Literally Murder (A Black Cat Bookshop Mystery) (11 page)

“Come on, let’s go back out there and tell the police what we found.”

They made their entrance on stage to find Jake doing her best to convince the paramedics she was fine, while the two burly cops—one female and Hispanic, the other male and African American—were talking with Alicia and Billy. Shelley had apparently gone back out onto the floor. As a group, they looked up at Darla’s approach.

“Any luck finding Hamlet?” Jake asked hopefully, holding an ice bag to the back of her head.

Now that she knew Jake was relatively unharmed, Darla’s concern for Hamlet rose to the forefront. Striving for an even tone, she replied, “No. Alicia was right. There’s no way out except the emergency exits, and nothing to show he was ever back there. But Mildred might have found the weapon that was used on you. It was an empty glass bottle.”

Darla deliberately focused on Alicia as she said this last, waiting to see if the woman would have some reaction. But Alicia’s poker-faced mask was once again firmly in place.

“Ma’am,” the female officer spoke up, turning to Darla, “why don’t you show me this bottle.”

“Sure, it’s right behind the curtain, but Mildred accidentally picked it up before she realized it could be evidence.”

The two uniforms exchanged glances, and Darla could practically hear the unspoken epithet passing between them: “civilians.” Still, the cop—Garcia, according to the silver name badge pinned over her shirt pocket—retained her professionally noncommittal air as she said, “We’ll collect it anyhow and send it to the lab.”

Darla left the officers to poke around a few minutes longer while she returned to where Jake sat. To the obvious displeasure of the paramedics, the PI was handing back the ice pack while reaching for a clipboard one of the EMTs held.

“You’re not going to let them take you to the hospital.” It was a statement, not a question, since Darla already knew the answer.

Jake finished signing the release form they’d given her with a flourish. “I’m fine—just need to take it easy for a couple of days. Right, boys?”

The “boys” muttered under their breaths but gave her a copy of the paper; then, tossing bags and boxes onto their gurney, they began rolling toward the exit. As for the cops, they had returned with the bottle safely bagged for evidence. After getting Darla and Mildred’s version of what they knew regarding the assault and catnapping, the male cop—“Officer Cory Johnston,” Darla read off the business card he had handed her—flipped his notebook closed.

“Well, folks, you can see we don’t have much to go on here. Ms. Martelli didn’t see who hit her, and no one saw anyone walking off with the cat. And you’ve got a few hundred people here, and almost that many cats to sort through. The best we can do at this point is hope a witness comes forward, or that someone managed to get something on video,” he finished, practically repeating Jake’s earlier estimation of the situation word for word.

“What about the protesters outside? They seem to have a grudge against the show. And then there was that incident earlier, when someone poured ketchup on a cat and made it look like they’d butchered it. Oh, and someone’s cat escaped, too. Luckily Mildred caught it, but what if it had been let out on purpose?”

“Really, Ms. Pettistone,” Alicia coolly interjected while the two officers again exchanged looks. “I know you’re upset about your cat—we all are worried about Hamlet, of course—but I think you’re blowing these other incidents out of proportion. We often have protesters at our shows, and it’s not uncommon for cats to escape from inexperienced handlers. As for that ketchup incident—it was unpleasant, but no animal was actually harmed.”

The female officer penned a few final words and then looked up at Darla.

“Ms. Pettistone, we saw those college kids with the signs when we came in. Don’t worry, we’ll talk to them on the way out . . . throw a little scare into them, see if they’ll admit to anything. But, I’d be really surprised if one of those kids was the person who assaulted Ms. Martelli. That’s just not their usual modus operandi.”

Then the female cop gave Darla an encouraging smile. “Try not to worry about your cat, Ms. Pettistone. We have your cat’s description. We’ll notify Animal Control to keep an eye out in case he’s loose somewhere on the street. And if those protesters turn out to be the ones who took him, I can almost guarantee they’ll leave him somewhere for you to find before the end of the show today. Most of those kids who do the animal rights thing, their hearts are in the right place.”

Before Darla could mutter her first reflexive response, which was what she’d do with certain thong-wearing protesters’ hearts if she found out they were the culprits, the male cop jumped back in.

