A Whisker of Truth

by Patricia Fry

  He shrugged. “Well, you’re about to find out, aren’t you, you little snoop.”

  He took Savannah’s arm and walked up the steps with her. Peter and Rochelle followed.

  “So, Peter, what time do we need to get back?” Rochelle asked. “You said Simon’s spending the evening with the Strickland boys? Do we have to pick him up at a certain time?”

  “I told them we’d be back by nine—probably earlier. They were fine with it.”

  “That’s interesting that they let you take Simon home today,” Savannah said. “I thought once social services got their hands on him, they’d keep him in the system.”

  “Nope,” Peter said. “He told them he wants to be with us, and they let me take him home. It’s still temporary.”

  “A butler,” Savannah exclaimed quietly to Rochelle when a man opened the front door.

  “Oh, you must be our guests,” he said casually. “I’m Chad. Come on in.”

  He led them through an ornately decorated great room and out to a spacious terrace where a blonde woman sat sipping wine and talking on a cell phone.

  “Your guests are here,” Chad announced.

  The woman ended the call and turned to face them. “Rob,” she said, standing up on her tippy toes and brushing her cheek against his. “Great to see you again.”

  She nodded toward the others. “Rochelle.” She laughed. “Are you surprised?”

  “Hello, Alison?” Rochelle said, dryly. “Nice wig.”

  Alison ignored her and reached for Savannah’s hand. “Good to see you again. It’s a shame about your cat. He’s probably been devoured by rats by now, don’t you think so?” When Savannah’s eyes welled, Alison said without emotion, “Oh, I am sorry. I guess he was a pet, huh?” She scrunched up her face. “I don’t know much about keeping animals. Oh, don’t get me wrong; I like animals when they’re in their proper habitat—you know, like in cages at the zoo.”

  “Come on, Al,” Chad said, “you feed the birds.”

  She winced. “Yeah, the crumbs you leave all over the place from your pizza and those cookies you like.” She smiled. “Chad, meet my new playmates.” She looped her arm in Rob’s and said in a flirty manner, “This is Rob. He just might become my new agent—you know, for the books I want to write.” She smiled up at Rob and cooed, “If we can negotiate a nice deal together, that is.” She glanced at the others. “These are his tagalong friends, Rochelle and Savannah, right, dear?”

  Savannah nodded and shook hands with Chad.

  Alison moved toward Peter and put her hands on his arms. “And who are you, handsome? I hope not someone’s husband.”

  “Peter,” he said, stepping back and shaking hands with her. “I’m married to Rochelle.”

  “Rochelle,” Alison said, “you did well for yourself. And what do you do, Peter, besides stand around looking good?”

  “I’m an artist.”

  Alison glanced at Rochelle. “Of course.” She returned to where she’d been sitting and picked up her wine glass. “Chad,” she crooned, “bring the wine bar out here, will you? I’ll let you all help yourselves, like you’re probably accustomed to doing anyway. You can sit where you want while I have a little talk with my new agent.” She patted a chair next to her. “Rob, you can sit here. What kind of wine would you like? We have pretty much everything.” She leaned toward him, her lips pursed. “What’s your pleasure?”

  “You pick one for me,” he suggested.

  “So what did you find out about the old building today?” Peter asked once he, Savannah, and Rochelle were seated at the far end of the terrace, each with a glass of wine.

  “I’ve ordered a copy of the heating-and-air-conditioning-company’s plans,” Rochelle said. “My friend is supposed to call me as soon as they arrive. She’s a cat lover and she knows how desperate we are to rescue Rags, so she’s going to keep checking this evening in case they come in after hours.”

  “How nice of her,” Savannah said. “Thank you, Rochelle, but I wonder if those plans will really help.”

  “They just might,” Peter said. “Let’s not overlook any possibilities, shall we? Did you leave food for him tonight—I mean, there in the building?”

  Savannah shook her head and dabbed at her eyes. “No, they’re going to let us in tomorrow morning and I’ll take food then. I want him to be hungry so he’ll come out, that is if he’s even still in the building.”

  “What did you lose?” Chad asked, joining them. When the trio looked at him, he said, “Excuse me for intruding. Obviously Alison doesn’t need my help over there.”

  Savannah gazed in the direction he nodded and saw Rob walking with Alison in the garden, her arm looped through his.

  “Yes, please join us,” Peter invited. “To answer your question, we lost a cat this weekend.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned a lost cat,” Chad said. He then asked, “Hey, is that the one they think found its way into the innards of that old building?” He pointed at Savannah. “That’s your cat?”

  She nodded.

  “Ouch. I’m sorry. You can’t get him to come to you?”

  “Not so far, which is unusual for Rags. Oh, he does get focused on something sometimes and he’ll follow his nose, but he always comes back to me eventually.” She tilted her head. “How did you know about him?”

  “I saw something about it in the paper.”

  “So you like cats?” Rochelle asked.

  “Yeah, but it isn’t so much the cat story that caught my eye; I’m kind of obsessed with that old building.”

