For today we’d be using Lady, a gray-and-white longhair being fostered by a family in the area. The shelter had said Lady was generally laid-back but didn’t especially take to grooming. That, we found, was an understatement. Her initial yowls and hisses at least drew a crowd to our van, but from the frowns on some of the onlookers, I worried that we might be accused of animal cruelty.
Time to call the pheromone spray and the special grooming harness back into action.
When things seemed under control, we fully opened the side panel door so people could watch us work. The harness didn’t quiet Lady completely, but at least it kept her from breaking free and reassured the audience that we weren’t hurting her in any way. Becky steadied the cat while I gave my usual spiel about coat texture and very gently coaxed some knots out of Lady’s plumy white tail.
An older man in the crowd muttered, “If I tried to do that with my cat, he’d claw my eyes out!”
I smiled. “Most cats adjust to being brushed and combed by their owners over time, but some never do. For the really resistant ones, you do need a professional groomer.”
Dria and Ashley loitered at the back of the crowd, and as it started to disperse, I waved them nearer. Today Ashley wore a tee featuring a punked-out white cat with tattoos and a nose ring—probably what Looli would look like if she fell in with a bad crowd. Dria’s shirt commanded, Get outta my space! which I recognized as a line from Jaki’s famous song that sliced and diced her ex-boyfriend.
“Hi again,” I said. “You guys enjoying the expo?”
“It is pretty rad,” Ashley said, with a grin. “Have you been inside? I never in my life imagined people could buy so much stuff for their cats.”
“I guess if there’s a market for it, someone will make it . . . and sell it,” I said. “Did you see those people walking around in, like, cat mascot costumes? I have no idea what that’s all about.”
“They’re putting on some kind of kid’s show about adopting animals,” Dria told me, her tone more blasé than her friend’s. “We saw part of their skit.”
Okay, that eased some of my suspicions. Jaki’s stalker probably was not strolling around the expo disguised as a man-sized tabby; those costumes would be expensive to rent and pretty cumbersome if he had to make a quick escape. Still, I didn’t completely discard the notion.
Faced with only two of the Jak-ettes, my thoughts traveled back to Lexi, who coveted a Scottish Fold. “Your other friends didn’t come today?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Ashley. “We just got separated. They’re around somewhere.”
“Lexi ought to check out the cat show in the hotel,” I recommended. “All the purebred breeders are in there. If she really wants a Scottish Fold, she might be able to find someone who’d sell her one.”
“Hey, that’s a good idea. I’ll have to mention . . .”
Dria clutched her friend’s arm. “Y’know, Ash, maybe that’s where they are. We should go look!”
“Huh? Oh, right.” Being pulled away, the brunette hung back long enough to tell me, “Nice talking to you again, Cassie. Cool demo.”
By that time, all of our other listeners had dispersed, and I rejoined Becky inside the van. I told her that I’d tried to probe the subject of Lexi wanting a Scottish Fold cat, but Dria had found an excuse to cut the conversation short.
“That’s a little strange, though it doesn’t prove anything.” As we removed Lady’s harness and released her into the drying cage, my helper added, “I guess Gordie’s still missing.”
I nodded and drew a deep breath. “I’m going to tell you some things, Becky, but you have to keep them quiet. Maybe share with Chris, because he might be able to help us, but swear him to secrecy, too.”
“No problem.”
“The cat hasn’t been returned, and I’ve been asked to keep an eye out for anyone who could be responsible.” I nodded in the direction of the departing duo. “We know those girls are major fans, and apparently one of them told the rest that she really wanted a Scottish Fold cat.”
“That doesn’t mean she stole Gordie.”
“Of course it doesn’t. Still, the cat could have been taken for that stupid a reason. A crazy fan wanted to have something of Jaki’s, to brag about, or to feel more like a star herself. Mira thinks the person who took Gordie was a man, but she barely glimpsed them or heard their voice. Could have been a tall woman with a low pitch.”
“And you think that same person could’ve killed the security guard?”
