Gone, Kitty, Gone

by Eileen Watkins

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” The little woman slid off her stool, a move in the right direction, but her tone was a bit sulky. “I guess I’m holding you up.”

  “Well, it’s not going to be easy for me to get ready under the circumstances, but I have to try.”

  This wrested a smile from Adele and she jerked her head toward my front window. “That’s ironic, huh? Too bad you can’t groom yourself as easy as you groom those cats! Anyway, thanks for listening to my gripes, and have a nice evening.”

  Through the front window, I watched her return next door—partly to make sure she kept going. After that, my gaze came to rest on the oversized cartoon of the preening cat on the side of my van, and I realized Adele had given me the answer to my dilemma.

  That monster still has almost a full tank of clean water that won’t be needed any time soon. It also has a deep sink, sponges, soap, and even a hair dryer!

  I fed all the cats, downstairs and up. Then I grabbed some black pants, a silky top suitable for the concert, low-heeled black shoes, and my travel bag of toiletries and makeup.

  I had to drape the van’s windows to wash up, and I felt a little like Superman changing in a phone booth. But twenty minutes later I stepped out of the grooming van and slipped behind the wheel of my CR-V—clean, presentable, and ready for whatever the evening might bring.

  Or so I thought.

  Chapter 17

  At the theater door, my volunteer credentials plus my name got me past the sturdy female security guard, who looked like she could hold her own even against a martial arts expert. I found myself studying her ID tag up close; something about it surprised me, though I couldn’t quite say why. Maybe because it was laminated, while my temporary tag was a card that slipped into a plastic holder. She must have been on the permanent staff at the convention center.

  I walked down the long aisle of raked, empty seats to the good-sized stage. An electronic keyboard, a set of drums, and some amps already stood in place, so I guessed that Bonelli still had not persuaded Jaki to cancel. The star stood among the instruments, conferring with her father and a mature, sharp-nosed woman I hadn’t seen before; meanwhile, Perry huddled with Rose, the publicist, at stage left. He broke off to welcome me and gestured for me to come up and join them.

  “You look nice, Cassie,” he told me.

  “Thanks.” I felt tickled by the compliment, and wondered what he’d say if I admitted how I’d managed to pull myself together.

  “Jaki’s working out the songs for tonight with our stage manager,” Perry explained. “She’ll just be a minute. Can I get you something in the meantime? Water?”

  “No, thanks.” I turned to Rose, who tonight wore a chic plum-colored skirt suit with low black pumps, an outfit that still would let her dash around the hotel and convention center as necessary. Her makeup also struck the same professional note, flattering but understated. Nevertheless, her dark eyes had taken on the same expression of near panic that I’d noticed in Perry’s. “This situation must be so hard for both of you.”

  “It’s personal for me,” Rose admitted. “I’ve worked with Jaki for ten years. Oh, she has her temperamental moments, like most celebrities—and most young people. But overall, she’s a terrific talent and a real trouper. Loves performing, doesn’t make a lot of crazy demands. But this business with her cat really has sent her around the bend.”

  I nodded. “I think the worst part for her is not knowing if Gordie is okay. She said yesterday that if Alec had taken him, at least she’d feel the cat was safe. This jerk is hinting that if Jaki doesn’t cooperate, Gordie could pay the price. Has she heard anything more so far? About when this guy wants to meet with her, and where?”

  Perry shook his head. “Not that I know of. I really hope she’s not keeping any secrets from us . . . or from the cops.”

  By then, Jaki had noticed my presence and crossed the stage to join us. “Cassie, thanks so much for coming . . . again. I keep imposing on you and dragging you back into this mess.”

  “It’s okay.” I resolved not to tell her about the threatening note that I’d gotten. Why add to her worries? “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Excuse us,” she told Rose and Perry, and led me to the lip of the stage. We both sat with our legs dangling over the empty orchestra pit, out of earshot from the others.