“Oh, and I’m sure the show people will want to offer a reward for the cat’s safe return, as well as for information regarding Ms. Martelli’s assault,” he said with a glance at Billy and Alicia. “Money—that’s what usually does the trick in situations like this.”

“Of course,” Billy hurriedly agreed. “We all want Hamlet back as quickly as possible. Alicia, why don’t you have Shelley come see me, and I’ll arrange that right now.”

The officers took their leave, followed by Alicia, presumably in search of her announcer. Billy, meanwhile, turned his attention to Darla and Jake.

“Ladies, I can assure you that nothing like this has ever happened at one of our shows before. Believe me, we’ll do everything we can to make it right. Ms. Martelli, why don’t I have the hotel send one of their golf carts over here to carry you and your mother back to the Waterview so you can relax for a while?”

“That’s a great idea, Billy,” Nattie spoke up even as Jake opened her mouth to protest. “She needs a bit of rest right now.”

“Ma, I’m fine. Darla needs me here.”

“No, Jake, your mother’s right,” Darla replied. “It’s bad enough I have to worry about Hamlet. It’ll be worse if I have to worry about you, too. I’m going to search this place top to bottom for him, and then I’ll meet you back at the hotel after the show is over.”

Jake threw up one hand in surrender. “Fine, I’ll go,” she muttered, earning an approving pat on the arm from Nattie.

Billy headed off to procure the promised golf cart, and soon thereafter Jake and Nattie clambered on board. Billy waved the women off, then turned to Darla.

“We’ve established a one-thousand-dollar reward both for Hamlet’s safe return and information about the assault, no questions asked,” he told her. “Shelley has already made the announcement on our various social media sites. And, of course, our volunteers will be continuing to check bags and boxes as people leave the show, just in case.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Pope. But what about your granddaughter, Cindy?” was Darla’s blunt reply.

At her question, Billy’s expression of genial concern hardened.

“I can assure you, Ms. Pettistone, that my granddaughter has nothing to do with this unfortunate incident. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the judging. My people will keep you informed if we learn anything.”

He turned and headed back toward the judging ring, while Darla silently fumed. Maybe Nattie’s loyalty to the man was misplaced. The fact that Billy had an obvious blind spot when it came to his granddaughter likely meant he was weak in other areas, as well. Maybe he’d channeled the missing condo association money to Cindy.

“Well, that’s the rich for you.”

The surprisingly bitter sentiment came from Mildred, who was standing beside Darla. “They think because they have money, the rules don’t apply. And they don’t have much sympathy for all us ‘don’t haves,’” she said in a quavering voice.

Then, apparently realizing she’d spoken out of turn, Mildred waved a dismissive hand.

“Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just letting off a little steam,” she said, managing a smile. “Mr. Pope and Mrs. Timpson have been very generous patrons of the FSA. I don’t know what the organization would do without them.”

“Well, you’d think they’d be trying a bit harder to find Hamlet,” Darla countered, not quite as willing as Mildred to give the pair a pass. “Why haven’t they had Shelley make an announcement over the PA that Hamlet’s been taken?”

“Oh, my dear, you wouldn’t want to do that,” the old woman replied, her expression faintly horrified.

Gesturing to the crowd, she went on, “If Shelley started telling people that Hamlet was catnapped, the place would be in an uproar. The exhibitors would all be worried something could happen to their cats, too. And then you’d have all these Helpful Hannahs thinking every black cat at the show was Hamlet. No, believe me, dear, it’s much better for everyone—Hamlet included—if we’re a bit subtle about this.”

Subtle, my butt
, was Darla’s reaction, though she grudgingly admitted that Mildred had a point. She could just imagine people rushing up to her with sundry black cats, all hoping to get the reward money.

“All right, Mildred,” she conceded. “We’ll keep it low-key. But before I do anything else, I’m going outside to talk to those protesters. The catnapper might have made it out the door before Alicia had time to put her volunteers on pat-down mode. Those kids might have seen something important.”

“Weren’t the police already going to question them?”

“Yeah, but did the cops bribe them this morning with donut holes? Maybe they’ll be more forthcoming with me.”

