by A M Bostwick
“I appreciate this, you two.” Aero paused. “It was about this time yesterday when she went missing.”
I said nothing, lost in thought.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for the mailman to arrive,” Aero observed, examining the sun’s position in the sky. “I have to chase after him, barking and snapping and portraying a ferocious, vicious canine who’d like to eat his shorts.”
“Of course. You’ve got your job, and we’ve got ours,” I replied.
CHAPTER FOUR
One thing about the newspaper business is you never know where a story is going to take you. Each day is different; a new adventure, a fresh angle, an event you’d never expect. It keeps me on the tips of my furry toes, and maybe that’s why I like it so much.
But this detective business? This was another breed of cat entirely. Sure, I knew the pressure of a tight deadline. I understood the frustrations of not being able to work out every detail of the story. It was nothing, however, compared to the thought of a lost and helpless cat. It was nothing compared to the risk someone could be hurt.
Still before the lunch hour and still in the neighborhood, Sloan and I decided to check out the home of Uno, Dos, and Tres. There was no time to waste.
Ellin’s house was about half a mile down the road, smaller than her sister’s yet still a sprawling estate with climbing grape vines covering the impressive brick structure. The leaves were turning from green to a deep purple, the foliage crisp and crumbly as they prepared to go dormant for the winter. Perfectly trimmed bushes and a manicured lawn reflected a gardener on staff here as well. It didn’t look like she needed more money. The house was set back from the road up a winding, uphill driveway. Strolling up it alongside the scenery was nice if you liked to pant.
Catching our breath under a late-blooming pink hydrangea bush, Sloan and I considered our next move.
“I wish Aero could have warned the three cats we were coming,” gasped Sloan.
“He’s a busy watchdog; we could hardly ask him to take out his calling card,” I wheezed back. “Okay, let’s think for a minute.”
“And breathe.”
“If you were a show cat living at this mansion, what would you be doing at 11 a.m.?”
“Rolling in catnip with a side of caviar.”
I gave him the “get serious” eye.
“Okay, okay. I’d probably be on the sun porch like the one Ruby has,” Sloan said.
“Good thinking. Let’s stick to the side of the house and see if we can spot the cats in the window. If we don’t spy any humans, we’ll knock on the door,” I advised.
Sloan nodded in agreement and we began our slow course around the expansive homestead. We were much more cautious this time, still getting over the shock of coming face-to-face with Aero. The next pooch might not be so understanding.
Underneath the sun porch, Sloan and I listened intently for signs of life. Hearing none, we slinked up the steps and peered inside the screened-in porch via the full-glass door. Wicker furniture with thickly padded cushions lined the room. Morning sunbeams poured in, reflecting off the glass dining table where I could imagine a Sunday morning brunch taking place. Ferns hung from the ceiling in complementing wicker baskets. In the far corner, I spotted a towering, carpeted cat tree. On three of the levels were three identical tortoiseshell Himalayan cats. Uno, Dos, Tres, I counted.
“What do we do?” Sloan asked quietly. The cats were obviously sleeping soundly.
“We interrupt them. This is official businesses,” I said with uncertainty. Waking up a cat, much less three, is considered somewhat suicidal in many societies.
Oh, well.
Sitting on my back legs, I pawed at the door. No movement. I pounded on the door harder. No response. Sloan and I both rapped on the door. I think one of the cats flinched a whisker, but still, nada.
“Excuse me? Helllooo?” I finally yowled.
The cat on the top shelf turned to stare at me through the slits of her eyelids. Her yellow eyes were irritated and unwelcoming. Her squished face appeared especially mean, pinched with fatigue and annoyance.
“We do not feed strangers,” she hissed.
At that, the other two cats stirred and looked at the cause of their morning nap disturbance. Their pancake-flat faces replicated the angry notion of the first. With all six eyes fixed upon us, I felt just dreadful.
“Ma’am? I mean miss? My name is Ace, I’m a reporter, and this is Sloan. We’re on a story.”
The lower two cats stood up, turned, and laid back down with their backs to us. The first cat didn’t move, but didn’t look any kinder than she had to begin with.
“We’re investigating the mysterious circumstances surrounding your neighbor and relative, Ruby the Russian,” I said nervously.
