Cat Call (Crazy Cat Lady Cozy Mysteries Book 4)

by Mollie Hunt

  “Oh, that’s a shame,” said Frannie. “I was sort of hoping you’d take it up full time. Then I could tell all my friends I knew a movie star.”

  “The cats are the stars,” I grinned.

  Frannie laughed. “I was referring to the cats.”

  That brought a round of merriment and the subject naturally flowed on to something else. I was thankful; I didn’t want to think about poor Juno. I barely knew him but there is always something ultimately tragic about the death of someone so young. I also had no desire to make public the weirdness that was playing out on the set of McCaffrey & Jack. The whole idea of a hexter was ludicrous, and every time I stepped away from it, the more ludicrous it became.

  The company broke up soon after that, the special agents and Alani having to go to work in the morning. Though Frannie was retired, I knew she was an early riser. I had yet to be notified of my call time and hoped it wasn’t going to be before nine.

  As we said our goodnights, Denny took me aside. “Let me walk you to your car.” Gently but assertively, he steered me down the street away from the bright bar front.

  I stopped him and turned him around. “I’m parked in the other direction.”

  We made an about-face, but his arm remained in mine and I knew what was inevitably to follow.

  “This is it,” I said as we came up alongside my little red Toyota. I started for the driver’s door but he stopped me.

  “Something’s wrong.” It was not a question.

  I averted my eyes but Special Agent Denny Paris knew me far too well.

  “Is it the accident?” he gently pressed.

  “Um, I guess you could say that.”

  “Was it bad?”

  I hesitated. “The boy died.”

  Denny slumped, cat green eyes giving a frustrated roll. “I think it’s about time you tell me what’s up with this crazy job.”

  “I will, but not now. Right now I need to get home to my cats, all ten of them! Having Rhonda’s show cats is fun—‌they’re no trouble at all—‌but it makes two more egocentric, individualistic, finicky kitties for me to cater to. And I still don’t know what time I have to start in the morning.”

  “You said you only have a few days to go?”

  “Yes, they’re replacing me with someone who has actual hands-on experience, I don’t know why,” I joked.

  Denny’s face remained sober. “Well, that might be for the best, Lynley.”

  “Best for me,” I countered, serious as well, “but it’s not going to change what’s happening. I’m worried for the cats.” The minute I said it, I knew I’d fallen into Denny’s investigative trap.

  “Aha! So you admit there is an element of danger.”

  “I... admit there’s something.”

  “When people start getting killed, I’d call it danger to the max.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “Are you sure? Is that what the police have said?”

  “Yes, no. I don’t know. The police have ruled it an accident, but then there’s no real reason to suspect foul play.”

  “But you suspect it anyway.”

  “Yeah, I really do. Oh, Denny,” I said turning to the man, catching his eyes under the stark luminescence of the street lamp. “There are all these convoluted rumors; gossip and hearsay. I don’t know what to believe.”

  “I want to help.”

  “I know you do, and you’re a gem for it. But not now.”

  “Then breakfast tomorrow morning?”

  “Okay,” I gave in. “Assuming I don’t have to be on set. Can I let you know when I find out?”

  “Text me. Any time. Midnight—‌five am. Promise you’ll do it?”

  “I promise. As soon as I hear, we can make plans.”

  I climbed into my car, Denny standing by to make sure I got off without being car-jacked at the last moment. As I pulled away and accelerated through the quiet industrial district, I patted myself on the back for giving him the slip. It would be easy to avoid the breakfast confrontation if I chose to, just by telling him it wasn’t going to be convenient.

  Then it hit me like a cold slap in the face.

  Maybe I really wasn’t so keen to avoid Denny’s police-trained assistance after all.

  Chapter 16

  Traveling with cats can cause stress for both cat and person. Getting your cat used to the carrier at a young age, taking him fun places and not just to the vet, using a pheromone calming spray, and covering the carrier with a light cloth as a sight blocker can be helpful.

