The Cats that Stole a Million (The Cats that . . . Cozy Mystery Book 7)
Read The Cats that Stole a Million (The Cats that . . . Cozy Mystery Book 7) Online
Authors: Karen Anne Golden
The Cats That Stole a Million
Karen Anne Golden
Copyright
This book or eBook is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, persons or cats, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Vicki Braun
Book cover concept by Karen Anne Golden
Book cover design by philipsinc, Fiverr.com
Copyright © 2016 Karen Anne Golden
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1523632367
ISBN-10: 1523632364
Dedication
To
My Sister Linda
Table of Contents
Mid-February
It was getting dark. Katherine paced the floor in front of the pink mansion’s parlor window. Scout and Abra, two seal-point Siamese sisters, were sitting on the windowsill, watching the snow fall.
Moving over to the cats, Katherine petted their backs. “When is this snow ever going to stop?”
“Raw,” Abra cried in a sweet voice. She nuzzled her head against Katherine’s arm.
Looking out the window, Scout suddenly began to growl; Abra did the same. They stood up on their hind legs and dangled their front paws, doing their meerkat pose. Scout began wildly sniffing the air.
“What’s wrong?” Katherine asked.
Scout cried a mournful “waugh.” It sounded like a warning.
Staring out the window, Katherine saw a figure slide and stumble on the sidewalk. It fell down and then slowly got back up.
“Why on earth is someone taking a walk in this weather?” she asked out loud. “Cats, I’ve got to go outside and see if this person needs help.”
Scout leaped down from the sill and threw herself against Katherine.
“Scout, what’s the matter with you? I have to do this. I’ll only be gone a minute.”
“Na-waugh,” Scout pleaded.
“Take Abra and go upstairs.”
“Rawww,” Abra cried in a plaintive wail.
Katherine gently pushed Scout aside. She ran to the front door and opened it. A woman fell in and collapsed on the floor. Blood was flowing from underneath her coat.
“Oh, you poor thing. What happened to you?”
“Shot,” the woman gasped. “Shut . . . ”
Katherine closed the door and locked it. She grabbed her cell and punched in 911. “This is Katherine Cokenberger. Send an ambulance to my house. A woman has been shot.”
Ending the call, she stooped down and spoke softly to the prone woman. “Who did this to you?”
The woman struggled to breathe, and whispered something.
“What did you say?”
“Run. Get out of the house.”
Early February
Five months after the explosion of a water heater damaged the pink mansion, twenty-eight-year-old millionaire, Katherine Kendall Cokenberger — AKA Katz — and her new husband, Jake, moved their family of seven cats back into their beloved home. During the five-month restoration, the family lived in a red brick bungalow built in 1912. Katherine had bought the bungalow as a guest house. At the time, she didn’t know how handy a second home would prove to be.
After the explosion, Katherine was reluctant to move from the mansion, but the fire inspector said it wasn’t safe to live there. He wisely suggested several reasons that Jake, the cats, and she live elsewhere while the mansion was being repaired: Dust, noise, and the constant in-and-out of several construction workers.
Katherine kept a careful eye on the renovations, especially her basement-level classroom. She taught a free computer course to select townspeople to help them get better-paying jobs. Handyman Cokey, Jake’s uncle, was in charge of the window replacement on the back side of the house and the installation of new appliances in the basement. A state-of-the art water heater was installed to replace the one Cokey had blown up when he left flammable rags in the vicinity of its pilot light. Because he felt responsible for what happened and counted his lucky stars that no one was killed in the blast, he provided his services free-of-charge. Cokey’s wife, Margie, a pro at restoring older homes, removed damaged wallpaper and lovingly re-papered several rooms in the classic Victorian style, using hand-printed papers made by a company based in San Francisco — the great city of “painted lady” Victorian homes.
Jake’s and Katherine’s first night back in the mansion was a difficult ordeal. The cats didn’t want to settle down. Katherine thought that by midnight, they would tire of chasing each other up and down the stairs or playing with their fake mice toys. The couple found it impossible to fall asleep because the hyperactive cats kept waking them up. When Jake called “time out” and locked the cats in their playroom, the cats pitched a royal conniption fit — shrieking at the top of their lungs, throwing themselves against the closed door, or pretending to fight, which brought the concerned humans to check whether they were dead or alive. From the sounds of the fake battles, it would be easy for a non-cat person to assume the worst.
