Till the Cat Lady Sings (Bought-the-Farm Mystery 4)

by Ellen Riggs

  Mom was suddenly all business, whisking Wayne into a striped cape and easing him back in the chair till he was nearly horizontal. She applied a woodsy-scented lotion and wrapped his face in a hot towel, murmuring in the way I sometimes talked to Keats. It was like she was in her own little world, which was perfect because she was out of mine for the moment.

  Meeting Portia’s eyes in the mirror, I finally got to the point. “I can see why my neighbor, Edna Evans, started looking after a feral cat colony this year. Although it was a huge amount of work for a woman her age, she grew to love each and every one. They all had names.”

  Portia turned so fast that Iris barely yanked the scissors back in time to avoid a styling fatality.

  “I heard about that colony,” she said. “No cat should live in a swamp, even in summer. What was Edna thinking gathering them up like that?”

  “Well, like you said, they’re pack animals.” I supressed a smirk. “They gathered themselves once the word got out about the free food. Edna also oversaw their veterinary care and took the ones she could trap to be neutered and vaccinated. It cost her a bomb and she was worried about winter coming. There’s a plan in place for when she’s back from Australia.”

  “And what plan is that?” Portia’s tone was imperious. “There’s no way Edna Evans would let so many cats inside. She practically dipped us in rubbing alcohol before vaccinating us when she was school nurse.” Her full-body shudder was visible through her Bloomers gown. “She terrified me then.”

  “Edna’s a different person now,” I said. “Much of that comes from the cats. Loving animals can transform people even more than a haircut, right?”

  Jilly squeezed my arm again, warning me not to overdo it. But Portia’s furrowed brow smoothed, and she said, “I guess. For some people.”

  “That’s why I’m trying my best to keep Edna’s cats safe and happy till she gets back. She’s going to find good homes for them but wants to interview the new owners herself.”

  I was close, so close… Portia’s eyes glazed, as if she were recalibrating. She couldn’t keep that many cats herself without eventually attracting the County’s notice and having Animal Services seize them. Knowing that Edna intended to place them in loving homes, she might actually return them.

  “It’s not easy finding homes for feral cats, though,” she said. “Everyone wants a cute kitten. They don’t see the potential.”

  “Agreed. These cats can be so affectionate when they finally get the kindness they deserve. Edna has more connections than you might think. Huckleberry Marsh was about staying under the County’s radar, which takes work.”

  Portia’s eyes dropped. “Yeah.”

  “I had a run-in with Tess Blade, the Animal Services field officer, and she was one tough cookie,” I said. “I wouldn’t want her to get wind of the colony. What’s the legal limit on cats in Clover Grove?”

  “Six,” Jilly supplied. “At least, indoor cats. I looked it up on the County website.”

  Now, Portia’s eyes darted everywhere. Maybe she was picturing Tess Blade popping by the manor with her dogcatcher noose.

  “That’s why Edna needs to get these cats placed before the County hears about them.” I gave a huge sigh. “All it would take is one call, and the colony would be seized. It would break her heart.”

  Portia’s eyes collided with mine again in the mirror. “I’d like to see Tess Blade try to seize any of my cats.”

  “I’m sure that would never happen,” Jilly said. Her velvety tone became melodious, like a siren’s. “Your cats live in luxury at the manor.”

  “It must be hard to keep it to six,” I said. “Cats are so unique and addictive. They’re like that old snack commercial: next handful’s a whole new ball game.”

  “Bits and Bites,” Jilly said. “Loved those.”

  Portia abruptly spun the chair with one foot till she faced me, making Iris step backward with the scissors.

  “I’m a great marksman,” she said. “If I found someone on my property without permission, I’d use them for target practice.” She spun back just as abruptly. “Even you, Ivy Galloway.” She slipped one hand out of the gown and made a circle with her index finger that included Jilly and Keats. “And your friends.”

  The threat was blatant enough to jar Mom out of her barbershop reverie. She turned away from Wayne with the straight edge in her hand. “Portia Parson, I already warned you about menacing my daughter. Let me extend that to include her friends.”

  “Portia didn’t mean it that way,” Jilly said, resting one hand on The Cat Lady’s shoulder. “Emotions always run high when animal welfare’s at stake.”

