GALLERY CAT CAPER, THE

by Patricia Fry

  Savannah and Michael peered in the direction Dawna was looking, wondering what she saw there. After a couple of moments, Savannah shouted. "Rags! Michael, it's Rags!"

  He blinked, disbelieving. "Good lord, big boy, what are you doing here?"

  Dawna looked up at the couple. "That's your cat? I thought it was a…what do ya call it…" she said, swaying a little. "…a stray cat. I swear I've seen him out here before…right in the alley here."

  Savannah said, "Well, we did walk up here with him once."

  "Nope," Dawna said. "He was all by himself and alone."

  Savannah looked at Dawna. "He's been to your house, you know."

  Dawna squinted in the cat's direction and said, "Oh yes, he did come to my house that night I…was stabbed."

  Michael scooped the cat up in his arms, saying, "I'll take him inside."

  "Hey, what did you do, go home and get your cat?" Peter asked, laughing, when he saw Michael walk in.

  Michael shook his head and set Rags down on the floor. "No, he showed up on his own." Just then Dawna appeared with Savannah, who was carrying Dawna's champagne glass. "Dawna, are you all right?" Peter asked. "What happened? What did I say?"

  She eased herself into a chair, rested her head in her palms for a moment and then sat upright. "Peter," she said, "I have a confession. In fact, dammit, I have several confessions."

  "What are you talking about?" he asked.

  "Just shut up and listen, will ya?" she said, still slurring some of her words. "I'm only going to say this once to you and, I guess," she said more quietly, "one more time to the police…" her voice trailed off.

  As Dawna spoke, Rags sat at Michael's feet staring at the distraught woman. She looked down at him. "You know the truth, don't you, cat? He's seen a lot and heard a lot." She turned to Savannah. "This isn't the first time he's wandered down here by himself. I just didn't know it was your cat," she said, glancing at Michael and then back at Savannah.

  "What does Rags know, Dawna?" Savannah asked gently.

  "Peter, I'm the one who's been messing things up around here. I tried to keep you out of the shows. I hired people to damage your paintings and toss them into the Dumpster out there. It's all me."

  Peter stood stunned. He glared down at Dawna. Finally, he asked, his voice weak, "Why?"

  Dawna spoke slowly and deliberately. "I wanted you to go down…don't you see? I didn't know how to promote myself and you!" She shouted, "The only way I could get my success was to ruin you!" She sobbed into her hands and then said quietly, "Then you were nice." She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears, mascara streaking down her cheeks. "Don't you understand? It's the only way I could see to do it."

  Peter began to pace. He stopped in front of her. "You tried to damage my reputation? It was you?" He shook his head. "I thought you were the only one I could trust."

  "That's right, Peter," Dawna said, "get mad. Get real mad. Maybe it'll make me feel better. I didn't know. I just didn't know any other way."

  "So you manipulated, schemed, and lied!" he shouted, still pacing back and forth in front of her. He stopped, took hold of her shoulders, and made her look into his face. "What about the stabbing attack and the…incident in the garage?"

  Dawna grimaced, her lips quivering. "There was no attack. I staged those things."

  "Why?" he asked, loudly.

  "'Cause I'm a drama queen," she said, laughing amidst tears. She looked at Peter, Michael, and Savannah and then down at the cat. "He knows," she said, pointing at Rags, who was now lying in his Egyptian-cat pose. "I stabbed myself and I tried to gas myself. It was all me."

  "Why?" Peter asked, the pain in his heart showing clearly on his face.

  "I wanted to die. But more than that, I wanted to make a statement. I wanted to be noticed. At times, my dreams seemed unreachable—that was unbearable! Do you understand?" she shouted. "Unbearable!" She then spoke more softly. "And I didn't want to face the things I had done."

  "Face what?" he asked, running his hand through his hair.

  "Oh, jail; your wrath…"

  "Who was going to tell?" he asked. "I certainly didn't know what was going on."

  "Those men I hired, maybe. It would be revealed; it was just a matter of time. I was making mistakes." She became agitated again and began to speak faster. "I wanted to stop…was in too deep. Peter, I was tired…tired of living this lie of a life."

  "Dawna," Savannah asked, somberly, "did you try to poison Peter?"