Darla’s timing proved fortunate, for the protest seemed to have broken up. Bangles and Farmer Tan Girl were off to one side of the walkway, fully dressed now and stuffing their signs into garbage bags. There was no sign of Cindy, but it was probably for the best. Maybe separated from her, the other girls would be willing to divulge what, if anything, they knew about Hamlet’s disappearance.

“Hey, girls, wait a minute,” Darla called, waving the pair down as the students shuffled off in the direction of the main sidewalk. “I really need to talk to you.”

Bangles looked back, and then poked her friend, drawing her attention to Darla. To her relief, the girls waited while she caught up to them.

“Hi,” Darla breathlessly greeted the pair as she caught up to them. “Remember me? I brought you the donut holes this morning.”

“Yeah, they were, like, awesomely good,” Farmer Tan Girl said with a smile. Pointing to her friend, she added, “Talina ate three of them.”

“Did not,” Talina muttered, though her grin gave away the lie.

Darla smiled back. “Believe me, I’d have eaten three myself if I hadn’t had breakfast already.” Then, sobering, she went on, “Girls, I’m in real trouble and need your help. Did the police ask you about the cat that’s been kidnapped?”

NINE

AT DARLA’S QUESTION, BOTH PROTESTERS IMMEDIATELY
dropped their friendly air.

“We didn’t have nothing to do with that, right, Lilly?” Talina declared, her expression threatening.

Lilly gave Darla an equally thunderous glare. “Yeah, like we told the po-po, we don’t know nothing about it.”

The pair swung about and continued down the steps. Determined not to lose this opportunity, Darla trotted after them. “Look, girls, this is really important. I know you didn’t take the cat, but maybe you saw something . . . maybe even the person who did it. The cat that’s missing is mine, and I really want him back.”

She couldn’t help the slight catch in her voice as she said that last. The girls must have heard the quiver of emotion as well, for they paused and looked at each other. Darla persisted. “Maybe you’ve heard of him before. His name is Hamlet. He’s the Karate Kitty on YouTube.”

“OMG! Karate Kitty is
your
cat?” Lilly gave a little jump of excitement. “I’ve seen that video, like, a hundred times. The
Star Wars
version is my favorite.”

“No way, girl. The one with the Jay-Z song is the best,” Talina countered, giving the other girl a friendly little push. Then, turning to Darla, she said, “Say, you do kinda look like the lady in the video. So, he really is your cat?”

“He’s mine. He’s the official mascot of my bookstore. See?”

She reached into her tote bag and pulled out the “paw”-tograph fliers, handing one to each of them. “Look, I know the police already asked this, but did you maybe notice anyone leaving the building about”—she paused and consulted her watch—“say, about an hour ago, carrying a big black cat? He might’ve been in a carrier, or maybe in a backpack or gym bag. You might not have even seen him, but he’d probably have been meowing. And he weighs a ton, so he’s not that easy to handle, even when he’s in a good mood.”

The two girls stared at the fliers and then each other before reluctantly shaking their heads. “No, I didn’t see him. Sorry,” Talina said, her expression now one of dismay.

Lilly added, “No, it was pretty slow an hour ago, so anyone who walked out, we would’ve seen. Sorry.”

Darla gave a disappointed sigh. It had been too much to hope that the catnapper had been spotted leaving the scene of the crime. On the bright side, however, that might mean he was still somewhere in the hall. She’d team up with Mildred again and check out every row of the exhibitor area in case Hamlet was locked in somewhere.

Making her farewells to the girls, who promised to call the cell phone number Darla scribbled on the fliers if they heard anything of interest on the protester grapevine, Darla headed back inside the hall. Mildred was waiting for her at the information table.

“I already checked all the restrooms and the storage area near the concessions, but no sign of Hamlet,” the old woman told her. “Were those young people outside any help at all?”

Darla shook her head. “They said they didn’t notice anyone, and I’m pretty sure it would be obvious if anyone was carting out a cat his size. I guess the next thing to do is search the exhibitor area.”

“Good idea, dear. How about you start here, and I start in the back, and we meet in the middle? That way, we can cover more area in a short period of time.”

