11 The Cats that Cooked the Books Read online

  Katherine’s gut-instinct told her that Rachael — somehow — had taken the flash drive and moved to Erie to get away from someone. Maybe the man who shot Chief London was gunning for Rachael? Maybe he was a disgruntled boyfriend or husband? Or, perhaps, Rachael was a felon running from the law? The hitman, or whoever he was — bad man —might be coming back to get the flash drive. Rachael doesn’t have it and is desperate to get it back.

  Katherine said, frustrated, “She doesn’t have a clue that one of my cats stole it out of her purse, or does she? Why else would she be searching for a missing barrette in the vicinity of the infamous wingback chair? Maybe Salina told her about some of my cats’ antics?”

  Then Katherine shuddered with fear. The entire time Rachael stayed with Stevie and Salina, the gunman could have returned and shot every one of them until he got back what he wanted. It would be my history repeating itself — a recurrence of when my New York school friend visited and brought the Russian mob to my door in search of a valuable diamond, she thought.

  Katherine tugged her phone out of her back pocket and called Detective Martin.

  The detective answered happily, “Hi, Katz. So good to hear from you.”

  “Oh, gosh, Linda, I really need to talk to you. I think I have information that may help solve why Chief London and Officer Troy were shot.”

  “Start from the beginning?”

  “I found a pink USB flash drive in my house. I plugged it into a non-network computer in case there was something bad on it. Well, what I discovered was a different kind of bad. I need you to come over as soon as possible.”

  “Sure, but can you give me a little bit more information. Do you know who it belongs to?”

  “I’m ninety-nine percent sure it belongs to Rachael Thomas.”

  “Rachael Thomas? How do you know her?”

  “She’s been to my home on two different occasions.” Katherine proceeded to fill the detective in on the particulars of who, what, when and where. She began with her coincidental meeting with Rachael, who once worked as a cat wrangler for Harry DeSutter, the famous magician. “Stevie Sanders suggested to Rachael that she visit me and ask about volunteering at the rescue center. When she saw Scout and Abra, there was a tearful reunion. Unknown to Rachael, Salina, Stevie’s daughter, videoed the event and uploaded it to YouTube. The video went viral and made national news.”

  “Wow! What a coincidence.”

  “A few days later, a gunman broke into Rachael’s storefront and shot Chief London and Officer Troy. I think he’d been looking for Rachael and didn’t know where she was until he watched the video on YouTube or the news. He was gunning for Rachael.”

  “So, the chief and Officer Troy were at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Yes, and the gunman broke into Rachael’s place to find the flash drive.”

  “Ms. Thomas must have been carrying it in her purse or pocket.”

  “But Rachael didn’t have it because one of my cats stole it out of her purse. It’s been at the pink mansion since she first visited me.”

  The detective snickered, “Don’t tell me. Abby, right?”

  “Possibly, but there’s lots more. When Rachael came to my home a second time, I caught her searching the wingback chair where the cats hide their loot. She said she was looking for a pink barrette—”

  “But was really looking for the flash drive,” the detective finished. “Have you read any of the files that are on it?”

  “Yes, and you need to see them.”

  The detective said excitedly, “Okay, this is big. I’ll be there in five minutes.” She hung up.

  Katherine paced the floor. Conflicting thoughts popped in her head. Maybe I should confront Rachael with this? Maybe I should tell Stevie about it? If I do tell Stevie, maybe he’ll get mad at me for disrespecting his new girlfriend, and never speak to me again?

  Looking through the front door sidelight, she saw an unmarked sedan pull up and park.

  Detective Martin got out and hurried to the door. Katherine opened it before she could ring the bell.

  “Hello, Katz, before you show me the flash drive, have you told anyone else about this?”

  “No, not even Jake. I called you right away.”

  “For now, please keep this confidential.”

  “Yes, I promise.”

  “Lead the way.”

  “Follow me to my classroom on the lower floor.”

  The two women didn’t speak as they made their way to the basement, then Katherine said, “I don’t think Rachael is a criminal. I think she made a bad choice.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Katherine handed the flash drive to the detective, who inserted it into her laptop.

  “I’ve looked at two of the files: one’s a spreadsheet; the other is a PDF file,” Katherine began. “The PDF file looks like some sort of ledger. Four out of the five names I Googled are known criminals. Two of them have been indicted in federal court for international money laundering. However, there was one name on my list that didn’t come up with any hits. He might be going under an alias.”

  “What’s his name on the ledger?”

  “Ray Russo—”

  “Did you say Ray Russo?”

  “Yes.” Katherine looked at the detective curiously.

  “Ray Russo was Rachael’s fiancé. They lived together for six months in an apartment in Atlantic City. Ray is currently employed by a casino as a security guard. Before Rachael moved to Erie, she was a bookkeeper at this same casino.”

  “Incredible,” Katherine said, shocked. “How in the world does a cat wrangler working for a celebrity like Harry DeSutter end up being a bookkeeper in a casino?”

  “I don’t have time to talk about everything I know about Ms. Thomas. After Mr. DeSutter fired her—”

  “Because Abra was stolen out of her carrier,” Katherine finished. “I know all about that.”

