Lykoi Larceny

by Katherine Hayton

  “That sounds like fun,” Esme said, stifling a yawn on the back of her hand and propping her feet on another chair. “Honestly, unless your trade picks up, you should close this place tomorrow and come for a picnic with Jerry and me.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Dunno. The plan only just occurred to me.” She pulled her phone out and started texting. “I suppose I should check if he’s free before I offer his company as a drawcard.”

  “Don’t worry on my account.” Marjorie held up her hand. “I’m opening tomorrow. Between the busload this morning and my regulars who’re expecting me to be here, it’s a done deal.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  “Why don’t you drum up some massage appointments and we can have a nice normal working day?”

  Esme stared at her as though she were crazy. “And, as I said, you’re—”

  “No fun,” Marjorie finished for her. “Yeah, I got that.”

  “My client list always dries up in the middle of summer,” Esme complained. “Who’d have thought people would prefer to spend the holidays with their friends or family rather than having me massage them in the stuffy studio?”

  “Well, don’t put that in your advertising, okay?”

  Just as Marjorie considered pulling in her sign early, a car pulled up outside, then another. “And you wanted me to close,” she chided Esme as the afternoon rush picked up steam and the kittens awoke refreshed and full of mischief from their snoozes. “At this rate, I’ll be lucky to shut on time.”

  Luckily, the patrons left with a few minutes to spare before her usual three o’clock finish. Although her phone had been dinging with messages, it wasn’t until Marjorie had finished wiping down the tables and sorting the leftovers that she checked them.

  Braden had invited her to take back her hellcat with a lovely shot of a leather sofa used as a scratching post and Jon had left a note that they’d collected the gifts and were meeting up at Felix’s to pull everything together.

  With a sympathetic shrug at the damage Shadow had inflicted, Marjorie sent a message back to Jon and walked across to tap on Esme’s door.

  “I think I’ll pass up on the wonderful opportunity,” her friend said, gesturing towards her television where her streaming service wanted to know if she was still there. “Four episodes down, eight to go.”

  As Toil and Trouble double-teamed a tray of napkins off the main counter, Marjorie decided they’d do well to come along with her. “Be nice and cute and we’ll see if we can rehouse you two before the night’s done.” Although she pulled out two pet carriers for the journey, the black felines eagerly squeezed into one.

  “Thank goodness,” Jon said, clapping his hands together as he showed her along the corridor to the main room—or bomb site to be more accurate. “A lady! Please teach us how to work magic with sticky tape and paper.”

  She laughed, thinking it was a joke, but Jon turned out to be serious. He ensconced her behind a large table, full of supplies, and insisted Marjorie give them lessons.

  “Okay, but you’ll need to keep hold of these two while I give a demonstration,” she said, handing him Toil and depositing Trouble into Felix’s startled arms. “First off, place the box in the centre of the paper. Fold over the leading edge to give it a sharp crease and tape it directly to the box, like so.”

  She took them through her process three times before they were let loose on the stack of gifts. “And for goodness’ sake,” Marjorie reminded them as a parcel was presented to her with no tag. “Add a note to say if it’s for a boy or a girl and the age range. Santa will be cantankerous enough wearing a heavy red suit and beard in the middle of summer. Let’s not make him any more upset by expecting him to mind-read.”

  Jon appeared quite taken with the idea of a grumpy Santa.

  Braden sent her another message, this time with a tin of empty cat food in one hand and a floor covered in the contents in the other. “Send help. Enemy combatant.”

  She texted back their address and invited him to come on over, bringing the kitten with him. When the breeder had informed her the other interested party was Claude Skinner, a man who apparently didn’t want a pet at all, she’d hoped Braden might bond with him and take away the need to rehouse Shadow.

  Now he was acting up, she couldn’t in good conscience leave them together. If Monkey Business’s nose continued to be put out of joint by the small kitten, her next stop would probably be animal rescue.

