The Cats that Broke the Spell

by Karen Anne Golden

  The deliberate feline distraction allowed Iris to grab her loot stuck in the fold of the chair cushion and move it to a different site. The seal-point clutched the prize in her jaws and galloped to the kitchen. With feline eyes, she scanned the room for Katherine’s purse. When she spotted it lying on the floor next to the refrigerator, she trotted over and dropped the key into the side fold. “Yowl,” she cried proudly. She scampered back to the living room.

  Jake righted the chair. “Katz, come to the kitchen. There’s more batter left. I’ll make you another one.”

  “Okay, that’s great because I’m starving right now. Where’s your dad?”

  “It wasn’t him.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Daryl.”

  “Your cousin Daryl?” she asked, surprised. They hadn’t seen Daryl for several months.

  Jake nodded. “He’s got a problem.”

  “What?” she asked, with eyes wide open.

  “It’s not good news.”

  “Tell me?” she pleaded.

  “He broke up with Colleen.”

  Katherine collapsed on the loveseat. “Oh, no. This is terrible news. Colleen said things weren’t right between them. This isn’t going to sit well with my friend.”

  “I know.”

  “Can’t we fix it? Do something to get them back together?”

  Jake sadly shook his head.

  “Why not?” Katherine questioned, not giving up.

  “He kinda hinted he’s interested in someone else.”

  Katherine brought her hand up to her face in shock. “No, I can’t believe it. I thought they’d get married, have a truckload of red-headed kids.”

  “I’m shocked too.” Jake walked over and sat down next to Katherine. He took her hand in his. “There’s something else. He’s asked me to do a big favor for him.”

  “What is it?”

  “I won’t be staying with you and our cats the first night at the farmhouse.”

  “Why not?”

  “Daryl needs me to help him drive to Ohio, Tuesday night. He rented a flatbed truck to haul the ’67 Chevy Impala to a car show —”

  “Why you? Can’t he find somebody else?”

  “Katz, I promised him, several months ago, if Colleen couldn’t do it for this or that other reason, I’d go.”

  “Jake, promises can be broken.”

  Jake became quiet and gave off a look of dejection. He whispered, “Daryl asked the usual suspects and no one can do it. I promised.”

  Katherine pouted for a minute, then said, “You said that already. So I take it, the cats and I are to stay at the farmhouse by ourselves the first night?”

  “Actually it’s for two nights.”

  Katherine didn’t answer.

  Jake consoled. “Katz, you’re a strong woman and very capable of taking care of yourself.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, annoyed.

  “Let me put it this way,” he began in his professor-like voice. “Back in the day, if you were on a covered wagon trip, heading out west, you’d make it.”

  Katherine looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “What?”

  “You’d make the trip because you’re a pioneer.”

  “What has staying at the farmhouse, by myself, mind you,” she said with emphasis, “have to do with me being a pioneer?”

  “You’ve got a gun.”

  Katherine couldn’t be angry at Jake for very long. She smiled and gave him a loving look. “That’s ridiculous,” she said.

  Jake put his arm around her. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t you wait to move until I come back?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “The remodel of the attic starts Wednesday. I don’t want to mess with the schedule. Margie’s got everything orchestrated like clockwork. What time are you leaving Tuesday night?”

  “Daryl said sometime after midnight. He’ll call me later and let me know the exact time. Why don’t you call Colleen and see if she can stay with you a few days.”

  “How’d you know she’d want to come? She’s probably jumping off a bridge right now!”

  “It wasn’t fair of Daryl to end things the way he did.”

  “And how was that?”

  “He sent her a text.”

  “A text?” Katherine asked incredulously. “How tacky! Colleen didn’t deserve that. For pity sake, she’s dated Daryl for a long time. I wonder how his family is going to react. They love her.”

  “He said he didn’t want to talk about it, but I’ll try to find out more information on this trip.”

  “I suppose,” Katherine said with a long face.