  “Ms. Thomas went to a university to be a vet tech. When that didn’t work out, she changed her major to bookkeeping and graduated two years later.”

  “Is Ray Russo a criminal?”

  “Yes, big-time. He’s a member of one of New Jersey’s most notorious organized crime groups.”

  “The mob?”

  Detective Martin nodded.

  “If he’s a criminal, why didn’t I find anything about him on Google?”

  “Because Google has nothing on the FBI’s criminal database.”

  “I’m curious if Rachael used the name Emma in her last job?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because that was her name when she worked for the magician.”

  “Emma is her first name; Rachael is her middle name.”

  Katherine frowned. “I feel like a snitch for pointing the finger at Rachael. Everything I’ve told you is circumstantial evidence. I didn’t see Rachael take the flash drive. I never saw her with it. I didn’t see my cats steal it. With my cats and my handling of the flash drive, Rachael’s fingerprints probably aren’t even on it.”

  The detective chuckled. “I’m bankin’ that Abby’s DNA would be on it—”

  “And Iris, Dewey and Crowie, and whatever cat of mine played with it.”

  “Yep.”

  “If Rachael is guilty of a criminal offense, will I have to testify? I mean, how do I tell the world my cats are thieves?”

  “You won’t have to. I’m sure you’ll be regarded as a good Samaritan for finding the drive and giving it to us.”

  “In your professional opinion, what’s your take on this?”

  “Rachael was a bookkeeper. Perhaps, in her job, she came across incriminating computer files. She smelled a rat, made a flash drive copy of the files, and then booked it out of town.”

  “The plot thickens.”

  “Indeed, it does.” The detective removed the USB flash drive from her laptop. She pulled a clear plastic bag out of her purse, then dropped it in the bag. “Katz, what you’ve discovered is way over the jurisdiction of the In
diana State Police. I’ll upload the contents of this drive to the FBI. In the meantime, be quiet as a mouse. Not a word.”

  “I promise.” Katherine pantomimed the zipping of her lips.

  “Okay, show me the way out. Your house is huge. I forgot to leave a trail of bread crumbs when we came down here,” the detective said, grinning.

  “Oh, you can go out this door. I’m lucky to have a house with a walkout basement.”

  “Cool. Okay, I’ll talk to you soon. Give a hug to the cats, especially my favorite one, Abby.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  Detective Martin left and Katherine shut and locked the door behind her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rachael Returns to the Storefront

  Rachael parked in the storefront’s back parking lot and quickly removed the cat carrier off the back seat. She talked quietly to the kitten, who was fast asleep. “Wake up, little one. We’re home now. You won’t be cooped up in a room again listening to that big, loud gray cat. You’ll have the full run of two floors.”

  “Mew,” Intruder cried, waking up.

  Rachael inserted the key to her courtyard gate and turned the lock; then she opened her back door. Yesterday, while the professional cleaners worked wonders on the steps and third floor, Stevie changed the locks on three doors.

  Walking inside, she set the cat carrier on the kitchen counter and moved to the next room to turn up the air. The place had the fresh scent of cinnamon. Rachael wondered if Intruder would like it.

  The kitten sneezed inside her carrier.

  Rachael giggled. “I guess not.”

  Picking up the cat carrier, she climbed two stories and placed Intruder in her bedroom. When Rachael swung open the metal gate, the kitten darted out and raced around the room.

  “Everything is ready for you, my darling. I have to go somewhere. I’ll see you soon.”

  Rachael went back to the first-floor kitchen and looked for her laptop. It wasn’t there. “Dang, I can’t believe the police still have it,” she complained.

  She returned to the Tercel and made several trips to unload the vehicle. Placing the laptop she’d borrowed from Katherine on the counter, she logged in and checked her new email address. Lawrence, her grandmother’s boyfriend, had emailed her earlier that morning. Rachael anxiously opened it and prepared for the worst, but instead the news was good. Her Grammy was comfortably living in an assisted living place on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Lawrence said she was in good spirits and would have written the message herself, but the arthritis in Pearl’s hands was bothering her.

  Rachael breathed a sigh of relief. “Good news,” she said aloud. “Oh, Grammy, I so much want to talk to you.” Rachael answered the email with a smiley face. “I’m fine. I’m happy. I’ll call you soon. Love you,” she typed.

  After sending the email, Rachael reached into one of the cabinet drawers and lifted out a new burner phone. She removed it from the packaging and threw the phone into her purse. She had a very important call to make, but didn’t want to make it in the storefront. She suspected the police had bugged her place. She also thought that if she asked Stevie to look for surveillance stuff, that would raise a red flag. She didn’t want to confess to her boyfriend that she’d stolen something from the mob.

  She headed back outside, locked the door, and went to her car. She drove out of town several miles, and pulled off the highway to a secluded parking area at the entrance of a walking trail. She took a deep breath, and punched in Ray Russo’s number.

  It rang twice, then a familiar voice answered.

  Not recognizing the phone number on his screen, Ray answered in a gruff voice. “This better not be a damn robocall.”

  “No, Ray, it’s me.”

