“Can’t we talk about it later?” Margaret asked, wiping her eyes with a napkin someone had handed her. “We’re creating a spectacle here—let’s just enjoy the evening, shall we? Now go out and dance, you two,” she said looking over at Savannah and Michael.
Savannah hesitated. She then handed her aunt a cup of punch. “Well, here. Drink this. It’s really good.” She handed the other one to Max.
“Okay, thanks,” Margaret said. When Savannah didn’t move toward the dance floor, she urged, “Now go on, I’m okay. The danger’s over…for now. Have fun. I don’t want to disrupt the party. Please… go…,” she said motioning with her hand.
Max watched as the couple joined dozens of other dancers on the floor. He noticed that Savannah was torn. She had trouble focusing on the music and Michael at first. She kept glancing in her aunt’s direction with a worried look on her face. Finally, Michael twirled her around and they disappeared into the crowd. Max looked over at Margaret. “Are you doing okay, Maggie?”
“Yes. Just stay near me, will you?”
“Always. Don’t you worry about that.” He squeezed her hand.
The two sat without speaking for a while and then Margaret said, “Wish I was out there dancing. Everyone’s having such a good time. Look, even Charlotte’s dancing with Savannah and Michael. How cute is that? Oh, I guess they had enough. They must be exhausted. Looks like they’ve headed over across the room for another punch refill. By the way, what time is it?” she asked.
“Nearly 11:30.
“Screeeeeeeam!!!!”
“What was that?” Margaret held onto Max’s hand even tighter. “Vannie? Is Vannie all right?” Max could feel her trembling.
Within seconds, Savannah and Charlotte appeared next to Margaret. Savannah looked at her aunt and asked, “What happened?”
Margaret shook her head solemnly. “I don’t know. I thought you might.”
“No, Michael went to see. I wanted to get Charlotte away from the crowd that’s forming over there.” She glanced quickly toward the activity.
“Charlotte, there you are, dear,” Dora said. She addressed Savannah, “It’s getting late, I’d better get her home.” She started to usher the child toward the door and then turned and nodded at the threesome. “This has been wonderful. Thank you all for making it special for Charlotte…and for me.”
Savannah waved to Charlotte and watched the pair disappear around the perimeter of the crowd. Just then, Michael joined the trio in an obvious rush. Breathlessly, he somberly reported, “Claude Pembroke is dead.”
“My gosh, that’s awful,” Margaret said.
“What happened?” Max asked.
“They don’t know. Not only that,” Michael said, “his wife Phyllis is quite ill. Someone said they saw the couple leaning back against the wall as if they’d had too much to drink. They’re taking her over to Community and, of course, he’s going to the morgue. Such a shame,” he said shaking his head. “They’re a nice couple—always support events like this.”
“Auntie, you look terrible. Did you know them well?”
“No, not really,” Margaret said.
There was silence for a moment. Max studied Margaret’s face, as if waiting for her to explain what had happened to her. He then turned to Savannah and said, “The threat she got tonight, Savannah, it was in-person this time.”
“Oh no,” Savannah gasped.
“Yes.” Margaret explained, “Some man stopped me in the hallway and threatened me.”
“What did he say?”
She hesitated and choked up. “He said I would die tonight.”
“Oh my gosh. What does he look like, Auntie?” she asked looking around the room.
“He left. But he was wearing…” she looked Savannah in the eyes and said slowly, “a red flannel lumberjack shirt.”
“And a dark baseball cap?” Savannah asked sounding near hysteria. “Did he have a scraggly beard and moustache and longish hair and an ugly, ugly manner about him?”
“I didn’t see his face, but that sounds like it could be him. Why, did he talk to you?”
Michael noticed how pale Savannah had suddenly become and led her to a nearby chair. “What’s wrong, Savannah?” he asked.
“Auntie,” she said as she sat at eye level with Margaret, “that guy was at the refreshment table real close to me a few hours ago. You know, when I went to get you some punch?”
Margaret nodded.
“Well, after I poured the punch, I set the cups down and spoke for a few minutes to Ida Stone. I felt a bump against me—it was him. He rushed off and about that time, Mr. Pembroke and his wife came up, took the two cups I’d poured and walked away. Auntie, he must have put poison in those cups right there without me knowing it!”
