The Bengal Identity

by Eileen Watkins

  Once more, Teri looked surprised. “Oh . . . no. He wanted a cat.”

  Of course—I was a slow study today. “A special kind of cat? A hybrid?”

  “Rick got the idea about a year ago. We get all kinds of feral cats living in the woods, and one night he trapped a bobcat. Rick grew up on a farm, so he knows about breeding animals. He wanted to mate the bobcat with one of the ferals, and it worked—she had a litter of kittens with traits from both. So Rick and a couple of his buddies got the idea that they could charge big bucks for cats like that, and started selling them on the down-low.”

  I leaned back in my chair, dazed. “That’s why you wanted Ayesha, to improve the stock and get nicer-looking kittens?”

  She nodded. “Rick wanted a queen—that’s what they called a breeding female—with top bloodlines. He advertised, and this guy from Pennsylvania said he could deliver one. When he showed up with her, we couldn’t believe how beautiful she was.”

  “Wait a second,” I said. “You saw her natural coat?”

  “Sure.” Teri’s tone saddened. “This guy Pete was ready to sell her to us, but he wanted to see the cattery first. Rick took him through, and meanwhile explained that he’d be mating Ayesha to bobcats and other hybrids, to get spotted kittens with a really wild look. Pete left his cat up at the house, and Rick told me to show him around the pens. While I did, I could see he was starting to change his mind. We stopped by one of the cages, and one of our big, hybrid bobs snarled at us. Especially after that, Pete got quiet for a while.

  “Once we got back to the house, Rick met Pete outside and tried to hand him cash for Ayesha. But Pete said he wanted to think it over. He went inside, where he’d left the cat in the carrier on our kitchen island. She was still there, but she was making this horrible moaning sound, like she was in pain. When Pete opened the top of the carrier, she hissed at him, and he asked why there was a bandage on the back of her neck. Rick said he’d felt a microchip there, and he couldn’t buy her that way, so he’d cut it out.”

  I remembered discovering the old wound above Ayesha’s shoulder blades and wondering who would slice into a cat that way. Now I had my answer.

  “Pete looked furious, ready to slug him,” Teri went on, “but Rick still had the knife he’d used on the cat. It was a just little hunting knife, about six inches long, but enough to make Pete back off. He closed the carrier, though, and said he’d have to treat the wound and make sure it didn’t get infected. Rick asked, ‘You’re gonna bring her back, right?’ He still had the knife, so Pete said sure. But I could see by the look on his face that he was done with us.”

  “I’m sure Rick could, too.”

  Teri’s mouth twisted, and her hands knotted more tightly. “He’d screwed it up, but of course, I couldn’t tell him that. After Pete left, Rick worried that he might rat us out. Also, I knew he felt cheated and really wanted that cat.”

  “Meanwhile,” I finished, “Pete treated her wound, dyed her coat, and put her in hiding at my shop.”

  I didn’t bother to draw Teri out on the rest of the sordid story. A day or so later, Rick probably had caught up with Pete somewhere and demanded to know where he’d stashed the cat. Or maybe he thought Pete had seen too much at the farm and would tell the SPCA about the operation. In the process of roughing him up, Rick either killed Pete or thought he did. He tried to make it look like a road accident by running the guy over . . . but with Pete’s own car, so there would be nothing to lead the police back to Schaeffer or his farm.

  “Thanks for telling me all this, Teri,” I said. “Would you be willing to write out a formal statement for Detective Bonelli?”

  She balled her fists on the tabletop and nodded. “Just talking about it all again made me see . . . Rick shouldn’t get away with this.”

  I glanced toward the big mirror on my left, and Angela Bonelli stepped into the room.

  * * *

  When I finally got back to my shop, I found Mark, Dawn, and Keith all hanging out. They were gulping cold bottled water and eating chocolate chip cookies. A Cottone’s Bakery box stood open on the sales counter.

  Dawn, perched on one of the high stools, pushed the box toward me. “Guaranteed undoctored.”

  “In that case . . .” I grabbed one hungrily.

  From the other stool, Mark reached out to hand me a water. “Poor baby, you look like you need something stronger than this.”

