The Cats that Stopped the Magic (The Cats that . . . Cozy Mystery Book 9)

by Karen Anne Golden

  “Did you say we? I don’t want you involved in this.”

  “Hear me out. Maybe after the performance, I can help.”

  “And do what?”

  “Today, in the pet store, I saw these duffel-style cat carriers for sale. There’s a large size that would fit two cats. I could ask my friend Lawrence to help. If you could get us backstage passes, we could wait for the show to be over, then when possible, we’d meet up with you, and transfer the cats from your carrier to ours—”

  “Wait, just a second. If you did that, how would I explain to Harry that his professional cat handler misplaced his star performers? The Siamese are the reason why people come to the show, you know that, right?”

  “You’ll think of something. Lawrence and I will whisk the cats to my car.”

  “The getaway car?” Emma laughed, not taking her grandmother’s plan seriously. “I can picture it now. By the way, who’s Lawrence?”

  “A guy I met online. We’ve been dating for a few months now.”

  “Really?” Emma asked, surprised. “That’s great. Why haven’t you told me?”

  “I guess I wasn’t sure how you’d take it. I know how close you were to your grandfather.”

  “Grandpa passed away a long time ago. I think it’s great you’re seeing someone, but I don’t want my first meeting with your boyfriend to be at the county jail.”

  “Three partners in crime,” Pearl said.

  “I’m not sure your snatching the cats is a good idea. I’m pretty much sure the two of you would never make it outside the backstage door. The Siamese would be very loud — that alone would alert hotel security.”

  “No one is going to pay any mind to a bunch of silver-haired coots. My generation is invisible, didn’t you know.”

  “That’s nonsense, Grammy.”

  “I’ll think of something. We’ve got to rescue those cats before one of them gets hurt.”

  “It’s very sweet of you to want to help, but let me think of a plan — one where I won’t end up in the county lockup. Wearing an orange jumpsuit is not going to put me on the cover of a glamour magazine.”

  “Hee, hee,” Pearl giggled.

  “Ma-waugh,” Cadabra agreed.

  “Raw,” Abra seconded.

  Abra lunged over to Cadabra and playfully bit her on the neck. Cadabra bit her back. This initiated the steeplechase race. The Siamese darted out of the room and thundered up the stairs.

  Emma and Pearl roared with laughter.

  Chapter Seven

  Friday Evening

  From the Catskills, Roy took a train to Penn Station, and got on another train to Oyster Bay. Sitting in the back of the LIRR train car, he lamented at how much time it took to get from his apartment to the resort hotel where the performance would be. He thought, That damn Harry is too cheap to book us rooms to stay at the hotel. Here I am wasting hours to get home.

  He leaned his head back and fell asleep, but didn’t sleep for long. A nagging worry woke him up. He took out his cell and called his aunt, who answered on the fourth ring. She wasn’t in a good mood.

  “How are you, Auntie?” he asked quietly so as to not disturb the other passengers.

  “Quite frankly, I’m not very happy with you. We agreed that you would pay rent on the carriage house. You haven’t paid me a single dime since you moved here,” she complained.

  “I’m a little bit strapped for cash right now. I apologize. I was wondering if you could loan me some money.”

  There was a pause, and then the aunt shrieked into the phone, “Absolutely not. You have a gambling problem. Get help!” She hung up.

  Roy arrived at the carriage house, but didn’t use his key to the front door. He wanted to avoid running into his aunt at all costs. He didn’t want a confrontation with his aunt, who would be sure to complain to his mom. The last thing he wanted was his nosy mother on his back.

  He crept up the back stairs to the second story landing, unlocked the door, and headed to the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator door, he grabbed a bottle of beer, twisted the cap off and took a long, hard drink. Then he sat down at the table, and reflected on how he’d really screwed up this time. He had to get the money to pay off his loan-from-hell, or the mob would be after him. He knew he had a serious gambling problem, but he just couldn’t stop.

