Patchwork Connections

by Carol Dean Jones

  Sarah laughed but then remarked, “You aren’t far off! Come see what’s in the bush.”

  Charles caught up with them and bent to see what was there. Deep inside the branches lay a small kitten. He appeared to be no more than a few weeks old. His eyes were open, and he was mewing ferociously for such a small creature. Barney pushed through his family, trying desperately to get to the kitten. At this point, he had stopped barking but continued to whine. Charles reached in, picked the kitten up, and slipped him inside his coat where it was warm. “He’s freezing!” The kitten immediately began to purr, perhaps understanding that his struggles were coming to an end.

  “How do you suppose he got here?” Sarah asked, reaching into Charles’ coat and tucking the end of his scarf around the kitten. “Where do you think the mother is?” She looked around, but there was no sign of cats or even prints in the snow. “He must have been here since before this last snowfall. There are no prints leading to the bush.

  “He’s lucky to be alive,” Charles commented, “in this cold. Let’s get him home and feed him. Do you have milk?”

  “I have milk, but I’ll call Barney’s vet and find out what the little guy should be eating. Let’s hurry home. He’s very cold.” Barney seemed to accept the fact that the kitten was safe inside Charles’ coat. At first, he jumped up trying to get to him, but Charles leaned down and let Barney look inside and see that the kitten was okay. The three, now four, hurried home. While Charles wrapped the kitten in a warm afghan and continued to hold him close, Sarah called Doctor Brian, the veterinarian who had helped her when she first brought Barney home from the kennel.

  After a few minutes, Sarah took the bundle from Charles and asked him to warm up the car. “The doctor wants to see him right away.” As they were dressing to leave again, Barney became very agitated. He paced back and forth, whining and occasionally barking a low concerned bark. “I think we should take Barney with us.” Sarah said. “He’s too worried to be left here alone.”

  “Okay. I’ll take him with me and we’ll get the car warmed up for you two.” When Charles came back for Sarah and the kitten, she was ready to go. “How’s the little guy doing?” he asked.

  “He seems content, but I’m worried about him. He’s become very lethargic.” Together they hurried to the car. Barney was ensconced in the backseat and Sarah, with her bundle, slipped into the front. Barney took one look over the seat to make sure everything was okay and settled back down on the back seat.

  As they drove, Sarah reached into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around her cell phone as if it brought her closer to her daughter. She wished that Martha would call. She hoped that Martha was able to call. Despite the distraction caused by the helpless kitten, unspoken prayers for her daughter’s safety continued to occupy her every thought.

  Doctor Brian Mayfield’s office was an easy ten-minute drive from Sarah’s house. When they arrived, the receptionist was expecting them and took them back to an examining room. Charles brought a worried Barney along, assuring him the visit was not for him.

  “This is one lucky kitten,” the doctor announced after a careful examination. “You found her just in time.”

  “Her?” Sarah responded with surprise. “I don’t know why we assumed it was a male. Is she okay?”

  “She’ll be just fine once we get her hydrated and some nourishment in her. She couldn’t have been out there very long or she wouldn’t have survived in these temperatures. Do you have any idea where she came from?”

  “None,” they responded in unison.

  “Hmm. She’s probably a feral that got separated from her mother. She’s just lucky you found her when you did.”

  “Actually, Barney found her. She was under a bush in the dog park.”

  Looking at Barney, the doctor replied, “Good work, boy!” Barney smiled and wagged his tail. “Are you going to keep her?” the doctor asked, turning to Sarah.

  “Of course!” she responded, looking at Charles who was nodding his agreement.

  As they watched the doctor complete his examine, it was the first time they were able to get a good look at the tiny kitten. The doctor told them she was about three weeks old. Her long, disheveled fur was black with a small amount of white sprinkled throughout. She had snow-white paws and a white bib on her chest that reached around her neck like an elegant fur necklace. Her eyes were light blue, but the doctor said they would change, most likely to yellow or copper.

