11 The Cats that Cooked the Books Page 8

  “Hello,” Katherine repeated.

  “KC?” a sad voice asked.

  “Salina, are you okay? It’s nine o’clock. I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

  “Can I come over and talk to you?” Salina asked.

  “Yes, of course, but please let your dad know.”

  “He’s not home. He went over to see Rachael and hasn’t come home yet.”

  “Well, at least text him or leave him a note that you’re coming over. Oh, and Salina, it’s getting dark. I’ll come out and meet you halfway.”

  “Thanks, KC. Coming now.”

  Katherine rose from her chair and announced to the cats, “Salina’s coming over. I want everyone to be on their best behavior.”

  “Yowl,” Iris disagreed.

  Katherine opened the door to meet Salina part of the way, but the teen was already on the porch. “You must have flown,” she said.

  Salina nodded.

  “Come in. We’re in the living room. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “I’m good.”

  Katherine directed Salina to the second wingback chair and she sat down in the one she just vacated. “What’s up?”

  “Dad won’t let me go to Julie’s party Saturday night.”

  “The slumber party you were telling me about?”

  “Yes. He’s really mad at me.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’ll show you.” Salina fished out her phone and found the video she submitted to YouTube. She pressed the start arrow and passed the phone to Katherine.

  Katherine watched the entire video in stunned silence. She handed the phone back to Salina. “I didn’t see you filming Rachael’s reaction to the Siamese. Have you shown it to anyone else?”

  Salina proceeded to elaborate how Shelly and she had uploaded it to YouTube and it had gone viral. “It was even shown on national news.”

  “I didn’t see it,” Katherine said. “Is this why your dad is angry at you?”

  Salina blurted, “He made me go over and apologize to Rachael and she made me delete it.”

  “On your phone? But you just showed it to me.”

  “No, not on my phone. Rachael made me delete it from YouTube.”

  “I can see why your dad is annoyed.”

  “I thought he’d be proud of me,” Salina said with a tear forming in her eye.

  “Salina, your dad is very proud of you. I am, too. You said that you want to go to college to be a journalist?”

  “Yes.”

  “A good journalist will ask the person she’s interviewing if she can publish their photo or video.”

  Salina sighed. “I know, but I thought you would have at least taken my side.”

  “I agree with your dad on this one. Is Rachael mad at you, too?”

  Salina rolled her eyes. “Gosh, KC, that’s not even her real name. I Googled it. Her name is Emma Thomas. And you were right. She was Scout’s and Abra’s cat wrangler.”

  Katherine winked. “I seem to remember that you came up with the name cat wrangler,” then added, “When she left my house, the other day, I looked online to find out information about her.” She didn’t tell Salina that she hadn’t Googled Rachael Thomas because one of the cats did it for her. She’d gone to her office and found Abra in the vicinity of her computer. When Abra saw her, she leapt off the desk and ran out of the room. On the computer screen was a newspaper article about Emma Thomas, a professional cat wrangler, whose career ended when Harry DeSutter fired her, after one of his cat performers was stolen. Katherine said, “When Rachael worked for the magician, her name was Emma Thomas.”

  “So why is she telling people her name is Rachael?”

  “Here’s a thought, maybe when Emma moved to Erie she wanted to go by a different name. Maybe Rachael is her first or middle name. I don’t think we need to make a big deal out of it.”

  “Oh, really?” Salina asked suspiciously. “I think dad should know the name of the woman he’s dating.”

  A loud commotion occurred under Katherine’s chair. Two cats were tussling. One yowled loudly, the other one hissed. The cat fight spilled out to the middle of the living room floor.

  “Abby! Iris! Stop it right now!” Katherine demanded.

  Abby had something clamped in her jaws. Iris tried to snatch it away, but Abby clenched it tighter. The battle over the stolen loot continued.

  Katherine launched off her chair. “Drop it! Let me have it!”

  Abby didn’t oblige.

