The Cats that Broke the Spell (The Cats that . . . Cozy Mystery Book 8)
TheCatsthat Broke the Spell
Karen Anne Golden
Copyright
This book or eBook is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, persons or cats, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Karen Anne Golden
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1544009131
ISBN-10: 1544009135
Overture
By the magic of my black cats,
This man holds me back.
Scarecrow, set things right.
Erie Witch Incantation
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter One
Early-September
Katherine “Katz” Cokenberger, a twenty-nine-year-old heiress to millions, sat on a Victorian wingback chair and scanned the room for the locations of her seven cats. Three sat on the tall wood valances over the turret windows. Two were underneath her chair, pawing at the lining to either add or remove stolen items from their stash. And two were engaged in their early morning reconnaissance mission, exploring every nook and cranny of the seventeen-room, pink painted Victorian house.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, savoring the happy moment. She was thankful to be able to relax lately.
In the small town of Erie, Indiana, northwest of Indianapolis, seven months had gone by without a murder, arson, or kidnapping. The only home invasion reported in the Erie Herald was by a family of raccoons that had broken into a house through the doggy door. Chief London had thrown up his hands and said he couldn’t charge the masked thieves because they ate the evidence. He had also said he couldn’t arrest them because he didn’t have handcuffs small enough to fit them. This was his running joke with Katherine about her cats. He knew two of them would steal anything they could sink their fangs into.
Katherine counted her personal blessings. First, there hadn’t been a murder in the pink mansion since the dead of winter, when her childhood friend showed up with the Russian mob. Second, the mansion hadn’t suffered any damage from water heater explosions, fires or tornadoes. Third, with the new security system at the mansion and with her best friend’s mum living back in Manhattan, there hadn’t been any home invasions. Last, there hadn’t been a ghost sighting in either the mansion or the Foursquare next door.
To her, the greatest blessing was being married to the love of her life, Jake, a history professor at the City University. Jake shared her love of cats, and their seven felines were healthy, happy, and full of energy. However, their cats were not your run-of-the-mill housecats. They were extraordinary. The cats each had unique abilities that put them in a realm above that of the normal feline. Surreptitiously, they surfed the internet to provide clues to help their humans solve crimes. Or they stole evidence from criminals, hid it, then brought it out when the proper law enforcement officer would be available.
Scout and Abra were Siamese littermates and former stage performers in a magician’s ‘Hocus Pocus’ show. They possessed an uncanny ability to predict murder. Their death dance was an ominous sight to behold, and not one Katherine ignored.
Iris, a seal-point from an upscale New York City cattery, continued to teach the ropes to Siamese newcomers Dewey and Crowie. The kittens had grown into handsome seal-point adults. They each weighed twelve pounds, a size considered normal for a male, apple-headed Siamese.
Lilac, a hyperactive lilac-point, was airborne most of the time and loved to jump to high places. Abby, the golden-eyed, ruddy ticked Abyssinian, was a major crime solver and had recently solved a million dollar theft. Iris and Abby carried on the tradition of stealing things and hiding them in an old wingback chair, but lately their stolen items were normal household items and not clues to solve an important case.
Stevie Sanders — the son of Erie’s crime boss — and his thirteen-year-old daughter Salina had moved into the Foursquare next door without a hitch. Back in Prohibition days, the yellow brick house had been a speakeasy. Salina’s gray cat Wolfy Joe was feeling much better, having regained the weight he had lost while eating a poor diet.
Katherine taught her computer class in the pink mansion’s basement classroom. She met monthly with Chief London and Margie Cokenberger, the wife of handyman Cokey, to select and approve charitable distributions to people in need in the community. Her no-kill rescue center was a huge success, having found adopters for many homeless cats, dogs, rabbits, a goat and even two llamas.
Yes, things were pretty much working out great in the small town of Erie, Indiana. Until . . . .
Chapter Two
Saturday
Katherine sat behind the wheel of her Subaru Outback while best friend Colleen sat in the passenger seat.
On the back seat, Scout and Abra stood tall in their cat carrier. The felines were not happy traveling in the SUV and voiced their complaints in loud Siamese voices.
Colleen shouted over the din, “Katz, tell me again why we’re bringing them?”
“Girls, settle down,” Katherine pleaded with the cats. “We’ll be there in a minute,” she added. Katherine and Jake had rented a two-story farmhouse in the country for two months while the attic of the pink mansion was being remodeled. Jake was thrilled to be getting a new office, not comfortable with the bad vibes in the basement where his current one was. He jokingly called his future office the man cave in the sky.
“It goes like this, Carrot Top,” Katherine began, addressing her best friend since grade school. “I want Scout’s and Abra’s opinion on the house.”
“Like if it’s haunted or not? It makes perfect sense to me.” The Siamese were very sensitive to the paranormal.
The feminine GPS voice instructed Katherine to turn right, but Katherine ignored the command and drove past it.
