Kat Wolfe Takes the Case

by Lauren St. John

  At Paradise House, she groomed the horses and schooled Charming Outlaw over a few jumps. The Swanns had promised to message her at around 10 a.m. to confirm Ethan’s visit to the stables and Xena’s doggy day care, but by midday, she’d heard nothing.

  Kat didn’t mind waiting. It gave her an excuse to spend longer with Orkaan. She sat on the stable floor with Hero the calico cat on her lap, reading a mystery novel out loud. The black mare’s dark eyes never left her. Friesians were renowned for being fiercely loyal to people who were kind to them, and Kat was keen to build a strong rapport with the horse.

  Five chapters later, she gave up on the Swanns. They’d probably found an older, more glamorous pet-sitter and would have their agent call her later to break the news.

  She was pushing her bike through the orchard when a high-pitched cackle frightened the birds from the cherry trees: ‘YOUR MONEY OR YOUR WIFE? WHICH IS IT GOING TO BE? YOUR MONEY OR YOUR WIFE? WHICH IS IT GOING TO BE? YOUR MONEY OR YOUR WIFE? WHICH IS IT GOING TO BE?’

  Kat had no difficulty recognizing the screechy voice of Harper’s adopted yellow-crowned Amazon parrot. His previous owner had been an action movie fanatic, and Bailey enjoyed shouting out quotes from them. However, it was the first time that the actor who’d originally spoken the lines finished the parrot’s sentence for him.

  ‘Forget it – I’ll take both!’ she heard Ethan Swann say.

  Another cackle. ‘FORGET IT!’ shrieked Bailey. ‘I’LL TAKE BOTH!’

  Kat abandoned her bike and ran up the garden path. To her astonishment, the actor was standing in a flower-bed looking through the Lambs’ partly open living-room window. What on earth was he doing? He hadn’t made an appointment to ride, and, apart from Kat, there was no one in. Harper and her dad were at the harbour with the dinosaur and Nettie had popped out to the farmer’s market.

  There was something so intent and focused about the way he stared into the room that Kat felt a flutter of nerves, though she doubted he was casing the joint. That would be ridiculous. Ethan Swann was a Hollywood star. It was unlikely that he spent his holidays burgling humble country cottages, especially in broad daylight and wearing cowboy boots.

  As if to prove this, there was no trace of guilt or embarrassment in Ethan’s expression when he saw Kat. He didn’t even climb out of the flower bed. He simply crinkled his ice-blue eyes.

  ‘Hey there, Kat the cat-sitter! Do you live here? Whoever’s in that room sounds like he has one of my movies stuck on repeat.’

  Kat laughed. ‘That’s only Bailey. He’s my friend Harper’s Amazon parrot. He loves action films and must have seen one of yours.’ She pointed as Bailey flapped into view, alighting on the model of the oviraptor the Lamb’s kept on their dining room table. ‘That’s him there, on top of the dinosaur. Harper’s father’s a palaeontologist. He’s the one who discovered the Jurassic Dragon last week.’

  ‘Professor Lamb? Yeah, we heard about the great discovery.’ Ethan leaned through the window again. ‘Is that the magic dragon that’s been in the news? Shouldn’t it be in a glass case with an infrared alarm on it or something?’

  Kat stifled a giggle. ‘That’s a different type of dinosaur, and it’s only a model. The real dracoraptor is under twenty-four-hour guard at the harbour.’

  ‘Oh, sure, I thought it was too easy. Out here in the middle of nowhere.’ Impatiently, he shook his corn-coloured fringe from his eyes. ‘Good to know the real dragon’s safe.’

  Kat had no idea what he was talking about. She wondered if he was a trifle dim. Just because he’d played a neuroscientist in Saving Billy didn’t mean he was brain-surgeon bright in real life. ‘Would you like to see the stables?’ she asked. ‘I’ve turned Orkaan out, but I can saddle her up for you, no problem.’

  Ethan followed her to the field, where he made her day by insisting that if he’d been aware of Charming Outlaw’s existence prior to filming Fire Racer, ‘we woulda cast this fella instead. You say he’s fast?’

  ‘On the track, he was nicknamed the Pocket Rocket,’ Kat said proudly.

  Though he’d come dressed to ride, the actor told Kat not to bother fetching a bridle. He seemed agitated, as if he couldn’t wait to get away. ‘The GPS led me astray on the way here and now I’m all outta time. Alicia and I have plans. I’ll take Orca for a spin another day.’