  Turns out I didn’t have a choice. About five minutes after I got home, my cell rang. It was Roger, telling me in his lazy southern drawl that the show was in the midst of switching locations. Like a circus slinking away in the night, the sets and equipment were being moved as we spoke. By morning all would be installed at the new site, the ancient apartment building across town. My presence, along with Cary Grant and Clark Gable of course, was required bright and early to get set up.

  Bright and early was five a.m. and when the alarm rang at four, the sky still dark as the scruff of a black cat, I thought there was some mistake. Then it came back to me: This might well be my final day with McCaffrey & Jack.

  I picked up a sleepy Seleia in front of her parent’s condo and put her in the back seat with the cats so she could get in a little face time with them before we arrived. She was quiet, and if it hadn’t been for the occasional coos to the kitties, I might have thought she was asleep.

  “Look on your phone and tell me the best way to get there, would you, sweetie?” I asked her as we sped across the Broadway Bridge into Northwest.

  “Don’t you have GPS in your car?”

  “Alas, no. I’m still stubbornly in the dark ages. You know, back when we only had our phones to give directions?”

  “Very funny, Grandmother,” she sniffed.

  “I know I am,” I tossed back. “Here’s the address.” I clicked on the overhead light and handed her a mauve Hello Kitty post-it on which I’d scribbled the info Roger had given me the night before.

  She turned it sideways, then upside down. “What does this say? It looks like Big Pink.”

  “That’s right, that’s what he called it. It’s an old apartment house from the Victorian era, set for a total historic remodel this coming fall. The production rented it for a month or so before construction begins. Apparently it was dubbed Big Pink by the hippies who lived there in the late sixties because of its exterior color. At the time there was a popular album by the Band called ‘Music from Big Pink’.”

  “By what band?”

  “The Band—‌that was the name of their band. They played a sort of roots rock music.”

  “Roots rock?”

  “Never mind,” I said, feeling like I was talking a foreign—‌and antiquated—‌language to the Generation Z. “You can Google it later if you’re interested.”

  “I thought Big Pink was the U.S. Bancorp Tower, that granite and glass office building downtown.”

  “Well, it is, but that came much later and on a much more wide-spread scale. This building’s nickname comes down from extremely local lore. Can you read the address I wrote?”

  “I got it.” I heard tapping as she put the information into her phone.

  The traffic was light, and in less than fifteen minutes, I pulled up in front of the largest wood, stucco, and stone building I’d ever seen. Once it may have been painted pink, but time and weather had worn the color down to a light beige the shade and texture of old-fashioned face powder. I pulled the emergency brake and looked up at the massive structure. Fronted by a low fieldstone and wrought-iron wall, it was impressive even in its decay. The entranceway was elaborate, set back from the street with columns rising two stories on each side of plate-glass double doors. On a timeworn awning arching above, I could just make out the silhouette of what had been its formal name, The Fontaine. The peeling paint and moldering window sashes made it clear it had seen better—‌much better—‌days, but t
o my mind it was still magnificent.

  “Wow!” Seleia commented.

  “Ditto,” said I.

  “What now?”

  “You wait with the cats while I run in and find out where to park.”

  I handed Seleia the car keys, got out, and followed the short walkway up to the front doors. The place was brightly lit, and as I neared, I could see a hustle and bustle of people and equipment inside the vast foyer. Stacks of cartons and materials, rolling carts, and movie gear I couldn’t begin to name cluttered the floor. Crew was lifting, carrying, and generally moving things around, busy as cats in a cat box.

  I tugged at the enormous brass handle but the doors were locked. I tapped at the glass. No one noticed so I tapped a little harder. I saw Roger running up a massive U-style staircase and rapped even more aggressively. I called out as well but he didn’t see me and then he was gone. I was about to start pounding when Victoria came out of a side room and headed over. She was wearing green leggings and her uniform utility vest. Offhandedly I wondered if she ever took it off.

  “Oh, great! You’re here,” she said unlocking the door and sticking her head outside.