I pictured Dria’s tall, athletic build and hard-edged Jersey attitude. “I’m just saying, we need to consider every possibility.”
Becky had packed Lady away in the roomy cage normally used for blow-drying. Now the cat lounged happily on a cushion with food, water, and a shallow litter tray nearby.
“For someone who kicked up such a fuss, she’s calmed down pretty fast,” Becky observed. “Think we can use her again for the afternoon demo?”
“Should be okay. She might be over the shock by now and take it more in stride.” The fluffy gray-and-white animal’s queenly pose reminded me of the show cats in the hotel ballroom, so dignified in their similar, large cages.
“And it’s cool again today,” Becky added. “Will it be safe to just lock her in here while we go meet Chris and Mark for lunch?”
“I think so.” I glanced at my watch—quarter after twelve. I had thought Dria’s sudden departure seemed suspicious, but maybe she and Ashley just had plans for lunch. “First, though, I’m going to pop back over to the hotel and see how Mom and Harry are doing. Meet you guys at the gyro stand?”
“Sounds like a plan. Hope Looli’s crushing the competition!”
* * *
The pearl-white Sphynx was beating all comers so far and had taken another first-place ribbon, Best in Division. Harry sat cradling her against his chest, and Mom held up the cat’s two most prestigious ribbons, blue and black, as a hotel staffer snapped a photo with Harry’s camera. I noticed that, while my mother leaned close enough to be included in the shot, she did not make contact with Looli.
“Thanks for all your help, Steve.” Harry reached into his jacket pocket and handed the young man a folded bill.
“Oh, no, sir, that’s not necessary.” The staffer declined the tip with a smile as he passed the camera back to Harry. I recognized him as the same employee we’d run into at the conference center the week before—the one who’d told us where to find Perry out on the plaza. Average in height and build, he wore the informal Bradburne uniform of black tailored pants and a gray polo shirt. His short, curly hair gave his face a rectangular look, echoed by the shape of his dark-rimmed glasses.
Mom introduced me by name and profession, and explained that I gave grooming demonstrations outside the expo. She told me, “If it hadn’t been for Steve, here, we’d have gotten stuck yesterday in that mess leaving the parking lot. I heard Security was checking all the cars and carriers. Do you know what all that was about? When we were driving away, we saw a couple of police cars outside the hotel, too.”
I hesitated, unsure how much I should tell them. In the meantime, Harry chimed in, “Steve heard there was a power failure while Jaki Natal was doing her interview.”
Well, if even the staff was spreading that information, I saw no reason to deny it. “That’s right. I was at the back of the conference room when it happened—the room went dark and a fire alarm went off. But emergency lights came on right away, and as far as I know, everybody got out okay.”
“I think a guard got hurt.” Steve sounded eager to spread the gossip. “I saw him carried out on a stretcher. Maybe he fell over something when the lights went out?”
“Maybe.” I wasn’t about to feed Steve more fodder for rumors. If he didn’t even know the guard had died, the hotel’s management still must be playing it close to the vest.
“Well, I’d better get back to work,” he said, with a shy smile and a wave. “Nice talking to you folks, and good luck!”
Harry thanked him again for
taking the photos and tucked Looli back into her silver satin, Egyptian-themed boudoir . . . complete, of course, with covered litter pan. Mom scrolled back through the shots of the three of them, trying to decide which was best to post on her Facebook page.
“Your friends and family are going to have hysterics when they see you that close to a cat and actually smiling,” I told her.
“Oh, she’s made a lot of progress with her phobia,” Harry assured me, settling back into his metal folding chair beside Mom’s.
I pulled up an extra chair, reassured myself that there was no one close enough to overhear me, and confided, “I’m going to tell you guys something, but you have to keep it to yourselves. I mean, it’s something the police might not even want me telling you.”
That made them both sit up straight. “The police?” Mom asked. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Not me! Just getting recruited, again, to help with an investigation.” I told them about the missing cat and my meeting a couple of hours earlier with Jaki and her people.