  ‘Orkaan,’ Kat said automatically.

  ‘Right.’

  At the gate, she watched him fire up a silver Aston Martin V12 Vanquish. He leaned out of the window. ‘So long, Kat. I’ll be in touch.’

  The sports car sped off along the leafy country lane, growling like a discontented tiger. As Kat collected her bike, a puzzling detail popped into her head. If it was impossible to miss hearing the Aston Martin go, why hadn’t she heard it arrive?

  Twenty minutes later, Kat was cycling along the coastal path, still puzzling over the actor’s behaviour. Mario Rossi was staying in the holiday park near Durdle Door, a natural limestone arch that always reminded Kat of a horse bowing its head to drink from the sea. Beyond it was Man O’War Bay. She’d spent many glorious hours racing Charming Outlaw along its caramel sands.

  She paused there to do some deep breathing. Getting into a positive state of mind was important. If Mr Bojangles did turn out to be a slavering pit bull, Doberman or Rottweiler, it was critical that he didn’t scent her fear.

  Mario’s motorhome was parked at the far end of the holiday park. It was twice the size of its neighbours and had a sleek, dark grey chassis and blacked-out windows. As she slid the tiger key card into a silver slot, Kat was encouraged by the silence. Any decent guard dog would have been baying at the door by now. Either Mr Bojangles wasn’t as temperamental as Mario had made out, or he was a heavy sleeper.

  The door hissed open. Cautiously, Kat stepped inside. The first thing she noticed was the temperature. Perhaps because he hailed from the sunny Mediterranean, Mario liked his home on the hot and humid side.

  Kat stared around in mild awe. The place was wall-to-wall chrome, with black and cream fittings. On a fold-out walnut desk, a laptop screensaver scrolled through striking photographs of elephants, tigers, beluga whales and rhinos. A high-spec audio and video set-up took up one wall. Noise-cancelling headphones curled over a hook.

  There was no evidence of any living animal. No squeaks, tweets, snuffles, meows or growls.

  ‘Mr Bojangles?’ Kat called softly.

  The silence was more unnerving than a snarling German shepherd would have been. At least then she’d have known what she was dealing with. This way, her imagination went directly to panthers and piranhas. Beasts with big teeth and claws - and a taste for pet-sitters.

  What if Mr B wasn’t a dog at all? Come to think of it, Mario had only ever talked about his ‘pet’. Then there’d been the confusion over his name. She’d thought he’d said ‘Simon’. What rhymed with Simon? Lion? Scorpion? Bison?

  And what type of animal inspired such a grand moniker as Mr Bojangles? Was he a cat with issues, like Tiny? Or something exotic – a monkey, say? Kat scanned the tops of the cabinets. Was he hiding somewhere, ready to pounce?

  Or did she have the time wrong? Could Mario have taken his poodle, ferret or alligator out for a walk? No, that didn’t make sense. He’d hardly have paid her a fortune if he’d been around to entertain Mr B himself.

  The galley kitchen smelt of garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, fresh basil and pasta. Kat found that comforting. On the counter was a note.

  Hi, Kat,

  Thanks for taking on Mr B at such short notice! Don’t worry about feeding him. He’s a fussy eater, and it’s easier if I do it. Have fun!

  Mario

  While Kat was relieved not to have to deal with Mr B’s defrosted food, it also meant that she couldn’t rely on a bag of coley fish, for example, to provide clues as to his species. She was beginning to think he must be a hamster, skink or leopard gecko kept in a cage or tank. That would explain why he hadn’t greeted her.

  She crept around the motor
home like a spy on the prowl. There was nothing furry amid the sofa cushions, and no tanks or cages near Mario’s work station or in the shower cubicle. Two yacht-style cupboards looked promising. One was locked. Kat investigated the other, but it too was a pet-free zone. The only item of interest was a box on a low shelf containing a brand-new helmet, wetsuit and buoyancy aid.

  Kat was surprised. Mario had told her he was doing a coasteering course. If that was true, why hadn’t he taken his protective gear? He’d need it if he planned on cliff jumping, rock climbing and swimming in dangerous sea caves. But perhaps he was only a beginner, learning basic skills on dry land before attempting the cliffs and deadly currents of the Jurassic Coast.

