Jake's Burn

by Randy Rawls

  As consciousness returned, I realized it was Striker I heard. What the heck was he doing? I lifted Sweeper, who didn’t change his breathing pattern, and stood, placing him in my chair. He resumed his snoring.

  “Okay, Striker, what are you up to?” I walked to the top of the steps and looked into the foyer. Striker was practicing his soccer skills as he swiped at something with his paw, demonstrating a perfect sidekick. He then raced in front of the object and trapped it before using a low drive to slam it into the corner, a perfect two-touch.

  I watched him, a grin spreading over my face. I felt like yelling, “Gooooooooooaaaaaaaaaallllllllll,” like the guy who’s gotten famous for his goal calls. Instead, I said, “We could have used you when I was in college. You have better skills than most of the players on my team.”

  Striker ignored me and continued passing, trapping and shooting until my curiosity got the best of me. What was he playing with? From where I stood, I couldn't see anything. I walked down the steps and earned his animosity as I grabbed his toy.

  I held it up and looked at it. It was a small diameter, thin golden loop that pulled open. What the heck was it? The only thing I could identify it with was a gold earring. But how did it get in my foyer? Earrings are not an accouterment I find appealing. And, there hadn't been any females there for a while that could have lost it.

  As I looked at it, right brain kicked in and, after calling me every degree of idiot, reminded me of the game Sweeper and I play when I break into my house. Could Sweeper have attacked the intruder like he does me during our make believe break-ins?

  I sat on the bottom step to think about this new revelation. Sweeper showed up by my side, rubbing against my leg. I stroked his fur. His purring made me feel better.

  He reached with his right front paw and hooked a claw through the loop, tugging on it. “No, leave it alone. Did you rip it off someone?”

  “Meow.”

  “Is that a yes or a no?”

  Striker sniffed the floor of the foyer and Sweeper joined him. I studied the gold loop trying to make up my mind if it was an earring.

  “Meow.”

  “Meow.”

  They both stared at me. As soon as they had my attention, they sniffed the floor. Then both stopped and swiped at different spots on the floor while looking at me.

  What the heck were they doing? I looked at them. They looked at me. They said, “Meow.” I refused to say meow, but continued looking.

  “Okay, guys. Are you trying to tell me something?” I knelt and looked at the floor closely where they stood. There were little reddish-brown specks and an occasional larger red-brown spot. I rubbed one and it moved with my finger. I wet my fingertip and rubbed another. It smeared. I sat back, not daring to believe what my instincts told me. Blood, it looked like blood.

  I again called the local police. This time I asked for Detective Harasky, a friend I’d worked with before. “Bert. I need your help.” I told him about the break-in and my cats’ behavior. I finished by telling him I might have blood droplets in my foyer, and a tiny piece of what might be blood-soaked material I’d taken from Sweeper’s broken claw.

  Under other circumstances, his laughter and snide remarks would have gotten a rise out of me. This time I waited, saying nothing.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Bert. I’m serious. It may sound weird but it’s true. Can you get an evidence team over here before my cats wipe out what I think is a blood clue?”

  “Okay, we’re on the way.”

  Bert’s team swooped in and when they’d finished collecting lab samples, I had the cleanest foyer in town. Sweeper and Striker walked around sniffing the floor, apparently inspecting their performance.

  I hoped the police would solve the case before my house burned, or I was taken out. Or worse yet, my cats were injured.

  When Bert Harasky’s team left, I slumped into my chair. Sweeper assumed his normal position on the arm and Striker curled in my lap. I checked my watch, three o’clock. It seemed a lifetime since last night when Terri had, in effect, told me to kiss off. I napped.

  As my eyes struggled open, I realized the sun streamed into them. There are disadvantages to a living room facing west. I discovered that I was alone. Striker and Sweeper had deserted me while I slept, probably finishing Ms. Jacobs’ kitty treats or fouling their litter boxes. I looked at my watch. Four o’clock. I’d slept an hour. I felt better, or lied to myself that I did.

