by A M Bostwick
Max snapped on the desk light, his computer groaning as it came to life. It was a few hours to deadline, and the tension in the office was palpable. One of the sales representatives seemed to have lost some ad copy and was frantically harassing every employee hoping they had seen it. A graphic artist was up in arms because her computer kept crashing whenever she tried to print a sample newspaper page. She looked ready to cry or throw something.
Max, in stark contrast, yawned and began sorting through his email. He must already have his stories in for the morning, I thought groggily, wondering if he’d seek out a cup of coffee and share the cream.
“Here’s the morning mail, Max,” the secretary said, dropping a small pile onto the overflowing in-tray on Max’s desk.
“Thanks, Linda,” Max said, picking up the stack without enthusiasm. Jumping to his desk, I peered over his shoulder. Maybe a ransom note? There was the unmistakable appearance of The Branford Examiner—the local competition and a shady newspaper to boot—plus a few offers for Max to subscribe to writing workshops, an agenda from an email-frightened city clerk in the next city over, and a small envelope with shaky, scrawled handwriting that no doubt screamed Elderly-Person-Very-Unhappy-with-Newspaper.
“Uh-oh,” muttered Max, rolling his eyes and slicing the envelope open with his index finger. “This must be Mr. Mason again.”
Mr. Mason was a thick-glasses-wearing gentleman who lived just down the street. He was adamant about weighing in every other day or so on the news, unsteadily writing letters to the editor or just plain demands for the editor to crack on our reporting. While we were all nice to him and tried to respect his freedom of opinion, we also had to tread lightly. If we gave the guy everything he wanted, there wouldn’t be any room left for actual news; but it wasn’t Mr. Mason scolding The Daily Reporter today.
“Huh,” Max said, reading the short letter. I followed along over his shoulder as Max read aloud. “Dear Big Shot Reporter, please be advised that missing cats are not news. If you would be so kind, please refocus on larger news items of the day, such as garbage disposal, foot care clinics, and discount sales at the market. Sincerely, Mrs. Louise Bigg.”
Mrs. Bigg was clearly a dog person.
Max absent-mindedly pet my head and threw the letter in the direction of the recycling bin near his desk. It hit the brimming stack and slipped under the desk. Max, going back to his email, paid it no heed.
“This is odd...sounds like several animals escaped from the shelter last night. That employee will have some answering to do to the city council next week,” Max observed from an email, laughing quietly.
I disguised my surprised gag as an aggressive sneeze and left the office. My paw prints were all over that mess. Venturing into the break room, wanting to put as much space between myself and the accusing email as possible, I investigated the food spread. Finding a slice of day-old bread, I tore it apart while mentally going through the plan Sloan and I had arrived at late last night over canned tuna. Truth be told, it was a sad excuse for a plan. I suspect Phillip Marlowe would be positively ashamed of us if he was around to supervise my lowly, misguided detective skills.
Nonetheless, tonight we would descend upon Kramer “The Moustache” Carter’s house, find the movable brick, and—with any ounce of luck—find Ruby there, ready for rescue. Our preparations were hardly complicated; after examining the matter at hand, we found there was truly no way to prepare. Furthermore, we didn’t want to involve any other cats. Munching away at the increasingly stale bread, I wondered about everything from Ruby’s captivity to the angry letter regarding the reporting on missing show cats. A tap at the window broke my thoughts. Glancing up I saw Ally, precariously perched on the windowsill.
Mouth full and eyes wide, I motioned to the back of the building. Ally quickly nodded and disappeared from sight. Taking a hearty swallow, I quickly licked my forearms and paws, hastily sliding them along my ears and head, trying to tame the flyaway tufts of fur. I darted to the back of the building, expertly avoiding the bustle of feet scrambling to meet deadlines. Bursting through the mail slot, I looked around for the blonde feline.
“Ally?” I whispered.
“I’m here,” she called, appearing lovely as ever from behind a dumpster.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
I led Ally to the gas station and convenience store next door where a rickety picnic table sat under the changing leaves of a gigantic oak and towering maple, nearly devoid of all the colors of fall. A blue-black starling tugged at a reluctant worm in the hardening ground.
