By Cat or By Crook

by Patricia Fry

  “I’d better expand the stadium,” Savannah muttered as she slipped her phone into her jeans pocket.

  Still obviously shaken by what was going on around her, all Iris could manage was a feeble, “Huh?”

  “My aunt and Colbi may be joining us.”

  “Oh, this is just…” Iris started, resting her head in her hands. “The Kaisers are going to flippin’ flip out.”

  Savannah nodded. “I imagine so.”

  Before Savannah could walk away, Michael joined the women. He was breathless when he said, “They think there could be more.”

  “More what?” Iris asked, her voice shrill.

  “More bodies.”

  “Oh that’s just great,” she said sarcastically. “So they want to tear the place down looking for more dead people?”

  “Yeah, diggin’ up bones,” Michael said, chuckling.

  Iris glared at him. “Not funny, Michael.”

  “Sorry,” he said, lowering his eyes. After some contemplation, he added, “I don’t actually think they’ll go to that extreme. What would be the purpose? Even Craig seems to think it’s wise to let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “Oh, I hope so,” Iris said.

  Savannah stared into her friend’s eyes. “Are you saying you’d rather live with bodies in the walls than mess up the place by removing them? You’d invite guests here knowing there are probably dead people hanging out just inches from where they’re sleeping and eating?”

  Before Iris could respond, Margaret approached. “Hi, guys.” She glanced around at the activity. “Colbi and Damon are on their way.”

  “Oh, well, come help me get more chairs, then,” Savannah said, glancing at Lily to make sure she was still playing with her doll and buggy.

  “I’ll get them,” Michael offered. “Where are they?”

  Savannah pointed. “Around the side of the house; there’s a small patio.”

  “So do they know who it is?” Margaret asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Iris said.

  Margaret pulled out the book she’d found in the attic from her oversized purse. “I’ll bet he’s on this list. He’s probably one of those guys Colbi couldn’t find.” She stared at the people working near the opening in the side of the house. “We can give the detectives names of missing persons from the nineteen-thirties through the seventies. Do you think they can identify someone from his bones?”

  “Probably from dental records—maybe DNA,” Savannah said. She pointed. “Hey look! I think they’ve found his clothes. Maybe there’s ID in his pockets.”

  “Hi, you two,” Margaret called out when Colbi and Damon joined them.

  Colbi lifted her digital camera and snapped a few photos. “What do you suppose he did?” she asked. “I mean to wind up inside the wall like that.”

  “Hey, you’re the writer and researcher,” Margaret said. “I’ll bet you can figure it out.” She giggled nervously. “…or just make something up.”

  “Yeah, maybe once we know who it is.”

  Just then, Craig walked up to the others.

  “Who is it, Craig?” Margaret asked. “Do you know?”

  “We have a possible ID. Whoever put him in there didn’t empty his pockets.”

  “Who is it? Who is it?” Margaret asked.

  Craig coughed and cleared his throat. “Maggie, we can’t reveal his identity until we’ve completed the investigation.”

  “Not even a hint?” She shoved the old book at him. “Here, look at this list. Can you tell us if he’s on it?”

  Craig cocked his head. “Maggie, simmer down. Let us do our job. You’ll know who it is soon enough.” He laughed. “He’s been in there for thirty or forty years, what’s another twenty-four hours?”

  “Drats,” she said, kicking a stone with her foot. Appearing hopeful again, she said, “Craig, just tell me this: is his name Dexter?”

  Craig smirked playfully at Margaret, shook his head, and started to walk away, when something caught his eye. He stared down at the book Margaret held. “Wait. Let me take a look at that, will you?” Before she could respond, he took the book from her and began viewing the open page from different angles. He lifted the page and held it toward the light. “Look here,” he said, “can you see what’s sort of engraved or embedded on that page behind the writing?”

  “Holy cow,” Margaret said, standing next to Craig and looking up at the page. “I didn’t even notice that.”

  “What is it?” Colbi asked, moving closer. She then said, “A rose. I can see a faint rose in the background.”