  Portia flicked Jilly’s hand away and rose from the chair. “Or what, Dahlia? You’ll slash me with that razor? That’s not the free cut I had in mind.”

  She threw off the monogrammed cape with a flourish and looked down at the pile of hair on the floor. Iris had snipped about 10 inches off Portia’s hair in layers. The other side was still untouched.

  “Don’t leave now,” my sister pleaded. “I’ll get that evened out in no time.”

  “This is perfect,” Portia said, striding to the door. “I can show the town exactly what to expect from your salon.” At the door, she fanned her face dramatically. “A crap job and a crapload of hassles. I can see the reviews, now: Here’s one spa that’ll leave you ugly and stressed.”

  “There’s no fixing ugly,” Mom muttered. Jilly locked her arm in a vice and Mom added, “An ugly mood, I mean.”

  “We can, though,” Iris said, following Portia, and wringing her hands as best she could while still holding scissors. “I can fix an ugly mood in no time. Give me another chance, Portia.”

  “Bloomers is doomed,” Portia called, as she walked out. “Better find a backup plan.” She cast a last look of disgust over all of us. “And leave cat rescue to a professional, Ivy. Stick to what you’re good at, which seems to be causing murder.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Start over from the beginning,” Cori Hogan said, as she paced back and forth at the base of the huge bronze statue of a chow chow. It was one of many such statues dotting—or blotting, depending on who you asked—the Dorset Hills landscape. The chow chow was all alone on the outskirts, which made it the ideal meeting spot for the Rescue Mafia.

  I’d called in my first Rescue 911, and the tiny trainer had arrived promptly with Bridget Linsmore, Remi Malone, Evie Springdale and Andrea MacDuff. I’d met them all before, but it struck me anew that the word “mafia” didn’t suit these women. They were attractive and down to earth. Cori was wearing jeans, a down jacket and her trademark black gloves with their orange middle fingers. Today those gloves gesticulated in a staccato manner that suggested she was either agitated or confused.

  “Like I told you, last night I peeked into the old Bingham manor,” I said. “I saw at least fifty cats, many of them from Edna’s colony.”

  Cori plunked down at the base of the statue and leaned against the massive dog’s paw. I couldn’t help thinking how cold that bronze must feel, even through her coat. “So you just happened to be driving your yellow jalopy by the old mansion and dropped in for a snoop?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “I wouldn’t take Buttercup snooping. It would be like having my mom in the backseat.”

  “I’m her ride or die girl when it comes to trespassing,” Jilly said. “We took the golf cart through the ATV trails.”

  “That must have been one heck of a ride,” Cori said.

  “It sure was,” Jilly said. “My life flashed before my eyes more than once. And you don’t see me sitting today, do you?”

  Cori laughed, a rare enough sound in my short acquaintance with her. “I’ll give you two some bonus points for courage,” she said. “But then I’m docking you for stupidity. If you suspected something like that, you should have called us before your reckless jaunt, not after.”

  “What Cori means is that she prefers to do the reckless jaunting,” Remi Malone said, picking up
her sweet beagle Leo, and cradling him in her arms. I already recognized the move as a sign of nerves. “This discovery would have been another notch on her rescue belt.”

  Cori glared at her. “Put that dog down. If you can throw out shots like that, you’re hardly overcome by anxiety.”

  “Habit,” Remi said, grinning as she adjusted Leo for his maximum comfort.

  “I don’t need more notches in my rescue belt,” Cori continued. “I can barely carry my laurels around as it is.”

  “Especially with your ego weighing you down,” Evie Springdale said, adding her grin to Remi’s. Her wild red curls were restrained in a knot but it looked like they were bristling to bust out. In fact, all the women exuded that kind of energy and I wondered if I did, too.

  I shook my head at Remi and Evie. “You know you’re both going to pay for insubordination, right?”

  A grin found its way back to Cori’s elfin face. “Ivy already knows me so well. Study and learn from her, dissenters.”

  Bridget moved toward me with Beau, her tall black dog. “Go on with the story, Ivy. I want to hear every last detail.”