  “Give it to me.” Katherine reached down and gently tugged it out of Abby’s jaw.

  She gazed at the dog-eared photograph of the chief’s wife, Connie. Then she caught a glimpse of Iris slinking behind the chair. “I know it was you, Fredo,” she accused the blue-eyed thief.

  Iris yowled sneakily.

  Salina jumped up. “What is it?”

  The laminated photo slipped out of Katherine’s hand and fell to the floor.

  Scout and Abra came into the room and trotted over to it. They began their death dance. Scout arched her back and began hopping up and down. Abra mimicked Scout’s movements. They each yowled a long, drawn-out, banshee wail. Scout’s pupils were mere slits; Abra was foaming spittle at the side of her jaw.

  Salina pleaded, “KC, do something?”

  Salina started to go to the cats, but Katherine grabbed her arm. “Don’t. They’re in some sort of trance. They might attack you.”

  “Cadabra, stop!” Katherine yelled Scout’s former stage name, which in the past had good results in stopping the behavior. She snapped her fingers. “Cadabra, snap out of it.”

  The other cats freaked out and bolted out of the room, pounding the steps as they raced upstairs to their playroom safety zone.

  Scout shook her head and sat down on her haunches. Abra licked Scout’s ears.

  Katherine moved over to pet them. “My darlings, are you okay now?”

  “Raw,” Abra said.

  “Ma-waugh,” Scout added.

  There was a nervous silence, then Salina asked, “Why did they do that?”

  “If I explain it to you, will you promise to not publish it on social media?”

  Salina frowned. “Of course not.”

  “Do you know what a premonition is?”

  “Like when you get a feeling that something bad is going to happen to someone.”

  “Yes, exactly. I’ve seen this behavior in the past. I won’t go into details, but usually something bad does happen.”

  Salina retrieved the photo from the floor. “Do you think something bad is going to happen to this woman?”

  Katherine shook her head. “I hope not. She’s a good friend of mine.”

  “I’ve never seen her before.”

  “Yes, you have. You’ve just forgotten. She’s the chief’s wife, Connie.”

  “Chief London?”

  Katherine nodded.

  “What do we do? Call and warn her?” Salina fretted.

  Katherine sat back down. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow. I’ll personally deliver the stolen picture to the chief.”

  “Won’t he get mad?”

  “No, he’ll chuckle about it. He knows that Iris is a thief.”

  “How did she get ahold of it?”

  “She’s a pickpocket.”

  Salina snickered. “When was he here last?”

  “A few days ago.” She smiled, remembering the cat-under-the-table incident, and how during the meeting, Iris had probably stolen the photo.

  “Well, okay. I’m going to go home now.”

  “I’ll walk you home.”

  “Cool.”

  Katherine hugged her and the two walked outside.

  The shrill keening of the cicadas was temporarily blocked by the blaring sirens of a number of emergency vehicles racing down Highway 41.

  Salina asked, “I wonder what that’s about?”

  “They’re probably first responders to a fire somewhere.”

  Suddenly Salina worried about the
whereabouts of her dad, whose truck wasn’t parked in front of the house. “KC, he’s not back.”

  “No worries. I’m sure he’ll be home soon.”

  “Okay, thanks for walking me home.”

  “Anytime.”

  “Love ya, KC.”

  “Love ya, too!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  On Friday evening, Chief London was on duty. He’d already arrested a drunk who was driving on the wrong side of the road. He’d broken up a fight at the ice cream stand. Two acne-faced teens were fighting over a girl who didn’t look a day over thirteen. When he answered the radio call from the emergency dispatcher — his niece Maureen — he was abrupt. “Did you say Gladys Kramer called this in? Egad, I wonder what she’s reporting now.”

  “Breaking and entering in progress. 404 Main Street. The suspect is on the third floor of the building across the street from Gladys. She said the owner, Rachael Thomas, was not at home. She said the man keeps looking down at the street as if he’s looking for her to come back.”

