A Picture-Purrfect Christmas (A Klepto Cat Mystery Book 13) (15 page)

“Hi, punkin’” he said, lifting her from her little blow-up house where she’d been playing with some of her toys.

He kissed Savannah. “Whatcha doing, hon?”

“Just scrutinizing these photos.”

“From your ride today? What have you found?”

She nodded. “Nothing. I see nothing that would give us a clue. I want a clue. I want a clue so badly.”

“I know,” he said. “It’s rough not knowing. Waiting can be agony.” He stared into the screen and suggested, “Can you print them out—maybe get a different perspective in a better light and with a magnifier? Maybe print them in eight-by-ten size.”

“Yeah, I printed a couple of them.” She turned to him. “Craig may have identified the little boy in that…awful picture. Michael, his family has reported him missing. They think he was kidnapped.”

“Good Lord,” he said. “So how do you think your photographer friend ended up with that picture?”

She shook her head slowly. “That’s a puzzle. A seriously daunting puzzle.” She turned toward him. “But it appears that Rags’s and Marissa’s instincts about that guy are valid.” She paused. “…if, indeed, that picture did come out of Esse’s backpack. We don’t even know that for sure.” When Lily began to fuss, she said, “Hey, do you two want supper? Helena made us some enchiladas when she was here cleaning house this morning.”

“Sounds great. I’m starved.” He then asked, “How did the photo class go today?”

“Oh, we cancelled it. With Marissa missing and Christmas so close, we decided…”

“Makes sense,” he said.

Savannah picked up the photos and walked into the kitchen with Michael and Lily. “Hi, Rags,” she said when she saw the cat walking toward them. “Want supper?”

“Did he eat today?” Michael asked, putting Lily in her high chair and snapping a bib around her neck.

“A little,” she said. “I’ve never known him to go into such a funk. He’s better, though. I invited Charlotte over for some therapy this afternoon.” She shook her head. “Imagine—using a child as therapy for a cat instead of the other way around.”

He smiled at the thought. “Was he happy to see her?”

“Oh yes.”

“Well, good. So what did they do?” he asked, absent-mindedly as he began flipping through the photos Savannah had placed on the table. Rags sat nearby, watching him.

“Charlotte helped him clean out his stash.”

“Oh really?” Michael chuckled. “What did they find in there this time?”

“Oh, the usual—tea bags, receipts, baby toys, bread crust. I found one of my socks I’d thought the washing machine ate. Oh, and the water bill.” She shook her head. “It was due today, so I called and paid it over the phone.”

“Crazy cat.”

Suddenly, Savannah jumped and grabbed her phone. “It’s Craig,” she announced before answering hesitantly, “Hi Craig. Any news?”

“Not really,” he said. “The dogs didn’t find anything. In fact, the handler said they acted confused—like maybe someone had sprayed or sprinkled something to knock them off the track. It was evidently a disastrous experiment.”

Savannah was quiet. She then said, “Craig?”

“What?”

“Well, I’m not sure,” she said rather apprehensively as she stared down at one of the photos on the table. “Michael, look at this.”

“What’s going on, Savannah?” Craig asked.

“Just a minute, Craig. Michael look—what do you see there?” she asked. “Use the magnifying glass.”

“What is it, Savannah?” Craig asked again.

“Well, I was looking at that photo I took the other day—the one Rags tore up. I printed it out again. Craig, I just spotted something. You know what you said about looking for something that doesn’t belong?”

“Yeah,”

“Well, there’s a dot off in the distance here that caught my eye. Do you see that, Michael? It’s that yellowish dot, right there to the left of that shrub.”

“Yeah,” Michael said, straining his eyes. “What do you think that is?”

“Craig,” she said, “it could be someone in the distance watching us. Good God, Craig, I think it’s…I’m pretty sure it’s…Esse.”

“It could be a figure, but it takes some imagination to see it,” Michael said.

“That dot is the same color as the head wrap that photographer wears. It could very well be him.”

“And if it is, what’s wrong?” Michael asked, playing the devil’s advocate. “I mean, he
is
a photographer. You said he’s been in that area taking pictures before.”

“That’s true. Oh, I don’t know, Michael. It’s just that Rags doesn’t like him and neither does Marissa. Craig seems to think that Rags pointed us to that area.”