  “Okay, let me back up a bit. Yesterday, I found a couple of long, gray corkscrew hairs in a cat food bowl at Edna’s house. Then we heard a rattle in the bushes that sounded like a plastic cat carrier. I’ve heard that rattle a lot lately when taking Percy to his various engagements.” I gestured at the fluffy orange cat, who was roaming around the circle of women, looking for cat lovers. He found one in Evie, who dropped to her knees, and then sat right down on the damp earth to welcome him into her lap. “I hadn’t seen some of the friendlier cats in a few days and we wondered if Portia might be catnapping them.”

  “In this case, by ‘we’ she means Kellan Harper,” Jilly said. “He offered to pay Portia a visit to investigate but Ivy took matters into her own golf cart.”

  “Can’t blame her for wanting to check things out herself when she’s the designated caregiver,” Cori said, joining Bridget. They almost always ended up side by side, with Beau in between. “You can’t trust a cop to do a rescuer’s work. Especially a pet-hating cop.”

  “Kellan doesn’t hate pets,” I said. “He’s…”

  “Ambivalent?” Remi suggested. “A lot of our partners started out that way. You wear them down eventually.”

  I shrugged. “He knows it’s a package deal. Love me, love my llamas.”

  “It’s hard to love a llama,” Evie said. “I got spit on more times than I can count when we were filming Hannah’s show.”

  “So, back to the story…” Bridget said. “You drove over to Portia’s to see for yourself.”

  “Yeah. I honestly didn’t expect her to have them on prominent display, but there were a dozen familiar faces in the dining room alone. Two of them were my own barn cats.” I looked down at Keats and shook my head. “They preferred living in a swamp to Keats’ company.”

  “Most cats can’t handle a sheepdog’s drive,” Cori said.

  “I felt bad about that, and I was going to try to convince them to give us another try. They won’t fancy barn life after this, though. Portia’s feeding the cats on the dining room table.”

  Every head shook in disapproval. Even these animal lovers had their limits, apparently.

  “So, Portia Parson has stolen Edna’s cats from the colony,” Bridget said.

  “Looks that way,” I said. “I suppose it’s possible they followed her home if she’s the Pied Piper of cats, as people say. But I did hear that cat carrier, so I suspect she was picking off the tamest ones first and carrying them home. We heard an ATV after that, so she’d have made a lot of trips.”

  “Huh. How many of Edna’s cats do you figure?” Cori asked.

  “Maybe twenty? There were so many in the house and I didn’t stay long enough to take photos. Percy wanted to get going.”

  Jilly picked up the story. “At the salon, we tried to give Portia an out. But she said Ivy—and even Edna—don’t know how to care for these cats properly. She’s convinced herself she’s doing the right thing.”

  “Even after I explained there was a plan to rehome them,” I said.

  Cori turned quickly to stare at me with bright brown eyes. She reminded me of an eagle in a wren’s clothing. I could be tough when I had to be, but it felt like a costume I put on, whereas Cori’s fierceness went straight to the bone.

  “We know Portia, of course,” Bridget said. “She’s always been quirky.”

  “We’re quirky,” Cori said. “Portia’s strange.”

  “Well, pot, kettle and all that,” Bridget said, smiling at her friend. “I used to turn to Portia for help placing cats, but the last couple of times I got a different vibe from her. Like she was distracted or stressed. Since stress and distraction make people unreliable, I decided to go elsewhere.”

  “Same,” Cori said. “Shady vibe. I can’t trust animals or my rep with shady.”

  “Well, if she’s stressed and unreliable—and possibly shady—that’s all the more reason to get the cats back,” I said. “Edna’s going to throw a hissy fit when she finds out what’s happened.”

  Cori gave a dramatic slash with one orange flipping finger. “Edna forfeited her right to hiss when she pulled her recent stunt.”

  “I kind of admire her for that stunt,” said Remi. Sweet-eyed Leo lolled in her arms, staring at Keats upside down. It was a lost cause, since Keats rarely wasted energy on other dogs. It was like he didn’t even register their existence. Instead, his full focus was on Cori. Like most dogs, apparently, he’d fallen hard for the expert trainer. I wondered if he’d be tempted to ride off the farm and into the sunset with Cori if she invited him. Naturally, she drove a big truck with ease, and Keats did like a smooth ride. Still, if jolt came to stall, I was reasonably sure he’d choose me.

