Catnapped

by Gabriella Herkert

  “Nothing like that. He’s not even much of a yeller.”

  “Okay. So he was mad. What did he say?”

  I dropped the pencil, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against the chair.

  “Nothing, really. Just that the next time I should call him.”

  “That sounds more like hurt than anger, Sara.”

  “I’m sure he was just mad. And embarrassed. I mean, that horrid nurse going on and on, and the story kept getting more and more ridiculous. Heck, I was mortified and I’m used to you.”

  “Hey, Sara, I’m sorry. I got a little carried away. But I would never do anything that—”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Russ.” I pulled my legs up and rested my feet on the edge of my seat. “I knew the risks when I told them to call you. It’s not like I haven’t seen you in action before.”

  “I would give a million bucks for a picture of the expression on everyone’s face when Connor walked into the room.”

  “A classic.” I giggled.

  “Better than the time we talked them into letting us run the cotton-candy machine at the Vashon Strawberry Festival?” he asked, choking on his own laughter.

  “Definitely. Even better than the time you talked all those executive yuppies into a spontaneous polka party at the convention center.”

  “God, wasn’t that a hoot?” We laughed for several long moments. I wrapped one arm around my waist, my sides aching, my headache pulsing dully.

  “Enough.” I gasped, using one foot to send my chair into a slow twirl.

  “You’re right. That is enough. Let’s get back to the real dirt. What else did Connor say?”

  I sobered.

  “Just what I told you. ‘I’m the husband. When there’s trouble, call me.’ He didn’t dwell on the finer points.”

  “Like the corpse and the cops?”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “Nurse Chang. Very talkative and something of a fan.”

  “I thought she was going to dissect you once it became obvious you’d been lying.” I reached into my desk drawer and pulled out a Snickers bar. If I was going to spend company time gossiping with Russ, I was going to go all-out.

  “Let’s just say I think best on my feet. I’ll tell you all about it later. How did you happen to be in an alley with a dead body anyway?”

  “It’s a long story. The abridged version is, I’m looking for a cat worth millions.”

  “Liar.”

  “No, really.”

  “Bullshit. Is this because you hit your head?”

  “I’m really not kidding. This woman left all her money to her cat, and he’s missing.”

  Russ guffawed. “Beautiful. Not even I could have made that one up. Genius. Pure genius.”

  No sense protesting my innocence with Russ. His ability to perceive truth was severely limited by his desire for a good story.

  “So, who was the guy in the alley? His vet? No, I know—he was a dog person.”

  “Still no clue.” I unwrapped the candy bar and took a bite. Ambrosia of the gods. “I thought this was a nothing case, and suddenly I’m nose-to-nose with the after-life.” I reached over and dropped the wrapper into my garbage can. I always thought better under the influence of chocolate. I’d handled this case wrong from the beginning. There had to be a connection. Morris might not want me to pursue it, but an interrogation by the police surely earned me some right to check things out. A man was dead. It could have been me. Or Jeff. I’d been casual at the beginning, but no more. I was going be more careful. And vigilant. And, since Morris made it clear that he was not going to help me, devious. I could do that.

  “As fun as this has been,” I told Russ, “I have to get back to work.” I was on a Snickers high. Who was the guy in the alley? Why had he ended up dead? Was this about the money? Was Jeff the target? Was I making all of this up? Did I have any candy bars left?

  “I am so anxious to make sure my best friend is recovered from a very stressful evening that I get up at the horrific time of nine a.m. to talk to her—a sacrifice she doesn’t even notice, by the way—and then I get the brush-off. Even a far less sensitive person than I am would be offended by such shoddy treatment. You should be ashamed.” Russ’s voice warbled with his dramatic intonation.

  “I am. Feel free to divorce me on those grounds. Bye.”

  I dropped the phone back into its cradle without waiting for his reply. I clicked on my laptop and opened my notes from the previous day, looking for Jeff Randall’s number. I picked up the handset, punching out the first few numbers before changing my mind and replacing the receiver. I didn’t want to scare him by breaking the news over the phone. If things had been a little different, he could have been a chalk outline this morning. I threw my notebook into my briefcase, rose from my desk, and headed out the door.

  I rode the bus back to my apartment, trying to come up with a plan of attack. First, I’d talk to Jeff, maybe have another look around the estate. A real search this time instead of just the dime tour. I had no idea what I was looking for, but maybe I’d know it when I saw it. And I should talk to the cop again. Maybe by then he could release the identity of the body. I was so focused on what I had to do I nearly missed my stop.

  I went straight for my car in the lot behind the apartment, pulling up short at the blue sedan parked behind my green compact. I stared. It was probably Connor’s, although I hadn’t remembered seeing a car the previous night. I stared at the fourth-floor windows. I stood indecisively, starting as the rear door opened and Connor strolled through. He looked up and smiled slowly, walking to within a couple feet away from me.

  “Hi.”

  “Uh, hi,” I said, reflexively smiling back.

  “Do you usually hang out in the parking lot in the middle of the day?”

  “Beats working. Actually, Connor, I need my car and I think you blocked me in.” I used my keys to point in the direction of the blue sedan.

