11 The Cats that Cooked the Books Read online

  “Aww, that’s sweet, but I think Dave has already told them to stand down.”

  “What’s going on? Why is the detective coming there?”

  “Ray’s in town.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I called him.”

  “Why? That makes no sense.”

  “Stevie, he’s in Erie. I’m terrified he’s going to hurt me.”

  “You should be talking to the prosecutor for a restraining order, not the detective. She ain’t your friend.”

  “I need to get something off my chest.”

  “So, here’s the part where you confess to the detective about something you haven’t even told me about. Right?”

  “I’m sorry, Stevie. So, so sorry.”

  “Don’t say anything incriminating without talking first to a lawyer in private.”

  “Why would I say anything incriminating?” Rachael asked, wondering why Stevie said that, because she hadn’t told him about the flash drive.

  “Because I’m an ex-con and I know these things.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Hang in there,” Stevie said icily, hanging up.

  Rachael thought, I would’ve felt more confident if he’d said he loved me, or cared for me. He’s been so buddy-buddy, so why did he just give me the cold shoulder? “Hang in there,” she repeated cynically.

  On the way to the Dew Drop Inn, Detective Martin called Chief London, who was back on the job. After she’d left the pink mansion, she’d talked to him about what was going on, what was on the flash drive, and how the New Jersey mob was involved. When she mentioned meeting Rachael at the tavern, he advised her that she should have backup. “That place can be a viper’s nest,” he warned. The detective declined the offer of assistance.

  Finding only a few cars in the bar’s parking lot, the detective didn’t think it was too much of a viper’s nest. She parked and hurried inside.

  Dave escorted her to his office, then left the two women alone.

  Rachael stood up. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Can we sit?”

  “Yes.” Rachael sat down in the chair she’d been sitting on.

  Detective Martin sat at the desk, facing the door. “Do you care if I take notes on my laptop?” she asked.

  “Sure. No problem.”

  The detective opened her laptop. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Ray Russo, my ex-fiancé, is in town. I talked to him less than an hour ago.”

  The detective began typing, then asked, “You said you talked to him. Was that in person or on the phone?”

  “On my cell.”

  “So how do you know that Ray is physically in Erie if you didn’t talk to him in person?”

  “He said he was.”

  The detective got up. “Excuse me for a minute. I need to make a call.” She left the room, called the state police dispatcher to issue an all-points bulletin. “Ray Russo is a criminal person of interest. He may be armed. Use great caution if you find him.” She gave the make and model of his vehicle and the New Jersey license plate number she had gathered from researching the FBI’s database. “I believe he is in Erie.” She ended the call, returned to the room and sat back down.

  “Sorry about that,” she apologized in a friendly voice. “What else did Ray and you talk about?”

  “Ray said Marko Bruno shot the two cops. He said he was a New Jersey mob hitman who screwed up. Ray said I was the target.”

  “Back at the hotel, you told me you didn’t know who Marko was. I assume that wasn’t true.”

  “I didn’t know him personally. I just knew him as an associate of Ray’s.”

  “Mob associate?”

  “Yes, but he’s dead now.”

  “Dead?”

  “The mob had him killed. I don’t know the details because Ray didn’t tell me.”

  “So, you’re afraid Ray is going to harm you?”

  “Why, yes,” Rachael said, surprised. “That’s why I called you. He’s a monster. He said my co-worker at the casino, Rose, was dead. I think he killed her or had her killed.”

  “What was the motive?”

  “I presume he tried to get information from her about my whereabouts and she didn’t cooperate.”

  “Seems like an awful lot of trouble for a guy you only lived with for six months. I think you need to tell me the full story.”

  Rachael hesitated.

  The detective reached into her pocket and lifted out a plastic bag. Inside was the pink flash drive.

  Rachael gasped. “Where did you find it?”

  “Does this belong to you?”

  Rachael didn’t answer, but shifted guiltily in her seat.