“Dear God,” Margaret murmured.
Max stood up. “We need to tell all of this to Jim. I’m sure he’s busy now. But I’m going to find him and let him know we have some details that might help him solve the murder. Savannah, Michael, will you stay with her?” he asked, motioning toward Margaret.
***
Margaret and Savannah were up early, and glad that the sun was out. A sheriff’s deputy had been stationed outside the Forster home overnight, although they didn’t think Margaret or Savannah were in danger, yet. As far as the killer knew, the two women were dead. The authorities agreed not to release news of Mr. Pembroke’s death or that of his wife, who died on the way to the hospital, for at least twenty-four hours, in order to give them a chance to do some investigation. They had a few suspects in mind—a couple of homeless men who had attempted a home-invasion robbery and a carjacking in recent years, and one Joe Forster—Margaret’s nephew by marriage. He had been on the sheriff’s radar ever since Margaret and Savannah brought the cigarette package in as possible evidence in Jed Forster’s death.
“Did you sleep okay, Auntie?” Savannah asked.
“Not really. And Layla didn’t help. She was extra affectionate last night. That might be because I’ve been gone a lot or because Rags is here or the deputy outside might have her concerned. She was just a cuddle bug, last night,” Margaret said. “How about you?”
“It was a long night. I did sleep for a while. Maybe we can get a nap later.”
“Oh, how cute is that?” Margaret said.
Savannah looked in the direction her aunt was pointing and saw Rags and Layla lying together in a shard of sunlight. He would reach out and pat her paw and then she would give his paw a couple of pats. Savannah giggled a little. “They’re playing pat-a-cake.”
After a few moments, Margaret looked up at Savannah. “I spoke to Max earlier; he and Michael have been summoned to help with the raid out at the Bray place tonight.” She feigned an exaggerated pout. “Too bad we can’t get in on the fun.”
Savannah just rolled her eyes at her overly zealous aunt.
“They’ll be responsible for catching as many cats as they can and bringing them to the clinic for evaluation and identification,” Margaret explained. “I suggested they take my car. With the seats down, they can fit in quite a few of those small plastic cat carriers. Some of them are designed to sit on top of one another—double-decker. They could conceivably bring out a dozen cats or so and the kitties will be warmer inside my SUV than in the bed of a pickup.”
Savannah let out a long sigh. “That’s going to be quite an adventure.”
“Right-o. So they’re coming by here around dusk. In a little while, we’ll go over to Max’s place and load up his extra carriers along with mine and they’ll be all set to go when they get here.”
Savannah smiled. “Oh, you just want to see Max again. I saw the way you two were snuggling last night,” she teased.
Margaret took on a serious tone, “He is a wonderful, wonderful man.” As far as Margaret was concerned, Max was a dear friend and she intended keeping it that way. She had found marriage far too complicated. Margaret liked the male companionship, but she was sure—pretty sure—that she never wanted it in a pe
rmanent way again. Besides, how permanent is any relationship? She had one divorce and one husband die on her. She wasn’t about to go through any of that again.
I sure do enjoy being with Max, she thought, whether we’re making love or just working alongside each other. I’ve found myself thinking about Max more often—romantic thoughts. But I haven’t found the time to figure out why, yet. Probably just a hormonal thing.
***
Later that day, Savannah walked into the living room where she found Margaret in her overstuffed chair reading. She yawned, raising both arms in the air and stretched. “Ahhh, that nap was wonderful. Did you get some sleep, Auntie?”
“Yes, I did. Then I got hungry and ate some of the fruit salad Helena brought over with a little yogurt. Hit the spot.” She rubbed her stomach. “I shared some with the deputy. There’s more if you want a bowl.”
“Thanks, sounds good,” Savannah said as she started toward the kitchen. Then she stopped and asked, “Have you heard anything about the sheriff’s investigation?”
“No, they like to keep their secrets. I guess they got enough from us during that long drawn-out interrogation we went through last night.”
Savannah crinkled up her nose. “Wasn’t that grueling?” she agreed.
“Oh Savannah, just so you know, Deputy Ben has left for a while.” Margaret looked at her watch. “Someone will take his place in a little while. Are you okay with that?”
