Savannah’s family moved to Southern California shortly after the couple was married, but the sisters, and, on occasion, their brother, devised many reasons over the years to get together in their suburban home in Los Angeles, at the Forster ranch or somewhere in between. A favorite rendezvous place for Savannah was Big Sur. Her parents often did a house swap with friends who lived there. One summer, when she had experienced a particularly bad breakup with a special teen heartthrob, she spent a lot of time on a secluded beach near their vacation home, healing. Aside with being a healing place for her growing pains, this spot held many happy memories for Savannah. She still stopped there often when taking Highway One through Big Sur. In fact, her plan was to spend a few days in that area when she headed back to the big city sometime next week.
Savannah had already formed a positive opinion of Tom Forster by the time the couple moved into his family home to care for his aging grandfather. She liked Uncle Tom because he treated her, Brianna and their cousins like people, unlike some other adults did. Maybe that’s because he had a child-like nature. He was always the one to instigate a game or activity when boredom began to set in. He even had a way of making chores fun. Savannah thought he would have made a good father, but neither he nor her aunt ever had any children.
“Auntie, you haven’t been refinancing this place, have you?” Savannah asked, as if it was any of her business. Well, she opened the subject, Savannah reasoned.
“Um, no,” she answered while working her way carefully along the pathway toward the expansive porch.
As if she would tell me. Savannah thought. As if I really want to know…
“Let me help you, Señora.”
The women looked up and saw Margaret’s gardener/handyman Antonio hurrying toward them. “Hola, Antonio,” Margaret said. “Gracias, but I’m almost there. I’m just thankful that Granddaddy Forster built this porch with deep steps. Much easier to navigate with crutches.” She exaggerated a pout and an attitude. “I just wish they’d given me a walking cast. I’m not supposed to use this foot at all—walking with crutches would be so much easier if I didn’t have to hold this foot up all the time.”
“I build you a ramp, Señora Maggie.”
“That’s sweet, Antonio, but I’m not going to need one quite at this point in my life. Maybe in another twenty or thirty years,” she said laughing out loud.
“Oh, Señora, in those many years, my Juan will be here with you. Mama Esperanza and me—we will be gone. Tired and gone. Our son, Juan can build your ramp,” he said in all seriousness.
“Pshaww!” Margaret said as she reached the front door with her eager aides. “You and Esperanza are youngsters. You’ll be growing things and she’ll be cooking things for many years to come.”
Savannah unlocked the door and Margaret started to hobble in, obviously feeling the stress and strain of the day. Suddenly, she stopped and turned toward Antonio. “Señor, are there any greens in the garden for a nice salad this evening? We have some of Helena’s enchiladas left—a green salad would be nice.”
“Si, Señora,” Antonio said with enthusiasm. “I bring lettuce, cucumber, onion. Okay?”
“Perfect. Thank you, Antonio.”
He started to turn, but spun back around and said, “I work behine house…back here...” He pointed toward the back of the house. “…cutting grass, cutting roses, making piles…” He motioned as if raking. Then he smiled. “Gato watch.”
“What? Oh, the cat,” Margaret said with a chuckle. “That’s Rags, the señorita’s gato.”
“He want out—hit glass,” Antonio explained while moving his hands in a clawing motion in front of him.
“Poor Rags,” Savannah said. She turned to her aunt, “Let me get you settled and then I’ll go check on the cat.”
“Oh, here he is. He heard us come in. Hi Ragsdale. What trouble have you been into today, pray tell?”
Savannah cringed. “I’m afraid to look.”
Savannah followed her aunt into her bedroom to see if she needed help getting situated for a nap. She filled Margaret’s water pitcher and then walked over to the bed where Layla had been sleeping. “Here, Layla, sweetie. You move over and give Mommy some room,” Savannah said matter-of-factly as she scooted the little fur ball off to the side.