  “I thought so.” The detective stood up, tugged a pair of handcuffs from her other pocket, and walked over to Rachael. “Stand up. Emma Rachael Thomas you have the right to remain silent,” she began reciting the Miranda warning. “Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, the court will appoint one for you.”

  Rachael started to cry.

  “Turn around and bring your arms back so I can cuff you.” The detective quickly handcuffed Rachael. “Ms. Thomas, I’m arresting you on suspicion of obstructing justice.”

  Rachael pleaded, “Please don’t arrest me. I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  “Sit back down,” the detective said sternly.

  Rachael did what she was told. The handcuffs prevented her from sitting comfortably on the chair. She bent her head and sobbed.

  The detective took her seat behind the desk and resumed typing. After a few minutes, she looked up at Rachael. “Care to start all over again? Does the flash drive belong to you?”

  “No, it belongs to Ray. When I left him, I took it out of our bank’s safe deposit box. I didn’t know what was on it. When I found out it contained files about the mob, I wanted to return it, but I was afraid Ray would catch me and hurt me. I’ve racked my brain on what I should do. Then when the officers were shot, I knew the mob was behind it. I was going to call Ray and agree to give it back, but I lost it. I lost the damn thing.” Rachael started crying again.

  “For starters, you could have turned it over to the FBI.”

  The detective saved her file and closed her laptop. She called the Erie police dispatcher. “This is Detective Linda Martin. I need backup. I’m at the Dew Drop Inn, in the back office.” She ended the call.

  “Why do you need backup? I’m not dangerous,” Rachael said through tears.

  The detective rolled her eyes. “You’re not dangerous, but your fiancé is.”

  “Ex.”

  “It’s a matter of semantics.”

  Dave barged into the office. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  “Mr. Sanders, I need you to step back and leave.”

  “I have a right to know. You’re on my property.”

  “Now,” the detective ordered in a loud voice.

  Dave reluctantly left. He walked back to the bar and texted Stevie. “Bro, that detective woman arrested Rachael. I’m not sure on what charge.”

  Stevie texted back. “Make sure she gets an attorney.”

  “How the hell do I do that?” Dave texted back. “Listen, little brother, I’m done. This woman is way too much trouble.”

  Stevie didn’t text back.

  Chief London and Officer Griswall, a temporary replacement for Officer Troy, arrived in separate vehicles. Officer Troy was still convalescing and getting rehab for his injuries.

  They stepped in and assisted the detective by walking Rachael out of the bar and placing her in the back of the officer’s cruiser.

  “Officer Griswall, take her to the chief’s office and stand guard until we get there,” the detective instructed. Then she said to Chief London, “I hope you’re up to this.”

  “A couple of bruised ribs aren’t going to keep me from doing my job.”

  “My FBI contact is meeting us dow
n at the station. He’ll talk to Rachael and take her into custody. For her sake, I hope she cooperates.”

  “Didn’t she cooperate with you?” the chief asked.

  “I don’t trust her. I caught her in several lies.”

  “What kind of lies were they? ‘Cover your tracks’ lies or ‘lead you the wrong way’ lies?”

  “Both. In my opinion, if she levels with the FBI, I don’t think she’ll be prosecuted.”

  “Doesn’t sound as easy as that when you have the mob after you.”

  “She’ll have to testify against them in federal court.”

  “That’s a very risky proposition. The mob will be after her with all guns loaded. What if she doesn’t agree?”

  “If she doesn’t, she’ll serve time in prison where the mob will pay another prisoner to kill her. But, if she’s smart, she’ll become a protected witness until and during the trial, then enter the Witness Protection Program.”

  “Sounds about right. Poor Mr. Sanders won’t be happy about this,” the chief commented.

  “I agree,” she sighed. “I hate to say it, but Stevie really has a hard time keeping women.”

  “Or, look at it this way, maybe Stevie will go with her.”

  “I doubt it. He has his daughter to think about.”

  “Now to settle this mess, we need to find Ray Russo. We don’t need a half-cocked gangster in our community.”