  Marjorie didn’t like to pass animals their way, considering they worked with a strict time limit for rehousing pets, but she couldn’t think of another option right now. Somebody in their community would surely see how cute Shadow was and adopt him.

  “You’ve got a long face for someone wrapping presents,” one of Jon’s mates said. Marjorie hadn’t concentrated when he reeled off everyone’s names and now drew a blank. “Woody,” the young man said in response to her blank stare. “And this is Jared.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m just trying to sort out a new home for a kitten and it’s causing a small headache.”

  “One of these?” Jared gestured to Toil and Trouble. “But they’re adorable.”

  “I’m glad you think so. They also need to be rehoused but there’s a particular one who’s more trouble. He’s not the prettiest kitten in the world and he seems to be upsetting the men in my life.”

  When Woody gave her a startled glance, Marjorie amended, “One of those men being my cat.”

  “I told you I could babysit a kitten if you needed help,” Jon said, overhearing. “I’d take great care of him, I promise.”

  Marjorie felt a weight lift as she studied the young man, who was full of surprises. “I might need to take you up on that. Would it be okay with your parents?”

  “Yeah. Mum won’t even notice, and my stepdad loves cats.”

  She opened her mouth to thank him when she was interrupted by the sound of someone falling over in a side room. Marjorie’s brow creased as Jon stared, Felix flinched, and Woody and Jared stood up, fists at the ready.

  “There shouldn’t be anyone else in here,” Felix said in a worried tone. He dropped the parcel he was working on and lumbered to his feet with a groan. “I’d better go check it out.”

  “Not alone, you won’t,” Jon said as he and his mates flanked the older man.

  “Should I call the police?” Marjorie asked, pulling her phone out. She saw the reply from Braden, saying he was on his way and hesitated. Could it be him? He might have missed the front door and crawled in through a window.

  She shook her head at the idiocy of the thought just as Jon replied, “Let’s just see what we’re dealing with first.”

  He stood by the door, waiting until everyone was grouped around it before he pulled the handle. A furious Claude Skinner sat on the floor, cradling his ankle.

  “What on earth are you doing here?” Felix demanded. “This is private property.”

  “Yeah. I’m retrieving private property and all,” Claude replied, then pulled a pistol out of his inside pocket when Felix took a step towards him. “Watch it there, old man. You don’t want me to splatter your brains across the wall just before Christmas.”

  With shaking hands, Marjorie flicked her thumb across the mobile screen to wake it, then pressed the phone icon for the numbers to appear.

  “Drop the phone, love. I don’t want to shoot you either.”

  As she stared at the handgun, now aimed in her direction, the cell phone tumbled from her numb hands.

  “Now, just give me a minute.” Claude reached behind him for the edge of the single bed and heaved himself upright. “If this place wasn’t in such a mess, I never would’ve tripped, so how about we pretend you didn’t hear me.”

  “What are you doing here?” Marjorie asked. Her blood was now pounding through her temples with such force, she could barely hear her own voice.

  “I came to collect something that’s mine,” he said as his eyes flicked to either side. “My wife ad
ded a box to the stack of presents, and I want it back, that’s all.”

  “You stole the presents,” she said, pulling Lillian and Claude’s odd behaviour together in an answer that turned her stomach. “That’s what you were talking about last night when you said some things had gone missing before the burglary. You stole those kid’s presents from the community centre and couldn’t find your silly box.”

  Claude raised his eyebrows. “Well done. Now, if you could show me where it is, I’d be grateful.”

  Marjorie turned to Felix, who appeared nonplussed. “He’s talking about a box where the seal was broken, and the contents didn’t match the outside. At least, that’s what his wife told me.”

  “From the collections?” Felix raised his hands and backed up a step. “I’ve taken all of those over to Allie’s. We did that on the afternoon before the burglary.”

