Catnapped (A Klepto Cat Mystery) (7 page)

“In you go, guys,” the veterinarian crooned. “You know the drill, right, Savannah? Keep them quiet, watch for swelling or redness…”

“Sure,” she said with a nod. “I guess we’ll tell Max when we deliver the kittens to him, right Auntie?”

“That’s the plan. Shall we go?”

Michael Ivey held Margaret’s crutches while she lifted herself up out of the chair. “See you tomorrow, then. The meeting’s at 7?”

“Yes, donuts and coffee,” she called over her shoulder as she headed for the door, which Scarlett held open for them.

As Savannah approached the open door with the carrier, she couldn’t help herself. She had to take another look at him. She turned before exiting the lobby with every intention of saying a casual, “Nice to meet you.” But when she looked at him, his gentle, but penetrating stare rendered her speechless and she continued walking out the door, catching the jamb with her shoulder.
How embarrassing,
she thought. She hurried toward the car before he could see the blush she felt raging to the surface.

***

She’d driven several blocks before Savannah realized her aunt was speaking to her. When she finally focused on her words, she heard Margaret saying, “I thought we could take a tour of Max’s place today, but I’m kind of tired. I hope you don’t mind just dropping the kittens off and heading home. We can come back tomorrow. Maybe you’d like to spend time socializing some of the kittens. It’s important that they interact with people as often as possible, you know. There’s a greater chance they’ll make good pets.”

“Huh? Yes…a…I would. Definitely.”
What’s going on?
She wondered.
I’ve met good-looking men before. Lots of them. There was that professor—Jerry Barnes—at college. What an Adonis. The man who comes into the clinic with those three bulldogs. He’s handsome, indeed. And what about Travis? He’s certainly a nine-and-a-half on any woman’s hunk-a-meter. Which is an important reminder,
Savannah thought,
that looks aren’t everything.
In fact, she’d learned over the years that some of the best-looking men (and, for that matter, women) she’d met were terribly flawed.
So what’s wrong with Michael Ivey
? she wondered.

Savannah looked over at her aunt. “I’m glad you want to rest. The way you were going, I was afraid I’d be the first one to cry ‘uncle.’ You sure are the Energizer Bunny. Do we need anything while we’re out?”

“How about we go later to get the donuts for the meeting,” Margaret said, sounding rather weary.

“And food for Rags,” Savannah added. “I only brought enough of his food for a few days.”

“Speaking of the klepto…” Margaret laughed, “I wonder how he’s doing there in that big house on his own. Doesn’t he usually go outside to burn off some of his energy?”

“Yes, at home. I thought I’d give him a few days here. If he’s adamant about going out, I may take him outside for short spurts during the day. He’s pretty good about staying close if I watch him. Otherwise, well, you know, he’s off burglarizing the neighborhood.” She thought for a moment and then reasoned, “You don’t have traffic out here, so that’s not a concern. But, from the sounds of it, you get ‘vermin’ as you call them—you know—possums, wild boar, and…alligators,” she said, grinning over at her aunt.

“And coyotes and owls, not to mention catnappers,” Margaret interjected.

After handing the kittens over to one of Max’s volunteers, Savannah drove the short distance to Margaret’s house and pulled in as close as she could get to the porch for her aunt’s convenience. She parked the car and then walked around to the passenger door to give Margaret a hand. As she held the crutches steady, she looked out across the rolling green landscape off in the distance. “This really is a beautiful area.”

“Yes, it is,” Margaret replied—standing in place for a moment, a crutch under each arm. “I love it out here,” she said with a smile. And then her demeanor changed suddenly. “I just hope I can hold onto this place.”

“Why can’t you, Auntie?” Savannah wanted to know. This was the first time she’d heard her aunt make such a statement. As far as she or Margaret’s siblings knew, her aunt was set for life—unless she’d done something stupid with her money, again.