“Shouldn’t you have turned back there?” Colleen asked.
The Siamese became agitated. “Waugh,” Scout shrieked. “Raw,” Abra added. Ever since their move from Manhattan to the small town of Erie, they had zero tolerance for the GPS lady. The two retaliated by rocking the carrier back and forth.
Katherine scolded, “Stop it right now,” then to Colleen, “I better turn it off.” She reached over and pressed the off button, then pulled previously printed instructions from a cubbyhole in the center floor console. She slowed down to study them.
“You’re not supposed to read and drive at the same time,” Colleen cautioned.
“Oh, yeah?” Katherine asked, amused. “I haven’t seen a car on this road since we left. I guess it’s too early for people to be out and about. There it is,” she added, nodding to the right. She turned off the state highway and onto a country gravel road. Immediately the road dipped to a steep downgrade and into a ravine. At the bottom was a dense morning fog that hovered over the ground, casting an eerie appearance on the surrounding landscape.
“Wow, this fog just came out of nowhere,” Katherine said in a worried tone, she slowed down to ten miles an hour
. Without a center line painted on the road, it was difficult to gauge where she was driving.
“Is there a place to pull over?” Colleen advised, leaning forward and clutching the handle on the glove box.
At the top of the next rise, the patchy fog lifted. The narrow country road was flanked on both sides by tall corn plants that were a few weeks away from harvest. Their yellowing leaves gently flapped in the wind. Colleen powered down her window and reached her arm out. “Slow down. I’d like to pick an ear. Want to have corn for dinner?” she asked naively.
“That’s not sweet corn; it’s field corn.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Sweet corn is soft; field corn will break your teeth off.”
“And when did you become an expert on corn?”
“Jake and I take the Jeep out on this road. That’s how we found the farmhouse we’re driving to?”
“Was there a for rent sign in the yard?”
“Jake knows the owner, Bud Baxter.”
“Bud? Seriously, someone has a first name, Bud?”
“Mr. Baxter does,” Katherine laughed. “He’s an elderly man who lives with his wife, who has Parkinson’s disease. When we drove up to the farmhouse and didn’t see any vehicles, Jake called him. Bud said they’d moved to an assisted living facility in the City.”
“Won’t it be hard for them to manage both places?”
“They plan to put the farm on the market next spring and wanted to hire someone to keep an eye on it this winter. That’s when Jake proposed that we’d rent it.”
“Why don’t the two of you just stay in the bungalow?” Katherine and Jake owned an early century Craftsman on the next street from the mansion.
“It’s not big enough for our cat family.”
“Ma-waugh,” Scout meowed in agreement.
“Okay,” Colleen said slowly. “Here’s my next question. Is the farmhouse clean enough to meet your standards?” She chuckled. With seven cats, Katherine worked hard to keep the mansion clean. Being a millionaire didn’t change Katherine. She always did her own housework.
“That’s why I’m bringing you today. I need some help,” Katherine teased.
“Help doing what?” Colleen asked, knowing that cleaning house was not one of her strong suits. “Why don’t you hire a cleaning crew?”
“Actually, I did. The house is clean, from the cellar to the top rafters, but today I want you to help me cat proof it.”
“How are we going to do that with two cats?”
“Scout and Abra will be on leashes. I need you to mind Abra, while I walk with Scout.”
“I’ve got a bit of experience doing that,” Colleen said, then asked, “What’s the address of this place?”
“Actually, it’s a rural address. Baxter is painted in red letters on the mailbox. The house is set back from the road.”
“Which side of the road?”
“It’s on the right. Just before we get to it, there’s a giant oak tree with branches hanging over the road. Look for a metal gate.”
“You’re talking like a Hoosier.”
Katherine wrinkled her nose, amused. “Jake is a great teacher.”
Suddenly, the road changed to a rutted expanse of potholes and ridges. Katherine rumbled over several, then slowed down to a crawl.
Colleen screamed, “Look out!”
A tall, thin man darted across the road, in a dead run, and nearly stumbled into the SUV. He was dressed like a scarecrow. His face was covered with a burlap bag with holes cut out for his eyes and mouth. He wore denim overalls over a red plaid shirt. Straw stuck out of the cuffs. Katherine screamed and hit the brakes.
“Oh, the Saints preserve us. I thought we’d all be killed,” Colleen said, holding her hand over her heart.
The man never slowed, but jogged into the cornfield, unfazed by his brush with death.
Katherine pulled over, put the SUV in park, and started to climb out.
Colleen protested. “Katz, no, get back in the car. What if that nut case comes back?”
“I’ve got to check on the cats.” Getting out, she reached inside her summer-weight jacket for her Glock, but instead of pulling it out, she patted the side holster for reassurance, then opened the back door to check on the Siamese. They were very quiet — too quiet. They sat on their haunches with their front paws braced against the cage; Scout had one paw over Abra’s shoulder.
“Are you two okay?” Katherine asked worriedly, climbing onto the seat to check on them.
