Catnapped (A Klepto Cat Mystery)

by Fry, Patricia

  “Coming here, to a totally different environment and being distracted by all that’s going on in your busy life, well, it has helped me to see our relationship more clearly. I began to realize that Travis and I were keeping such busy schedules that we weren’t going out and meeting new people. We gravitated back to one another sort of out of convenience.” She looked over at her aunt, her head cocked slightly. “Know what I mean?”

  “Yes,” Margaret said. “I think so.”

  “Travis admitted to me that there’s a girl he’d like to get to know better at his gym. He’s ready to move on and so am I. Michael has made me see that this is absolutely the right decision.”

  “Oooohhh,” Margaret said playfully.

  “Now I’m not saying he’s the one. It’s just that he’s the first one who has affected me in a—well, you know—in a womanly way in a long time, and it made me realize that maybe there is a perfect match for me. I don’t have to settle.”

  Margaret twisted her body toward her niece. “Oh no, Vannie, never settle.”

  “I can’t tell you how freeing my conversation with Travis was and how therapeutic my time spent with you so far has been. I feel like I’m just starting to live and that there are definite possibilities for me in this world, more than just those in the small world I’d created for myself in LA. It wasn’t all Travis—it was me, too. I was afraid to step outside my comfort zone, even though I wasn’t all that comfortable, really. I mean, Travis is kind of immature. He’s needy and he even admitted that my more independent nature bugged him a lot. Besides, he doesn’t like cats. He and Rags never did make friends.”

  “You need say no more,” Margaret said, slapping her knee with her palm and shaking her head. “There ain’t no way we can tolerate someone who doesn’t like cats!”

  “Do you know what else, Auntie? You’re not going to believe I dated someone like this for so long—but Travis smokes.”

  “Cigarettes?” Margaret asked, staring over at her niece as if she were in shock.

  “’Fraid so.” She sighed deeply before admitting, “Yup, a smoker.”

  The women rode in silence for a few blocks when Margaret said, “You know, I think it’s interesting that no one in our family ever took up smoking.”

  “Old Grandpa Forster smoked that pipe,” Savannah reminded her.

  “Oh yes. But I was talking about the Brannons. And your daddy’s people didn’t smoke; none of the other in-laws or outlaws smoked. Your sister doesn’t smoke, does she? Any of your cousins?”

  “Nope,” Savannah said.

  “Well, there’s no way you would have married Trevor—or Travis—or whatever, if he was a smoker.” She shook her fist in the air. “I would have stood up at your wedding and protested it on the grounds that we don’t allow smokers in our family.”

  Savannah laughed out loud at the image. After a minute or so, she asked, “So Grandpa Forster was the only smoker in Tom’s family?”

  “Yes. And all he smoked was that pipe. I didn’t let on to him then,” Margaret said as if sharing a deep secret, “but I actually liked smelling the aroma of his tobacco.” She thought for a moment, then turned toward her niece and said, “Wait, there was one other smoker in the family. That idiot nephew of Jed’s, Joe Forster.”

  “Joe Forster smoked cigarettes? What kind?” Savannah asked.

  Margaret looked confused. “What do you mean what kind? What do you know about cigarette brands?” Her demeanor shifted abruptly. “Oh, here’s the car wash. Let’s take the chair out and you can wheel me across the street to the coffee shop.”

  ***

  Margaret sat at a small round table in the Coffee Bean while Savannah placed their order. Within a few minutes, Savannah returned with an iced blended mocha with soy and a chai latte. As she set the drinks on the table, she noticed that her aunt was just closing her cell phone. Margaret picked up her pen and a small notepad from the tabletop and tucked them into her purse. When Savannah looked inquisitively at her, she said, “Just getting a license plate number from Betty. I want to run it by Jim later.”

  After sitting with their drinks for a few moments, Savannah said, “Tell me more about Joe Forster, Auntie.”

  “For heaven sakes, Vannie. Why are you so obsessed with that creep?”

  “Just curious.”