  I dragged myself out of my chair and wandered into the kitchen, straight to the refrigerator where I was faced with a choice between the Killian’s I wanted or a bottle of flavored water I knew was better for me. The water won—that time. I stripped the plastic covering off the cap, took a long swig and leaned against the stove, trying to decide what to do next. Maybe I should call Terri. No, she made herself clear last night.

  I needed to call the motel and reserve my room for a few more days. The answers I sought were in Cisco, not Dallas. But, there might be a major crime in Dallas if I didn’t find the perpetrator in Cisco soon. And I might be the victim.

  I reached for the cordless phone I kept in the kitchen and saw the blinking light on my answering machine. I punched the play button.

  “You have one message. Message one. Three a.m. I will play one message.”

  Don’t you love those mechanical chip voices? The chip quit and the recording started, “Arty. Arty? Pick up the phone. Are you trying to ignore me? …Dammit, Arty, are you there?... Oh, crap. Okay, you must not be home. I lost your pager number. We need to talk. Call me as soon as you can. We need to get together now, not later.”

  Well, that was interesting—and ironic. On a night when I couldn’t sleep, Jake had lost my number. Talking to him last night would have helped pass those long hours I’d lain awake. The interesting part was he wanted to talk to me in person. I wondered if he’d come up with something new on the lawyer.

  My first impulse was to call immediately, but then I had a better idea. Thinking about it brought forth a chuckle.

  First though, I had to make plans for the boys. I couldn’t leave them home again—not with some nut running around with gasoline. Plus, he had proven my front door was no deterrent. I grinned when I thought about his entry. He must have been one surprised dude when Sweeper landed on his head. I wondered if he knew he’d left his earring behind, if that’s what it was. So many ifs, and so little time.

  I called a nearby kennel with nice facilities for cats and met another criteria for this housing. It opened early. I’d used it before and liked the people there, although they were strange. If they found out I called it a kennel, they’d probably blacklist me. They called it The Feline Hotel and operations duplicated a people hotel. No manager, a concierge. They didn’t have attendants, they had bellhops who took the carriers when you arrived, room attendants who changed the litter, and a dining room with a maitre d’ where the guests took their meals. You get the drift.

  The boys didn’t share my opinion, but I didn’t give them a vote this time. The kennel, whoops, hotel, folks gave me a reservation for six the next morning. In keeping with their approach, they took my credit card number and rewarded me with a confirmation number. I guess I was supposed to be impressed.

  When I hung up and turned around, two angry orange cats faced me. First, the hair on their necks stood straight up, then they spun and flipped their tails as they stalked off. They were in no mood to listen to my arguments. How the heck did they know what I did?

  I spent the rest of the evening making peace with them. I retrieved their carriers from the garage and prepared things for the morning.

  At ten o’clock, I grinned as I set my alarm for two-fifty-five a.m. I’d made up my mind. Revenge would be sweet. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was asleep.

  At two-fifty, I awakened, lifted Striker off my chest and lay him beside his brother. I tiptoed across to the alarm and disengaged it before walking into the kitchen where the coffee finished brewin
g. I poured a cup and sat, watching the big hand on the clock finish its climb toward the twelve. At precisely three o’clock, I dialed.

  After the third ring, a sleepy voice said, “Who the hell is this?”

  “Hi, Jake. It’s me, Ace. Received your message. Got a few minutes?”

  “Huh, who? Ace? Arty? You son-of-a-bitch. Are you nuts? What time is it? Call me at the office.” Jake’s tone let me know I’d scored big on the get-even scale.

  “Hey, don’t hang up, Jake. I’m ready to talk. It’s peak conversation time—three in the morning.” I stifled my laughter. “What’s on your mind?”

  Jake was quiet, but I heard a muffled voice in the background. It sounded like a sleepy woman asking who was on the phone, telling him to turn off the light and come back to bed.

  I wondered who the gorgeous woman was. Kathy came to mind. I hoped not—too good for Jake.

  Jake said in a more normal voice, “Ace, I can’t talk now. Come by the office at eight if you can. I’ve kept the whole morning open. Now, I’m going back to—”

  “Touché and good-night.” I hung up, threw back my head and let the laughter roll as loud as it wanted. When I looked toward the doorway, I saw two sleepy cats staring at me as if I were nuts. No way I could explain to them how good it felt to wake Jake, how good it felt to score once using his rules. As I walked back to the bedroom, I again wondered who belonged to the female voice. Was she his alibi for the night Sheila died?

