Catnapped (A Klepto Cat Mystery) (17 page)

“Pshaw!” Margaret said as she plopped down in the chair. Suddenly, she looked up at Savannah. “Oh wait—you went out last night. I heard your little Honda putting down the driveway around nine. Did you go over to the clinic?” She smiled in anticipation of Savannah’s response.

“Yes.” Savannah tried to maintain a calm in her voice. “Yes, I did. Now, do you want scrambled eggs and ham for breakfast or yogurt and granola? We also have some fresh fruit.”

“Vannie,” her aunt said in a teasing voice, “you were with Michael again last night, weren’t you?”

She cleared her throat nervously. “Yes, we wanted to discuss one of his cases.”

“So it was business, huh?” Margaret looked over at her niece suspiciously. “Monkey business, if you ask me.”

Observant gal, this one,
Savannah thought.
Should I tell her what has me feeling rather giddy? What would she think if I told her we spent most of the night at Michael’s house talking and how we were so engaged that we completely lost track of time. And the kiss… My knees are still weak just thinking about the kiss—so unexpected—so right.

“Hello…” Margaret said. “Earth to Savannah.”

“What? Oh, sorry.” Savannah felt a little flushed. “I guess my mind wandered. What did you say?”

“Oh my. You’ve got it bad, don’t you? I said,” she hesitated in an attempt to get Savannah’s full attention, “let’s have scrambled eggs and some of that ham that Helena brought over. We’re going to need our strength. I have a few things I’d like to do today.”

“Oh, what?” Savannah asked as she pulled the skillet out from under the cabinet and retrieved the eggs and ham from the fridge.

“We need to get you something to wear to the dance, for one thing.”

“Dance?” Savannah looked puzzled.

“Remember, we have that benefit dance tomorrow night. Everyone will be there. I think I’ll wear my lace and silk skirt with my purple sweater. I’d better practice up on my wheelchair dancing,” Margaret said with a giggle. “Did you bring something you can wear? If not, we’ll look through my closet. I still have some skinny clothes that might work for you.”

“Cool. So what day is this? Friday? What’s on the agenda? Anything interesting?” Savannah asked with a big grin on her face.

“Well, let’s hope not too much so. But yes, I’m sure it will be an interesting day,” Margaret said thoughtfully. “I want to do a little sleuthing. Are you with me?”

Much too happy to disagree with anything or anyone, Savannah said, “Sure, Auntie. Lead the way.”

“I want to get my filthy car washed, number one. I’d like to do some checking at local feed stores to find out if any horses are missing…”

Savannah turned toward her aunt. “Horses?”

“Yes, I’m told that old man Bray might be stealing horses and running them possibly to a horse slaughter house in Canada. I want to ask some questions at a few trucking companies. I did some checking online and discovered that the closest horse-meat-packing plant is in British Columbia. That’s over a thousand miles, round-trip. I presume these yoyos are selling the horses outright. They probably aren’t doing the hauling themselves. They’re just bringing in horses for a kill-buy agent.”

“Or we could save energy for the dance and make some calls,” Savannah suggested.

Margaret stared at her niece for a few seconds. “I’ll think about that,” she said, having no intention of using the phone to run down the information she was after. “I’d also like to give Max a hand if we have time. I haven’t been much help these last several days.”

Savannah smiled. “I’d like that.” She set a bowl of fruit in front of Margaret. “Here, Auntie. Eat up. Sounds like we’re going to need some energy.”

***

Margaret peered over her glasses when Savannah entered the living room dressed and ready for their day. “You look nice. New jeans? What’s the occasion?”

“Can’t a girl get cleaned up once in a while?”

“And makeup. You’re wearing makeup. Vannie, you are lovely au naturel, but you are a knockout with the subtle way you wear makeup. I like that blouse on you, too—shows off your svelte figure. That’s a nice shade of mauve for you. Good job.”

“You look fresh yourself, Auntie. How’s your head?”

“It’s a wonder what a shower will do. I’m getting the hang of a sit-down shower. It felt good to really wash off the grime from the last few days.”

Savannah knew her aunt was speaking more about the incidents and their implications than the physical dirt.

“My head looks okay and it doesn’t appear that I’ll get a black eye. It’s been two days and there’s bruising only around the spot. I should be able to go without the bandage by tomorrow evening. My hair will partially cover the gash.”

