by Patricia Fry
“I sure hope not,” Savannah said, hugging Rags close. She looked at Rob. “I’ll keep an eye on him.” She gazed toward the studio. “Rob…” she started.
He put up one hand. “I know, Savannah, I know. He’s dead meat. I’ll be moving the props down the street to my second choice of photographers.” He grinned at Savannah and Margaret. “After I run a drug check on him.”
Near tears now, Savannah said, “What if I’d brought my baby here for her portrait?”
Margaret chuckled nervously. “Well, Vannie, she’s more well-behaved than some cats we know.” She reached out and petted Rags, saying, “Hey, good job, narco cat.”
After a brief silence, Rob asked, his mood slightly elevated, “Want to see what we ended up with today?”
“Sure do,” Margaret said excitedly.
Savannah agreed. “When will you have something to show us?”
“Any time.”
“Is Cheryl with you here in town?” she asked.
“She’ll be here in a day or two.”
“Want to come out to our house for dinner one night this week?” Savannah invited. “We can see the pictures then.”
Rob loaded Jack’s carrier into the car. “Sure—I’ll be in touch.”
****
“Are you going out to the Kaisers’ with me?” Michael asked shortly after arriving home from work that afternoon.
“Yeah, I thought I would. Shall we have a sandwich? And there’s some leftover casserole from last night. I already fed Lily.”
“You’re going to take her out?”
“Yes, we haven’t been for a walk in a while. I thought I’d push her around the property in the stroller while you work.”
“Good timing,” Iris said when Michael and Savannah stepped from their car a little while later. Michael pulled the stroller out of the back as Savannah removed the baby from her car seat.
“Hi, sweetie,” Iris said, taking Lily from Savannah. “How’s the big girl?”
“Kitty,” Lily said, pointing.
“Did you see a kitty out there?”
“No, I think she’s telling you we brought our kitty.”
“Rags is with you?”
“Yes.”
“He’s had a big day,” Michael said. “Did you hear that he did a photo shoot this morning?”
“Yes, how did that go?” Iris asked Savannah.
“I guess okay,” she said. “Rags was pretty Rags-esque. I think they got some good shots.”
Frowning a little, Iris asked, “In spite of his Rags-esqueness or because of it?”
Savannah laughed. “Good question.” She said more quietly, “Rags may have ingested some sort of drug—you know—heroin or something. We’re keeping a close eye on him in case he has a reaction to it.”
“Oh hon,” Michael said, “it’s been at least five hours. He’s okay. Besides, Rags is too smart to have eaten any of that stuff.”
“Well, I just want to be sure,” she said. “He could have gotten some in his mouth when he bit down on that envelope.”
Iris studied Rags for a few moments as Savannah took his leash and urged him to jump from the back of the SUV. “How did he come in contact with heroin, for heaven’s sake?”
“He found it at the photographer’s studio, can you imagine?” she said indignantly. “I’m going to tell everyone I know not to take their children there.”
“How frightening. So it was just lying around somewhere in this guy’s studio?” Iris asked.
Savannah smirked. “Well, I guess it was in his jacket pocket and you know what a snoop Rags is. He found it and,” she laughed, “Iris, he bit a hole in the envelope and spilled the stuff all over the place. The druggie photographer was so mad.”
“I’ll bet. Good for Rags.”
“Yeah, my aunt calls him a narco cat.”
Iris laughed. “Maggie said some of her cats will be in the book, too.”
“Yes. Layla and Jack.” Savannah grinned at Iris. “So she’s already out promoting, is she?”
“I guess so. She sure couldn’t wait to tell me about it.”
“So, what do we have going on here?” Michael asked, glancing around the property.
“Come look at this,” Iris invited. She handed Lily back to Savannah, who put her hand through the loop on the cat’s leash strap and lowered the baby into the stroller. “It appears that this drainpipe is actually an escape route for the cats who live out among the trees.” Iris pointed toward the house. “We believe it leads to the house and connects at some point with a ramp or stairs…”
“Or maybe even a carpeted climbing post,” Savannah interjected as she, Lily, and Rags joined the others out near the stand of trees.