  She moved into Mario’s bedroom, where she was horrified to see a snakeskin cushion propped against the pillows. Kat loathed people who considered wild-animal parts to be fun home accessories, and she decided at once to return the man’s money and sack him as a client. He could find some other sap to take care of his mystery pet!

  Mind made up, she redoubled her efforts to locate Mr B. She couldn’t leave the creature lonely, or his cage or tank grubby, just because his owner had terrible judgement.

  At the foot of the bed was a black-lacquered cabinet covered by a cloth printed with dragons. Gingerly, she lifted a corner. Beneath it was a glass-fronted vivarium – the type that housed snakes and Bearded Dragons. It was decorated with a grapevine and live greenery. Bark chips and newspaper lined the floor, and a large water bowl sat in one corner. The fact that there was a heating pad at one end and a cool area at the other suggested it might be home to a python or boa constrictor. The lid was askew, leaving a gap.

  Kat glanced at the bed and her pulse rate tripled. The snakeskin ‘cushion’ was gone! And she’d thought Ethan was dim!

  Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Kat practically levitated with fright. If it was Mario, she was going to tell him off for failing to warn her that his pet was an escape-artist python.

  Or was she? Here was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to hang out with what she guessed was a royal or ‘ball’ python, so named because they curled into a tight ball if they felt threatened. Rather than being cross with the Italian, she should thank him for trusting her with Mr B.

  She flipped open her phone. The Dark Lord was calling.

  Kat was stunned. Not a word from her grandfather in months, and he deigned to ring now, while she was on her hands and knees attempting to gauge from a safe distance whether there was a snake under the bed. Much as she liked pythons, it was disturbing to have one on the loose in a strange motorhome. She’d have let the call go to voicemail if she’d thought he’d bother to try again this side of Christmas.

  ‘Hi, Grandfather.’ She kept her tone casual, as if they chatted every day.

  ‘Katarina, thank goodness I’ve reached you. How are you? That is to say, are you safe and well?’

  ‘Totally safe and extremely well. How are you?’

  ‘I, err – look, it’s daft, really. I just had a sixth sense you needed urgent help.’

  Kat got to her feet, mouthing, ‘Oh my god’ at her phone. How did he intuit these things? It was uncanny. ‘Ha, that’s funny! No, everything’s OK in Bluebell Bay,’ she lied. ‘Thanks for checking. I’m just, you know, busy pet-sitting.’

  He sounded relieved. ‘Anything interesting?’

  ‘The usual. Cats, dogs and – eek!’ Something cool had brushed against her ankle.

  ‘Did you say eels?’

  In the split second it took Kat to react, a five-foot-long royal python had whipped its coils around her ankles, binding her legs together. ‘Exotic p-pets, I mean. S-some people have them.’

  ‘Nothing deadly, I hope.’

  Mr Bojangles tightened his grip. Kat let out a squeak. ‘Hope not!’

  ‘Kat, are you sure you’re being truthful? You’re not in some kind of difficulty?’

  ‘I’m a bit tied up, that’s all. Nothing I can’t handle.’

  ‘I’ll be brief then. I was wondering . . . That is to say, if it’s acceptable to you and your mother . . . and if you’ve not made other plans . . . I’d love you both to come to Hamilton Park for the weekend. I have horses.’

  Kat was finding it hard to concentrate. The python thought she was a tree. Or dinner. He squeezed lovingly. Then not so lovingly. Kat lost the battle to stay upright. Toppling backwards onto the bed, she lay there like an upended beetle, her legs in the air, snake still attached. His coils were cold and unexpectedly heavy.

  There was an edge to the Dark Lord’s voice. ‘Look, I’ve obviously caught you at a bad time. Talk it over with your mother. If you don’t wish to visit, I’ll understand.’

  Kat’s stomach muscles contracted as she reached for the tip of the python’s tail. If she could get a firm grip, she could unwrap him. The snake drew back his head to strike, tongue flickering. Pythons weren’t venomous, but they had four rows of teeth at the top of their mouth and two rows on the bottom and could inflict a nasty bite. Slowly, so as not to alarm Mr B, Kat withdrew her hand.

  ‘But I do wish to visit,’ she said breathlessly down the phone.

  ‘You do?’

  Royal pythons had a reputation for being gentle, curious pets, unless they’d been ill-treated or wild-caught, in which case all bets were off. Kat hoped Mario was right about his python’s good heart. She smiled up at the snake, picturing her grandfather’s face if he could see her now. ‘I’d love to stay at Hamilton Park. And meet your horses.’

