Cat Call (Crazy Cat Lady Cozy Mysteries Book 4)

by Mollie Hunt

  I’d expected to see a rusty sheered bolt or missing screw but all fasteners were accounted for and there was not a spot of rust in sight. The trailer may have been vintage, but I would swear the steps were a recent upgrade. I reached out and grasped the lower tread, the one still intact. I shook it hard. It didn’t budge. I carefully lifted myself up onto it but it still held fast. I hopped gently, then not so gently, then jumped gingerly up and down. The trailer shifted on its shocks but the tread held fast. Clutching onto the door jamb, I jumped harder, coming down with all my weight. That step could probably hold an elephant. So why had the one above it failed so easily?

  “Hey, Cat Lady. What are you doing to that poor stair?”

  I self-consciously swung around to see Ray Anderson grinning at me with his perfect actor’s smile. He’d lost the suit and tie, the make-up and hairstyle, and was now wearing a pair of gray sweats. A towel was draped over his shoulder and his lush black curls were damp.

  “Oh, just checking things out,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. I had spent some time the night before googling the man, and his résumé was impressive with films and television shows I instantly recognized.

  “I see that,” Ray said, not the least condescending. “And what did you find?”

  “Nothing. Well, actually there is something.” I got off the step and brushed a stray lock of hair out of my eyes. “I mean, I don’t understand what happened to this tread. It’s bent in the middle. It doesn’t look like natural wear and tear to me.”

  “Supernatural then?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  Ray Anderson grinned. “Kidding. But some folks around here swear this show is hexed. Didn’t Rhonda warn you?”

  “Sort of. She did mention it, but Mr. Anderson...”

  “Call me Ray,” he said with a gleam in his eye.

  “Uh, Ray, you don’t really believe a hex messed with Rhonda’s steps, do you?”

  “Me? No, but others might.”

  “That’s silly. Isn’t it?” I added wistfully.

  “Of course it is. However, you can’t deny that something bad happened here, something way out of the ordinary.”

  “Like what?”

  Ray frowned and moved closer. He leaned down, looked, then crouched on one knee and looked again. He put out a cautious hand and ran a finger along the sharp edge of the buckle. “This step’s been tampered with. This isn’t a bend, it’s a cut. Somebody did this on purpose, just so it would collapse like it did.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Method acting, I think they call it?”

  “No, Cat Lady, actually I’m not. I may play a private investigator on screen, but this is truth. See for yourself.”

  I scrunched down and peered at the straight-edged incision. “Someone wanted Rhonda to fall? But why?” I couldn’t fathom. “And when would they have done it?” I added. “We were up and down those steps at least three times this morning before the accident.”

  “My guess is it was done earlier, maybe last night. Just the luck of the draw that it snapped when it did. Of course odds are it would be Rhonda since it’s her trailer. But we shouldn’t assume they were targeting her specifically.”

  “Who else would they be trying for?”

  Ray hesitated, staring hard at the damage. “Can’t say. Maybe it was a case of pure and simple vandalism. Or maybe it was something a bit more sinister.”

  “Like a hex?”

  “Like sabotage, perhaps? This isn’t the first suspicious incident to happen on set. It’s almost as if someone wants McCaffrey & Jack to fail.”

  Suddenly I felt weak. I grabbed the side of the trailer and sank down onto the remaining good step. “That’s crazy.”

  Ray Anderson, still hunkered on his beefy thighs, nodded slowly. “That it is, Cat Lady. That it is.”

  Chapter 7

  Cats relate strongly to smells. When introducing a cat to a new situation, it can be helpful to bring along something that smells of home, such as a bed, mat, towel, or toy that the cat has recently handled.

  Avoiding the mangled step as if it were a rattlesnake, I slipped inside the trailer. Rhonda’s laminated cat timetable was pinned to the small bulletin board above the kitchen counter. It was a page of meticulous instructions for the boys, beginning with breakfast and running straight through the day. There was a detailed list of foods, medications, and vitamin supplements, along with locations within the trailer, as well as an addendum page on how to give a cat a shot, though I didn’t need it, having done the procedure many times during my years of fostering sick cats for FOF.

