The Escapee and the Case of the Cat-Napper (A Pattie Lansbury Cat Cozy Mystery Series Book 3)

by Nancy C. Davis

  “Of course. Lead the way.”

  They sat on the couch with their dinner for two spread out on the coffee table. Pattie made a pot of Darjeeling to enjoy with the sandwiches and snacks that Elliott had brought, and they settled with their legs stretched out and toes wriggling, much to the delight of the kittens.

  “It’s getting to be a rather full household,” Elliott said with a smile, as three silvery kittens jumped onto his outstretched legs and wiggled their bums before jumping for his toes. “Ouch! They’re only little, but their teeth are already nice and sharp!”

  Pattie poured the tea. “I’ve already put out an advertisement, so I’m sure they’ll all be snapped up now that they’re almost old enough. As soon as they’re twelve weeks old, they’ll be off to their new families!”

  “Will you be sad to see them go?”

  “Oh, I’ve said goodbye to enough cats these last six years. Ever since I opened Pat’s Whiskers, I knew the score. It doesn’t mean I love them any less – the little blighters!”

  “Well, it looks like things are going well with the veterinary business. Are you glad I twisted your arm into opening it?” he asked with a wink.

  Pattie took of her spectacles to clean them. “I’m not so sure yet! It’s tiring, and I only have limited resources right now despite the investor’s funding, and I still have to figure out all these blasted computers…”

  “I know that you can handle it, Patricia,” Elliott assured her calmly. “So, who is this fancy investor, anyway? You never told me.”

  “Oh, now, Elliott, you can’t expect me to tell you all my secrets, can you?” she replied with a twinkle in her eye. “Finish your sandwich. If you’re good, I’ll let you help me clean out fifteen litter trays!”

  Chapter Two

  Mrs Atkinson stroked Samson’s long white fur. Samson was a grossly overweight cat with a wrinkled face. He flicked his bushy white tail as Mrs Atkinson stroked him like a villain in a spy film.

  “Good morning, Mrs Atkinson. How are you today?” asked Pattie. She had barely finished her first cup of tea of the morning, and already she had three people sitting on chairs in her hallway waiting to have their little pets tended to.

  “I’m very well, thank you Patricia, but it’s Samson we’re here for.”

  Pattie peered over her glasses at Samson’s unimpressed expression. “And how is the gentleman?”

  “He’s been rather under the weather. He’s won’t eat his food and throws up occasionally. I wonder if it isn’t a giant hairball he hasn’t been able to cough up yet?”

  “May I see him?” Pattie reached over the desk, and Mrs Atkinson handed over the limp, dour cat. “How old is Samson now? Seven?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “He’s a purebred, I see.”

  “Of course.”

  Pattie tenderly pressed Samson’s abdomen. At a certain point of pressure, he squirmed and let out a faint meow. “Well, it’s not a hairball. Have you heard of PKD?”

  “No,” said Mrs Atkinson, looking concerned. “What is that?”

  “Polycystic Kidney Disease. It’s very common in Persians. Don’t worry, you haven’t done anything wrong: it’s an inherited condition. Samson probably has some cysts on his kidneys that are making him uncomfortable. Has he been peeing a lot? And drinking more water?”

  “Yes, much more.”

  “Well, I’ll have to do an ultrasound to be sure, but I won’t have the equipment until next month. It would be worth you taking him to a vet in the city for a scan.”

  Mrs Atkinson looked almost close to tears. “Oh, Patricia! Is there any treatment?”

  Pattie smiled. “We probably caught it early, so I’m sure Samson will be fine for quite a few years yet. He’ll get some medicine and supplements for calcium, potassium and iron. Feed him wet food from now on, which should help, and make sure his water’s always fresh and clear. Here’s a number for a vet with the proper equipment, he’s the one I go to – tell him that Pattie Lansbury sent you.”

  Mrs Atkinson kissed Samson on the nose, blubbering, “Oh, I don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost my little man! Thank you, Patricia!”

  “Don’t mention it,” Pattie replied graciously. “Is there anything else I can help with?”

