Nancy J. Bailey - Furry Murder 01 - My Best Cat (20 page)

“I’ve got a couple of toys for him too.”  Andrew reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a couple of tiny furry mice and dropped them into the bag.  I handed the bag to Kim.

“This is probably stealing, you know,” Andrew added.

I whirled on him.  “Shut up!”

He laughed.  “It’s okay.  I’m the last person to judge something like that!”

I turned to Kim.  “Well I’m sure as hell not going to say anything!”

Kim grinned.  “He’s an owner surrender.  He’s officially impounded to my house.  Thanks, you guys.  I’ll leave him with Security since I’ve got to close up tonight.  Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him.”

“We’re not worried,” I said.

“Bless you for taking him,” Andrew said.

I was surprised to hear him say such a thing.  I turned to look at him.  He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve as Kim carried
Baloo’s crate away.

Chapter Forty Nine

Wesley Taft

Sunday

“You want to bring a dog into the show hall?  You can’t!  That will never fly!  These cats will completely freak out!”  I said.

Max held up a finger.  “Just watch.”

He left, heading for the exit, nodding to one Maine Coon lady as he passed.  She tapped another woman on the shoulder.  They stood up and began beckoning to others.  Pretty soon there was a line of cat fanciers, sodden, pale and pudgy, all dressed in glitter and covered in tufts of shedding hair, looking like a mug shot for Freaks Weekly.  A string of them lined up from one side of the bleachers all the way to the door, standing side by side, forming a human wall.  I was beginning to understand.  Max was a genius.

The door opened and in came the old dog, followed by Max. 
Reva snuffled her way across the gym, paying no mind to the cat people, lunging at the end of the leash.  Thanks to our cooperative Wall of Freaks, not a single cat in the building could see her.  She was practically dragging Max to the bleachers.  She knew exactly why she was there.  Before she even reached the bleachers, SuMe popped out and was running to her surrogate mother, rubbing against her legs and purring.  Reva was licking her, snuffling her gently.  Max was beginning to tear up a little, and I was too.  I looked around and didn’t see a dry eye in the group of people who had come to help us.

Our happy reunion was interrupted by an ungodly screaming.  Thinking quickly, Max grabbed
SuMe and held her close.  “Good God!  What is going on?”

With all the talk of murders and the horrible events of the weekend, this was a most unwelcome sound, and the hair stood up on the back of my neck.  We all turned to see what it was, although we knew it could only be a cat in the worst form of distress or excitement. 

The wail lifted to the rafters, and we saw that Cecilia was desperately trying to hold on to Roxanne’s Somali Grand Premier, Zephyr.  She was standing at the end of our row of helpers, where she had apparently come to see what was happening.  Zephyr flipped and struggled, screaming the whole time, and then despite her efforts he projected himself from her grasp and shot across the room toward us.

Before any of us could react, he was standing with his front paws up on our beloved dog, rubbing desperately against her.  To our utter astonishment,
Reva lay down, tail wagging, and greeted Zephyr with moans and whining, as if he were an old friend.

And then he began sucking on her ear.

“Oh my God!” Max, now, was crying, sobbing into SuMe’s neck.  “Wesley!  It’s Rusty!”

I bent over and picked the cat up, and yes, I then knew it was our long lost friend Rusty – the very same dear face, the same
full coat, just a little more mature and well, with lots of artificial coloring.  That was why, even when seeing him from across the show hall, we hadn’t known him.  But he knew Reva.

He whirled and rubbed in my hands, purring, ramming his face into my chin.  And our wonderful old dog stood up and ran back and forth between us in delight.

The cat people around us were weeping, wiping tears from their faces and hugging each other. 

“Thank you,” I called out to them.  “Thank you so much!”  I buried my face into Rusty’s dyed fur.

We were a family again.

Chapter Fifty

Andrew Gilbert

Sunday

It was amazing.  Baloo had a home.  Zephyr had revealed his identity to us all.  And now the wrongs of the evil Roxanne had been righted in some ways.  I watched the crowd disperse from a distance, as the two partners led their old dog out the door.

“I’ll bet they’re done with cat shows,” I said.

Dennis was leaning up against Hotsy’s cage, munching on an éclair.

“I can’t believe it,” Dennis said.  “That cat was dyed.  She dyed her cat.”

“Believe it,” I replied.

“Boy, I really thought you had snuffed your aunt for awhile there.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Did you return that pen to what’s-her-face?”

“Yes I did.”

“Good boy!  I’m proud of you!”

He took a big bite from the éclair.  Some of the white cream dribbled down his chin.  He wiped it off, held up his finger and winked.  “Does this look familiar?”

I blushed.  “Please!”

He laughed and held out the éclair.  “Here!  Try it!”

“No thanks.”

“Really!  It’ll do you good!”