Iris nodded. “Yes, inside the wall.”
“And leads, we think, to the attic,” Savannah added.
Michael removed his baseball cap and scratched his head then slipped the hat back on. He followed the route Iris suggested with his eyes. “Well, could be, I guess.” He moved closer to the drainpipe. “So you didn’t find an exit or entrance under the house?”
“No. But you’re welcome to poke around. You might see something we missed,” Iris said. “You’re the expert.”
Michael grinned. “I don’t know about that. Have you discussed this with your work crew?”
“No. Melody would rather not broadcast the fact that we have cats in the belfry,” she said, chuckling. “Doesn’t want any rumors to start. I don’t think she’d trust those guys with the cats, anyway.” Iris smiled. “By the way, Melody was quite excited to learn that you’re not only a great veterinarian, but a Cracker Jack carpenter.” She leaned toward him. “I figured with you on the job, Michael, we could do this rather discreetly.”
“Without harming a hair on the cats’ bodies,” Savannah added.
“Got it,” Michael said. “Okay, show me where the crawl holes are, will you, Iris?” When she looked confused, he said, “Access to under the house.” He added, “I’d like to see the attic, too.”
“Sure.”
Once Michael had examined the areas most likely to have an escape route and he’d toured the attic, he let out a sigh. “You gals are right; there seems to be no logical way for cats to get in and out of this house. The pathway to the attic has to be embedded in the walls.” He pointed. “As you said, probably in this vicinity.” He asked Iris. “How many cats are we talking about? Last time I was here, the owner thought there were about a dozen. Is that still the case?”
“Yes, we believe so.”
“I think she said there were eleven,” Savannah corrected.
He thinned his lips. “And we want them all accounted for before we block their passageway into the attic, right?”
“Sure do.”
“So that means we probably need to remove quite a bit of the outside wall in order to be certain there are no remaining cats.” He thought for a moment before saying, “Or we could tear into the inside wall, which we’d want to do if rain was forecast.”
Iris cringed. “Well, I’d rather go in from the outside, if possible. I just hope we don’t have to destroy too much of the siding. But, as I told you, we’ve already closed off the entrance to the attic. Once we’re positive there are no cats hanging out in the wall, we can seal the catwalk at this end.”
Michael looked at her. “We may have to dig down and cut into the drainpipe.”
“That’s okay,” Iris said. “The bottom line is leave no kitty behind.”
“And no hair on their bodies harmed,” Savannah repeated. She asked, Iris, “So once we can safely close up the chute in the wall, you’ll allow the kitties to continue finding shelter in that drainpipe?”
“You got it.” Iris said. “Although I think Melody plans to relocate the cats at some point.” She faced Michael. “So how do we start?”
“Got a saw?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye. When he saw Iris cringe, he chuckled. “Naw, let’s go back upstairs an
d make sure all of the cats have vamoosed from the attic.”
“We didn’t see any a while ago,” Iris said.
“And we closed off the entrance to the attic,” Savannah insisted.
He chuckled. “I saw that box you put over the hole. I just want to make sure it’s absolutely secure. We don’t want cats busting through it when we open the passageway below.” He turned to Iris. “Why don’t you entertain Lily for a few minutes? Savannah and I’ll go take a gander.” He took his tool belt out of the car, then addressed Rags. “You can come with us, boy. If there’s a cat up there, you’ll find it, won’t you?”
“So?” Iris asked when the Iveys returned with Rags.
“No more cats in the attic,” Michael said. “We only saw one skittish white cat, who we corralled into the exit, and I saw a couple of sets of eyes watching from inside there just before I nailed the opening shut.”
When Iris glanced at Savannah, she said, “I guess my attempt at keeping the cats out sorta failed. Next time, I’ll bring a hammer.”
