The Cats that Broke the Spell Page 2

  Colleen slowly shook her head. “No, I moved to Indiana from Queens, New York.”

  Katherine mentally searched for the right words to defuse the situation, then said hurriedly, “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Katherine Cokenberger. My husband and I rented the farmhouse up the road from Bud Baxter. My friend and I are on our way there now.”

  The woman lowered the shotgun and smiled, revealing a beautiful set of white teeth. “Why didn’t you say you were Professor Cokenberger’s wife?”

  “You know my husband?” Katherine asked, surprised. She lowered her arms to normal position.

  “Yes, I used to teach at the university. I’m a history professor too. So you’re going to be my new neighbors?”

  “Just for a few months while we’re having work done on our house in Erie.”

  “Erie? I thought Jake lived on a windmill farm.”

  Katherine shook her head.

  The woman continued, “I knew Jake’s late wife well. I was her spiritual advisor. I predicted Victoria wouldn’t have a long life. I’m also a psychic.”

  “Interesting,” Katherine said, wondering what a spiritual advisor was. She also pondered why Jake never mentioned that his deceased wife consulted a psychic.

  “Is Jake writing another book?”

  Katherine was taken aback by the question. She wondered why she was now standing in knee-high weeds, having a conversation with a woman holding a gun. She didn’t understand the connection between a few months at a farmhouse and Jake writing a book. The woman noticed the change in expression.

  “Jake always did that when he was working on something new,” the woman explained.

  “Katz, I’ve got to be somewhere in a bit,” Colleen urged.

  “Sure,” Katherine said to Colleen, then turned to the woman. “We’d better take off. I’m anxious to get my cats to the new place. They don’t like being in the carrier.”

  The woman glared at Katherine. “Then don’t put them in one. My cats are free. I never confine them.”

  The clowder of black cats began to meow. Scout and Abra did too. The Siamese loud complaints from the SUV were muffled but still audible.

  Katherine looked back in the direction of her vehicle, then reached down and petted the kitten that wouldn’t stop nudging her leg. Two more cats — tortoiseshells — slinked out from behind a tree. Katherine petted them too.

  “The black kitten’s name is Sabrina. Over there is her mama, Isadora. She’s part Siamese.”

  A long, slender black version of Scout and Abra slinked over and rubbed against the woman’s leg. The cat had a wedge-shaped face, pointed ears and almond-shaped eyes.

  “She’s very sleek. I love her shiny fur,” Katherine admired. “Aren’t they called Oriental shorthairs?”

  “I don’t care what they call them. Isadora is part Siamese. Her mama was a seal-point,” the woman corrected. “The large black one is Amara. I haven’t named the Tortie girls yet. They just came to me.”

  Colleen’s eyes widened. “Came to you?” she asked.

  “I never turn away a homeless cat.”

  “How many cats do you have?” Katherine asked out of curiosity, in a friendly voice.

  “Why do you want to know?” the woman asked guardedly.

  “Curious like a cat,” Katherine smiled. “I funded the Erie Animal Rescue Center, and —”

  The woman became disturbed. “Wait a minute? I get it. You’re that rich New Yorker who lives in the pink house.”

  Katherine sensed renewed hostility from the woman. She worried that the woman would point the gun at them again.

  “You work at the new animal center, which totally explains why you’re here. To check me out!” she spat. “You want to know if I’m a cat hoarder?”

  “What? Why no,” Katherine answered cautiously, trying not to appear too angry at being accused of saying something she didn’t say.

  “You go back and tell that no-good, liar Dr. Goodwin to mind his freaking business. I’ve just enough cats I can afford to take care of in the manner they richly deserve.”

  “Seriously, I’m not here in an official capacity. I funded the Center; I’m not an employee there.” Katherine smacked a hungry mosquito off her arm. She’d already sustained numerous bites on her legs and regretted that she hadn’t sprayed herself with repellent. But, then again, her plan was to go directly to the farmhouse and not have a chit-chat with a woman brandishing a shotgun. She started to inch toward the SUV. “It was nice meeting you,” she began. “Oh, how rude of me, I’ve forgotten your name.”