  “Here’s an idea. How about I take Scout and Abra to the vet, then drive them out to the farmhouse on my way to Ohio? That way you can get a jump start moving the other cats to the Baxter place.”

  “Seriously? You’re going to drive a flatbed truck down that narrow country road?”

  “No, I’m driving the Jeep. Daryl is driving the flatbed.”

  “Why doesn’t Daryl just drive the Impala so the two of you can ride together?”

  “He doesn’t want to put the mileage on the car. A lot of classic car enthusiasts do this.”

  “This still doesn’t make any sense to me. I thought you were going to help him drive?”

  “I meant, Sweet Pea, I’m driving separately behind him in case there’s a problem,” Jake explained. “Colleen volunteered to do this but now since they’ve broken up —”

  “Hell hath no fury as a woman scorned,” Katherine said, shaking her head. “Fury times two.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You know the stereotype: Irish and red-headed? Look out, Daryl. If you know the name of the woman your cousin ditched my best friend for, don’t tell me. Okay?” Katherine’s green eyes narrowed in anger.

  “I promise.”

  Jake gathered Katherine into his arms and kissed her on the lips. “I love you, Sweet Pea.”

  Chapter Six

  Dr. Goodwin hurried out of the pink mansion, got in his Mercedes and stomped on the accelerator. He did a U-turn and broke every posted speed limit to race out of town. He had to get to Melinda before she did anything stupid. He worried that her failed attempt at burglary would somehow lead back to him and jeopardize everything he had worked so hard to build. He was more worried about himself than his lover. He feared she’d keep texting him until he answered. He didn’t want to go home and have Melinda pinging his cell phone every second. His wife would become suspicious, and start asking questions. He’d have to come up with something fast to cover his tracks.

  Turning onto the county road, and driving a few miles to the farmer’s service lane, he checked his rear view mirror. A newer gray pickup was following a safe distance behind. The same vehicle had followed him out of Erie. He wondered why and shifted nervously in his seat. Something was sending off a red flag, and he couldn’t explain why.

  He didn’t want anyone to see him driving on this road. He just wanted to park, find Melinda, and take her home. He’d worry about her car another time. She said she’d been attacked by cats, and couldn’t drive. He had zero empathy for Melinda’s pain and suffering. He didn’t want to be inconvenienced by taking her to the hospital, that is, if her injuries were serious. If that was the case, and anyone asked at the hospital, he’d say Melinda was attacked by one of the cats at the Center. That wouldn’t raise any eyebrows, except that a smart person would know the Center was closed on Sundays. I’ll just take her to the 24/7 clinic in the City, he thought, solving that problem.

  He was annoyed he hadn’t been able to talk Melinda out of her hair-brained scheme. She created such angst for a piece of jewelry. What if Lizzie Howe called the sheriff? he fretted. Melinda, you little fool, you could have been shot by that crazy cat lady. “And that damn pickup won’t get off my ass,” he shouted out loud.

  He pulled over and stopped near the service lane, powered his window down, and gesture
d to the driver to drive around.

  The driver of the pickup didn’t oblige. Instead, the driver drove the truck up behind the Mercedes and parked.

  Craning his neck and partially leaning out the window, Dr. Goodwin yelled, “Go around, you freakin’ idiot.”

  The driver of the truck just sat there.

  He studied his left side mirror. The pickup driver ducked down as if he was reaching down on the floorboard for something.

  “Dammit, go around,” the director yelled sounding more anxious than irritated.

  The pickup driver switched his headlights from low beam to bright.

  Blinded by the glare in the mirror, Dr. Goodwin didn’t notice that the driver had gotten out of his truck and was walking up to him.

  His instincts told him to step on the accelerator and drive off, but he froze. He couldn’t leave Melinda out here with that jerk in the pickup.

  Something knocked on the back passenger door behind him. Taking action, he released his seat belt and started to slide across the console to escape through the passenger door, but he was too late.

  The pickup driver aimed a handgun at Dr. Goodwin’s head and fired one shot. The bullet killed the director instantly. His body slumped against the steering wheel causing the horn to sound. It emitted a deafening blare.