  “I don’t have any plans. I’ll play chauffeur.”

  “I’m working, Con.”

  “On the same case as last night? The one that’s already required an ambulance and a hearse? Compared to that, my rental’s pretty safe.”

  I shifted my laptop to my other shoulder, careful not to wince with the movement. It wouldn’t pay to let Connor know I wasn’t at the top of my game.

  “That’s hardly usual. There’s nothing to worry about. Now, could you move your car, please?”

  His smile faded, his arms crossing in front of his chest.

  “I’m glad to hear that. And, since I’m going with you, I’m not worried.”

  “This is work, Connor. Do I ask to join you when you’re off playing boy soldier? No. I don’t think so.”

  “Sailor. It’s boy sailor. And it’s not the same thing.”

  “No, of course it’s not the same thing. For me, bodies are an exception. For you, they’re the rule.”

  “That’s hardly accurate, Sara. And I’m trained for my job.”

  “You think I’m not?” Belligerence did not help my headache.

  Connor stilled.

  “I’m sure you’re a good investigator, honey. The kind of savvy professional who is smart enough to take advantage of all your resources. In this case, a willing partner with some special skills.” Connor dropped his arms, pushing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. My eyes followed his movement, taking in his tight blue T-shirt, faded blue jeans, and battered lace-up boots before drifting back to his face. I couldn’t see his green eyes behind his sunglasses, but his slow smile told me he recognized my distraction for what it was.

  I mentally shrugged off his effect.

  “Stop that,” I said.

  “Stop what?” His tone was total innocence. His smile was not.

  “You know what. Trying to get your own way using . . . distracting me with . . . you know what I mean.”

  “Sara, I wasn’t doing anything except pointing out my very reasonable concerns for your safety
and suggesting—” I started to interrupt, but he raised his hand to stop me. “Suggesting an obvious solution.”

  “Well, thank you very much for your suggestion,” I said gravely. “But I can handle this. Now, would you please move your car?”

  “No.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at me.

  “You can’t just block me in, Connor.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you can’t.” Rational female response number 147.

  “We go together. Take it or leave it.”

  “Leave it!”

  “Okay.” Connor started walking toward the apartment.

  I nearly choked. How dared he? Who the hell did he think he was?

  “I could have you towed,” I yelled at his back.

  He stopped and turned around, shrugged. “Go ahead.” He turned away.

  He was leaving. Jesus. Men. I fumed. I wanted to stamp my feet but that would be completely juvenile, so I stuck my tongue out at his back. Looking over his shoulder, he caught me. I think the pain in the ass was trying to suppress a smile.

  “I’m an excellent driver,” Connor deadpanned.

  So he had me in a corner. Fine. He could drive. And stay in the car when I got to Jeff’s. It would give me plenty of time to share my mood.

  “Since you offered.” I gave it my best sarcastic tone.

  He walked over and unlocked the passenger door, holding it for me. Pretty manners were not going to save him.

  “Where to?”

  “Hell in a handbasket.”

  Chapter Ten

  I huffed all the way across the I-90 bridge. The thing was, he was better at waiting than me. Life was not fair.

  “You can’t do this again.”

  “What?”

  “Push your way in.”

  “Sorry.”

  I sighed. “Okay, then.”

  “I meant I was sorry I can’t agree to that, not that I’m sorry I’m here now. Actually, I’m not sorry about that either.”

  I glared at him.

  “You going to tell me about this case?” Connor asked.

  “No.” Of course not, the patronizing jerk.

  “You wouldn’t want me to be unprepared when we get there, would you?”

  “Since you invited yourself, I figure your level of preparation is sufficient.” He didn’t even seem to notice I was mad. He was so dense.

  “Sara, I made a mistake I won’t make again.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Last night you were running, and I thought you needed some room.”

  So much for revelation.

  “Take this exit.” I pointed.

  “What you really needed was a leash.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “No kidding, Sara. Last night could have been avoided if you’d told me where you were going, what you were doing.”

  “Let me guess. You’d have played Neanderthal and locked me in the dungeon.”

  “Does your apartment have a dungeon? Good to know.”

  “You are not the boss of me, Connor.” I sat back in my seat and folded my arms over my chest. This was not going to work. No way. Nobody told me what to do.

  “I’m your backup.”

  I looked at him suspiciously. He wasn’t a backseat kind of guy. It must be a trick.

  “Right.”

  “Really, I’m just here for security.”

  “You’re not going to interfere?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not going to try to take over and tell me what to do and push me around?”

  “I’m trying to sleep at night.”

  Great. Guilt. Okay, so maybe Connor was a more obvious choice for backup than Russ. Well, when it wasn’t a verbal battle or a lying contest, anyway.

  “I’m looking for a missing heir.” That was sort of true, and it didn’t make me look like an idiot.

  “Okay.”

  “He’s been missing for a couple of days. I’m going to talk to his, er, guardian, right now.” That was pretty close to actual honesty.

  “He’s the last guy who saw your MIA?”

  “MIA?”

  “Missing in action.”