  Margaret took in a deep breath before she started to talk. “I didn’t see him very often, which suited me just fine. He was deranged—you know, crazy—as far as I was concerned. I guess I first became aware of him when he was around seventeen. Like I said, he always gave me the creeps. Not too long after Tom and I moved in with Grandpa, Joe started coming around. He was about twenty-two then. Jed never seemed particularly pleased to see him coming—always wanted something—usually money, I think. I’d see him out with Grandpa smoking away—always smoking those cigarettes of his. They had filters on them and they came in a red and white box. I know because I used to have to clean them up after he left.”

  Savannah felt a knot in the pit of her stomach. She had goose bumps on her arms. But she wanted to hear more. She needed to know. She thought her aunt should know.

  Margaret continued, “I’d provide ash cans, but he never used them. He’d sit on the porch with Grandpa or follow him around while he did odd jobs around the place and drop butts everywhere. If he finished a pack of cigarettes while he was there, he’d put some of the butts in the empty box and just leave it wherever. He didn’t come often and didn’t stay long, but I didn’t like seeing him around the property at all. He always seemed to upset Grandpa—his being there.”

  Margaret took a long sip of her latte and then continued, “I don’t know what happened, whether Grandpa and Joe had a falling-out or what, but after a while, Joe stopped coming around. Didn’t see him for a couple of years before Grandpa died.”

  “So all Grandpa smoked was a pipe, huh?” Savannah asked.

  “Yup. Grandpa didn’t smoke cigarettes, but he did enjoy that pipe, especially when he took a drink of Scotch, which became more and more often when he got older. We discovered charred bottles in the barn after he died.”

  Savannah pushed her mocha to one side and looked across the table at her aunt. “I remember a lot of talk about Grandpa Forster and how he died in the fire. Did they ever decide what happened?”

  “The detectives determined that he accidently started the fire with his pipe—maybe he dropped it or fell after drinking too much. One theory is that he fell out of the loft, hit his head and his pipe started the fire. That was their final report. But I was never altogether comfortable with it.”

  “Why not?” Savannah asked

  Margaret ran her finger around the rim of her cup and said, “Well, I knew Grandpa was taking a nip now and again and I knew he was doing it in private. He’d come in with his cheeks a little flushed and his pipe clenched between his teeth. But I never once saw him staggering drunk—enough that he would fall or start a fire without knowing it. Sure, he could have blacked out, had a stroke or something…I guess we’ll never know.”

  “Auntie, what kind of cigarettes did you say Joe Forster smoked?”

  Margaret glanced up at her niece and then said rather impatiently, “Oh, I don’t know—those filtered kind in a box. What difference does it make to you, anyway, Savannah? Maybe Marlboro. But he was not a Marlboro man, I’ll tell you. Eeeowwww.” She shuddered at the thought of Joe Forster representing a brand of anything in a positive light. “Why are you so interested in Joe’s brand of cigarettes?” She wanted to know.

  “Well, Auntie, I might have some evidence.”

  “Evidence of what; what are you talking about?”

  “Evidence of who killed Grandpa Forster—who burned him to death.”

  “What?” Margaret said as she pulled her cup away from her lips and dribbled a little of the golden liquid down the front of her white blouse. She set the cup down and grabbed a napkin. “Water; Vannie, get me some water, would you?”

  Savannah pulled a bottle of
water out of her large purse and handed it to her aunt. Once she had finished dabbing at the streak of chai latte with her dampened napkin, she looked pointedly at her niece and asked, “Now Vannie, what are you talking about?”

  Savannah hesitated for just a moment and then she said, “Auntie, do you remember when we all came to stay at your house not too long after Grandpa Forster died?”

  “Sure, we were celebrating someone’s birthday, or Thanksgiving, weren’t we?”

  “Yes, I believe so. Well, we kids found something that week.”

  “Found what?”

  “Possibly a clue as to how Grandpa died.”

  “Okaayyyy,” Margaret said with a suspicious tone.

  “You know that old hollowed-out tree behind the barn where we liked to play?”

  “Yes, it’s still there. Why?”

  “Well, we were playing cops-and-robbers or some such game using the tree as one of our hideouts and we found something. It was in a crevice in the tree stump.”