  As if sensing my thoughts, Keats turned up his blue eye, stared at me briefly, and then turned to warm me with his brown eye. Sighing, I reached down and touched the soft fur between his ears. One day, I hoped to be truly worthy of this gifted dog. All I’d ever wanted was a simple pound-puppy, and instead I got the Maserati of the canine world. It set the bar high for a novice owner.

  Cori started pacing again. “It sounds like The Cat Lady’s gone rogue. She’s well aware of our reputation for placing rescue animals, yet she’s chosen to pack too many cats into her old house. That’s not in the cats’ best interests.”

  “Or hers,” Bridget said. “Hiding them from Animal Services won’t be easy. No wonder she seems stressed.”

  “If you’ve met Tess Blade, the new dogcatcher, you’d know why,” I said.

  Cori rubbed her forehead with one glove. “One day, Tess and I will go a few rounds with her catchpole. It won’t be pretty, but I will prevail.”

  Jilly and I both laughed. I wouldn’t want to challenge Tess to a duel, but I’d put good money on Cori for the win.

  “So what can we do about Portia?” I asked. “Can we extract the cats?”

  Cori stopped in front of me and set her gloves on her hips. “You can’t do anything, Ivy. Not with Officer Boyfriend hanging around. Remember, I saw you at the bistro so stoned on cop pheromones you didn’t notice your bra was covered in ketchup.”

  A snicker went around the clearing and Jilly’s was loudest of all. Even Keats let his mouth drop open in a happy pant.

  “Chief Hottie is what I call him,” Jilly said. “But I’ll attest that Kellan is a really good guy.”

  “I can handle myself,” I said, trying to shove a cork into my dignity as it drained rapidly. “I get in plenty of hot water with Chief Boyfriend, trust me.”

  Cori shook her head. “See, there’s that word again. Trust. Our rescue work relies on trust and clear heads. We’ve had more than a decade of teamwork to build it.”

  “It’s not personal,” Bridget hastened to add. “We don’t even trust our husbands most of the time. Not for rescue.”

  Remi came over and tried to offer me Leo, but noticed Keats’ blue-eyed glare ju
st in time. “I guess you have your own therapy dog,” she said.

  “Yeah, but I appreciate the offer.” I scratched Keats’ ears before turning back to Cori and Bridget. “All right, can you extract the cats?”

  “Maybe,” Cori said. “It’s complicated. Portia is well connected, too. If these cats start appearing in shelters across the region, she’s going to know it was us.”

  “We don’t want to be on Portia’s bad side,” Bridget added. “She makes Cori look sweet.”

  “I am sweet… to animals and a few people of quality,” Cori said. “But we have to do something. This isn’t a good situation.”

  “Jilly and I want to help,” I said. “Even from a distance. Maybe I can bait Portia out so you can do your thing.”

  “Maybe.” Cori snapped her fingers silently to gather the team. “If we need you, we’ll be in touch.”

  My poker face must have failed because Remi said, “Don’t take it so hard. We’re just trying to protect you.”

  “I don’t want to be protected,” I said.

  “That’s kind of the problem,” Cori said, grinning. “You can be a loose cannon sometimes, Ivy. There’s only room for one of those on a rescue team.”

  “Cori’s already claimed that position,” Evie said.

  Bridget gave me a warm smile. “Trust, remember? You know you can trust us. We’ve proven ourselves, haven’t we?”

  I nodded, looking down. Keats had started a stiff-legged stalk with Percy as his prey. Since the cat was lounging comfortably in Evie’s lap, I snapped my fingers to get his attention. “Keats hates that cat,” I said. “Sometimes I regret letting him inside.”

  “On the contrary,” Cori said. “They’re good buddies.”

  “Buddies?” I gave her a quizzical look. “They fight all the time.”

  “Like siblings, right? I don’t have any, but I hear that’s how it works.” She tipped her head thoughtfully. “I watched as they followed you in here. They’re communicating in ways you don’t understand.”

  “And you do?” My tone was a little sharper than it needed to be, only because I was miffed over being a Mafia reject.