Patricia Fry - Klepto Cat 04 - Undercover Cat (3 page)

***

Several hours later, Damon looked at the wall clock to the left of his cubical: three o’clock. He tried Colbi’s cell phone again. No answer. The next number he called was Detective Craig Sledge’s. “Craig, what did you find out about that handkerchief, anything?”

“A homemade form of chloroform, buddy.
It may have been used to subdue Colbi. We’re treating her place as a crime scene. My guys are out there going over everything now.”

Damon jumped to his feet. “Oh
my gosh! Somebody took her? Who would do this?” he said.

“We don’t have any answers yet.” Craig hesitated,
then added, “Damon, you know we’ll find your prints inside.”

Damon settled back down in his chair. “Well, yeah,” he said. “I went in the house this morning.”

“Did you touch anything while you were in there?”

He thought for a moment. “I suppose so—doorknobs, stairway banister, maybe…but Craig, I don’t think whoever took her went inside, do you? There’s nothing out of order in there. She didn’t even have her laptop set up or her research papers spread around. She had all that stuff with her when I saw her after work. I don’t think she even got inside the house with it, do you?”

“It’s a probability,” Craig said. “Damon, which vehicle was she driving last night, do you know?”

“Uh, the old truck.”

“Thanks. Now we didn’t find her laptop or any paperwork in either the truck or the car.” He hesitated. “I just hope someone left a good clue somewhere.”

“Footprints?” Damon suggested.

“It rained, remember. We did see possible evidence of a scuffle; even found a bare toe print—probably hers. But no clear shoe prints.”

“Damn. Who would want to hurt her?” Damon started. “She’s so…”

“We’ll find her, kid. Just do this for me…”

Damon listened intently. “What?”

“Think hard about your conversation last night and let us know if anything—anything at all—comes to mind that might help us find her.”

“You can bet I will. Thank you, Craig.”

***

It was nearly six that evening when Damon entered the kitchen of his mother’s home.

“Hi there, Son,” Iris said. “You’re a little late.”

“Yeah, been feeding cats,” he said off-handedly.

His younger stepbrothers were both seated at the kitchen table eating spaghetti. Chris looked up at Damon as he took a bite of French bread. “Cats?” he asked, sounding all mush-mouthed.

“Why were you feeding cats?” Brett asked, watching his brother remove his jacket.

Damon tossed the jacket toward a chair in the living room and turned to face his family, who were all staring at him, waiting for an explanation. “
Colbi’s cats,” he said.

“Oh no,” Iris whispered. “They haven’t found her? Craig told me she was missing, but I thought by now…”

“No.” He placed his hands on the back of an empty kitchen chair and stared down into the seat. “She’s missing, Mom,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Oh my God, honey. Do they think she’s been kidnapped or what?”

“No one knows, yet. Looks like it could have been a kidnapping. But why?” He spun around as if searching the room for answers. “Why would someone want to hurt her?”

“I don’t know, Damon. She’s such a sweet girl. It doesn’t make sense that someone would want to hurt her, unless…”

“Unless what?” he asked, his eyes intent on his mother’s face.

“Well, a pervert might have targeted her. She’s awfully pretty. Maybe she’s been stalked by someone who wanted to…”

“Stop, Mom!” he shouted, rubbing his hands forcefully over his head. “I can’t handle these what-ifs. It’s just too stressful!”

“Damon,” Iris said sternly, “I want you to go see your counselor. Or call your sponsor. You need to talk to someone before you drive yourself crazy.
It’s stressful situations like this that can put you at risk of slipping, Son. You need tools to help you handle it.”

“No Mom, I won’t go back to the drugs.” He looked up at her. “I can promise you that.
No way.”

She walked over to her son and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him hard. “I love you, Damon,” she said through tears. “I just can’t lose you again.”

“Mom,” he said, pulling away, “I don’t want to lose myself again, either.” He thought for a moment and said, “Yeah, maybe I will call my sponsor.” He glanced up at her. “Can’t hurt.”

