by Patricia Fry
Savannah nodded. "I can understand why he installed tall ones—they show off his larger paintings better. I agree that the design of the gallery sort of lends itself to thievery. But I don't think that's why he wants the cameras."
"Oh?" Michael said. "Why, then?"
"There may be someone close to him that he doesn't trust."
Michael thought about that for a minute and then said, "Or maybe he doesn't know who he can and can't trust."
Chapter 2
An hour later, Savannah and Michael were sitting on the deck of the vacation beach house, looking out over the ocean and eating turkey sandwiches they'd picked up from a nearby deli, when Savannah suddenly gasped. She sat forward in her chair and pointed. "Look, Michael! Look!" she said.
Michael squinted in the direction she pointed, then glanced back at her. "What?"
She walked to the edge of the deck and called to someone on the beach below. "Hey, wait a minute!" Once Savannah had attracted the young woman's attention, she motioned for her to come closer. The twenty-something-year-old woman and her male companion walked cautiously toward Savannah, both of them shading their eyes from the sun with their hands.
Savannah cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted over the sound of crashing waves, "I think I have something of yours!"
The couple looked at one another and then back at Savannah and continued walking slowly toward the deck.
"Wait there," Savannah said, before rushing into the house. When she returned, she carried a bikini bathing-suit top. "Is this yours?" she asked, holding it up.
The woman looked confused. She walked closer to the deck and nodded. "Yes." She peered suspiciously at Savannah. "Where did you…? I mean, how did it…?"
"If I tell you, you won't believe it," Savannah said, chuckling.
The woman cocked her head. "Try me. I'm curious. I've been looking everywhere for this." She motioned toward her companion, giggled, and said, "I even accused him of hiding it."
Savannah leaned over and handed the top to her, saying, "Well, I have this cat…"
"Cat?" the woman questioned.
"Yes, he…well, he takes things. He escaped from the house this morning and came home with a bunch of stuff, including your top."
Michael walked closer to where Savannah stood. "Do you live near here?" he asked the other couple.
"Let's see…" The woman looked up the beach, began counting houses, and said, "…we're staying in the fourth house up. I left my suit on the deck last night to dry, and this morning the top was gone."
The tall, slim man with her said, "I figured the wind carried it away. But a cat…?" He looked beyond Savannah and pointed. "That cat?"
Savannah and Michael glanced toward the sliding doors. Both of them nodded. "That's the culprit," Michael said.
The young woman moved forward to get a closer look. "He takes things, huh?"
"Yes, he's a terrible kleptomaniac," Savannah said. "That's one reason he's not allowed outside anymore. He sneaked out this morning without us knowing."
"But grounding him doesn't help," Michael said. "Now he robs our guests blind."
Savannah nodded. "That's right; we have to hide their jackets and purses."
"He steals from your guests?" the man asked. "Sounds like he needs something to keep him out of trouble—a hobby, perhaps," he joked, laughing.
"Well, he has a job," Michael said, straight-faced.
The man scrutinized Rags. "Is that right?"
"Yes, he's a detective for the local sheriff's department in our hometown," Michael explained. He chuckled. "They say he's the best snitch they have."
"Rags!" the woman shouted, her face lighting up. "I've read about him," she said, excitedly.
Savannah and Michael exchanged glances. "You have?" she asked. "Where?"
"Oh, there was something about him on one of the animal websites I visit. I don't remember which one. I was fascinated by his story."
"Well, we were interviewed not too long ago by a reporter," Savannah said. "Sounds like the article's gone viral."
"There's a documentary coming out about him, too," Michael added.
"Wow! He's famous! And to think he took something of mine," she said, holding the top against her.
"You should have him autograph it," the man said.
"Or paw-ograph it," Savannah suggested, joining him in laughter. "By the way, I'm Savannah and this is my husband Michael."
The woman held out her hand. "We're Sidney and Glenn."
"Nice to meet you," Savannah said, shaking hands with both of them.
Michael also greeted them with a handshake. "Do you live here on the beach or are you visiting?" Michael asked.
