Klepto Cat Mystery - Sleight Of Paw Part 3

"Drats." Margaret dashed into the living room. Everyone laughed. "Oh no you don't," they heard her say. "What do you have, Rags? Bring that back, you bad boy."

"Oh dear, I'd better go intervene," Savannah said, preparing to move her leg off the chair.

Max stood. "No stay here. I'll go."

"So what did he take?" Savannah asked when she saw Margaret and Max return with big grins on their faces.

"Nothing," Margaret said, walking into the pantry in search of ground coffee.

Max sat down, leaned back and stretched his long legs out in front of him. "Nothing, my eye. You could have poisoned him with that thing. You really shouldn't be leaving something like that down where a cat like Rags can get it. He did save your life once, you know."

Margaret set the canister of coffee on the counter. She stood silent for a moment, remembering. No, she would never forget Rags's part in saving her and Savannah from that crazy kidnapper. "Yes, he did," she said.

She turned to face the others, tugging a little at the hem of her loose-flowing, purple-print blouse. "No. I would not want to harm one whisker on his little face." She then tightened her mouth in staunch determination. "But I don't need him stealing my stuff, either."

"Then put your stuff out of his reach," Max scolded good naturedly, his brown eyes twinkling under heavy, dark brows.

Margaret raised her arms. "And where is that? Where is, 'out of his reach,' pray tell?"

Max looked across the table at Savannah. "Good question. Do you have an answer?"

She addressed her aunt: "Sure, inside a closet or one of the rooms where you changed those lever door handles to k.n.o.bs. He could certainly open the lever-handled doors, but not those with k.n.o.bs."

"We'll have to build a closet just for women's purses," Michael joked.

Margaret, who had finished making the coffee, took her seat. She looked over at Michael. "Speaking of your projects, how's the renovation going?"

"Good. I'm really enjoying the work." He smiled. "This place is a tinkerer's dream house."

She leaned forward and looked squarely in his eyes. "Now tell me, have you found anything...well, unusual while tearing out walls and floors and such?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Um, no." And then he chuckled. "Like what? Pirates' gold or a lost Rembrandt?"

"Noooo, maybe something sinister."

"Sinister?" the trio repeated.

"In what way?" Michael asked. "Dead body?"

"Been there, done that," Margaret quipped with a shudder, remembering the day she found Marvin Byrd's body in an upstairs bedroom of the old Forster home-her former home. "No, let's don't go there. No more dead bodies. No, Michael, from what I hear tell, it's something a tad more...let's say...eerie."

"A ghost?" Savannah asked. Her face lit up. "Auntie did you sell us a haunted house? How cool is that?"

"No, I don't think it's haunted-unless old Jed Forster is still around." Margaret thought for a moment and then smiled, her brown eyes sparkling under dark-brown bangs. "But his spirit would be gentle. He would fit in nicely with the two of you."

"Well, I don't want anyone else living here with us and peering in on our private life," Michael said emphatically.

"The house isn't haunted, Michael," Margaret insisted.

"Then what?" he asked.

"To tell you the truth..."

"h.e.l.llloooooo, anyone here? Michael? Savannah?"

"Oh, it's Iris," Savannah said, rising carefully from her chair and hobbling toward the living room. She saw Iris peering through the open door and called out, "Come in, girlfriend."

Iris stepped inside and closed the door. She looked at Savannah, concern on her face. "I heard about the...trouble and came to see if you two are okay." She glanced around behind Savannah. "Where's Michael?"

"He's right in here." Savannah grabbed Iris's arm and began leading her along. "Come on in; have some cobbler with us."

Iris stopped. "Just a minute, let me find a spot for my purse-somewhere away from that thieving cat of yours." She laughed.

Savannah shook her head, grinning slightly as Iris reached up and tucked her large purse into a s.p.a.ce on a bookshelf. Just then, Iris felt something against her leg. She looked down, a few curly wisps of red hair bouncing alongside her face. "Hi there, Lexie. How are you, girl?" She stooped over and ruffled the dog's fawn-colored fur before entering the kitchen.

Michael stood. "Hi Iris. Have a seat-join us."

Margaret reached out for Iris's hand and the two former graduates of the Hammond High School cla.s.s of 1973 greeted one another warmly. Iris patted Max on the shoulder. "Hi there, Max. Good to see you." After sitting down in the chair Michael had pulled out for her, Iris looked over at Michael and Savannah, scrutinizing them carefully, and then frowned. "So how are you two? Sounds like you had an awful situation at the clinic this morning."

"How did you hear about it already?" Savannah asked.