  I dropped the boys off at six and headed toward Fort Worth. Traffic was reasonably light. For the first time in this case, there was no fender-bender blocking me. It was still early, so a Denny’s near Jake’s office lured me in for breakfast.

  Before entering the restaurant, I caved and called Terri at home. Her answering machine wanted my message, so I told it I’d like to talk to Terri, and requested she page me during the day. I hoped she checked her messages soon. I supposed she’d already left for school.

  My waitress was a sweet Texas lady who took care of me as if I were eating in her home. It seemed every time I took a sip of coffee, she refilled the cup and asked if everything was all right. It was—two eggs over easy, a small T-bone steak, with pancakes and grits on the side. A breakfast for champions that left me feeling like one. After all, I had bested Jake the previous night.

  After I ate, read the paper and drank about a gallon of coffee, my watch said it was eight-thirty. Knowing I could now face the day with a full stomach and detailed knowledge of what was happening with the Cowboys, I figured I’d kept Jake waiting long enough. I couldn’t push the envelope too far—he still paid my bills.

  When I opened my wallet to pay the check, a small wedge of paper fell out—the earring Striker found in the foyer. I put it in my wallet for safekeeping, then forgot to give it to the police. I'd have to remember to do that when I returned to Dallas.

  * * * *

  I walked into Jake’s outer office and she was there—Kathy. My memory may have been good on her name, but it was faulty about her beauty. She looked better than I remembered.

  She stood as I entered the suite. “Mr. Edwards. How good to see you again? Mr. Adams has been waiting for you. Coffee with one Sweet’n Low, isn’t it? Your eye looks terrible. Did it hurt much?” She walked toward Jake’s office.

  She won that round. She made me feel important by remembering me, politely chastised me for being late, then picked me up by remembering how I liked my coffee and commiserating about my black eye. I meekly followed her toward Jake’s office knowing I had met my match.

  She must have signaled Jake because his door opened, and he waved me in. “Arty, glad you came. Come on in, and let’s talk—great looking shiner.” He turned toward Kathy.

  She said, “Yes sir, Mr. Adams. I have his coffee order. I’ll bring some sweet rolls.”

  “Thank you, Kathy,” Jake said as she walked away.

  We moved into his office, and he motioned me toward a corner where he had added a conversation niche—couch, coffee table and two more wingback chairs. Even with the extra furniture, the office was not crowded. He took the couch and waved me into one of those human sacrifice chairs. As we sat, the door opened, and Kathy entered with the china coffee serving followed by a young man with a silver tray piled high with a selection of sweet rolls.

  I should have told them I’d already had breakfast, but I wanted to watch this play out. I wondered why Jake was putting on a show. When Kathy leaned over to pour a cup of coffee, I quit wondering about Jake and remembered her attractions—both of them with a gorgeous cleavage between.

  As soon as she and the young man left, Jake said, “Thanks for coming by Ace. I hope you’ll give me an update on how the investigation is going. Have you come up with anything concrete yet? From what I hear, the sheriff is still baffled.”

  He sounded nervous.

  I gave him a detailed briefing up to and including the break-ins at my motel and my house, and what I thought might be blood droplets in my foyer. I showed him the loop.

  He picked it up and examined it as I had the day before. “You think this is an earring?”

  “I’m no jeweler, but it looks like one to me. What do you think?”

  “Let’s not guess,” he replied. “We’ll get an expert in here.”

  He must have had a foot switch, because with the words hanging in the air, the door opened.

  “You called, Mr. Adams?” Kathy stood in the doorway.

  “Yes. Please look at this,” Jake said to her, “and give us your opinion.”

  She walked over, accepted the gold loop from Jake, and rotated it as she examined it. “What do you want to know?”

  “What do you think it is?” I asked.