“Isn’t she just the most adaptable little thing?” Margaret cooed. And then she quieted her voice saying, “I almost wonder if she has a little brain damage from when she was a kitten. We don’t know how long the kittens were without their mother or what their birthing was like. But she is, without a doubt, the most accommodating, sweet cat I’ve ever known. Nothing bothers her. She’s so easy-going…almost like she’s…brain damaged,” she said the last words using a hushed tone.
“She is a doll. I hope my wild animal doesn’t influence her in all the wrong ways,” Savannah said, as she gathered up Rags in her arms and left the room. “Let’s check your food and water supply, buddy, and maybe make a grocery list.” She released the cat onto the floor in front of her. His forward motion uninterrupted, he continued to trot toward the kitchen. “You must be hungry, boy,” she said, noticing that the bowl of kibbles she’d set out for the cats was nearly empty. Their water bowl was half empty. Upon closer examination, Savannah discovered that the bowl was sitting in a puddle. She grabbed a handful of paper towels and began soaking up the water. “Did you go swimming in here, or what?” After refilling the water bowl, she opened a small can of cat food. About then, she spotted Layla peering from around the corner. “Uh-oh, someone else is hungry. You know the sound of a can opening, don’t you, girl?”
She gave both cats a dollop of savory salmon cat food on small paper plates and then searched for the foil to cover the can. Oh, plastic cat-food-can lids, even better. Now to find a pen and paper. Probably near the phone, she reasoned. She walked the length of the spacious farmhouse kitchen to near the side door where the phone was attached to the wall. A small table stood under the phone and, indeed, there was a pad and a jar of pencils and pens of all kinds on the table top.
“Finished eating already, Rags?” she asked as she noticed him nosing around under the little table. She started to turn toward the refrigerator to examine its innards, when something caught her eye—something shiny. Glass! There’s broken glass on the floor. “Rags, no,” she said as she dropped the pad and pen on the table and lifted the cat up off the floor. “We don’t need you getting glass in your paws. Let’s get you out of here. You, too, Layla.” She scooped up the petite tangerine cat with her free hand and carried them to the closest bathroom. “You both stay here while I clean up the mess.” She placed them on the plush plum-colored bath mat and, much to their dismay, she left, closing the door behind her. Thank heavens the bathrooms don’t have those lever door handles. This is one room Rags can’t escape from, she thought as she turned to walk away.
Now what did Rags break? she wondered, as she rushed over to where she’d seen the broken glass. It looks like the glass came from an ordinary window, she thought. At least it’s not a priceless vase that had been in the Forster family for a thousand years, she mused. But how did he break a window? was her next question. And which window?
She pulled the red-checkered café curtains back from the large window next to the door. It was intact. Then she looked at the window on the kitchen door. Broken. By what? How? She stood in place, scanning the room. What’s this? she wondered, as she stepped toward the counter top. A rock. A rock with a piece of paper attached with silver tape.
She picked up the palm-sized stone and peeled the paper from around it, knowing full well that if this was a crime scene under the direction of CSI: Miami, she was tampering with evidence. She imagined herself now the number-one suspect and could visualize Eric or Calleigh (no, Eric—for sure, Eric) cuffing her and taking her in for questioning.
Stop being silly, she scolded herself.
She unfolded the paper and turned it over. “GET OUT” it read in large black letters.
Hmmm
, she thought. I never did get a chance to ask Auntie about the note I found earlier. And now here’s another one. What could this mean? Is someone out to hurt my aunt? Savannah felt a knot in the pit of her stomach. Is she in danger? Are we all in danger?
“Meooowwwww. Meooowwww.”
Oh gosh, what are those cats up to? I’d better get this mess cleaned up so I can let them out before they disturb Auntie. Then I’ll talk to Antonio. Maybe he saw something…or someone.
“There you go, kitties,” Savannah soothed as she opened the bathroom door and let the two hostages out. Rags bounded over the top of Layla and jaunted off to parts unknown. Layla stopped as if composing herself and gave her tail one quick wave before stepping confidently out of the room. “Okay Princess Layla, your royal high felineness,” she said while smiling and shaking her head from side to side.