  “I tried out the approach you suggested to Bonelli,” Jaki said. “First I asked LBH if I could see a video, just to be reassured that Gordie was okay. He or she got pissy about that and wrote back, It sounds like you don’t trust me. So I explained I was only worried because Gordie needed special food and medicine to stay healthy. I offered to have someone leave those things at whatever place LBH suggested, to be picked up.”

  She seemed to be handling this well, I thought. “And?”

  “LBH replied that Gordie is fine for now, and when I come to our meeting place after the show, I can bring along anything he might need. So he or she isn’t falling for it, and maybe suspects that we’re planning to set a trap.”

  I figured that ruse had been a long shot, anyway. “He might be desperate, but he’s also smart.”

  “Or she,” Jaki reminded me.

  I’d backed off my suspicions about Grumpy Glenda and the animal-rights protestors, though. I didn’t think any of them would threaten Gordie or risk his health, much less kill a second person and steal his gun. This had to be someone who had a personal issue with Jaki . . . and was more than a little deranged.

  “What you asked me earlier,” she continued, “made me wonder about people in my past who might have some kind of grudge against me. I was on speakerphone for an hour this afternoon, brainstorming with Mira, my mom, and my sister Carmel, asking them if they could remember anyone like that. Turns out, they thought of a few. Some I knew about, but others I had totally forgotten until Mom or Carmel reminded me.”

  “Any that stood out?” I asked.

  “Well, when I was thirteen, I got the role of Belle in my high school production of Beauty and the Beast. I beat out this redheaded girl, Alexis. She was a year older and had played all the starring roles until I came along. For that production, she only got the part of Babette—that’s a maid who turns into a singing, dancing feather duster—which really ticked her off. In any scenes we had together, she’d play little tricks to upstage or distract me. I mostly just rolled with it. But Carmel said today that Alexis used to badmouth me all the time behind my back, saying I was ‘too ethnic’ for the part. She even suggested I’d ‘done some favors’ for the director, who was a married, middle-aged guy, to get the role. I didn’t even know about all this at the time, and Carmel never told me because she didn’t want to upset me.”

  Interesting, I thought. “Does this Alexis still live around here?”

  “I have no idea, and neither does Carmel. Neither of us can even remember her last name. Why?”

  “Just that one of the four girls I mentioned to you, the Jak-ettes, was called Lexi. Becky and I saw her with the group on Friday, but never again. Lexi said she was hoping to get a Scottish Fold cat and had ‘a plan.’ I think the cops already questioned two of the girls, but Lexi wasn’t with them, and they haven’t been able to track her down.”

  Jaki looked keen. “Do you know if she had red hair? Not that it means much these days, the way people change their hair color, but . . .”

  I remembered that I actually had photographed the Jak-ettes, and pulled out my phone. “I had a sense that they all were younger than you—late teens, I mean—but I could have been wrong about that.” I scrolled back to the shot of the four young women in their J-A-K-I shirts. I had taken it from the van, shooting into the sun, so their faces were shadowed. Showing it to Jaki, I said, “The taller blonde is Dria, and the brunette is Ashley. . . . I forget which one was Lexi, but there is a redhead in the bunch. Look at all familiar?”

  Jaki squinted hard at the small screen and finally shook her head. “Sorry. Like you said, they’re kind of far away, and the
ir faces are a little too dark.”

  Mira had emerged from the wings, and at that point she joined us in our speculations. “Remember, there’s always Larry Vanderveer. I didn’t have any luck tracking him down, but maybe the cops would.”

  Jaki made a face. “Even though I didn’t like the guy, I’d feel kind of bad to sic the police on him for no real reason. There’s no evidence that he’s involved. And honestly, I don’t think all this sneaky business of sending me notes and gifts would be Larry’s style at all. He was more of an in-your-face bully.”

  I wondered about that. My ex-boyfriend, Andy, had been hot-tempered and physically abusive to me in person. But after I’d moved to Chadwick to get away from him, he’d sent me plaintive and rather self-pitying notes and e-mails trying to persuade me to get back together. I didn’t mention this to Jaki, not wanting to sound like a know-it-all on the subject of stalkers, but privately I reflected that her Larry could have a similar Jekyll/Hyde personality.