  “Jay took Sarah home because she was still really tired,” said Keith, who had balanced his slim frame on a three-foot-high upholstered cat tower.

  “We had to stick around, though,” said Dawn, “to hear what happened with Teri.”

  They all offered me their seats, but I just opened one of my pink camp chairs and dropped into it; there was even a convenient pocket for my water bottle. I bit into the just-crisp-enough cookie, let the chocolate chips melt in my mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Thus fortified, I brought my friends up to date on what I had learned from Bonelli and Teri.

  “She’ll get a lawyer and probably try to cut a deal,” I added. “In the meantime, she gave the cops directions to the farm, so I guess they’re headed out there tonight. With any luck, they’ll be in time to catch Rick.”

  “He’s got to be on the run by now,” said Mark.

  Keith snorted. “In that green truck with his company name on the cab? Not the best way to avoid attention.”

  “That sign could be removable,” Mark pointed out. “Take it off, and he’ll be driving just an unmarked truck.”

  “Yeah, I get the feeling Rick is pretty sneaky and thinks ahead,” I said. “He might have an escape plan all worked out.”

  Dawn had been quiet for a while and now looked close to tears. “Cassie, I am so sorry I talked you into using Teri to mind your shop. Talk about putting a fox in the henhouse! I had no idea about any of this.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” I told her. “I know you thought she was a decent person. Even when I had some misgivings about her, I never imagined anything this bad.”

  Mark’s wide shoulders slumped, too. “You ladies aren’t the only ones who’ve had some rude shocks today about people you thought you could trust.”

  Keith slapped his knees and stood up. “Well, enough gloom and doom. I think we all deserve some fun, and Chadwick Day isn’t over yet. Let’s go grab dinner.”

  “Have something in mind?” Dawn asked him.

  “I do. The Thai place has tables on the sidewalk, and it’s close enough to the park for us to hear the music. The bands tonight will be more professional, and my friend Vince plays guitar in one of them, the True Blues.”

  Everyone seemed to like this suggestion. At the moment, I could have fallen asleep right in my hammocky chair, but an evening of good food and live music was enough to rally me, also. “You’re right, that sounds like exactly what we need. Just let me settle up my accounts first.”

  Before I had a chance to forget, I deposited my take for the day in the cash register and made note of the products I’d sold and items people had ordered. Dawn and Keith probably had done those things for themselves while I’d been at the police station, and they gabbed with Mark until I was ready to join them all for dinner.

  Outside, the sky had clouded over a little and a breeze had kicked up. Though this probably meant rain overnight, for the moment, it simply cooled things off nicely. We all ambled up the street, which was less crowded but still busy, to the restaurant, Kim Khao.

  Passing the art gallery, which had closed for the evening, I planted my heels. The leopard lady print was now in the window. It hadn’t sold and was still marked down.

  “Something wrong?” Dawn asked me.

  “No, I just like that piece a lot.” I told them about my visit to the gallery a few days earlier.

  “And that picture spoke to you?” Mark smiled teasingly. “Gee, I wonder why.”

  I swatted his arm. “It’s still more than I can afford. Let’s get going, so I won’t obsess over it.”

  Kim Khao
had set up about eight tables in front, draped in their trademark red cloths. We arrived just in time to grab a vacant one.

  It was my first chance to appreciate the red, white, and blue plantings around the park gazebo. What I presumed to be Chadwick’s town flag flew from a nearby mast, its design a montage of images such as a mill, a mine, and a railroad train. Next to the gazebo, a shaded temporary stage held speakers, microphones, a drum kit, and a piano, not in use at the moment.

  We were given menus, and I opted for my usual, the not-too-spicy pad thai.

  The rest of our group made slightly more adventurous choices. After the waitress had taken our orders and left, I bragged to Dawn and Keith about Mark’s cooking prowess.

  “If it weren’t for you and him,” I told Dawn, “I’d probably be malnourished. Or at least bored to death with my own subsistence-level cooking.”

  “I’ll teach you how, anytime,” Mark offered.

  “You can try, but it may not stick. The way my mother doesn’t do cats, I’m afraid I don’t do fancy cuisine.” As our waiter placed my Thai meal in front of me, I amended, “Except for eating it.”

