Cat-Eye Witness (A Klepto Cat Mystery)

by Fry, Patricia

  Savannah crossed her arms in front of her. “I just hope the killer’s caught soon. It’s rather unsettling to know he’s running loose and, especially that he’s been lurking around here.” She shuddered.

  “I understand how you feel, Ms. Jordan. Please make it a habit to keep your doors locked even when you’re home…and the windows,” he added. “I think we’re close to making an identification.”

  “Well, I’ll be glad when he’s behind bars,” Savannah said, her voice cracking a little.

  “Yeah, he or she…” He turned and walked away without noticing the stunned look on Savannah’s face.

  ***

  “Are you okay, Savannah?” Michael asked as he held her at arm’s length and attempted to peer into her face. “Look at me, honey. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry, Michael. I guess the reality of what happened here Saturday is catching up with me. I’ve just been jumpy ever since the detective left this afternoon.” She looked up at him and said, “Michael, we found the murder weapon.”

  “Oh my gosh, what was it?” he asked, holding her shoulders and bending slightly to look into her face.

  “One of the inkwells from Auntie’s collection. It was buried out in the yard. The murderer—at least it was probably the murderer—he was here…” Savannah suddenly became breathless. Her voice caught, as she continued. “Antonio saw him digging and confronted him. He pushed Antonio down and ran off before he could dig the thing up.”

  “Sheeeesh! Is Antonio okay?” he asked.

  Savannah nodded, then she shook her head. “He has a cut on his nose.”

  “Oh honey, you must be so frightened. He came back here?”

  “Yes. As Detective Sledge says, ‘he or she.’”

  “What? He suspects a woman?”

  She broke away from Michael and dropped her arms to her side. “Oh, who knows? This just…well, it…sucks. I hate, hate, hate it,” she said, burying her face in her hands.

  “Oh, Savannah, no wonder you’re upset. Come here, honey,” he murmured as he pulled her close and held her. After a few minutes, he whispered in her ear, “You sit down in here and I’ll be right back with a glass of wine for you. We’ll just relax for a bit—okay?”

  Savannah nodded as he led her to the sofa.

  “I poured that yummy Gewürztraminer that you like,” he said upon returning from the kitchen with two stemmed crystal wine glasses. He handed one to Savannah and sat down beside her.

  “Gewürz…tra…miner.” She laughed through her tears, while trying to imitate Michael’s perfect pronunciation of the word. She held up the glass and gazed at it. “I love these glasses of Auntie’s. I’m so fortunate that she didn’t take all of this great stuff when she married Max. I get to live in this wonderful place with all this cool furniture and…” She closed her eyes and squeezed out a river of tears.

  “Oh honey,” Michael said, setting his glass on the coffee table. “You are fortunate and you are loved—so loved.” He took the glass from her trembling hand and set it next to his. He then put his arms around her. They sat holding each other—the only sounds, their breathing and Savannah’s intermittent sniffles.

  After several comforting moments, she whispered, “I love you, Michael.”

  “Meow.”

  “Rags!” Savannah said breaking away from their embrace. “How are you, boy? Where have you been?” She leaned toward the cat in an inviting manner.

  He stopped in the hallway just outside the living room and sat down, rotating his ears like antennas seeking a signal. His eyes were large…his demeanor leery. He stood and started to walk toward Savannah, then stopped and glanced in the direction of the staircase. He took a few more steps—cautiously looking to his left and his right. Then he sprinted toward Savannah and jumped up on the sofa next to her.

  “He really is frightened, isn’t he?” Michael reached toward the cat. “It’s okay, buddy. No one’s going to hurt you.”

  Rags recoiled a bit out of Michael’s reach.

  “Oh Ragsdale,” Savannah said softy, running her hand over his plush fur. “What has happened to you? What did you see that frightened you so much?” She continued to pet the cat. “You know, Michael, he seemed better yesterday, but maybe he saw the killer today when he was here.” She moaned and pulled Rags to her. “I still can’t believe this has happened.”

