by Molly Fitz
The ladies hung up their coats, put on their aprons and got to work, and I stayed with our newest resident. She watched my every move.
I put my hands on my hips. I spent plenty of time talking to animals, but the conversations had always been one-sided. Now that there were other humans here, I was a self-conscious about continuing the conversation. “Am I the only one you can talk to?”
“I can talk to everyone. So far, you’re the only one who’s understood me.” The cat stood, stretched, and carefully stepped over the drooping side of the box. “Do you have any tuna?”
“Okay, so you’re not a stray.” Besides the muddy paws, my new friend had a shiny, thick coat, white legs that made it look like she was wearing pants, and a pudgy belly.
She groaned. “I told you, I was catnapped.”
“What happened?” I had to admit, it was amazing to get the story of why she’d been dropped off here. Usually we were left guessing.
“I witnessed a crime.” The cat walked toward me, stopping at the edge of the table. Her yellow gaze captivated me. “I chased the robbers, but I lost them. I tried to find my way back to the gallery, but there were so many scents!”
Gallery. Interesting. Not home. She wore a pink collar, but there was no pendant sharing her information. I hoped she had a chip.
“There was a box outside, and some food in there. I was starving. The next thing I knew, I woke up and the box was sealed. Now I’m here.”
“I’m food motivated too. What’s your name?”
She steeled herself. “Persephone.”
“Nice to meet you, Persephone.” I looked toward the kennel area. Brooke and Casey were busy feeding and greeting our residents. They were soaking up dog kisses and cat rubs and weren’t paying us any mind. Persephone drank her water, but she wasn’t touching the food. “Do you know where you live? Or your owners’ names?”
The cat gave me a look.
“Silly me. No one owns you. What can you tell me about the people who feed and take care of you?”
“My person is called Margaret, and she owns the Galerie Bellamy. She must be devastated about the missing painting. And of course, me.”
Oh. Galerie Bellamy had been all over the internet. A priceless painting had been stolen in the middle of the night last week. It was a Bournaise, a trendy “new” painter, though he hadn’t lived to enjoy his fifteen minutes of fame. The stories online about had been pretty juicy, claiming the owner of the gallery had been the lover of the artist.
Last I read, they had no leads on who took the painting.
There was a huge reward for information leading to the recovery of the Bournaise. Money that would go a long way in helping the residents of Helping Paws who didn’t have a voice. With Persephone’s help, I might be able to claim it.
Chapter Two
“Are you coming out with us tonight, Addie?” Brooke asked.
“I thought Casey had a date.”
She rolled her eyes. “He canceled. I need to stop swiping on this stupid site.”
“Maybe we should set you up with Doctor Oliver.” I waggled my brows.
“We could, but he’s only got eyes for the animals.”
“And Addie,” Brooke added, and I groaned. “Don’t lie, the two of you have shared some longing looks that have nothing to do with veterinary business.”
“I can’t date him. If it goes bad, we’ll have no one to help with the animals.”
“So are you coming with us?” Brooke waggled her brows.
“Add tonight to my ever-growing collection of rainchecks.”
Casey waved her hand and tossed her apron into the hamper. “We’re never getting her to go out after work. I swear, when I get my Boost Your Self-Confidence course finished, I’m giving you a free pass.”
“My confidence is fine. You don’t want an old lady hanging around with you.” At thirty-two, I was ten years older than my coworkers. We had a ton of fun at work, but I was their boss, and there were supposed to be boundaries. Which was why all I could share with the adorable doctor was those looks. The funny thing was, I hated rules. I ditched my brokerage job because for that reason. But now that I was in charge, rules sometimes came in handy. “Persephone told me who her owner is, and I want to see if I can contact her.”
“Persephone?” Casey raised a brow. “Purr-sephone? Whoever named her has a sense of humor.”
“And they’re probably missing her.”
“That’s a valid reason to bail. You’ll come out with us next weekend, then?” Brooke bounced on her toes, giving me her most hopeful look.
“I came home to New Hampshire to embrace my socially awkward self. After working all week, I’m super happy to veg out in front of my cooking shows.”
“You don’t even cook.”
“I like to eat.” I had a little bit of a takeout problem. I reframed it: I support local businesses.
“You know where to find us if you change your mind. Or if Persephone has more to say.” Brooke winked at me on her way out the door. Casey waved and followed.
Tonight, I had a date with a cat.
I knew better than to show up empty handed. After a quick trip to the supermarket to stock up on solid tuna in oil, I returned to Helping Paws. This would be easier if I could bring Persephone home as a foster, but I lived in the in-law apartment above my sister’s garage, and in exchange for jaw-droppingly cheap rent, she forbade me from bringing any animals home with me. She insisted her kids were allergic—to everything—but I had a feeling it was her way of making sure I didn’t get comfortable up there.
The crack of the can got a few curious meows from our other feline residents. Persephone’s new travel case was still sitting on the front table. I didn’t see the point in getting her acclimated since I’d most likely be bringing her home over the weekend.
“Hope you’re good with sharing,” I said when I opened the door to the kennel.