  Doctor Brian then set up her shot schedule and sent his assistant, Stephanie, in to teach the new family how to feed their kitten.

  “What’s this little girl’s name?” Stephanie asked after she fed her and handed the box of formula to Charles.

  “We found her just a few hours ago and haven’t had a chance to think about it,” Sarah responded. Looking at Charles she asked, “Any suggestions?”

  “Well, maybe we need to give it some thought, but looking at her little white paws, I’m inclined to say maybe Boots or Socks. What do you think?”

  Sarah tilted her head and studied the kitten more closely. “She sort of looks like a Boots or maybe a Bootsy?” she said questioningly. “Bootsy?” she repeated looking at the kitten. The kitten turned her head toward Sarah and mewed softly.

  “I think she likes it,” Stephanie said, picking up the kitten and handing her to Sarah.

  Sarah nestled her face into the tiny kitten’s fur and said, “So Bootsy it is.” Little Bootsy licked Sarah’s chin with her tiny pink tongue and began purring.

  “With a full tummy, the kitten slept all the way home curled up inside Sarah’s coat. They stopped at the drug store so Charles could get kitty litter and a heating pad. The doctor told them she should sleep with it set on the lowest setting. Once they got home, Sarah retrieved a shoebox and asked Charles to cut a hole so Bootsy could get in and out. They then filled it with batting scraps and set it on the heating pad. They decided to put the box in Sarah’s bedroom next to Barney’s bed so he could look in on her during the night.

  Barney, who had been pacing and whining since they got home, finally settled down once the kitten was curled up in her box. “As soon as we find Martha, I’ll make Bootsy a quilt,” Sarah said with a smile, watching the tiny ball of fur as she snuggled down into the warm bedding. Turning to leave, she said, “Come on, Barney. She’s fine now.” Instead of following Sarah and Charles to the kitchen, Barney got into his own bed, circled three times and laid down with his head facing the shoebox. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes.

  “He’s gone to bed!” Sarah exclaimed. “It’s three in the afternoon and he’s gone to bed! He always takes his afternoon naps on his mat in the kitchen.”

  “I guess things will be different now that there’s a baby in the house,” Charles replied with a chuckle.

  Chapter 32

  The next morning Sarah got up early, eager to check on the kitten. She had been up several times during the night taking her to the litter box and giving her warmed formula. The little fur ball was becoming more active and purred while she ate.

  Looking into the box, Sarah didn’t see the kitten right away but assumed she was nestled into her bedding. She pulled the batting aside and was disturbed to find that the box was empty.

  “Where’s the kitten?” she asked Barney, not expecting an answer. Barney opened his eyes but didn’t move. Sarah came closer and saw the kitten curled up against Barney’s chest. She was barely visible as Barney had covered her protectively with his paw. Sarah carefully lifted Bootsy out of the warm nest Barney had provided and carried her into the kitchen with Barney following right behind, keeping a possessive eye on his new charge.

  Sarah decided to spread a quilt out on the floor, so they could both stay in the kitchen during the day. She put the heating pad under the quilt and laid the kitten on it after feeding her and reminding her where the litter box was located. Barney, of course, very carefully laid down on the quilt and wrapped his body around her, sighing deeply.

  “You are g
oing to make a good daddy,” Sarah assured him, handing him one of his favorite treats and patting his head.

  The previous night, Greyson’s parole officer had called Charles to say there was still no news on Greyson’s where abouts. “It must be him,” Sarah overheard Charles say to the caller, but he hadn’t repeated it to Sarah when he got off the phone.

  As she sat thinking about her daughter, the phone rang and Sarah felt her stomach tighten. She hoped for good news yet feared the worst. Despite her trepidation, she hurried to answer the phone.

  “Amanda! I’m so glad you called. Is there any news?”

  “Nothing very helpful, Sarah, I’m sorry to say. Charles and I were speculating that Greyson was probably involved in this, but now we’ve learned that Derek Kettler still hasn’t been located. He hasn’t been home for several days, and none of the neighbors know anything about him.