That loosened the cat’s tongue.
“You don’t say?” purred the top cat, leaping down. “Come on in, our person is out for another few hours.” The others stood up, yawned, and gazed upon us with a mixture of mild interest and utter disgust.
The first cat took a single, graceful dive to open the porch door. It swung open, and the cat gestured with a bushy paw for us to come inside.
“So kind of you, thank you, miss,” I said with a nod. She finally smiled.
“I’m Uno. This is Dos, and Tres.”
I tried to figure out which was Dos and which was Tres, and then I looked at Uno and tried to figure out how to tell them all apart but quickly got confused. The trio were nearly mirror images of one another.
“Can I get you something? Sparkling water, a dash of milk?” asked Uno.
“No, thank you. We don’t want to take up too much of your time. We’re sorry to disturb you,” I said.
“Indeed, it’s not our style to intrude,” Sloan interjected, smiling a Cheshire cat grin at Tres. Or maybe Dos.
“You’re here about Ruby? Please, come sit on the davenport,” Uno offered.
I didn’t know what the heck a davenport was, but Uno indicated for us to follow her onto a flower-patterned sofa. Dos and Tres leapt onto a nearby chair. I wondered if it had a fancy name as well.
“Yes, that’s right,” I began. “We just came from her house where we spoke with Aero. We’re concerned Ruby may be not only be missing, but stolen. She could be in danger.”
Uno nodded. Dos and Tres stretched out and groomed their fluffy tails. I looked at Sloan, hoping he wouldn’t drool.
“It is a strange occurrence,” Uno agreed.
“She’s awfully temperamental, that one,” Tres said suddenly.
“What do you mean?” I encouraged.
“You’d think she’d revel in all that fame,” Dos said.
“But she doesn’t,” Tres finished. I got the distinct impression these two were sides of the same coin. Uno seemed to stand out. What was the cliché? Two’s company, three’s a crowd?
“Now, you two, don’t go speaking for Ruby when she isn’t here,” scolded Uno. “Mr. Ace, is it? How are you working to find Ruby?”
“Right now, I’m collecting the facts. I’m a journalist,” I explained. “I heard about Ruby from a flier delivered to our newspaper. Something about the circumstances worried me. Now Aero is supporting our endeavor to find her and bring her home. I thought you three might be able to add some pieces to the puzzle.”
“Humph,” huffed Dos. “If Ruby is missing, it’s because she wanted...”
“...to go missing. Her and that designer pink collar. Humph. She had such an appalling attitude,” completed Tres.
“What did I just say?” Uno reprimanded her sisters again.
“Uno, would you say Ruby liked the cat show circuit?” I asked.
Uno hesitated. Unlike her siblings, she seemed careful to protect Ruby’s privacy. “Well, at first she did. We’re just a bit younger than Ruby. When we came to live with Miss Ellin, we were just kittens, but we were put in the shows early. Ruby showed us the ropes, made us feel at home.” Dos and Tres examined their nails and exchanged
coy smiles with Sloan.
“But did she like it?” I asked a second time.
“Not so much in recent years,” Uno admitted.
“And why wouldn’t she? All those trophies, all those ribbons...” Tres scoffed.
“...all those prizes and all that adoration. All the commercials and magazines. Oh, it makes perfect sense for her to hate it,” mocked Dos. I guess these show cats weren’t exactly tripping over their own trophies.
“Stop, don’t be such sourpusses,” Uno said to her sisters. Turning back to me, she continued, “If you’re asking me, and I think you are, Ruby was simply ready for a quieter lifestyle. Cat shows aren’t always easy. You have to maintain a certain weight, your hair must be the perfect length, your nose the ideal sheen, eyes shiny, paws and legs flawless, tail faultless, teeth textbook-white, claws unscathed, tongue unspoiled. Don’t get me started on personality; if you aren’t playful enough, humble enough, mean enough, you don’t get the ribbon.”
“That’s cutthroat,” I offered.
“Uno exaggerates!” Dos trilled.
“We loooove it!” Tres agreed.
Uno rolled her eyes.
“All I am saying is it’s a tough world. These are not household cat shows. After four years of being shown in the big time, Ruby was tired. That’s all.”