Michael thinned his lips. “Because he chewed up a picture you took out there? That’s a stretch, hon.”

“Well, if this
is
Esse, what was he doing out there at the same time we were there? Why didn’t he speak to us?”

“From that distance?” Michael said, grinning.

She peered at him for a moment. “Well, I think it’s just too coincidental that he would show up where Craig’s searching for Marissa. Don’t you?” She faced him. “Gads, he could be leading some sort of double life—camera-shop clerk by day, kidnapper by night.” She shivered and growled. “Makes me sick!”

“That’s a strong accusation.”

“Think about it, Michael. I told you about the game he was playing with the children behind our backs. That was just too weird. I don’t trust that guy and the more I think about it, the more concerned I am that he’s involved in Marissa’s disappearance.”

Michael creased his brow. “So what did Craig say?”

“He’s going to check Esse out. He said he’d let me know what he learns.”

Just then the house phone rang. Michael looked at his watch. “Who could that be this time of night?”

“Telemarketer. We need to get rid of that phone—all we get on it is telemarketer calls. Let it go,” she suggested.

“I’d better get it—don’t want it to wake up Lily.” He walked to the phone and picked it up. “Hello?” After a few moments, he said, “Yes. Just a minute,” and he held the receiver out for Savannah.

“A telemarketer?” she asked suspiciously.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“Hello?” she answered hesitantly.

“Hello, is this Savannah Ivey?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I understand you’re a friend of Marissa Sanchez.”

“Yes,” Savannah said, straightening. “Who is this?” she almost demanded.

The woman hesitated, then continued, “My name is Mabel Roberts. I…um…I think Marissa is my granddaughter.”

Savannah’s mind raced. “Granddaughter?” she repeated.

“Yes.” Savannah could hear the woman’s voice crack. “My husband and I saw her picture in the paper this morning and we’re certain she’s our deceased daughter’s child.” She cleared her throat and continued. “We’ve only seen her twice before—once when she was born and again when a man, presumably her father, came asking for money. She was only four then. He called her
Rachel
.” She paused, then said in a strained voice, “He promised to bring her back the next day for a visit, but…we never saw her or him again.”

“Rachel?” Savannah questioned. “What makes you think Marissa is the same child?”

The woman choked up. “She looks just like her mother did at ten. Besides, I understand it isn’t unusual for the…street people…especially those with a tendency to break the law…to use different names sometimes.” She spoke more quietly. “The picture in the paper showed the child’s little crooked legs. They’re just as they were the last time we saw her. Oh yes, Mrs. Ivey, we’re positive Marissa is our granddaughter.”

Savannah began to weep. “Oh my gosh,” she said through tears, “she has grandparents? Where have you been? She has needed you every day of her life. She’s had it rough, you know—she’s had to endure stuff no child—especially one as special as Marissa—should have to.”

There was silence on the other end. Finally the woman sniffled, saying, “I know. We have searched and searched for her. We’ve wanted her with us ever since she was born. But they took her—our daughter and that man. They wouldn’t let us see her. We heard that our daughter had died. We hired people to find the child, but they were met with dead ends. If she is still—I mean—when we find her this time, we will do everything in our power to keep her with us and make sure she is safe.”

“Where are you?” Savannah asked quietly.

“Massachusetts.”

“Massachusetts?” Savannah said, frowning. “The story about Marissa was in your newspaper?”

“Oh no, we’ve been subscribing to many newspapers in and around San Francisco online since we moved away five years ago. Like I said, we want our granddaughter with us. We read the papers from that area every day in hopes of seeing a clue as to where she is.” She started to cry. “And now she’s missing…possibly in danger.” She collected herself and said more calmly, “We’re flying to Frisco and driving to Hammond as soon as possible. We’d like to meet you and her teacher, who has also been a friend to our granddaughter.”

“How did you learn about Shelly and me?” Savannah asked.

“From the local sheriff’s department.”

“Oh, I see,” Savannah said. She then spoke more cordially. “Yes, of course, Mrs. Roberts. I’d love to meet you. Please call when you arrive and let me know if you need transportation or anything else. In the meantime, do you have a cell phone number you could give me?”