  “That’s because I didn’t give it,” the woman answered insolently. Then, in an instant change of mood, said amiably, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. My name is Elizabeth, but I go by Lizzie. Give my love to Jake. He’s a prince of all men. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to feed my cats.” The woman started to turn, but stopped. “The farmhouse is just around the bend. Have a pleasant day.” She took off down the lane with the cats following her, darting in and out around her legs. She murmured to them in a low voice, then started humming a tune that sounded like the theme song from the movie Rosemary’s Baby.

  Katherine grabbed Colleen by the arm, and quickly directed her back to the SUV. Colleen rushed to the passenger side and jumped in.

  Katherine climbed in and started the engine. Backing out, she said, “First the scarecrow, then the witch packing a gun, this is too much for one trip.”

  “Raw,” Abra agreed.

  “Hurry up, Katz. Floor it. Let’s get out of here. There’s something not right with that woman. Why would those witch symbols be on her gate?”

  “Better question: Why was she humming the theme song to Rosemary’s Baby?”

  “What?”

  “The movie about the witches.”

  “You’re right. Shut the door! What’s with all the black cats?”

  “Maybe she’s a witch,” Katherine said in a mysterious voice. “Her black kitten was named after the teenage witch Sabrina.”

  “T’is a mystery,” Colleen said, shaking her head. “At first she said she was a history professor, then she said she was a spiritual advisor.”

  “I need to find out what she’s got against Dr. Goodwin.”

  “Who?”

  “The Director of the Rescue Center.”

  “She seemed awful chummy about Jake,” Colleen observed.

  “I noticed that. Not that I’m jealous, but she’s gorgeous.”

  “Katz, you’ve got her beat in the looks department.”

  “Aww, thank you. That was sweet.” She laughed nervously, then pointed, “There’s the lane to the farmhouse.”

  “Is the gate supposed to be open?” Colleen asked, looking at the metal farmer’s gate that had been moved to the side.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Jake drove out here earlier. The Baxters left some of their antique furniture, so Jake’s moving it into a room.”

  “Why?”

  “So the cats don’t scratch it. We’ll keep the room shut up so the cats can’t get in there.”

  “How are you going to do that with Scout the Houdini cat?”

  “Waugh,” Scout cried, adding her two cents.

  “Jake’s supposed to install an interlocking deadbolt on the door, or else Scout will be in that storage room in a New York minute.”

  Katherine turned into the lane, then stopped. She fished her cell phone from the back pocket of her khaki pants.

  Colleen asked impatiently, “Why are we stopping?”

  “I’m texting Chief London.”

  “Why Chief London?”

  “Someone is vandalizing that woman’s place. She was friendly to us because she knows Jake, but what if she doesn’t know the person? She shouldn’t be pointing a gun at anyone.”

  “Katz, I know enough about the law. She had every legal right to point the gun at us because we were trespassing.”

  “Na-waugh,” Scout disagreed.

  Colleen continued, “Chief London
and the Erie police don’t have jurisdiction out here. This is a county matter. You need to contact Sheriff what’s his name.”

  “Sheriff Johnson.”

  “Raw,” Abra complained, pawing the front of the carrier.

  “The troops are getting restless. I’ll call him after I get the cats settled in the house.”

  Chapter Three

  The Director of the Erie Animal Rescue Center drove his Mercedes-Benz sedan into his reserved parking spot, parked, and lifted a red rose off the console. Dr. Goodwin walked briskly to the building, inserted his key, and made his way to the back of the hall where the laundry room was located. The object of his affection was a middle-aged woman leaning over a sink scrubbing litter boxes. He ran over and threw his arms around her.

  “Get off of me, you idiot,” she said, then laughed. “You nearly scared me to death. I thought I was the only one in the building.”

  “I just got here, and wanted to give you a squeeze before the other weekend volunteers show up.”