Glenn said, "We're staying at her parents' beach house. We're having our engagement party down there this weekend."
"Cool," Savannah said. "…and congratulations."
The couple nodded and smiled.
"You said you're visiting, right?" Glenn asked.
"Yes, for a few weeks," Savannah said. "Just got here last night." She scanned the area with her eyes. "This is just beautiful."
"Nice to have an ocean in your backyard," Michael added.
"Sure is," Glenn said. He leaned forward and asked, "Now, you haven't seen an extra flip-flop around have you? Could your cat carry away something like that?"
Savannah gasped. "Oh my gosh!" She looked down at Glenn's feet. "Wait here," she said, dashing back to the house. She returned carrying a brown size eleven flip-flop. "Is this one yours?"
Sidney and Glenn began laughing. She covered her mouth with her hands. "Oh my Gosh. That's yours, isn't it, honey?"
He took it in his hands and shook his head slowly. "Yup, that's mine, all right." He looked at the cat again. "He carried it all the way here in his mouth?"
"As far as we know, he did," Michael said. "I've never seen him with a knapsack over his shoulder or wearing saddlebags."
Everyone laughed out loud.
"You'd better come in and see if he has anything else of yours," Savannah suggested.
Sidney smiled and responded enthusiastically, "Okay! I'd love to meet Rags. Is he friendly?"
"Very," Savannah said, leading the couple inside. Upon entering the room, Sidney knelt down and began petting the large cat. Rags allowed the petting for just a moment, then he joined the others, who were investigating his latest array of treasures. Sidney followed the cat and everyone watched as he jumped up on the ottoman and sat next to the items.
"He sure looks proud of himself," Glenn said.
Savannah nodded. "Oh yes; he's a showoff."
"Now, what does he do, go back and forth carrying each of these things one at a time?" Glenn asked.
"I think so," Savannah said. "I don't know how else he'd get it all here, unless he has an accomplice," she said, giggling.
"Hey," Sidney said, pointing, "I wonder if that's the toy the old man next door was looking for. Said it was his dog's favorite. He left it out all night and it was gone this morning. He accused my little niece and nephew of taking it. But it was the cat, huh?"
Glenn began to laugh. "He cracks me up." He reached out and petted Rags. "Man, you're some macho cat to get that toy away from Brutus." He explained, exaggerating, "He's a big German-shepherd-pony mix."
"That was his specialty, when we lived in LA," Savannah said. "He loved taking toys from big dogs. Once, he managed to bring home one of those tug-of-war-rope toys, which I found out later belonged to a couple of pit bulls." She picked up the dog toy and handed it to Glenn. "Take it," she said. "See if it belongs to your neighbor's dog."
Sydney shook her head. "Nothing else looks familiar." She scratched Rags around the neck and said, "Thanks for giving the stuff back, boy."
After Savannah and Michael had accompanied the young couple outside and waved goodbye, Michael said, "I'm curious about something."
Savannah eased into a chair and took a bite of her sandwich. "What?"
"How did you know that was her top? There've
probably been six dozen people walk by just since we came out here. Did you size her up, or what?"
"Michael," she said, "you're not very observant."
"What, you want me to look at women?"
"Uh, well…"
"Really, how did you know it was hers?"
She shook her head and grinned at him. "It's elementary, my good man," she quipped. "It matches the bikini bottoms she's wearing. You didn't notice that?"
Michael shook his head. "I guess I didn't, but you're right."
"About what?"
"I need to pay more attention to women wearing bikinis."
Savannah slapped at her husband playfully. "Just you never mind." Suddenly she sat up straight and cocked her head. "Is that the doorbell? It's probably Mom," she said as she disappeared into the house.
"Hi Mom," she said, reaching out to hug her. "Oh, you're loaded down there. Here, let me help you." She picked up a suitcase and carried it inside. "Did you have any trouble finding the house?"
Gladys Jordan shook her head. "Not at all. My GPS did a good job." She looked around. "This is lovely. It's so big! My goodness, three of my house would fit inside this one." She glanced toward the large sliding glass doors leading to the deck and lamented, "And I don't have a beach view."