“You can’t go off to see a guy like Rogue and leave me hanging, Ace,” Ally reprimanded lightly.
“Right. I’m sorry,” I apologized, dipping my head with shame. “I’ve been wrapped up in the story and didn’t even think to follow up with you.”
“Well? What happened?”
I didn’t want to confess to her that Sloan and I had foolishly dove headlong into a late night cell-busting rendezvous, so I hesitated.
Ally knew me too well. “Oh, no, Ace. What did you do?”
“Am I that obvious?”
“More than you know.”
I filled her in on the details, including my initial meeting with Minx and the alley cats, the subsequent shelter break with a less-than-friendly manager and finally our one-on-one conversation with Rogue himself. Ally slowly shook her head.
“Do you want to be in Rogue’s debt, Ace?” Ally asked.
“Rather, I believe he is still in my debt. I saved him from a grave future,” I reminded her.
“I know, but Rogue doesn’t exactly play fair,” Ally said. “What are your next plans?”
Again, I hesitated.
“Tell me.”
“Sloan and I are going to The Moustache’s place tonight. I think Ruby is there. She has to be. It’s been days, and no ransom note. The Moustache doesn’t do ransoms. All the pieces fit! He sounds like the culprit. Maybe I can get to Ruby before he sells her off out of state.”
Ally appeared unconvinced.
“How many times have you leapt into something like this without knowing the consequences?” she asked.
“Well, once. Twice. Okay, three times. Four, if you count the fourth,” I muttered. I could have kept going, but the look on Ally’s face told me I didn’t need to. I felt as guilty as the cat that swallowed the canary.
“Rogue is bad news. The Moustache is worse, and Ace, you know all about bad news,” Ally pleaded with me. “Do you think that The Moustache isn’t onto Rogue? Who is to say there won’t be a trap there waiting for you? Something set for Rogue but that snaps on you instead? Do you suppose that The Moustache would let you go? Or that Rogue would come to save one of your nine lives?”
“I’ll be careful with The Moustache. Never trust a man who over-grooms,” I mentioned, “besides, I’ll have Sloan with me.”
Ally frowned at my sarcasm., my usual defense mechanism. “All the more reason to avoid this all together. Don’t put him in harm’s way. I know you don’t mean to, Ace, but accidents happen.”
Ally’s reasoning struck a chord deep inside of me. That was the reason I hadn’t wanted to go behind the headlines into direct, detective crime-solving again; I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Ally knew that better than anyone. It was her little brother who suffered this summer, after all. Was I acting reckless to get to the bottom of this story? I cleared my throat.
“I’ll leave Sloan home. But me, I’ve done this before, Ally; I can do it again. It’s a reporter’s job to—”
Ally cut me off.
“You’re a black cat. You can’t keep getting this lucky. I’m not here to stop you, Ace. I’m here to warn you. The other side of the tracks is the other side for a reason. I can hardly complain about your actions this summer. Solving the mystery not only set an innocent woman free, but you also found the real killer and somehow managed to bring Peter and I into a loving home in the process,” Ally rushed her words, “but now it’s time to take ca
re of you. Be yourself.”
“That hasn’t worked out so great for me.”
Ally sighed.
“What about Ruby?” I urged.
“It think it’s safer for everyone if you don’t get involved in solving this mystery. Let the humans handle this.”
I answered her with conviction, “I can’t do that.”
Ally nodded her consent, “I’m just concerned.”
“I appreciate that, Ally, I truly do. You’ve been a great friend. I’m sure you’ll understand that I have to do this tonight, even if that means coming face to face with The Moustache.”
“There’s nothing I can say to change your mind?” she asked.
“I sincerely doubt that. Go home to Peter,” I said as I gently placed a reassuring paw on her shoulder. Ally looked ready to cry, but she bit her lip and agreed.
“Don’t let me down, Ace,” she said as she walked away, her blonde tail swishing behind her.