“And nails,” Michael prompted. He walked toward the house from the drainpipe entrance, stopped, and stood atop the mound of dirt.
In the meantime, Rags began pawing and clawing at Savannah as she sat on a block wall next to Iris, watching Michael. “What are you doing?” she asked the cat. When Savannah noticed something protruding from her jeans pocket, she pulled it out and said, “Oh Iris, look what Rags brought me when we were up in the attic.”
“What is it?” Iris asked, reaching for it.
Before she could take it, Rags grabbed it in his mouth and ran as far as he could until the leash stopped him.
“It’s that piece of artwork he was interested in last time we were up there,” Savannah explained.
Iris chuckled. “What are you, Rags, some sort of art critic now?” She then asked, “What picture is it?”
Savannah tugged on the leash, reeling the cat closer to her. Before she could grab the paper, he dropped it at Iris’s feet and Iris picked it up. “Oh yes, it’s that pastel drawing of the rose being devoured by a big black widow spider.”
“Okay, ladies,” Michael said, “let’s see if we can scare the cats out of the pipe.” He motioned for the women to retreat into the stand of trees and watch for any cats that might emerge. He hit the side of the house a couple of times with a wooden mallet, then slammed it against the dirt mound that covered the drainpipe. When no cats came out of the opening, he said, “I have an idea. I’m going to cut into the drainpipe and run water through it. Any cats between here and the opening will surely run out when they see water coming at them.”
The women watched from a distance as he dug the dirt away from the pipe, then sawed through the metal. He slid a piece of plywood into the crevice to plug the pipe on the house side, then ran a garden hose into the opening that led away from the house.
“Here they come,” Savannah said. “Two, three, four, five, six, seven. That’s it,” she said. “Seven.” She walked closer to where Michael stood, still keeping an eye on the drainpipe opening.
He looked back at the house. “So assuming the count is correct, there could be four cats caught in the wall at this time.”
Suddenly, Iris squinted at a vehicle rolling up in front of the house. “It’s the safecracker,” she said rather excitedly. “Oh good.” She walked swiftly toward the van, arriving just as a tall, graying, bespectacled man in his late sixties stepped out. “I’m Iris Sledge. The owners—the Kaiser heirs—have authorized me to check out the contents of an old safe. We’re hoping it’s empty, because I want to use it as a decoration in the bed-and-breakfast inn we’re creating here.”
“Best that you leave it open if you’re going to do that,” he said. “You never know what notions folks will get about an antique safe that’s locked. Know what I mean?” When she looked puzzled, he said, “You don’t want someone taking it or blowing it up where it stands.”
She gasped. “No. I wouldn’t have thought of that.”
“Most honest folks wouldn’t,” he said. “But I’ve known people to cause a lot of damage to a beautiful old safe out of greed.” He glanced toward the house. “So where is the safe?”
“In the attic.”
“Of course, it is,” he said smiling. “Lead the way, Ms. Iris.”
“Iris,” Michael called out before she could enter the front door of the house.
She motioned for the locksmith to follow her as she returned to where Michael had been working.
He acknowledged the locksmith with a nod, then said, “Iris, I think we’ll go on home. Okay if I come back tomorrow afternoon about the same time and we’ll open up the area where we think the pathway for the cats is.”
“Uh…”
“I’m thinking if there are any cats left in the walls, they’ll be good and ready to rush out by tomorrow.” He glanced at the sky. “It’s starting to get dark.”
“Okay, let’s resume tomorrow,” she agreed. She winced. “So, Michael, how extensive do you think the damage will be?”
He gazed at the house. “I’m betting it’s a straight shot to the kitty opening in the attic. If so, we should be able to make a relatively small gap in their passageway and easily see if any kitties are stuck in there.”
“And if there are?” Savannah asked.
“Let’s jump that hurdle when and if it appears. If we can’t put our hands on the rascals, we’ll have to maybe leave a small section open and hope they skitter out of there overnight. It shouldn’t be too difficult to get the rest of them to come out—if, indeed, there are any still hanging out in there.”