  “I issued an all-points bulletin.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “We’ll find him,” the detective answered with confidence.

  The chief asked, “Are you sure Rachael will testify against him?”

  “Oh, yes. Rachael is scared to death of him. She told me earlier that he confessed to murdering her co-worker in Atlantic City. And for the cherry on top of the fudge sundae — drumroll, please — Ray said Mark Bruno was the hitman who shot you and Officer Troy.”

  “Couldn’t make this stuff up. Oh, by the way, where did you find the flash drive? I know as a fact the police combed Rachael’s entire storefront. I’ve read their list of found items. I don’t recall seeing a USB flash drive on the list.”

  The detective chuckled. “Katz Cokenberger found it.”

  “You’re kidding me, right? Where?”

  “At the pink mansion.”

  “What? I didn’t know Katz knew Rachael Thomas?”

  The detective brought the chief up to date.

  The chief grinned. “You don’t need to say anything else. I’m banking one of Katz’s cats took it out of Rachael’s purse or pocket.”

  “Yes, I suspect an Abyssinian named Abby.”

  “No, don’t think so. Sorry about your police work, detective, but I suspect Iris. She’s picked my pocket several times.”

  The detective laughed, then said, “I’ll meet you downtown.”

  The chief tipped his tasseled hat, got into his vehicle, and drove off. On the way to the police department, he received a call from the dispatcher, his niece, Maureen. “Gladys Kramer reported suspicious activity in front of Rachael Thomas’s storefront. A man in a black Dodge Charger, with New Jersey plates, is in a fight with Ted, the bouncer.”

  “Okay, I’m heading there now,” the chief said, turning on his siren. “New Jersey plates. Could be our suspect,” he said aloud. He raced to Main Street to find the situation well in hand. Ted, a part-time wedding bouncer and as big as an industrial refrigerator, was holding with one hand a dangling man whose arms were flailing back-and-forth like a rag doll. Standing nearby, Gladys and her husband Al were yelling for help.

  “Total mayhem,” the chief muttered, getting out of his car. “Ted, put the man down. I can take it from here.”

  Ted set the man down and pushed him against the Charger.

  Chief London handcuffed the suspect and led him back to his cruiser. He reached in the man’s back pocket and extracted his wallet. Studying the license, he confirmed the man was Ray Russo.

  “Easiest arrest ever,” the chief said under his breath.

  Ray protested in his New Jersey accent. “I want a lawyer.”

  Two other police cars arrived, including a state cop. The men climbed out and rushed to the scene. The chief said, “I have this under control. The FBI wants this man.”

  “Okay,” the officers said and left.

  The chief walked over to Ted and asked, “What happened?”

  Ted answered, in his thick Hoosier twang, “Gladys and Al were standin’ on the sidewalk yellin’ at this dude. I thought it was because the city slicker had parked in Al’s parking spot. You know ever since Al got his truck back from bein’ stolen, he’s real particular about his spot,” Ted digressed.

  “Then what happened?” the chief coached.

  “I pulled over to see if I could help. That’s when my cat jumped out of the truck and ran over to that dude—”

  “Ray Russo,” the chief interjected.

  “Yeah, him. That SOB tried to kick my cat. And there ain’t a person on this planet who kicks my cat and lives to tell about it!”

  “Is your cat okay?”

  “Hell, yeah. Or you’d be scoopin’ a dead man off of the sidewalk.”

  “Where’s your cat now?” the chief asked patiently.

  “He’s over there. Mouser!” he called.

  The rotund ginger cat waddled over and yowled.

  “Git in the truck,” Ted said.

  Mouser raced to the pickup, and with a leap worthy of a gymnast, jumped in through the open window on the passenger side.

  “Yep, Chief. He’s doin’ just fine.”

  Gladys and Al walked over. “Chief, we want to say how happy we are to see you back on the job. We were so worried about you.”

  “Thank you both, and Gladys keep up the good work. I really appreciate it.”

