Gone, Kitty, Gone

by Eileen Watkins

  If her description made sinewy Harry jealous, he didn’t show it. My mother shared my love of mystery novels, and even though she didn’t consume them at the rate that I did, it seemed to be having an effect on her imagination.

  I interpreted. “In other words, he doesn’t seem the type to spend his evenings reading poetry with a calico purring on his lap?”

  Harry nodded. “Exactly. Sometimes he just stands back against the far wall and takes pictures with his phone. As if he’s trying to get the lay of the whole room.”

  “And he stops and talks to people at random,” said Mom. “Not to us, but I heard him asking a lady down the row, who has Maine Coons, about how far she traveled to the show and whether she breeds her own cats.”

  “Maybe he’s just doing research because he’s interested in the hobby,” I suggested.

  “Well, that’s what I supposed, too,” Harry told me. “But it was just odd enough that Barbara thought we should mention it to you.”

  Funny to hear him refer to my mother by her first name, when talking to me. But I was hypersensitive to all of these little nuances, I supposed.

  “By the way, Cassie, have you heard anything more about the concert tonight?” Mom asked. “Will there be one? Is that girl Jaki feeling any better?”

  Right, she and Harry would have heard the official explanation, that Jaki was ailing. “Last I heard, she’s doing better and wants to go on. Her father and Perry tried to talk her out of it, but . . .”

  I cut myself off, because across the ballroom I spotted a figure who exactly fit their description. Over six feet, wearing dark-rimmed glasses, a button-down shirt with a gray cable-knit cardigan, well-worn jeans, running shoes. But the low-key outfit felt out of sync with his cue-ball head, granite jaw, five o’clock shadow, broad shoulders, and slow, almost prowling stride.

  Whether he might be the high-tech wiz who’d hacked the hotel computer, I couldn’t say. And Jaki’s stalker? That someone his age, and with such hard-edged good looks, would be obsessed with a twenty-three-year-old pop singer seemed unlikely.

  But he sure did look like he could kill a security guard with one quick punch to the throat.

  Chapter 15

  “I see the guy,” I whispered to my mother and Harry. “I’m going to follow him.”

  “No!” Mom looked alarmed.

  Harry’s warning was less dramatic. “Just be careful, Cassie.”

  I stayed about ten paces behind the tall man, doubting that on the cat show’s crowded floor I’d attract his attention. Still, I played it cool, because even though he moved at a relaxed pace, the tall man did seem to be scanning his surroundings.

  For cops or security guards? Was he up to something he didn’t want anyone to see? Poised to bolt at any minute?

  He left the cat show/ballroom area and headed out to the main concourse. Fine, I was going there to meet my friends, anyway. As he strode out I noticed that, although he had a fit, V-shaped torso, his buttoned sweater bunched a little at the waist in back.

  On the upper concourse, he halted and took the sort of casual stance that Harry had described. Back to the wall, he set down his tote bag, unbuttoned his cardigan, tucked his hands casually into his pockets, and just watched people pass.

  I stopped nearby at a vendor’s booth that sold specialized cat beds and carriers and pretended to browse while keeping an eye on him.

  After a few minutes, the tall man pulled out his phone and made a call. I was much too far away, and the concourse was too noisy, for me to overhear anything. I just noticed that his eyes kept roaming in an alert way during his whole conversation. But when he lowered them to type something on the phone—E-mailing Jaki? Texting a co-conspirator? Hacking into the computer again?—I pulled my own cell from my purse and snapped a long-distance picture of him.

  Finally he tucked his phone back into the rear pocket of his jeans. Doing so, he briefly pushed up the lower edge of the cardigan, and my heart froze at what I thought I saw.

  Along the waist of his jeans, toward the back, the dark edge of a holster.

  Yeah, that would explain the bulge under his sweater.

  The mystery man picked up his colorful advertising tote bag and strolled farther down the concourse. I let him get some distance away before I found a quiet alcove and also made a call.

  Angela Bonelli wasn’t picking up, so I left her a message. I included my photo of the guy, described him in more detail, and told her which way he was headed.