  She looked at me as if my question was absurd. “It’s an inexpensive earring, probably gold plated. The kind a lot of places sell when they advertise free ear piercing. You can find them any place that sells cheap jewelry—more stainless steel than gold. You know, you see them on the street all the time. Jewelry on a woman, or a toy for a boy.”

  I was gratified that my guess had been right, but mortified at the lecture she gave me. I had overlooked the obvious in my enthusiasm to identify the gold loop.

  “Thank you, Kathy. That’s what Mr. Edwards thought, but we wanted to know for sure. You’ve been very helpful in his investigation.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Jake, trying to save face for me.

  Kathy left the room, and Jake turned back to me. “Hope that helped. You think your cat ripped this out of the intruder’s ear?” He sounded incredulous. “And you said there was blood on the floor. Isn’t that a bit farfetched?”

  “Yeah, as strange as it may sound, that’s what I believe.”

  “Hmmm. One of these days, I want to meet your cats. Not a bad idea, a watch cat. Less upkeep than a dog.” Jake grinned. “You might have stumbled onto something here, Arty, for when you retire. Training watch cats to keep homes and businesses safe from burglars. Your motto could be, No mice, no bugs, no burglars. Yep, if you decide to sell stock, I’ll buy in.”

  He stopped and refilled our coffee cups.

  I should have told him I was about to float.

  “Do you have any real leads, though? Have you shortened your list of suspects?”

  I didn’t tell him I hadn’t compiled a list. It was still most of the people I knew and everyone I didn’t know. I mumbled something about not crossing anyone off until I had more evidence.

  He began to reminisce about our college days, about the four of us—him, Sheila, me and my ex—and all the fun we had. As I half-listened, I toyed with the gold earring. I wondered whether it was male or female. Kathy hadn’t said. Jewelry for a woman or a toy for a boy? No way to tell. Both men and women wore the same jewelry these days.

  The word toy bounced around in my empty cranial spaces, echoing off the walls. Toy, joy, toy, roy, toy, soy, foy, toy, coy, boy, toy, boy. Hmm, toy boy. That had a familiar sound to it.

  “Invited you here,” I heard.


  “Huh, what’d you say? Guess I was thinking about the case.” I looked at Jake who eyed me suspiciously.

  “I said it’s about time I told you why I invited you here.”

  “You mean it’s not because I’m such a great listener?” I grinned.

  Jake scowled. He shifted on the couch and rested his forearms on his knees with his fingers entwined. “Okay, I’ve been putting it off, talking about times when we were much closer. This is too big though. I can’t stall any longer.”

  Weird introduction, I thought.

  “Remember when you asked me where I was the night Sheila died? Remember I told you I was with a woman and then refused to tell you who she was?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” He had grabbed my attention with his opening. “Are you ready to tell me now?”

  “I’ll tell you, but I want you to understand why I was obtuse.” He hesitated and ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit he’d had since high school. “We’ve been friends a long time and I didn’t want you laughing at me.”

  “Laughing at you?” I knew the echo in the room was bad but I plowed on. “Why would I laugh?”

  He stared at me while rotating his pinky ring on his right hand. The diamond in it looked big enough to finance my retirement. He appeared to be in deep thought.

  “I wasn’t sure how you’d react if I told you I spent my nights with a Sheila look-alike. I was afraid you’d think I still had a thing for Sheila and either laugh at me or suspect me of killing her, think I was jealous. Jealousy would have given you an excellent motive, wouldn’t it?”

  I stared at him. “I swear you can talk the wings off a hummingbird. Explain yourself.” As I asked, a picture of Terri the night we met flashed into my mind.

  “You know her. She’s from Cisco. You’ve met Terri Hart, haven’t you? She’s my mystery woman. She’s the one I was with the night Sheila died. In fact, she’s the one who was with me last night when you called. We’re engaged…”

  The rest of what he said was lost in an impenetrable fog that swirled in and settled over my head, impeding my vision and clouding my mind. I dropped into a trance as if he had waved a medallion in my face and hypnotized me. I don’t remember, but I must have left his office. I have no memory of escaping that man-eating chair, saying good-bye, leaving, or anything else until I was in the car headed toward Cisco. When the fog lifted, I hoped I’d been courteous to Kathy.