  “There is, actually – I almost forgot!” Mrs Atkinson dug around in the deep pockets of her overcoat and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “This is a ‘missing’ poster for Audrey Fredrikson’s cat, Lister. He disappeared last week.”

  “The ragdoll?” asked Pattie, answering her own question when she opened the folded poster and saw the greyscale photo of the stripy-faced Lister. “But Robert and Audrey usually keep him indoors. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him other than through their living room window. I’m surprised they let him out.”

  “Apparently he dashes out sometimes, but never even leaves the garden. But he’s been gone since last Thursday, and that’s eight days now. Audrey wondered if you wouldn’t mind putting this where your patients might see it, just in case they’ve seen him? She’s so distraught.”

  “Of course, that’s no problem. I was meaning to give her a call and catch up, anyway. I’m sure she’ll feel better with a bit more reassurance.”

  “Thanks, Patricia,” replied Mrs Atkinson, with a genuinely affectionate smile Pattie had never seen before. “I know we don’t always see eye to eye, but what you’re doing here is a godsend to this village. Thank you!”

  Mrs Atkinson left with Samson clutched tightly in her arms. The door hadn’t finished closing before she put her head back in, complete with one of her favourite flouncy hats. “Patricia? There’s a gentleman out here to see you…”

  “Oh? Thank you, I’ll come out to speak with him…” Pattie replied, wondering who it could be. Her other two appointments awaiting her were both ladies – she’d seen them waiting in the hallway.

  Pattie stepped out into the hall, full of curiosity.

  Chapter Three

  It was Roland Charles. He’d been in the village for about a year, an ex-farmer of sixty-plus who was unmarried. Other ladies in Little Hamilton had commented that he seemed to hate women, but that was not the experience that Pattie had with Roland. He was surly and irritable, but he seemed to be like that with everyone, no matter the gender.

  “Hello, Mister Charles,” Pattie said politely. “How are you today?”

  “Patricia, I’ll get to the point,” said the man with a frown on his crumpled face. “I just heard about this thing you’ve set up here and I wanted to ask – are you trying to run me out of business?”

  “What business?”

  “My vet service!”

  Pattie was shocked. “I never knew you had a vet service! I’m very sorry, if I’d known then I would certainly have come to talk to you about it first. I always thought that Little Hamilton didn’t have a vet!”

  “Well, it does! And it’s me!”

  “But all the people who’ve come to see me with cats and dogs said they always needed to go to York?” Pattie explained.

  “Cats and dogs? Naw, I only see horses, cows and the like – large animals.”

  Pattie breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, that’s perfect, Mister Charles – I only do small animals! If it’s bigger than a German Shepherd, I’m not interested!”

  Roland scratched his head under his flat cap and gave a craggy, lopsided smile. “Oh, that right? Well, ah … I don’t think there’s any problem, then! I only thought … Well, I suppose I’d best not jump to any conclusions in future! I must’ve seemed very rude, Mrs Lansbury…”

  Pattie smiled and said, “No need to worry! We both have our areas of expertise, and I’m happy that the bigger animals are still being looked after in the village!”

  “Aye, well … Them little one’s, too. Have a good day, Patricia, alright?”

  “You too, Mister Charles!”

  ****

  When Pattie closed shop that evening, she opened the lounge door and found Churchil
l, the little kitten, waiting for her. He was only a tiny little thing, practically weightless when she picked him up, and he hadn’t quite grown into his name yet. But his natural charisma had attracted all his brothers and sisters, and so they were in a group behind him also waiting to be picked up, mewing in their miniature ways and making Pattie’s heart swell with love for them.

  Chapter Four

  By the time two weeks had passed, three of the kittens had been found a home. Pattie was sorry to see them go, of course, and even shed a tear when she gently placed the first of them into a pet carrier for his new owner to take away. Pattie only ever considered owners she was sure would properly look after their new family member, so at least she knew that the kittens would be well loved.

