Cats, Cannolis and a Curious Kidnapping

by Cheryl Denise Bannerman

  © 2018 Cheryl Denise Bannerman.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  ISBN-13: 978-1724260857

  eISBN: 978-1543948820

  ISBN-10: 1724260855

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Contents

  Chapter 1 - Present Day

  Chapter 2 - Just 2 weeks ago

  Chapter 3 - Still 2 weeks ago

  Chapter 4 - 1 ½ weeks ago

  Chapter 5 - 1 week ago

  Chapter 6 - Still a week ago

  Chapter 7 - 6 days ago

  Chapter 8 - Still 6 days ago

  Chapter 9 - 5 days ago

  Chapter 10 - Still 5 days ago

  Chapter 11 - Still 5 days ago

  Chapter 12 - 4 days ago

  Chapter 13 - Still 4 days ago

  Chapter 14 - 3 days ago

  Chapter 15 - Just yesterday

  Chapter 16 - Present Day

  Chapter 17 - Diving for Survivors

  Chapter 18 - Everybody Fall to the Floor

  Chapter 19 - We Got a Live One!

  Chapter 20 - Now That’s Making a Statement!

  Chapter 21 - Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Peace!

  Chapter 22 - Deceased and On the Run

  Chapter 23 - The Truth Shall Set You Free

  Chapter 24 - The Purrrfect Ending

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE: Book 2

  Where’s Anna? Hidden Object Game

  | CHAPTER 1

  Present Day

  Anna could not believe she had just stolen an ice cream cart from a little old man — with a cane no less — and was being chased by a deranged murderer. Just a few weeks ago, her life was PERFECTLY NORMAL.

  She was definitely out of shape and now found herself wishing she had taken those spin classes her friend tried to sign her up for. All she could think about was stopping for a triple scoop, chocolate chip ice cream cone.

  She was pedaling as fast as she could as she merged onto the local highway. Cars were honking their horns and kids were gawking and pointing at her through the windows. It was humiliating. For the first time in her life, she was hoping no one would recognize her.

  Through the noise of the traffic she thought she heard laughter, and maybe even a ‘catcall’. She turned sharply, almost giving herself whiplash. She hadn’t had a man ‘call’, let alone ‘cat-call’, at her in quite some time. When she turned back around to focus on the road ahead she saw in her peripheral view a man on a motorcycle. He was gesturing something to her, but she couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. Then out of nowhere, a gang of his ‘motorcycle buddies’ pulled alongside him. They were all whistling, whooping, laughing, and ironically yelling out ice cream orders.

  Seconds later, they were moving closer to her lane, otherwise known as ‘the shoulder’, since there were technically no bike lanes on the highway. They then began gesturing for her to pull over!

  Not looking where she was going, and becoming frantically nervous at the attention, Anna was caught off guard by a construction cone. She quickly swerved right to avoid it, but was too late.

  Down the embankment she went, ice cream cart and all. Run off the road by a bunch of bikers who were craving Rocky Road. Damn.

  She had to get to the police station, but had lost her main source of transportation. They were never going to believe this story.

  CHAPTER 2 |

  Just 2 weeks ago…

  Welcome to my life. My name is Anna Romano. I’m the lonely Italian lady from the shore. The Jersey Shore that is. I now live in the suburbs of Central Jersey. The quaint, preppy town of Princeton to be exact. Thanks for reading about my exciting life of writing, cats, cooking, and kitty litter. I never thought I would turn into an old maid, unmarried with seven cats at the age of 37, but here I am.

  The most fulfilling part of my life is my work as an author. This is my fifteenth year in the world of fiction, specifically murder mysteries, and I love it. I get to work from home with my cats and not have to deal with the politics of working in an office. I’ve always said that “death by cubicle” would be the worst death EVER. I could see myself stuck, almost frozen in time, listening to co-workers ramble on about their spouses, forging smiles through large arrays of kid’s photos in various stages of life, and faking interest in slideshows of family vacations. Ugh!

  In addition to writing novels, I also write from home part-time for the local newspaper’s Dear Jesse relationship column. Honestly, this is the last topic I should be advising anyone on, but I manage to get by using my sarcasm and sense of humor.

  If I’m not on my laptop or cleaning litter boxes, I keep to myself watching the food and travel networks, trying my hand at new recipes, or watching scary movies.

  It’s not that I don’t like people, I have just never been much of a social butterfly. I maintain a few close friends, and even fewer family members, in my circle. Most of them live out-of-state, visiting now and then. Our main way of staying touch is texting, which I don’t mind, because if you get any of them on the phone it’s hours before you can get them off. I also refuse to become a part of the social media culture, so my friends and family have made a habit of flooding my phone and inbox with photos of their “happy family.” I assume this is to prove to me that I am missing out on a large chunk of happiness in my life, and that I should hurry up and have a family before it’s too late. God forbid!

  I don’t know why I haven’t found the ‘right one’. It could be (A) from a lack of trying, (B) my sarcasm and independence is a turnoff, or (C) I find most men annoying and harder to clean up after than my cats.