“She never said that to me,” Dos said.
“Or me,” Tres chimed in.
I asked the million dollar question, “Uno, would tiring of cat shows cause Ruby to run away?”
“No,” Uno said certainly. “Ruby loved her home. She’d never admit it, but she loves that brute of a canine, Aero. Her companions are lovely people, she adores them. It’s why she kept up the circuit. Ruby didn’t have the heart to disappoint them. She could have thrown a show at any time, you know. Scratched a judge, hissed at a spectator. But she never did.”
“Thrown a show?!” cried Dos.
“Well, I never! That would be...” Tres exclaimed.
“...horrible! I never would dream of such a thing!” Dos marveled.
I thought back to this summer when I was working to clear the name of Claire Emerson. In reality, she’d been working at her love interest’s sleazy dance club. But she’d kept up her professional job under her overly-successful father just to keep him happy. Where did it land her? In a heap of trouble.
“Here’s another question,” I said, pushing my deep thoughts aside. “As a prize-winning show cat, would someone have reason to cat-nap Ruby? Was she...valuable?”
Uno, Dos, and Tres exchanged looks.
“This is quite a yarn you’re spinning, mister,” jeered Dos. I let that one go.
“Sure, she’s valuable,” Uno began, also ignoring her sibling. “Any show cat is. Here in the Midwest, Ruby is one of the best.”
“Ruby’s owners are valuable, too, aren’t they? Wouldn’t it possibly make sense to blackmail them in return for the safe return of their cat?” I asked.
The three sisters looked appalled.
“Would a person do that?” breathed Uno, obviously shaken.
“I don’t want to be stolen!” Dos and Tres shouted in unison.
“Dos, Tres, we’re worried about Ruby here!” Uno commanded. “I’m the oldest, can you tell? First born in the litter.”
“To answer your question, yes, a person would do that,” I replied. “I read court and police reports nearly every day. I report on unspeakable crimes, unfathomable operations, and unbelievable human acts. We have to expect the worst case scenario here if we’re going to help Ruby. The faster we act, the better chance we have of finding her.”
Uno nodded solemnly. “What else can I tell you?” she questioned.
“Tell me about Ellin.”
“Ellin?” Dos and Tres bristled.
“All a matter of routine business,” purred Sloan.
“Uno?” I prodded.
“Ellin is nice. We adore her. It’s too bad she works a great deal of hours.”
“Where does she work?” I asked.
“She runs her own quilting shop, Cozy Quilting and Supplies, downtown,” Uno said. “She hosts parties and teaches private lessons. It’s time consuming, and her hours are irregular.”
I knew the quilting shop. It was Lakeville’s lightning rod of sewing and fabric supplies. It was also the only one.
“Where was Ellin the day Ruby disappeared, between the hours of 7 a.m. and 11 a.m.?” I asked.
“I believe she was at work,” said Uno, suddenly hedging.
“She wasn’t at home. Is that what you know for sure?” I asked.
“Ellin would not steal Ruby, Mr. Ace,” Uno said quietly.
“How dare you?” Dos called, looking as though I had just suggested we dump a litter of helpless kittens in the ditch.
“That’s an awful thing to insinuate!” Tres snapped.
“I am not trying to offend you ladies,” I said quickly, looking to Sloan for support. “As a reporter, I have to ask the tough questions.”
“You have bad manners,” Dos interjected as though there were nothing worse I could possibly be contaminated with. I shrugged.
“We don’t actually think Ellin took Ruby. It’s simply routine for the private eye to cross off any and all suspects. It’s cool,” Sloan drawled in my meager defense. Dos settled down, but still eyed me with suspicion.
“You have a snarky attitude, too,” Tres called to me.
“I’ve been told, but what can a cat do?” I muttered. “Uno, did you notice anything unusual about the day Ruby disappeared? Anyone strange in the neighborhood? Odd visitors? Different behaviors?”
Uno considered the question. “Ellin was upset when she came home around 4 p.m.,” she told me. “Madeline had already contacted her and told her Ruby was missing. Around 4:30 p.m., they both walked through the house, calling for Ruby. Just in case, I guess. That was the first we heard of Ruby being gone. Aero came over around 8 p.m., sniffing around. He was so distraught. But that’s all that was out of the ordinary, we didn’t hear or see anything else.”