  She looked at Savannah and nodded. "Yeah. Failed at that, too."

  "You nearly killed our dog!" she shouted.

  Michael reached out and grabbed Savannah's arm, pulling her back.

  "Well, she did," Savannah said, crossing her arms in front of her.

  Dawna looked at Savannah and Michael only briefly and then sobbed into her hands. "I'm sorry. I really am sorry. I made a mess of everything."

  "Dawna, what you've done is illegal," Peter said.

  "What are you going to do?" she asked, sniffling.

  He paced back and forth in front of her. "I don't know. I just don't know. Right now, I'd like to be alone." He looked around at everyone. "Let's lock up and go home." He glanced at Dawna. "We'll load your paintings in the morning."

  Dawna continued to sit and stare at the floor in front of her, until Savannah knelt down next to her. "Dawna, Michael and I'll walk you home. Will you be okay by yourself tonight?"

  She nodded.

  "I'm serious, Dawna," Savannah said, sternly. "I want your promise that you won't do anything stupid. I want you to get in bed and try to get some sleep. We'll meet you here in the morning, say eight…?" she looked at Peter. He nodded. "Dawna, do you promise?" she asked.

  The distraught woman looked at Savannah. "I promise," she said, weakly.

  "I believe you," Savannah said. "Now let's go, shall we?"

  Michael picked up the cat and the trio walked a half block out of their way to make sure Dawna got home okay. Then they walked back to the beach house, which they found dark, except for a small porch light. After letting themselves in, Savannah turned on a light and Michael tossed the cat out in front of them. Rags scurried off toward the kitchen.

  ****

  The following morning the fog hugged the coastline, so the Iveys opted to have coffee inside. Michael fed Lily her breakfast while Savannah used the last of the bread and eggs to make French toast. Suddenly, they heard a rap on the door.

  "Hi, come on in," Michael said, when he opened the door and saw Peter standing there. "You look like you could use a cup of coffee and maybe breakfast," Michael offered as he ushered his friend into the kitchen. "Savannah's making French toast. We have some of that blueberry topping you like."

  "Sounds good," Peter said, without much enthusiasm.

  "Morning," Savannah said when Peter appeared in the kitchen. She asked in a serious tone, "How are you, this morning?"

  "Well, I'm not sure. Still reeling from that wallop I got last night." He shook his head. "Man, I didn't see that coming."

  Michael looked down at his feet. "Yeah, it was quite a blow." He then looked Peter in the eyes and asked, "Do you know what you're going to do?"

  Savannah handed Peter a cup of coffee and he sat down. He smiled at Lily for a moment and then cleared his throat. "I talked it over with Rochelle…" He looked up at the two of them and grinned. "She's an amazing woman, you know it?"

  Michael and Savannah exchanged glances. Michael said, "So, you've found a keeper there, huh?"

  "I hope so," Peter said with a deep sigh. As for Dawna…poor, poor, Dawna…I think she's got herself all mixed up inside. I don't know if it's drugs or depression or what it is, but it appears that she's one sick woman. She needs help. Rochelle made some recommendations that I'm going to talk to Dawna about today."

  Savannah frowned. "Do you think she'll seek help?"

  Peter straightened. "It's either that or she'll have to deal with the authorities." When no one commented, he said more quietly, "If
she gets help, I may consider sponsoring her within the art community. In the meantime, I have some resumes on file for her position and I will start interviewing."

  "Have you talked to Dawna this morning?" Savannah asked.

  "Yes, I called her. We're meeting later today."

  "Oh, I told her I'd help load up her art this morning," Michael said.

  "No hurry. I'm closing the gallery today. I'll help her pack it up after our meeting."

  "If you need my help, just call," Michael offered.

  "Do you have a bead on the man who was helping Dawna?" Savannah asked. "It was probably the one I kept seeing around the gallery."

  "No," he said. "I don't think I'll go after him. It appears that he was acting on Dawna's orders. Without her, I doubt he's a threat." He looked up from his coffee cup and added, "…but if he keeps showing his face around my place, I will take action." He looked at Michael and then Savannah. "So when are you heading home?"