  Maybe it is because I never saw any happy family scenarios growing up. Raised by a single parent, my mother was constantly bitching about life, work, and men; even though she was mildly successful and considered ‘middle-class’. She never married my dad and he wasn’t around much anyway. Holidays and birthdays were his thing. He really showed out on those occasions with the gaudy presents and long hugs. I guess I should be grateful for that at least.

  Mom was also a writer, but in the marketing industry, writing ads, commercials, and oftentimes jingles for the coolest kid’s products on the market. It felt like Christmas when she was working on an ad campaign for a toy and had to bring it home for work. Mom was talented and creative, and I thank her for transferring that gift to me. Now living with her boyfriend of seven years, she resides in Texas and still works part-time for the same firm. I’m not sure how she ended up so far away, but it suits me fine. We talk weekly.

  Dad passed away a few years back of a heart attack. It wasn’t the wine or cigarettes that got him. It was, you guessed it, the women. Here’s how it went… a prostitute, a drunk, and a pharmacist walk into a bar… Never mind, bad joke. Anyway, the blue pill was not recommended by his doctor and neither was the enthusiastic prostitute who wanted to ‘try something different’ that night. Dad’s heart gave out during round two. He was a good man and did the best he could with what some refer to as ‘the hand he was dealt’. Now that I think about it, I can see life being compared to a random game of cards, where 99.9% of the time, you lose. Hmph!

  Regardless, let’s get to the most important thing about my life that I know you are dying to hear about… my cats! There are seven in all: TatorTot, Tiny, Petra, Jasmine, Sonny, Liza, and Bette. I was on a Broadway kick when I picked the last few names. T
hey keep me from thinking about my lack of a social life and their meowing helps to drown out the biological clock that, everyone keeps telling me is ticking, the older I get without a husband and family.

  TatorTot is my only Persian, mostly because of my allergies, and she is shy, gentle and quiet. Tiny, Sonny, and Petra are American Shorthair cats with unique stripes in various colors. Tiny is friendly and full of energy, while Sonny and Petra are the sneaky instigators who fight for my attention and can never seem to stay out of trouble. If they were kids, I can imagine one pointing to the other shouting, “He did it!” or “It wasn’t me!” after getting caught in their latest conundrum.

  Jasmine, the most entertaining of them all, is a black Siamese who loves to put on a show… especially when company comes over.

  Then, there are Liza and Bette, my latest acquisitions. Two gorgeous Ragamuffins who are literally inseparable. And no, despite their names, they are not the entertaining type like Jasmine. They love to eat, climb, jump, and type on my keyboard while I’m trying to work.

  All of them have their own individual personalities, but they all seem to love eating and pooping based on the amount of litter I have to clean every day.

  This just in, my publicist texted me, “Don’t be late tomorrow!”

  One of the great things about my career is that I get to meet my fans at least three to five times per year at various events. My signing tomorrow is at the Rizzoli Bookstore in New York City for my latest book, The Purrrfect Crime. The premise: A crime is committed by a veterinarian’s assistant who catered to the animals of the rich and famous so she could get close to the families, kidnap their beloved pet, and demand a substantial ransom. After collecting millions, she was finally caught when the kidnapping of a prized Shih Tzu turned to murder. The maid’s day off was changed at the last minute, and the owners caught the kidnapper off guard… My animal lover fans ate it up and The Purrrfect Crime was on the Bestseller list just two weeks after its release!

  My publicist’s name is Shirlene Booker, and yes, that is her actual last name. Her relatable passion for books has led to our now ten years of teamwork. The only thing she’s more passionate about than books is public perceptions, which means punctuality is at the top of her ‘pet peeves’ list.

  I texted her back: “Yes SIR!”

  An inside joke between us that refers to her as having the bedside manner of a drill sergeant. Next, she will be asking what I am wearing. Oy vey!

  I can’t complain though. She’s been by my side through thick and thin, and she always has my best interest at heart. Every time I push her too far and get on her last nerve about a venue or promotion, I just bake her a pan of my famous lasagna and all is well with the ‘Booker’ again.

  Now to pick out the perfect spring outfit for my trip to the city tomorrow!

  | CHAPTER 3

  Still 2 weeks ago…

  The atmosphere is all ‘a buzz’ as I step out of the town car that delivered me to my venue twenty minutes early. Shirlene will be more than pleased at my punctuality.

  There was already a crowd forming in the front of the store, which was a good sign. I made my way through the back entrance with my travel case on wheels in tow, and asked a clerk where my table was set up. He was happy to walk me to it leading with a sauntering hand and an ear-to-ear grin — as if he was a Price Is Right gal in a past life.

  I thanked him for his help, and was just unpacking my book copies, promo items, and pens when Shirlene popped up behind me out of nowhere. “Well, look what the CAT dragged in! No ‘pun’ intended!” she exclaimed jokingly.

  I stood up to hug her and replied, “Hey, it’s The Booker! You’re looking well, as usual.”

  Shirlene replied, “Right back atcha Superstar! I love that dress. I could never pull off flower prints, but you manage to do it with grace and beauty. You must share your fashion secrets with me, darrrrlinnnggg.”

  We were both having a good laugh when the manager interrupted to let us know they were going to begin letting folks in to start the signing in five minutes. Just enough time for me to tinkle and take my place.