  Next to the instructions was a schedule for the litter pick-up service. I didn’t know there was such a thing. Akin to a diaper service I assumed, I could see where it would come in handy in professional situations like this one. I quickly scanned the directions for properly preparing the biodegradable waste bags and scooped the box per protocol. I didn’t bother with processing the bag, however, since the next pick-up wasn’t until tomorrow afternoon and I’d have plenty of time to figure out how the fancy automated poop disposal unit functioned by then.

  With comparative ease, I gathered the cats’ things and packed them into a small overnight case, then retrieved my bag and coat, transferred Clark Gable and Cary Grant from the stroller to their carriers, and got the heck out of there. I had a lot to think about: my new job as a cat handler, my friend in the hospital, the cats themselves who might not prefer to come live with me and my clowder. What I tried not to think about was sabotage, and probably for that very reason, found it to be at the forefront of my mind. One word kept jangling in my memory: Hexed.

  Hexed.

  An arcane term denoting the casting of malicious spells and curses. In spite of the current craze of witchcraft, supernaturalism, ghosts, vampires, and zombies, you didn’t hear a whole lot about hexes. Why both Rhonda and Ray Anderson had chosen that particular word to describe the weirdness happening on the set of McCaffrey & Jack, and not something more commonplace, was a conundrum unto itself.

  A hex could also be a person, customarily a woman believed to have harmful powers. In other words, a witch. Bringers of bad luck, speakers of evil.

  Bad luck had to begin somewhere. Since all the Wiccans I’d known were centered on benevolence and harmony with the earth, not casting evil spells on people, places, or television shows, the concept of the dark witch with a vendetta didn’t really work for me. That left the human element. Someone had done this. Rhonda had sidestepped my questions, but she couldn’t keep the fear out of her eyes. Something was going on—‌Ray Anderson had as good as said so—‌and whatever it was, I didn’t like it.

  Once home, I felt better. I was making too much out of what had to have been a random accident. There must be a rational explanation for the tampered step. Ray would alert the proper authorities and the problem would be solved. It had nothing whatsoever to do with me except for a huge case of wrong place, wrong time.

  I had my own work ahead of me, getting Clark and Cary settled in the back room I use for foster cats from the shelter, and tending to my own cats who were telling me in no uncertain terms I had been maltreating them by my prolonged absence. I’d assumed when I left the house that the set tour would take only a few hours, that I would be home by noon at the latest. And it’s not like I could call up the cats and tell them I’d been detained. Little especially resented the change in schedule and showed it, velvety black winding around my ankles meowing nonstop.

  “Be back in a sec,” I said, smoothing a hand over her plush fur.

  She gave me a dirty look as I whisked the boys into their room and closed the door behind me, leaving her on her own yet again.

  I set the carriers down and opened the gates. The red tabbies emerged, more interested than wary, sniffing at their new surroundings as they circled their quarters, movements fluid as water. I left them there to explore while I retrieved their satchel and accouterments, then unpacked the things on my big antique desk. I disbursed the beds
in locations I thought I would like to sleep if I were a cat, covering them with towels I’d brought from the trailer that smelled of home. Scattering a few favorite toys, I called it good.

  A symphony of meows was beginning to crescendo on the other side of the door. Clark Gable and Cary Grant had both gone to check it out, investigating through the crack at the bottom. A black paw slipped underneath to meet them—‌Emilio. Cary nosed the big soft paw, then turned back to me with a mrow of his own. Clark mirrored his brother’s actions, though the meow itself was soundless, only his pink lips moving into a silent O.

  Hastily I served up the gourmet wet food and filled large water bowls. Both Clark and Cary instantly abandoned the mysterious cat portal and ran to their supper. I watched for a few moments but the pair seemed content, so with a farewell and a promise to return and check on them soon, I left them to their own devices.