***
Ally’s words hung over me throughout the day like a rain cloud. Was it indeed time for me to stop playing detective and crawl back behind my byline? Trouble was, I’ve been a lot in my lifetime, but I’ve never been a quitter. Whether or not I ever ventured back into the realm of detective work was a figment of speculation, but I had to finish what I’d started. This story needed an ending.
Determined, to keep this as clean as possible, I visited Sloan’s apartment across the way. True to my word to Ally, I’d leave him home. I found him out back, sprawled on the hot sidewalk with his limbs out like he’d been dropped from an airplane.
“Still trying to shake the smell, buddy?” I asked.
“Ace! I didn’t hear you walk up. I thought we weren’t meeting until later?”
“Yeah. About that,” I began.
“What?”
“I need to go alone,” I sighed.
“Okay.”
“I have to do this, don’t try to stop me.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“This is something I’ve started, and I have to finish it, no matter what you say.”
“Sure.”
I paused, “Wait. Aren’t you going to try and stop me?”
“No. I figured you were ready to go on this alone. You tend to do that, you know? Go all solitude and attitude toward the end of your journeys.”
“I do?”
“Well, yeah. Plus, I have a date tonight. It turns out Peaches doesn’t mind dirt mingled with fruity essence,” Sloan said.
I sensed he was lying.
“Great, then,” I said anyway, “I’ll let you know how it goes. With any luck, I’ll be writing about Ruby’s happy reunion with her family tomorrow morning.”
Sloan smiled, looking apprehensive despite his assurance that I should go it alone.
“Be careful, Ace. The Moustache sounds like he could be a bit hairy.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Moustache.
The disturbing name alone conjured all sorts of images as I prepared for my evening by my lonesome. A man nicknamed for his epic proportion of facial hair could not equate to a friendly neighborhood Nobel Peace Prize winner.
The Daily Reporter dwindled down to just an employee or two, finishing up some work before leaving for the day. Despite the morning drama, the paper successfully made it out the door yet again. While the quiet usually lulled me into a sense of relaxation, it grated on my nerves today. Part of me half-heartedly hoped the fax machine would groan to life and spit out a fax, announcing Ruby’s safe return home, no thanks to me, but eliminating the need to show at The Moustache’s lair. However, it remained resolutely silent.
Too wired to sleep and not ambitious enough to start any other projects, I left the newspaper, absent-mindedly heading for downtown. I couldn’t stand the fax machine looking at me like that anymore.
It was absolutely dark outside, the stars smattered and glittered across the ink black sky. As I walked I thought of Aero, of Madeline and Ellin, and of course, of Ruby. Had Aero truly given up hope? Was Madeline also on the verge? Was Ellin actually hiding something, her motives dark and sinister? What if Ruby had left of her own accord? Was my nosing around going to answer all these questions? Reporting never failed to solve my most common mysteries before, but rarely had so much been at stake.
Stopping on the sidewalk, I eyed the quilt shop. Yellow lights burned warmly inside. I could see a few women picking through yards of fabric while Ellin stood stoically behind the counter, looking drained and agitated, not unlike yours truly. I watched as she removed a pill from a bottle alongside her purse and swallowed it, cringing slightly. She probably had a killer headache, another late night for the small business owner. She didn’t look guilty, she just looked tired.
Three stores down, I sighed as my eyes caught a poster curling at the edges, pleading for information on Ruby the Russian, still gone without a trace. I kept moving.
Anne’s Coffee Cup was closed for the day, but I wondered if Lily was about. There was nothing wrong with my life at the moment that a jelly donut and a cup of cream couldn’t fix. As I sauntered alongside the brick building, I heard several voices coming from the back. Did Lily have friends over? Curious, I decided to quickly investigate. My surprise intensified when I rounded the corner and found Lily in the company of none other than Sloan, Ally, and Peter. Peter barreled into me, causing me to stagger back a couple of feet.
“Ace! Ace! Hiya! How are you? Are you well? Are you on another case? How do you do it all? Have you heard about Snow White’s seven dwarves joining Broadway? Could be a story idea...”
I took a beat to think.
