by Patricia Fry
A Klepto Cat Mystery
Book Three: Sleight of Paw
Patricia Fry
Matilija Press
ISBN: 978-0-9911065-0-9
All rights reserved
© 2014 Matilija Press
Chapter One
Something caught Michael’s eye. “Get out of there, Rags!” he scolded. “We don’t want to lose you in this maze of walls.”
Savannah stopped sweeping for a moment and looked toward her husband’s latest sawdust-producing project. She smiled at her cat’s appetite for adventure. “Curious creature, isn’t he?”
“Sure is, and always willing to help,” Michael said, shaking his head from side to side.
Savannah heard a hint of annoyance in his tone, so she walked over and lifted the oversized grey-and-white cat from inside the open wall. Just then, she saw something float down and land at her feet. “What’s this?” She leaned over to look more closely, placing Rags on the floor beside her. He followed the item with his eyes as she picked it up and stood to examine it. The cat wasn’t about to let this fascinating object go, and he reached up in an attempt to retrieve his latest treasure.
“No, you klepto. Just you never mind,” Savannah reprimanded. She turned the piece of paper over in her hands a time or two and then unfolded it and more carefully examined it.
Michael glanced up. “What is it?”
“It’s some sort of note or letter.”
He made a pencil mark alongside his tape measure before glancing her way again. “Looks like it’s been in the wall for a long time.”
“Yeah, and it’s written in a foreign language.” She creased her brow in contemplation while murmuring to herself, “…maybe German.”
“Really!?”
She stared over at her husband. “Michael, it looks ominous.”
Hearing the apprehension in Savannah’s voice, he quickly stood and released the lock on his tape measure. Once he heard the tape snap into place, he slipped it into his leather tool belt. “What do you mean ‘ominous?’”
Savannah’s eyes met his. “Michael, do you remember the night we approached Auntie Marg about buying this house?”
He cocked his head. “Yesss. What about it?”
“That night, she told us there was something in the house—she wouldn’t tell us what it was, but it sounded like something rather…sinister or creepy.” She hesitated. “And then she brought it up again a few months ago, remember?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think it was anything to be concerned about. I mean, she never told us what it was.” He walked over to take a closer look at the time-worn paper in Savannah’s hands. “What is it, anyway? What does it mean?” He then stepped over to the wall opening and peered in. “How did Maggie know about it?” he asked, not expecting an answer. He tilted forward a little and squinted down amidst the framing and drywall. “Wait,” he said, “there’s something else in here.”
Savannah watched as he pulled a small box out of the wall cavity. “Wow! What is it?” she asked, recoiling just a bit.
“Heck if I know.” He blew some of the dust off the top of the box and then lifted the lid. “Well that’s odd.” He held it out so Savannah could see inside. “It’s a broken eggshell.”
Savannah looked in the box and then down at the letter. She gasped. “It’s a curse, Michael! This house has been cursed!”
He frowned. “Now, how do you know that?” Then, raising one eyebrow in her direction, a hint of a smile on his lips, he said, “Hey, don’t tell me I married a witch.”
“No, but I do read,” she said. “When I outgrew my Nancy Drew mystery phase, I started reading stories about witches and gypsies.” She narrowed her green eyes in his direction.
“Michael, I believe this is a gypsy curse.” She stared into space for a moment before asking, “Now who do we know that reads German?”
“A curse? Savannah, that’s absurd, don’t you think? We’re happy in our home and Maggie and Tom and other members of the Forster family all had a good life here.”
Savannah thought for a moment and then reminded him as if reciting a mundane laundry list, “My great uncle Jed Forster died in a fire on this property. Auntie and I were kidnapped from this house. A man was killed in Auntie’s bedroom upstairs. You were brutally assaulted. You were accused of murder…”
Michael waved a hand toward Savannah. “Okay, I get it. Let’s see if we can find out more about this…this, supposed curse thing.”