  The shooter ran back to his pickup, jumped in, and sped down the road.

  Melinda Hudson stood behind a corn row and observed the terrible event. Holding a balled-up paper towel to her injured eye, she ran to assist Dr. Goodwin. Making sure the shooter’s vehicle was out-of-sight, she jogged up to the Mercedes. She gently pushed Dr. Goodwin from the steering wheel, which caused the horn to stop. She screamed when she saw the bullet wound in his forehead.

  “Oh, no . . . no . . . no, you can’t die,” she panicked. “What am I going to do?”

  She didn’t want to be involved in this. She didn’t want the town to know she was cheating with a married man. She was a witness and knew the driver. If she blabbed to the sheriff who it was, she was as good as dead. She had to get out of there.

  Running back to her car still parked on the service lane, she tripped on a root and fell headlong on her face. The shock knocked the wind out of her. A hand grabbed the back of her navy blue jacket and tugged her up to a sitting position. Turning to see who it was, she screamed again.

  A thin man dressed in a scarecrow costume mumbled, “You’re going to be okay, but get the hell out of here.” He darted into the cornfield and disappeared after the second row.

  Dazed by the fall, Melinda slowly picked herself up and leaned against her car. Her head was spinning, and her heart was racing a mile a minute. What if the shooter comes back? Who the hell was that man wearing scarecrow clothes? Mustering enough strength to climb into her car, she sat down behind the wheel and locked the doors. She’d lost the paper towel she held against her eye, so she tore off another sheet and pressed it to her eyelid. Abandoning her plan to drive to the hospital, she did something she didn’t want to do. She called the sheriff’s department. Screaming into her phone, she gave some of the details but left out who did it. She ended the call with “Dr. Goodwin is dead. Hurry up and get here.”

  Chapter Seven

  Later that afternoon, Katherine was on the pink mansion’s front porch, decorating one of the front columns with a five-foot scarecrow. She stood high on a step ladder. She was having trouble hooking a bungee cord around the craft store decoration when Stevie Sanders and his daughter Salina walked over from the Foursquare.

  “Whatcha doin’?” Stevie asked.

  “I’m trying to fasten this scarecrow to the column,” Katherine answered, leaning too far. The step ladder swung to the left and started to tip over. Stevie rushed up the steps and righted the ladder.

  “You know you ain’t good with ladders,” he said, recalling the time he had caught Katherine midair when she fell off a high ladder in the carriage house. “Get down from there.”

  Katherine climbed down. “Thanks. I’ve got a lot going on this week and falling isn’t on my list. Did you just say ain’t?”

  “What’s wrong with that?” he asked sheepishly, brushing a strand of blond hair away from his face.

  Katherine rolled her eyes. She’d been working with Stevie to improve his speech.

  Salina ran up and hugged Katherine. “I love you, KC.” Salina nicknamed Katherine KC because she said Katz sounded too much like cats, and whenever she said it, the Siamese thought she was talking about them.

  Katherine hugged her back. Ever since the two of them shared a secret staircase to avoid a Russian hitman they had become thick as thieves.

  Stevie joked, “Do I get a hug too?”

  Katherine said abruptly, “No.”

  “I didn’t mean you. I meant Salina,” Stevie said. “But I wouldn’t say no to a hug from you,” he added with a wink.

  Katherine blushed.

  “I’m just messin’ with ya. Where’s Jake?” he asked.

  “He took a load of furniture to the farmhouse we rented.”

  “By himself?”

  “No, his dad helped. He should be back any minute.”

  “You should have called me. I’ve been doin’ nothin’ all day. I could have lent a hand.”

  “Thanks. Appreciate that.”

  “Give me that scarecrow,” he said, snatching the decoration out of her hands. “I’ll fix it for ya.” Stevie climbed the ladder and quickly attached the decoration to the column. Stepping back down, he said, “That will cost you a hundred bucks.”

  “Put it on my tab,” she joked.