  She gave away the fourth on a Monday morning, and opened up the vet with her mind on other things – wondering how the kitten would like her new home, and whether she would grow up and have a litter of her own some day. It surprised Pattie that she’d felt the same way about her two sons when they’d first gone away to the university, all those years ago. Simon had two lovely children now, a girl and baby boy due in just a few months, but Pattie wondered whether the eldest, Andrew, would ever settle down against after his failed marriage, and the scandal that had caused it to fail.

  She was distracted when she admitted her first customer. The bald, smiling man came in with a pet carrier containing a young ginger tom, who had the usual wide-eyed look that meant “I don’t want to be in this cage! Where the heck am I?”

  “We just got him last week,” said the man. “I came to have him registered and micro-chipped.”

  Pattie was busy trying to get her computer to work. She’d learned how to switch it on, but often forgot that the monitor had its own power switch, and it always took her ten minutes to find the folder where she kept all of her digital notes … In the end she opened her drawer and took out her notepad.

  “Alright, Mister … Smith. What’s his name?”

  “Tyke,” said Mister Smith.

  Pattie frowned. She finally looked up and saw the man who sat on the other side of her desk. She had seen him before. The same denim jacket, the same bald head, the same eyes that avoided looking directly at her. Only the cat was different.

  “Mister Townsend…?”

  The man jerked his head to stare at her.

  Pattie said, “You came to see me about a fortnight ago, to register a cat – a black-and-white, wasn’t it? He was named ‘Tyke’ too…”

  Mister Smith – or Mister Townsend, whichever was to be believed – stood up, blinking rapidly. “Um, I’m sorry, I must be in the wrong place…”

  “Now, hang on a minute,” said Pattie, also standing. “You made an appointment. Why are you using a different name to register this second cat with me? Don’t go—!”

  But the man had no intention of staying. He had already made a grab for the pet carrier whilst pushing his chair out from under him, but he did not get a good grip of the handle and the carrier crashed to the floor. Pattie called out to him, but he had dashed past the other customers waiting in the hallway and was out the front door before Pattie could catch up. By the time she was on her front door step, a blue Citroen was already pealing away from the curb to vanish down Shepherd’s Street in a trail of exhaust fumes.

  What on Earth was that about?

  Pattie apologized to the two people waiting in the hallway. “I’m afraid I need to report a suspected crime, so I’ll have to close for the afternoon. I’m terribly sorry.”

  “Don’t mention it, Mrs Lansbury,” said a young girl with enormous dwarf rabbit on her knees. “I only came to have his toenails clipped. Can I come back tomorrow?”

  “Better make it Wednesday,” said Pattie kindly. “Hop along, now.”

  Once the house was empty of visitors, Pattie locked the front door before returning to the office and picked up the dropped pet carrier, with the poor cat still inside. It was very startled, but seemed uninjured. “Thank goodness,” Pattie said soothingly. “I don’t know what you’re involved in, but I’m sure I’ll get to the bottom of it soon enough!”

  Not wanting to scare the poor thing further, she left him in the carrier and draped a scarf over it. Then she made a cup of Ceylon tea to calm her nerves, before releasing her own cats from the lounge and going back to her office room to think things over.

  “So,” she said aloud, as her ginger cat Jasper leapt up onto the desk to sleep on the keyboard. “We have one man who goes by two names, Smith and Townsend. He has two cats, one black-and-white, and one ginger, like you, Jasper. But he said that they were both called ‘Tyke’.”

  Jasper purred as she stroked him thoughtfully, sipping her hot tea. Hot tea always helped her to think. With everything on the her mind the last few months – a new grandchild on the way, a recently escaped convict with a grudge, not to mention a houseful of kittens – she hadn’t been given the opportunity to test the old grey matter. Pattie thought that, at her age, that it didn’t take long before she lost her edge, and then she’d only be fit for talking to her pets and watching Coronation Street with the sound turned up.

  “Maybe the second cat was stolen,” Pattie said to Jasper, who blinked drowsily at her. “But if so, why on Earth would he come back here and risk getting discovered? And which is his real name – Townsend, or Smith? Luckily, I have a copy of his old vet’s records from the last time…”

  Pattie took out her thick paper file and rifled through until she got to the ‘T’ section. There: Townsend. If she had kept the information on that computer device, it would have taken her ten times as long to find what she wanted! What was wrong with good old fashion paper, anyway…?