  “Does he have family?”

  “We checked with Martha’s company since he used to work there. They had an emergency number listed, but it’s been disconnected. We found out it belonged to a man with the same last name, Kettler. Maybe a brother, maybe not. Anyway, we haven’t been able to locate him either.”

  “Do you have any other leads?” Sarah asked, afraid they were at a standstill.

  “None, Sarah, I’m sorry to say. I contacted Martha’s company but didn’t get anywhere. They’re so concerned with security that they are totally closed to outsiders, even the police. I spoke with the head of Human Resources once and with Martha’s supervisor a couple of times, but neither had any information they are willing to share. I asked if they thought her disappearance could be related to their internal investigation, and they wouldn’t even admit there was an investigation!”

  “I’m wondering if Alan would help us.”

  “Alan?”

  “Alan is the man Martha hired to replace Derek. I don’t know his last name, but I might be able to get through to him through Martha’s secretary. I met her once. I think I’ll give that a try. He might know something.”

  “I hesitate for you to get involved in the investigation, Sarah. It could be dangerous. On the other hand, they aren’t going to talk to me, and they just might talk to you. Go ahead and give it a try but be careful.”

  After they hung up, Sarah finally got around to making coffee and pouring a bowl of cereal. Bootsy and Barney were sleeping soundly on the heating pad, looking very content. “That kitten has landed in the lap of luxury,” Sarah said aloud. Barney opened one eye and looked at her, wagged his tail once, and nestled in closer to the kitty.

  Sitting at the kitchen table sipping her coffee, Sarah racked her brain trying to remember the name of Martha’s secretary. Over the last few years, it was becoming harder to remember things, particularly names. At first, this worried her, but one day she read an article about dementia and felt reassured to learn that forgetfulness was a normal and expected part of growing older.

  She had developed a habit of associating a picture with a name as a way of remembering. The vision of sap running down the side of a tree, or running tree sap, was her way of remembering the name of one of her favorite country music singers, Ronnie Milsap!

  Stopping to think about Martha’s office, she resurrected a mental picture of an imaginary shell sitting on the edge of the secretary’s desk. Shell? She thought curiously. Then, “Shelly? No! Sheila!” she said aloud with a smile. She hurried to the phone and dialed Martha’s office.

  “Martha Miller’s office.”

  “May I speak with Sheila, please?”

  “This is she. How can I help you?”

  “Sheila, this is Sarah Miller. I’m Martha’s mother. …”

  “Oh, Mrs. Miller! I’m so sorry to hear about Martha. Has there been any word?”

  “Nothing,” she responded, trying to keep her voice from cracking. “I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

  “Of course! Anything.”

  “Martha often mentioned a man who works in your office by the name of Alan. I was wondering if you could give me his name and tell me how to reach him.” The line fell quiet, and Sarah wondered if they had been disconnected. “Hello?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Miller. Yes, of course, I can help. His name is Alan Fitzgerald, but I don’t think he’s involved. …”

  “Oh no, Sheila! I don’t think he’s involved either. I just want to talk with him. He might know something that he doesn’t even realize is important.” The two women continued to talk for a few minutes, and Sarah jotted down the number Sheila gave her.

  The kitten stretched and let out a loud, somewhat demanding meow. Barney was instantly alert, and Sarah hurried over and took her to the litter box. This time she didn’t carry her but helped her move in the right direction. Once Bootsy got close, she recognized it and hopped right in. Her little scratches caused litter to fly out of the box, hitting Barney on the nose. He shook his head violently while Sarah laughed at the two of them. Once the mess was swept up, she sent a very reluctant Barney out the back door and held the kitten in her lap while she finished her coffee. A half-hour later, both of her furry creatures were curled up together on the quilt.

  She sat down to dial Alan Fitzgerald’s number.

  “Fitzgerald,” he answered, sounding somewhat distracted.

  “Mr. Fitzgerald. I’m Sarah Miller, Martha’s mother, I’m calling …”

  “Mrs. Miller! I’m so glad you called. What’s happening? Have they found her?” He sounded very concerned and eager to hear good news.