  He found his phone and texted his wife to ask when she’d be home. In a few seconds, she answered that she’d stayed later than five o’clock, and a car service was driving her. She’d be home in a few minutes. Earlier in the day, she’d texted that she had gotten a new job. When she finally walked through the door, he hurried to hug her. Holding his wife close, he said, “Jules, I really missed you today. What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

  “We need to celebrate,” Julia said, kicking off her white nurse shoes.

  “And why is that?” he asked, kissing her ear.

  “My new job is at a mansion outside of Oyster Bay. The couple is fantastic. The wife loves cats, and is so nice, it’s unfortunate she has cancer.” Julia’s voiced trailed off.

  “What kind of cancer?”

  “She has a rare thyroid cancer.”

  “Is it treatable?”

  Julia shook her head. “From my experience, this kind of cancer is very difficult to treat.”

  “That’s too bad. Sorry to hear that. Wipe that out of your mind. Would you like to have dinner with me?”

  “Where?” she asked.

  “I’ve made a reservation at our favorite Italian restaurant on the water.”

  “I love that idea.”

  “Oh, before we go, I picked up a playbill for Saturday’s performance.”

  “A playbill? What’s that?” Julia inquired.

  “It’s something the ushers hand out to the audience as they come in. I know how much you love cats. I’m working with a pair of Siamese.”

  “Siamese?” Julia asked, thrilled. “What kind?”

  “Cats,” Roy teased.

  “No, I meant what kind of Siamese? I used to have a seal-point.”

  “They’re seal-points, but they don’t look like your run-of-the-mill Siamese.”

  “Bite your tongue. Siamese are never run-of-the-mill.”

  Roy moved to the table and picked up the playbill. He flipped several pages to the page he’d dog-eared. “Take a look. They look exotic, right?”

  Julia joined Roy at the table. “Good gravy,” she said, aghast.

  Roy looked surprised. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “This cat looks exactly like the one my employer just lost.” She pointed at one of the Siamese.

  “That’s Abra, but trust me, she’s not the lady’s lost cat.”

  “I didn’t mean lost, I meant to say, the cat died. Mrs. Lincoln — that’s my new employer’s name — had a life-size portrait painted with the cat.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Can I have this playbill to show her on Monday?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Maybe her husband can contact your boss to find out where he bought the Siamese. Then he can go to that breeder, and buy one for his wife,” Julia said thoughtfully.

  “I thought you said your employer has cancer?” Roy asked, confused.

  “Yes, she does, but I think a new cat would help her quality of life.”

  Roy burst out laughing. “Jules, you said the couple lives in a mansion. I’d call that an excellent quality of life.”

  Julia affectionately poked her husband on the arm.

  “Well, don’t get too attached to your patient,” he advised.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just got word that the next gig is in Vegas.”

  Julia jaw dropped. “Vegas? We just moved here. I just started a new job.”

  “I told ya when I married you that in my line of work, I travel. I go where the show is, and Harry said it’s going to be in Vegas.”

  “When? For how long?”

  “The Catskills gig ends early September. D
on’t know the dates, but I figure Harry will be moving the show soon thereafter.”

  Julia wore a long face. “I guess I should have known this was the deal when I married you. This is why you wouldn’t let me bring my cat here because you knew we’d be traveling a lot. Right?”

  “Let me wipe that frown off your face,” Roy said, kissing Julia on the lips.

  Julia forced a smile, then asked, “How was your day?”

  “Too long. This commute is killing me. I guess I’m tired, and too hungry to think straight,” he said wearily, then switched gears and asked, “Jules, I assume the couple is rich. Are they filthy rich?”

  “How would I know? I didn’t look in their bank account. Why do you want to know?”

  “No particular reason. I’m just curious about the working conditions of my wife.”

  Julia smiled. “Oh, how sweet. On that note, I’m going to change into something more suitable for a fancy restaurant.”

  “Wait, just a second. When you show the playbill to Mrs. Lincoln, tell her that Magic Harry is retiring Abra, and for the right price, he’ll sell her,” he squinted, lying. “He asked me to be the agent in the sale.”

  Julia looked skeptical. “What? Seriously?”