  “So you’re familiar with it?” Savannah asked. “I mean, from a structural viewpoint or what?”

  Chad chuckled. “Every viewpoint, actually.” He leaned on the table. “That old place is full of mysteries. I guess any building as old as that one is—one hundred and thirty-some years—is bound to have stories to tell, especially one with such a rich and provocative history.”

  He nodded toward Alison and Rob. “She actually got me fired up about the place. I dabble in historical writing. In fact, I’d just done a piece on the Bamford Building for an online newsletter. Alison saw it and looked me up. Since her family had pretty strong ties to the place, I thought maybe she’d be a good resource for a book.” He smirked. “I’ve learned that she’s kind of a scatterbrain—isn’t as focused as I’d hoped.”

  “So you’re writing a book about the place?” Peter asked. “Is the old building that interesting?”

  “Yeah, actually. My plan is to write a book revealing all of the skeletons there along with those at a few other historic sites in and around the city.” He spoke with an eerie tone. “I’m fascinated by the macabre and the morbid, and Alison seems to know some of the dark secrets the Bamford Building holds.”

  “Hasn’t that been done?” Peter asked. “There are scads of books featuring the buildings in this city.”

  “True, which is why I hope to approach the topic from an angle that no one has thought of yet, and that will shed new light on the old places.” When the others waited to hear more, Chad said, “If you dig really deep, you’re bound to discover truths in some of the rumors—truths that have never before been revealed”

  “Such as…?” Peter goaded.

  “Well, the old Bamford Building was most well-known as a men’s club, and, where you have men who want to hang out with other men to gamble, drink, and do business, there’s going to be, well, conflict, treachery, betrayal, and even criminal activity.”

  He leaned toward them and spoke more quietly, “Some say there’s a fortune inside the building. In fact, Alison…” he frowned and looked at Peter, then hesitated, “well, she’s heard a couple of things about the place. Her grandfather used to hang out there in the sixties and seventies, until he went to prison. She’s the only surviving member of that family.”

  Peter looked around. “What were they into—her family—to afford something like this? Oil?”

  Chad squirmed in his seat for a moment. “Yeah, we’ll say oi
l.” He then said, “This is the original Graham Mansion, you know.”

  “Graham Mansion?” Rochelle repeated.

  “Yes, Alison’s grandparents’ home.”

  “Really?” Rochelle said. She glanced around. “I had no idea.”

  Chad clapped his hands together and asked, “Who’d like a tour of the grounds?”

  “It’s kind of dark,” Rochelle noted.

  Chad walked a short distance and flicked a switch. “Voilà,” he said when the yard lit up. “Let there be light.”

  “So do you live here?” Peter asked, as the four of them walked down the steps to an expanse of lawn.

  Rochelle rolled her eyes for Savannah’s benefit.

  Savannah grinned at her. Suddenly she stopped. “Shhh.”

  “What?” Rochelle asked. “What do you hear?” She noticed that the men had continued walking ahead.

  “Listen,” Savannah said. “Does that sound like a…”

  “A cat,” Rochelle hissed. “That’s a cat.”

  “Yeah, and isn’t that strange? I thought Alison-Francesca said she doesn’t have pets—doesn’t even like animals much, from the sounds of it.”

  “Maybe it’s a stray,” Rochelle suggested.

  “Could be, I guess, but there’s sure something familiar about that cry.”

  “Are you saying it sounds like Rags?” Rochelle asked wide-eyed.

  Her demeanor somber, she admitted, “It sure does.”

  “Oh, Savannah, are you sure you’re not just reaching for straws? I know how badly you want to find Rags. What would he be doing here, for heaven’s sake?”

  “I don’t know, but what are we doing here? What is your friend doing here? I just think this whole situation is weird, don’t you?” When Savannah saw that Peter and Chad continued to walk across the yard engrossed in conversation, she whispered, “Maybe Simon did see Alison-Francesca with Rags. Hey, let’s go look. I have to find out if it’s him. If not, maybe another cat needs rescuing.”

  Rochelle looked to make sure the men were still engaged, then she ducked behind Savannah. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  Before the two women got very far, they heard someone shouting. “Hey, you guys! Where are you going?”

  “Alison,” Savannah practically shouted, “we just heard…”

  Before Savannah could continue, Rochelle elbowed her and said more frivolously, “Oh, we wanted to check out that flower scent. What is that, anyway? It smells a little like lavender.”

  Alison waved her hand in front of her face. “I don’t know. Whatever the gardener planted here, I guess. Come on, I want to do a toast to my new agent. Everyone come. Come…come.”

  Savannah and Rochelle looked at each other, then gazed toward where they’d heard the sounds. Rochelle took Savannah’s arm and whispered, “I think we’d better follow her lead right now or we might spoil our chances of getting him back—if that is Rags.” When Savannah balked, she hissed, “Savannah, it’s best she doesn’t know that we know. Come on, we need time to regroup or we may lose the opportunity altogether.”

