Patricia Fry - Klepto Cat 05 - The Colony Cat Caper (4 page)

“Have you seen him yet?”

“Yes, and I didn’t get anything out of him. At least I have an idea of what his current situation is. Oh, and I saw pictures of him when he was younger—someone had put a photo album in his room—maybe to help him remember. But it was useful to me—for my story.”

“So where is he, Damon?”

“Let me look it up here—it’s…Garden something. Oh here it is, Garden Terrace Nursing Home. Nice place. The address is…are you ready?”

“Just a minute—Savannah, can you take this down?”
“Um, sure,” she said, retrieving the pad and pencil.

Colbi said into the phone, “Yes, shoot.”

“Nine-nine-two-three Elm Avenue in Straley—off the Main drag, just past the big feed store.”

Colbi repeate
d, “Nine-nine-two-three Elm Avenue. I’m sure Maggie knows where it is. Thanks, Damon. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Be careful. Oh,” he said, “you might be interested in knowing this—he likes cats.”

“He likes cats?” Colbi repeated, glancing over at Margaret with a look of delight on her face.

“Yeah, there was one in his room—can you believe it?” Damon said. “…a cat living in a nursing home. And some of the photos showed him pictured with cats.”

Chapter Three

The three women walked into the Garden Terrace N
ursing Home around one-fifteen that afternoon, after stopping for salads at a café along the way. “Hello,” Margaret said to the first person she saw who looked like she might work at the establishment, “we’d like to see Mr. Fischer.”

The heavyset woman dr
essed in dark-blue scrubs swiped at her bangs and looked around as if sizing up the three women. “Well, he don’t usually take visitors,” she said in broken English. “Does he know you?”

“Not yet,” Margaret said. “We’d like to talk a little business with hi
m.”

The dark-skinned woman winced, raising her eyebrows. “I don’t think he talk business. He’s kind of…” Just then a man wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase walked briskly through the lobby door. The employee looked in his direction. “
Hello Mr. Engleson,” she said with a smile. “Maybe you talk to these ladies here.” She glanced at them and back at the man. “They want see Mr. Fischer.” She turned toward Margaret. “This here is Mr. Fischer’s lawyer, Mr. Engleson.”

“Hello.” Margaret held
out her hand. “I’m Margaret Sheridan from the Hammond Cat Alliance. This is Savannah Ivey and Colbi Stanton. We want to see Mr. Fischer about the cats that have been abandoned on his property in the industrial park in Hammond.”

“Ahhh, Mr. Fischer’s cats,”
the wiry man of about fifty said with a smile. “Yes, he does like his cats. So what about them?” he asked. He looked over at Savannah and suggested, “Shall we sit down? We can chat here in the lobby.”

Once seated, Engleson looked at Margaret. “So what ab
out his cats?” he asked.

“Well, there appears to be a dozen or so stray and abandoned cats living on his property and it doesn’t look as if anyone’s caring for them.” She stared at him for a moment and then said, “A lot of people think cats can fend…”

With a dramatic flair, he threw his head back and looked at the ceiling for a second, saying, “I know. I know. Cats can’t fend for themselves. I’ve heard the lecture from Fischer himself over the years.” He looked at Margaret and Colbi as if he were sharing a secret. “I’m a dog person, myself. But I can certainly understand devotion to an animal—any animal.” He chuckled. “Hey, my son owned a pet rat once. I had to take care of him sometimes when the boy was sick or he fell down on the job.” He grinned. “You know, that thing was quite amusing. I found myself enjoying his company a time or two.” He laughed. “Yeah, I get his…and, I guess you ladies’ affection for cats.” He hesitated and then said, “So what do you propose to do about the cats, may I ask?”

Colbi l
eaned toward the attorney. “Well, we’d like to evaluate the colony…”

“Colony?” he asked, frowning as if confused.

“That’s what you call it when a group of cats find each other and begin communing. That’s a cat colony,” Colbi explained.

“Cats do that?” H
e shook his head in disbelief, and rubbed his two-day’s growth of beard. “So they have a herd instinct—a pack mentality?”

“I don’t think you could say that,” Savannah said, laughing. “But an abandoned cat will sometimes join other cats that are living whe
re there’s a food supply—garbage cans, rodents, managed feeding sites—and become part of a family, you might say. And this is what has happened at the Fischer building.”