  I wanted—‌no, needed—‌to check in with Rhonda. I knew she would be frantic to know how the boys were doing. And where they were, for that matter. My own cats had other ideas, however, so the phone call was delayed until eight hungry mouths had been properly fed at their individual stations. Little wanted to know all about my day; Harry needed pets before he would calm down and quit threatening to spray. Someone had tossed a hairball which begged to be cleaned up. Finally they were all happily munching, dry or wet, depending on their diets, and I was free to get on with my life.

  I settled on the couch with my cell phone in hand and dialed the hospital.

  “Providence Eastside,” said a detached female voice. “How may I direct your call?”

  “I’m trying to get hold of Rhonda Kane. She was admitted to emergency this morning with a broken leg. I don’t know if she’s still there.”

  “Hold please.” The line clicked over to Muzak and a perky guy talking about the benefits of a low-fat diet. Just when I thought they had transferred me to never-never land, someone picked up.

  “Fourth floor nurses’ station. This is Leila.”

  “My name is Lynley Cannon. I’m trying to reach Rhonda Kane. Is she there?”

  “Yes. Would you like her direct line?”

  “Sure, that would be great. How’s she doing?” I added.

  “I’m sorry, you’ll have to ask her yourself. Oh, wait a sec.”

  I waited.

  “She’s under sedation still so I doubt she’ll answer the phone. You might try back in a few hours.”

  “What about visiting? When could I come and see her?”

  “Hold on and let me ask her nurse.”

  Back to the Muzak, and this time it was perky girl telling me how exercising saves lives.

  “Yes, hello?” This was a new voice, a man. “You Rhonda’s friend Lynley Cannon?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s signed permission for me to talk to you.”

  “Oh, good. How is she?”

  “Rhonda had a pretty bad tib-fib fracture. She underwent surgery this afternoon and is on some powerful pain medication. I think it’s best she isn’t disturbed right now. We want her to rest as much as possible. She’ll have plenty of time for pain later.”

  “How about tomorrow morning? Will she be okay by then? Okay for visitors,” I amended, knowing it would be a long time until Rhonda was truly okay again.

  “Yes, that’s a much better plan.”

  “Ok, thanks, I’ll do that.” I began to ring off, then stopped. “Wait! One more thing,” I said before the nurse had a chance to hang up. “If she does wake up, could you please tell her something for me? Tell her that her cats are fine. Tell her they are with me and I’m taking care of them.”

  “Cats?”

  “Yes, it’s important.”

  “Uh, okay, I’ll tell her.”

  “Really? Because she would want to know, even if she’s only half awake.”

  The man laughed. “Yes, I’ll really tell her. She’ll rest better knowing her kittens are in good hands. I’m a cat person myself,” he confided.

  “Okay, thanks. And tell her not to worry, that I’ll see her tomorrow.”

  “I will. Now goodnight, Lynley.”

  I’d done what I could. I was actually relieved I didn’t need to go anywhere else tonight. I still wanted to ask Rhonda about the hex thing, to pick up our conversation where she had left off, but I was tired—‌too tired for games of cat and mouse. Forget the mouse—‌now all I wanted was the cat—‌cats on my bed gathered around me all soft and warm and purring. Everything else could wait until the morning.

  Chapter 8

  Hiding is a natural cat behavior. Napping in small spaces lets cats conserve body heat while eluding potential threats. Most cats hide at one time or another, but the sudden onset of hiding behavior may denote mental or physical illness. Any sudden change in your cat’s behavior should be examined by a vet.

  The next day started early with me trying to wedge sixteen hours’ worth of plans into the short time before the three o’clock call. After feeding and caring for the cats, including Cary Grant and Clark Gable, and the quickest general houseclean in the history of Man, I called the hospital again. This time I got Rhonda who, though groggy as all get out, was aware enough to understand her boys were safe.