Michael watched as Savannah walked out of the room carrying the box and the note…Rags trotting along beside her. Once they were out of sight, he shifted his gaze to the open wall where he was about to add a couple of new electrical outlets, and began thinking about the most recent challenges he and Savannah had faced as a married couple. It seemed to start several months after their wedding…
***
It was mid June. Savannah had just returned from an early morning jaunt on Peaches and he had walked out the back door and met them at the hitching post. “How was your ride?”
“Oh, hi Michael. You startled me,” Savannah said as she slid the saddle off her mare’s back.
“Here, let me take that.” Michael reached for the saddle and easily carried it into the tack room which he had converted from an old shed on the property. He plopped it on the closest saddle rack. Savannah soon appeared behind him and laid the pad and blanket over the saddle. She hung the bridle on a nearby hook.
Grabbing her rubber grooming tray, she walked back out to join her horse. “I had a wonderful ride,” she said over her shoulder. “It’s just a gorgeous day and Peaches is such a good girl. I think she enjoys these early morning rides as much as I do.” She patted the mare on the neck, turned toward Michael and smiled, her green eyes twinkling under side-swept bangs. “When are you going to ride her?”
“When will you give me a chance?” He laughed. “You’re always on her back or brushing her or giving her carrot tops.”
Savannah grinned over at her husband. “Yeah, I do kind of hog her, don’t I?” Her smile widened. “Hey, we should get you a horse. Then we can ride together.”
Michael looked down and shook his head. “I don’t think so. Looks like too much work to me.”
“Work? You call this work? I love it. It’s fun! I really enjoy spending time with her.” She made swirling motions over the mare’s back with the rubber currycomb. “I guess not everyone has a passion for riding.”
“Right. Like not everyone has a passion for renovation.”
She turned sharply to look at him, her blond ponytail whisking to one side. “I like some parts of renovation—just not the dust and the noise and…” she hesitated…“the sawing and hammering…”
“Well, pray tell what parts do you like?” he asked, a wide grin transforming his handsome face.
Her eyes lit up. “Decorating. Iris has taught me a lot about decorating and I do love it.” She cocked her head slightly. “…choosing fabrics and wallpaper, rearranging things…”
“Buying furniture and doodads…” Michael laughed.
“Yes!” she said. “I like that, too. And that’s what makes us a team.” She dropped the currycomb into her carry tray and picked up a soft brush. “I ride and you handle the saddle and…” She paused and looked at Michael impishly. “…clean the corral?”
He leaned his six-foot frame against the hitching rail, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your horse, your poop.”
“Then, how come I have to clean up your sawdust?” she asked.
“Because, dear wife, you jump the gun.”
She shot a quick look at him while brushing long strokes along Peaches�
�s neck. “What do you mean?” she challenged.
“You start sweeping and vacuuming before I’m even finished with my project.”
She turned to look squarely at Michael, her left hand on her hip. “So when you go off to read the paper, have dinner or go to bed, you aren’t actually finished?” she asked.
He pursed his lips and looked askance. “Not always.”
“Well, I don’t want that dust around any longer than it has to be, even if I have to sweep up every hour on the hour.”
“Okay, then.” He walked over and gave her an affectionate pat on the fanny as he moved around to the other side of the horse.
“Have you been making more sawdust behind my back?” she teased.
“Just a little; don’t worry, I cleaned it up. Just wanted to finish the woodwork in that upstairs bedroom so I can install the new closet doors.”
She glanced up while brushing the mare’s back and rump. “That room is really shaping up, Michael. You do beautiful work. Before long, our home will qualify for the Better Homes and Gardens centerfold.”
Michael laughed. “Maybe the Klutzy Amateur Woodworker’s Weekly or the Weekend Wannabe Builder’s Rag.”
