by Nancy CoCo
“Only that Agnes wasn’t blackmailing Carson and probably none of the other people on the list.”
“Then why were they paying her?”
“To make handicrafts for them,” I said.
“At those prices?” Porsche sounded astonished. “Someone would have killed her for gouging.”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “Listen, I’m going to run upstairs and feed Everett. I’m surprised he isn’t down here batting me for his supper.”
“I haven’t seen him all day,” Porsche said. “I don’t blame him. A crowd like that will make anyone skittish.”
“I’ll be right back.” I hurried up the stairs. Everett was a social cat. Even to the point of greeting me at the door. It wasn’t like him to hide in his cupboard all day. I hoped he wasn’t sick. “Everett?” I called when I opened the door to my apartment. I turned on a light. “Here kitty, kitty,” I called and went to the kitchen. If there was anything that could get him running no matter how sick he was, it was the sound of the can opener. I buzzed the automatic can opener. “Kitty, kitty,” I called.
Nothing.
“Playing hard ball, huh?” I reached into the cupboard and took out a can of tuna. Put the can in the can opener and let it open. “Got tuna.”
Still no Everett. Now I knew there was something wrong. I went to his box in the closet. It was empty. I checked under the bed and in all his favorite hiding spots. Opened all the doors in the apartment in case he was shut in by mistake. “Everett?”
There was no answer. I went back to the cupboard, put the tuna in his dish, and set it on the floor. Then I went for the bag of cat treats. Taking it out of the cupboard, I shook it. “Kitty, kitty.”
Nothing. My heart raced as I went downstairs. “Porsche, is Everett down here somewhere?”
“No,” she said and pursed her mouth. “I haven’t seen him.”
“I opened a can of tuna and he didn’t come out. I think something’s wrong.”
“Maybe he got outside when all the people were coming and going,” Porsche said.
“It’s not like him to go out,” I said. “He likes his leash. It’s sort of a safety blanket.”
“He’s not declawed, is he?”
“No,” I said. “I couldn’t do that to him.”
“Then he’ll be fine. Cats are resilient. They wander off and come back.”
“I don’t like it,” I said. “I’m going to post a picture on the neighbor app. Maybe someone saw him.” I pulled out my phone and posted a picture of Everett on the social media site along with the words “Please bring Everett home.”
“He’s neutered, right?”
“Yes,” I said. “I won’t have feral cats in distress.”
“So, he’s not visiting a lady friend or kidnapped for breeding.”
“Who would kidnap a cat?” I found myself pacing in front of the store.
“Only the worst kind of person,” she said and closed up the shop, locking the door. “Come on, let’s clean up the shop and then go upstairs. We can strategize how to get Everett to come home over a glass of wine.”
I worried my bottom lip. “You don’t seem all that concerned.”
“I love cats and Everett is a particularly intelligent beautiful specimen. But I am pretty sure he can take better care of himself than you can, and you own this store.”
“Fine,” I said and peered out at the empty streets. “Let’s close up.”
Closing meant sweeping the floors and dusting the shelves. Porsche did the cleanup while I counted the cash and put most of it in a bank bag. “I’ll walk the money to the bank. If Everett got out, maybe he’ll be wandering around somewhere I can find him.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Porsche said. “It’s dark and damp. You shouldn’t be out alone.”
“Aren’t you ready to go home?”
“Yes and the bank is on my way,” she said and grabbed my bright green raincoat from the hook near the back door. I’d gotten the coat in high school when I was going through an everything-must-be-green phase. It’s never worn out and now it’s nostalgic. “Here, put this on.”
“Yes, Mom,” I teased her and put on the coat. We stepped out to a chilled mist. Fog had rolled in and the streets were that strange quiet that fog creates, as if you are wrapped in a shroud. “Everett must be cold and hungry.”
“He’s a big boy,” she said. “If he’s out here, he’ll take care of himself.”
“How do you think he got out?” I asked, as water dripped from the hood of my raincoat.
“He could have slipped out when people were coming and going.”
“He’s never done that before,” I pointed out. “Why now?”
“I know you want to think someone took him,” Porsche said.
“I don’t want to think that,” I disagreed.
“That means he wandered out of the store and when you find him, you’ll have to ensure he is upstairs when the store gets crowded or he’ll do it again.”
“I suppose so,” I said. We arrived at the bank and I made the deposit. Then I slipped the receipt in my pocket. “Have a good night and thanks for all your help.”
“My pleasure,” Porsche said. “Materials for more inventory should be here tomorrow. I’ll stay late so you can make more products.”
“I really should outsource some of it. Do you know anyone who might be good at candles or homemade lotions?”
“I’ll make some calls.”
“Thanks. Have a good night,” I called and watched her head toward her van with a black umbrella over her head. In the distance I could hear the roar of the ocean and the call of gulls. I kept my eye open for Everett as I walked back. “Everett, here kitty, kitty.”
A half a block from my shop I was still calling my cat’s name when a figure stepped out of the fog, startling me. “Wren?”
It was Conrad.