  “Don’t worry about coming by,” she said flatly when I told her I’d be there as soon as I could. “Just please, please take the cats back to the set. I’ll try to get someone to cover, I promise, but it might take me awhile. Victoria sent over some of my things—‌my purse, phone, and notebook—‌but I have no idea where the hospital staff has put them. Right now I don’t think I could locate the numbers in my mess of a filing system if I were paid, let alone make a coherent phone call.”

  “No problem,” I lied, a big question mark popping into the thought balloon hovering cartoon-like over my head. “I don’t mind. You just worry about you.” That last was no lie. “And I will try to stop by sometime today.”

  “Oh, well, if you have time, you know I’d love to see you and hear how things went after I left.” She made it sound like tea and crumpets, not a sick bed visit, but I let it pass.

  “Then it’s settled. Can I bring you anything when I come?”

  For a long moment, the phone was silent and I wondered if she had drifted into a drug-induced slumber. Then I heard a little whimper.

  “Rhonda?”

  Again the sad snort. “It’s nothing. Gotta go. Bye.”

  Click went the line, and as I stood with the useless phone in my hand, I wondered what had just happened. I admit to having my own ulterior motives for the visit. It would all be straightened out when we finally met.

  There was a little tap at the window of my back door, and without waiting for an invitation, in bounced my lovely granddaughter. Seleia at seventeen is smarter, cleverer, and more mature than many people twice her age. Pretty enough to be a model—‌though thank goodness she had never shown interest in going down that self-involved road—‌she had long auburn curls of almost her natural color, luminous skin, and intriguing features. I sometimes wondered how we could be related. I’d had red hair when I was young, though the highlights were pure henna, but nothing in my physiognomy could account for this creature of beauty and light.

  “Seleia!” I gave her a little hug. “What brings you by so early? Isn’t this a school day?”

  Seleia shrugged off her back pack and shed her little coat. “I have the whole week off—‌some sort of teacher’s conference. I was wondering what you were up to. And I wanted to tell you the news!”

  “News? Good news, I hope.”

  “I think so.” She giggled and fluttered down at the table.

  “The sort of news that goes with tea and cookies?” I asked slyly.

  “Yes, exactly, and it’s interesting you mentioned cookies.”

  “Why? Don’t you think cookies are a proper breakfast for a growing girl?”

  “Oh, it’s not that. After all, most breakfast cereals have more sugar in them than a quality bakery cookie. It’s the co
incidence. You see, I’ve got a job. A real job. And it’s at Cupcake City, the bakery down on Belmont where Ganna gets all her best treats.” Her Ganna, my mother, Carol, rarely was without a pink box of goodies from Cupcake City.

  “How wonderful!” I turned away, ostensibly to fill the teapot from the Insta-Hot faucet but in reality, to take a moment of mourning for the little girl who was turning fast into a young woman.

  A job! Wow, that was a biggie. The times of sandbox digging, flower picking, and kitten petting were over. Well, maybe not the kitten petting—‌no one is ever too old for that—‌but the giggling toddler with her face buried in squirmy kitten fur was long gone, a memory picture in the album of the mind.

  “The water’s overflowing,” Seleia exclaimed, jumping up and taking the full tea pot out of my hands. “Here, sit down and let me do it. I need to practice for work at the bakery anyway.”

  I sat at the table and watched her, so serious about the task. Tea bags into the hot water, teapot into the floral-print cozy, pastries onto a pink Fiesta plate, and everything on a tray which she carried proudly to the table. “Oatmeal craisin,” she gestured to the large brown cookies with their ruby red spots. “The perfect choice for breakfast, in my opinion. Well, what do you think?”

  “Fast and efficient with excellent presentation,” I critiqued. “You’ve got my tip.”

  “Thanks,” she said, sitting down beside me and pouring us both a cup of tea.

  “When do you start?”

  “Not until school’s out. I wish I could start now. Like I said, I’ve got this whole week off, but they don’t want to train me and then have that big gap until summer vacation.” She sighed deeply and took a bite of cookie. “It’s sort of unfair. I really need the money.”

  “Anything in particular? Or just for summer fun?”