"Craig told me."

"Oh yes, your honey. We can't keep anything from you anymore since you're dating Detective Craig Sledge." Michael laughed.

"You were going to keep this from me? Why?" Iris looked hurt.

"Noooo." Savannah slapped her hand in the air in front of her. "He's delusional." She leaned toward Iris and whispered loudly, "...got a wallop on the head, you know."

Iris looked over at Michael again and noticed the purple swelling on the side of his face. "Oh Michael, you look like you took a beating. How are you feeling?"

He grimaced slightly, took a deep breath, and coughed. "Not too bad-a little sore here and there."

"I would imagine." Her eyes darted from Michael to Savannah. "So what happened?"

The couple repeated the details of the story once again.

"What does the doctor say?" she asked.

"Just to take it easy, use icepacks-general stuff like that," Michael said. "Oh honey, you'd better get that pack on your knee."

"Your knee?" Iris looked over at Savannah.

"Yes, Iris," Margaret said-her voice accelerated, "he hit Savannah, too and knocked her down. She has a messed-up knee."

"My G.o.d!" Iris exclaimed, looking down at Savannah's legs. "He attacked you, too?"

"He pushed me, that's all."

Iris sat up straight, revealing a hint of black lace from beneath the low neckline of her fitted green and black blouse. "That's a.s.sault, kiddo."

"Oh I forgot, you know the lingo now," Savannah said as she started to stand up. "Ouch." She grimaced, reaching down and cupping her hand over her knee.

Margaret quickly stood. "Sit down, Vannie. I'll serve the cobbler."

Iris joined Margaret at the kitchen counter. "Here, Maggie, let me get those," Iris said when she saw her struggling to reach the dessert plates.

"Thanks, Iris. Everything in this house is organized for giants. I need a stepstool or stilts to get anything out of these cabinets." Margaret glanced over at her husband and said, "I'm trying to train Max to store everyday things we need for the shelter cats where I can reach them."

"Or you could just grow, or wear platform shoes," Savannah quipped.

Margaret smirked in her niece's direction. "Spoken by the only Brannon to get the tall genes."

Once the cobbler was served and the coffee poured, Michael asked Iris, "So is Craig on the case?"

"He didn't say." She took a sip of coffee, looked down at her dessert, and shook her head. "This is an awful thing to have happened. I was so scared for you two when I heard about it." Tears filled her eyes.

"We're okay, Iris," Savannah said, setting her fork down and patting her friend's arm. "Thanks for caring."

"Iris, what do you hear from Damon?" Margaret asked. "Is he getting along okay?"

Still dabbing at her carefully made-up eyes, Iris said, "It seems so. He's over at the state prison. Craig thinks he may get out early." Her eyes brightened a little. "We can visit."

"You visit that place?" Margaret scrunched up her face. "I've never set foot in a prison or jail. It must be dreary and drab. And then there are all of those...criminals." She shuddered.

"It's not my favorite place to spend a Sunday afternoon; that's for sure," Iris agreed. She took a bite of her cobbler, swallowed, and said, "But they do have a gra.s.sy area with picnic tables where you can visit. So it's not too bad." She looked off into s.p.a.ce for a moment. "If I want my son back, it's something I have to do." She glanced over at Margaret. "You know, Maggie, Damon and I get along better when he's in jail than any other time. It's almost like the relations.h.i.+p we had when he was twelve. You remember those days, don't you? He was a cool kid. Things didn't go bad until he was in his senior year at high school." She became sullen for a moment. And then she smiled. "He's a very different young man when he's not with those so called friends of his."

Margaret shook her head in disgust. "Iris, my dear, you can't blame his friends. He made his own decision to do drugs. It was the drugs making him so difficult, don't you know that?"

Iris lowered her eyes. "Yeah, you're right, Maggie." She looked up and said, "They tell us at Al-Anon that we have to fight going into denial. I've been in denial for much too long." Smiling brightly, she said, "Craig is really helping me change my thoughts-my way of thinking." She became serious for a moment. "Makes a big difference. It really does."

"That's cool, Iris," Max said, while scooping up more of the dessert with his spoon. "Sounds like you and Damon are turning over a new leaf."

"Yes," she said, glancing around the table, "and the relations.h.i.+p between the younger boys and Damon is getting better, too. You know, Damon was eleven when I married the boys' father. Chris and Brett were just toddlers. Damon was rather fond of his new little brothers at first, especially Brett. It wasn't long after that two-timing man left me and his sons that Damon started getting into trouble and things went sour with him and the younger boys." She stared off into s.p.a.ce for a moment and then said, "As you know, his lifestyle affected all of us." Her bright-red lips curved into a smile, revealing her carefully whitened teeth. "Now he and Brett write back and forth-real letters-no cell phones or texting for prisoners. And the boys go there with me to visit sometimes."