  “It’s about time you called, Emma,” Ray said, enunciating her name in an irritated voice.

  “I need to talk to you,” Rachael said.

  “I imagine you do.”

  “I have made a new life for myself. I just want to be left alone. I need you to call off your boss from sending another hitman to kill me.”

  “Then give me what I want?”

  “I lost it.”

  Ray burst out laughing. “Good one, Emma, you never were good at lying.”

  Rachael paused, thought hard about what she was going to say, then spoke, “Hear me out.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “I didn’t take the flash drive intentionally. I didn’t know what was on it. It was pink so I assumed it was some kind of photo backup. I mean, what man stores confidential files on a girly flash drive?”

  “That’s pretty sexist, coming from you, a throwback to the hippie days,” he insulted. “Go on. Get to the point.”

  “By the time I was on my way to my new place—”

  Ray interrupted. “Yeah, in some god-forsaken town called Erie in good old boring Indiana. How stupid of you to be on national news,” he criticized.

  “Didn’t take you long to make fun of me.”

  “So, spit it out! What do you want to tell me?”

  “When I read some of the files, I knew I had to return it to the bank’s safe deposit box, but I didn’t know how.”

  “Likely story,” he said, disbelieving. “So, did you hand it over to the Feds?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “What about the police? Did you give it to them after Marko shot the two cops?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “About Marko? Or the cops?” he asked sarcastically.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, for your information, Marko is dead. He sleeps with the fishes. And your casino coworker, Rose, the fat old hag, she’s dead, too.”

  “Rose? Oh, no. You didn’t kill Rose, did you?”

  “My hands are clean.”

  “I hate you,” Rachael screamed. “Why would you kill an innocent person?”

  “I assume you’re talking about Rose, and not poor Marko.”

  Rachael tried to calm down, but wanted to reach through the phone and strangle the monster. Finally, she said, “Where do we go from here?”

  “You’ll have to find it.”

  “Then what?”

  “Give it to me.”

  “How will I do that? I’m not coming to Atlantic City.”

  “We can meet in Erie.”

  “Never!”

  “It won’t be inconvenient.”

  “Why?” she asked in fear of what he might answer.

  “Because I’m already in town.” Ray disconnected the call.

  Rachael panicked. What do I do? I have to get out of here, she thought.

  A black Dodge Charger pulled up and parked beside her. It looked like the same make and model Ray drove. Terrified, she looked over at the car, thinking it was Ray, but she couldn’t see through the tinted glass. She nervously started the engine but was relieved when a husband and wife got out with their two dogs. The husband smiled.

  Rachael waved, then reached in her purse and removed Detective Martin’s card. Using the same burner phone she’d used to call Ray, she punched in the detective’s number; her call went directly to voice mail. She hurriedly left a message, “This is Rachael Thomas. I need to talk to you ASAP. Please call me at this number.” She hung up, put the Tercel in gear, then drove to the place Stevie told her to go if she needed help — the Dew Drop Inn.

  On the drive there, she kept checking her rearview mirror to see if anyone was following her. Assured that she wasn’t, she drove into the bar’s parking lot and parked in the back. Before she went inside, she texted Stevie and told him she needed help and was at the Dew Drop Inn. Stevie texted back immediately and said he’d meet her there as soon as he could.

  By the time Rachael walked into the bar, Stevie had already contacted his brother, Dave, who was waiting for her at the door. He quickly ushered her to his office, but before he shut the door, he directed several men sitting at a front table to stand outside and guard the building.

  Stepping into
the room, Dave asked, “Rachael, I presume? What’s up?”

  Rachael dropped into the closest chair and gave a complete account of Ray Russo being in Erie. She left out the part about why he was in town.

  “Just relax,” Dave said, leaving. “Stevie’s on his way.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  A few minutes went by, then Rachael’s cell rang. It was Detective Martin. “Hello,” Rachael answered. “I need to urgently speak to you. My life is in danger.”

  The detective played it cool, not revealing the fact she knew quite a bit about Ms. Thomas and wouldn’t be surprised that her call had something to do with the flash drive. “I can meet you at the police department?”

  “Oh, no, I can’t drive anywhere.”

  “Okay, then, where can we talk?”

  “I’m at the Dew Drop Inn.”

  “Dew Drop Inn? Why are you there?”

  “My boyfriend, Stevie Sanders, told me to come here if I needed help.”

  “Okay, I can be there in approximately ten minutes.” The detective hung up.

  When Dave came back to check on Rachael, she told him the detective was coming.

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I need to call my boys off. We don’t want Detective Martin to get shot.” Dave hurriedly left the room.

  Rachael sat back and wrung her hands. What have I gotten into? What kind of people are the Sanders family? What did Dave mean about not wanting the detective to get shot?

  Rachael’s phone rang. It was Stevie. “Hey babe, will you be here soon?” she asked worriedly.

  “Nope. GPS says I’m sixty minutes away,” he said with a serious tone.

  “Detective Martin is meeting me here.”

  “Really? I better call Dave and tell him to warn his boys to not shoot her.”

  “Why would they shoot her?”

  “Because my family is very protective of kin, and my brother swore he’d look out for you.”