"Well, you have one here for as long as you want to stay with us," Savannah said.
Gladys smiled brightly and asked, "Okay, where's my beautiful granddaughter?"
"Napping," Savannah said. "Oh wait, she must be awake. Here comes Buffy."
Both women watched as the fluffy little cat trotted down the carpeted staircase toward them.
"What does that sweet cat have to do with Lilliana's nap time?" Gladys asked.
"Buffy watches over Lily when she's sleeping. When the baby wakes up, Buffy comes to tell us." Savannah chuckled. "I guess she doesn't know we have a perfectly good baby monitor."
"Well that's pretty unusual, isn't it?" Gladys asked.
"What can I tell you?" Savannah said. "We have some pretty unusual cats. Wait until you hear about Rags's latest escapade."
After Savannah changed Lily, she showed her mother to her room. "I thought we'd put you here, on the other side of the alcove where Lily sleeps."
"Oh, I love it," Gladys said. She shivered a little. "My very own ocean view—this is so nice!"
"You can have a larger room, but there's a mountain view," Savannah offered.
"No, I'd rather have this view. You know me and the ocean. I've always wanted to live at the beach. Only…"
"Only what?" Savannah asked.
She made a face. "Only, I'm not crazy about sand in the house."
Savannah smiled at her mom. "I imagine there's a whole lot of vacuuming and sweeping that goes on in these beach homes." She added," Michael and I are having a sandwich on the deck. I picked up an extra turkey and Swiss; want one?"
"That would be nice. Thank you," she said as they made their way down the stairs.
"Here," Savannah said, handing the baby to Gladys. "Go on out and join Michael on the deck. I'll get you and Lily some lunch. Is iced tea okay?"
"Sounds great," Gladys said, smothering Lily's head with kisses. "Come on, you little cherub. Let's go see what Daddy's doing."
****
"Hi, you two," Peter said when he saw Savannah and Michael enter the patio at Rudy's Beachfront Bistro around seven that evening. "Sorry I wasn't at the gallery to meet you. Something came up."
"That's okay. We found the place just fine," Savannah said.
As they sat down at Peter's table, Michael asked, "No date tonight?"
Peter shook his head. "Not tonight." He motioned for the server. "What do you want to drink?" he asked his tablemates.
"Light beer," Savannah said.
Michael nodded.
"Make it three," Peter told the waitress.
After the server had walked away, Michael pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to Peter. "What's with the artwork on the note you left us at the gallery?"
"What?" Peter asked, lowering his brows. He opened the note and read, "Meet me at Rudy's." Peter had drawn an arrow pointing to the right. Under that, in bold, black ink was a skull and crossbones. "What the…?" Peter said. "That's not my art. I wonder who…" he started, then he shook his head. "Probably just someone with nothing better to do…a beach bum, maybe. No, I didn't draw the skull." He crumpled the note in his palm. "Sorry about that."
"No problem," Michael said. "I didn't take it seriously. Just figured you were joking around." When Peter didn't respond, Michael asked, "So, Peter, is this the sort of thing you're dealing with? Is this why you want the cameras installed?"
He nodded. "Yup."
"Well, let's set a time when I can take a look around the gallery."
"Ah, the brewkis are here. I'm thirsty," Peter said. He smiled up at the young server. "Thank you, honey. Just in the nick of time." He took a swig and then looked across the table at Michael. In a more serious tone, he said, "Yeah, maybe before-hours one day."
After a few moments of silence, Michael said, "Hey, Peter, to finish a conversation we…or I…started earlier…a conversation you expertly ducked," he said, smirking, "…did you ever marry?"
Peter pursed his lips. He took in a deep breath, glanced around the room, and then leaned toward Michael. "Here's the deal, Michael, I'm…"
Michael pulled back from the table, eyebrows raised. "You're not going to say you're…"
Savannah saw the couple at the next table glance up from their intimate conversation when they heard Peter's thunderous laughter. Peter shook his head. "No, I'm not gay. That's Roger. Remember Roger?"