“Okay, who gave the kid sugar?” I asked as Peter rambled at an alarming speed.
My confusion at their gathering was transparent. Lily looked sheepish.
“Ace, darling. I pulled it out of Sloan this morning. And then Ally stopped by, they told me what you were up to tonight, and, well, you can’t do this alone,” she explained, coming over to put her paw on my shoulder. “We were about to come down to the newspaper and tell you that we’re coming with. No matter what you say.”
“I thought you were okay with this,” I said in Sloan’s direction, “I thought you had a date with Peaches.”
Sloan shrugged his shiny gray shoulders and gave me a sly grin. “It’s nothing that can’t wait. I couldn’t let you go by yourself to face The Moustache, not really,” he said.
“We’re all coming,” Lily quipped. Just as I began to open my mouth to put my foot down on their intention of going with, she interrupted, “I know how you feel about this, Ace, but we are your friends, and no one knows that neighborhood better than these two.”
Ally smiled kindly and nodded. Peter paced between all of us, buzzing conspiracies just below his breath at the approximate rate of a mouse hopped up on Pixie Sticks. I noticed a jelly donut in front of him, all the sugary icing licked clean.
“I don’t know what to say,” I muttered.
Sloan looked at me at over his cup of warm milk as Lily topped it off with cream. Steam slowly rose in front of his face. “We can pull this off quickly and cleanly. You know, like how I ruined the new pantyhose that Mary just put on when she was running late for work this morning,” Sloan mused, lapping. “It took like, one hole and they just completely unraveled. Quick and clean! ZIP! ”
Max didn’t wear pantyhose, so I didn’t know how to respond to that.
Lily topped off Ally’s cup of milk and turned to me, “Would you like a cup of warm cream?”
“Make it a double, Lily. Neat.”
She raised her eyebrows but obliged. I wrapped my tail around the warm cup. Lily pushed a jelly donut towards me, I licked the icing.
The warmth was welcome in the frosty October evening. I agreed with Sloan, my mind still slightly shocked at the turn of events.
“We go right for the windows tonight. Check out the scene, approach the house, leap into a back window and locate The Moustache,” I suddenly asserted, feeling the sugar kic
k in. “Once we pinpoint his location, we locate the brick. Move it. Move in.”
“We’ll find Ruby and be on our way. Easy cheesy,” Lily said while she smiled over her skim milk, her fur glossy even under the dim glow of the back porch light.
“...didn’t think Sleepy could sing, I’m sure Doc can’t hold a tune, wonder if Rapunzel ever made it into acting? Or is that Hollywood?” Peter continued to rant, his hair sticking out in unkempt tufts in every direction.
I did love these guys.
As Sloan reached for another refill, I scratched my ears and thought hard. Could I still ditch them? While truly touched by their gesture, I couldn’t help but hesitate at their instance to tag along. Ally had been right earlier, this was a perilous venture. Now here she was, risking herself and her brother. We knew that the local pound had plenty of vacancy this evening.
“Ace! Are you listening?” Sloan broke into my thoughts, an empty cup before him.
“Huh? What did you say?”
“Ellin is working late. Do you still think she might have something to do with this? Maybe she’s The Moustache’s girlfriend,” he said.
“Oh, well, I’m not sure,” I coughed. Ally looked doubtful over her second cup.
“I think he runs solo,” she offered as she lapped, “though he does have a sister.”
“I suggest we don’t cross Ellin off our list, though,” Sloan said.
“I suggest we stop drinking milk and cream and get moving,” I said abruptly, my mind made up. There was no way I’d get away with this on my own. They knew, after all, exactly where to find me. “We can’t accomplish anything if we’re in the litter box all night.”
“You’re right, Ace. Let’s get going. Peter? Remember what we talked about?” Ally questioned her little brother.
“Not to approach pumpkins that I believe are weapons of mass destruction?”
“No,” Ally said patiently, “about tonight. Staying quiet, out of the way, and safe. You must listen to me at all times.”
Peter nodded so fast that the features on his tiny face blurred.
“Okay, gang. Let’s all stay safe,” I said as I lead the way.