Athens Ambuscade

by Kristen Joy Wilks

  But for some reason, I smiled and brushed my fingers along my jaw where he had touched me.

  Shane bent over the counter wrapping Chrysanthemum in plastic for her night in the freezer. She needed to…evaporate, or solidify, or something.

  I changed out of my cat preservation clothes and left a message at my lawyer’s office asking him to meet me at the house in four hours.

  I hoped Chrysanthemum would at least be presentable enough to sit upon the mantel and fulfill Ya-Yá’s requirements by then.

  I settled the receiver back into its place on the wall.

  The phone rang.

  I picked it up just a moment before I remembered that it was four thirty in the morning. I had been getting a lot of wrong numbers, and so I reached for the yellow pad and my favorite pen on the counter where I was keeping track of all the calls.

  The caller spoke in rapid Greek. “We have the cat, but it’s in bad shape. Paw’s shot, fur’s all torn up, but our guy says the explosive will still fit. I need you to make room in the schedule for a “special presentation.” Make sure the personnel at the gala are clued in. Make it sound like a surprise. Although, now that I think about it, I suppose it really is.”

  I heard a click on the other end, followed by an annoying tone. I looked down at my pad of paper. What had I just written? The words matched the ones from my head, but they sounded no less impossible for having been put to paper. I pressed the “End” button and tried to set the phone down on the counter. It clattered to the floor instead. The back of the receiver popped off and batteries and wire tumbled out onto the polished pine flooring.

  These men had Ya-Yá’s phone number. Not only that, they thought it belonged to someone they knew.

  This wasn’t about a dead cat at all.

  15

  The Other Taxidermist

  Shane asked the taxi to wait and then stepped out and walked up to the police station. It was a three story building made of white stone with two balconies and a flat roof.

  The landscaping was lovely; nonetheless, I stayed in the cab. With my face in a police sketch as a cat-thieving-maniac, I decided that admiring the shrubberies from behind the cab windows was just about as close to the station as I was willing to get.

  Shane returned ninety minutes later. He clenched the door handle so tightly that his knuckles looked white as he gave Ya-Yá’s address to the cabby. If the hard sheen that had come over his features was any indication, the local law had given him something other than a free sucker and a coloring sheet full of smiling cartoon officers saving kittens from trees.

  “So?” I nodded back down the street to where the station was disappearing behind us.

  “It has been a long time since I made someone pee their pants from laughter.”

  “They didn’t believe you?”

  “That a bomb inside a stuffed cat is about to blow up some V.I.P. at a gala? No, they did not. And their translator was giggling so much that I’m sure half of what I tried to tell them got garbled. In fact, I had to take several tests to prove my sobriety.”

  We paid the cab fare and walked into Ya-Yá’s yard.

  I let my fingers trail along the black cast iron banister as we climbed the stairs. The morning was growing warm, and I sat, leaning back against the top step, letting the sunlight warm my eyelids.

  “It’s been two days since you slept, Jack.”

  “Yeah, another day, and I’ll be legally insane.”

  Shane groaned as he sat down on the step beside me. “Go inside; get some rest. I’ll let Chrysanthemum dry out a little longer in the freezer, and then your lawyer can come and witness her grand placement upon the mantel.”

  “Oh, yay!” But sleep did sound heavenly.

  Shane eased himself into the hammock I’d stretched beneath my new tree house. He was just as tired as I was and had gone far beyond what his fee warranted. He had mentioned that an appropriate tip for any noteworthy taxidermist was a double batch of chocolate chunk, macadamia nut cookies with dried cherries and a tall glass of milk.

  I’d have to hit the market for ingredients after my lawyer came. If there weren’t macadamia nuts, perhaps walnuts or pistachios would suffice.

  Shane deserved at least that much before he got on the plane tomorrow.

  I slogged through the hall toward my bedroom. My muscles ached from the bottoms of my scratched up feet all the way up to my neck. I had cricked it during my kidnapping. Everything hurt, and a haze of fatigue made it seem as though earth’s gravity had recently increased.

