A Cat to Kill For

by Greg Miller

  “Millions,” Emily murmured, before taking a deep breath. “I don’t care about the money. I just want to catch my brother’s killer and see that he pays. But that must be it. It must be that lost car. I mean, what other motive could there possibly be?”

  Gavin shrugged.

  “Oh my God!” She smiled. “This sure is getting exciting, isn’t it?”

  “It certainly is,” he said, suppressing a grin.

  “So, what do we do now?”

  “Right now?”

  Emily nodded.

  “Well, I was just going to get some Chinese take out and go home.”

  She licked her lips.

  “Then, I don’t know, probably see if I can do a little more research.”

  “That sounds good,” she said. “Can I come? I’m really hungry now too.”

  “Come home? With me?”

  She nodded again.

  “Well,” he replied, slowly taking out his keys. “Sure.”

  “Okay,” she said, clapping her hands and jumping up. “Let’s go.”

  Gavin stood, gazing at Emily warily, as if he was witnessing a new, and possibly dangerous, side of her.

  They went out to the showroom where he turned off the lights, armed the alarm, and locked the showroom door behind them.

  CHAPTER 5

  Emily stretched her neck looking up from the low seat of the parked Morgan, and watched as Gavin emerged from the doors of the Chinese restaurant carrying a brown paper bag. He descended the few steps and crossed the sidewalk to the car.

  “Can you squeeze this in on the floor?” he asked, sliding into the driver’s seat, and handing her the bag.

  Emily looked at the tight confines around her feet. “I can just hold it on my lap. It smells really good.”

  Gavin started the car and pulled away. He made a quick U-turn near the harbor and drove back through town. Soon the car was climbing the road which ran up alongside the lake before cutting away to the east.

  They had just passed through a small village when Gavin slowed the car. Emily caught a glimpse of the top of a cupola between the pines as he turned into an inconspicuous gravel driveway. Gavin drove slowly through the tunnel of trees and overgrown foliage until the gable end of a tattered, gray Victorian carriage house came into view. He parked in front and they climbed out.

  “This is pretty cool,” Emily said, looking around in the fading sunlight. “Where’s your house?”

  “That’s it.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “You live in a garage? That makes sense.”

  “Um, yes.” Gavin chuckled. “I suppose you could say that.”

  Emily looked at the knee-high grass and encroaching perimeter of tall weeds, which gave the property a sense of seclusion, despite being so close to the road.

  “You’re not much for lawn maintenance, I see.”

  “No.” Gavin smiled. “It’s not really my thing.”

  “I like cutting the grass.” She smiled. “I find it very therapeutic.”

  “Come on,” he said, taking the bag from her. “Let’s go eat before it gets cold.”

  Gavin led her through the side entrance and up the stairs, where he stopped to unlock the apartment door. Walking into the living room he set the bag down on a carved oak coffee table which was placed in front of a worn, plaid sofa.

  “Wow. This isn’t what I was expecting, at all,” Emily said, making her way into the room.

  “Why? What did you expect?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “More modern stuff. I really like antiques, though.”

  “I don’t think they’re real antiques – just a lot of old things I’ve acquired.”

  “Well I like them,” she said, moving closer to him. “I collect keys.”

  Gavin furrowed his brow. “Keys?”

  She nodded. “Antique skeleton keys.”

  “That’s interesting.” He smiled.

  “I’ve been collecting them since childhood. The oldest ones I have date from the eighteenth century. But, of course, the nineteenth century ones are probably the nicest. There’s actually quite a lot to know about old keys.”

  “I’m sure there is.” Gavin nodded, smiling as he watched her speak.

  She tipped her head. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “Yeah,” Gavin said, “but I don’t really keep in close contact with them.”

  “So you’re all alone too?”

  “Pretty much,” Gavin said, glancing at the bag. “Why don’t you unpack and I’ll get some plates and utensils. What would you like to drink?”

  “Just water,” she replied, “and maybe some tea, if they gave us any.”

  “Oh,” he said, stopping short. “Do you mind if we eat here? The kitchen’s a real mess.”

  “Here’s just perfect.” She smiled, kneeling down beside the coffee table and opening the bag.

  The light through the windows was fading, and a few dim lamps lit the room. The plates and cardboard containers had been pushed to the side, and Gavin had his laptop open on the coffee table.

  “That was some delicious General Tso’s,” Emily said, getting up from the floor and stretching.

  Gavin nodded. “My Hunan beef was good, too.”

  Emily peeked into the kitchen and saw the cluttered table and sink full of dishes, then glanced at Gavin over her shoulder. “Do you mind if I look around?”

  “Feel free,” Gavin replied, staring at the laptop.

  Emily approached a large china cabinet that appeared to have anything and everything automobile related crammed behind its glass doors: hood ornaments, gear shift knobs, a set of air horns, an Italian license plate, and an old steering wheel. She cracked open one of the bottom doors to look inside. “Oh, fun! You have a paintball gun.”

  “A remnant from my youth.” Gavin smiled. “Be careful with the other one, though. It’s loaded.”

  She opened the door a little wider and saw a futuristic-looking pistol with a strangely shaped grip. “That’s a real gun?”