  “I don’t know who he is or what he’s up to,” I added, “but he’s got a gun.”

  After pocketing my phone again, I trailed the man in the sweater for a few more minutes. Finally he paused by a door that said AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY, looked both ways, tried it, and then slipped inside.

  That surprised me, and I wondered how that door remained unsecured. And if it was, how did the tall guy know about it? Dion had said the hacker would be able to make changes in the computer’s coding on the fly by using an iPad. The mystery man surely had room to hide one of those in his tote bag.

  I’m no fool, though, and having no idea what lay beyond that “authorized-only” door, I did not intend to follow him. I just left another quick message for Bonelli to tell her what I’d seen. I gave her the exact location where the guy had disappeared and even sent her another photo, of the door.

  At that point, I felt as if I’d put in a full morning as an amateur sleuth. Technically my participation in the expo was finished, and my only reason to hang around was to see whether Jaki’s concert went off as planned. In the meantime, I hoped to finally grab some lunch with Mark.

  I stopped by the FOCA table to visit the dozen or so kittens and adult cats up for adoption. Becky had returned from her trip to the shelter with a stack of fresh flyers. Having finished her stint as my grooming assistant, she was helping Chris to talk up the group’s services.

  “No Glenda?” I asked them.

  “She left early,” Becky said, “but at least she asked permission first. I told Chris about your theory.”

  He gave me a tight smile. “It certainly would explain the way she’s been skulking around since she got here. And any time someone even mentions Jaki Natal, Glenda puts her nose in the air like one of the cats just took a dump, and says spoiled celebrities like Jaki set a bad example for their young fans. But honestly, Cassie, I’m acquainted with some of the folks who are protesting, and I don’t think they include any high-tech geniuses.”

  “There’s always the chance that a person who hasn’t got the skills could have recruited someone who has,” I reminded him.

  “Yes, we can’t rule that out,” Becky put in.

  “Otherwise, how are things going for FOCA?” I asked them.

  “Pretty darn good,” Chris said. “We’ve had a couple of people interested in the calico kittens, and somebody else asked about their mom.”

  “Not too surprising.” Becky arranged the new batch of flyers in a stand-up Plexiglas holder. “Calicos are usually popular, being so colorful.”

  Her partner held up a finger. “But one lady also asked about Jasper, the black cat. He’s about eight years old, too, so I consider that a jackpot. Both black cats and older cats are usually hard to place.”

  “This calls for a round of . . . cold water.” Becky pulled three bottles from a cooler behind the table. We all twisted them open and drank as if we’d been stranded in the desert for a month.

  Once my thirst was quenched, I told them, “I got one of my cats, Cole, during a special black cat adoption event at a shelter in Morristown. It was held right before Halloween, and the organizers mentioned that black animals are at risk during that season from people who think they’re evil or who want to play at being devil-worshippers.”

  “It’s true.” Becky visibly shuddered. “Personally, I think black animals are beautiful.”

  I glanced at their sign-up sheet, which had about a dozen names. “You have commitments from all of these people?”

  “The
y’ll have to come down to the shelter, be interviewed and sign papers,” said Chris. “We just have to hope they stay enthusiastic and don’t have second thoughts after they get home.”

  Closing the lid of the cooler, while dodging my eyes, Becky asked, “I guess you’re going to the concert tonight?”

  “I guess. Don’t know whether it’s a kind of payment for services rendered, or if I’ll still be in a semiofficial capacity.” I sensed her disappointment. “Just between you and me, with it being held Sunday instead of Saturday, there could be some seats available.”

  She shrugged. “They’d probably still want three hundred dollars for them. At those prices, I don’t think our volunteer credentials will be enough to get us in.”

  “I can ask Perry about it,” I offered. “I can’t promise anything, though. If they’re still sold out . . .”

  Becky lit up. “Oh, I understand, absolutely. But would you try?”

  “I will, as long as he’s not too harried. Things in the Jaki Natal camp are a little nuts right now.”