  At the mention of the older woman, Marjorie felt a shot of pure fear rush through her body. She opened her mouth to protest, then worked through what Felix had said. “No, it would’ve been after that. Lillian brought the boxes directly to the community centre, right before closing. After you’d sorted out the collected presents.”

  Felix clicked his tongue and tipped his head to one side. “Okay, gotcha.” His voice sounded relieved. “They’re in the car. I had them in the lounge and Dotty growled that I was turning her best room for entertaining into an oversized storage locker, so I shoved them into the boot instead.”

  “Right, then,” Claude said, stepping forward. “Show me.”

  Felix didn’t budge. “Not with that weapon, I’m not. I’m happy to take you outside and show you what’s there but I’m not doing it at gunpoint.”

  “Go out along and bring it inside, then.” Claude let his arms drop but didn’t loosen the grip on the pistol. “I’ll stay here with your friends. If you want to run, just remember them.”

  Felix’s face hardened but Jon and his mates nodded. “Go on,” Woody said. “The quicker you get it, the quicker this’ll all be over.”

  As the older man left the room, Jon stared hard at Claude. “What’s in the box, anyway?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Better not be drugs. I’ve seen a lot of my friends ruin their lives because of that filth.”

  Claude rolled his eyes. “It’s not drugs. Calm yourself.”

  As the minutes stretched out, the room seemed to grow closer. Marjorie cleared her throat. “How about we move into the lounge? There’s not much space for us all in here.”

  “Good idea,” Claude said, jerking the pistol in that direction. “It’ll give me a better view of what your friend’s up to.”

  When they moved back into the larger room, Marjorie shooed Toil and Trouble away from the gunman, scared their presence would irritate someone unused to pets.

  “I’ve got what you want,” a voice called from the corridor, definitely not belonging to Felix. With a start of horror, Marjorie realised she knew who it was.

  Braden.

  “No,” she called out, wanting to run along the hallway and push him out of the house. “It’s not safe.”

  He turned into the room, smiling with the same easy charm he had when explaining why it was important to spend hours every day, shooting creatures on a big screen. In his arms was a long box with a picture of a racing car on the side. “I guess you’re really into motorsports, huh?”

  “Bring it over here,” Claude ordered, gesturing with the pistol.

  “Not until you let everyone else in this house go.” Braden delivered the words with no emotion, though Marjorie could detect the faintest tremble in his legs where the cloth of his trousers shook. “I’ve told Felix to phone the police if they’re not outside in two minutes.” He awkwardly shifted position to check his watch. “Your time’s almost gone.”

  Claude stared. His lips pressed together so hard they nearly disappeared. On the wall, a clock ticked away the seconds.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  “Fine.” The gunman flicked his eyes around the group while a contemptuous sneer distorted his face. “Get outside.”

  “I’m not leaving you alone with him,” Marjorie protested. “Just dump the box on the ground and come out with us.”

  “Go!” Claude shouted, pulling back the hammer. “I won’t tell you again.”

  The four of them filed out the back door on unsteady legs. Marjorie tried to keep Braden in her line of sight, but Claude followed them along the hallway and slammed the back door shut.

  “You called the police anyway, didn’t you?” she asked Felix who was sheltering behind his car. “We need to get them here.”

  “I called.” The man appeared miserable. “When Braden came up the drive, he caught me by surprise. I should be the one in there. I’m the eldest.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Jon said, squeezing the man’s shoulder. “We should all focus on getting out of here in one piece.”

  “How does he have a handgun?” Marjorie asked. “I thought no one had them anymore.”

  “It looked old.” Felix gave a weary shrug. “Maybe it belonged to his father or something. There’s a chance it doesn’t even work. A lot of those old guns have been disabled so families could keep them as souvenirs.”

  A second after Felix spoke, a shot rang out, demolishing that hope. The group of five stood there, muscles tense, not moving.

  “Should we go inside?” Marjorie asked, fearing the answer. As she stared at the others, no one said a word. “We could—”

  She broke off as tyres crunched on the gravel of the driveway. A police car. Three officers got out, dressed in protective gear from head to toe.