  ‘Excellent. The invitation extends to your friend Harper Lamb too. She’s most welcome if it’s something she’d enjoy.’

  ‘Thanks, Grandfather. Harper’s helping her dad with the Jurassic Dragon, but I’ll check if she’s free. Did you hear about Professor Lamb’s big find on the news?’

  The line crackled.

  ‘Grandfather? Grandfather, are you there?’

  The snake hissed irritably.

  ‘Be careful, Kat,’ the Dark Lord said at last. ‘These things have a habit of stirring up strong passions in unscrupulous people. I wouldn’t want you to get in the way of them.’

  The python was squeezing again; Kat’s feet had gone numb. ‘Sorry, Grandfather – I have to go. The pet I’m sitting is threatening to eat me if I don’t play with him.’

  He laughed. ‘Well, I wouldn’t want that. Tell your mother I’ll be in touch about the weekend. And Kat . . .’

  ‘Yes, Grandfather.’

  ‘I hope you’re aware that if you ever are in trouble, I’m here for you.’

  He hung up without waiting for a response. Kat tossed her phone aside and devoted all of her energy to unwrapping the python. Thankfully, it was easily done now she had both hands free.

  Grateful to have escaped being bitten (likely) or crushed (unlikely), she set about cleaning the vivarium and changing the water. Despite their shaky start, she was confident that she and Mr B would become friends. She liked his adventurous spirit.

  Her phone rang from the folds of the duvet as she was draping him over his grapevine. Securing the vivarium lid, she dived for it. ‘Hey, Harper.’

  ‘Kat, I have to be quick because Sergeant Singh’s pulling up outside, blue lights flashing. You’re not going to believe what we’ve found. Not me exactly, but the dog. Kat, she found . . . she found . . .’ Harper broke off, too distressed to continue.

  ‘You’re scaring me, Harper. Slow down. Breathe. Which dog? What have you found?’

  ‘A skull . . .’

  ‘Another dinosaur skull?’

  ‘A human skull! Alicia’s Pomeranian dug it up.’

  ‘A human skull!’ Kat couldn’t believe her ears. ‘How did Alicia’s Pom get the chance to dig up a skull? Are there bodies buried under the patio at the Majestic? Or is it an ancient head – a Roman soldier or something?’

  ‘Long story and, no, that’s what’s so upsetting. It’s too soon to say how or when the person died, but Dad thinks it might be a male victim of a cliff fall in Bluebell Bay two years ago.
We found the skull mixed in with the rocks and fossils from the beach.’

  The hairs stood up on the back of Kat’s neck. She’d come within a whisker of being crushed by rocks herself. ‘Harper, I’m on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes, max. And don’t worry. If there’s any mystery about this skull, we’ll solve it together.’

  She pulled the dragon cloth over the vivarium, ignoring the snake’s baleful gaze. Dragons and skeletons. They were everywhere.

  ‘Would anyone like a crumpet with coconut cream and maple syrup?’ asked Edith Chalmers, head librarian at the Armchair Adventurers’ Club, on Friday morning. ‘They’re well known for combating nerves.’

  ‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ said Harper, sinking into a bean bag. ‘It doesn’t seem right to eat when a man has died.’

  ‘Ages ago, according to your dad,’ Kat pointed out, putting two crumpets on a plate and flopping down beside her best friend. ‘That doesn’t make it any less sad, but I doubt he’d mind if we had breakfast.’

  Edith settled on the sofa beside Toby, her golden retriever. ‘Your consideration and compassion are admirable, Harper, but it’s also important to keep your strength up. If Sergeant Singh and the coroner have uncovered a suspicious cause of death overnight, we may have a new mystery on our hands.’

  Harper hid a smile. When Kat began dog walking for Edith not long after moving to Bluebell Bay, the retired school librarian had been ‘on the shelf’, as she herself put it. Isolated and frail, she’d faced a future devoid of thrills in a soulless, cabbage-scented retirement home.

  What everyone, including her own son, had lost sight of was that Edith had a librarian’s encyclopaedic knowledge and radical gifts – for much of her seventy-something years, she had been stepping boldly through the portal of the pages in her library to climb Everest, outwit smugglers and assassins, sail the high seas, hike the Silk Road, swim with dolphins or dance Swan Lake.

  Rounding the world in eighty days was all in a day’s work for her. And, naturally, she’d learned a thing or two about unravelling mysteries along the way.