After watching the cats disappear into the dining room toward the living room, Savannah opened the side kitchen door and stepped out onto the porch in search of the gardener. She walked around to the south side of the house and spotted him working in a raised garden bed. She yelled out, “Antonio, can you come here for a minute? I want to show you something.”
“Si, Señorita.” He dropped his spade in the soft dirt and rushed over to where Savannah stood.
“Antonio, did you see anyone here today while you were working?”
He thought for a moment, then shook his head slowly. “No, Señorita. No one.”
“Something wrong?”
“There’s a broken window. I wonder if you can fix it.”
The slight Mexican man frowned. “I see no broke window. Where is broke window?”
“Right here.” Savannah led him up onto the wrap-around porch and pointed at the gaping hole in the window of the kitchen door. I must speak to Señora Margaret first, to see if she wants to talk to the police.”
“La policia?” he said, looking puzzled and a tad frightened. “Bad man broke window in Señora Maggie’s casa?”
“It looks that way. Someone threw a rock through the window.”
Antonio gasped and took a step back. “Madre Mary! Who want to hurt the Señora?”
She looked down at the gardener. “Maybe someone just wants to scare her and make her leave this house. Do you know who that might be?”
He shook his head slowly. “I see no one, Señorita. I in back of house working all day.”
“I know, Antonio. That’s okay,” she said, hoping to calm him. She, herself, certainly wasn’t feeling calm inside. She started to walk through the door and then stopped. “Oh, Antonio, can you cover the hole with a piece of wood or canvas, please? We don’t want the cats getting out.” Or anything or anyone to get in, she thought.
***
Two hours later, Savannah looked up from the magazine she was reading and noticed her aunt hobbling into the living room on her crutches. “Are you feeling more rested?” she asked.
Margaret lowered herself into her favorite chair. “Yeah, I’m still a little tired—not used to these things,” she said, nodding toward the crutches. “And we did cover quite a bit of ground today.” Layla was stretched in the middle of the ottoman, as usual. “Scootch, Sweetie,” Margaret cooed as she shifted the relaxed cat over a few inches to make room for her foot. She then lifted her leg using both hands and rested it next to the purring feline. “Ahhhh,” she said as she leaned back in the chair. “I could get used to a cat’s lifestyle—sleep, eat, lounge, sleep, eat, nap... And then there’s all that petting,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
Savannah laughed. “I doubt that, Auntie. You’re too much of an on-the-go-lady. By the way,” Savannah cleared her throat before saying, “something arrived for you today.”
“By UPS?”
“No.” Savannah winced slightly. “You could say it came by air.”
“What are you talking about?” Margaret insisted, leaning slightly forward.
“Someone hurled a rock through your kitchen window.”
Margaret pressed her lips together—a look of disgust on her face. After a few moments of silence, she said, “Well, damn.”
“And there was a note on it.”
“A note?” the older woman said flatly.
“Yes, like the one I found in your lingerie drawer this morning. It said, ‘Get Out!’ in big black letters.”
Margaret stared down at her hands as they lay in her lap.
“What’s going on, Auntie?” Savannah asked quietly with a hint of tenderness in her voice. “Who wants you out? Does this have to do with the cat situation?”
“Oh no, I don’t think so. But I can’t be sure,” she said with some hesitation. Margaret looked over at her niece and then began to speak. “The notes started coming a few weeks ago. What do they mean? I don’t know. I haven’t heard of any big-time investors interested in this land—if I had, I might just sell for the right price, actually. They wouldn’t have to badger me,” she quipped. “I’ve spoken rather discreetly with others around here. As far as I can discover, no one else is getting any messages like this.”
Savannah studied her aunt for a moment and then asked, “How did the other note arrive—also by rock?”
“No. I came in from a meeting one evening and found it on my bed. I must have shoved it into my lingerie drawer that night in case I needed it at some point as evidence for the sheriff. And when Helena moved my stuff down to the ground floor bedroom after I broke my damn foot, I guess she unknowingly transferred the note.”