“Yeah,” Colbi interjected, “but the cats don’t always get along—they can still be ter
ritorial. Don’t you ladies find that to be true?”

Margaret nodded. “Sometimes the families they create become dysfunctional.” She laughed. “But yes, I think what attracts them is the food rather than companionship,” Margaret said.

“Although sometimes cats will bond in colonies,” Savannah added.

“That’s true,” Margaret agreed.

Colbi nodded.

The attorney stared back and forth at the women for a moment, looked at his watch, and asked, “Well, ladies, what is it you want from me—or, er…Mr. Fischer?”

“Permission,” Margaret said. “Permission to manage the colony of cats that have moved in on his property. Obviously, the security guard doesn’t think we should be there and we don’t want to trespass. But these cats are in desperate need of help and we’d like permission to step on the property for the express purpose of managing this colony.”

“Wait,” Engleson said waving his hands in the air, his sharp features drawn into a scowl, “what security guard?”

“Um,” Margaret started, “the security guard who told us to leave.”

“Now that’s strange.” He thought about it for a moment and then said, “Probably hired by the industrial park. We haven’t had our own guard in many years.” He pursed his lips and looked directly at Margaret. “You ladies don’t plan to cause any trou
ble out there, right?”

The women looked from one to the other and shook their heads.

He grinned toward Savannah. “You won’t give birth out there or anything, will you?”

“Nooooo,” she said feeling rather embarrassed.

He thought for a moment more and then asked, “Who will be going out there? Just you three?”

“Yes.” Margaret nodded. She then said, “We may need the help of a few others from the Alliance or from a veterinarian sometimes. Can’t you put me in charge? I’ll be the responsible party. Can you giv
e us blanket permission for the Cat Alliance? We are a registered non-profit organization.”

“Okay. Let’s see, you three can sign a release, taking full responsibility for anything that might happen to you out there, right?”

Colbi cocked her head. “Happens to us?”

“You know—you get cut on barbed wire, you step in a gopher hole and break your ankle. We don’t want to be liable for anything like that. Understand?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” Colbi said.

The other women nodded.

Margaret spoke up. “Sure, we’ll sign that, if you’ll give us a letter of permission to be on the property in case another security guard comes around asking questions.”

“Yeah, I’ll draw up something on behalf of Mr. Fischer. He’s still the sole owner of the property. Next in line is
his son.”

“And you are his power of attorney, I assume?” Margaret asked.

“That’s right.” He looked at his watch again. “Gotta go. If you’ll give me an e-mail address or a fax machine number, I’ll get the release to you.” He then looked down at his briefcase. “Actually, I think I can prepare something for you now.” He pulled a handful of papers out of his case and examined them. “This one ought to do.” He read the release out loud to the women and asked each of them to sign it. He then said, “I’ll get the permission to you tomorrow sometime. Where shall I send it?” he asked looking around at the women.

“Here’s my card—e-mail/fax, either one works,” Margaret said. She stood and reached out to shake Mr. Engleson’s hand. “Thanks so much.” Margaret couldn’t re
sist. Before walking away, she asked the attorney, “Do you think some of the cats out there used to belong to Mr. Fischer?”

He thought for a moment and then said, “Well, I don’t know. I recall that when he and his wife divorced back in ninety-seven, they
had quite a battle over their cats. Ultimately, they split them down the middle—he got half and she got half.” He grinned. “I never knew how they told those cats apart. They looked identical to me—all white, every last one of them.” He reached down and picked up his briefcase. “I never gave it a thought before—what happened to his cats after the accident. It could be that those living at his showroom were turned loose when the cars were removed. Yeah, they could be wild cats by now, I guess.”

The three wom
en watched as the attorney headed swiftly down a hallway toward the residents’ rooms, then they turned toward the exit. Before leaving the building, Savannah said, “Oh wait. I see a restroom sign. I’ll be right back.”

Margaret looked at Colbi, shook her h
ead, and said, “I think I’d get a catheter and wear a bag…”

Colbi glanced away, ignoring her statement.

“So what do you think is with the security guard that no one seems to acknowledge?” Savannah asked as she climbed into the front seat of Margaret’s car a few minutes later.

“That’s a puzzle,” Colbi said from the backseat.

“Yeah, some kind of imposter, I guess,” Margaret suggested.

“So what’s the story behind this old building, Auntie?” Savannah asked once they were on the highway headed home.