***

Meanwhile at the Ivey household:

“Oh hi, honey.
Long day, huh?” Savannah said, easing up out of the overstuffed chair to greet her husband as he came through the front door.

“Hi, yourself,” he said, walking over and kissing her on the lips. “Yeah, busy day.” He sat down on the sofa and started removing his shoes. “You know how it goes on Fridays at a veterinary clinic—everyone wants their animals to be seen before the weekend.”

Savannah walked over and sat down next to Michael. “Yeah, I remember. I’d sometimes see more patients on Friday than I did the whole rest of the week,” she said with a laugh.

He turned toward her and asked, “Do you miss working?”

She thought for a moment and said, “Yes, I do, actually. I miss a lot of things about veterinary work and I miss seeing some of my favorite patients. But I’ve also enjoyed being home preparing for our baby.”

Michael reached over and rested both hands on her protruding belly. “So how are you feeling?”

“Good! Just a little tired. The baby has been playing a game of football in there—or she’s been cheerleading.”

“Been active, huh?” He ran his hands over her baby bump and said. “Hmmm, I guess
it’s nap time. No kicking going on now.” He stood and headed toward the bedroom, shoes in hand.

“What’s for dinner?” Savannah asked, when he returned wearing his flip flops.

He looked confused. “Huh?”

“You said you had dinner handled tonight. What are we having?”

“Oh yes,” he said, his memory aptly jogged. “Homemade veggie pasta and a chopped green salad.”

She frowned. “Oh, Michael, I’m not sure we have the ingredients—Antonio’s garden is pretty sparse this time of year, and…”

He interrupted her. “I’ll manage, don’t you worry.” He thought for a moment and then said, “Sure been enjoying the kale Antonio grows in his winter garden. You come up with some yummy recipes, like the sausage and kale you made the other night.” He smacked his lips. “Really good!”

“Yes, thanks to our dear gardener, we eat pretty healthy around here. Savannah said. She smiled. “I’m glad Auntie let us keep Antonio when she sold us the house.”

“Well, she and Max don’t have much yard to take care of over at their place with so many cat pens everywhere.”

Just then Rags, who had been lying next to Savannah in the chair, stood up on all fours and stretched his long body. Michael said, “Hi Rags; been taking good care of Mommy today?” He walked over and ruffled the fur on the cat’s head, then turned toward the kitchen. “I hear Lexie. Come here, girl,” he crooned as the Afghan-mix dog trotted into the dining room and danced around his feet. Just then, he felt something bump up against the back of his legs. He looked down. “There’s my Walter boy,” he said, raking his fingers through the all-black cat’s thick fur. He addressed Savannah. “Okay, where’s our smallest daughter?”

“Buffy?” Savannah said. “Last I saw the princess, she was sound asleep in her canopy bed.”

Knock-Knock
.

“I’ll get it,” Michael said taking long strides toward the front door. “Hi Maggie,” he greeted. “Come in.”

Savannah turned quickly to see her aunt coming through the front door carrying a large basket. “Hi, Auntie, what brings you…?” She then glanced up at Michael, who was looking rather sheepish. “Oh, I get it. Veggie pasta, chopped green salad…”

“How did you know?” Margaret asked.

“Michael was trying to take the credit for something that I’m guessing Max prepared.”

“Huh?” Margaret asked, cocking her head, her dark brown bobbed hair brushing across one shoulder.

“Never mind,” Michael said. “Here, let me help you with that stuff, Maggie.”

She handed the basket to Michael. “Hi there, Rags,” she said as the lanky grey-and-white cat hopped down off the chair and walked up to her, tail held high. Margaret stroked his large body. He purred. She started to address Savannah when Lexie trotted up to her and jumped up with her front paws. Margaret rubbed and scratched both sides of the dog’s neck. “I don’t think you’re allowed to jump up on people, girl,” she said as she eased the dog down off her.

“No she’s not,” Michael said, returning from the kitchen. “But she just can’t restrain herself when it comes to certain people.” He laughed. “Guess you’re one of them.”