  Normally, I changed into a newly laundered pair of pajamas, swept the corners of the ceiling and under the bed just in case any spiders had taken up residence since the night before, and wrote for exactly ten minutes in my prayer journal before falling asleep.

  Instead, I fell face first onto the bed, fully clothed, and sleep took a hold of me before I could even remove my hair elastic or my shoes.

  I dreamed I was running through a field of yellow flowers. The flowers were yellow, but everything else was in black and white. Breath wrenched through my lungs, and my feet scrambled for purchase on the lumpy surface of the field.

  Then the cats began to come. White, and puffy, and matted with dirt. First one, then two, three, a hundred. They padded across the field of flowers on soft, dead paws; their sightless eyes all staring straight at me as they came.

  Then Shane ran toward me from the opposite side of the field, shouting and waving a miniature replica of the Parthenon. “They’ve come back for Chrysanthemum! Come on, Jack. Wake up! They still want your cat.”

  “They” could have my cat. In fact, I would pay whoever “They” were to take all one hundred of the horrible, mewling zombies.

  Someone shook my shoulder.

  I screamed and thumped onto the floor.

  “Get back you horrible, undead feline! I taste terrible. Just take the milk! Drink the milk, not me, not me!!!”

  With an awkward rush of alertness, I realized that I was backed against the sharp corner of my dresser, brandishing my toothbrush at Shane and screaming. Hmmm…perhaps being woken all of a sudden after two straight days without rest was worse than actually staying up that fateful third day.

  Shane stared at me, silent and alert.

  I put the toothbrush down.

  He nodded and turned toward the front door. “Our cat burglars are back. They must want Chrysanthemum, after all, but—”

  “Miss Gianakos!” Someone pounded on the door and punctuated it with a wall jarring kick. “Plans have changed. We require your taxidermist immediately.”

  Shane’s head snapped around, and an incredulous smile bent his mouth. “Or maybe I was wrong, and they are simply honest customers in search of the best pet taxidermist in Montana.” He smiled at me. “The question is how well do they tip?”

  I rolled my eyes and grabbed his hand pulling him away from the door. “Don’t even think about it. Besides, my cat isn’t done yet.”

  Shane let me pull him closer and then bent placing a feather-soft kiss on the end of my nose. “Your concern is duly noted, Miss Jack.”

  The pounding continued.

  But it did not rival the pounding of my heart. My ribs felt as if they were about to crack apart with all of the wild thudding inside my chest. What on earth? Why had he done that?

  “Our taxidermist is indisposed. But we shall return Mr. Elliott as soon as he has stuffed the animal that we need preserved. We’ll even double his fee.”

  “I have travel expenses, too.” Shane shouted toward the door.

  I yanked him toward the kitchen, shut the door, and twisted the small lock.

  “You can send your taxidermist out and see him earn a handsome profit, or I can break down the door. Which will it be, Miss Gianakos?”

  I pulled Shane through the kitchen and toward a tiny stair that led up to the attic. I shoved him toward the trap door. “Get in there, and I don’t want to hear a single peep. There’s a crawl space that leads to the spare room. Now
go!”

  He balked at my plan, but I gave him another shove toward the top of the ladder. I was ten minutes away from meeting with my lawyer and finally putting Chrysanthemum to rest. I would not let some third rate miscreants steal my taxidermist and ruin everything.

  Shane turned around and started to come back out of the attic.

  “It is a fine attic, what with the creepy doll collection and all. But I can’t let you talk to these guys alone, besides—” I shoved Shane backwards with all of my might and slammed the attic door. With a quick snap, the padlock was in place. I’d already lost my Ya-Yá. I would not lose her favorite taxidermist as well.

  16

  Dreams Realized

  I scrambled down the ladder ignoring the angry thumps from the attic above me.

  Shane would thank me later.

  OK, what to do now? The police thought I was a crazy woman, my lawyer was on his way, and I had taxidermist-hunting criminals literally pounding on my door.

  The pounding stopped.