  At that, Craig lowered the book. He pulled something out of his jacket pocket and laid it across the open page.

  “That’s like the drawing we found in the attic,” Iris said.

  Savannah stared down at it. “Yeah, a rose and a big spider.”

  “Where’d you get that, Craig?” Margaret insisted.

  “The dead guy had it,” is all he would say before he picked it up and walked away. He turned, “That book may be evidence, Maggie. Don’t go too far with it.”

  “I knew it, I knew it,” Margaret said, halfway skipping around in a circle. When she stopped, she looked down at the book in her hands.

  Just then, Lily stumbled and fell.

  “Someone’s getting bored,” Savannah said, picking up the toddler. “I’m going to take her for a walk; anyone want to go? Come on Auntie, maybe we’ll spot some of the kitty-cats in the trees.”

  “So there are no cats in the attic or the walls?” Margaret asked as they walked with the baby toward the trees.

  “No. Shouldn’t be. They can still go into the drainpipe for shelter, but they can no longer get into the walls.” She glanced back at the house. “Well, at least once they do the repairs.” She pointed. “Look, there’s a kitty. See the kitty, Lily?” she said, lowering the baby to the ground.

  “Kitty,” the toddler said.

  “What do you have there?” Margaret asked Lily.

  “A golf ball,” Savannah said, when she looked at the baby’s hand. “Where did you get that, punkin?”

  When Lily gestured toward the drainpipe with her arm, Savannah and Margaret locked eyes.

  “I wonder if it’s the one we dropped down the chute,” Margaret said.

  “I wonder,” Savannah said, looking up toward the attic.

  Margaret scooted a small empty plate aside with her foot. “Looks like someone’s been feeding these cats.”

  “Yes, Melody feeds them,” Savannah assured her, easing a squirming Lily down to the ground. “She seems pretty concerned about their well-being.” She turned to her aunt. “Have you noticed how similar they look?”

  “I’ve only seen one or two of them,” Margaret said. “And they were moving pretty fast.”

  “Well, there seems to be two distinct patterns—white with black or orange markings and pure white. Oh, I did see a black cat yesterday. Melody said she believes they’ve all come from the original pair of cats her grandparents had.” She faced her aunt. “I imagine once the cats became feral, they met up with others, but it’s interesting that there seems to be a core color group still evident out here.” Suddenly, she focused on her daughter, “Oh,” she said, rushing to Lily. She picked her up and brushed some dirt from her knees and hands. “Are you okay, little one?”

  Lily nodded.

  When Savannah started to walk away with the baby, Margaret said, “Wait, she dropped her ball.” When she reached down to retrieve it, however, she shouted, “Holy cow, it’s Dexter!”

  “What?”

  “There it is,” Margaret exclaimed, pushing the branches of a large shrub to one side.

  “What is it? Looks like a grave marker,” Savannah said.

  “Yeah, either there’s another dead body here or,” Margaret’s eyes flashed. “…a pot of gold!”

  “A pot of gold?” Savannah questioned.

  “Sure. There was an X on the Dexter name—like X marks the spot.”
Her voice sounded pinched when she bounced up and down and added, “Vannie, there could very well be a treasure buried here.”

  Just then Craig approached. “Excuse me, ladies. We’re going to have to ask everyone to leave.”

  “Now?” Margaret said. “But we just found…”

  “What?” Iris asked, overhearing the conversation.

  “That spot on the treasure map—a rock with the name Dexter on it.”

  “Where? Show me,” Iris insisted.

  “Iris,” Craig scolded.

  “I’ll be right there, Craig. Now where is it, Maggie?”

  Margaret pointed. “There,” she said, pulling back the shrub to reveal the name on the rock.

  “Ladies!” Craig called again. “This property’s off limits until we finish our investigation.”

  “Okay, okay,” Margaret said.

  “So when can I come back to continue my work?” Iris asked her husband.

  “Probably tomorrow or the next day.” He put his arm around his wife and began leading her toward her car. “You could use a break, don’t you think so?”

  Scooting out from under his arm, Iris said, “Craig, I need to lock up.”