  The photocopies showed the name of Tony Townsend, and his cat, Tyke. He’d been registered at a veterinary practice called Sunshine in West Leeds. There was an address, but no phone number. Grudgingly, Pattie switched on her computer monitor. Now, there was a trick to this…

  A few minutes later, Elliott Knight picked up his phone. “Patricia? How are things?”

  “Elliott, I’m on the computer. How do I get onto this Google thingie?”

  “The search engine? Just open your browser and type it in.”

  “Browser … That’s the little fox, isn’t it?”

  “Yes…” Elliott replied. He really was a saint for being so patient with her.

  “Okay, I think I have it … I want to find the phone number of a vet’s in Leeds.”

  “Well, type in the name of the company, and click ‘Search’.”

  “I’m way ahead of you, Doctor! I know this part … Hmmm, none of these results are what I’m looking for. I don’t suppose you have a few minutes sometime this afternoon?”

  “Actually, I’m free for the rest of the evening. I’ll come right over!”

  “I’ll put the kettle on, dear!”

  Elliott was such a darling! Lately he and Pattie had become much closer, and considered one another best friends. The silver-haired widower never seemed to think twice before dropping everything to spend some time with her, and had been such a help whilst the new business was getting up and running. She owed him a lot.

  There was a knock at the door twenty minutes later. The letter flap squeaked open and a voice called, “Technical support!”

  Laughing, Pattie admitted him into her home. As usual, two cats dashed between her legs to run around outside for a while. The kittens were safely in their enclosure, and all the others were outdoor cats or voluntary hermits.

  Once the tea and biscuits had been prepared, Pattie filled in Elliott on the strange encounter with Mister Townsend-Smith, and then showed him the veterinary records. They searched for Sunshine vet’s practice on the internet, but there were ‘no results found’.

  “Either it’s closed and all records erased off the internet, or these papers are a forgery,” said Elliott, stroking his chin. “Considering what you told me about this shady character, I’m inclined to believe the latter.”

  “
But why would he forge false vet papers? If it was his first pet, of course he would have no records anyway, so it would hardly be suspicious if he had no papers.”

  “I’m as baffled as you are, Patricia dear. Should we call the police?”

  “I’m sure one or both of those cats was stolen, so I suppose we had better,” Pattie replied.

  But before Pattie could pick up the phone to dial, the phone rang. She picked it up immediately. “Hello, Patricia Lansbury speaking?”

  She could see Elliott watching her out of the corner of her eye. She listened to the voice on the other end of the phone.

  “Alright,” she said, nodding. “Yes, I understand … Regardless, I can’t allow that … Because although you were the investor, I am the owner of the business, and we agreed that I have the freedom to run it as I please … I appreciate the offer, but the answer is no. I understand – but I’m afraid I must go, something has come up. Thank you for calling. Goodbye.”

  “Who was that?” asked Elliott, once Pattie had put the phone down. “Your mysterious investor? Who is he?”

  “Elliott, as I’ve told you before, I have no interest in discussing the matter of this company’s investor,” Pattie said primly.

  Luckily for her, Elliott was a collected man with a flexible nature. He simply shrugged and took out his mobile. “Let me report the theft to the station, and we’ll see how they’d like to handle it. Meanwhile, how about another biscuit to go with this tea…?”

  Chapter Five

  Pattie admitted to being surprised when Detective Constable Tom Downey appeared at her door half an hour later. “Why, Thomas! I wouldn’t have thought this kind of thing rated highly on your list of crimes?”

  The D.C. smiled and wiped his shoes on the doormat before coming in. “Well, it happens to be a very short list at the moment, Mrs Lansbury! There hasn’t been much happening in Little Hamilton the last couple of months. Not since that business with John Crowley escaping from prison. I do get to see a lot of you lately, don’t I?” he added, winking.