  Chris threw his partner a sideways look. “Yeah, Becky, and if we do get in, we might be sorry. There could be another blackout . . . or worse.”

  “Don’t even think it!” I warned him. “Anyway, I’m going to check in with Mark. He and Dave should be all finished by now.”

  “Give them our regards.” Becky sounded much cheerier than a moment ago.

  Continuing down the concourse, I wondered if it would be wise for me to even ask about getting the two FOCA volunteers into the evening’s concert. At the very least, Perry and the others might feel I was taking advantage of my access to Jaki. At worst, something bad could happen during her performance, and instead of enjoying a fun evening Becky might witness something violent and traumatic.

  I was so preoccupied as I hurried through the crowd that I didn’t even notice Dria approaching from the opposite direction until she deliberately slammed into my shoulder. The rangy blonde nearly knocked me off my feet.

  “Hey, sister,” she snarled at me, “what’re you tryin’ to pull? Tryin’ to get me and my friends in trouble?”

  Since she was almost a head taller than me—and I’m no shrimp—I thought it best to pretend ignorance. “Ow! What’re you talking about?”

  “Damn, a person tries to have a friendly conversation, about cats, for God’s sake. Next thing she knows, the cops are asking her all kinds of personal questions! It had to be you who tipped them off. I didn’t talk to anybody else about that.”

  I hoped I could keep up the innocent act a little longer. “About what?”

  “That Lexi likes Scottish Fold cats. That she wanted to get one. So what the hell’s going on? Is one missing? Like, from the cat show?”

  “Something like that.” I figured I’d better tell a harmless version of the truth. “And because I know cats, the police asked me to keep a look out for anything suspicious.”

  “Me and my friends are suspicious? You gotta be kidding.” Dria still vibrated with outrage. “They questioned Lexi, too. Such a farce! Her folks could afford to buy her a hundred of those cats. Why the hell would she steal one?”

  Dria fisted her hands, and I prepared to duck if she took a swing at me. “I’m sorry. I was just doing what I’d been asked to do. I’m sure it must have embarrassed her.”

  “Effin’ right, it did. You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t sue you.”

  I couldn’t take that too seriously. “For giving the police information that they requested?”

  Even Dria seemed to realize that wouldn’t wash. She unclenched her fists, probably at the reminder that I had contacts with the cops and could accuse her of assault. Still, she fired off one last threat. “Maybe we’ll just tell everybody that you suck, that your shop sucks. That you abuse the cats and . . . and give them bad haircuts.”

  I stifled the urge to laugh at her last insult, figuring then she really would hit me. She’d started to retreat, so I just took the opportunity to continue on my way at a brisk pace. “Please give Lexi my apologies, and have a nice day.”

  Whew! Dria had really bought into the image of the tough-as-nails Jersey girl, it seemed, and was doing her best to live up to it.

  She didn’t follow me, though, and when I finally reached the veterinary clinic’s booth, I exhaled with a sense of safety. Mark and Dave had wrapped up their last demo of the day and were packing up. I gladly pitched in to help them collapse the examining table, fold up their signs, and roll up their banner. The hotel had provided a standard six-foot table for promotional materials, so Mark left behind brochures about the clinic and various aspects of cat care.

  “Pizza?” He pointed down the concourse to our left. “There’s a really good place down thataway.”

  “Lead on,” I said. “Does Dave want to join us?”

  We glanced back, but the vet tech already was headed in the opposite direction, smiling and laughing with another cute guy of about the same age.

  Mark shrugged. “He’s probably got plans with Carlo. Guess it’s just you and me.”

  I slipped my arm through his. “I’ll never complain about that. Anyway, I’ve got some news that probably should stay just between the two of us.”

  “Oh?”

  We shared a Neapolitan pizza. Not at all bad for something from a concession, probably because it was operated by one of our favorite Chadwick restaurants, Slice of Heaven. Meanwhile, I summed up for Mark the key points of my morning: Jaki refused to leave the hotel without knowing her cat was safe and had decided to perform as a way of flushing out her stalker. I also told him about Dria’s outrage over the fact that I’d caused the Chadwick cops to target her and her friends.