  Gavin looked up again. “It’s a target pistol. I used to like going to the range, back when I had the time.”

  She bent down, studying it, with her hands clasped behind her back. “Could it kill someone?”

  “Sure. If you hit them in the right place.”

  “You don’t hunt, do you?”

  “No,” Gavin said. “Why?”

  She nodded, closing the cabinet door. “Have you learned any more about the car?”

  Gavin shook his head. “I’m looking at the club’s website now.”

  Emily continued looking around, until she noticed Gavin staring intensely at the laptop.

  “Come take a look at this,” he said, sliding over to make room.

  She sat on the edge of the sofa beside him.

  “There are bios for all the club officers. Take a look at this one.”

  Emily adjusted her glasses and leaned forward to read the name beneath the photo on the screen: “Peter Harrington. Hmm … he looks old and kind of creepy.”

  “Look at his title.”

  “Concourse Chairman and Historian.”

  Gavin sat up straight. “How many car clubs do you think have their own automotive historian?”

  “I have no idea,” Emily replied, turning to look at him.

  “Not many. Most have a concourse chairman, but he’s the first club historian I’ve ever heard of. I Googled him, and he’s written a lot of articles, even a few books, about early Jaguars. I think I might have read a few of his pieces in the classic car magazines.”

  Emily thought for a moment. “Oh, my God.” She choked. “If anyone would know about a legendary lost Jaguar it would be him!” Her expression turned to pain and disgust. “He must be the one,” she said, taking deep breaths.

&
nbsp; Gavin looked at her with concern. “It may seem likely, but let’s not jump to any conclusions yet.”

  “Why? What do you mean?” She frowned.

  “Well, it’s possible that he isn’t the one. I mean, maybe he didn’t have the engine, but knew whoever did. He could have told the culprit – possibly Al – about Andrew finding the car.”

  Emily twisted her lips. “I suppose. But I think he certainly has to be the one who told Andrew about it being that special car.”

  “If it is that special car,” Gavin said. “Let’s not forget, we still don’t know yet. We can be pretty sure it’s an early prototype, but we don’t know if it had the six-cylinder engine, and it’s the engine that makes all the difference.”

  She took another deep breath. “Right. But, if it is, Peter Harrington has to be our primary suspect.”

  Gavin nodded. “I think he could be the key to it all,” he said, scrolling back up the page. “Let’s take a look at some of the other club officers.”

  “Look.” Emily sniffled. “They still have Andrew’s picture there.” She pointed it out, the words ‘in memory of’ written beneath it.

  “I know,” Gavin said, sadly. He scrolled further down. “Armando Carella, Secretary and Webmaster.”

  “Yes, Armando.” She nodded. “I remember Andrew introduced me to him when I went to one of their meets. He was always talking to him on the phone. They were friends.”

  “Did he contact you after Andrew’s death?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did any of them from the club?” he asked, glancing at her.

  “No,” she said, motioning for Gavin to keep scrolling.

  “Next,” he continued, “we have Jay Cook and Bonnie Gaertner, the Events Directors, Dennis Maletsky, the Treasurer, and finally Bill Aldridge, the club’s President.”

  He clicked on a heading that said ‘Concours Pictures,’ and a photo gallery came up. He clicked on a picture of Peter holding a clipboard while inspecting a shiny burgundy E-Type.

  “Now,” Gavin said, “if we have got the lost Jag then Peter, or whoever the villain might be, must have the matching-numbered engine. Right?”

  Emily nodded.

  “And an engine could be kept almost anywhere,” Gavin continued. “It could be in his garage, his basement, his shed.”

  “Yes?”

  “But it could also be right under the hood of another car. It couldn’t be under the hood of a show car, like the one in that picture, because the engine numbers are always checked to make sure they match. But it could certainly be in almost any other old Jaguar.”

  Emily lifted an eyebrow. “So … we need to know if Peter has any Jaguars that aren’t show cars, that the engine could be in?”

  “It’s just a possibility, but yes.” Gavin clicked on a heading that said ‘Club Members’ Cars,’ and scrolled down until he found Peter’s name, with a list of his Jaguars beside it. “Let’s see – according to this he has an XK150, a Series 1 E-Type, a Series 2 E-type, a Mark 2, and a Mark IV. That’s a nice little collection.”

  Emily twisted her lips. “How do we find out if any of them aren’t show cars?”

  Gavin exhaled a long breath. “I suppose we’d have to go through all the pictures and see if he has any that either aren’t in the concours galleries, or don’t look like they’re in perfect condition.”

  “Okay.” She smiled. “That shouldn’t be too hard. Do you have a pen and some paper?”

  “What? You want to do it now?” Gavin frowned, looking at his watch. “It’s getting a little late. I was thinking I should get you back to your car. I mean, I have work tomorrow and should probably get some rest.”

  “Oh.” Emily frowned. “Couldn’t I just keep working on it?”

  “Here? Stay the night, you mean?”

  She nodded. “I’m a night owl, and I know I won’t be able to stop thinking about it.”

  Gavin ran his fingers through his hair. “Um, okay then.”

  “Thanks,” Emily said. “I can crash on the sofa when I get tired.”