  “I parked out front.” I gestured to my car. “But the sign says it’s a loading zone.”

  “That’s okay. You’re unloading after all.”

  “I suppose I am. Where do you want us?”

  “Let me find out. Where are the cats?”

  “In the car with my granddaughter. I hope you don’t mind I brought her along to help. She’s seventeen going on twenty-one,” I added. “Very smart and reliable. I vouch for her completely.”

  Victoria flipped her long blonde hair out of her face. “I guess it’s okay. She needs to fill out a tax form and sign the confidentiality agreement.”

  “I’m sure she won’t mind. But you really don’t need to pay her. I’ll tend to that.”

  “She’ll still have to sign the agreement. Everyone has to sign that. I’ll get it to you later today. Right now I need you and the cats in Rhonda’s trailer to wait for your call. It’s parked in the basement.”

  “The basement?”

  “Yeah, this building’s unbelievable. There are all sorts of cool architectural features including the old-time equivalent to a parking garage, though you might easily mistake it for a dungeon.” She laughed at her joke. “They fixed the step on your trailer, by the way.”

  “Thanks, I’m glad. It was a bit of a stretch to get in and out without it.”

  “The driveway to the basement is nearly impossible to find so if you give me your keys, I’ll get someone to take your car down. Bring the cats in now. There’s an elevator of sorts.” She nodded to an elaborate iron cage in the very center of the building around which the staircase wound like a grand wooden python. “I can have Freddie fetch the wagon if you need it.”

  I looked doubtfully at the ancient elevator, which resembled something out of Blade Runner. “Is it safe?”

  “Sure. We’ve been using it since we first got into the building a month ago. I know it looks old, but it’s been updated.”

  “When? 1945?”

  She laughed, not realizing I was dead serious. Not too much scares me, but elevators are on that list, along with preying mantes, and it goes without saying, clowns.

  Victoria was speaking into her ever-handy radio. “Okay, Lynley, Freddie’s on his way.”

  I motioned to Seleia who had gotten out of the car and was leaning on the hood looking east toward the budding sunrise. “Just let me put the serenity covers on their carriers.” The cotton fabric wraps I’d purchased at a craft bazaar fit snugly over the top part of the box like a shower cap. Though the cats seemed fine with the flurry of the production, it couldn’t hurt to give them that extra little bit of insulation before they had to take their turn in the spotlight.

  I’d just started back down the walk when I heard an odd and raucous scraping from above. A sprinkle of fine dust shimmered into the bright shafts of the overhead light like out-of-season snow. I couldn’t place it, though I had the awful feeling I should know what the combination of occurrences might mean.

  “Grandma!” Seleia was screaming as she stared up at the roofline, her face twisted with terror.

  I followed her gaze and saw what she saw. Not a moment too soon, I vaulted to the side. As I tumbled into the half-dead shrubbery, a small stone gargoyle crashed to the ground and shattered into tiny blade-sharp shards.

  Victoria caught me by the arm and pulled me upright. The three of us stared at the splintered masonry, then Seleia said a word I didn’t know she knew. I didn’t reprimand her for it; I might have said it myself had I not been struck speechless.

  “Oh my gosh!” she added shakily. “I hope that’s not a preview of the day.”

  “I second that,” I said, regaining a harsh whisper of a voice.

  From all sides, people were flocking around us, drawn like cats to a cat fight to investigate the crash and cries. More than once, I heard the word hex whispered in solemn speculation.

  Jason Prince, the brawny associate producer, shouldered through the crowd. With his tweed jacket and brown fedora, he carried an air of authority, though I noted few of the company paid him much mind.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked, casting his dark eyes around the scene. When no one volunteered an explanation, he stepped up to Victoria. Putting a hand on her shoulder, his demeanor softened. “What happened, honey? You alright?”

  The slight woman looked at him in shock, then turned her gaze to the fallen gargoyle.

  “It just dropped from the sky,” she stuttered.