Persephone rubbed against my hand. I probably smelled like the good stuff. “As long as you got enough for everyone.”
“Can you understand what they say?”
“Of course I can.”
“Tell me everything.” Having a translator would be amazing, and I had to make use of my short time with Persephone. She had a home, and it was my job to reunite her with it.
“The one next to Harriet wants to be moved. Says she snores. Marcy, at the end, is afraid of the dark.”
“Oh. I’ll find a nightlight.” And do a little rearranging before I left for the night.
Maybe I could make a deal with Persephone’s person to have her come visit every once in a while. Like a cat consultant.
I paced the waiting area of the shelter as Persephone and the others enjoyed their meals.
I hated making phone calls, but calling the gallery cranked my anxiety to eleven. Usually I was excited to reunite a pet with their human, but Persephone came in with no tags, in a soggy box. What if she’d wound up here on purpose? I’d use the same criteria I used to evaluate potential adopters to make sure I was returning her to a safe, loving home.
Maybe Persephone knew who took the painting…visions of reward money were definitely dancing in my head. That money could do so many good things for the shelter. I might have borrowed against it when I went on my tuna shopping spree.
Gourmet meals weren’t a part of the Helping Paws’ budget.
“Thank you,” she said as she licked her paw after she emptied the bowl. “Haven’t had a meal like that in…ages.”
From the looks of her tummy, that was an exaggeration. We’d thought she might be pregnant until Brooke examined her. But I wasn’t one to food shame. I thoroughly enjoyed my treats too.
“Can you tell me anything else about the stolen painting?” I asked.
She stopped licking. “It belongs to Margaret, and they took it when she was sleeping.”
That was an odd detail. “Does Margaret live at the gallery?”
I’d snuck in as much research about Galerie Bell
amy as I could during the day. The owner’s name was indeed Margaret, and at the time of the theft, she had been putting together an exhibit of Bournaise paintings, set to open next weekend. There was so much buzz around the exhibit she had to sell advance tickets.
“Yes. Her house is upstairs. The gallery is downstairs.”
“And you go back and forth?” I’d think there were separate doors, like my apartment was separate from my sister’s house.
“I like the gallery. There’s a spot in the window that’s good for napping.”
“Did you see who took the painting?” My imagination had been running wild all day, picturing skinny dudes wearing all black moving soundlessly through the gallery. Using acrobatics to dodge an intricate tangle of security lasers.
And apprehending them with my trusty sidekick, Persephone.
But there were so many questions, like how did they get in? The articles I read mentioned there was no forced entry. And how and why did Persephone wind up in another state?
“Two humans,” she said.
I groaned but reminded myself to be patient. She was a cat. And all of this could be a figment of my imagination.
That was another reason the phone call gave me the heebie-jeebies.
Persephone huffed. “They smelled like dead flowers.”
“Like perfume?” I was dealing with a cat, and I had to work with what she could give me. “Have you ever smelled that before?”
“All the time.”
This reward money could be a slam dunk, if Persephone could be trusted. “Could you tell who it was?”
What was I going to do? Bring her in front of a lineup and let her sniff her fill?
“Don’t know. A lot of people come in and out of the gallery. Scents linger. But this one, I’ve smelled a lot.”
She might think all humans smelled like that, or maybe she was picking up on Margaret’s perfume. I wished there was another cat here I could talk to, so I could get more insight on how this all worked.
“Do I have a scent?”
Her eyes brightened. “You smell like treats.”
“What kind of treats?”
“Sweet ones.”
The cookies Casey had brought in. They were delicious and easy to pop in my mouth in between all the tasks we needed to do each day to keep the shelter running smoothly.
So the scent wasn’t a smoking gun, but I wasn’t giving up yet. I’d probably only have one chance to talk to Margaret, so I needed to be prepared.
“What happened after the humans took the painting?”
“I followed them. They had no right to take it!” Persephone rose and stretched, indignance oozing out of every pore. “They brought it through an alley, onto the street, and loaded it into a car.”
If Persephone couldn’t describe a person to me, she’d never be able to give me critical details on the getaway vehicle, like a license plate number. But that was still pretty good.
“Then what happened?”
“They almost ran me over.” She huffed. “I chased them as long as I could. I’m not a kitten anymore, and I lost them.”
“Why didn’t you go back to the gallery?” I asked. Persephone seemed like a homebody.
“I wanted to find the car. Margaret’s painting. Those humans can’t get away with this.” She lay down in front of me. “But I couldn’t find them, so I tried to go home.”
I wondered how many other animals in my care had stories like this. That they were trying to do a good thing for their human, and it went horribly wrong.
“How did you wind up in the box?”
“I made it back home to the alley. There was a box out there, and it had a treat in it. I thought maybe Margaret had left it for me. I don’t remember anything else that happened until I woke up and couldn’t get out of the box.”
Someone had put catnip in that box. Cats passed out if they ate it. Which made me think someone wanted Persephone…gone. A chill ran down my spine.
From Persephone’s account, whoever took the painting was familiar with Margaret. And they took her cat away from her.