  “It amazes me how you can come into the building and not wake up the dogs. When I first arrived, they went nuts barking.”

  “I’m as quiet as a mouse,” he winked.

  “Is that for me?” she said, reaching for the rose.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to work for it,” he said, hiding the rose behind his back.

  “Give it to me, you fool.” She leaned forward, yanked the rose out of his hand and smelled it.

  “Did anyone ever tell you how sexy you are?” he asked, drawing the woman near.

  “Yes, all my lovers, especially when I’m washing litter boxes. Go figure.”

  He kissed her long and hard. “I love it when you talk that way.”

  “What way is that?”

  “When you talk about your lovers, it really turns me on.”

  “We’ll work on that later,” she said in a sultry voice, then added in a more serious tone. “When are you going to help me get my stuff from my husband?”

  “Your ex,” the director corrected her.

  “He would have never left me for that witch if she hadn’t cast a spell on him.”

  “Melinda,” he began gently. “Nicholas has been missing for quite some time. I’m thinking he’s probably dead.”

  “He can’t be declared legally dead until his body is found,” she said indignantly. “I can’t wait any longer. I want what’s entitled to me.”

  “My sexy girl, must I remind you that you’re divorced. Do you still have a thing for him?” he asked, changing gears.

  “No sugar,” she said coyly. “My thing is with you. I just want what belongs to me.”

  “I can buy anything you want. Do I look poor?”

  “I’m not asking you to murder her —”

  “Well, that’s good because murder isn’t my cup of tea.”

  “If you want any more sugar in your tea, you’ll do what I ask,” she answered seductively. Returning to the sink, she rinsed the bin and set it on the floor. Looking up, she said, “I think I’ve come up with a way to lure that woman out of her house —”

  “You mean Lizzie?” he interrupted, running his eyes up and down the woman.

  “Once you get her out of the house, I can go in, open the safe, and get back my stuff.”

  “How do you know that Lizzie didn’t change the combination? How do you know if your stuff is still there?”

  “Before Nicholas went missing, he said he’d bring it to me.”

  “Bring what?”

  “My late mom’s wedding ring.”

  “Why haven’t you told me this before? Why is this so important that you want me to risk my neck to help you?”

  “Tony, the ring was the only thing of value that my mom gave me. I wore it on my pinky for good luck. I lost it in the house before I moved out. Nicholas found it a few days before he disappeared. He called and said he wanted to meet me somewhere so he could give it to me.”

  “After all these years, why don’t you just ask Lizzie for it?”

  “I’d rather break that woman’s neck then ask her for anything,” she said venomously.

  “No need to get upset, precious,” he said, stroking the back of her long red hair.

  Melinda fought back tears, “I’ll only be in the house for a minute. You don’t have to kidnap Lizzie or do anything that drastic. It’s a win-win, in-and-out situation.”

  “Do you have a plan in mind? Because I certainly don’t. I’ve got other fish to fry with this woman.”

  “You mean the cat hoarding? Everyone in town is talking about it.”

  “I’m calling the sheriff about it this morning.”

  “That’s good. Don’t forget to mention she uses her cats as familiars to bewitch her enemies.”

  “Precious, you know I don’t believe that supernatural stuff. I think she’s a witch, but I don’t mean it literally.”

  Melinda frowned, then brightened as she thought through her plan. “Tomorrow is the flea market in Millbridge.”

  “So?”

  “Lizzie has a booth there. That gives me a couple of hours to get inside her house and look around.”

  “What’s my role in this?”

  “I need you to drive to Millbridge and make sure she’s there, then call me.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “My wife and I have plans tomorrow. I can’t get away. Besides, wouldn’t it be more practical for you to watch Lizzie leave, then go in her house?”

  Melinda looked up at the ceiling. “How am I goin’ to do that? She’ll see my car,” she said in irritated disbelief.

  “I don’t mean park at the gate. There’s a farmer’s service lane across the road. If you drive in far enough, the cornfield will hide you. Do you remember how to get to the house?”