  Salina whined. “KC, I don’t want you to move.”

  “It’ll only be for a couple of months. You and your dad can come and visit anytime.” Then Katherine pointed to Stevie, “If you’ve got plans some evening, Salina and Wolfy Joe can stay over. My cats would love it.”

  Stevie grinned. “You thinkin’ I’ve got a girlfriend?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant . . .”

  “Yes, you did,” he laughed, cutting her off.

  Margie, driving Cokey’s old Dodge Ram, drove up and parked in front of the mansion. Her daughter, Shelly, was with her and got out of the truck first. Salina ran down the steps to greet them.

  Stevie, uncomfortable in Margie’s presence because of past history, bowed out and walked back home. Both Margie and Cokey held a grudge against Stevie and were not shy in telling Katherine to watch her back around the ex-con.

  Margie got out and yelled up to Katherine. “Hey, Kiddo, I got somethin’ for ya.” She lowered the truck gate and tugged out a bale of straw. “Girls, can you help me with this?”

  Shelly and Salina grabbed a side of the bale and carried it to the porch.

  Katherine said to Margie, “I bought nine pumpkins —”

  “Goodness, why so many?” Margie interrupted.

  “Cause I need to place them on and in front the bale of hay.”

  Salina pointed at the parlor window. “Look who’s watching us.”

  Shelly greeted, “Hey, Lilac! Hey, Abby!”

  The felines stood up on their hind legs and pawed the window glass. Crowie joined them and did the same.

  Katherine commented, “That’s a rare sight. Usually, they’re up high on the window valance.”

  “KC, can we go in and play with the cats?” Salina asked.

  Katherine smiled. “Sure, the cats will love that.”

  Margie said, “Shelly, come back out in ten minutes, okay? We’ve got to go to the store and get something to fix for dinner.”

  “Sure, mom,” Shelly said, walking to the front door and opening it. Salina slid in behind her.

  Katherine sat down on the bale of hay. “It’s pretty comfy. Want to have a sit-down?”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Margie said, sitting down.

  “How’s life been treating you?” Katherine asked.

  “Pretty good. I’ve got two more restorations lined up after I finish your project.”
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  “Cool.”

  “Since you’re moving to the Baxter place, why are you decorating the pink mansion?”

  “Because it’s fun, and Jake and I want people to think we’re here and not want to break into the place.”

  “Good thinking. Cokey and I will keep an eye on the house. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Besides, I’ll be working here during the day. When I pack up to leave, I’ll arm the security system.”

  “I really appreciate it. You never know with the pink mansion. It’s starting to be the season when tourists walk up and down the historic district, taking pictures of the old houses. Since my house has been named the murder house —”

  “Oh, hog wash, the locals don’t call it that. They still call it the Colfax mansion.”

  “Out-of-towners are curious about the mansion because of the negative publicity. The house has been such a murder magnet. I don’t want lookie loos vandalizing the place while we’re gone.”

  “Vandalize? Why would you think someone would vandalize it?”

  “Something that happened yesterday,” Katherine answered pensively.

  “Geez, you’ve got me curious. What happened?”

  “When Colleen and I drove out to the farmhouse, we passed this property with a rusted mailbox attached to an equally rusted farm gate—”

  Margie cut Katherine off. “Sounds like a lot of properties out that way. Folks are either too busy to replace their junk mailboxes or sick of the local hooligans knocking them down.”

  “Knock them down? Why?”

  “It’s a teenager thing. Like a rite of passage. They pile into a car or truck, drive around the country, and use a ball bat to knock down mailboxes.”

  “For an ex-New Yorker, I find this hard to believe.”

  “Yep. Stuff happens, but go back to this rusted gate. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “It wasn’t the rusted mailbox or gate that got my attention. It was more of what was at the gate.”

  Margie gestured with her hand. “And?”

  “The gate had witch symbols plastered all over it.”

  Margie put her hand to her throat and feigned surprise. “Please, tell me you didn’t stop there.”