Margaret turned quickly toward her niece and asked sharply, “You aren’t cleaning litter boxes are you?”

Michael took on a serious stance. “No she’s not,” he said emphatically.

“Oh good.
I heard today it’s not safe for a preggo lady to be digging around in that stuff.” Her frown turned into a smile. “How are you feeling, hon?” she asked, reaching out and patting Savannah’s round tummy.

“Pretty good, actually.
Can’t wait to meet our new Ivey,” Savannah said, placing her hands on each side of her belly. We’re down to counting weeks now, you know.”

“Yeah, how many?”
Margaret asked.

“Eight and a half to go,” Savannah
said, her smile widening. Then she dropped her head and stared down at her baby bump. “Only I’m quite ready now. This balloon belly is getting old.”

“I think you’re cute,” Michael said. “I wouldn’t care if you always looked like that.”

“What? Are you out of your mind?” Savannah snapped.

“Barefoot and pregnant, is that the attitude, Michael?” Margaret chimed with a chuckle.

He put both hands in the air in his defense. “No, no, no. That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying, I think this is a good look for Savannah.”

Savannah scowled.

Margaret laughed.

“Okay, change of subject,” Michael said. He took a deep breath and lowered his eyes. In a serious tone, he said, “Did you ladies hear that
Colbi Stanton is missing?”

“What?” they said in unison.

“Iris stopped by for Willie’s rabies vaccine late this afternoon. She said that no one can find her—she has vanished.”

Savannah gasped and sat down on the edge of the ottoman. “Michael, are you sure?”

“That’s what Iris told me. There’s the possibility that she’s been kidnapped.”

Savannah brought her hands up to her face and stared in disbelief at Michael. “Who would want to harm that sweet girl?”

“Well Vannie,” Margaret said, “she does write some pretty controversial articles for the newspaper.” She cocked her head and gave Michael and Savannah a knowing look. “There have gotta be people out there who want to see her gagged.”

“That’s mean, Auntie. Yeah, she can be spunky, but I can’t imagine someone wanting to hurt her.”

“Naïve…that’s what you are, naïve,” Margaret insisted. “I think she’s a doll, too. I wouldn’t want to see her harmed. But just look at some of the articles she has written.”

“What articles?” Michael asked. “I’ve only read her pet column.”

“Oh, I guess you didn’t know; I thought everyone knew. She also does exposé pieces under a pseudonym—Carrie Stanford.” You know she wrote about the council member in Haley who was taking bribes, and remember the story about the doctor at that sleazy clinic in Straley who was accused of dispensing pills to kids and those policemen they found to be corrupt—where was that?”

“Oh yes, that little town west of Sacramento.” Michael remembered.

“She’s Carrie Stanford?” Savannah asked. “Oh my, she does take liberties in some of her stories, doesn’t she?”

“I didn’t know that was her,” Michael said. “But Carrie Stanford or
Colbi Stanton, she is missing. Oh, and Craig’s on the case. If there is a case.” He hesitated and then said, “I guess there is until they find her.”

“Well, let’s hope she just went out of town without telling anyone,” Savannah offered, “or her car broke down someplace and she’s waiting it out in a warm cozy restaurant, or…”

“Yeah, let’s hope she’s okay,” Margaret agreed. “I’ll say a prayer at church. Are you two going Sunday?”

Savannah glanced up at Michael as he made eye contact and they both nodded. “Yeah, we’ll be there, Auntie,” Savannah said. “I think Brianna and Mom will join us. Hey, did you know they were coming?”

Margaret’s face lit up. “They are?” She scowled. “Why didn’t they tell me they were coming?”

“They just decided a couple of days ago,” Savannah said. “Brianna’s taking that job over in
Straley at old Dr. Winfield’s geriatric practice and Mom’s coming to help her find an apartment.”

“Imagine, my niece the doctor,” Margaret said, looking off into space.

“So that’s why Bud was eager to take some time off this weekend, huh?” Michael noted. “He sure has cow-eyes for your sister.” He laughed.