Savannah shook her head. “You’re too modest.” She leaned over the back of the horse toward him and gazed up into the sky. “I just love what you’ve done in our bedroom and master bath. It’s so luxurious, yet…” She thought about her choice of words. “…still in harmony with the period of this old house.” She dropped the brush into the tray, tugged at one leg of her size-eight extra-long jeans and gave her horse a hug around the neck. She then made eye contact with Michael while releasing the lead rope from the railing. “I’m so glad you’re almost finished with Adam’s room. He’s going to love having his own room when he comes to visit. …one that looks like an eight-year-old boy’s room, not an old-fashioned room designed for elderly guests.”
“Yes, I hope to have it finished when he visits in two weeks—or at least have the painting done and his toys organized.” He winked. “You know, the important things.”
“Yeah, the most important thing here for that little boy is his dad. He does love you, Michael.”
Michael smiled. “Sometimes I think he loves you more. You’re always coming up with fun things to do with him.” He stared off into space for a few moments. He then walked up behind Savannah and kissed her on the back of the neck. “I really get a kick out of watching the two of you together. You know that?”
Suddenly, he pulled back, edged his cell phone from his jeans pocket and looked at it. He turned toward Savannah. “It’s a text from Bud.” When he looked back at the screen, his demeanor turned sullen. “Oh no. There’s a problem with Pete Gamble’s dog. Bud says he doesn’t look so good this morning. He seems kind of worried. I’d better go over to the clinic and have a look. Wanna come?” Before she could respond, he said with a smirk, “Or do you have more sweeping to do?”
Savannah feigned a disgusted look in Michael’s direction. And then she said, “Okay. Give me just a minute while I put Peaches away and wash up. I’d like to check on Marsha Ralston’s cat.”
***
“Dear God.”
“What?” Savannah asked as she walked into the animal recovery area carrying the chart for Rufus Ralston.
“This dog is dead,” Michael said, his voice thin and weak.
She stopped and peered into the pen where Michael crouched. “My gosh, what happened?”
He shook his head back and forth slowly. “I don’t know. I just…don’t…know.” He glanced up at Savannah. “He tolerated the surgery. His recovery was right on track. He was awake and doing a little tail-wagging when I checked on him late yesterday; vitals were excellent. What could have happened?”
“Looks like a young dog.”
“Yes, right around two years.” Michael stood and faced Savannah, who was still looking down at the dog. “You know, we went in to retrieve a piece of plastic he had swallowed. It could be that part of it or something else had perforated the bowel.” He looked over at the dog. “When Bud called with his symptoms last night, they seemed consistent with a common infection after surgery. I instructed him to administer a higher dose of antibiotics.” He hung his head. “This is awful. I feel just terrible.”
Savannah put her hand on his arm. “Such a shame. This part of veterinary work never gets easier, does it?” She glanced over at Michael. “Will you do an autopsy?”
“Probably not…unless Pete wants it. You can never tell what he’s going to do.” He ran his hand through his straight dark-brown hair. “Gosh, I hate to call him.”
“I’ll call him, if you want,” Savannah offered.
“Naw, I’d better do it,” Michael said as he looked at the dog’s chart to locate Pete Gamble’s phone number. He walked into the lab across the hall while dialing.
“Is Pete Gamble there, please?”
“Yes, let me get him for you.”
Within a few seconds, a gruff voice responded, “Yeah?”
“Hello Pete; Dr. Ivey here.” He hesitated. “Pete, I’m awfully sorry to tell you this, but we lost your dog, Brute. We don’t know for sure what happened…”
“He’s dead?” There was silence for a few moments. And then Michael heard, “You jerk! You said the surgery was no big deal…that he would be okay. How many other dogs have you killed doin’ this easy surgery?” he yelled. “You told me yesterday he was doin’ just fine. Was he dead then? Was he dyin’? Were you lyin’ to me?”
“No, Pete, I didn’t lie to you. The surgery was a success, his recovery was normal. He was doing just fine when I left last evening.”
“You left him alone all night to die?”
Michael took in a deep breath. In a calm voice, he said, “There was no reason to monitor him. When we came in this morning, we discovered a problem and he died a short time later.”
“So if you’d stayed with him, he might have made it?” Pete growled.