  “No, I’m suffering from amnesia,” she answered sarcastically. “Of course, I remember. I used to live there, sweetness. I know a shortcut.”

  “You know this is crazy, insane,” he said. “I love ya, but if you get caught, I won’t vouch for you.”

  “Vouch for me?” she asked, miffed. “Trust me. I won’t implicate you in any way.”

  “I’m not going to lose my job and my veterinarian license for a ring.”

  “Fine,” Melinda said sharply. “I can do this myself. Sorry I bothered you with it.”

  “Don’t be that way,” he said, trying to hug her.

  She moved aside. “Don’t touch me,” she pouted.

  “I’m sorry, Melinda. I don’t want to quarrel. I’ll see you Monday,” he said, starting to leave.

  “I’ll text you when I get the ring?”

  “Not a good idea. I’ve talked to you about that. More marriages end in divorce from inappropriate text messages than from anything else. Don’t you pay attention to the news?”

  “Okay, then I’ll send you an emoticon of a ring,” she said, then her eyes grew big, and she stepped back. “Shhh, the dogs just started barking. Someone must have come in. Better get out of here before anyone sees us.”

  “Later,” he said, leaving the room. He closed the door behind him and walked to his office next door. Sitting down at his desk, he tugged his cell from his jacket’s pocket and punched in the sheriff’s direct number.

  Sheriff Johnson answered in a clipped voice, “Dr. Goodwin. How may I help you?”

  “How’d you know it was me?”

  “I saw your name pop up on my screen. What’s up?”

  The director paused for a split second, surprised at the sheriff’s to-the-point greeting. “We’ve got a potential cat hoarding situation —”

  “I’ll stop you right there. Potential means maybe. Is or isn’t. Is there a cat hoarding situation in Erie County or not?” the sheriff asked, in a ‘just-give-me-the-facts’ manner.

  “I’ve had several people call and complain about a woman in the country who has as many as a hundred cats.”

  “A hundred cats?” the sheriff asked skeptically. “How did fol
ks come up with that number?”

  “I’m not sure how they arrived at that figure, but I’ve driven out to the property several times. The owner is antagonistic and won’t let me past the front gate. I need to investigate to see whether these allegations are true or not.”

  “Sounds like you’re trying to do my job,” the sheriff answered testily. “Who are we talking about?”

  “Elizabeth Howe. People call her Lizzie.”

  “Yes, I know,” the sheriff said, then paused. “I’m very familiar with Ms. Howe. I know that you’re not from Erie, so I’ll fill you in. Several years ago I investigated the disappearance of her husband. I can assure you, that at that time, Ms. Howe didn’t have a hundred cats. I was in her house many times. I saw a few, but they looked mighty fine to me.”

  “Sheriff, a person’s mental state can change overnight. Cat hoarding is a psychological problem.”

  The sheriff answered irritably, “You’re making a very strong accusation based on a few irate phone calls.”

  “Sheriff, I’m not trying to do your job. I meant no disrespect. I just want to have the legal authority to go in, have a look-see and gather information.”

  “What kind of information?” the sheriff asked.

  “On the number of cats she has and their welfare. If this woman is hoarding that many cats, the Rescue Center needs to be prepared for the intake.”

  “I’m more than happy to execute a search warrant, but you need to meet with the prosecutor and trust me, he’ll want more evidence to present to the judge than a couple of irate phone calls.”

  “I have a petition signed by seventy people —”

  “I didn’t realize that many people lived out that way,” the sheriff interrupted.

  “I must reiterate. Lizzie Howe is a hoarder,” he said, then paused, waiting for the sheriff to answer, but when he didn’t, he continued, “It’s imperative that I get out there and see what’s going on.”

  “Is Katherine Cokenberger aware of this situation?”

  “I haven’t brought her up-to-speed yet.”

  “I suggest you do.”

  “I have the authority to act alone,” Dr. Goodwin replied, slightly offended.

  “She’s got a lot of influence in this neck of the woods.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m aware of that.”