  Mark asked if I’d heard anything about the seedy-looking guy whom he had seen arrested. I told him the man’s name was Mason Reilly and he was an aspiring songwriter; the cops were still questioning him but didn’t think he’d stolen the cat or attacked the guard.

  “So the real bad guy probably is still out there.” He looked grim. “If Jaki got a box with the cat’s collar and tag, how does she even know if Gordie’s still alive? She said he had health problems. . . .”

  I hadn’t considered that, maybe because I knew Jaki wouldn’t want to consider it. “She doesn’t, I suppose. Guess she should ask to see a live video for proof. That’s something you’d do if it were a human hostage situation.”

  “Maybe they should start treating it like one.” Mark pondered a moment longer. “Jaki could tell the cat-napper about Gordie’s health issues and ask if she could drop off his medicine and prescription food at some prearranged spot. After all, this creep probably doesn’t want the cat to die, at least not before he’s met with Jaki. He’d lose his only bargaining chip.”

  “Not a bad idea. And arranging a drop-off might give the cops an extra chance to nab the guy before her concert. At this point, they might even know who to look for.”

  After mulling whether or not to do so, I finally told Mark about the man my mother and Harry considered suspicious, and how I’d watched him for a while and then passed the information on to Bonelli.

  The last part upset him, as I’d been afraid it would. “You actually tailed that character? God, Cassie, what’m I gonna do with you?”

  I figured this was not the moment to make any jokey, off-color suggestions. “I stayed well off his radar. I guarantee, he never noticed me.”

  “You can’t be sure of that. This stalker sounds very slimy. He’s sending Jaki e-mails and gifts that can’t be traced and he seems to know her every move. If he decides now that you’re a threat . . .” Mark rumpled his short, dark hair with one hand. “Just keep in mind, you don’t travel with bodyguards!”

  “I handed the ball off to Bonelli, as any private citizen should. I did brainstorm with Jaki and her father about how the stalker might be someone out of her past, though they probably would have figured that out eventually on their own. As far as I can see, I’ve done all I could to help. From now on, I sit back and let the cops tak
e over.”

  “Great resolution,” he told me, with just a hint of sarcasm. “Please stick to it!”

  He had just finished lecturing me when my phone rang and I saw Bonelli’s number. As soon as I answered, her emphatic alto voice scolded me, “Cassie, never, ever tail a possible suspect on your own again!”

  “Hey, how was I to know he was even a potential suspect unless I watched him for a while? I didn’t want to sic your guys on a perfectly innocent, cat-loving citizen. So, did you find him?”

  “We found him. Right in that restricted area you saw him enter.” A beat of silence. “Dead.”

  “What?”

  “He’d been shot. Probably with his own gun, because you were right, he was wearing a holster. The killer took the gun, I guess, so now he won’t have to fall back on his martial arts skills anymore.”

  Bonelli’s sarcasm could beat Mark’s any day. “Sounds like you don’t think this guy was the stalker, either.”

  “He had a PI license from California, and his phone contacts included Alec MacMasters. We’re trying to reach the TV star himself now.”

  My head spun. Well, at least it didn’t sound as if Alec had hired the guy to steal Jaki’s cat. That would have been my suspicion if the PI himself hadn’t been shot.

  Suddenly, I began to worry about my mom, too. I’d thought she was pretty safe down there among the cat show crowd. But the dead guy had been chatting with the lady down the row from them, just yesterday. That was too close for comfort.

  Angela signed off then to attend to urgent matters, and I relayed her news to Mark.

  “Unbelievable!” he said. “What could possibly be worth all this bloodshed? It’s not as if Gordie’s worth a trillion dollars, even in ransom money.”

  “Besides, the stalker told Jaki he’s not interested in her money,” I pointed out.

  “He can’t possibly expect that she’s going to fall in love with him after he’s put her and her family through this hell,” Mark said. “Either there’s some hidden payoff for him, in terms of money or his career . . .”