  “Oh, yeah. He was the last one.”

  “Where?”

  “Here.” I pointed to a driveway.

  In daylight the houses seemed larger, the lawns lusher. We reached the gates of the Masterson estate and turned in, slowing the car to a crawl. Connor braked as Jeff emerged from the guesthouse as if he had been waiting for me. His polo shirt was blue, his Bermuda shorts a stonewashed sand. His deck shoes were dark brown leather and looked new. With his silver hair and blue eyes, he looked like a man on top of the world. I hated to ruin his day.

  “Morning, Jeff.” I smiled at him, reaching out to shake hands.

  “Morning, Sara.” He returned my handshake. “I was worried. You never called back last night. What happened to your face?”

  “I had a little accident. It’s nothing. I’m sorry I didn’t call. It was really late and I didn’t want to disturb you. I’d like you to meet my . . . colleague, Connor McNamara. Connor, this is Jeff Randall.”

  The men shook hands.

  “Nice to meet you, Jeff.”

  “Colleague? Now there are three of us on the great feline hunt?”

  Oh, that was bad. I avoided Connor’s eyes.

  “I need to talk to you, Jeff. Connor’s going to”—I looked around for inspiration—“check the outside security of the house.”

  Jeff seemed confused. “If you think that’s necessary.”

  I smiled brightly. “Absolutely. We’re a full-service operation here.” And I would do anything, absolutely anything, to buy myself enough time to come up with a good explanation for this.

  Connor’s sunglasses shielded me from what I suspected was a harsh glare. He hadn’t made a scene last night, but today was a new day. A long moment passed. Then another.

  “I’ll be in voice range,” Connor said, and moved toward the side of the guesthouse.

  “He seems very diligent,” Jeff said, gesturing toward his open front door. “Did you meet with the man who called?” I followed him along a stone walkway into the house.

  “No. We never actually met,” I hedged.

  “That’s too bad. I was hoping he’d have real information about Flash.” He led me into the cottage’s living room and gestured toward the couch. I took a seat on the striped cushions.

  “Can I get you some coffee before we get started?” He stood in a doorway, and I could see the kitchen beyond.

  “No, thanks. Too much caffeine makes me crazy.” He sat on a chair opposite me. “Could we go over the phone call again?”

  “Sure. Whatever you want. Do you think he’ll call again?”

  “I don’t know. Something happened that we need to talk about.”

  “What?” He was sitting back, his arms resting on the arms of the chair.

  “When I got to the alley last night, I found a body.”

  He sat straighter.

  “A body? Whose body?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Maybe the guy who called you. Maybe someone else.”

  He stroked his chin.

  “Did you call the police?”

  “I talked to them.”

  “What do they think? Do they think it’s the man who called here?”

  “I don’t know. Is it possible . . . I mean, would there be anyone who might want to hurt you, Jeff?”

  He sat straighter. “You think I was the intended victim? Is that where you got the black eye?”

  “My eye was an accident.” I really didn’t want to talk about my collision. “Like I said, I don’t know what to think yet.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t want to scare you or anything, but it’s a pretty big coincidence that there’s a dead body in an alley where I’m supposed to meet someone with information about Flash.”

  “I see. No, I can’t think of anyone who might wish me harm. Are the police investigating this as if
I’m the intended victim? Will they be calling back?”

  “I doubt it. So far, there’s nothing linking the body to Flash. It could just be a coincidence. If they are connected it’s not obvious, and since I can’t discuss an ongoing case with the police—or clients, for that matter—I doubt the police will make a connection either. Unless you want me to discuss this with them. Would you feel safer?”

  Jeff continued to stroke his chin. “What do you think?”

  “Hard to imagine a missing-pet case becoming a murder investigation.”

  “Catnapping but not conspiracy. I agree. I’ll leave it to you, then.”

  “Okay. For now, we’ll just continue with our investigation. If the informant calls back, I’d like to try to trace the call. Just to see if he does have any useful information. Can you remember anything else about the call? Background noise? Another voice?”

  “Noooo.” He said the word slowly. “I don’t think so.”

  “Is there anyone else who might be looking for Flash?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. For the reward.”

  “What about someone else? A private detective maybe.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Has anyone else been hanging around the house? Someone who might have seen Flash more recently than you?”

  “There’s a maid, but I think I told you about her. Her day is Friday, and I saw Flash on Monday. There is a gardener, but he comes only every other week. I expect him tomorrow.”

  “What about nonstaff?”

  “No one other than the people I mentioned yesterday. Stuart the younger and Sterling Masterson, and Henry Jepsen, the partner.”

  “Any idea why they were here?”

  “Not really. If I had to make an educated guess, I would say the children were looking for anything of value that wouldn’t be missed right away. I believe Henry Jepsen came looking for Stuart Masterson Senior. He seemed to be spoiling for a fight.”

  “What do you base that on?”

  “Intuition. I haven’t interacted with them much, thankfully, but I’d have to say neither the children nor the business partner impress on character initially. And Millicent mentioned something similar when she first showed me around.”

  “I’m surprised a private secretary would be so chatty about her employer’s personal life.”