The Bengal Identity

by Eileen Watkins

  And of course, it was unnerving to think a mugger had attacked her right in our small parking lot, even if he hadn’t succeeded in grabbing her bag. It almost sounded like he’d been lurking in the cover of trees, waiting for a victim to show up. Fifteen minutes earlier, he could have struck me. I’d like to think I’d have been faster to react than Sarah, but maybe not.

  I also wondered if this incident had any connection with the foiled break-in of Saturday night. They both looked like robbery attempts, but other than that, I couldn’t see what they might have in common.

  * * *

  After lunch I turned out two long-haired “tuxedo” cats, Heckle and Jeckle, in the playroom. They were brothers and belonged to an elderly man who had named them after two cartoon blackbirds from a 1960s TV show. When I looked it up online, I could better appreciate his sense of humor. Their owner had opted to spend July in Maine rather than New Jersey, for which I couldn’t blame him, though his cats probably could. They got the most out of our playroom, though, chasing each other up the shelves and through the tunnels, with an occasional brother-versus-brother wrestling match. Their markings were so similar that I could barely tell Heckle from Jeckle.

  To keep an eye on them, I pulled a chair into the space and checked messages on my phone. Two of the licensed breeders I’d e-mailed already had responded. One in New York said tersely that she was not missing any of her cats. A second also claimed all of his stock was accounted for, but warned me that if the cat had been dropped off at my shop under suspicious circumstances, there might be an unlicensed, backyard operation involved.

  Especially with a cat as valuable as a Bengal, there are a lot of unscrupulous people out there trying to make a quick buck, he said. I hope you will make sure that this animal ends up in a reputable place. He may have been suggesting that he’d be willing to take Ayesha, but to his credit, he didn’t come right out and say so. He concluded, You might want to check with these people as to whether any breeders have reported stolen cats, and he gave a link to a Bengal rescue group for the northeastern US.

  I thanked him—this was a resource I wouldn’t have thought of. Going to the site, I clicked on the Contact Us button and sent the rescue group a variation on my original query.

  While still online, I found a text from Mark. He finally apologized for his abrupt exit on Saturday night and his radio silence since then. “We’ve had a couple of emergencies at the clinic,” he said. “Had to work Sunday, came home exhausted and sacked out immediately. Things were more under control today, though. How are you? No more break-ins, I hope?”

  I texted him back about Sarah’s mishap in the parking lot and her possible sprained ankle, figuring that would make him feel just guilty enough. He answered immediately to express condolences about Sarah, and asked if I was okay holding down the shop alone.

  “No sign of any more trouble since then, and I’ve only got a few hours to go,” I said. “I’ve locked the back door, and if any bad guys come in the front, I can always punch the panic button.” As I said this, I had a flash of the muscled-up, tattooed guy from my nightmare looming in my doorway.

  A few seconds went by before Mark wrote back, “I should be out of here on time today. I’ll drop by before you close, okay?”

  “That would be nice,” I told him.

  I put Heckle and Jeckle away in their shared condo. When I checked on Ayesha, I noticed she’d actually left some food in her dish, which was unheard of. She rubbed her cheek compulsively against her frayed condo door and meowed pathetically at me. From the smell of things, she’d also sprayed outside the box again.

  I cracked the door open and scratched her under the chin. “What’s wrong, princess? Didn’t get to play with Sarah today, did you? I’ll let you out for a while before I close up.” Give me a chance to scrub out the condo, too, I thought.

  Hours had passed, I realized, since my assistant had gone off in the ambulance. I was just about to call her when I had a knock on my front door. Bonelli strolled in.

  “Hi,” I greeted her. “To what do I owe this honor?”

  “Your assistant got mugged this morning.”

  Of course, she would know about that. “Yes, unfortunately.”

  “Sarah all right?”

  “She went off in the ambulance around ten, and I haven’t heard from her since. I was just going to try her cell. But she said her son might be picking her up.”

  We sat on stools behind the front counter, and she accepted my offer of a bottled water. Though I’m sure it looked like a casual visit, I worried what passersby might think if they looked through my window and recognized the police detective.