  Somebody that full of himself didn’t sound like he’d have gone on carrying a torch, for years, over one girl who’d turned him down in high school. You never could tell, though. Lately, Larry would have heard Jaki on the radio and seen her on TV, maybe in concert. He could have become obsessed with “the one that got away,” or just jealous of her success. But if Vanderveer no longer lived around Chadwick and didn’t have much of an online presence, he could be hard even for the cops to track down.

  Perry, frowning, dropped by to interrupt us. “Jaki, I just got a call from the front desk. Alec is here.”

  It took her a second to register this. “Alec . . . MacMasters? What do you mean, here?”

  “He just checked in to the hotel.”

  Her jaw dropped in outrage, and her cheeks flushed. “Perfect—we were just talking about big egos! I can’t believe it. He’s going to make this all about him, right? That grandstanding . . .”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” said Bonelli, showing up behind Perry. “Now I’ve got two major celebrities to protect.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Jaki told her. “I never dreamed he’d do anything like this.”

  With a thin smile, Perry observed, “Guess he must really love . . . that cat.”

  Jaki’s phone sounded—I recognized a couple of bouncy bars from her hip-hop number “Bits and Pieces.” She pulled it out, faced away from us, and, for a couple of minutes, stared at the screen in silence.

  “Something wrong?” I asked.

  “Another e-mail. From him.”

  “Alec?” Mira asked, but Jaki shook her head and passed the phone to Bonelli. When the detective muttered a bad word, I knew the stalker had made contact again. I asked Jaki about the message.

  “Sounds like he’s going to give me the directions to our meeting place in stages. He says right after my show ends, he’ll send me to the first location. Once I arrive there, I’ll find a note that will lead me a little farther, and so on. I guess he wants to make sure I’m not followed, and that no one can get there before I do and bust him. Oh, and he said after I get the first message, I have to leave my cell phone behind.”

  “So you can’t call for help, and so we won’t be able to trace you that way.” The grim-faced detective jotted a few notes and returned the celebrity’s phone to her. “Don’t worry, we’ll give you a small tracking device to wear. If it even gets that far. I’m still hoping to smoke this guy out before you even leave the stage.”

  The young singer squared her shoulders and put on a brave face. “I have confidence in you.”

  Bonelli, in her navy pantsuit again tonight, squatted next to where Jaki sat, still on the edge of the stage. “I’m asking you one more time—cancel this concert. We still have no idea who’s stalking you, but he or she now has a Smith & Wesson semiautomatic. Whether or not this person knows how to use it, we need to be prepared for the worst. We can do our best to keep you safe, but if this nutcase smells a trap or panics for any other reason, you’ll be up there under the spotlight for him to get a clear shot. You’re only twenty-three, kid. Do you really want to risk that?”

  Her words obviously impacted Jaki, who drew a deep breath and tilted her face to the ceiling as if asking for divine guidance. She seemed to seriously consider Bonelli’s advice, but her answer remained the same. “If I worried about every threat I get from a crank, I’d never go onstage at all. I still think if I play along with him, I’ll be safe . . . at least until after the show. And meanwhile, he might tip his hand and give you a chance to bring him down. Right?”

  “I think you watch too many crime shows on TV,” the detective complained. “Got that in common with your new friend Cassie.” She straightened. “Okay, if you’re on in two hours, we’ll do our best to track down this bozo before then. Meanwhile, you’d better respond to his message.”

  “Oh, God.” Jaki squeezed her eyes shut, as if the prospect frightened and revolted her. “What the heck do I say?”

  Mira silently passed an arm around her cousin’s shoulders in support.

  “Say you’re looking forward to meeting him,” I advised. A sharp glance from Bonelli told me I’d overstepped. “Sorry.”

  “I was about to recommend almost the same thing,” the detective told Jaki. “You might even act excited that he’s making it all so mysterious, and tell him you can’t wait to find out who your ‘secret admirer’ really is.”