When Savannah’s grandparents died, they’d left each of their four children a pretty substantial inheritance. The other Brannon heirs invested their money, most of which came from the property and stock the senior Brannons had acquired while operating a successful lumber mill for many years on the outskirts of Hammond. Aunt Margaret was between husbands when the elder Brannons were killed in a car accident and she was bent on having fun with her inheritance. She became overly spendy and overly generous. She also bought a house, which her siblings were happy to see; they figured she would always have a place to live. However, unbeknownst to anyone in the family, she soon ran out of money and began borrowing against the house until her mortgage was too much for her to handle. She ended up losing her home.

She didn’t want to get a job; Margaret was not one who could stand too much regimentation. So she went in search of another option.
Enter Tom Forster,
Savannah thought to herself. This union seemed to be the answer to her aunt’s prayers.
Ole Tom didn’t do too bad for himself, either.
She smiled at the thought.

Savannah’s family moved to Southern California shortly after the couple was married, but the sisters, and, on occasion, their brother, devised many reasons over the years to get together in their suburban home in Los Angeles, at the Forster ranch or somewhere in between. A favorite rendezvous place for Savannah was Big Sur. Her parents often did a house swap with friends who lived there. One summer, when she had experienced a particularly bad breakup with a special teen heartthrob, she spent a lot of time on a secluded beach near their vacation home, healing. Aside with being a healing place for her growing pains, this spot held many happy memories for Savannah. She still stopped there often when taking Highway One through Big Sur. In fact, her plan was to spend a few days in that area when she headed back to the big city sometime next week.

Savannah had already formed a positive opinion of Tom Forster by the time the couple moved into his family home to care for his aging grandfather. She liked Uncle Tom because he treated her, Brianna and their cousins like people, unlike some other adults did. Maybe that’s because he had a child-like nature. He was always the one to instigate a game or activity when boredom began to set in. He even had a way of making chores fun. Savannah thought he would have made a good father, but neither he nor her aunt ever had any children.

“Auntie, you haven’t been refinancing this place, have you?” Savannah asked, as if it was any of her business.
Well, she opened the subject,
Savannah reasoned.

“Um, no,” she answered while working her way carefully along the pathway toward the expansive porch.

As if she would tell me.
Savannah thought.
As if I really want to know…

“Let me help you, Señora.”

The women looked up and saw Margaret’s gardener/handyman Antonio hurrying toward them. “Hola, Antonio,” Margaret said. “Gracias, but I’m almost there. I’m just thankful that Granddaddy Forster built this porch with deep steps. Much easier to navigate with crutches.” She exaggerated a pout and an attitude. “I just wish they’d given me a walking cast. I’m not supposed to use this foot at all—walking with crutches would be so much easier if I didn’t have to hold this foot up all the time.”

“I build you a ramp, Señora Maggie.”

“That’s sweet, Antonio, but I’m not going to need one quite at this point in my life. Maybe in another twenty or thirty years,” she said laughing out loud.

“Oh, Señora, in those many years, my Juan will be here with you. Mama Esperanza and me—we will be gone. Tired and gone. Our son, Juan can build your ramp,” he said in all seriousness.

“Pshaww!” Margaret said as she reached the front door with her eager aides. “You and Esperanza are youngsters. You’ll be growing things and she’ll be cooking things for many years to come.”

Savannah unlocked the door and Margaret started to hobble in, obviously feeling the stress and strain of the day. Suddenly, she stopped and turned toward Antonio. “Señor, are there any greens in the garden for a nice salad this evening? We have some of Helena’s enchiladas left—a green salad would be nice.”

“Si, Señora,” Antonio said with enthusiasm. “I bring lettuce, cucumber, onion. Okay?”

“Perfect. Thank you, Antonio.”

He started to turn, but spun back around and said, “I work behine house…back here...” He pointed toward the back of the house. “…cutting grass, cutting roses, making piles…” He motioned as if raking. Then he smiled. “Gato watch.”

“What? Oh, the cat,” Margaret said with a chuckle. “That’s Rags, the señorita’s gato.”

“He want out—hit glass,” Antonio explained while moving his hands in a clawing motion in front of him.

“Poor Rags,” Savannah said. She turned to her aunt, “Let me get you settled and then I’ll go check on the cat.”

“Oh, here he is. He heard us come in. Hi Ragsdale. What trouble have you been into today, pray tell?”

Savannah cringed. “I’m afraid to look.”