“That would be perfect. Thanks so much for helping me out like this. Without Jake and Nattie, I’m kind of on my own here.”

Darla hastily blinked back the tears of frustrated worry she had been trying hard to suppress ever since she’d learned Hamlet was missing. She was already late checking in with James and Robert at the bookstore. If they didn’t find Hamlet by the time the show ended for the day, she’d have to let her manager know that their mascot was officially a crime victim.

Mildred, meanwhile, gave Darla a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Buck up, dear. I know we’ll find him. Be sure to look underneath the tables as well as in the cages.”

They spent the next little while separately scouring the exhibition area. Some of the exhibitors recognized Darla and already had heard the rumors about Hamlet. They offered advice and condolences, and all vowed to keep an eye out for the missing cat.

As she continued the search, it occurred to Darla that maybe they’d been looking for motives in all the wrong places. Maybe the person who’d taken Hamlet had no agenda other than wanting to own a famous cat. The feline’s appearance at the cat show had been well advertised; heck, she had even helped spread the word all over social media that Hamlet was going on tour. It would have been easy enough for the catnapper to buy a ticket to the show and simply wait around for an opportunity; then Hamlet’s video had proved the distraction needed.

By the time Darla and Mildred finally met again in the predetermined center point, both of them empty-handed, Darla was feeling discouraged and more than a little fearful that she might never see Hamlet again.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Mildred told her. “Hamlet wasn’t hidden away in any of the cages, and none of the exhibitors has seen tail or whisker of him.”

“I didn’t have any luck either. Maybe I should try outside, in case he did get away and is waiting for me to find him.”

“That’s a good idea, dear. I’d join you, but I really have to get back to work,” Mildred explained, looking faintly guilty at the admission.

Darla nodded. “I understand, and I’m grateful for all the help you’ve given me.”

“You can thank me when we’ve found your kitty. Now, you know the Riverwalk, which runs right behind the convention center? I suggest you go down to the corner and turn right”—the old woman pantomimed the route Darla would take—“and you’ll run right into the walkway. The city has done a lovely job of landscaping there, and you’ll find all sorts of bushes and groundcover for Hamlet to hide in, if he’s out there.”

Leaving Mildred to her volunteer duties, Darla exited the exhibition hall and started in the direction the woman had indicated. She wondered if she should try to recruit someone else from the show to help her, but then she decided against it. Hamlet was touchy enough when things were going well. If he had escaped his presumed abductors and was outside the hall, he’d probably be wary of any stranger attempting to catch him. She’d likely have more success alone.

She came across the Riverwalk almost immediately, a broad concrete path that ran parallel to the water. Rather that the bird’s-eye view she’d had the previous afternoon, this look at the New River was up close and personal. Darla could hear the rapidly flowing water lapping against the banks, and actually saw a fish or two flash by in the clear water. The river smelled of rain, overlaid with faint notes of mud and fish and the ocean. Many of the bushes lining the walk were in bloom, and their perfume, carried on a cool breeze coming off the water, bathed her in a bit of calming aromatherapy.

On the opposite side of the river, Darla could see homes—some charming, others elegant, almost all with their own private boat docks. As with the other structures she’d passed the day before, the homes spread along the riverbank were painted in tasty sherbet hues that contrasted with the pewter-colored waters. On her side of the river were commercial buildings interspersed with the occasional vintage home. Most of the latter were fenced off and appeared to have been converted to businesses and—in at least one case—a museum. Maybe later in the week, if things got back to normal, she’d take a closer look.

The walkway was busy with clutches of wandering tourists. Normally, Darla would’ve summoned a smile and a nod as she passed each group, but for the moment her attention was focused at a lower level. Not caring how it looked, she crouched here and there to peer beneath a clump of greenery and call Hamlet’s name.

More than once, she was startled when a green or brown lizard popped out. Most of those reptiles were cute enough, reminding her of the so-called chameleons that many of her classmates had kept when she was in grade school. A few, however, were decidedly less cute—fat and the size of small rats, with long tails that curled over their backs as they scampered past. It took all her effort not to let out a girlie shriek every time one of those creatures skittered across her path.