  “What, Vannie? What?” Margaret was listening intently, eager to hear more.

  “A red-and-white cigarette box full of cigarette butts.” Savannah hesitated before going on. “Now, I read a lot of detective stories then, and I figured out that someone had sat there waiting for Grandpa Forster to go into the barn and then he knocked him out and burned the barn down around him.”

  Margaret stared at her niece for a moment and then shook her head slowly back and forth saying, “You have some imagination, Savannah.”

  “Does this look like imagination?” She dug around in her purse for a few seconds and then pulled out a plastic bag containing a dirty, partially disintegrated cigarette package. “I took Rags for a walk around the property yesterday and found this right where we kids buried it some twenty years ago.”

  Margaret stared at the bag and its contents and then asked slowly and quietly, “Why did you hide it if you thought it was a clue?”

  “Because we weren’t allowed to go near the barn. And when I asked questions about the fire, I was told to go out and play. As far as we kids were concerned, we would be in trouble if we even spoke of the incident, let alone show someone a clue we found so close to the barn,” she explained.

  Margaret sat silent, staring at her cup, thinking over what her niece had just revealed. Finally she spoke as if measuring her words, “Oddly enough, I thought about Joe when Grandpa died.” She looked up at Savannah. “But I knew he was in jail. I’d read that he had been involved with a gang that was stealing farm machinery and selling the parts.”

  “When was he sentenced?”

  “He’d been in for several months by then. His sentence was two years, I believe.”

  “His whereabouts at that time might be important,” Savannah said. “Is it something we can check on?”

  Margaret shrugged. “Yes, I can probably get the information from Jim. I want to talk to him, anyway.” She thought for a moment and then said, “You know, that’s just plain creepy to think that Joe might have killed his uncle. Why would he do it? Jed was the only one who gave him handouts.”

  “Where’s Joe now?” Savannah asked.

  “He’s in a mental institution. There was an incident where he got himself arrested for something quite serious, as I recall—he was doing some work for a woman over in the next county. He wanted an advance on his pay—probably for drugs or something—and she refused to give it to him, so he beat her up. Her little dog tried to protect her and he killed the dog. It was determined that he was unfit to stand trial, so they put him away in an institution. He’s still there, as far as I know.”

  ***

  Savannah climbed behind the wheel of the Jeep, wrapped her hair in a knot, and turned the key. “Well, it’s been another full day,” she said. “Where to now, Auntie?”

  “Home, James.”

  Deputy Jim had come through for Margaret. He was able to confirm that Joe Forster was out on the street the night his great-uncle burned to death in the fire. This information, along with Savannah’s evidence, would surely cause authorities to reopen the case. The only problem was in determining when the package of cigarette butts was left behind. Since Joe was an occasional visitor to the Forster home, the defense would surely argue that it could have been left there sometime earlier.

  As for the license plate number on the truck that Betty and Gil followed, Jim discovered which trucking company it was registered to and promised to follow up with some questions. Jim had told Margaret, however, “It’s likely that someone took the truck without permission or the company rented it out for a job and the name on the paperwork is phony.”

  The most successful stop of the day was at animal regulations. Director, Bobbi Curtain confirmed that, indeed, they had received reports of missing horses. And neighbors in the foothills area had issued complaints about the condition of the horses at the Bray place. They were also familiar with the catnapping situation and were pleased to receive additional information from Margaret and Betty.

  Bobbi Curtain told them, “With what you’ve learned so far, Ms. Forster and Ms. Gilbert, we should be able to act sooner rather than later, possibly saving many of the cats and horses. Imagine,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief, “a ring of horse and cat thieves operating right here in the tri counties.” A large woman with a plain round face and a mannish way of dressing, she thanked the women profusely when they prepared to leave, but not without an expected reprimand. “Ms. Forster and Ms. Gilbert,” she said sternly, “I can’t stress enough how dangerous this operation could be. You’ve already put yourselves at risk. I don’t want you to do it again. Please, stay out of the way. We will handle it from here.”