Savannah followed her aunt into her bedroom to see if she needed help getting situated for a nap. She filled Margaret’s water pitcher and then walked over to the bed where Layla had been sleeping. “Here, Layla, sweetie. You move over and give Mommy some room,” Savannah said matter-of-factly as she scooted the little fur ball off to the side.

“Isn’t she just the most adaptable little thing?” Margaret cooed. And then she quieted her voice saying, “I almost wonder if she has a little brain damage from when she was a kitten. We don’t know how long the kittens were without their mother or what their birthing was like. But she is, without a doubt, the most accommodating, sweet cat I’ve ever known. Nothing bothers her. She’s so easy-going…almost like she’s…brain damaged,” she said the last words using a hushed tone.

“She is a doll. I hope my wild animal doesn’t influence her in all the wrong ways,” Savannah said, as she gathered up Rags in her arms and left the room. “Let’s check your food and water supply, buddy, and maybe make a grocery list.” She released the cat onto the floor in front of her. His forward motion uninterrupted, he continued to trot toward the kitchen. “You must be hungry, boy,” she said, noticing that the bowl of kibbles she’d set out for the cats was nearly empty. Their water bowl was half empty. Upon closer examination, Savannah discovered that the bowl was sitting in a puddle. She grabbed a handful of paper towels and began soaking up the water. “Did you go swimming in here, or what?” After refilling the water bowl, she opened a small can of cat food. About then, she spotted Layla peering from around the corner. “Uh-oh, someone else is hungry. You know the sound of a can opening, don’t you, girl?”

She gave both cats a dollop of savory salmon cat food on small paper plates and then searched for the foil to cover the can.
Oh, plastic cat-food-can lids, even better. Now to find a pen and paper. Probably near the phone,
she reasoned. She walked the length of the spacious farmhouse kitchen to near the side door where the phone was attached to the wall. A small table stood under the phone and, indeed, there was a pad and a jar of pencils and pens of all kinds on the table top.

“Finished eating already, Rags?” she asked as she noticed him nosing around under the little table. She started to turn toward the refrigerator to examine its innards, when something caught her eye—something shiny.
Glass! There’s broken glass on the floor.
“Rags, no,” she said as she dropped the pad and pen on the table and lifted the cat up off the floor. “We don’t need you getting glass in your paws. Let’s get you out of here. You, too, Layla.” She scooped up the petite tangerine cat with her free hand and carried them to the closest bathroom. “You both stay here while I clean up the mess.” She placed them on the plush plum-colored bath mat and, much to their dismay, she left, closing the door behind her.
Thank heavens the bathrooms don’t have those lever door handles. This is one room Rags can’t escape from,
she thought as she turned to walk away.

Now what did Rags break?
she wondered, as she rushed over to where she’d seen the broken glass.
It looks like the glass came from an ordinary window,
she thought.
At least it’s not a priceless vase that had been in the Forster family for a thousand years,
she mused.
But how did he break a window?
was her next question.
And which window?

She pulled the red-checkered café curtains back from the large window next to the door. It was intact. Then she looked at the window on the kitchen door.
Broken. By what? How?
She stood in place, scanning the room.
What’s this?
she wondered, as she stepped toward the counter top.
A rock. A rock with a piece of paper attached with silver tape.

She picked up the palm-sized stone and peeled the paper from around it, knowing full well that if this was a crime scene under the direction of CSI: Miami, she was tampering with evidence. She imagined herself now the number-one suspect and could visualize Eric or Calleigh (no, Eric—for sure, Eric) cuffing her and taking her in for questioning.

Stop being silly,
she scolded herself.

She unfolded the paper and turned it over. “GET OUT” it read in large black letters.

Hmmm,
she thought.
I never did get a chance to ask Auntie about the note I found earlier. And now here’s another one. What could this mean? Is someone out to hurt my aunt?
Savannah felt a knot in the pit of her stomach.
Is she in danger? Are we all in danger?

“Meooowwwww. Meooowwww.”

Oh gosh, what are those cats up to? I’d better get this mess cleaned up so I can let them out before they disturb Auntie. Then I’ll talk to Antonio. Maybe he saw something…or someone.