“I’m glad it’s healing up okay. No infection or anything,” Savannah said. “Are you ready to go?” she asked. “I’ll load your wheelchair in the car and come back and help you down the steps.”

Savannah drove out of her aunt’s driveway onto the main road. “Where to first?”

“Let’s get the car washed. I’ll treat you to an iced mocha while we wait. Do you remember where the car wash is?”

“Sure. Sounds good.”

The two women drove in silence for a few blocks before Margaret said, “So Vannie, tell me—are you still okay with how things are between you and your young man, Travis?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, after thinking about your talk with him yesterday, are you still good with the situation?”

Savannah thought for a moment and then said, “Yes, I told you yesterday that it’s over between us.”

“Yeah, I know. But sometimes it’s hard to let go. I’m just wondering…”

“The thing is, Auntie, we’ve been together on and off for about three years. We’ve had good times, but our relationship just never seemed easy for either of us. We’d break it off for a while, but it never lasted.

“Coming here, to a totally different environment and being distracted by all that’s going on in your busy life, well, it has helped me to see our relationship more clearly. I began to realize that Travis and I were keeping such busy schedules that we weren’t going out and meeting new people. We gravitated back to one another sort of out of convenience.” She looked over at her aunt, her head cocked slightly. “Know what I mean?”

“Yes,” Margaret said. “I think so.”

“Travis admitted to me that there’s a girl he’d like to get to know better at his gym. He’s ready to move on and so am I. Michael has made me see that this is absolutely the right decision.”

“Oooohhh,” Margaret said playfully.

“Now I’m not saying he’s the one. It’s just that he’s the first one who has affected me in a—well, you know—in a womanly way in a long time, and it made me realize that maybe there is a perfect match for me. I don’t have to settle.”

Margaret twisted her body toward her niece. “Oh no, Vannie, never settle.”

“I can’t tell you how freeing my conversation with Travis was and how therapeutic my time spent with you so far has been. I feel like I’m just starting to live and that there are definite possibilities for me in this world, more than just those in the small world I’d created for myself in LA. It wasn’t all Travis—it was me, too. I was afraid to step outside my comfort zone, even though I wasn’t all that comfortable, really. I mean, Travis is kind of immature. He’s needy and he even admitted that my more independent nature bugged him a lot. Besides, he doesn’t like cats. He and Rags never did make friends.”

“You need say no more,” Margaret said, slapping her knee with her palm and shaking her head. “There ain’t no way we can tolerate someone who doesn’t like cats!”

“Do you know what else, Auntie? You’re not going to believe I dated someone like this for so long—but Travis smokes.”

“Cigarettes?” Margaret asked, staring over at her niece as if she were in shock.

“’Fraid so.” She sighed deeply before admitting, “Yup, a smoker.”

The women rode in silence for a few blocks when Margaret said, “You know, I think it’s interesting that no one in our family ever took up smoking.”

“Old Grandpa Forster smoked that pipe,” Savannah reminded her.

“Oh yes. But I was talking about the Brannons. And your daddy’s people didn’t smoke; none of the other in-laws or outlaws smoked. Your sister doesn’t smoke, does she? Any of your cousins?”

“Nope,” Savannah said.

“Well, there’s no way you would have married Trevor—or Travis—or whatever, if he was a smoker.” She shook her fist in the air. “I would have stood up at your wedding and protested it on the grounds that we don’t allow smokers in our family.”

Savannah laughed out loud at the image. After a minute or so, she asked, “So Grandpa Forster was the only smoker in Tom’s family?”

“Yes. And all he smoked was that pipe. I didn’t let on to him then,” Margaret said as if sharing a deep secret, “but I actually liked smelling the aroma of his tobacco.” She thought for a moment, then turned toward her niece and said, “Wait, there was one other smoker in the family. That idiot nephew of Jed’s, Joe Forster.”

“Joe Forster smoked cigarettes? What kind?” Savannah asked.

Margaret looked confused. “What do you mean what kind? What do you know about cigarette brands?” Her demeanor shifted abruptly. “Oh, here’s the car wash. Let’s take the chair out and you can wheel me across the street to the coffee shop.”