  Jason surveyed the fractured embellishment. “Anyone hurt?”

  “No, but there could have been.” I answered. “You might want to have someone check it out, make sure there aren’t any other loose dingbats up there.”

  He gave me a blank stare. “Who are you?”

  “Lynley Cannon, cat handler. You may have seen me at Rhonda’s trailer when Cary Grant went missing a few days ago.” Or that night when we both saw a ghost in the parking lot, I thought to myself but refrained from verbalizing.

  His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, then he turned on a warm smile. “Don’t remember, sorry. Good to meet you, Lynley. Too bad it’s under such unfortunate circumstances. I look forward to seeing you again.” He winked, then turned away.

  “Don’t just stand there gawking,” he barked to the onlookers. “Get one of the construction boys up on the roof, pronto! And have someone clean up this mess. The rest of you, back to work.”

  Taking Seleia’s hand, I pulled her close and held her there. To Victoria, I said, “Can we get someone to move my car now?”

  Chapter 17

  Yes, there is a proper way to pet a cat. Beginning at the top of the head, move your open palm smoothly and gently down to the shoulders. If the cat’s okay with that, keep going down the back. Watch for resistance at the lower back since some cats prefer not to be touched there. If all is still good, gently close your hand around the tail, smoothing upward. Give a gentle squeeze at the tip of the tail, for closure.

  Seleia and I sat in Rhonda’s trailer sipping chamomile tea. Cary Grant lounged in a brightly printed canoe bed, looking a little like a red-orange taco. Clark Gable had claimed Seleia’s lap. The trailer had come through the move from Oaks Bottom with only a few minor shifts, things that weren’t secured before the trip. The little drawer with the box full of flashlights, for instance, hadn’t been latched properly after the Cary Grant search, and we were still finding the tiny instruments strewn about the place.

  Seleia, always a quiet girl, had been quieter than usual since the brush with the falling gargoyle. It might have been due to the early hour but I didn’t think so.

  “That was pretty weird out there,” I began. I didn’t have to elaborate on what that was.

  “Yeah,” Seleia grimaced. “If someone—‌if you had been underneath...” She choked, unable to finish the sentence.

  I took her ha
nd. “But I wasn’t. This is an old building. Things break and fall.” Not that I believed for a minute it was a fluke. “Look, there’s something I should probably have told you before you agreed to work with me.”

  She gave a startled look. “Why? What is it?”

  “There is a rumor going around,” I said, jumping in feet first, “that the show is hexed.”

  “Hexed? But that’s bad, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t really know what it means, and I don’t for a moment think it’s true. Still I have to admit there have been some strange things going on.”

  “Like the man who died? I heard it on the news. They didn’t say anything about a hex though.”

  “Thank goodness,” I muttered. “If the press gets a hold of that story, they’ll be no stopping them.”

  “The news said it was an accident. Were you there? Did you know him?”

  “Yes, Juno, a camera operator.” I left out the part about being only inches away from where it happened and the fact that poor Juno bought it trying to save me. “You’re right—‌the police say it was accidental. Still, it’s only one of several mishaps that have occurred since McCaffrey & Jack began shooting. I probably shouldn’t have involved you, Seleia. I was being selfish, asking you to help, knowing there were... issues.”

  “Oh, but that’s not true!” Seleia gasped. “It’s all the more reason for me to be here. Between the two of us, we can keep our kitties safe.” She gave Clark a fervent scratch to his sideburns and received a basso purr in response.

  “Don’t you even want to know about the other incidents?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I trust you. You wouldn’t put me or the cats in danger.”

  I smiled at her unwavering faith. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded confidently. “Quite sure.”

  “Well, you’re right, dear. I wouldn’t knowingly expose you to something I thought might be dangerous, and I personally don’t think this hex is by any means real, but we should be careful just the same.”

  Seleia nodded in solemn agreement.

  There was a knock on the trailer door. “It’s just me, Freddie,” the boy announced.