  “Do you want to give Rags a light sedative?” Michael asked. “It might settle him down. Is he eating?”

  “Actually, no. At least not much.”

  “Savannah, why don’t you and Rags come stay at my place for a few days? We already know that Rags can handle Lexie and Walter. The three of them did just fine that weekend he stayed with us when you went to LA.” He gently rubbed his fingers along her thigh and said in an enticing manner, “I have a surprise for you.”

  “What?” she asked, blotting her eyes carefully with a tissue she’d pulled from her pocket.

  “Buffy’s at my place.”

  She smiled. “Oh, I love that little cat. How long will Ms. Armstrong be out of town this time?”

  “Several weeks.”

  “Oh good,” she said in an attempt to sound more cheerful. “I’ll definitely come over; I want to see Buffy.”

  “Tonight?”

  “I don’t know, Michael.” Just then she felt something push against her. She looked down and smiled upon seeing the cat curled up alongside her, his front paws and chin on her leg. “He’s settling down. I think he’s gone to sleep.” She reached over and gently rubbed the top of his head with her fingers.

  “Well, let’s not disturb him. He probably hasn’t been sleeping much and he feels secure with you. Here,” he said as he handed her a glass of the wine, “let’s get you feeling relaxed, too.” They sat quietly sipping the sweet wine, when suddenly Michael said, “Oh, good news.”

  Savannah responded, being careful not disturb the cat. “Boy, am I ready for some good news,”

  “The mare and foal—Hope and Miracle—have been adopted. They’re going home with Bonnie Teague later this week. The facility has been approved. Bonnie checks out with high qualifications.” He paused. “She seems to have a heart for the pair. As I understand it, she and her husband have raised up some of the most distressed BLM colts and fillies. You know, not everyone understands America’s wild horses. She seems to know what she’s doing.” He looked down at Rags. “Now, if we can just find equally great homes for the other horses.”

  “That is good news. Makes my day. Thank you.”

  “The best part is that we’re invited to stop by and visit the mare and foal anytime.” His grin widened and he reached down and squeezed Savannah’s knee. “I also finagled an invitation for Charlotte.”

  “Oh that’s super. She’ll love watching Miracle grow and Hope thrive.”

  “Not only that…” Michael pivoted toward Savannah, his eyes sparkling with excitement, “Bonnie said she used to run a riding camp for children with Down’s and other disabilities. She still has a couple of gentle geldings she used in the program. Do you think Charlotte would be interested in riding a horse now and then?”

  “Gosh, that would be wonderful. We’ll talk to her mom about it.” She patted Michael’s leg and said, “Now, we’d better think about some supper. Want to help me put that salad together?”

  “Sure. What about Rags?”

  “Let’s see if he’ll just sleep here on the sofa for a while.” She attempted to move out from under him. “Oops, I guess not.” Savannah watched as the cat quickly stood and hopped down onto the floor. “He wants to be with us tonight. Come on, Ragsie, let’s go in the kitchen and scrounge up some supper.”

  As if he understood, the cat traipsed after the couple toward the kitchen, stopping once briefly to glance up at the staircase as they walked past. He darted across in front of Savannah and then slowed his stride so he was walking next to her. When they entered the kitchen, he meandered toward his kibbles and water bowls.

  “Oh, that’s
my cell.” Savannah walked over to where it was charging on the buffet just inside the dining room. She looked at the screen. “It’s Iris. I really should take it.”

  “Sure, honey,” Michael said. “I’ll start the hamburger frying.”

  “Oh, I did that part,” she said quickly. “Just cut up the salad stuff,” she instructed as she started to leave the room. “And grate some cheese… hello, Iris. What’s up?”

  Sniiiiiiiiffffff. “Oh Savannah…”

  Savannah was sure her heart skipped a beat. “What’s wrong, Iris? Has something happened?”

  “It’s Damon. He just left in a fit of anger making all kinds of threats. I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Savannah asked cautiously.

  She sighed. “Not really.”

  “Iris, did he hit you again?”

  “No, he didn’t hit me,” she insisted rather impatiently.