  “Someone needs to do me a favor and take away her binoculars.”

  The dispatcher laughed.

  “I’m on my way,” he affirmed.

  The chief didn’t need to punch in the address on his GPS. He already knew where Rachael Thomas lived. He drove his Erie town police cruiser and parked in front of the storefront. He observed an older model Toyota parked in front as well. He ran the plates. He said out loud, “She’s legal.” Then he checked the BMV online vehicle registration. The owner was an LLC, but the address was Rachael Thomas’s. Interesting, he thought.

  Before the chief got out of the cruiser, he radioed for assistance from Officer Troy, who was also on duty. He advised him to park in the back of the building. “Gladys Kramer reported this, so don’t expect to find anything, but we need to check it out anyway. I’ll go in the front and you go in the back, that is, if we can get in.”

  “Got it,” Officer Troy confirmed.

  The chief scanned the street for pedestrians, but the block was quiet, except for the restaurant patrons going in and out of the hotel. He tried the front glass door of the storefront, but it was locked. He wasn’t surprised. You’d be a damned fool if you didn’t lock your doors in this age, he thought. He cupped his hands and peered through the window. The owner had a nightlight on a bistro table. He scanned the room but didn’t see anything suspicious.

  Across the street, Gladys observed the chief parking in front of the storefront. “Why isn’t his siren on?” she grumbled. She followed him with her eyes as he walked to the front of the shop. “Why isn’t he going inside?” she voiced.

  Al wasn’t listening. He was watching his favorite TV show.

  “Al, pay attention, the chief’s here.”

  “Here?”

  “He just parked in front of that woman’s place.”

  “Yeah, it’s a tragedy,” Al said non-committedly.

  “Wait! He’s getting in his car and leaving. What the heck? Why in the world?” she complained.

  * * *

  The chief climbed in his cruiser and drove to the rear of the building. He parked next to Officer Troy’s vehicle. He noticed that the gate to the owner’s courtyard was standing wide open. Knowing Officer Troy was already in the building, he cautiously walked in, constantly looking back and forth for signs of criminal activity.

  The back door was open as well. Before the chief entered, he shouted a warning, “Police!” He moved inside, scanning the room. Satisfied there wasn’t anything amiss, he found the stairs to the second floor. He looked for a light switch but couldn’t find one. He stopped in his tracks when he heard the gunshots. Two shots were fired, and the sound of a body collapsing on the floor above. He prayed it wasn’t Officer Troy.

  The chief unstrapped his service revolver and held it with both hands in an aimed-to-shoot stance. He slowly took each stair one at a time.

  At the turn in the staircase, a man rushed down the steps and pushed him. The chief fell back but caught himself on the railing. “Halt,” he yelled at the man, “Or I’ll shoot.” The man kept running. The chief fired a warning shot. The man stopped, turned and fired back. The bullet hit Chief London in the chest. The impact jarred him to his bones and knocked the wind out of him. He teetered into the railing and crumpled on the steps, then lost consciousness.

  On the third floor, Officer Troy had sustained two wounds in his right hand and shoulder. He tried to bring his injured hand up to radio for help but the pain was too much. In shock, he fainted.

  * * *

  Gladys brought the binoculars up to her eyes and stared at the third-floor window. “I don’t see that guy anymore.” She stood looking for several more minutes, then she saw the flash of two gunshots. She heard a third. “Al! Al! Oh, my word. Somebody’s been shot.”

  Al rose from his recliner and rushed over. “I heard it. Three blasts. Get on the phone, woman, and call it in.”

  Gladys grabbed her cell and punched in 911. She shouted into the phone, “Send him back. Send him back.” Gladys struggled to find the right words to report to the dispatcher what she’d seen.

  The dispatcher tried to calm her down.

  Finally, Gladys composed herself and said, “I heard three gunshots from across the street at that building at 404 Main. Chief London came and then left. Tell him to come back. Hurry!”