  Bonelli twisted off the top of her bottle. “That’s our second trip to your place in three days.”

  “Pretty soon I’ll be over my quota for the week, eh?”

  “The chief is starting to ask questions.” She took a long swallow of the water. “Is this latest attack mere coincidence?”

  “Sarah seemed to think it was just an attempt to grab her purse. Maybe a kid looking for drug money.”

  “When she’s able, she should come down to the station and make a report.”

  “I think Jacoby already told her to, but I’ll remind her.”

  Bonelli started to say something else, but a wailing from the condo area almost drowned her out. She squinted in annoyance. “Is that cat okay? Do they always carry on like that?”

  I realized I’d almost tuned out the din. “That’s our royal boarder. She’s a glutton for attention.”

  “I can see what you mean about not putting her in a shelter. That noise would get on their nerves, all right.”

  My own fur bristled. “Dogs can bark for hours at nothing. I find that more annoying.”

  The canine-loving detective smiled. “Fair enough. Anyway, your royal boarder is the other reason I stopped by. Since she might be evidence in our hit-and-run, I thought I should see her for myself.”

  I figured if Bonelli was put off by the yowling, she’d really be grossed out by the stinky condo, so I brought Ayesha out front in her harness. I showed the detective where the rosettes had begun to show through the cat’s dyed coat, and the scar where someone might have removed her microchip. We speculated again about what Rudy’s plans might have been when he’d left her with me.

  Because the Bengal seemed so restless, I let her jump to the floor, then gave her a stuffed mouse to wrestle with while Bonelli and I kept on talking.

  “Y’know, I was wondering if Todd Gillis tried to break into my shop Saturday night.” I explained about his fascination with Ayesha. “Might be a stretch, but he is kind of strange.”

  “That would be strange, all right,” Bonelli said. “Our guys didn’t find any fingerprints on the windowsill, just the pry marks. So whoever made the attempt had the sense to wear gloves . . . in late July.”

  “Bob Gillis told you, I guess, that Todd has gone missing.”

  She nodded. “He called us Sunday. He’s worried that Todd might have wrecked his car somewhere, but we haven’t had any reports of serious crashes.”

  “No bar fights he might have been involved in?” I asked. “Or hunting accidents?”

  “Nothing reported. Always possible, of course, that something happened and was kept quiet. We’re taking it seriously, though.”

  Bonelli stood and tossed her empty water bottle into my recycling can. I thanked her for stopping by.

  “We’ll keep checking for leads on Sarah’s attacker,” she told me. “When you hear from her, let me know how she is. And meanwhile, Cassie . . . be careful, okay?”

  “I always am, but thanks.”

  As the detective left, Ayesha darted after her. If the Bengal hadn’t still been wearing her harness and I hadn’t been holding the leash, she might have gotten out the front door.

  “Lady, what is with you today?” I grabbed her favorite fishing pole toy and tried to lure her up onto the playroom shelves the way Sarah did. But Ayesha wasn’t in the mood. She rubbed against
my legs and every piece of cat furniture she passed. All the while she meowed pathetically and incessantly, like a smoke alarm with a dying battery. Then she flattened her belly on the floor and lifted her rear end, in an unmistakable message.

  Oh, crap. I’d seen that routine before, when I first got Matisse, so I should’ve recognized the signs sooner. I’d gotten off easy so far, but my luck couldn’t hold out forever.

  Mark picked that moment to walk through the front door. I welcomed him by yelling hysterically, “Close it! Close it!”

  He followed my voice into the playroom. “I did. What now?”

  “Grrreat news.” I nodded toward my feline friend, who coyly rolled onto her back. “Ayesha’s in heat.”

  Chapter 9

  With his hands on his hips and a slow shake of his head, Mark observed the Bengal’s lovelorn behavior. “She certainly is.”

  I started to wail, myself. “What am I going to do? She was noisy enough before. Now she’ll get all the other boarders stirred up.”

