
I’ve been reading the same sentence for the past fifteen minutes. What can I say to him? He doesn’t understand me.
Zorro does, but that’s almost worse. Butterball tells me to stop sulking, but Zorro encourages me to get back on the case.
I don’t want to get back on the case. There shouldn’t have been a case in the first place. Whatever happened next door is none of my business. If they can’t be bothered to call the police when their burglar alarm goes off, they’ve obviously got something to hide. Let them hide it in peace. Nothing to do with me.
Still, it’s pretty awful knowing my first case was a flop. Talk about feeling useless! I can’t solve a simple mystery, not even with Zorro’s help.
When Doris’s new cat gets here, she’ll probably dump me at the doorstep of some church or something. I saw that happen to an unwanted baby on one of the British mystery shows Butterball loves so much. But at the end of the episode, mother and baby were reunited. So maybe the same would happen to me? I don’t know exactly how these things work in real life.
Suddenly, Zorro slides down the stairs like they’re made of ice. “Ginger!” he cries. “Get up here! You gotta see this!”
His enthusiasm is contagious. Without thinking,
I follow him upstairs, through the kitchen, and out the cat door. As he scurries around the side of the house and squeezes under the gate, I realize we’re leaving the backyard.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Shhh,” he says. “You’ll see.”
He stops short when we’ve reached the corner of Gemma and Ed’s front yard.
“What are we doing here?” I whisper.
“Quiet! Look!”
When he moves out of my way, I realize what’s going on: Tommy and Amber are just now arriving home from their Caribbean vacation. Tommy’s much darker than he was were before he left, but Amber was always darker than him. Her tight curls look lighter, though, like they’ve been bleached by the equatorial sun.
Both are wearing shorts, but Tommy’s come below his knees while Amber’s barely cover her thighs. Tommy has on a T-shirt. Amber’s wearing a faded tank top. They both look happy and peaceful, like they haven’t got a worry in the world.
I don’t see Gemma around, but there’s Ed helping the couple unpack the big vehicle. How long were they gone for? They’ve sure got a lot of suitcases!
“This is what I wanted you to see,” Zorro tells me.
I say, “Tommy and his girlfriend are home from vacation.”
I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean to me.
The front door opens and I expect Gemma to come out, but instead Oopsie comes racing across the lawn. He’s got his sights set on Amber. When she spots him, she drops to her knees and cries, “There’s my baby! Mama missed you, yes she did!”
Oopsie licks her face, licks her mouth. Zorro shudders at the sight, but Amber doesn’t seem to mind. The show of affection hurts my heart. Not just how much Oopsie loves Amber, but how much Amber loves him back. Doris never plays with me the way Amber’s playing with Oopsie, rolling around on the grass, hugging and kissing.
Maybe Doris is too old for that kind of love. Or maybe people just treat dogs differently than cats.
Or maybe Doris doesn’t love me as much as Amber loves Oopsie.
While the family is occupied with luggage and Oopsie, Zorro leads me along the fence line until we’re all the way at the sidewalk. I’m not supposed to wander this far. I know that. But since Zorro is with me, I’m a little less worried. He leads me quickly down the sidewalk before dashing under the big car in the driveway.
I’m not so sure about this.
“Come on!” he hisses. “Quickly, before they notice you!”
I glance around. The world feels too big. All this space makes me feel so little.
“Ginger! Hurry up!”
“Are you sure it’s okay? We won’t get crushed?”
“We won’t get crushed, now get over here!”
Zorro doesn’t often lose his temper with me, so I know he’s serious. I race beneath the car. It’s hot and smelly and I’m shaking. I’m so afraid the whole metal thing is going to collapse on top of us.
I guess Zorro can tell how scared I am, because he gets right in close to me and nuzzles my head gently. “You did good, kid.”
“Thanks.” I know I was kind of wimpy, in actuality, but it’s nice of him to be so supportive. “I have a question: why are we here?”
“Always helps to get in closer. We’ll collect more intel this way.”
What can I do but trust him? I’ve never investigated anything before. I don’t know if he has either, but he’s definitely been around a lot longer than I have.
Out of the blue, there’s a dog in my face. I wasn’t expecting that! I jump back, and so does Zorro, but it’s just Oopsie, saying, “Hi guys! Why are you under the car? Is there food? Can I have some?”
“No, Oopsie. No food,” Zorro says.
Before he has got a chance to respond, a hand grabs his collar and pulls him out from under the car.
Amber’s speaking in a baby voice when she asks, “What are you doing down there, silly puppy? Who’s my silly puppy? It’s you! It’s you!”
We peek out, but all I can see are Amber’s bronze legs. She’s wearing flip-flops and her toenails are bright blue. I’ve never seen nails that colour before. It’s mesmerizing.
Tommy’s wearing sneakers with a thick sole, no socks. There are no other feet around when Amber says, “Can you take Oopsie inside for me?”
“Sure,” he says. “Why, where are you going?”