  Margaret sank down a little in her wheelchair, looked up at the woman and said rather sheepishly, “Yes. I promise. Thank you, again.”

  ***

  “So, who are you going out with tonight? Somebody I know?” Margaret asked, a definite twinkle in her eye.

  Savannah grinned. “Oh, I think you know him. Will you be okay here alone tonight?”

  Margaret turned off her Kindle and set it aside. “Sure, I have two cats to keep me company and several mysteries loaded up and ready to read. Don’t you worry about me.”

  “You’ll probably be glad to have some time to yourself. You’re not used to someone tagging along with you everywhere, are you?”

  “No, not lately.” Suddenly, she lurched forward and grabbed at something as it flew past. “Rags, what do you have, now?” she demanded.

  “What was it?” Savannah asked, having seen only a blur heading toward the staircase.

  “It’s Layla’s pillow. Would you get that away from him?” Margaret insisted. “She loves that little pillow.”

  “Oh darn it. I’m sorry, Auntie. Raaaags! Bring that here.” Savannah raced up the stairs after the errant cat. When she returned, she announced to her aunt in a flat tone, “I found his stash.”

  Margaret looked confused. “What?”

  “He’s been stashing things—the pillow—here it is, by the way, some of Layla’s toys, a washcloth—he loves used washcloths, that cookie, and, oh yes, the cat from the meeting. And, this is a first. I found this.” Savannah held up a small satin pouch with a zipper across the top.

  “My coin purse!” Margaret exclaimed.

  “And it’s full of money.” Savannah shook it so her aunt could hear the coins jingle.

  “Hellloooo,” Max announced opening the door and peering around it into the living room.

  Savannah looked up. “Oh, hi Max.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” he asked after entering the room. He pointed at Rags, who was sitting next to Savannah intently staring at the treasures she held in her hands.

  “I found his stash, the thieving cat. Now, it seems, he’s into stealing cash money,” she said, tossing the pouch to her aunt.

  Savannah eyed the tote bags looped over Max’s arms. “Whatcha got there?”

  “Dinner for two.” He winked and headed for the kit
chen.

  “Auntie…” Savannah scolded when he was out of sight, “you little devil. You aren’t going to be alone tonight at all. You have a dinner date.”

  “Yes, Max is cooking one of his gourmet pasta dishes for us. So where are you and Michael going?”

  “Who said I was going anywhere with Michael?” Savannah teased.

  “Oh come off it. You’re not fooling anyone with those cow eyes you have for our veterinarian.”

  Savannah dropped her coy act. “I think we’re going to an Italian place over in Straley. He says it has a great ambiance.”

  Margaret was quick to respond, “Romantic. That’s what it is—romantic.”

  “Whatever.” Savannah sloughed off her comment. “Just don’t feel you have to wait up for us, okay?”

  “Well, don’t you be coming home too early, either,” Margaret teased.

  “Maybe you should hang a scarf on the doorknob if you want privacy.”

  “Huh?”

  “Oh nothing. That’s what we used to do in college. If a roommate had a guest and didn’t want to be interrupted, we would…”

  “Knock, knock!”

  “It’s Michael. See you later, Auntie,” Savannah said as she grabbed her purse and coat and rushed toward the door.

  “Savannah,” Margaret called out.

  “What?” She turned toward her aunt, who pointed down at her niece’s bare feet.

  “Don’t you think you should wear shoes?”

  ***

  “So, have you and Maggie been staying out of trouble?” Michael asked after they had driven a few blocks from the Forster place.

  Savannah smiled. “What do you think? You know my aunt.”

  “I’m afraid so. She is a feisty one—great gal. One of my favorite people.” He reached down and took Savannah’s hand. “But I have a new favorite now,” he said smiling over at her. “I’ve been wondering all day where you’ve been all my life.”

  Savannah became instantly aware of her heart beating in her chest. She felt a tidal wave of emotion. Oh dear God, I have to get a grip. I’m not a giddy teenager. So why do I feel so vulnerable when I’m near him? She took in the vision of his hand on hers. I hope he can’t feel me trembling at his very touch. She glanced up at his perfect face. He was smiling.