  “Well, you’re in luck, aren’t you?” he announced, as Ayesha went back to furring everything in the playroom.

  “Oh, really? I almost had a break-in on Saturday, Sarah was mugged this morning, and now I’ve got this complication. How am I in luck?”

  “Because I’m here.” Mark waited with a grin to see if I would take this declaration for arrogance.

  But I could tell he was teasing. “You mean, because I don’t have to be as frustrated as Ayesha? Or . . . ahhh, because you’re a vet!”

  “Exactly.” He picked up the spotted siren—in every sense—to stop her from obsessively rolling against his sneaker. “I can give her, and all the rest of your gang, some relief.”

  “We can’t spay her,” I warned. “If it turns out she was stolen from a reputable breeder, they’d be furious if we did that. They might even sue me.”

  “I don’t need to. Breeders sometimes want to stop a female cat’s cycle when she’s going to a show. I can just give her a shot.” Putting the cat down, he talked over her trilling. “The effects won’t last very long, but it should keep her calmer until you can find her owner. It’ll probably stop the spraying, too.”

  “You’re right, I am lucky to have you.” I crossed to Mark to give him a hug and a kiss. “I hate to ask, but . . . how soon could you do this?”

  He checked his watch. “It’s only about five-thirty. We’ll bring her over to the clinic now. Sam will already have started his night shift, and at any rate, it’s a quick procedure.”

  A few minutes later, Mark drove us to the clinic, Ayesha still meowing from her carrier in the backseat. I dared to ask him, “I guess this means you accept my apology?”

  “About Saturday? Please, I should be the one apologizing. I’m sorry I stalked out like that.”

  “Sometimes when I try to be funny, I go too far,” I admitted.

  He glanced at me sideways, a glint in his eye. “Yeah, sometimes you do, but I should be used to that by now. We were both tired and stressed. Let’s forget it.”

  Notably, neither of us even mentioned the name of Jennifer Hood.

  Mark changed the subject. “Actually, I’ve been doing a little sleuthing myself about your mystery. I asked a few other vets in the area if they’ve heard any reports about exotic cats that went missing or might have been stolen. I talked to a couple in this area, and also some that I trained with at Penn.”

  “Great idea,” I said. “And had they?”

  “Nothing specific and nothing too recent. One did say, though, that he’d heard of purebred cats being ‘flipped’—stolen and resold to new owners—as pets or for breeding. Of course, they’re sold without papers or medical records, so anyone who buys a valuable cat under those circumstances has got to know it’s a shady deal. The cases he heard of were in other parts of the country, though, not New Jersey.”

  I gave this some thought. “I may need to widen my search beyond New Jersey. No telling where Rudy got this cat from or how far he traveled with her.”

  By now it was about five forty-five. This was not one of the clinic’s late nights, and we found only two cars in the lot. One was an older model, navy blue Toyota sedan, the other a cute little white Chevy Sonic. I figured the first probably belonged to Sam, who had night observation duty. As Mark stepped out of his vehicle and reached in the back for Ayesha, he did not speculate aloud about whose the other car might be.

  I had my suspicions, though, and they were confirmed when we spotted Jennifer behind the reception desk. She looked pleasantly surprised to see Mark, not so pleasantly surprised to see me.

  “Oh, you’re back!” she greeted him. “Nothing wrong, I hope.”

  “Nope, just a little emergency with one of the cats from Cassie’s shop. Have you two met?”

  “Not formally.” She seemed to force a sweet, dimpled smile and extended her hand. Even this late in the day, her makeup looked freshly applied.

  Mark introduced us, then asked Jennifer, “A little late for you to be hanging around, isn’t it?”

  “I’m just wrapping up. I was straightening some old files and lost track of time. But if you need me to stay until you’re done . . .”

  “No, that’s not necessary. No billing for this job, it’s just a favor.” He headed into one of the examining rooms with the cat, leaving the door ajar.

  I hung by the reception desk a minute longer. Jennifer had a manila folder open in front of her, with forms that someone had filled out by hand. I noticed a fluorescent green Post-it note stuck to the upper left corner of the top one.