  In the background, Savannah heard one of the boys saying loudly, “Did, too, Mom. You know he did!”

  “Who’s that, Iris—Chris? He sounds upset.”

  Sniffffff. “Everyone here’s upset. Chris, go finish your homework, son.”

  “Iris, do you need company?” Savannah asked.

  There was silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Iris, are you there?”

  “Yes.” Sniff. Sniff. “You know, I think I’ll just go to bed. I’ll be all right.”

  “Lock your doors. Bring the dog in. Damon’s probably going to get all drugged up and you don’t need that. You have that camper behind your place—if he comes home, let him sleep there tonight. And if he gives you any more trouble, Iris, you MUST call the sheriff. He’s going to hurt you!”

  “But he’s my son…” she wailed.

  “Not when he’s all crazed on drugs. Then he’s a monster and you and the boys shouldn’t have to be subjected to that.”

  Iris was silent again.

  “Iris?”

  “Yes? I feel so crummy. I can’t even tell you.”

  “Iris, before you go to bed tonight, do one of your rituals—kill the hold that boy has over you. You know, like we did with the memory of that creep Joe Forster…burn something that represents his…troubled side and go bury it. Tonight. Before you go to bed. You’ll feel much better. I promise. And lock your doors and windows. Goodbye Iris. Take care.”

  “Salad’s all ready!” Michael exclaimed when she walked back into the kitchen. “What kind of dressing do you want?”

  “Huh?” She looked over at him and asked, “You didn’t put that taco seasoning in, did you?”

  “Nope. I know you prefer it without.”

  “Then I’ll have the sweet and spicy French,” she said rather absent-mindedly.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Not really—there’s something way wrong with Iris. More than she’s telling me.” She stood staring at her cell phone for a few seconds. Then, in an attempt to snap out of her funk, she shook her head and smiled at her man saying, “But there’s nothing wrong with us. I’m starved. Let’s eat.”

  She walked over and gave Rags a head-rub before sitting down at the table. The cat looked up and softly mewed.

  “Thanks for coming over here tonight, Michael. I think it’s helping Rags for us to be here doing routine things.”

  He smiled. “Anything for my lovely fiancée and my future stepcat.”

  “Stepcat?” She laughed. “Now that’s funny. Does that mean Lexie and Walter will be my steppets?”

  “Absolutely,” he said, reaching over and squeezing her hand. “They’re eager to have you and their stepcat brother come live with us forever. And so am I. How soon can we get married?”

  She unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap. “You know, that’s a good question.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes, we really do need to set a date. Let’s see, we’ve been engaged for two months…”

  “And five days, eight hours, thirty-two minutes and twelve seconds…” Michael said.

  She laughed. “You’re silly.”

  “You’re beautiful,” he said reaching over and kissing her on the lips. He then pulled back and stared into her eyes. “Will you marry me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay, when?”

  Savannah poked her fork around in her salad. “Michael, let’s plan a get-away soon to discuss our wedding. Want to?”

  He swallowed a bite and said, “Good idea, future wife. Big Sur?” he asked exaggerating a sexy look.

  “Sounds good to me. But when? Should we wait until the…mess is cleaned up?”

  “I vote no.” He reached out for her hand. “Let’s go this weekend—just the two of us.”

  Savannah squeezed his hand. She looked at Michael. “Do you think we could get Jim to have someone patrol out here—you know, like more often over the weekend?”

  “I’m sure we could. Let’s ask him.”

  Savannah took a bite of her salad. “Oh, Michael…” She made little stabbing motions in the air with her fork, and swallowed. “You know, Reba does some house-sitting. I wonder if she and Charlotte would come here and stay with Rags while we’re gone?”

  “What about her younger daughter, Ruby? Isn’t she allergic to cats?”

  “Oh darn, yes she is.” Savannah sat back in her chair, pushed her hair off her forehead and said, “But I think she goes with her dad on the weekends.”

  “Oh that’s right. They’re divorced now.” He took a sip of his iced tea and asked “Where’s Charlotte’s father? Do you know?”