Darla spent a good hour pacing up and down the Riverwalk, growing more discouraged with each passing minute. Surely if Hamlet had escaped to the great outdoors, she would have spotted him by now; that, or he would have heard her calling and ventured out. Whoever had taken him must still be holding him captive, she told herself stoutly, forbidding herself to speculate on any other potential fates.

The sun had dropped behind the taller downtown buildings, leaving her in partial shadow, and the temperature had dropped as well. Darla wished she had a sweater to toss over her polo shirt. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was already five o’clock. The cat show would be over for the day, with all the exhibitors gathering their cats for the trip back to their respective homes or hotels. Even though she and Mildred had already combed through every owner’s spot searching for Hamlet, Darla wanted to take one more look about the place before they locked the doors for the night.

Darla bent to check behind a final green-and-yellow-foliaged bush before she headed back, when she heard an unexpected
beep beep
behind her, and Jake zipped up beside her in a golf cart. Darla stared at her friend in surprise. Her first thought was to hope Hamlet had been found; her second, that Jake had no business tooling around in any sort of vehicle after that blow to her head.

“Mildred told me you were out here on the Riverwalk searching for Hamlet. I guess you haven’t seen any sign of him?”

“No. Any news from anyone at the cat show?”

“None.” Jake shook her head, her expression grim. “They’re closing the hall down for the night, so I figured we’d take another look around the place. Come on, hop in.”

Darla did as she was told, and Jake wheeled the cart around, retracing the route to the convention center. Darla clung to the pole supporting the overhead canopy as Jake negotiated the curves at a swift clip.

“So, what are you doing driving around? I thought you had a concussion,” she demanded, trying to use righteous indignation to distract herself temporarily from thoughts of Hamlet. “Does Nattie know you’re out here?”

“First, getting hit on the head does not equal concussion,” Jake countered. “I was just a little woozy for a couple of minutes. And, second, what Ma doesn’t know won’t hurt her. I left her napping in the room with her beloved throw pillows.”

Before Darla could come up with a retort to that, Jake drove up the handicapped ramp to the exhibition hall entrance. She halted the cart there, since a steady stream of cat owners was moving out of the building now and pretty well blocking any incoming traffic. Some of the participants were wheeling their cats in carriers similar to the one Darla had used on the plane, while others had several cages stacked on luggage carts. The scene had a
Grapes of Wrath
vibe to it . . . at least in that hunger definitely drove these travelers, Darla thought with a fleeting smile, hearing the meow chorus of kitties ready for their suppers.

Shelley Jacobson and two male volunteers stood in the doorway supervising the exodus. The former looked up at Darla and Jake’s approach.

“No luck, ladies?” she asked in sympathy. When Darla shook her head, Shelley added, “If you want to give the exhibition hall another look, we’ll have the doors open for another fifteen minutes or so.”

While Shelley played traffic cop, Jake fired up the golf cart again. She dropped Darla off at the stage. “I’ll check out the judging area. You take another look back here, and at concessions. Who knows? If Hamlet really is on the loose, maybe he found some leftover hot dogs to chow down on and has been napping all afternoon.” The women exchanged wan smiles and went their separate ways.

They were still searching a quarter of an hour later when the overhead lights began shutting down. Darla scrambled out from beneath one of the vendor tables, and Jake zipped over to pick her up again.

“Don’t worry,” Jake said as they headed back to the main doors. “That Hamlet is a smart, resourceful cat. He can take care of himself, even in a strange town.”

Darla nodded, doing her best not to give in to defeat. “When we get back to the hotel, I want to talk to Chantal at the front desk and let her know what’s going on in case the catnapper leaves a message for us.”

“Good idea.”

Making their good-byes to Shelley, Darla and Jake rode off in silence toward the hotel. The shadows were gathering in earnest now, with the setting sun throwing a final blanket of pink light across the surrounding buildings. The stress of the afternoon weighed on Darla, and once again she found herself blinking back tears. After all that she and Hamlet had been through together the past year, how could he suddenly be gone from her life?

“Jake, what are we going to do?” she softly wailed as they approached the hotel. “We don’t even have the beginnings of a clue as to who took him. And you know the police won’t do anything to find him, not without some sort of solid lead to follow.”