“There’s a meeting in fifteen minutes. If I hurry, I can just make it.”
“You have to go now?” he asks. “You haven’t been to one all week.”
She says, “Exactly.”
“My mom’s gonna want to see all our pictures. You know what she’s like.”
“Didn’t you hear what your dad said? She’s not home. Leslie picked her up for a spa day, to take her mind off… you know.”
Their feet aren’t moving. Neither are their mouths. I peek out from under the vehicle to see if I can catch the look passing between them, but the sun is too bright and their faces are too high up off the ground. It’s no use.
Zorro pulls be back by the tail. “Are you trying to get caught?”
“I just wanted to see. They’re talking about the safe break-in.”
“No, they’re specifically not talking about it,” Zorro corrects me. “And that’s every bit as telling.”
I’m not totally sure what he means by that, but it doesn’t matter. The humans are talking again. Amber’s saying, “I really gotta go now. Let me just grab my purse real quick.” Her legs come close to the car. Her purse must be on one of the seats.
“Are you coming straight home after?” Tommy asks.
“I was thinking of taking a walk after the meeting, just around the cemetery and then those woods behind the church, you know.”
She’s already on the sidewalk when Tommy asks, “Alone?”
“Yes, alone!” She sounds like she’s annoyed, but trying not to be.
“If you’re going for a walk after, why don’t you take Oopsie along?”
Oopsie starts yapping in Tommy’s arms. I peek out again. He has to hold on tight so the dog won’t squirm away.
From the sidewalk, Amber says, “Then I’d have to get his leash and he’d have to sit quietly through the meeting and it would be a whole thing. I’ll see you later. Love you! Bye!”
She picks up speed as she passes our house and, to my surprise, Zorro takes off after her.
Well, what choice do I have? I run after him. I can hear Oopsie yapping as we shoot across the lawn, but I guess Tommy’s got a good grasp on him, because he doesn’t chase us as we follow his owner.
“What are we doing?” I ask Zorro.
“We’re following Amber. What does it look like?”
“Why?”
“To find out where she’s going.”
“She said to a meeting.”
“Exactly,” Zorro replies. “If we get in on that, we’ll find out some good info. Maybe even incriminating info.”
I don’t know what he’s talking about, but right now I’m more concerned about my little legs. Zorro’s bigger than me. I can’t keep up. But I have to keep up, because we’re in this together. So I push myself to the limits as we scurry along the path of hedges lining the yards on our street.
He doesn’t have to explain this part. I understand that we’re trying to stay out of sight. Zorro’s crafty. He knows how to follow someone without them realizing it.
But does he know where we’re going?
When I ask him, he says, “The church. It’s not far.”
“She’s got a meeting at the church?” I ask.
“Lots of people have meetings at the church.”
I am so confused! But trailing Amber is physically demanding, and I’m too out of breath to ask any more questions.
When we get to the main road, there’s nowhere left to hide. No lawns, no hedges. Just sidewalk and concrete and hot sun and kids trying to grab us. Luckily, Amber’s in a rush. She doesn’t look behind her, even when other humans say how cute we are and get
out their phones to take our picture.
Luckily, Zorro seems to know the way. I’ve never seen this street before. It’s scary, especially the cars. I stick close by Zorro, but even he can’t keep me safe from those squealing tires. If they get one of us, they’ll get us both.
We race by a diner and a fruit stall and a flower store before reaching a large expanse of lawn. All I want to do is collapse in the grass, and I’m surprised when Zorro darts in that direction.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“This is it. This is the church.”
I look out across the long front lawn, until my gaze reaches a brick building.
“That’s it?” I ask. “That’s the church?”
“You bet.”
It doesn’t look like the churches I’ve seen in TV mysteries. Those ones are always old and beautiful with colourful windows and stone exteriors. This one doesn’t look much different from our house. It’s bigger, of course, but the brick is the same. It’s kind of disappointing.
But Zorro doesn’t slow down. He leaps across the lawn, and I do too. Amber isn’t walking on the grass. She’s cutting across the driveway, past the few cars in the parking lot, and down the concrete stairs into a basement entrance.
My heart sinks. “We’re losing her!”
“No we’re not,” Zorro assures me. “I know exactly where she went.”
He leads me across the sizzling parking lot. The blacktop burns my paws, but we’ve come too far to head back now. I follow Zorro to a window well like we’ve got at the house: a dugout with gravel at the bottom, so the basement windows can get some light in.
Zorro jumps down. I’m scared to follow, but I don’t admit it. Instead, I hop down on his back and pretend it was an accident. From there, I slide onto the gravel. It’s nowhere near as hot as the parking lot. In fact, there seems to be cold air coming up from the earth.
“There you go,” Zorro whispers, indicating the window. “Lost and found.”
He’s talking about Amber.
The window looks in on a room in the basement, where Amber hugs an older woman. They both head to a table laid out with Peek Freans, a teapot, and a big coffee urn. I can’t hear what they’re saying, because there are a dozen or so other people in the room and they’re all chatting.