“I’d rather not leave that open overnight,” Iris complained. “That just might be an invitation to the other cats to climb up in there.”
“Sure, I can close it up.” He eyed the side of the house before saying, “I’ll bring some heavy plastic to cover it until we can do the repairs.”
Savannah put her hand on Iris’s arm. “Hey, let’s not borrow trouble. I’m sure the operation will go smoothly.” Suddenly she frowned and peered off into the distance. “Looks like you have company, Iris.”
“Huh?” she said, following Savannah’s gaze with her eyes.
“Maybe it’s your first bed-and-breakfast guest,” Michael quipped.
“Yeah, well, they’re a bit premature. Hope they hold that cab.”
The trio watched as a blue taxi pulled into the circular driveway and stopped. “Who do you think that is?” Savannah asked when they saw an elderly man get out of the cab and stare up at the house.
“Gads, he’s old,” Iris said. “He sure has a nice head of white hair.” Iris excused herself. “Guess I should go see who it is.”
When the old gent saw her walking toward him, however, he made his way back into the cab, which sped off, leaving Iris in a spray of dust and pebbles.
“Well that was rude,” Savannah said when Iris returned. “Who was it, anyway?”
“Heck if I know.” She shook her head, then gestured to the locksmith to follow her as she led him into the house. “See you two tomorrow afternoon,” she called as she and the locksmith disappeared through the massive French doors on the south side of the house.
****
“Got the punkin to sleep?” Michael asked when Savannah joined him in the living room later that evening.
“Yes, we’ll have to take her for a walk at dusk every day. She really conked out.” She sat down next to him on the sofa. “So you think you have a plan for exhuming the cats?”
He chuckled. “I’m not sure exhuming is the right word, but I think so. And I’d like to take care of it tomorrow. I’m sure Iris wants to finish the project so she can go on to the next one.”
“Hey, that’s her calling,” Savannah said, picking up her phone. “Hi, Iris. How’d the safe-cracking go?”
“Good. He must have sticky fingers; he opened it pretty fast. And he wrote down the combination for me. He also showed me how to close the doo
r so people can’t inadvertently lock it.”
“What was in there?”
“It was empty.” She laughed. “Your aunt was sure disappointed.” Before Savannah could comment, Iris said, “Hey, speaking of Maggie, did she tell you what she found in that book she took from the attic?”
“What?”
“Well, she thinks it’s a treasure map,” Iris explained.
“A treasure map?”
“Yeah, she said there’s a name with a big X under it. She’s convinced it shows where a treasure’s buried.”
“What’s the name?” Savannah asked.
“Uh, it started with a D…an unusual name. Let’s see, what did she tell me?”
“Delilah, Danica, Delany, Deborah…” Savannah suggested.
“No, a guy’s name…something like Exeter or, oh wait, it’s Dexter. That’s it, Dexter. Maggie thinks it’s significant.”
“Why?” Savannah asked.
“I don’t know, because of the big X on it, I guess, and because it’s in that book of names.”
Savannah sighed. “Leave it to my aunt to make something out of probably nothing.”
Chapter 6
“Vannie,” Margaret said the following morning over coffee in the Ivey kitchen, “look at what I found.” She showed Savannah a drawing in the book of names. “Wouldn’t you say that’s a treasure map?”
Savannah studied the page. “Or maybe a drawing of a headstone in a cemetery someplace.” She sat up straighter. “Auntie, did you find that name in the book anywhere else?”
Margaret shook her head slowly. “No, but it could be here—I mean, they used a lot of initials.” She flipped carefully through the pages. “So here where it says D. Dribble or C.D. Manger, for example, the D could stand for Dexter. What do you think?” Before Savannah could respond, Margaret added excitedly, “Colbi’s doing some research on some of these names. She agrees with me that this list could be telling and maybe even of interest to authorities. But before we turn it over to Craig, we want to get some information about some of these criminals.”