  The others fell to talking about dishes they had attempted to make over the years, successfully or not. I ate, sipped my white wine, and actually relaxed for the first time all day. Only then did I appreciate the stress I’d been under and how much I owed to Sarah, Jay, and Mark for helping me keep Ayesha safe.

  Tonight, all I want to do is enjoy this moment, eating a good meal with my friends outdoors on a summer evening. Listening to music, helping to celebrate the history of my adopted town. And remembering that, scary as some of today’s events were, they probably created a ton of publicity for my shop, which has to be good for business!

  I tried to focus on these positive things, but as the sky darkened overhead, I couldn’t suppress a shiver. A woman I’d liked and trusted had deliberately injured Sarah—probably just to make my shop less secure—and had attempted to steal Ayesha. Her partner, a man I’d seen and talked to personally, was suspected of murdering Pete Reardon/Rudy Pierson. Todd Gillis, who’d recently visited their farm, had yet to be accounted for. Meanwhile, Teri, at Rick’s direction, had actually sold off the treasured red Camaro. Since this didn’t sound like something Todd would ever condone, it didn’t bode well.

  The True Blues took the stage and played a fine opening set, sweet and sultry to go with the sunset mood. Keith applauded for his friend’s band and glanced toward Dawn, expecting her to do the same. But it took her a second, I noticed, to give the performance her full attention.

  Was she asking herself the same questions I was? How could I not have suspected something? How could I have trusted these people?

  During a break, she told me, “I can’t get over the idea that Teri and Rick have been breeding those hybrid cats out on their farm. You don’t think they could have been responsible for the one that’s been attacking pets and people, do you?”

  “Scott Naughton, the SPCA guy, thinks it’s possible. Bonelli told me that’s one reason why he’s so intent on finding out what they’re up to.” I remembered something then and checked my watch. Bonelli had said the cops were going to Schaeffer’s farm tonight. I wondered what they’d found. With any luck, they had Rick in custody by now.

  Mark must have noticed me shivering, because he rubbed my upper arm. “Are you cold? Too bad you didn’t bring a sweater.”

  “It was so hot all day, I didn’t expect to need one.” Leaning against him, I reminded myself that at least one thing had turned out well today. He’d learned the truth about Jennifer and followed through by firing her. At least there should be no more dirty tricks after hours at the veterinary clinic.

  We enjoyed the True Blues’ set and hung out to listen to one more band. Then all four of us started to flag, having been up early that morning. We walked back to Nature’s Way, where Mark and I said good night to Dawn and Keith, and I thanked them again for their help during and after my cat crisis. When we reached my shop, Mark and I checked to make sure the alarm was still turned on and there was no sign of tampering.

  “After all,” I reminded him, “as far as we know, Rick Schaeffer is still at large. And if he’s really nuts, he might still be trying to get his hands on Ayesha.”

  “That would be pretty nuts, now that his girlfriend’s already in custody,” Mark said. “He has to know she’s spilling her guts to the cops.”

  “Speaking of cops . . .” I checked the shop’s answering machine and saw a message from Bonelli. She’d left it just after eight o’clock; it was nearly ten now.

  “Thought you’d want an update,” the recording said. “We found the farm and checked it over. No sign of Schaeffer or his truck, and it looks like he burned some of his sales records in a fire pit. They have quite an operation here—large plots of vegetables, berry bushes. Even some herbs they might have a harder time selling on the open market.” Bonelli took a breath. “But that’s not all. Back in the woods, they’ve got the cats. The SPCA guys are pretty sure this is the source of our infamous killer bobcat, and they set a trap for it. They’re going back tomorrow, and Naughton said he’d like your help. Call me if you’re interested.” She left a cell phone number.

  I gave Mark the basic synopsis, then returned the detective’s call. “Sorry to get back to you so late,” I told her.

  “Not at all,” said Bonelli. “I apologize for disturbing you, after you had such a long and crazy day. Anyway, here’s the deal. There are a lot of cats at the farm, most with issues, and one not-so-friendly dog. The SPCA has a warrant to seize the animals, but they cover the whole county, so they’re short-staffed. They’re even bringing in some of the FOCA people to help. Cassie, they could use your extra hands and your expertise. I want to reach out to Dr. Coccia, too, but I only have his office number.”