“Oh, hello,” I said. “You gave me a scare. What are you doing out this late in the fog?”
“I was going to ask you the same question,” he said.
“I made a bank deposit. We had a banner day.”
“That’s good, right? Do you mind if I walk with you?”
“Yes . . . er, that ‘yes’ was to having a good day, not minding if you walk with me. What I mean is, I don’t mind if you walk with me.”
His expression warmed. “Thanks, I was on my way to see you anyway.”
“What about?”
“I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“I am,” I said. The only sound in the fog was our footsteps and my voice.
“Did I hear you calling for your cat just now?”
“Yes, I think he got out. I can’t find him.”
“My mom had cats when I was growing up. They can disappear and still be in the house. I wouldn’t over-worry.”
We reached my back door. “Wait, aren’t you watching your son?”
“He’s at his grandma’s for the night. Can I come in?” he asked.
“Okay, um, sure.” I unlocked the shop and flipped on the lights. The only sound was the patter of rain on the ground behind us. We shook off our coats and hung them to dry. Then, we left our shoes at the door and padded through the shop to my apartment upstairs. There was no sign of Everett. “Can I make you some coffee?”
“That would be nice,” he said and wandered my apartment looking at my art collection. “These paintings are wonderful. Who did them?”
“My aunt, Eloise,” I said. “She’s pretty talented.”
“So are you,” he said. “I’ve seen it in the way people respond to your products.” I handed him a coffee. “You should really think about opening an online store.”
I curled up on my couch. “I do have a website, but I’m not quite ready to allow people to order online. That’s next in my business plan,” I explained and sipped the warm brew. “I don’t think you came all this way to hear about my business plans.”
“No,” he said with a half-smile. “I wanted to see you.
”
“Okay . . .”
“Frankly these murders have me worried. I thought I would invest in a business in Oceanview, but now I’m on the fence.”
“I for one am not all that concerned,” I said. “I went to high school here and my mom’s family has been here since it was founded. It’s hardly a hotbed of murder.” I sent him a wry smile. “I think you’ll be safe to invest.”
“You seem pretty confident.”
“There are murders all the time in places like New York, Chicago, San Francisco. No one seems to think twice about moving there and owning businesses.”
“I guess when you think of it that way . . .” He studied me.
“What?”
“You seem to be intimately involved in the deaths.”
“Not on purpose,” I said. “Does that bother you? Because if you’re thinking about canceling our date, I would understand.” I stood. “You have a son to think about.”
He stood as well and put his mug on my counter, then shoved his hands in the front of his jeans. His expression was sheepish. “Look, I know the local district attorney.”
“How? I thought you lived in Portland.”
“He’s an investment partner.”
“Okay, well . . .”
“I’d really like to get to know you better, but . . .” He hesitated. “It’s not good for business.” There was a pause. “I wanted to tell you in person.”
“Great,” I said and opened the door. “Thanks.” I walked him down the stairs and to the back of the shop. I made a mental note to look into having a regular door with stairs installed for the apartment. It was awkward to walk someone out the long way when they were breaking up with you.
He grabbed his coat, slipped it on, and stopped just outside the door. “They’re building a case against you.”
“Conrad, I’m not a murderer.”
His mouth became a grim line. “Good night, Wren.”
“Goodbye, Conrad.” I closed the door and locked it. Everett was missing and now this. My life was a nightmare.
Chapter 18
I had trouble sleeping without Everett. Finally giving up around five in the morning, I threw on jeans, a T-shirt, and a dark hoodie and went out into the cool morning fog to see if I could find him. I walked the back alley, calling his name softly so I wouldn’t wake the neighborhood. This time I brought a flashlight because it was stronger than my cell phone flashlight.
It didn’t help. Everett was nowhere to be seen. I covered the entire town before circling back to the coffee shop. The bells rang as I entered the shop. It was busy with fishermen and people stopping by before work.
“An Americano to go, please,” I said.
“What brings you in so early, Wren?” The barista, a young man with bleached dreads and a tattoo on his neck, had worked at the coffee shop for three years now and was likely to spend his entire life there.
“Hi, George. Everett is missing,” I said.
“Your cat?”
“Yes.”
“Too bad, he’s a cool guy.”
“You haven’t seen him, have you? I know you get here early. Everett likes to walk to the beach. Did you come from the beach this morning?”
“I did but no, I haven’t seen Everett,” he said. “I promise I’ll be on the lookout for him.”
“Thanks.” I stepped over to the pickup counter and George went to work on the order.
“I’m an Everett fan,” a woman said.
I turned to see Sally Hendrickson stirring something into her coffee. “Have you seen him?”
She snapped a lid on the cup. “No, but I saw the note you put on the neighborhood app. I’ve been keeping an eye out.”
“Thanks.”
“Wren.” George put my large coffee on the counter. “Did you try opening tuna?”
“I did,” I said. “It was untouched this morning. So I know for sure he’s not in the shop.”
“You don’t think he was snatched, do you?” Sally asked.
I picked up my coffee and added creamer. “Why would someone take him?”
“He’s a gorgeous cat,” Sally said. “Very sweet.”