  "Sadly, tomorrow," Savannah said. "Peter, I…we…can't thank you enough for…"

  "Aw, cut it out," Peter said. "As I said, you guys being here meant more to me than you can ever imagine." He stood up and enveloped Savannah in a bear hug. "Thank you," he said. He pulled away and looked into her eyes, "…from the bottom of my heart." He turned to Michael and held out his arms, inviting a hug, then slapped Michael on one shoulder and clasped his right hand around Michael's. Laughing, he said, "And thank you, you old nag doctor." When he started to feel himself choking up, he knelt down to the baby's level and began playing peek-a-boo with her. Once he had her laughing, he rubbed her head, stood up, and said, "She is some cute kid." Just then, he noticed Gladys enter the room. Peter smiled, saying, "And it all started with this beautiful woman."

  "Huh?" Gladys said, her brown eyes dancing in response to the compliment.

  "Well, the way I see it, you're responsible for this cute kid. It all started with you, right?"

  "Oh, absolutely," she said, smiling.

  Peter then suggested, "Well, if this is your last night, how about we barbecue? I'll bring the steaks."

  Michael and Savannah looked at one another and she said, "Yeah, let's do that. I'll make a kale salad. Mom will you make your smashed potato salad again?"

  "Sure," she agreed. "And we can cook up some of Grandma's chili beans."

  "Will you bring Rochelle?" Savannah asked Peter.

  "I hope so," he said, smiling.

  ****

  That evening, Peter and Rochelle arrived, steaks in hand. Rochelle had made guacamole. Once everyone was comfortable on the deck around the fire pit, Savannah asked, "Peter, how did it go with Dawna today?"

  "She was not happy, but she agreed to my terms."

  "She'd be a fool not to," Michael said. "So you moved all of her art?"

  "Yes. Didn't take long." Peter took a sip of sangria and then added, "Hey, an interesting thing happened at the gallery." When he had everyone's attention, he continued, "This guy walks in with a painting and asks me to sign it. I was surprised, but once in a while one gets past me without being signed—especially some of my earlier stuff that shows up when I least expect it. Well, so I take a better look at this painting and realize it isn't one of mine, and I tell the man so. He insists that he bought it in the gallery. Dawna was still there gathering her things and when he saw her, he identified her as the one who sold it to him."

  Peter took a breath. "I asked her if she knew anything about it and what she told me blew me away. Come to find out, Dawna painted it. It looked so much like my work, I almost didn't know the difference," he said.

  "So why was she copying your work?" Rochelle asked. "I thought she had a totally different style."

  "That's right. But it seems that whenever I was out of town, she would bring her work in and sell it, hiding mine. She led with work that looked like mine—you might say they were knock-offs—so our regular customers wouldn't be suspicious."

  "Gosh, I didn't see any of those paintings in her studio," Savannah said. She raised a finger in the air, saying, "Wait a minute. I did see a painting I thought was yours, but she steered me away from it right away." She shook her head slowly, muttering, "Unbelievable."

  Peter said, "She is one calculating woman, I'll tell you…"

  "Gosh, I guess. She thought of every angle, didn't she?" Savannah said.

  Peter agreed. "Just about."

  "Can you have her arrested for that?" Michael asked.

  "If she'd forged my name, maybe. Otherwise, I don't know. But the woman sure made some money off those knock-offs. Remember how I complained on those days when she told me sales were down—always when I was out of town? Well, she was selling her work and racking up the bucks." He took a sip of sangria.

  Everyone sat with their own thoughts for a moment, then Savannah said, "Peter, I have a question."

  "Shoot," he said.

  "Remember the night we went to the charity show?"

  "Yeah."

  "I saw Kara and Charlynn that night, and it seemed as though they were involved in something—well, I don't know—clandestine, I guess."

  "How so?" Peter asked, lowering his brows.

  "Well, they were hiding in some bushes and it looked as though they were spraying paint all over a painting. They tossed it and the can of paint into the bushes and ran off laughing."

  Peter smiled.

  "So do you know what they were up to?"

  He nodded. "Yeah. It was part of a mystery the program director designed. Attendees were supposed to solve the mystery using clues found throughout the grounds. Kara and Charlynn got roped into helping with that game. I donated one of my paintings to the winner."