  “He’s inside,” she shouted, pointing to the house. “One gunman and one hostage.”

  The door opened and three police officers reacting, crouching and aiming guns at the property. Braden stood in the opening, hands in the air.

  “We need an ambulance,” he shouted, kicking the pistol outside. “Claude Skinner’s been shot.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Wait, wait,” Esme said, holding her hand up. “Are you saying a kitten shot Claude?”

  Marjorie laughed and leaned back in her chair. She’d heard the story already and knew how it ended. Braden’s eyes lingered on her face as he took a sip from his cola, then gave her a slow smile that stirred up butterflies in her belly.

  “It wasn’t a kitten,” he corrected, turning back to his audience. “It was a pair. Claude had propped the gun on the mantelpiece while he examined the box to see it held what he wanted. While he was crouched down, Toil and Trouble pushed the pistol off the shelf, and it shot him right in the leg.”

  Esme broke into giggles, the good food and good company of the dinner making her giddy. “Please tell me you got a video of the situation. It’s too good to lose forever.”

  “At the time I was more interested in getting myself out of the place alive than recording the event for posterity.” Braden took a Christmas cracker as Allie passed them out from a basket and waggled it at Marjorie. “Are you game?”

  “What was in the box?” Esme said, tugging at Braden’s hand until he dropped the cracker and turned his attention back to her. “Finish the story. This is the most exciting event I’ve ever been adjacent to in my life.”

  “I’m not sure I want to talk about that,” Braden said while his mouth pulled down at the corners. “Claude Skinner is a nasty piece of work.”

  “It was a brass knuckleduster,” Marjorie said when it seemed Esme would burst if someone didn’t tell her. “Covered in blood.”

  “Martin Thorpe’s blood?” Jerry guessed while Braden nodded. “He killed him?”

  “This is where I need to take a step back,” he said, holding his hands up. “Marjorie can take over the story from here.”

  “Claude Skinner was using Martin Thorpe to launder money from his illegal activities. It’s why he pulled back from the rest of his clients. Even while he was doing someth
ing against the law, he disengaged from our accounts so if he was caught, we wouldn’t be dragged down with him.”

  “Nobility amongst the swine,” Jerry said, shaking his head. “I’m glad I just harass the Inland Revenue directly when I need help with my taxes.”

  “Some of us need more help than a phone call can sort out.” Marjorie pushed her plate back, then promptly picked another piece of stuffing up in her fingers and made it disappear. “When his ex-wife hired a forensic accountant to intervene in the divorce settlement, I think he knew the game was up.”

  “Which left everyone without their favourite accountant.” Esme poked Jerry in the ribs. “Apart from those of us who’re too cheap to hire help.”

  “Before he attacked him,” Marjorie continued, “Claude Skinner tried to manipulate Martin into continuing his practice. When he found out the accountant loved a particular breed of kitten, he intervened and brought the cat out from under him.”

  “But didn’t he own the cat?” Esme asked with a frown.

  “The breeder sold it to Claude for double the price, then told Martin she was giving it to him for free.” It had taken a little cajoling via direct message to get the full truth out of the woman, but the breeder had eventually complied.

  “But why?” Jerry drained his glass and poured another iced tea from the pitcher in front of them. “If he ended up with the kitten anyway, why bother with the subterfuge?”

  “Because Martin thought the kitten was his, then found out Claude had legal title to him and could take him away at any moment. It must have been devastating.” Marjorie’s lower lip wobbled at the though. “It’d be like finding out you weren’t your son’s father.”

  Jerry looked unconvinced. “Yet he still hit him to death?”

  “He hit him, but it didn’t cause his death. According to Dr Every, Martin drowned his sorrows in a hip flask of brandy before deciding to fix the spouting his neighbour was always bleating about.”

  “He fell?” Esme’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “You’re kidding?”