“Yes,” Mabel said, reciting the number. She hesitated and asked quietly, “Is there anything new in the investigation?”

“No,” Savannah said. “They searched with dogs today and came up with nothing.” She took a breath. “I suppose that could be good news…in a way. We’re trying to keep positive, but it isn’t easy.”

Once she’d hung up, Savannah called Craig’s number. “Craig, guess who just called me,” she said excitedly. “Marissa’s grandmother. At least I sure hope she is her grandmother. She and her husband are coming to take her home with them. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Sure, Savannah, if…”

“I don’t want to hear the
ifs
,” she demanded. “I only want to hear the happy ending. Marissa is found and her grandparents are legitimate and wonderful, and she can finish growing up in their loving care. That’s what I want to hear!” she shouted.

“Sounds good to me.” He paused, then said, “Tell me more about this character called Esse.”

“I’ve told you everything I know, Craig,” Savannah snapped. “I’m tired and I’m scared for that little girl.”

“Humor me, honey, will you? Tell me again what you know about him.”

After sighing deeply, Savannah said, “Well, he’s been helping with the photography classes. He works at the camera shop in the mall. As I told you, I don’t trust him, and I’m not sure why. Marissa doesn’t like him. Rags hates him. We believe that horrid picture of the little missing boy came from his backpack. And he shows up in my picture where Marissa could have been taken.”

“Anything else?”

“He seemed to have a special interest in Marissa. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I don’t trust him around her. When we were out on the field trip with the kids, it seemed like he was trying to single her out for some reason.” She paused. “Oh, and he called her Rachel.”

“Yeah?” Craig questioned. “And that bit of trivia is relevant because?”

“Because her grandmother just told me that’s what Marissa’s father called her when he came asking for money some six years ago.”

There was silence on the other end. Finally, Craig said, “Well, detective Savannah, you’d sure like to tie this up in a pretty bow, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d like to find Marissa unharmed, that’s what I want,” she said defiantly.

Again there was a long silence, then, “What do you think about taking your cat out there?”

“Out where?” she asked.

“Out to Mule Flats.”

“Are you serious? How would we get him there?”

“He likes your horse, doesn’t he?”

“Craig, what are you thinking? Sure, he likes her from the top of the corral fence, but he’s never... Rags on a horse? Are you crazy?”

Startled by what he’d heard, Michael looked up from his newspaper.

“Think about how we could get him on your horse, would you?” Craig suggested. “I have a hunch he can do what those dogs failed to do. He has a rapport with the little girl—a connection. If she’s out there, I’ll bet he can find her. What do you say?”

“Of course, I want to try anything that could possibly help find her, but Rags on a horse? I just don’t know, Craig. Let me discuss it with Michael and I’ll get back to you.”

“Good. Oh, by the way, they’ve arrested Mavis and Clark Cotton. After searching the home and questioning the children, we have strong evidence the children were being neglected and maybe even abused. We also believe Mavis had something to do with Erin’s injuries.”

“How is Erin?” Savannah asked.

“Still in the hospital.”

“Can I go see her?”

“Yes, I can arrange that. I think it would be good for her. Her last name is Michaels.”

After a moment of silence, Savannah asked, “Could the Cottons have done something to Marissa?”

“It’s possible. They’re among the suspects, that’s for sure. In fact,” he said, hesitating, “among their belongings we found a couple of dirt bikes in a shed.”

Savannah chuckled. “I can’t imagine that woman on a dirt bike, can you?”

“Maybe not, but did you know the nephew you mentioned stays out in the shed?”

“Yeah. Marissa said there are two adult nephews who are rude and ill-mannered.”

“Well, according to the neighbors,” Craig said, “they come and go. They have an old truck that they use to haul those dirt bikes around in.”

“Yeah, that’s the truck I saw Erin leave in the other day, before she was…hurt. What a chaotic household that must have been.”

****

Savannah arrived at the hospital the following morning around eight forty-five. “I’d like to see Erin Michaels, please,” she announced at the reception desk.

“Name?”

“Savannah Ivey.”

The pert woman dressed in a pink uniform ran her finger down a page on a large pad and said, “Okay, you’re cleared. She’s on the third floor. You’ll see the guard at the door. Just give him this,” she said, handing Savannah a small card.