“No, thank you anyway.”

“I’d like to see a little padding on that skinny arse,” he reached over to slap me on the behind.  I dodged him and felt the puff of air from his hand as it blew by me.  He laughed again, taking another bite from the éclair.

I took the cats out and put them in their crates,
SuMe in one and the two kittens in the other.  “You know what, Den?”

“Yes ma’am?”

“I’m going to take the girls here home now.  And then I’m going to pack up some clean clothes.  And then I’m going to go check myself into a motel.”

“What? 
How come?”  He took another big bite of pastry.

“I want to give you time to move out.”

He paused in mid-chew, one cheek bulging out the side of his face.

“
Toodles,” I said.

I picked up the carriers and walked away from him.  I didn’t look back.  I saw that Cecilia was leaving too, trundling her grooming cart toward the door.  She noticed my approach, stopped and held it open for me. 

“Thanks.  Hey, do you want to grab a bite?” I said.

“Sure,” she smiled up at me shyly.  As we turned toward the exit, she said, “Do you know any nice single men?”

“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” I said.

Chapter Fifty One

Ginny Robards

Sunday

It was wonderful. 
Edel had won.  We had worked for years for this, but it still felt surreal. 

Still, I couldn’t wait to get home. 
Liesl and I packed up in silence, in a sort of euphoric haze.  It was almost as if we said too much, the spell might be broken. 

The handsome detective who was investigating the crime scene strolled toward us. 
Liesl stopped what she was doing.

“I have some information for you,” she said to him.

“What’s that?”

To my surprise,
Liesl reached under the cage and pulled a manila envelope out of the show bag. “This is the evidence for motive.”

“What?”

She opened the envelopes and pulled out some large, glossy photographs.  “These are digital photos.  It wasn’t difficult to do.  The camera fits right in the palm of my hand, or in the breast pocket of my shirt, and it takes phenomenal pictures.”

She handed the photos to Reynolds.  He took them and began flipping through them.  I went over and stood next to him, and he held them out, accommodating, so I could see.  There were photos of Roxanne in the vendor’s booth, looking at
jewelry.  And more photos of her, enlarged and cropped, to show her taking pieces of jewelry and slipping them into what looked like a cloth bag.

“
Liesl!” I said.

Liesl
gestured to the photos.  “You see, Roxanne was smuggling jewelry.  Emeralds.  She had them hidden in a secret pocket inside Zephyr’s bib.  She lifted real jewelry from the vendors and replaced it with fake stuff.”

“How do you know all this?”  Reynolds asked.

“I’m a private investigator,” Liesl said.  “I was hired by Tracy to tail Roxanne and find out what her campaign plans were.”

Reynolds winced. “Her campaign plans?”

“Yeah, she wanted to know her show schedule.  I’m usually hired to find out if someone is sleeping with someone’s husband.  Which, as we all know, Roxanne was.  Apparently Tracy didn’t care so much about that.  But anyway, I stumbled upon other stuff more interesting.”

“Wow,” Reynolds grinned.  “You’ve just made my day.  Miss Roxanne is going to be locked up for a very long time.  Come on by the station tomorrow, we’ll need to do a full interview. 
Til then, you ladies have a wonderful night.”

He and the security guard moved off to continue their rounds. 

I looked at my daughter in amazement.  For a moment I was dumbstruck.  She had gone back to busily packing things into the show bag, as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.

”
Liesl!  You never told me you were a private investigator.”

“Well Mom, that’s why they call it, ‘Private’.” 

She smiled.  I hadn’t seen her smile in years.

I stared at my daughter.  Here I thought I knew her so well.  I had thought, really, that there wasn’t much to know.  Maybe it was time to start paying more attention.

Chapter Fifty Two

Kim Norwich

Sunday Night

I made my last round, turning off the lights.  All was quiet.  The show committee had already broken down the cages and everything was gone.  The building was transformed back into an empty gymnasium, almost indistinguishable from the place where all the strange events had taken place.

I picked up Baloo’s crate, feeling his weight in it. 

“It’s okay Buddy,” I said.  “We’ll be home soon.  It’s you and me now, and Bill and George. 
Just the four of us.  One big happy family.”

I snapped off the last light, and stepped out the door, and there in the semi-darkness stood Reynolds.  He was talking on his cell phone. 

“I’ll give a full report in the morning.  I’ve got to go.”  He snapped the phone shut and turned to smile at me.

“What are you doing still here?” I said.

He gave a little shrug, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be standing outside in the dark.  “I was waiting for you.”

The End

About the Author

Artist and author Nancy J. Bailey bred and showed Somali cats for ten years (during a period of temporary insanity). She has written three other books about animals, including
Clifford of Drummond Island
, a true horse story, and its sequel,
Return to Manitou
. She lives in Michigan with a family of critters.