“I told them you two were down here on the show floor,” I said, “and maybe you could keep your eyes open. For what, I’m not sure, but this would be the perfect place to hide Gordie in plain sight. Maybe there’s someone who has a Scottish Fold that’s not accounted for, or who’s acting suspiciously.”
“I wouldn’t even know what one looks like!” Mom protested.
While Harry launched into a long-winded description of the breed type, I searched briefly on my cell phone and came up with a nice, clear photo of Gordie himself.
While Mom studied this, Harry’s lean features folded in a frown. “I can’t imagine why anyone in this crowd would want to steal a celebrity’s cat. They couldn’t breed it or show it.”
“I’m sure Gordie’s neutered, anyway, and yeah, they’d need his papers to enter him in a show.” I wouldn’t go into the background of the singer possibly having an obsessed stalker or about someone holding the cat for ransom—that was police business. “Jaki’s concerned that maybe someone took him just because of the connection to her.”
“In that case, they might have plans to sell him on the underground market,” Harry suggested ominously. “Someone might pay a lot to own a celebrity’s cat, even if they never told anyone but their closest friends where they got him. Kind of like a James Bond villain who steals the Mona Lisa and hides it away in some top-secret vault.”
And Gordie would be less likely to arouse suspicion, I thought, because he was far less unique. There were a lot more silver tabby Scottish Folds in the world than Mona Lisas.
Mom looked spooked now, probably worried about what kind of criminal mastermind could be hanging around the expo. “Do you think this person had something to do with the guard who was injured?”
I didn’t tell her that I knew the guard to be dead. “The police are looking into that possibility.”
Harry’s narrow cheeks actually flushed with a tinge of pink, as if it excited him to be helping with the investigation. “So, if we do see something odd, we should call you?”
“Yes, right away. And if it sounds at all suspicious, I’ll tell the cops.”
“Good,” Mom said, worry lines corrugating her brow. “Cassie, please don’t go chasing down this character yourself!”
“I don’t plan to. Angela Bonelli is already on the case, so I’ll just pass along anything I learn to her.” I glanced at my phone and saw it was quarter to one. “Right now, I’m going to chase down lunch. Can I bring you anything from the concourse?”
“We brown-bagged it today,” Mom said, “but thanks anyway.”
“Stop by and see us later,” Harry told me, with a glint in his eye. “We should have a good shot at Best of Breed, too.”
I knew that, rather than bragging, he was actually being modest. Looli should have a lock on the next award. She was up against only two other Sphynx cats and had already beaten them in every category so far.
* * *
On my way out of the show area, I found myself distracted by the Feline Agility class. Here, pedigree and even appearance didn’t matter much. Unlike the other competitions, where owners left their cats in the hands of a judge, for agility, the animal’s owner or trainer coaxed him around an obstacle course. I’d seen some balk in the past, but at the moment, a little spotted guy, probably an Ocicat, streaked around in pursuit of a feather toy. He easily leaped over hurdles, dashed through a couple of long fabric tunnels, charged up and down steps, and swerved in and out of a row of closely set poles until his handler finally let him catch the “bird.” Whether judged on speed, obedience, or sheer coordination, he looked like a winner to me. From the applause and whistles when his young female handler scooped him up in a hug, the crowd of onlookers agreed.
Moving along, I headed up to the gyro stand on the main concourse, scanning passersby all the while. At least I saw no one toting anything aqua blue that looked like a big purse with mesh openings.
Mark sat at a café table with Becky and Chris. The FOCA folks already munched on gyros, but being a gentleman, Mark had waited for me to join him. Fortunately, gyros are easily slapped together, and soon we had our lunches, too.
“Who’s minding the store?” I asked Chris.
“Grumpy Glenda, and she’s not happy about it. When she’s there, she harangues anyone who stops by about adopting a shelter cat instead of buying from a pet store or a breeder. Which is a valid point, except she’s too abrasive about it. Then whenever there’s a lull in the foot traffic, she disappears for, like, ten minutes at a stretch. I don’t get her.”