“How did someone get in?” Savannah asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe Helena inadvertently left a door unlocked that day when she finished here. Or maybe someone came in while she was cleaning. It’s a big house, if she was vacuuming downstairs, someone could slip right in and run upstairs to my bedroom.”
“Did you question Helena?” Savannah asked.
“A little. I didn’t want to startle the woman for no good reason.”
Savannah looked at her aunt for a solid minute without speaking—not quite knowing what to say or what to think. Finally she asked, “Have there been other notes or threats?”
It was obvious that Margaret was uncomfortable talking about this. She wanted, instead, to focus on the upcoming meeting and the work they were trying to do on behalf of the community’s cat population. She also knew that she owed some sort of explanation to her guest. After all, if she was in danger, so was Savannah for as long as she stayed under her roof. Finally, she took a deep breath and, with some effort, she said, “Someone left a dead cat on my porch. I’m sure it was road kill, but…”
“But what?” Savannah prodded.
“They had stabbed the body with an old knife and pinned it to my front door.” Margaret rested an elbow on the arm of the chair and cradled her forehead in her hand murmuring, “It was an ugly thing to come home to.” She sat back, looked over at Savannah and continued, “Thankfully, Max was with me that evening and he, bless his heart, took care of things. Don’t you know, though, that made me all the more concerned that someone might harm Layla? She’s such a dear. It would just be horrible…” She choked up at the thought.
Savannah leaned her head on the back of the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. “It doesn’t appear that you’ve told any of this to the sheriff, have you?” she asked.
“Not yet. Too much other stuff going on. I’m just trying to be careful. I want to understand what this is all about.”
Savannah sat upright. “Yeah, I saw how careful you can be today, Auntie—nearly getting arrested for spying. And then badgering those cat hoarders.” Savannah grinned over at her aunt. Then her demeanor became more serious. “Now, tell me, do you think the person behind these threats has anything to do with you breaking your foot?”
Margaret sat silent for a few moments considering the question. “I don’t think so. I stupidly caught the toe of my sandal under a loose slab of concrete and, when I fell, a bone in my foot snapped. It all happened so fast. It was right out here in back,” she sa
id, motioning with her hand. “In fact, the next day, Antonio fixed those uneven stepping stones.” Her brown eyes darted around the room for a moment before she added, “That’s when he found the hole.”
Savannah sat forward, stared intently at her aunt and asked, “What hole?”
“Somehow, I guess the ground where the original cesspool was had given way. A board across there rotted or something. I’m not sure. I didn’t see a hole. Antonio told me about it, later. He said that it’s lucky I didn’t fall in. The only thing stopping me was the fact that I fell before I got to it. From what Antonio said, you couldn’t see the hole. He found it when he set a crowbar or some other tool on the grass covering the old cesspool and the ground gave a little. It’s just fortunate that he noticed it.” Margaret bit her bottom lip and stared off into space. Finally, she continued, “He said the thing was deep, Savannah—maybe eight feet. And we often walk out there. It’s near the tomato garden. It’s truly a wonder that we didn’t fall into it before. I mean, we’ve had parties out there—kids running around and all…” She suddenly felt a chill and shivered a little.
“Auntie,” Savannah practically yelled, “did it ever occur to you that someone knew that old cesspool was there, came on your property, and booby-trapped it?”
Chapter 3
“What are you doing up so early?” Savannah asked while walking slowly into the kitchen rubbing her eyes, and yawning. “It’s not even light out.”
Margaret leaned against the sink counter, measuring coffee into the pot. “Oh, I woke up and decided to get an early start. We have a big day ahead of us.”
“Here, let me do that,” Savannah said. “You sit. Get that foot up.”
“I’m okay. I’ll sit during the meeting. My foot was up all night.”
Savannah put on her sternest look. “Remember, I’m not here as a guest. You don’t want the swelling to return. I’m sure the doctor warned you about that, right?”
Margaret looked away from her niece and busied herself at the counter while muttering, “You sound like some kind of doctor, girl.”
Catnapped (A Klepto Cat Mystery) Page 6