***

Margaret sat at a small round table in the Coffee Bean while Savannah placed their order. Within a few minutes, Savannah returned with an iced blended mocha with soy and a chai latte. As she set the drinks on the table, she noticed that her aunt was just closing her cell phone. Margaret picked up her pen and a small notepad from the tabletop and tucked them into her purse. When Savannah looked inquisitively at her, she said, “Just getting a license plate number from Betty. I want to run it by Jim later.”

After sitting with their drinks for a few moments, Savannah said, “Tell me more about Joe Forster, Auntie.”

“For heaven sakes, Vannie. Why are you so obsessed with that creep?”

“Just curious.”

Margaret took in a deep breath before she started to talk. “I didn’t see him very often, which suited me just fine. He was deranged—you know, crazy—as far as I was concerned. I guess I first became aware of him when he was around seventeen. Like I said, he always gave me the creeps. Not too long after Tom and I moved in with Grandpa, Joe started coming around. He was about twenty-two then. Jed never seemed particularly pleased to see him coming—always wanted something—usually money, I think. I’d see him out with Grandpa smoking away—always smoking those cigarettes of his. They had filters on them and they came in a red and white box. I know because I used to have to clean them up after he left.”

Savannah felt a knot in the pit of her stomach. She had goose bumps on her arms. But she wanted to hear more. She needed to know. She thought her aunt should know.

Margaret continued, “I’d provide ash cans, but he never used them. He’d sit on the porch with Grandpa or follow him around while he did odd jobs around the place and drop butts everywhere. If he finished a pack of cigarettes while he was there, he’d put some of the butts in the empty box and just leave it wherever. He didn’t come often and didn’t stay long, but I didn’t like seeing him around the property at all. He always seemed to upset Grandpa—his being there.”

Margaret took a long sip of her latte and then continued, “I don’t know what happened, whether Grandpa and Joe had a falling-out or what, but after a while, Joe stopped coming around. Didn’t see him for a couple of years before Grandpa died.”

“So all Grandpa smoked was a pipe, huh?” Savannah asked.

“Yup. Grandpa didn’t smoke cigarettes, but he did enjoy that pipe, especially when he took a drink of Scotch, which became more and more often when he got older. We discovered charred bottles in the barn after he died.”

Savannah pushed her mocha to one side and looked across the table at her aunt. “I remember a lot of talk about Grandpa Forster and how he died in the fire. Did they ever decide what happened?”

“The detectives determined that he accidently started the fire with his pipe—maybe he dropped it or fell after drinking too much. One theory is that he fell out of the loft, hit his head and his pipe started the fire. That was their final report. But I was never altogether comfortable with it.”

“Why not?” Savannah asked

Margaret ran her finger around the rim of her cup and said, “Well, I knew Grandpa was taking a nip now and again and I knew he was doing it in private. He’d come in with his cheeks a little flushed and his pipe clenched between his teeth. But I never once saw him staggering drunk—enough that he would fall or start a fire without knowing it. Sure, he could have blacked out, had a stroke or something…I guess we’ll never know.”

“Auntie, what kind of cigarettes did you say Joe Forster smoked?”

Margaret glanced up at her niece and then said rather impatiently, “Oh, I don’t know—those filtered kind in a box. What difference does it make to you, anyway, Savannah? Maybe Marlboro. But he was not a Marlboro man, I’ll tell you. Eeeowwww.” She shuddered at the thought of Joe Forster representing a brand of anything in a positive light. “Why are you so interested in Joe’s brand of cigarettes?” She wanted to know.

“Well, Auntie, I might have some evidence.”

“Evidence of what; what are you talking about?”

“Evidence of who killed Grandpa Forster—who burned him to death.”

“What?” Margaret said as she pulled her cup away from her lips and dribbled a little of the golden liquid down the front of her white blouse. She set the cup down and grabbed a napkin. “Water; Vannie, get me some water, would you?”

Savannah pulled a bottle of water out of her large purse and handed it to her aunt. Once she had finished dabbing at the streak of chai latte with her dampened napkin, she looked pointedly at her niece and asked, “Now Vannie, what are you talking about?”

Savannah hesitated for just a moment and then she said, “Auntie, do you remember when we all came to stay at your house not too long after Grandpa Forster died?”

“Sure, we were celebrating someone’s birthday, or Thanksgiving, weren’t we?”

“Yes, I believe so. Well, we kids found something that week.”