“Yeah,” I said and put the cover on my coffee. “He’s a doll.”
“Have you tried the animal shelter?”
I shuddered. “He’s chipped. I don’t think they would keep him without checking.”
“Well, good luck,” she said as we left the shop and she headed down Main Street. I headed back toward the beach when Barry Ziegler popped his head out of the coffee shop.
“Are you looking for your cat?”
“Yes.” I stopped. “Have you seen him?”
“Havana Brown?”
“Yes, his name is Everett and he’s wearing a green collar.”
“Someone mentioned seeing one at the Perrys’ place near their shed just off the alley.”
“That’s pretty specific.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “They were riding a bike down the alley and didn’t normally see that type of cat.”
“Where’s the Perry place?”
“Next to the Woolrights’ place on Beech Street.”
“Thanks, Barry.”
“Best of luck,” he said and popped back into the shop.
I headed toward Beech Street and tried to keep my hopes in check. Just because someone thought they saw Everett didn’t make it true. I tried not to think about how close I’d be to the Woolrights’ place. They didn’t like me. I got that. Or at least Mildred was convinced I was a killer. It didn’t mean I wasn’t going to follow every lead to find Everett. Although what he’d be doing on Beech Street was a question all unto itself.
I power walked that way calling Everett’s name. I passed some kids on the sidewalk waiting for the school bus. “Hi, I’m looking for my cat. His name is Everett?”
One little girl screamed, “Stranger danger! Stranger danger” and took off down the street.
“Sorry,” I said and power walked away. This was not my morning.
A few blocks later I reached the Woolrights’ place on the corner of Beech and 10th Street. It was a massive two-story house with a large front porch. I sighed and then lifted my chin and powered forward to the alley that ran behind the house. Then, I turned and looked for a shed that might be reachable from the alley.
The shed was in the back of the house behind the Woolrights’. I looked around but no one was there. So I called Everett’s name. “Everett, here kitty, kitty.”
I thought I heard a meow and rushed to the shed. The door was cracked. It was dark inside so I pulled my flashlight out of my hoodie pocket and turned it on. Then I stepped inside. “Everett?”
A definite meow came from behind some boxes. I stepped over the lawn mower and went deeper into the shed. The door slammed shut from a gust of wind. I looked around—the place was dark and spooky. If someone on TV would have come inside such a place, they would have found a dead body—for sure. I tried not to think like that. “Everett, is that you?”
I unstacked the boxes and discovered a set of shelves. I flashed my light on the second to the bottom shelf and an orange tabby cat hissed at me. Startled, I jumped back. The cat leapt away from me and into a dark corner. “Great. You are most definitely not Everett.”
The meow sound came again from the same place. Frowning I turned my flashlight onto the spot, but all I could see was a wooden box. “Everett?” I knelt down and pulled the box off the shelf. Something was inside and it sounded like Everett. The box was nailed shut. Whoever put a cat in this box should be shot. “Everett, if this is you, I’m going to be so mad at the person who did this. I just might hunt them down and shove them in a box.”
There was a meowed response. Even if it wasn’t Everett, I was hopping mad. “Hold on, kitty,” I said. Standing, I searched the shed. The orange tabby was distressed by my frantic movements and squeezed out of a hole in the side wall. “Well, you were a big help.”
It took me what felt like forever
to find a flathead screwdriver. There wasn’t a hammer or a crow bar in sight. But I thought I could try to leverage the screwdriver.
I propped the flashlight on the floor beside me to shine a light on the box. I could see a few small air holes drilled into the box. “Hang on, kitty.”
There was another meow.
“This might scare you. Try to remain calm.” I didn’t know if the “remain calm” was for me or the kitty. My hand trembled as I dug the screwdriver between the top and the side of the box and pressed my entire body weight. It gave about an eighth of an inch. The meow was louder.
“I know. Hang on.” I turned the box and tried to leverage another side. It moved an eighth of an inch. That was all I could do. “There’s got to be something better.”
Meow.
I jumped up and grabbed the flashlight and checked the shelves again. But there was nothing. This time I checked in the cardboard boxes that had hidden the wooden one, tearing them all apart for anything I could use to leverage the lid off. I took a deep breath and tried to slow my heart rate and be less frantic.
Then, I decided I’d just take the box—cat and all—and go home and get a hammer. I picked up the box and stumbled toward the door. The box was pretty big and heavy and the flashlight rolled around on top. I hit my shin on something and tried not to curse before I realized only the cat could hear me. I made it to the door, but it didn’t open. I pounded on it, but it didn’t budge.
Great.
Meow?
“The door,” I said to the box. “It’s stuck.” I put the box down and grabbed my phone. There was no signal in the shed. “What is going on? Is this place made of lead?” I tried all over the small space. It couldn’t have been bigger than six by eight. I got desperate and got down on my knees and held the phone through the hole that the tabby had gone out. The problem was I couldn’t see if there was a signal.
Meow?
“I’m trying,” I said. Then I pulled up Porsche’s number, put my phone on speaker, stuck my hand out and hit Send.