  Obviously, Bonelli didn’t need any help from me in psyching out the stalker. She’d probably had actual training in profiling criminals.

  Jaki typed several lines, let the detective read over her shoulder to approve them, and hit send. Then she let out a long breath as if she’d just jumped off the edge of a high cliff. It was a good thing, I thought, that she had acting talent and experience. She’d need them to keep up this façade, especially if she ended up talking to the creep face-to-face.

  Mira disappeared into the wings and returned with a fresh bottle of water for her cousin. Bonelli had just stepped away to answer a question from one of her officers when my phone rang. I didn’t like the timing and worried that the stalker had somehow gotten my number, too.

  The sight of Mom’s name on my screen sparked a different set of worries, but she sounded carefree, almost bubbly. “Looli didn’t get Best in Show, but she got third! Can you imagine, with so many entries? Harry is over the moon.”

  “Wow, congratulations, guys! Couldn’t be happier for you. We all knew Looli was a champ.” After a pause, I added, “You really seemed to enjoy yourself this weekend, too.”

  “I did, isn’t it funny? I’m getting over my lifelong fear of cats,” she said.

  “Yes, Harry certainly has helped you on that score.”

  Mom picked up on the arch tone of my voice. “Cassie, I know you still feel uncomfortable around him, probably because he gave you so much trouble a few months back about Looli’s mystery rash. But even though Harry can be a little high-strung at times, he really is a nice man.”

  “I’m starting to see that, Mom. And the important thing is that you like him.”

  “I do. I guess because he’s a gentleman. He’s intelligent and well-read, he has an interesting job along with some hobbies, and he’s nice-looking. You don’t know how rare it is to find all of those qualities in a single man of my age! And maybe because of everything he went through with his ex-wife, he really seems to appreciate me.”

  That last comment endeared Harry to me more than any of his other traits. “Then he’s got good taste, too. I’m glad he makes you happy.” I noticed a policeman stride past with a walkie-talkie, and suddenly remembered the stalker’s not-so-veiled threat against my “parent.” “So, is the cat show over?” I asked Mom. “Are you guys leaving now?”

  “Pretty soon. We’ll stop in at the restaurant and have a nice dinner to celebrate. Can you join us?”

  I hesitated. “I may wait.... Mark said something about getting together for dinner later.” I lowered my voice, out of paranoia that the stalker might somehow be within earshot. �
�Listen, Mom, it really would be best if you didn’t hang around here too long tonight. There’s a lot of crazy stuff going on.”

  Her tone grew hushed, also. “Is there? I thought I was seeing more security around. One policewoman has been hanging out at the end of our aisle for the last fifteen minutes, which seems kind of strange. Does she expect people to riot if their cats don’t get the top prizes?”

  I had to smile at the image, but the reality was serious. Should I tell Mom the truth—that the athletically built man she’d pointed out to me had been murdered with his own gun by someone who was still at large? That someone, probably the same person, had left a note on my windshield that all but threatened her life? My mother has a tendency to be nervous under the best of circumstances, so I couldn’t see that scaring the wits out of her would do any good. Especially when she was being subtly guarded and was about to leave the hotel, anyway.

  Instead I told her, “I think it’s because Alec MacMasters, Jaki’s ex-boyfriend, showed up here this afternoon.”

  “Alec who?”

  Okay, Mom’s age group wasn’t exactly the target audience for a show like Galaxy Wars. “He’s a big star on a hot new TV series. He’s probably just here to offer her moral support over her missing cat, but it was really unexpected, which just makes it harder for the hotel to cope. So really, you two . . . sorry, you three . . . should start for home as soon as you can.”

  “Well, I’ll tell Harry, though I’m sure he’ll at least want to get something to eat first. Are you going to be all right?”

  “Yeah, I’ll wait until things settle down before I leave. And I’ll probably meet up with Mark.”

  “Okay, dear. If I don’t see you before we go, talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Love you. Be careful.”

  When I signed off, I found Jaki eyeing me in curiosity. “That’s right, I forgot,” she said. “Your mother was down at the cat show.”