Revenge at its Felinest

by Patricia Fry

  “You’re welcome my child,” he said. He cocked his head and asked, “Is there something more you’d like to share right now?” When she hesitated, he urged, “I think it would do you a world of good. I sense, young lady, that you have something bothering you at a deep level.”

  “Yes,” she said, glancing at the others. “You see, a friend and I were abducted recently and held prisoner.” She shook her head and eased down into a pew. “It was horrible. We were terrified. We’re both back home with our families now.” She looked down at Rags. “In fact, my cat helped to rescue us and capture the kidnapper. All I wanted was to be home with my family without fear. And I got my wish to be home with my wonderful family. I’m so very thankful, but I can’t seem to shake the fear. I’m just not myself. I’ve lost my courage and my sense of well-being.” She looked up at Iris and said, “I haven’t told anyone this. But I’m afraid I’ll never be me again.” She took Pastor David’s hand and continued, “But I think you’ve given me the key to finding myself. Actually, I never left, did I? I had to shift gears in order to withstand the awful ordeal.”

  She unsuccessfully fought back tears as Rags put his paws on her knees and mewed softly at her. She petted him. “I love you too, Rags,” she said. She stood and hugged Iris, saying, “And I love you and Michael and the kids and all my friends and family.” She stepped back and took Iris’s hand. “You all deserve more than what I’ve been able to give lately.” She addressed the pastor. “I think you’ve given me the key to finding my way back.”

  “It’s okay to have a bump in the road,” the pastor said gently. “It happens to us all. Some of our experiences are more intense than others, and it does feel as though we’ve lost a part of ourselves in a frightening situation. But that part doesn’t ever leave us; it might need a rest. It might hide out for a short while, but the you who is you never leaves you. It’s right there ready to be put into action in your life again.”

  He put his hand on Savannah’s shoulder. “Are you aware of her in you?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Now I just have to give her permission to shine again. I want to shine—no, I want to glow,” she said, laughing.

  There was silence in the church for a moment, then Pastor David said, “Live in the moment, dear ones, because that’s all we have.” He petted the cat and nodded to the others, asking loudly, “Are you all where you want to be at this moment?” He was pleased to see genuine smiles on the three faces before him. “Then go and enjoy your lives. You deserve every happy moment you are given or can create.”

  The trio had stepped out through the heavy doors of the church and were walking slowing to the car when Oliver pointed toward Savannah’s feet. “Look! Yer cat’s got somethin’ there. What is that?”

  Savannah quickly stopped and looked down, saying, “Oh my gosh. This is embarrassing. Raaags!” she scolded.

  Just then, Pastor David walked out onto the porch alcove, one hand shading his eyes. “Excuse me,” he shouted, “have you seen…?”

  The trio turned and pointed at the cat.

  “Well, I’ll be,” he said. He walked toward Rags, leaned over and picked up the small verse book. He laughed heartily. “Now that’s a first.”

  “Not for him, I’m afraid,” Savannah said sheepishly.

  The pastor laughed again. “He’s a klepto?”

  Savannah nodded.

  “Well, I’ll be.”

  “In fact, he’s the one who found that medallion thing,” Iris admitted. “He’s a real trinket finder—a metal detector…”

  “A thief,” Savannah said chuckling.

  The pastor rubbed his chin. “Have you ever thought about…um…finding him a new home?”

  “Constantly,” Savannah admitted. She petted him. “Why?”

  He grinned. “Well, on those Sundays when the collection plate’s a little light, I thought maybe he could pull tens and twenties and hundreds out of the pockets of some of our tighter parishioners.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Savannah picked up Rags. “Hey, I’ll keep you in mind if he becomes too much for me. In the meantime, I think I’ll keep him.”

  Rags must have liked hearing that, as he put his front paws on her shoulders and rubbed his face against hers.

  Chapter 11

  It was a lazy Sunday morning at the Iveys’ two weeks later. Peter and Rochelle had arrived the Thursday before. Their art show had ended on Saturday and they were eager to join everyone at the friends-and-family luncheon after church.

  “So Iris is having it again?” Gladys asked.

  Savannah nodded. “Yes. The weather has been lovely and her yard is so inviting she wanted to share it with us.” She smiled. “It’ll be their first time entertaining in their gardens.”

  “Great,” Michael said. “I’d like to get some ideas for our yard.” When Savannah looked at him, he explained, “You said you wanted some flowers and pathways and garden doodads to spruce up our place.”