Why?
Maybe I should’ve spent my weekends watching crime shows instead of Parking Lot Potluck.
“You’re really far from the gallery.” That didn’t deliver the shock value I was hoping for. Cats probably didn’t measure things like distance, or time, like we did. “Did you smell anything on the way here?”
“Chemicals,” she said.
“Do you know what kind?”
“No.” She curled her paws in front of her, and yawned. She’d been through a lot and had to be exhausted. The clock was ticking on my investigation.
“I can call Margaret and tell her you’re here.” I ran my hand over her back. “Do you want to go home?”
It didn’t sound like she’d had a bad life, but someone had put her in a box and brought her here for a reason.
“I like Margaret, yes. But I also like talking to you,” she said.
“I like talking to you too.” But I couldn’t get attached. “Tell me about Margaret.”
“She has a silly nickname for me. So unsophisticated.”
“What is it?”
“I’d rather not share that information.” If a cat could blush, Persephone would be bright pink.
“C’mon, tell me.” I picked up my phone and swiped to the page I already had open with the gallery phone number. “Once I talk to Margaret, she’ll probably say it.”
She made a sound that was supposed to be a growl, but it was more like a moan.
“I’ll probably make up my own nickname for you eventually.”
She groaned. “Fine. She calls me Purry Pants. Because my back legs are a different color.”
“It’s cute.” Oh, that was a look. “I promise I’ll never call you that.”
The phone was still in my hand, with the gallery number on the screen and I held my breath as I hit send.
“Galerie Bellamy. Margaret speaking.” Her voice had a slight shake to it. Thanks to my research, I had the unfair advantage of knowing a few things about Margaret, sight unseen. She was seventy years old and had recently returned to Boston after living in France for most of her adult life. She came from old money that had fizzled out in the last generation or so. The articles described her as colorful and eccentric.
“Hi, Margaret. My name is Addie Dawson. I think I might have your cat.”
“Purry Pants?” I stifled a laugh at her exclamation. Persephone huffed and turned away from me. “Where did you find her? She’s been missing since the night of…the break-in. I’m not sure if you’ve heard, my gallery was broken into.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss.” I groaned. A painting was missing, no one died. “Can you tell me a few things about your cat to make sure we don’t have a case of mistaken identity?”
“Did you get my phone number from her tag?”
Interesting. “She came in without a tag. Would you like to come and see if she’s your cat?”
“Yes, of course.” There was a long pause. “How did you know she was my cat if she didn’t have a tag?”
“She matched the description from one of the news stories about the break-in.” I hadn’t read a story that mentioned the cat, but it didn’t mean they didn’t exist.
“I don’t think I…oh, it must’ve been Nicole, my niece, who mentioned Purry. She’s been so helpful since the incident.” She sighed. I couldn’t blame her for being rattled. “Where is she?”
“At Helping Paws Animal Shelter in Harmony, New Hampshire.”
“Oh, dear. That’s so far. I’m not sure I can make it there. I’m reluctant to leave the gallery, in case the thieves come back for more. Maybe I could send my niece.”
“I’d rather match the owner with the lost pet.” And I wanted to see Margaret interact with Persephone in person. Persephone had said I was the first to understand her, but maybe Margaret would know something was different about her pet.
And I wanted to put together wha
t I’d learned from Persephone and see if it matched anything that really happened. Not only for the reward money. Margaret sounded like a nice lady, and her cat obviously cared for her. They deserved justice.
“You’re more than welcome to bring her here. The gallery will be open from ten to five, all weekend. I could meet with you after hours, so we could talk.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
Chapter Three
There’s a meme comparing the overhead views streets of New York and Boston. The streets in New York are neatly organized in a grid. The streets of Boston look like someone dropped a bowl of spaghetti and was forever waiting for someone to pick it up. Add to that a subway strike and tourists walking into traffic on this summer evening, and I’d had to borrow a couple of Persephone’s nine lives to get to Galerie Bellamy.
I was late, and being late gave me all the feels from my old brokerage job in Boston, where I always arrived five minutes late and totally flustered from traffic. I wasn’t able to park near the gallery, and I was going to be sweaty by the time I met Margaret.
Looking at my phone and not where I was going, I slammed right into someone when I turned the corner so hard Persephone yowled from inside her carrier.
“I am so sorry.” Even more mortifying, I’d slammed into a really cute guy. He was about my age, with dark wavy hair and dark-rimmed glasses. He was wearing a button-down shirt and a pair of jeans.
If Brooke and Casey were here, they’d definitely be flirting with him. But I turned multiple shades of red.
“It’s all right. We all have places to go.” He gave me a crooked grin and looked down at the carrier in my hand. “Taking your cat out for the night?”
“No. I’m bringing her back.” That sounded ridiculous. “Is Galerie Bellamy on this street?”
His eyes widened. “Is that Persephone?”
“You know this cat?”
He crouched down and smiled when he got a good view of the carrier. “Yes, I do. And yeah, the gallery is in the middle of the block. You can’t miss it. It’s the only house in the middle of the high rises.”