  As hard as it was to keep telling the story repeatedly, she filled him in on most of what had been done to locate her. She didn’t mention the disappearance of Greyson or of Kettler. She didn’t want to tell too much. Martha had expressed some misgivings regarding Alan, although she seemed to trust him.

  “How can I help?” he finally asked after she told him as much as she was willing to share.

  “Something has been troubling me. I can’t help but think that it might be more than coincidence that Martha has disappeared right at the time that something shady seems to be going on at the lab. I’m actually wondering …”

  “Let’s not talk about this on the phone,” Alan said, interrupting Sarah. “I’ll come right over. Where are you?”

  Sarah gave Alan her address, and he said he would be there within the hour. She realized she hadn’t taken the time to shower or dress, so she hurried to her room. She started to call Charles first, but decided she wanted to have the conversation with Alan alone. She hoped that wasn’t a mistake.

  Over an hour later, Alan still hadn’t arrived, and Barney was eager for his walk. She tucked the kitten into her box in the bedroom and snapped Barney’s leash on, telling him they were going for a walk. He didn’t exhibit his usual enthusiasm and kept looking back toward her bedroom door. “Bootsy will be fine! Let’s take a short walk.” She stayed on their street so she could see if a car pulled up in front of her house.

  Ten minutes later, a black car turned the corner and pulled up to the curb. As Sarah approached the car, she could see part of the license plate. The remainder was smudged, perhaps by mud. The first letters were E6. Sarah stood frozen in place, remembering the black car that was following her daughter as she left the shop. It was the same car! She remembered Martha telling her that Amanda had checked for those limited numbers but was unable to come up with a match. She felt the blood drain from her head. She was immobilized, not knowing what to do.

  But her anger and her desperation won out. She dropped the leash and ran up to him, beating his chest with her fists. “Where is she? What have you done with my daughter?” she demanded through angry tears.

  Barney was now loose and ran up as well, unsure what to do. He began to growl and pull at Alan’s pant leg.

  “What’s going on here?” Alan demanded, grabbing Sarah’s wrists. “Stop hitting me! Please! Calm down and tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Your car! It was you!”

  “What was me?
I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Although he could have easily been angry by Sarah’s attack, he seemed instead to be bewildered and confused.

  Jerking loose from his hands, she said, “You’re the one who’s been stalking my daughter. I know this car!”

  “Mrs. Miller. Sarah. Please. First of all, this is not my car. My Acura is in the shop. I’m driving my wife’s car. …”

  The blood drained from Sarah’s face as she stared at Alan. “Your wife’s car?” she repeated. “Your wife’s car?”

  “Yes, my wife’s car. What’s going on here?”

  She didn’t know if she could trust him, but she was desperate to find out about her daughter. Charles’ and Amanda’s words echoed in her mind. Stay out of the investigation. Leave it to the professionals. Turning to Alan and dismissing their warnings, she said, “We need to talk.”

  The two strangers who had so recently been in a physical altercation out on the street were now sitting around the kitchen table, sipping coffee and comparing notes. Charles had joined them, as had Amanda.

  “Okay,” Amanda said, looking first at Alan, then at Sarah. “Start from the beginning.”

  Sarah had already told Alan about the stalker and was surprised to learn that he knew nothing about it. “Martha never even let on,” he said. Charles, originally very suspicious of him, had decided he was telling the truth.

  Alan shared with the group that his wife, Jillian, had been plagued with emotional problems since the birth of their last baby and was insanely jealous of Martha. “We spend a lot of time working together, and Jillian just can’t accept that it’s strictly a professional relationship.”

  “Is she violent?” Amanda asked. Sarah shuddered.

  Alan hesitated. “She has been. But only with me. I don’t think she would hurt anyone else. Wait!” he demanded abruptly, looking at Amanda. “Are you thinking she did something to Martha?”

  “I would like to talk to her about that,” Amanda responded.