Michael hesitated. “I can’t say, Pete. I can do an autopsy to see if we can figure out what happened. No charge to you, of course.”
“Hell no! You ain’t doin’ no more cuttin’ on my dog.” He paused and then continued, “You better believe my customers will hear about this. I’ll ruin your business. Everyone needs to know what a…a…butcher shop you run over there, you moron.”
Michael grimaced. “Now Pete, please. I know you’re upset, and frankly, so are we here at the clinic. This is an awful waste of a good dog and a fine pet. But yelling won’t…”
“Don’t you tell me how to behave, you butcher. You killed my dog!”
Michael gritted his teeth and spat into the phone, “And anger won’t bring him back.”
There was silence and then Pete said, “I’m comin’ to get him.”
“I’ll have him ready,” Michael said quietly before noticing that Pete had hung up.
He looked down at his cell phone, pushed “end call” and shook his head slowly from side to side.
“Not taking it well, huh?” Savannah asked while closing the door to the pen where she’d been examining the Ralstons’ cat.
“You heard?”
“I could practically hear him shouting from his store two miles away.” She walked across the hall to the room where Michael sat and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, honey. I know how hard it is to lose a patient.”
“He’s so angry. He’s blaming me.” He stared ahead for a few seconds and then swiveled in the chair toward Savannah. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of emotions expressed when I’ve given a client bad news, but anger isn’t usually one of them.” He took her hands in his. “Savannah, this guy has me kind of scared. I don’t know what he might do.” He looked over at the dog. “He’s coming to get him.”
“Does he want you to do an autopsy? Does he want to know what happened as much as we do?”
“No. He said emphatically, no.” Michael leaned over and rested his head in his hands. “Gosh, this is awful—
just awful.”
Savannah ran her fingers over his head and down the back of his neck. “I’ll go unlock the front door and then let’s get him ready for Mr. Gamble,” she said, patting his shoulder a couple of times.
***
“Where are you, you lousy vet?”
Savannah looked over at her husband. “Oh my gosh,” she said under her breath. “He sounds furious.” She grabbed at Michael’s lab coat as he moved toward the booming voice. “Don’t go in there, Michael,” she begged.
“I’ll be okay,” he said, and he continued walking down the hallway toward the front of the clinic. Savannah rushed after him. There, just inside the slightly ajar door, his face contorted with rage, stood Pete Gamble, a sturdy-built man of fifty-one wearing faded jeans and a dark blue polo shirt with his store logo above the pocket—Gamble Pet Supply. He held a small wooden baton in his right hand, which hung at his side.
When he saw Michael, he raised the bat and made a move toward him. Savannah rushed forward, putting herself between the two men. She tried to control her voice. “Mr. Gamble, be reasonable.”
“Get out of the way,” Pete hollered as he pushed Savannah aside. “I’m going to kill him.” She felt herself stumbling toward a small table. Before she could stop the forward motion, she slammed into the table, tipping it. A display of sample dog treats crashed to the floor along with a few magazines. Savannah landed hard on her left knee. She barely noticed the pain. She was too terrified for her husband. “NO!! NO!!!” she screamed, as she watched Pete rush toward Michael. The attacker held the baton over his head ready to strike.
Michael put his hands up in an effort to calm the distraught man. “Now, Pete, settle down,” he said. But the outraged man charged Michael, a menacing look on his face. Pete’s agility and speed proved to be detrimental, however, as he stepped on some of the kibbles that had spilled over the waxed linoleum and his feet went out from under him. Savannah looked over from where she still sat and watched as he landed hard on his back.
“Gawd damn it,” he growled, struggling to his feet. He glared over at Savannah, who had scurried up off the floor. She stood against a wall, frozen in place. “I oughta kill you, too!” he yelled. “You butchers…dog killers!!” He raised the bat and ran at Michael again. He swung at Michael’s head just as he ducked, grabbed Pete’s arm and twisted it behind his back. Pete shouted profanities.