  “Yes, for real. The darn cat has really been messing up in the rehearsals,” Roy said. “My boss said he wanted to get rid of her and find another cat that would do a better job.”

  “Okay, I’ll mention it Monday. How much is he asking?”

  “Twenty-five thousand dollars.”

  “Twenty-five thousand dollars,” she repeated in disbelief. “That much money for a cat?”

  “Not just a cat, but a stage-performing Siamese from a grand champion bloodline. Harry said he has her papers to prove it.”

  Julia covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. “You’re nuts. I hate it when you tease me.”

  Roy slapped his knee, laughing, “I gotcha on that one. I’m just kidding.”

  “What time is the reservation?” Julia asked, changing the subject.

  Roy looked at his watch. “We’ve got a half-hour.”

  “Let’s stop this cat chat and get ready.”

  Roy pulled his wife into an embrace. “I’m crazy about ya, cupcake.”

  “Ditto, right back at you,” Julia answered.

  Chapter Eight

  Saturday — Opening Night

  The Last Act

  Emma knelt down beside the empty cat carrier and waited for Abra and Cadabra to finish their set and run off the stage. She opened the carrier’s metal gate all the way, and arranged the rumpled cat blanket to cover the bottom.

  During the intermission, she’d talked to Harry. He was in a good mood, and seemed to have forgotten their quarrel over the cat-sized magician’s box. He even asked her to attend the after-show party in his hotel suite. She declined because she wanted to take the Siamese back to her grandmother’s house for the rest of the weekend.

  Kneeling by the carrier, she could tell the performance was going well. The roar of the applause and cheers were almost deafening.

  At the designated time, Abra ran off the stage first, followed by Cadabra. The cats made a beeline straight for the carrier.

  Emma hurriedly shut the door and latched it. “Good girls,” she praised in a soft voice.

  The audience continued clapping. She thought, Wow, Magic Harry and Bardot must be getting a standing ovation.

  Emma looked in at the Siamese. “You must have really done a super job because—” She wasn’t able to finish her sentence.

  Two men came up behind her. One of them hit Emma in the back of the head with something heavy. She blacked out and collapsed on the carrier, which made the cage fall on its side.

  The second man asked, “Shouldn’t we just kill her? She might have seen us, or something.”

  “Shut up, Jimmy. Get moving. Dump her in that room over there,” he pointed.

  “I’m on it, Benny,” the loan shark said, picking up Emma and carrying her to the backstage ladies’ room.

  Benny righted the cat carrier. He dropped a zippered duffel bag next to it. He unzipped it part of the way.

  Inside the carrier, Abra stood in front of Cadabra. Her ears were drawn back and laid flat on top of her head. She hissed. Cadabra snarled. Both cats growled ferociously. Cadabra cried, “Mir-yowl, yowl, yowl.”

  Benny slipped on heavy gloves, reached in, and yanked Abra out by the scruff of her neck. Abra became a thrashing, clawing machine, but her claws and bites were no match for the man’s thick gloves. Benny tightened his grip on her neck. Abra dangled in the air, instinctively bringing up her back legs to claw him.

  “Keep that up, you little bitch, and I’ll kill you.”

  Jimmy returned. “Stop it. We need her alive.”

  “Shut up,” Benny said. He stuffed Abra in the duffel bag and zipped the bag. Abra continued thrashing inside. The two men ran to the exit and left the hotel. A car pulled up and they jumped in.

  Back in the cat carrier, Cadabra collapsed on her side and cried a pitiful “waugh.”

  Harry and Bardot remained on stage, taking their final bows.

  Bardot left the stage before Harry. She wore a blue-sequined bodysuit, with fishnet stockings and high-heeled, strapped shoes. She carried a dozen red roses. She was too caught up in the moment to look where she was going. She stumbled over the cat carrier and came down hard on her knee.

  “Ouch,” she winced, then stood up and bent over to massage her sore knee.

  “Help,” someone cried from the ladies’ room.

  “Who said that?” Bardot asked, looking around.

  “Help,” the voice said again. “I’m in here.”