“Yeah, that’s weird,” Becky agreed. “If she’s so passionate about the cause, why does she spend so little time at the table? Maybe she’s got attention-deficit.”
“She’s got a deficit of something!” With a resigned air, Chris took another bite of his gyro.
While we all ate, I told him and Mark about my morning meeting with Jaki and her “people,” and officially deputized them.
“Becky and I are stuck outside,” I explained, “but you two are here on the concourse, where hordes of people pass by.”
“I’ll gladly keep my eyes open,” said Chris. Lightly, he added, “Hey, how about that guy?”
I followed his pointing finger to the tall, skinny, and scruffy dude in the Marry me! T-shirt. Was he wearing it for the second day straight . . . or did he have more than one? His faded jeans and dirty sneakers looked the same as the day before, too.
Unlike the quartet of giggly female fans, this character always seemed to be wandering around by himself. Seeing him for the second time, I realized he must be pushing forty, pretty old for a Jaki Natal groupie. As Chris and I watched, a young couple—apparently strangers—grinned over the man’s shirt, and the woman stood next to him while her companion took a quick photo. The bearded guy posed willingly enough but never cracked a smile. When the couple moved along, he also continued on his way.
I told Chris, “You might laugh, but he’s already on my personal radar. I definitely will mention him to Bonelli.”
“Seems like a serious stalker would know better than to advertise it,” Chris suggested.
“You’re thinking like a sane person. We don’t know just how unbalanced this creep is.”
“Remember, the stalker could be female,” Becky insisted. “Any physically strong and tech-savvy woman could have sabotaged the lights and killed the guard, or a woman could have hired a guy to do it. Has Jaki made enemies of any other female singers?”
I tilted my head. “No one has mentioned that. But you’re right, it’s worth checking out.”
Mark frowned. “Whoever took Gordie, I hope they at least know something about caring for him. The cat’s got to be upset, being dragged away from his owner like that. I hope he’s not stuck in some dark, airless closet with no food or water.”
That’s why I love this guy, I thought. Jaki would love him, too. Maybe it would be best—for me—if the two of them never actually meet!
/> Becky said, “I wonder if the police have searched the guest rooms.”
“I don’t know if they can, unless there’s a direct connection to the crime,” I told her. “If they did, they probably would have been looking for someone who might have killed the guard, not for the missing cat.”
But if they opened closets and checked under beds, and Gordie was there, they would have found him. And, I’m sure, they’d have told Jaki immediately.
Of course, the cat could have turned up already since my meeting with her that morning, and maybe no one had thought to tell me.
Chris and Becky cleaned up their lunch trash and went off to staff the FOCA table for a while. She promised to return to my van by three for our afternoon demo.
Left alone with Mark, I recalled his caring statement about the kidnapped cat’s welfare, and it reminded me of something else. “Jaki said Gordie’s got some health problems, too. Arthritis and kidney issues . . .”
Mark’s deep-blue gaze locked on mine like a laser. “Cartilage abnormalities and polycystic kidney disease. Those are both hereditary in some Scottish Folds.”
“She knows. She’s been giving him special food and medication to keep him healthy, but a stranger isn’t going to know or care enough to do that.”
“Which makes it even more of a race against the clock to find him. She’s supposed to do that concert in the theater tonight, isn’t she?”
I nodded. “I wonder if it’ll even come off. When we talked this morning, she was a basket case, crying her eyes out—as bad as if someone had kidnapped her little sister or brother. Hard to believe she’ll be able to pull herself together by showtime.”
Mark had to start his two o’clock demo then, and I hung around on the concourse to watch. He’d just begun his spiel about the most common feline health complaints when my cell phone rang. It surprised me to see Angela Bonelli’s mobile number.
“Hi, what’s up?” I asked.
“You busy with anything right now?”
“I’ve got nothing until three. Why?”
I heard weariness in Bonelli’s tone, though it didn’t seem directed at me. “I understand that you already know your way to the Presidential Suite. Could you join us up here again for a few minutes?”
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