“Do we have a choice? I think we all know who the killer is and they’re probably watching him closely as we speak. I think we’re okay,” she replied. And then she said, “Oh, look at Rags. He’s brought you something.”
The two women watched as the leggy cat walked up to Margaret and dropped a pot holder at her feet.
“You crazy cat,” Margaret said, reaching down to scratch him behind the ear. And then she perked up and looked toward the front window. “Oh, it sounds like the guys are here to pick up the car.”
Savannah walked toward the front door, smiling at her aunt’s obvious enthusiasm about seeing Max. She felt like a schoolgirl with a major crush at the thought of seeing Michael again—even if briefly. But it wasn’t Michael or Max at the door. Standing there, instead, glaring hatefully at her was a scroungy man dressed in jeans, a red plaid lumberjack shirt, and a dark-blue baseball cap.
Chapter 8
Savannah felt a pang of terror and quickly closed the door. Before it latched, however, he caught it and pushed it open. Savannah turned and tried to run to get her phone, but he grabbed her by the arm and twisted it behind her back.
“Ouch! You let go of me, you monster!” she screamed.
“Oh my God!” Margaret said frozen in sheer panic. “Joe Forster.”
“That’s right, bitch. The rightful owner of this here property. Tonight, I take what’s mine,” he growled.
The men will be here any minute and we’ll be safe, Margaret reasoned. Oh why did we let the deputy go? It was quiet all day. We thought we’d be safe. They were supposed to pick this animal up this evening. But how will they catch him if he’s here? This is awful—a plan gone terribly, terribly wrong.
Savannah struggled hard, but his strength was more than she could overcome. Maybe I can keep fighting him off until the men arrive, she thought. I don’t see a weapon—oh wait. He has a knife sheath on his belt. I will try to keep him off guard so he can’t get to it and maybe the guys or the deputy will show up in time. In time for what, she wasn’t sure. What did he have in mind?
In the process of struggling with the man, she knocked his baseball cap off. He reached for it, but missed and decided to let it go—he would pick it up later to cover his long, brown, thinning hair. For now, he had his hands full. He also dropped something he’d carried in and it rolled toward the ottoman.
He yanked Savannah’s ponytail back. “Behave yourself, Missy,” he said gruffly. “See this here bowie knife?” He pointed to the leather sheath snapped around a knife with a blade at least nine inches long. “And I’m not afraid to use it,” he snarled.
Savannah heard her aunt scream. She glanced over and saw that Margaret was frozen in place—terror in her eyes and her hands up over her mouth.
It was no use. Savannah was no match for him. He was in control. When she stopped struggling, he let go of her hair and stepped behind her, holding her wrists together much too tightly with one hand. He pushed her face-down on the sofa and stretched to reach for the roll of duct tape he had dropped. He placed one knee in the middle of her back, removed is knife and cut a long piece of the tape, which he wrapped tightly around her wrists. As he pulled her up by one arm to a sitting position, she screamed out in pain and he cut another piece of tape and roughly pasted it over her mouth.
“That oughta shut ya up,” he said as he stood there leering down at her—his eyes focusing on the shapely mounds under her sheer blouse. No bra, huh? Nice, he thought. And then, as if he’d suddenly snapped out of a daze, he said, with venom in his tone, “Now for you, Mrs. Tom Forster. Stand up!”
Savannah tried yelling through the tape. She wanted to tell him that she can’t stand. Don’t make her stand, you idiot.
“Stand up!” he shouted.
Margaret was no longer screaming. She looked up at the scruffy man, her breath coming in short gasps. “I can’t.”
“Yes you can, bitch.” He pulled her up from the overstuffed chair and dropped her face-down across the ottoman. He stood over her and taped her wrists behind her back.
Margaret screamed and he rolled her over and slapped a piece of the silver tape across her mouth.
“Come on now; we’re going for a ride.” He yanked one of Margaret’s arms and shouted, “Get up! Stand up!” Her shoulder hurt so much, she thought her arm would come out of the socket. He continued to pull on her arm as he led her outside, making her walk on her casted foot. Savannah tried to think quickly. What could she do to save them? While she looked around the room and contemplated an escape, she saw Rags saunter in. He looked at her as if she wore tape on her face every day. He then walked over to the dark-blue baseball cap, sniffed it, and picked it up, carrying it off down the hallway.