“Raw,” Abra cried sweetly.
“Are they all right?” Colleen turned and asked over her shoulder.
“Yes, they look okay. I’m glad I belted the cat carrier to the back seat,” Katherine answered, then said to the cats, “I promise, it’s just a little ways up the road. We’re almost there.”
Scout crossed her sapphire-blue eyes and blinked an eye kiss.
Katherine got behind the wheel, shifted to drive and continued at barely five miles an hour. “My heart’s pounding a mile a minute.”
“Mine too. Thank God we didn’t hit him. He seemed oblivious to us,” Colleen observed.
“If we did hit him, that would have made an interesting 911 call,” Katherine said, then feigned a masculine voice, “Officer, scarecrow down. Send an ambulance.”
Colleen piped in, “Or a hay wagon.”
Katherine smiled.
“What was he doing out here wearing that outfit?” Colleen asked.
“Scarecrow reenactment? I don’t know. I’ll ask Jake. Maybe there’s a Harvest festival nearby?”
“Seriously?”
Katherine laughed to break the tension. “I’m just making it up as I go. I have no idea, but I know my street sense perked up. I don’t think Mr. Scarecrow was up to any good.”
“Ma-waugh,” Scout agreed.
“Mine did too. Hey, look over there,” Colleen pointed.
Katherine gazed out her window at a rusted fence with a gate covered with multiple “do not trespass” signs. There was a gravel area in front of the gate, which was just enough space for a car to park while the owner got out and opened or closed the access.
“Katz, pull into that little area there,” Colleen said excitedly. “I want to take a picture.”
“Why?”
“Look at those symbols!”
Katherine braked, put the vehicle in reverse, and backed up. She powered down her window and gazed at several rusted metal pentagrams attached to the posts supporting the gate. Several more crude pentagrams, made of rough twigs fastened with twine, were stuck in the ground. She lightly tapped the accelerator, drove in front of the gate, and turned off the engine.
Colleen jumped out and rushed to the farm gate. Katherine stayed in the SUV.
“Katz, aren’t you getting out?”
Katherine leaned out the window. “Ah, no. Look at those weeds. They could be full of poison ivy.”
“Come on. Stop being a princess. Look at these symbols. This is something you don’t see every day.”
“Okay. Okay.” Katherine unbuckled her seat belt, turned to the back seat, and said to the cats. “This will only take a second.”
Scout and Abra pawed the metal gate of their carrier, wanting out.
“These are witch symbols,” Colleen announced, fascinated. “The ones stuck in the ground represent the witch from Maryland.”
Katherine climbed out of the vehicle, leaned over and examined the sticks. “Looks like somebody’s craft project that went bad.”
“No, Katz,” Colleen said, slightly irritated. “They remind me of that movie, Blair Witch.”
Katherine started to go back to the SUV. “This creeps me out.”
“Wait, back in the 1700s, an elderly woman in Maryland was accused of being a witch. She was shunned by the people in the town and banished to the deep woods.”
“Okay, that’s interesting. Why don’t you come back and tell me in the car.”
Colleen continued, “She died there, proba
bly of exposure, and came back to haunt anyone who trespassed in the woods.”
Katherine furrowed her brow. “Returning to this century, why on earth would this stuff be out here in the middle of nowhere, stuck to an old gate?”
Colleen took a picture with her cell phone. “The five-pointed star is an ancient symbol of a man with his arms and legs outstretched . . . .”
Katherine and Colleen were startled by the sound of twigs breaking in the nearby grove of trees.
An attractive woman in her late fifties, with long, salt-and-pepper colored hair, stepped out into the clearing. She wore a fashionable pink floral sundress with a pair of matching flip flops. She looked like she stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine, except for the double-barrel shotgun she held in her hands.
“What the hell are you doing on my property?” the woman asked in a hostile manner, pointing the shotgun at them.
Katherine instinctively put her hands up. “I’m sorry,” she answered, alarmed. “We meant no harm.”
Several black cats, ranging from kittens to adults, followed the woman. A kitten trotted over and wrapped itself around Katherine’s leg. It purred loudly. Katherine was too frightened to reach down and pet it.
The woman asked in an angry voice. “Are you the ones defacing my property?” She pointed the gun in the direction of the farm gate.
Katherine shook her head. “I don’t understand. What stuff?”
“That witch stuff!”
“No,” Katherine answered.
“Then what are you doing here?”
“We almost hit a man who ran right in front of us,” Katherine answered, not wanting to mention that he was dressed up like a scarecrow. “I pulled over to check on my cats. They’re in a cat carrier on my back seat.”
Colleen huddled next to Katherine, and added, “I’m taking a photography class, and thought your gate would make a great, countryside picture.”
Katherine looked at Colleen curiously. She’d just caught her friend in a lie. Colleen wasn’t taking a photography class. Katherine thought, That’s a brilliant excuse . . . .or not.