  "Oh," Savannah said. "I thought…"

  "What?" Peter asked, "…that the girls were involved in trying to take me down?" He laughed. "Not hardly." He sucked in a breath and said, "But I didn't think Dawna would, either…"

  "So how do you feel now about helping her get started in the business?" Savannah asked.

  "Interesting you should ask," Peter said, taking Rochelle's hand and smiling at her. "I've made some new decisions. I'm leaving the beach gallery and moving my action up north."

  "Really?" Michael said.

  "Yes. I think I'll open a gallery in Frisco. I'm ready for a big city and Rochelle's coming with me," he said, looking around at the others for their reactions.

  "Wow! That's big," Savannah said. "Quite a change." She looked at Rochelle and then back at Peter. "Congratulations, you two."

  "Yes, I realize I've been coasting in this laid-back environment. This…fiasco has spurred me on to become more aggressive in my approach to my work—and maybe be more hands-on and less…trusting."

  "Will you sell the beach property?" Savannah asked.

  Peter grinned at her. "Why, you want to buy it?"

  "I wish," she said. "But no. Just wondering."

  "I'm not sure. I'll probably keep it." He squeezed Rochelle's hand. "We do love the beach. And I have friends here. It would be nice to have it to come back to. I still may do shows in LA."

  Savannah addressed Rochelle: "So, Rochelle, how does Peter's aura look now?"

  "Bright and shiny," she said, smiling. "Like a new penny."

  "A penny? Is that all?" Peter asked.

  Savannah and Rochelle laughed.

  Rochelle said, "And he has started the process of letting Dawna go."

  "Oh?" Savannah questioned.

  Peter nodded. "Yes. Just like the rest of us, she has choices. It's up to her to make the best ones for herself. I'm not responsible. You, Savannah, are not responsible. Her life is up to her."

  "Amen," Savannah said. "That must feel good."

  "Huh?" Peter said.

  "To release that burden," she explained.

  "Oh, yes. It sure does," he said. He looked from Savannah to Michael. "So you're heading back up north tomorrow?"

  The couple nodded. She said, "Our wonderful dream vacation is almost over."

  "Yeah, your calm, quiet, no-str
ess vacation…" Peter said, winking.

  Everyone laughed.

  "So what awaits you at home?" Rochelle asked. "Anything interesting?"

  "Probably a few ailing dogs, cats, hamsters, and horses," Michael said. "And I want to finish up Adam's new bedroom when we get back."

  "What awaits me is an orchard full of fruit I need to can," Savannah said. "I can't wait to catch up with our friends and family—maybe we'll invite them all over for a night of home movies." She laughed.

  "Of your vacation?"Peter asked. He snickered. "It would be more like an Alfred Hitchcock movie."

  "That's right," she said. She leaned forward. "Oh, and the premiere of Rags's documentary is scheduled in a few weeks in San Francisco, so maybe we'll run into you two up there."

  "How exciting," Rochelle said. "Will Rags be there?"

  "Yeah, he's already wearing his ash-colored tuxedo," Peter said, laughing out loud.

  Michael shook his head and took a deep breath. "We haven't decided about that. Of course, Rob, the director, wants us to bring him. But you've seen how high-maintenance he can be."

  "Oh, you've gotta bring him," Peter said. He looked at Rochelle. "Yeah, I hope we're up there by then. It would be a kick to see that documentary."

  Rochelle nodded.

  Just then, Savannah recognized the sound of the ringtone on her cell phone. She picked it up and looked at it. "Well, I'll be," she said. "It's Rob. Hi Rob," she said into the phone, as she walked away from the group to talk.

  When she returned, she said, "The second Saturday night in July at the investor's home near Frisco. We'll make sure you get an invitation."

  "But this time," Michael said, grinning at Peter, "would you keep the drama level down? Let's have a nice, quiet weekend, shall we?"

  "Uh-oh," Peter said, pointing toward the edge of the deck, "you'd better issue the same warning to your cat."

  "Excuse me. Is this your cat?"

  Michael and Savannah twisted toward the voice and were shocked to see a security guard standing there, holding Rags in his arms. "Yes," Michael said, his brows creased. "Where…? How…?" he started.