  “They’ll let us know when they’re finished and you can lock up then. Come on now,” he urged.

  Margaret trailed behind the others, glancing back at the Dexter marker. “I can’t wait to come out here with a shovel,” she said under her breath.

  “In due time, Maggie,” Craig said. “In due time.” He stopped and turned. Squinting, he asked, “What is it you’re so all-fired excited about, anyway?”

  “That rock back there. I think it marks where a treasure’s buried.” She pointed to a page in the Kaiser book. “See? It says Dexter and has an X on it.”

  “Hmmm,” he said, continuing to walk Iris to her car. “Well, you can spend all the time you want with that rock once we’re finished here.”

  “Yeah, if someone doesn’t beat me to it,” she complained. When Craig gazed in her direction, she said, “It could just be the most important find of the century.” She glanced at the scar along the west side of the once majestic house. “Well, maybe the second-most important find of the century.”

  ****

  “Glad you could make it,” Savannah said the following evening when she opened the door to greet Rob and Cheryl. “Come in.”

  “Hi there,” Michael said as he entered the room. He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel, then reached out to shake hands with their guests.

  “Oh my goodness,” Cheryl said, when she saw Lily trotting alongside Michael. “Look how big she is.” Cheryl squatted down. “Hi, Lily. Aren’t you a cutie?”

  Lily grabbed Michael’s leg and stared out from behind him at the strangers.

  “Come sit down,” Savannah invited.

  Before they could be seated, they heard a voice from the kitchen. “Hi, we’re sneaking in the back door.” Margaret appeared first in the adjacent dining room, then Max.

  “I brought a pot of beans,” he said. “We were going to have them for supper tonight and didn’t want them to go to waste. Hope you don’t mind us sharing.”

  “Mind?” Savannah said, rushing to kiss Max on the cheek. “I’m honored, chef. Thank you.”

  Once greetings were exchanged all around, Michael took drink orders. Savannah helped him pour the wine, then she placed an attractively arranged plate of fruit, cheeses, and crackers on the coffee table in the living room while he served the beverages.

  “So when do we get to see the pictures?” Margaret asked, clasping her hands under her chin.

  “Whatever works for the hostess,” Rob said.

  Savannah smiled. “I’m ready. Do you want to put them on the computer screen or…”

  “Yeah, that would be ideal,” Rob said, pulling a DVD from his pocket.

  “Why don’t we finish our wine,” Michael suggested. “In this household, you never want to leave the snack plate unattended.” As the guests glanced around at the few curious cats who had slipped into the room, Michael said, “Rob, tell us what you’re working on now.”

  Rob took a sip of his wine, then glanced around at the others. “Disasters.”

  “Disasters?” Michael asked, frowning.

  “Yeah, and pets. Pets that survive disasters. You’ve probably read some of the incredible stories about animals that have been rescued after hurricanes, devastating tornadoes, earthquakes... how do these animals survive? Heck, Cheryl came across a story on the Internet about a cat who disappeared and was found three months later locked in a neighbor’s garage without food or water—maybe only a mouse now and then. Three months,” he emphasized. “We plan to interview the owner of that cat.”

  “He lived?” Margaret asked.

  “Yes,” Cheryl said. “He was thin and weak, but alive.”

  “How do they survive in situations like that?” Rob said. “What is the makeup of these super-animals? Why do some survive and others don’t? We’ve gotten some amazing footage so far, and we’re ready to travel to the next disaster and film it in real time.”

  “The next disaster?” Max said. “You mean you’re just waiting for something to happen?”

  “That’s about the size of it,” Rob said, grinning.

  Margaret grimaced. “I hate to think of what the poor animals go through, but it should make for an interesting documentary. I like watching animal rescues; it warms my heart.”

  “Right on, Maggie,” Rob said. “There’s a warm place in every animal-lover’s heart for a successful rescue and for the enterprising cat or dog who survives a horrendous calamity.”

  Cheryl pointed. “Who’s this? I don’t remember that dog when we did the filming here.”