  I stood in the silence, frozen, heart echoing in my ears and blood buzzing through my veins at an alarming tempo.

  The back door groaned on its hinges. Then the hushed creak of booted feet easing across the wood floor came to my straining ears. My door settled back against its frame with a gentle sigh. The quiet scratch of someone running his hand along the wall as he walked, grated like sandpaper across my nerves.

  Someone was coming.

  I slid off my shoes and ran in a mad circle around the kitchen. Where to hide? Where to hide? My sock-clad dash was silent, but not productive. They would look in the closet down the hall and under my bed, and I was pretty sure I couldn’t fit in the tiny space above the fridge. I heard someone try the knob on my bedroom door. I was at the front door in an instant. I eased the dead-bolt open and slid outside, down the crooked stair, and into the garden. Now what?

  I glanced up at my beautiful, orange tree house.

  They had probably already checked it. I ignored the fact that I was now wearing a soft cotton skirt and a delicate floral blouse. I scrambled up. It was not a very large tree house. There was enough room for two middle schoolers and a checkerboard, maybe a handful of snacks shoved in the corner. I did not have a lot of wiggle room. I smashed myself inside and curled up tight against the brightly painted walls. Now if I could only convince the cat criminals that both Shane and I had rushed out the back to breakfast since he’d last answered them, all would be well.

  A long silence held the garden in thrall.

  What was happening down there?

  I waited for another eternity, and then ever so gently eased my cheek up the wall until it was pressed against the small tree house window. The cypress leaned down close to the kitchen, and I had a clear view of the sink and my humming refrigerator. Nothing stirred within the cheerful yellow room. I stared through the kitchen window for a long time, but when the quiet had dragged on another five minutes, I let my breathing relax and started to sink back down against the wall of the tree house.

  Just as I turned, a crash and sudden flash of movement brought me back to the tiny window. I pressed my face against the glass.

  The kitchen was filled with sheetrock dust and a man’s leg had busted down through the ceiling. It was booted and clad in worn jeans. Shane! The silence returned as white dust swirled in curling patterns through the morning sunlight. “Peep,” Shane said, his voice muffled from above.

  Oh, my goodness! There wasn’t time for jokes.

  He had to haul himself back up into the attic before the cat-nappers noticed his leg dangling from above. Even after he hid again, it would be a miracle if they didn’t glance up and see the enormous hole in my ceiling. The leg swung wildly for a moment and then disappeared back into the attic.

  Good, now if only I could sneak back inside and sweep up all of that sheetrock dust, perhaps—

  “Miss Gianakos.”

  I jumped and banged my head on the roof of the tree house. Someone was standing at the bottom of the ladder.

  “We know you are up there. The tree is shaking.”

  Dear God! I need a new plan, a better plan, something that doesn’t get us kidnapped again or killed. Something that does not involve any dead cats! Any time now.

  Then I heard a strange sound coming from above me.

  Was it an angel, descending to earth within a ray of heavenly light?

  I peered out the tiny four-paned window, scrunching my face against the glass. Nope.

  It was Shane, escaped from the attic, and climbing from the tallest balcony to one of the cypress tree’s branches. The tree swayed, and the sound of Shane’s boots scrabbling against bark thundered like a herd of mythical Greek Cyclops in my straining ears.

  How could the men below not hear him?

  A face appeared in the tiny window.

  I clapped my hand over my mouth and smothered a scream.

  Shane put a finger to his lips. “The cat is on your mantel, all ready to go. I want you to march that lawyer in there and claim your house. You have good dreams, Jack. Make them happen.” He put his hand against the glass, as though he might have brushed my hair away from my face if we had not been separated by the cold pane. “Don’t be afraid of risk.” He smiled. “When I’m done stuffing their cat, I’ll wait for you at the kafeneía where we first met. OK?”

  “Wait, Shane!” I tried to answer him, but a shudder from the tree and the groan of the ladder below yanked my attention away. I heard a thump and turned back.

  Shane was gone.

  But the man on the ladder was, too. The murmur of voices came from below, and then the slam of a car door.