  Gladys smiled from ear to ear. Al put his arm around her and walked her across the street.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Saying Goodbye at the Wind Turbines

  A black, government-issued sedan drove down the access lane to the wind turbines on Stevie’s property. It parked behind Stevie’s Dodge Ram.

  Stevie leaned against the tailgate and wore a resigned, solemn expression on his face. Inside his truck, a playful black kitten was batting a belled-ball in her cat carrier.

  Two FBI agents got out of the sedan. One walked over to Stevie, “Sir, I need to frisk you.”

  Stevie held up his arms and patiently waited while the agent did his search. The agent glanced in Stevie’s truck and spotted the cat carrier. The kitten mewed.

  “Okay,” he said to the second agent who opened the door for Rachael. She climbed out, ran to Stevie and fell in his arms.

  Out of respect for the couple’s privacy, the agents stood a respectful twenty feet away from them.

  Stevie tenderly kissed her, then hugged her. “Hey, good lookin’,” he said.

  “I only have a few minutes,” she said. “I came to say good-bye.”

  “Good-bye until the trial is over, or good-bye forever?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair across her forehead.

  “Forever good-bye,” she choked. “Oh, Stevie, I fell in love with you the first time I saw you. I never counted on hurting you.”

  Stevie stood back and looked at her. “Don’t worry about me. It ain’t gonna be the first time I’ve fallen off at the rodeo.” He hugged her, then asked, “Would you like to say good-bye to Intruder? She’s in the truck.”

  “My heart is breaking now. I can’t take any more heartache. Promise me, Stevie, that you and Salina will give her a good home?”

  “We will,” Stevie’s voice broke.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the flash drive, about the mob, about Ray’s involvement in it. I just wanted you to see me for who I am. I’m not a bad person. I’m just someone who made a stupid, spur-of-the-moment mistake that I couldn’t fix.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’m going to testify against the mob. I’ve been accepted in the Witne
ss Protection Program. Once I’m settled in my new life, I can’t contact you.”

  “I understand that, too,” he said sadly.

  “It wouldn’t be safe for me to come back to Erie. Not for me, you or Salina. The mob would never let me live.”

  One of the agents coughed nervously and glanced at his watch. “Ms. Thomas, we need to leave. We have a flight to catch.”

  Stevie grabbed Rachael into another embrace and kissed her again. He whispered in her ear, “I love you. No matter how hard it gets for you, I’m here, thinking about you. I’ll never forget you.”

  Rachael clung to him and cried, then she broke away. One of the agents escorted her back to the car. Rachael climbed into the back seat. The same agent sat next to her. The second one got behind the wheel and put the car in gear.

  Stevie sadly watched the sedan as it drove away. Once the vehicle was out of sight, he climbed in his truck and drove home.

  Intruder mewed a sweet meow.

  “Goin’ home, little girl. Goin’ home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Two Weeks Later at the Pink Mansion

  Salina sat cross-legged on Katherine’s parlor floor. She held a black kitten on her lap. The kitten had finally settled down after running up and down the stairs and climbing the heavy, velvet draperies on some of the windows.

  Scout and Abra met the ‘new cat in town’ with bored expressions on their brown masks. They jumped up to the windowsill and turned their backs to the group. Abby sniffed the kitten, then pawed Salina’s bag to see if she could steal anything. “Abby, let’s not do that,” Katherine scolded. The Abyssinian gave an innocent look and trotted out of the room. Dewey and Crowie wanted to wrestle the kitten, but Katherine nixed that idea. “You guys are too big.” The seal-point brothers hiked up their tails and raced upstairs. Lilac me-yowled loudly and also exited the room. But Iris trotted over and began washing Intruder’s ears.

  “Aww,” Katherine cooed. “Iris, good girl,” she praised.

  Salina said, “I think that went well.”

  Katherine giggled. “Yes, Part One of kitten meets seven cats.”

  “I want them to get along so I can bring Intruder over for play time.”

  “Sounds like I need to buy another cozy bed,” then Katherine changed the topic, “How’s your dad doing?”