  Savannah looked at her, “Is that part of the universal law you were talking about?” she asked.

  “Could be,” Rochelle assured her.

  Reluctantly, Savannah followed along with the others back to the terrace.

  ◆◆◆

  “So, Rochelle, what are we going to do?” Savannah asked as they drove out of Alison’s driveway an hour later.

  “About what?” Rob asked.

  “About you signing that phony wannabe author,” Savannah snapped. When he didn’t say anything, she added, “Rob, what’s Cheryl going to think about this?”

  He grinned. “Are you going to tell her?” He then insisted, “Anyway, there’s nothing to tell. The woman’s simply a flirt. All I’m interested in is signing on to represent her books—that is if she’s actually doing any writing, which is doubtful.”

  “Oh?” Savannah said. “So she’s a phony?”

  Rochelle chimed in. “From the sounds of it, Chad’s the writer.”

  Rob nodded. “Yeah, she could be a phony.” He added. “I’m not even sure she actually lives there.”

  “Why?” Savannah asked.

  Rochelle turned in her seat to face them. “I think you’re right, Rob.” When she realized the others were waiting to hear more, she said, “I went in to use the restroom and felt a strong urge to step into the attached bedroom. I saw a note on the dressing-table mirror. It said, ‘Margie, please turn down the bed Monday. We’ll arrive home around dark. Thank you, as always, Beverly.’”

  “Oh!” Savannah yelped. “Do you suppose Alison goes by Margie now? I’ll bet she’s the housesitter who’s just pretending she owns the place.”

  “Or she actually has illusions that she does,” Rochelle said. When the others looked at her she said, “According to Chad, her family did own the mansion at one time.”

  “So she’s a squatter,” Savannah grumbled. “Definitely a phony and a thief.” She took a shallow breath and blurted, “Rob, we think we found Rags.”

  “What?” Peter said.

  Surprised, Rob asked, “Where?”

  “Back there at that not-Alison’s mansion. I swear it sounded just like him.”

  “Yeah,” Rochelle said, “Savannah and I both heard a cat crying. We started to go check it out, but Alison caught us and made us come back.”

  “For your toast,” Savannah said sarcastically.

  “What would he be doing there?” Rob asked. “That’s a real long shot, don’t you think so? What possible connection would Alison have to your cat?”

  “Good question,” Rochelle said. “I’ve known her since we were kids, and she’s always been unpredictable—kind of flakey. She doesn’t like animals; you heard her say that tonight. She keeps changing her name and her appearance. She’s never had any sort of regular job as far as I know, and here she is now supposedly living in a mansion. What’s up with that?”

  “Guys,” Savannah whined, “let’s focus on Rags. We need to find out if she has Rags.”

  “Why would she?” Rob asked.

  “Well, a little boy Rochelle and Peter know said he saw a woman with a cat that fits Rags’s description last night—a woman who could very well have been Alison-Francesca. We thought he might be making up the story, but maybe he wasn’t.”

  Peter glanced in the rearview mirror at her. “So what should we do?”

  Savannah perked up. “How about I call my new best friend?”

  “Who’s that?” Rochelle asked.

  Savannah pulled a business card from her purse and read, “Detective Phil Martinez. Craig gave me this in case we ran into any trouble here. That was forward thinking of him, wasn’t it?”

  “Sure was,” Rochelle said. “Is he psychic, or was he using his police intuition?”

  Savannah grinned. “None of the above. It’s because I’m traveling with Rags.” She let out a sigh. “Oh Rags, you just have to be all right. Darn, I hope that woman who doesn’t even like animals hasn’t somehow gotten her claws into my Ragsie.”

  She put her phone up to her ear. “Voicemail,” she told the others. She then said, “Hello, Detective Martinez, this is Savannah Ivey. Craig Sledge gave me your card. He knew I’d be staying in your area for a few days and said if I had any problems, especially with my cat, I should call you. Well, my cat…” she said, choking up a little, “…he’s missing. He’s a special cat, you see, and we think we know where he is, on private property. Can you possibly help me get him back? I’ll wait for your call.”

  It wasn’t long before Savannah’s phone chimed. “It’s him,” she said, looking at the screen. “Hello, this is Savannah. Thank you so much for calling me back.”

  “So what’s the problem with your cat?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Well, he got away from me yesterday while we were at a book fair at the old Bamford Building. We haven’t been able to find him. We thought he might have gone into a duct and is inside the w
alls of the building, but I think he would have come out by now if that were the case. Tonight I was visiting someone on Emerald Street, and I’m pretty sure I heard my cat.” Sounding more frantic, she said, “Would you please come with me to help get him back—or at least to see if it’s him?”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone, then the detective asked, “Are you talking about Rags, the cat that Sledge works with sometimes?” He chuckled. “In fact, that cat just helped close a case last month, didn’t he? I read about it. Is that the cat you’re talking about?”

  More excitedly, she said, “Yes. Yes, it’s Rags. You know about him?”