In a flash, Joe Forster was back. “Now you git up!” he said while yanking on Savannah’s arm until she was standing. He half pulled and half pushed her out the front door, making sure to close it behind them, which Savannah was grateful for. She didn’t want the cats to get out. But he had other motives. He didn’t want any red flags indicating that someone had taken the women. This would give him more time to work his plan.
“Git in the truck!” he yelled at Savannah while jerking her toward the open door of the old dark-green pickup. She hesitated and he grabbed her just above the waist. She squirmed away from his touch. He grabbed her again and lifted her up onto the seat. Once she was seated next to Margaret, he stopped and looked her up and down—a nasty smirk on his ugly face—before slamming the door shut and rushing around to the driver’s side. He quickly jumped up into the truck, started the engine and gunned it, speeding out of the driveway and onto the highway.
The women were terrified and uncomfortable. The jostling of the old truck made the pain in their wrists and shoulders more intense and it was hard to breathe with their mouths covered. They both schemed about how they could escape this maniac, but succumbed to the fact that they were pretty much devoid of options. It was just about dark; no one would be able to see them—to see that an obvious kidnapping was in progress—unless he had to stop for gas. Margaret glanced at the gauge. Nearly full. What if they broke down in a well-lighted area? If only she had her hands free. She’d pull the keys out of the ignition. Maybe I can kick the truck out of gear and wreck the transmission, she thought. Hell! There’s no way I can get my foot up that high. Damn it all to Hell.
Savannah visualized being able to reach her hands around to the side and open the truck door when he slowed for a stop sign or to turn. But her aunt might not be able to follow her escape. At least Savannah could get help. She stretc
hed and strained, but the way he had her wrists taped, she didn’t have enough reach to manage the door handle—unless she moved forward in her seat, which would make her effort obvious to their captor. But they were out of town now. No one was around. No traffic on the roadway. They were heading into a remote area.
They knew he was capable of killing. He had done it before. How had he known that they weren’t dead as he had planned? The news was supposed to be squelched until tomorrow. Where was he taking them?
“It would’ve been easier if you’d just drank that punch last night. But oh no, you had to let those other people drink it and they died instead of you,” he said, angrily pounding his palm on the steering wheel. “If it hadn’t been for those men in the coffee shop this morning, I wouldn’t know. People do flap their jaws, ya know. Good thing for me—bad thing for you.” He laughed heartily. “I will git what’s mine. I will have my own horse ranch. I won’t have to work for that scumbag Bray no more.”
Bray? Margaret thought. We’re headed for the Bray place. He works there. Yeah, that’s about his speed—stealing cats and horses. Oh my gosh, the raid. We might be saved—or will we be dead by the time it starts? Margaret’s eyes began to fill with tears that spilled down her cheeks, over the silver tape, and into her lap.
It was getting darker. Soon Joe Forster turned off the highway onto a dirt road. As they bounced around in the rattletrap truck, Savannah’s shoulder hit the door hard. Pain shot through her shoulder and she tried to yell through the tape.
“You ladies enjoying the ride?” He laughed an evil laugh as he accelerated and turned the steering wheel quickly to the right and then to the left throwing the women into one another again and again.
Finally he pulled into the Bray driveway. Margaret and Savannah looked for signs of the authorities as he drove them past the main farmhouse around to the back where he stopped.
No one’s here, Savannah thought. No one knows we’re here.
Terror swept through Margaret as Joe Forster stepped out of the driver’s side of the truck and walked around to the passenger door. Savannah quickly tried to push the door lock down with her chin. But it was too late. He yanked open the door and said, “Okay girlie, outta there.” She groaned as he pulled on her arm and caused her to lose her footing and fall. He lifted her to her feet by one arm and then pushed her down to a sitting position on the ground telling her to stay there. He then reached inside the truck cab and started pulling on Margaret. She slid easily across the seat. She attempted to steady herself by standing with her good foot on the running board, but Joe Forster was too impatient to let her get her balance. He dragged her down to the ground, and she fell next to where Savannah sat. There was enough light that Margaret could see the fright in Savannah’s eyes. I’m so sorry, Vannie, she thought, her eyes filling with blinding tears.
Catnapped (A Klepto Cat Mystery) Page 16