  “Ma’am, hold the line. My board is lighting up.” While the dispatcher put Gladys on hold, she alerted the proper authorities.

  Gladys grew impatient and hung up. “Al, we have to go over there.”

  “Why on earth would we want to do that?”

  “Because when the chief comes back, we have to warn him that the gunman is inside that storefront. We have to let him know.”

  “That’s nuts. We could get shot!”

  “I’m going.”

  “Stop! You’ve done your civic duty. Let’s wait until the coast is clear, then we’ll go over there.”

  Gladys didn’t listen to him. She rushed out of their apartment and slammed the door.

  * * *

  After the shooting, Marko walked over to the chief and stared down at him. Satisfied that the chief wasn’t getting up, he didn’t put another bullet in him. He wanted to, but he’d already fired three shots. The top floor cop didn’t have time to fire his weapon, but the cop on the first floor did. That many shots would have alerted someone on the street or in one of the neighboring buildings. His car was in the rear parking lot. He didn’t want to risk getting caught by retrieving his car from there. And even if he wanted to, it would be a fool’s mission, because he suddenly heard sirens wailing in the distance.

  He exited the storefront through the front door. He walked to a nearby Toyota Tercel and tried to open the door. Finding it locked, he went to the pickup truck parked in front of it and tried its door. It wasn’t locked. He looked around for any witnesses. When he didn’t see anybody, he jumped in. The owner had left the keys above the driver’s side sun visor. “Stupid hick didn’t even lock his truck!” he said, starting the vehicle. He put it in gear, stomped on the accelerator, and sped out of town.

  Once out of Erie, he pounded his fists on the steering wheel. “Damn, I so screwed up. I have to fix this before the boss finds out,” he said angrily.

  * * *

  “That woman drives me crazy,” Al muttered, looking out the window, contemplating whether or not he should follow his wife. He yanked his phone out of his hip pocket and punched in her number. He wanted to tell her to wait, and that he’d be there as soon as he put on his shoes. When he spotted a man leaving the building, he said, “Well, looky there!” He tapped his phone to camera mode and took several high-resolution pictures. Isn’t Gladys going to be jealous of me when I give the pics to the chief? A photo beats out an oral description of a criminal any day. Well, he assumed the man was the one who fired the shots. Although it was suspicious that the man tried to open the old Toyota’s door, but obviously it was locked. Al wasn’t completely
convinced until he saw the man get into his pickup.

  “Holy Toledo! He’s stealin’ my truck!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  A few hours earlier, Stevie and Rachael had driven to Chester’s barbecue kiosk. Stevie thought it would be fun to eat their sandwiches while sitting by one of the wind turbines on his property. He turned off the paved road, onto a concrete pad, and parked. Nearby was the large, circular base of a turbine. “This is a good place,” he said.

  They both climbed out of the truck. Rachael was holding the bags of food while Stevie fetched two lawn chairs from the back of his truck. “Oh, wait before we eat,” he said, heading back to his truck. He grabbed a can of mosquito spray and returned. “The flying vampires are out tonight,” he joked, handing the can to Rachael. She sprayed her arms, then Stevie did the same. They sat down and ate their barbecue. When they’d finished, they talked: Stevie first; then Rachael.

  They talked about every topic under the sun, except about those people who might be incriminated and hurt their chances for a relationship.

  Stevie even discussed, at length, his criminal past. Rachael listened. She didn’t offer criticism or rebuke him in any way. In turn, Rachael talked about her life, her many majors at school, her difficulty finding the right guy, and about her grandmother’s cancer. She skipped over her short stint of being a cat wrangler, and Stevie didn’t ask for more information. What she didn’t mention was that she was a criminal herself. Not an ex-criminal like Stevie, but a thief who had stolen a digital ledger from a mob boss, and thousands of dollars in cash from her ex-fiancé. Instead, Rachael ended the conversation with a comment about it getting late.