"How long were you married to Jack Clampton...four or five years?" Margaret asked.

Iris frowned, narrowed her eyes. "Five miserable years. Damon was nearly seventeen when he left, and Chris and Brett were seven and eight." She hesitated. A grin washed over her attractive face. "Craig is working with Damon."

"Really?" Michael set his fork down and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

"Yes. He visits him alone, you know, using special cop privileges, and he's helping him to work a drug program right there in the prison. It's a sort of all-around confidence-building, distraction sort of technique he's using. It's a healing program and it also involves creativity. I had no idea how important creativity is to a human being." She paused before sharing, "Did you know that Damon has an interest in writing? He's been writing poetry and short stories. Says it makes him feel real good when he's writing." She leaned back in her chair, holding her hands palm-up in front of her. "Who knew?"

Michael smiled across at Iris. "That's really great news."

Margaret shook her head, a pensive look on her face. "Iris, I still can't believe you're dating the cop who was going to arrest you for murder last year."

"Yeah," Iris let out a forced laugh. "I've met some interesting men in some interesting ways, but this was definitely a first for me." She took a sip of coffee before adding, "And something new for Craig, too."

Savannah leaned forward in her chair and addressed her friend, "Iris, you do believe in fate, don't you? I mean, how else would the universe have put the two of you together unless you were a suspect of some sort?"

She scoffed. "h.e.l.l, kiddo, I can think of a lot of ways-he could be a customer at the diner, he could save me from a pickpocket, he could be having a drink at a local club when I walk in, he could come to the boys' school and talk about police work..." She took a breath, her perfectly made-up eyes flas.h.i.+ng with mischief. "He could run out of gas in front of my house, b.u.mp into me in the produce aisle at the grocery store, come to my door selling tickets to the policemen's ball..."

"Be serious, Iris," Margaret scolded. "Things never happen the way we expect. Look at me and Max. He came all the way from Chicago, moved in next door, and started a cat-rescue shelter."

Max straightened his posture. "Yeah, and you wouldn't give me the time of day until I rescued you from that relative of yours."

"Well, I was waiting for you to come riding in on a white horse," she said, faking innocence. Before her husband could respond, Margaret continued, "And look at Savannah and Michael. I broke my foot so Savannah would get her cute little b.u.t.t up here and start kanoodling with our handsome veterinarian."

"Kanoodling? Auntie, that sounds vulgar," Savannah complained amidst a kitchen lively with laughter.

Margaret tilted her head, a wily grin on her lips. "Wellll?"

"Yeah, Auntie," Savannah said, smiling briefly at her handsome husband, "I guess it was fortuitous that you broke your foot and that I came to help you out. How else would Michael and I have found each other-with me down in LA and him up here in Northern California?"

"Wait," Michael said, frowning, "are you telling me this was some sort of conspiracy? I thought it was my idea to fall for my beautiful wife." He looked suspiciously at Savannah. "You tricked me?"

Savannah reached out and slapped playfully at Michael.

"Ouch, that hurt. Be careful, I was injured fighting for your honor, you know." He pretended to sulk.

"I'm sorry, honey. Kiss kiss," she said as everyone laughed.

Michael grinned. "Finally, I get some sympathy."

The Monday evening headlines of the small-town Hammond Daily screamed, "Veterinarian Brutally Beaten by Dead Dog's Owner."

Savannah heard the front door open and close. "Where are you?" Michael called out.

"Kitchen!"

"Did you see the paper tonight, hon?" he asked as he approached her. He slapped it down on the kitchen table. "It looks like Gamble's out on bail."

"Yeah, I saw it," Savannah said somberly, turning away from the counter to face her husband. "My cell phone has been ringing like crazy all afternoon."

He lowered his brow. "Why? Who's been calling?"

"Well-wishers mostly. You know, our friends."

With a sigh of relief he said, "Oh, I thought maybe it was clients concerned about their pets."

"Noooo, Michael." She walked over and put her arms around his neck in a hug. Pulling back a little so she could look at him, she asked, "You don't think this is going to scare people away, do you? No one's going to believe you were negligent. You have a great reputation in this town, honey."

"Savannah," he said taking a deep breath, "it can take years to build a good reputation and a few minutes to ruin it." He released her hands from around his neck, squeezed them, and turned away.

"But you did nothing wrong."