"Yeah, I remember Roger. Gay?" Michael asked, disbelieving.
"As a happy Girl Scout," Peter said, nodding. He took a deep breath before continuing. "No, I never married. Don't have any kids. The most recent love of my life—in female form—walked out last month. She was everything I wanted. But she didn't want any part of the competition."
Michael looked puzzled. "Competition?"
"His art," Savannah said. "Your first love, right, Peter?"
Peter nodded. "You got it, smart lady."
"Oh," Michael said, "so your biggest asset in attracting women is also your biggest detriment?"
Peter chuckled. "You might say that." He shook his head. "Yeah, I can get 'em. I just can't seem to keep 'em."
"Why not date another artist?" Michael suggested, obviously pleased with his grand idea. "…someone who understands the artist's rather…eccentric ways?"
"Michael," Savannah said, setting down her glass. She grinned at him. "Two artists? That's absurd."
"Why?" he asked. He looked from one to the other of his tablemates.
"Yeah, why?" Peter asked, appearing equally clueless.
"I just can't imagine two serious artists together, that's all." When the two men continued to stare at her, she explained, "Well, artists are…talented. As Peter alluded to, they're competitive and, frankly, those I've met—present company excepted, of course—they tend to be a bit flakey."
"Flakey?" Michael repeated. "Savannah, that wasn't…"
"Wait a minute, Michael," Peter said, "she speaks the truth. I've never had a successful relationship or even a long-term one with another good artist. And the breakups—they're the worst," he said, grimacing. "Oh no…she's right. Women artists are flakey and they have fragile psyches. I dated one who criticized every stroke I put on canvas." He smiled. "Oh, she loved the way I stroked her…" He turned serious again. "…but when it came to my art, she was the most severe and unfair critic I've ever encountered. It was emasculating," he said. "I almost lost my will to paint. I even started seeing a shrink." He winked. "…dated her for a while, too."
Michael grinned. "How did that end?"
"Not bad. I actually accepted some of her…ahem…non-professional advice and took a flying leap out of that debacle. That's when I established new rules for myself: Don't date artists, your shrink, or your attorney."
/> Michael shook his head. "You dated your attorney? You scoundrel. What did that cost you?"
Peter looked sheepish. "Never mind. I now have a male attorney."
"So, outside of your…can I even call it a love life…?" Michael said, chuckling. "…what is the problem you spoke of? Is that related to women?"
"Good gosh, I hope not," Peter said.
"So what's going on, may we ask?" Michael persisted.
"Hard to explain. Near misses, communication glitches, innuendoes…" He picked up the wadded note and said, "…intrusions like this. It's like someone's trying to rattle me—distract me from my work." He rested both elbows on the table in front of him and said, "…or maybe hurt me; I'm not sure."
"So it's things like this showing up at your home that has your housekeeper frightened?" Savannah asked.
Peter pursed his lips. He nodded and went on, "Nothing dangerous…yet…but unnerving, nonetheless."
"Has this always been the case?" Savannah asked.
"Oh no," he said. "I've been painting for the last thirteen years. I came out of the closet with my art in 2003 and my work really began to take off five years ago. All was hunky-dory until… well, about a month ago, I'd say. Little things started happening. Little things like this…" he said, referring to the note, "but also some more serious attacks. A bad review—actually downright slander—missing paintings, problems with bookings and show arrangements…it's all very mysterious and unsettling."
"It seems to have you a little shaken," Michael said.
"To tell you the truth…" he started.
"Hi Peter."
The trio looked up and saw an attractive woman of about forty-five standing next to their table. "Hi Dawna," Peter said, rising to greet her. He brushed his fashionably unshaven cheek briefly against her flawless one. "How's it going?" he asked.
"Good," she said, glancing across the table at the Iveys.
Peter cleared his throat and addressed his guests. "Uh, this is my right-and left-hand, Dawna—with a W," he added, as if it were important to do so. "Dawna, this is my long-time friend Michael and his wife Savannah."