  Shirlene was already set to take her place at the front of the table. She was responsible for 1) passing out promotional materials, 2) gathering email addresses on the sign-in sheet for the marketing emails that went out bi-weekly, and 3) handing out thousands of verbal ‘thank you for coming’s’.

  An hour into the event, I noticed a tall, wiry man with red hair in line to get his book signed. He seemed awfully nervous, biting his fingernails and furrowing his matching red eyebrows. When his turn came he shuffled up to the table and said in a low voice, “I’d like you to dedicate this to my first wife, Cynthia. She was a big fan of yours… but she’s dead now.”

  Now, I’ve met my share of weirdos, so at the time I just shrugged it off. But while signing, I did wonder why he would get an autograph for a dead woman. Creeeeepppppyyy.

  I never mentioned the incident to Shirlene. And overall, the event was a success; we sold more books than we thought we would, and got over 100 new names for our marketing list!

  My feet were killing me, and I could not wait to get back into the town car and nap the whole ride home.

  * * *

  Waking up the day after a successful book signing had me in the mood to cook. I had been wanting to try a new recipe for chicken marsala and make some fresh cannoli. I could say I was making an extravagant meal expecting company, but honestly, that would be a lie. I just love to eat.

  I headed out to the grocery store with my list of 70% cat food and cat supplies and 30% human food. It was a shopping ratio I was happy to accept. My babies love me unconditionally, mostly because I feed them, BUT they don’t talk back or break my heart. In my opinion, it was the perfect relationship.

  As I headed over to the deli counter, I saw a flash of red hair quickly pass by the aisle I was standing in. It reminded me of the tall, red-haired weirdo from the book signing. But that wouldn’t make sense, unless the guy traveled all the way from Jersey to NYC for an autograph for his dead wife. Again, creeeeepppppyyy.

  I explained it away as bad vision from old age and kept shopping.

  Checking out was a piece of cake today and I was in-and-out in no time. Although I preferred the older cashiers who were friendlier and more open to chitchat, I also enjoyed the younger generation who scanned as if they were in for the race of their life, with the bonus prize being a super long break where they could text, post, tweet, snap, and whatever else kids do nowadays. I must say though, it wouldn’t kill them to pass along a simple hello or even a pleasant nod.

  I was loading the trunk without noticing the carts going by in a whiz. Everyone rushing around in their busy lives with work, kids, and errands to fill up their day.

  That’s when I noticed a hand on my cart, which was soon firmly tightened around my wrist. I froze and looked up to see the red-haired man from the book signing. He looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Silence is golden, you know?” He then released my wrist and walked away. I was frozen in fear, unable to release any type of noise from my throat. Leaning back on my car for support, I looked around to see if anyone present had witnessed the, ‘interaction’, for lack of a better word. It wasn’t an assault but he did grab my wrist for a few seconds. Should I report it? Since this was my second encounter with the man, I figured I should document something with the police in writing… just in case. I thought to tell Shirlene, but I don’t want to worry her for nothing.

  I pulled up at the local police station and sat in the car for a minute to gather my nerve. I was sure this was more than a coincidence. Even if it wasn’t, better safe than sorry.

  I walked in and found the line for the check-in/info desk. The atmosphere made me feel as if I was signing up for government benefits or renewing my driver’s license. I was third in line, and couldn’t help thinking I should have unpacked the groceries first and then drove over. My dairy products may be melting while I stand here in line, and I can’t i
magine dinner being complete without the cannoli.

  “Miss, may I help you?” a voice called out from a desk off to the side.

  “Oh, yes. Sorry,” I responded.

  I told the officer I would like to file a report against someone I did not know in the least, for something that was not actually stalking or assault, and that could possibly be a coincidence or unrelated. I think he was as confused as I was.

  He explained that the incident did not qualify as either stalking or assault, and basically told me to go home to my cats and take a valium. Apparently, he recognized me and knew of my neighborhood nickname “The Author-Cat Lady” and wanted to get rid of me. Unfortunately, I was afraid that was exactly what the crazy red-haired man wanted to do as well.

  But, if the police are blowing me off, what else could I do. Maybe I did need a valium.

  CHAPTER 4 |

  1 ½ weeks ago…

  The name’s Frederic Talon. I never wanted any of this. If people would just learn to mind their own damn business. Everyone has secrets in their past… right?

  I’m just your normal, mild-mannered, business man trying to live the American dream. Wife, mortgage, two kids, and a dog. I maintained an okay job as a CPA. And somehow, it was never enough.

  Growing up in a blue-collar household, both my parents worked their hands to the bone for the rich. My mother a housekeeper, and my father a mechanic, they struggled to make ends meet in our small, two-bedroom apartment.

  I was the puny kid with strange red hair that stood out in the poorer side of Bloomfield, New Jersey. Getting picked on for most of my life, I couldn’t wait to get a job as a teen in the prominent town of Montclair, the next town over. I was able to buy nicer clothes and even started dating, albeit a bit awkwardly. With my confidence multiplied by ten, I came out of my shyness and was much more confident in all areas of my life… except when it came to females.