  “He’s right here,” I admitted. As if Bonelli hadn’t already figured out that Mark and I were an item. She is a detective, after all.

  I put the shop phone on speaker so she could brief Mark, too. “If you’re free,” Bonelli told him, “we can use a vet on the scene. Sorry to spring this on you with so little warning. Naughton said they should go early tomorrow because the animals are suffering.”

  “We’ll be there,” Mark said.

  “Do I need to bring anything?” I asked the detective.

  “As many carriers as you can spare, and maybe gloves and whatever else you’d use to handle a nasty cat.” Dark humor tinged Bonelli’s voice. “I don’t think you’ll have to climb trees this time, Cassie, but be ready for just about anything else. From what Naughton told me, it’s not going to be pretty.”

  Chapter 19

  Ever since hearing Teri’s explanation of the scheme to steal Ayesha, I’d been wondering how she and Rick expected to get away with it. Even if we believed that the Bengal simply escaped, surely we’d spread the word about the missing cat and post her picture far and wide. Wouldn’t somebody see her at Schaeffer’s farm and rat them out, sooner or later?

  Sunday morning, though, I began to understand why they imagined their plan might work.

  Just after dawn, in a heavy mist, I followed Mark’s RAV4 along the highway spur that ascended Rattlesnake Ridge. He, in turn, followed a big black-and-white SPCA van with Naughton behind the wheel. We had been asked to bring as many vehicles as we could to today’s raid on the farm.

  I wound around the forested mountain, glimpsing vistas that I’m sure would have been dramatic on a clear day but became haunting when veiled by the morning mist. In the silvery, filtered light, the mountainside on my left streamed by in vivid green interrupted now and then by an outcropping of ancient rock. To my right, just beyond the guardrail, a low cloud seemed to fill the valley, blurring the details of the landscape that stretched far below. It reminded me of travel photos I’d seen of the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia.

  I asked myself why I had never yet explored this area, just a few miles outside of Chadwick. Of course, I’d been busy with the
shop during my first year, and also would have thought twice about wandering in a wild, strange place alone. But maybe next time Dawn and Keith went hiking up here, Mark and I could go along. Might do the two of us good to get out of our suburban comfort zones.

  As long as we wore boots. We’d been given that advice today, and you can bet I had mine on, with my jeans tucked into the tops. Even though it was August, and the arrangement would probably have me sweltering in a few hours, it would give me the best protection against deer ticks and, especially in this area, timber rattlesnakes.

  As volunteers, Mark, the FOCA members, and I also had signed legal waivers holding the SPCA and the Chadwick police harmless for any injuries we might incur while carrying out our duties today. In other words, we got fair warning that we were entering a danger zone.

  The night before, I’d found an e-mail from Mom on my phone. Apparently, some brief footage of me rescuing Ayesha from the tree during Chadwick Day had made the local news. Fortunately, the newscaster simply repeated what I’d told the Courier reporter, that the cat had gotten away from its handler and had run up a tree. I’m sure it just made an amusing story to anyone except Mom, who felt responsible for not having been able to mind the shop for me.

  With so much still unsettled, I definitely had not wanted to phone my mother last night and tell her about the escapade Mark and I would be taking part in today. I had just e-mailed her back that none of my Chadwick Day problems had been her fault—I’d just trusted an inexperienced person, but no real harm had been done. I’d added that I was dead tired and needed to be up early in the morning, but I’d fill her in as soon as I could.

  Which might be, oh, November, depending on how things went today. To be on the safe side, I’d turned off the ringer on my phone before heading out to Rattlesnake Ridge.

  Now the SPCA van made a sharp left into what appeared to be the midst of the trees. Then Mark did, too. Once I reached the spot, I realized it was actually a dirt road, with a faded wooden marker I couldn’t read. The cops had gone ahead of us and would be at Schaeffer’s property by now; they’d matched up Teri’s directions with the crude, hand-drawn map found in Pete Reardon’s motel room. Naughton, up ahead, also had that information, so I assumed he must know where he was going.