  “I guess the paperwork never ends in a place like this,” I said.

  “Never! And there’s such a backlog. I can’t imagine why the last receptionist never purged all these dead files. That’s the right name for most of them, too, because either the owners moved away or the patients are deceased.”

  “Isn’t a lot of your information computerized these days?” I asked.

  “Most of it is, but the owners fill out printed forms that we keep on file. Besides, there are insurance forms, invoices for medications and all that. Some still come in by fax!” She rolled her eyes toward heaven, as if this were the equivalent of pony express. “Elena, the office manager, usually logs the important stuff into our computers. She’s been here longer and is more familiar with the system.”

  I was surprised to hear Jennifer admit that anyone at the clinic might be more competent than her. “Well, it’s good of you to stay late to sort things out.”

  “I try to keep things running smoothly for the doctors, because they work so hard. Especially Mark.” Flashing another dimple, she added, “He’s so dedicated, it’s really inspiring.”

  Before I could think of a reply for that, the source of Jennifer’s inspiration stuck his head out the door of the exam room. “Cassie, want to come help me with this crazy lady?”

  “Sure.” I’d almost gotten to the doorway, then remembered I’d left my shoulder bag on one of the waiting room benches. As I passed the reception desk again and bent down for my purse, I saw Jennifer peel the bright green Post-it from the handwritten form. She studied it for a second, crumpled it, and threw it in the trash. Then she rose, crossed to the pale gray, lateral file cabinets behind her, pulled out a drawer, and tucked the folder neatly away. Even her medical scrubs—bright blue stretch pants and tunic patterned with cartoon animals—seemed tailored to show off her curves.

  Bet she can cook, too!

  Shaking off these jealous observations, I joined Mark in the exam room and closed the door behind me. Ayesha wasn’t exactly giving him trouble, but she compulsively rubbed her head against his arm, her carrier, and the edge of the metal table.

  He chuckled in frustration. “Hold this sex kitten still for a minute, would you? Just long enough for me to give her the injection.”

  I did so. I worried that the Bengal might turn on him when she felt the needle, but she barely noticed. When I stroked her head afterward, she turned all of her crazed affec
tion onto me.

  Mark smoothed the fur on Ayesha’s back. “Her spots are really showing up now, aren’t they?”

  I nodded. “Every time we wash her, a little more of that brown goes down the drain. I can’t wait to see what she looks like when it’s all gone.”

  He put away the syringe and the bottle of medication. “That shot should quiet her down pretty soon, and it’ll last at least a few weeks. With any luck, you’ll find her a new home by then—either with a breeder who doesn’t mind her going into heat, or someone who just wants a pet and will let us spay her. I wouldn’t want to give her this stuff too often, because it can have side effects down the road.”

  “I do know of one person who’d probably love to own her,” I admitted, “but I’m not sure he’d take good care of her. Todd, from the Gillis garage. Remember, the guy who told me about the wildcat killing the dog?”

  “Oh, right. And said it ate the dog?” Mark made a disgusted face.

  “Yeah, he seemed to think that was exciting. Or maybe he was just trying to impress me.” I let that register for a second before adding, “I wasn’t impressed.”

  “I’m sure you weren’t.” Mark guided the Bengal, already a bit more subdued, back into her soft-sided carrier.

  “Anyway, when he returned my car, he came into the shop for a minute and saw Sarah walking Ayesha.” I explained how the cat had fascinated Todd. “Today I was wondering if he was the one who tried to break in on Saturday. It would be a loony thing to do, but he’s a very immature guy. Maybe he’d see it as an adventure.”

  “You should mention that to the cops.”

  “I did, earlier today—Bonelli came by the shop,” I said. “But now Todd seems to be missing. According to his father, Todd went for a drive yesterday and never came back. Before he left, he said something about getting himself a birthday present.”

  We left the exam room, Mark toting the cat in her carrier. “He might have gotten into some kind of trouble. How old is he?”