  It was too much. I began to tremble all over. I lay there shaking, unable to get down. I was crammed the wrong way into the tree house. The walls pressed too tightly for me to descend, and so I just curled against the bright orange building and sobbed.

  Finally, my tears were spent and my wet cheeks had dried in the morning sun leaving a salty crust across my skin. I inched myself around in the tiny cubicle until my feet were suspended over the small square opening. Trying not to snag my pretty skirt, I slumped down the ladder.

  The garden was empty.

  I stood. A new wave of tears wet my cheeks and blurred my vision. My nose began to run. This was ridiculous. But somehow I couldn’t stop.

  A car pulled up and parked next to Ya-Yá’s gate.

  The lawyer stepped out.

  I swiped my face with the sleeve of my blouse (an unpardonable fashion sin, usually only committed by feral kindergarteners) and gave him a watery smile.

  The lawyer was a quick, restless little man with the jerky movements of a bird and clear alert eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, met my gaze for a moment longer, and then shut his mouth and led the way into Ya-Yá’s house.

  The lawyer snapped a photo of Chrysanthemum on the mantel and spread the necessary papers on the kitchen table.

  With numb fingers, I signed.

  He slid my copies into a manila folder and laid them next to a business card with a grinning cartoon of Hercules holding a giant toothbrush and the photograph of a handsome, dark-haired man.

  “My nephew has always loved this house. Your Grandmother often had him over for baklava and yoghurt on Saturdays during the school year. When he heard that her granddaughter was taking the place, he asked me to give you this.”

  I stared down at the card.

  Sabastian Boulos

  Athens Health Conglomerate

  Dental Surgeon

  I had won my Ya-Yá’s house, the dental surgeon of my dreams was just around the corner…and I was absolutely miserable. I picked up the card and felt the crisp edges and fine, thick paper. I shut my eyes and set the card back down. “Um…hold off on everything. There’s something I have to do.”

  I snatched Chrysanthemum off the mantel, ignored Ya-Yá’s gaping lawyer, and ran into my bedroom for the emergency cash at the bottom of my sock drawer. Cat and cash in hand, I slipped in
to a pair of leather sandals, picked up the phone and dialed 1-1-2. OK, so there was just the slightest chance that my dreams had changed. The cat and I would get Shane.

  What happened after that, only God knew.

  Maybe it was better that way.

  Better for all of us.

  17

  Crazy Cat Lady

  My call to emergency services was not greeted with very much enthusiasm. In fact, after I explained that Shane had been hustled off by a cat-thieving psychopath in a suit who employed actual “evil henchmen,” some bright EMT put two and two together and figured out I was the Crazy Cat Lady whose sketch now adorned the inside of his ambulance. The helpfulness of Athens’s bold protectors deteriorated rapidly after that.

  “Miss, stay right where you are, and I’ll send an officer to come and assist you.”

  Something about his “talking the rabid raccoon down off the roof” tone made me certain that the officer rushing toward Ya-Yá’s house was not the knight in shining armor I’d hoped for.

  I tucked Chrysanthemum tight under my arm, tapped my fingernails against the wall while I processed my options, and then hung up the phone. I had to get out of here.

  I wasn’t exactly sure what they did with crazy cat ladies here in Greece, but “The Suit” had apparently filed charges against me even though it was clearly the storage guy who’d handed me the wrong cat. What if I went to jail? What if I went to court for days and days and months and months? What if I went to prison? Who would rescue Shane then?

  Really, God? Did You not see that huge breakthrough we just had ten minutes ago? Even though I presented You with a perfectly acceptable life chart and prayed fervently over it every single day for the past nine years, You have not seen fit to bless it. For Goodness sakes, I prayed the prayer of Jabez with that chart in hand. What more do you want? Then, I go against everything I’ve ever believed and hand the whole ridiculous situation over to You, and not ten minutes later, I’m a Crazy Cat Lady hunted by law enforcement and cat-snatching criminals alike. This is not what I call coming through for Your beloved children. Trusting You is crazier than I’m purported to be.