  “No, I’ve never heard anyone speak about him, just Robert—Ruby’s dad. I guess Charlotte’s father never really bonded with her.” She thought about it for a moment and said, “That’s a shame for both of them.” Savannah set her fork down. “I’ll call Reba tomorrow,” she said with a look of anticipation. She reached for her iced tea. “I just hope Iris will have settled down some by then.”

  He took her hand. “Honey, this is about us. We’re important, too.”

  “Of course we are, Michael. I’m sorry. I’m not very good wife material, yet, am I?” She looked adoringly at him. “Yes, it’s all about us.”

  ***

  “Hello, Ms. Clampton?”

  “Yes?” she said hesitantly.

  “This is Detective Craig Sledge. I’d like to speak with you. Can you come down to the office sometime today? And, certainly, bring your son, Damon, if you can.”

  “Um, yes. I guess I can come this afternoon. I’m off work at two-thirty.” She rubbed her hand over the tender spot on her cheek. “Not sure about my son.”

  “And Ms. Clampton, if you know an attorney, you might bring him or her along.”

  Iris felt a familiar fluttering in her chest. Palpitations…I’m having those darn palpitations again. So annoying. What does he mean bring an attorney? “Are…are you charging me with something?” she asked.

  “Uh, it depends, Ms. Clampton, on your story. Shall we say three? Does that work for you?”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  Frank poked his head around the corner behind the diner. “Someone’s asking for you, Iris.”

  “Who?” she practically demanded.

  “Sheesh, don’t kill the messenger. It’s your friend—the tall chick.”

  “Please ask her to come back here, will you?—I’m on break.” She slid the phone into her pocket and blotted at her eyes with the skirt of her apron. “Oh hi, Savannah.” Iris walked over for a brief hug.

  “Hi.” Savannah looked around. “This is nice, Iris.” She walked over to one of the potted vines. “Gosh, look how much these have grown since you planted them. I love the purple flowers. What is it, again?”

  Iris glanced up. “Morning glory.” She took a deep breath. “Yeah, they do dress this dismal place up, don’t they? Remember, I planted them when I was coming out here to smoke all the time.” She paused. “Now I meditate, instead.”

  “You do?”


  “Yeah.” She shook her head. “Oh, I don’t sit cross-legged on the ground and do ‘ohms.’ I just come out here when it’s nice and think positive thoughts.” She gave Savannah a deadpan look. “Heaven knows, it’s getting harder and harder to come up with them.”

  Savannah cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “With what?”

  “Positive thoughts.”

  “So, how are you? Did he come home?” Savannah asked, her eyes intent on Iris’s face.

  Iris shook her head and stared at the floor. “Nope.” She looked up at her friend, a smile teasing at her lips, her perfectly arched eyebrows raised. “But I had a good night’s sleep.”

  “Glad to hear that. So did I.” Savannah decided not to explain that Michael had stayed with her and Rags and how secure she felt all night in his arms. Rags settled down some, too. They had plugged in a pheromone spray near his bed. He seemed to be calmer and more rested by morning, and he ate a good breakfast. Savannah decided not to go into all of that; her friend not being a cat person, per se. It’s not that Iris didn’t appreciate cats. She happened to be quite fond of Rags. But right now, she had more serious concerns and that’s what Savannah came to talk to her about.

  “Iris,” Savannah whispered as she looked more closely at her friend’s face, “he did hit you, didn’t he? The little creep,” she hissed. She straightened her posture and narrowed her eyes. “Sorry, Iris, but this is not acceptable.”

  Iris turned away and waved her hand in the air. “Oh, I’ve been roughed up before. I’ll live.”

  Savannah’s eyes flashed with anger. I can’t believe this woman’s stubborn sense of denial. How can I make her see what she’s doing to herself? Finally, she said, “Yeah, that’s what a whole lot of now-dead women used to say!”

  Iris sat down in a white plastic chair and motioned for Savannah to sit across from her. She looked over at Savannah. “That detective wants to see me today and suggested I might need an attorney.”

  “What? What’s this about? I don’t understand.”