Margaret looked briefly toward the backseat and said, “First, I have a question for Colbi.”

Colbi leaned slightly forward. “Oh, what?”

“When did the ‘love you’ stuff start with Damon?” she asked bluntly.

“Auntie,” Savannah said in a scolding manner.

“What? I didn’t know they were a couple,” she explained.

Savannah twisted in her seat to look at Colbi. “Are you blushing?”

“Yeah, I guess,” she said quietly. No one spoke for a while and then Colbi said, “I don’t know, Maggie; I guess our relationship has just evolved. We’ve enjoyed each other’s company practically ever since Damon hired on at the newspaper office, and then he saved my life.” She paused before continuing. “When he rescued one of my little stray kitties, I mean I really fell in love,” she said laughing. She became more serious. “He’s actually quite a guy.”

Margaret glanced at Colbi through the rearview mirror. “So you think he’s completely off drugs? Do you worry about him sliding back into his old lifestyle?”

“Oh yes, he’s clean—almost pure,” Colbi said. “He rarely even takes a drink. He’s serious about building a useful existence. Says he’s wasted too much time already.” She stared out the car window for a few moments and then said,” No, I am not one bit concerned that he will slip up. Detective Craig Sledge did a masterful job of helping with his rehabilitation while Damon was in prison. He is truly committed to making it.”

“I wonder why Craig took such an interest in him,” Savannah said. “Do you think it was because of Craig’s relationship wi
th Iris…he wanted to help her son out…or did Craig actually see promise in Damon?”

“I’ve wondered that, too,” Margaret admitted. “Probably both.” She glanced at Savannah, “Iris seems happy, doesn’t she? Craig must be good for her.”

“And the fact that Damon is doing so well is probably a factor, too. She had many years of heartbreak over his shenanigans.”

“Now, how old is he?” Margaret asked. “He’s still in his twenties, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he’s a few years younger than I am,” Colbi said. She paused and then said, solemnly, “Guess that makes me a cougar.”

“I think you two are pretty well matched,” Savannah said, craning her neck to look at Colbi. “I don’t consider you a cougar.” She flashed Colbi a sassy look and added, “…unless you want to be.”

“How long have you known him?” Margaret asked.

“Um, about five months. But I can tell you, I’ve never met a man I admire as much as I do Damon…outside of my dad, of course.”

Savannah smiled back at Colbi and then looked over at her aunt, who seemed to be contemplating her next comment. Finally Margaret said quietly, as if talking to herself, “Things sure happen fast these days.”

Margaret drove another few miles in silence and then she took in a breath and said, “Okay, about old man Fischer—uh, I guess he’
s not actually much older than I am—maybe sixty. Everyone refers to him as old because of his condition, I imagine. Well, he and his second or third wife came here with money. He had a thing for old cars—you know, real old—antique. He restored them and then, I guess, just stored them in that building of his. As the attorney said, it was his ‘showroom.’ He had a couple of other things going on out there, too—I mean, he rented the top of the building out. I knew someone who took quilting classes on the second floor, and there was a small manufacturer of t-shirts for a while. There was a dance studio. Tom and I went ballroom dancing there a time or two. But I believe someone also taught ballet and maybe tap. Oh, and I read that a guitar maker had his shop there. Over the years the building served a lot of purposes, but mainly it was Fischer’s garage for his antique cars. He’d open it up to the public for fundraisers a couple of times a year. I guess a lot of people will pay to look at old cars, including my husband Tom and Tom’s grandfather.”

She paused and then said, “You know, now that I think about it, I remember seeing cats wandering around amongst the old cars—white long-haired beauties. I’m pretty sure they were angoras.”

“So what happened to Mr. Fischer?” Savannah asked quietly.

“That was a mystery. Someone found him walking around the industrial park in a daze early one morning. He didn’t know what had happened, but I guess it was obvious he’d been hit on the head. Some speculated he’d been hit by a car
. He never recovered to the point where he could tell anyone.” She was quiet for a moment and then said, “It seems to me they found some sort of tool with blood on it. One school of thought was that it fell from a rafter or something. There was no reason to consider foul play. As far as anyone knew, he wasn’t being targeted.”

“When was that?” Colbi asked.

“Well, let’s see, it was after Tom died and before I met Max,” Margaret said. “So maybe ten years ago.”