  “Do you think you can identify the different models?”

  “Not yet.” She smiled. “But I will.”

  “Okay,” he said, stretching his back and turning away to hide a yawn. “I’ll get that pen and paper for you.”

  Gavin went into the guest room, and soon reemerged carrying a notepad and pen, as well as a blanket and pillow which he placed on the couch. “The bathroom’s around the corner, I’ll leave a new toothbrush out, and feel free to scavenge if you get hungry.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she replied, leaning towards the laptop.

  He gazed at her for a moment. “See you in the morning then – goodnight.” Gavin turned to leave.

  “Oh, wait,” she said, looking up. “I just had a thought – is the car safe? At the shop?”

  “Yes, it’ll be fine.”

  She tipped her head to the side.

  “There’s an alarm system. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Goodnight then,” she said, opening the pad, and pulling the laptop closer.

  The morning light exposed the worn path across the Persian rug and the layer of dust settled on the old living room furniture. Gavin stood before an oval, wood-framed mirror, fluffing his disheveled hair and straightening his tie. He turned, looking at Emily asleep on the couch.

  “Emily,” he said softly, walking over. “Emily, time to get up.” He reached out and touched her shoulder.

  She jumped up in a panic.

  “Whoa,” he said, pulling his head back as she blindly swung a fist at him. “It’s okay! Everything’s okay.”

  “Oh God, you scared me!” She breathed a sigh of relief, looking around the room and yawning. “What time is it?”

  “About seven-thirty.”

  “Seven-thirty?” she whined. “Why did you wake me?”

  “I’m going to work now.”

  She scratched her head. “And?”

  Gavin furrowed his brow. “And you have to come with me.”

  Her eyelids gradually closed. “Why?”

  “Why?” He gave his head a quick shake. “Because that’s where your car is. Because you can’t stay here. Because I don’t trust you left alone. Because …”

  “Okay, okay,” she grumbled. “It was just a question. You don’t have to get all pissy about it.”

  Gavin’s jaw dropped. “What?”

  Emily nodded. “It isn’t good to get upset, especially first thing in the morning. You should try to relax a little.”

  “I am relaxed!” Gavin said, clenching his teeth. “I’m a very relaxed person … normally.”

  She leaned forward, studying his face. “I don’t think so. I know this meditation technique that I could teach you. It’s really helped me.”

  Gavin rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath.

  “What’s stressing you out? My psychiatrist would tell you to sit down and talk about it.” She slid over, making room for him on the couch.

  He lowered his head. “What’s stressing me out is that I’m going to be late for work, and it’s because you are holding me up.”

  “Oh. I see,” she said, twisting her lips. “So you’d like for me to get ready and go with you right now?”

  Gavin nodded, smiling.

  “Alright. Just give me a few minutes.” She slowly got up from the couch. “Do you think it would be possible for me to get some coffee first?”

  His eyes narrowed. “We’ll get it on the way.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” She smiled, strolling off toward the bathroom.

  Gavin shook his head again, then chuckled.

  Ten minutes later, Emily was standing beside Gavin’s Morgan on the gravel driveway with the notebook in her hand. She squinted at the bright sky. “It feels strange being out this
early. You do this every morning?”

  Gavin nodded, opening the door for her. “Believe it or not, a lot of people do.”

  She snickered, getting into the passenger seat.

  He started the engine. Emily twisted around to look back at the carriage house through the rear window in the soft top. The car rolled through the short stretch of shade and tall weeds before emerging into the bright light of the main road.

  “So,” Gavin said, fumbling to put on his sunglasses. “Did you find anything interesting last night?”

  “I think so.” She opened the notebook, peering at the page over her glasses. “Peter Harrington has five cars, as we know, but I couldn’t find his Mark 2 or his Series 2 E-Type in any of the concours pictures.”

  “Wait,” Gavin said, shifting and bringing the car up to speed. “He has two E-Types. How can you tell it’s the Series 2?”

  Emily knitted her brows. “Because they have different shaped tail lights.”

  “I’m impressed.” Gavin smiled. “So, that’s two suspect cars.”

  “I also researched Peter as much as I could – I found his books on Amazon, and a list of his published articles, but not much else. I did, however, find out where he lives, and it’s not that far from Watkins Glen. The other members all live up around Syracuse.”

  “Hmm. That’s interesting,” Gavin said, glancing over at her.

  Emily nodded. “His house is on a back road so I couldn’t find a street view, but I checked out the satellite picture. It looks like he has a big detached garage, and a small shed in the back.”

  “Excellent work.”

  Emily smiled. “What do you think we should do next?”

  Gavin bit his lip. “Good question. I’m still thinking about that.”

  The road descended beside the lake. Gavin downshifted and the engine rose in pitch, making conversation difficult until they reached town.

  “The coffee place is at the other end of town,” Gavin said, as he negotiated some traffic. “I usually get a bagel, too. Want one?”

  “Mmm.” Emily nodded. “What kind are you going to have?”

  Gavin shrugged. “Not sure yet.”

  She knitted her brows. “They probably have all kinds of bagels. This could be a very difficult decision. I don’t know.”