  Savannah’s face lit up. “Yes, I do.”

  “Your yard doesn’t need all that,” Rochelle said. “You have that great wrap-around porch for entertaining and relaxing.”

  “Yeah,” Savannah whined, “but…”

  “Yeah, but…” Michael laughed. “Yeah, but what?”

  “I want more flowers. I love the cottage look of Iris’s yard.”

  “You don’t live in a cottage,” Michael reminded her.

  She looked at him. “I guess you’re right.”

  Peter chuckled. “Yeah, it would take an awful lot of flowers to give this place a cottage look.” He had an idea. “How about choosing an area of the yard to plant the way you want—like that grassy area out front where you have those big fluffy flowers?”

  “The hydrangeas?” Savannah said. She smiled at Peter. “Not a bad idea.”

  She glanced at the clock, stood, and lifted the baby from his high chair. “Bath time, little one.” She announced to the others, “We leave for church in forty minutes.”

  Rochelle stood and reached for Teddy. “Oh, let me.”

  Savannah looked at her. “What?”

  “Let me give him a bath. Could I?”

  “Yeah, if you’re sure. You might get splashed.”

  “All the better,” she said, laughing. She took the baby from Savannah. “Where do you do it?”

  “Outside in the horse trough,” Michael said, straight-faced. When Rochelle looked at him he burst out laughing.

  She gave him a disgusted look and walked toward the nursery with Teddy and Savannah.

  ****

  “I loved the sermon today,” Savannah said as she, Rochelle, and Lily approached Craig’s and Iris’s front door. Michael and Peter strolled along behind them with Teddy.

  “It was meaningful,” Rochelle said. “Very nice.” She looked around at the cars that were pulling into the Sledge’s property. “Is Pastor Sheila coming here today? I’d like to talk to her about it.”

  “Maybe,” Savannah said. “Yes, it is a topic worth discussing, isn’t it?” When Iris opened the front door, Savannah smiled and joked, “Are you ready for this? You’re being invaded again.”

  “Of course,” Iris said, greeting the two couples and the children. “While we were getting our weekly sermon, Mattie was preparing our lunch.” She held her hands out in a carefree manner. “What is there to do, but enjoy our guests?” Iris turned to Rochelle and she glanced at Peter. “You two know everyone, don’t you?”

  “I think so,” Rochelle said. “I met Savannah’s sister and Bud at the church.” When Damon walked up carrying Rosemary, Rochelle said, “I don’t believe I’ve met this young man.” She smiled sweetly. “And this cute little girl.”

  “Damon’s my son.” Iris kissed the baby. “And this is my beautiful granddaughter, Rosemary.”

  “Oh yes, she is beautiful.” Rochelle offered her hand to Damon. “So nice to meet you. I met your wife earlier; Colbi, right?”

  Damon nodded and shook hands with Rochelle and then Pet
er. Just then they heard a voice from inside announce, “It’s ready,” and Iris excused herself to help Mattie serve the meal.

  When nearly everyone had been seated outdoors, and the food was on the tables, Iris remembered something else. “A serving spoon for the pasta salad,” she said. She walked back into the house.

  Rochelle stood up. “And I’d better get my hat.”

  “Are you allergic to the sun?” Craig asked. “I can move that umbrella.”

  Rochelle looked around. “Just sensitive,” she said. “My dermatologist says I should try to protect my skin.” She pointed. “It’s mostly shady out here; I’ll be all right with my hat on.” When Rochelle was heading back outside with her hat, eager to dig into the wonderful food Mattie had prepared, something stopped her.

  “Oops,” Iris said when she nearly bumped into Rochelle. “Sorry.” She held up a serving spoon. “Needed another one of these.” Feigning frustration, she said, “I hope I’ll finally get to eat.” Iris studied Rochelle for a moment, then said more quietly, “You felt it, didn’t you?” She put one hand up to her mouth and said, “Oh, my God, it’s still here, isn’t it?”

  Rochelle looked suspiciously at Iris. “Don’t tell me you’ve moved into a house with spirits.”

  “Are you saying it actually is haunted?” Iris squeaked. “That really is a spirit I’m sensing?”

  Rochelle took a deep breath. “Well, it could be. It was pretty strong. Nearly knocked me off my feet.” She squinted at Iris. “So you’re aware of it are you?”

  Iris thinned her lips, looked around to see who might be listening and said, “Yes, but I thought it had something to do with that Oliver Silver thing.”