“I see,” I said. “Well, we’ll let you ladies get back to your cat nap. I mean, your sleeping routine. I’ll be in touch if there’s anything else I need to know. Uno, could you call me at The Daily Reporter if you think of anything else or if anything strange happens?”
“I’ll do that, Ace,” she assured me.
Sloan stretched, highlighting his toned muscles under that shiny coat of his.
“See you gals later,” he said with a wink.
Uno walked us to the door. Just about to descend the steps, I felt a paw on my shoulder. I turned.
“I hope you find her, Ace,” whispered Uno, her flat face filled with genuine concern.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was time for a late lunch when Sloan and I reached bustling downtown later that afternoon. Before leaving Arbor Vitae Lane, Sloan and I did a quick canvas of the neighborhood. On five-acre estates, the homes were sparse, and few witnesses were found. The gray two-story next door was vacant, no animals of any kind. The brownstone kitty-corner sounded with a rude parakeet. Finally we found a middle-aged Burmese willing to talk—albeit untrustingly through her window screen—at an expansive blue ranch, two houses down.
“See anything interesting yesterday? I doubted a useful answer to the question, as her window faced the wooded backyard. “Have you heard of a cat named Ruby the Russian?”
“Shhh!” she scolded. She wouldn’t let us in, or tell us her name, her green eyes wide and blank. “I’m listening.”
“Because a crime may have occurred here in the neighborhood...”
“Shhhh!” she hissed again, staring above.
Sloan and I exchanged glances and watched as the Burmese leapt straight into the air and swiped at a fly.
“Missed him,” she glowered. “No. I saw nothing. I don’t know Ruby the Russian. Wouldn’t know her if she hit me in the face. I only read hunting magazines. Now, if you don’t mind, I have hunting to do.”
; “What about your mailman?” I insisted. “Shoddy or an all right guy?”
“What do I care about a mailman?” she replied. “He comes to the door five days per week. So what? Good bye.”
So much for our canvassing.
Sloan and I headed back downtown and padded up to the back door of Anne’s Coffee Cup where our dear friend Lily lived with her companion—you guessed it—Anne. They ran this downtown coffee shop/diner, always serving up a warm meal, hot gossip, and a darn good cup of milk with cream and sugar. The sassy calico was taking in some afternoon sunshine as she pawed through the pages of a careworn romance novel, the front cover depicting a swooning woman and a man who apparently couldn’t locate his shirt atop a jagged rock at sea. Anne was busy inside with the lunch crowd.
“Ace! Sloan! Can I get you some lunch?” Lily offered, setting aside her book. Lily had a sharp tongue but a soft heart. Her lively yellow eyes gleamed. “How about beef with vegetables tenderly stewed in a cellophane bag?”
“A microwave dinner? Absolutely,” I agreed.
“Sounds perfect, Lily,” Sloan called as Lily dashed off, taking her place in the sun. “I’m so hungry I could eat a rat.”
“That’s vile, Sloan,” I answered his joke, thinking of our sort-of friend Boris the Rat, who also had helped us crack this summer’s mystery. Boris, of all the animals in the entire world, was not the kind of creature you think could lend a paw to you in any way. We maintained distant contacts, never admitting we were friends.
“What do you think, Ace? Is Ellin guilty?”
Ellin had access and perhaps a motive: Jealousy. Financial gain. Ruby would trust her; but I wasn’t entirely sure. “It’s too soon for us to make that judgment, Sloan, but we will check out her supposed work alibi this afternoon. So far, she’s the most suspicious party we have. I hate to say it, but I hope that ransom call comes in soon. It may be our best lead.”
Typically, a crime has a host of suspects. It’s a reporter’s—or detective’s—job to run them all down. Right now I could only pinpoint one: Ellin. I couldn’t see Ruby’s companions being the thieves, though perhaps the maid had a motive. For that matter, what if the gardener had an underlying cat dander allergy and sly hands? My journalistic nose also told me to keep a slot open for Mr. X. The unknown suspect.