  Everyone turned to see the shepherd mix sitting in the kitchen doorway. “That’s Lassie,” Michael said. “We’re fostering her until her owner’s ready to take her home.” He pointed. “Now Rob, there’s a rescue story for you.”

  “But we don’t know for sure who rescued whom—the boy or the dog,” Savannah added.

  “Oh?” Rob said with interest.

  She continued, “Yeah, Adam and our little neighbor girl found her when we were on a trail ride last weekend. She seemed to be protecting a little boy who’d been kidnapped and…” she choked up a little. “…tossed down a mountainside.”

  “Is she his dog?” Cheryl asked, reaching out to entice Lassie to her.

  Michael shook his head. “Evidently a stray who showed up at the right time.”

  “You’re a pretty thing,” Cheryl said when the dog walked up to her.

  “Yeah, she looks better since her bath,” Savannah said.

  “And a few meals,” Michael added. “She’s a good dog.”

  “And obviously a survivor,” Rob said thoughtfully.

  “She’s okay with your cats?” Cheryl asked, scratching the dog’s neck. Cheryl gazed across the room at Buffy, who was sitting near her bed staring at everyone, and Rags, who lay under the coffee table.

  “Yes, she’s quite well mannered,” Savannah said. “I kind of hope Aaron decides not to take her. I’d keep her in a heartbeat.”

  “Savannah,” Michael scolded. “We don’t need another animal.”

  Rob looked at Rags. “Did your cat have anything to do with the boy’s and the dog’s rescue?”

  Savannah shook her head. “No. He was out of the loop on that one.”

  Michael grinned. “The horse was there. Want to interview her?”

  Rob stared at Michael, then focused on the dog. “I just might.” Suddenly he leaned over to get a better look under the coffee table at Rags. “What’s he doing?”

  “Who?” Savannah asked.

  “Your cat. He’s digging under that rug.” Rob joined Rags on the floor. “Did you lose something under there, boy?” he asked, lifting the edge of the small area rug. “Well, you sure did. Is that yours or something you pilfered?” he said, laughing.

  Before Rob
could react, Rags grabbed the piece of paper in his teeth and began shredding it using his front claws.

  “What is it?” Savannah asked.

  “Looks like a drawing. Let me see that, Rags,” Rob said, reaching toward the cat. But Rags wasn’t ready to let it go and he stepped a few feet away. “Cheryl, tape this, would you?” Rob said, chuckling.

  “What, the cat? With my phone?” she asked.

  “Yes, quick. You gotta be quick with a cat. Record him trying to keep me from getting that thing he has.”

  After thirty seconds or so, Cheryl said, “Got it. Oh, that’s funny. He really doesn’t want to give it up, does he?”

  At that, Rags sat looking around the room with a portion of the tattered drawing hanging from of his mouth. Suddenly, he trotted to Margaret and dropped it at her feet.

  She picked it up. “Well, thank you, Rags. What is this, anyway?” When she got a good look at it, she gasped.

  “What is it, Maggie?” Rob asked.

  Margaret sat silently for a moment, her eyes darting around at the others in the room. Finally, she swallowed hard and said, “I believe it’s a murderer’s calling card.”

  “Oh, Auntie, you can be so dramatic,” Savannah said, reaching for the drawing. When she saw the damaged pastel drawing of a pink rose with a black widow spider on it, she immediately dropped it as if it were on fire. “My aunt’s right,” she said in a guarded manner. “It very well could be a killer’s calling card.”

  “Where did he get that, Vannie?” Margaret asked, her voice wavering.

  Savannah patted her jeans pockets. “Well, I guess I brought it home with me from the attic the other day.”

  ****

  “Those pictures are amazing,” Savannah said later as she and Michael prepared for bed.

  “Yes, I can see them in a children’s book. They were some of the best shots I’ve seen of your cat. And those pictures of Layla and Jack—very nice.” He smiled. “Your aunt was happy, wasn’t she?”

  Savannah chuckled. “Oh yes. I imagine she’s already contacted everyone she knows to tell them about her very special and talented cats.” She slid between the sheets. “It’s been another long and busy week. I could sleep for the rest of the month.”