  Bardot moved to the ladies’ room, opened the door and found Emma sprawled on the floor.

  “What happened to you?” she asked.

  “I’ve been attacked. Get Roy.”

  “Sugar, I’m going to do more than that.” She rushed outside the room and shouted at the top of her lungs, “We need security in here.” She waited a few seconds, then shouted again. “Security!”

  Roy left his position off-stage, right wing, and made his way to the crossover hallway behind the upstage curtain. He was midway through the hall when he heard Bardot shouting. Because the audience was still clapping, he couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from, then Bardot shouted again.

  Roy bolted down the hall and rounded the corner. Bardot stood in front of the ladies’ room.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Call 9-1-1. Emma’s injured,” she said frantically.

  “You call it,” Roy demanded. “I don’t have my cell on me.”

  “Does it look like I have a pocket for my phone in this get-up?”

  “Find a phone. Get going!”

  Roy rushed into the ladies’ room.

  Emma lay on her side in a fetal position. Her hands were clasped behind her head. “Am I bleeding?” she asked.

  “No, it doesn’t look like it. What happened?”

  “Someone hit me on the back of the head.”

  “In the ladies’ room?” Roy asked skeptically.

  “No, Roy, not here, but outside,” she said weakly. “Are the cats okay?”

  “Why? What about the cats?”

  “I was with them when I got hit. Someone must have dragged me in here,” she gasped.

  Bardot returned, wearing a jacket over her skimpy costume. “I went to my dressing room and called an ambulance,” she announced. “Emma, is there anything you need?”

  “Can you go look for my grandmother in the theater or concession area? She has a pass to come back here, but she hasn’t shown up.”

  “I can do that. What does she look like?” Bardot asked.

  “She’s got shoulder-length silver hair. Her name is Pearl.”

  “Wait a sec. I can’t go out there in my costume, but I’ll ask one of the stagehands to get her,” she said, starting to leave.

  Roy said, “Hey, Bardot, wait. Stay with E
mma until I get back. I’ve got to check on the cats.”

  “That’s what I meant to tell you,” Bardot said in her signature gravelly voice. “One of them is missing.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?” Roy asked angrily.

  “Don’t you raise your voice to me,” Bardot countered.

  “Oh, never mind,” he said, leaving the room. He ran to the carrier and looked in on Cadabra. He opened the front gate and reached in. He petted her and spoke in a soothing voice, “It’s going to be okay. Calm down, little girl.”

  “Waugh,” Cadabra whimpered.

  Harry exited the stage and walked over to Roy. “What’s going on here?” he asked gruffly. “Where’s Emma?”

  “Abra’s missing,” Roy said, “and Emma—”

  Harry interrupted, “Are you freaking kidding me? Call security, then get some stagehands and search the back area. Tell them to check the bird room first. The dang cat is probably in there messing with the pigeons. I’m going to find that incompetent Emma—”

  “Harry, stop, Emma has been injured. Someone assaulted her. Bardot called an ambulance; it’s on its way.”

  “So, what does that have to do with my best performer going missing?” Harry asked without empathy.

  “I repeat! Someone hit Emma and stole Abra,” Roy explained angrily, then backtracked, “I mean Abra got out.”

  “Got out? Stolen? Make up your mind. Which one is it?”

  “I meant she got out.”

  Harry quickly summed up the situation. “Oh, I get it. Emma’s injured?” he doubted. “She’s faking. It’s all a ploy for her to steal Abra. She’s wanted her from day one. I’m calling the police and telling them just that.”

  “That’s ridiculous. She’s not faking,” Roy protested.

  “Bull crap. In the meantime, tell Emma, wherever she is, she’s fired. I’ll send her check through the mail.”

  Harry stomped off to his dressing room, shouting “Where’s the dang hotel security?”

  Roy stood motionless, stunned by Harry’s cold behavior. He cursed a few words aloud.

  A stagehand ran down the hall.

  Roy called to him, “Hey, Bryan, could you do me a favor and take this cat carrier to my dressing room, then round up a couple of guys? Harry wants us to search for a missing cat.”