  “Oh, the Scottish man and his fake curse?”

  “Yes, I felt something before ever meeting Oliver. Then when he came that day and told us his family had left something here, I thought maybe he meant a spirit—that they had buried a family member on this property.” She shrugged. “Maybe they did, and he doesn’t know about that.” She glanced around the room and said more quietly, “Then I learned that one of the workers involved in building this house disappeared during the construction of it and I wondered if he died here. Maybe it’s his spirit.” She laughed nervously. “There is also the probability that I was imagining things.” She grabbed Rochelle’s hand. “But you say there is something here? There really is a spirit in my house? I can’t believe it. Rochelle, tell me more. Who do you think it is? What are you getting from it?”

  Rochelle took a deep breath and cocked her head as if listening or maybe trying to decipher an impression she was receiving. “I’m not sure, Iris, but I might be able to learn more if I were to spend some quiet time with it. Sometimes they have a message, especially when they reach out and grab you like this one just did.”

  “He grabbed you?” Iris shrieked.

  “Well, so to speak.” Rochelle started to say something more when Margaret stepped into the house.

  Margaret saw the serving spoon in Iris’s hand and grabbed it. “Hey, we’re waiting on you two. Come on, let’s eat.” When she saw the faraway look in Iris’s eyes, she asked, “Is everything all right?”

  Iris took a deep breath and smiled. “Well, it depends on whose point of view you’re asking for, Maggie.”

  “Huh?” Margaret muttered.

  Iris put her arm across Margaret’s shoulders, then Rochelle’s, squeezing them a little as she guided them toward the back door. She sounded giddy when she said, “Yes, everything here is just fine.” She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. “I think it’s going to be a rather interesting summer, actually.”

  Patricia Fry and Her Books

  From Patricia Fry

  I’m delighted that you’ve stopped by to learn more about the behind the scenes activities here at the Klepto Cat Mystery factory. Welcome fans and future fans of Rags, the clever klepto cat and his feline, equine, canine, and human friends. I’ve been writing for publication since 1973 when I submitted my first article to Horse and Horseman Magazine. Motivated by their exuberant acceptance and a passion for writing, I was able to create a freelance writing business that I pursued for the following forty years. In 1978, I wrote my first book and it was published by the first publisher I contacted, A.S. Barnes. Five years later, I established my own publishing company, Matilija Press, and began producing additional books on a variety of subjects—all nonfiction. Keep in mind that my tools would be considered primitive by today’s standards. I started my career using a manual typewriter and a lot of white-out. (For those of you under fifty, that’s how we used to correct our mistakes on a typewritten page—by painting them out and typing over them.) There was no Internet then, so I mailed my submissions and received the yay or nay by snail mail, as well. Everything moved slower in those days. For example, it took me five years to research and write my 300-page book, The Ojai Valley, An Illustrated History. (And I’d graduated to an electric typewriter by then.) Now, I’m producing six books per year. When the computer became commonplace in our homes, everyone who ever wanted to write began writing—their memoirs, their grievances, poetry, novels, how-to books… And many of them came to me for advice. Long-story short, I started presenting workshops on the business of writing—publishing and promotion. And I wrote numerous books on these topics. For years, I traveled throughout the United States and beyond speaking at writers conferences. And I began consulting with hopeful authors and established an editing business to go along with my writing work. In 2012, I attended a class reunion and realized that I was the only one from my class who wasn’t retired. I had to ask myself, “Self, why aren’t you retired?” The answer came quickly. “Because I love what I’m doing.” As part of my routine, I would stop every few years and evaluate my career, asking myself, among other things, “Are you still having fun?” And I always responded, “Yes!” Certainly, I’d make a few adjustments in my business. I might decide I’d rather do more consulting or more speaking engagements, for example. However, when I did my evaluation in 2012, my answer had changed. I knew that I wanted to continue writing, but I was feeling a little burned out with the world of nonfiction. That’s when I decided to do something I’d never done before. Patricia Fry, the dedicated nonfiction—no-nonsense—writer and speaker was going to write a novel—a cozy mystery. And the Klepto Cat Mystery series was created. By the time you read this, in May-June of 2017, Book 23, Cattywampus Travels will be published. This brings my total of published books to 65—and counting!! Now, when I ask, “Self, are you having fun?” I respond with a loud and clear “Absolutely!” I’m having the time of my life. And I hope my joy comes through in my stories and you are having fun, too.

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