Earlier, Katherine and Jake had chosen to stay in the guest bedroom. The newly purchased furniture for their new master bedroom, in the front of the house, hadn’t arrived, so the couple slept in the bedroom with the massive Victorian renaissance-revival furniture. Jake referred to it as the chunky monkey suite. The tall headboard was the perfect perch for Lilac and Abby, who were not content to stay put, and took turns climbing up, and then leaping off, sometimes using Jake or Katherine as a springboard to the floor below. The new kitten Crowie didn’t want to be away from his furry friends, so he attempted to climb the headboard, but was thwarted by the fact that it would only comfortably seat two cats, not three.
Scout and Abra prowled the house, doing their reconnaissance mission, loudly vocalizing their Siamese reports so they could be heard by members of the house, and probably by the neighboring households, as well. They’d start on the first floor, then work their way up to Jake’s and Katherine’s room, where they’d wail their findings, then start all over again.
Shutting the door to the masked duo and keeping it closed was impossible, because just as the couple dozed off, Scout and Abra would take turns pawing at the door, jumping up to hit the door knob, and then worked as a team to open the door. Scout would clutch the knob while Abra pulled the door open. The former magician’s show cats were highly skilled at opening doors, even locked ones.
The only cats oblivious to the noisy torment was the adorable blue-eyed Iris, affectionately known as Miss Siam, and her soulmate, kitten Dewey, who had the meow of an opera baritone. They curled up at the foot of the bed, and hissed at any cat that woke them up.
Half-asleep, and imagining a giant anaconda was choking her, Katherine woke up to a warm, breathing creature draped across her neck. “Scout, I can’t breathe,” she complained to the Siamese, who had finally exhausted herself by collapsing in bed.
“Waugh,” Scout protested, not moving.
Jake rolled over and said sleepily, “Scout, you’re strangling your mama.”
Scout reluctantly moved to Abra and began washing Abra’s pointed ears. Abra crossed her eyes dreamily.
Abby, Lilac, and Crowie were underneath the blankets, burrowed to the bottom of the bed, while Iris and Dewey were wrapped together in a breathing fur ball on Katherine’s side.
“Mao,” Dewey bellowed in his booming Siamese voice. Iris bopped him on the head with her paw to quiet the kitten.
Katherine giggled.
“What’s so funny, Sweet Pea?” Jake asked lovingly.
“Oh, sleeping on this antique bed with the nine of us, counting the cats, vying for a position on a full-size mattress . . . I was just thinking how happy I am.”
“I’m looking forward to the new king-size mattress. Then there’ll be plenty of room,” Jake said, yawning.
Katherine squeezed his arm affectionately. “I’m so tired. Maybe we should stay in bed all day. It’s so warm and toasty here. It’s freezing in this house.”
“That’s because it’s freezing outside. When you get dressed, you’ll feel warmer if you bundle up in layers, because today is the day we make snow angels.”
“What’s a snow angel?” Katherine asked, baffled.
“It’s a Cokenberger family tradition. Right after a big snow, before anyone has stomped around and messed it up, you go outside and lie down . . . ”
“Lie down? In the snow? Are you crazy?”
“You bundle up first,” he explained in a matter-of-fact tone. “You find an undisturbed place, and lie down with your arms and legs outstretched. Then you sweep your arms and legs back and forth, creating a depression in the snow. When you’re done, the snow angel appears.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. My family in Brooklyn didn’t have this tradition.”
“That’s because in your neck of the woods there’s cement all around and it would be hard to find a spot for the angel.”
“Not necessarily. There are parts of Brooklyn that aren’t under concrete.”
“We’ve got to make our angels before the snow flies,” Jake continued.
“Before the snow flies? I think it’s already flown. There’s at least a foot of snow out there.”
“Flown or not, according to the Guinness World Records, North Dakota holds the world record for the most snow angels made in one particular place — a whopping 8,000-something.”
“How about we not beat North Dakota’s record and stay in bed.”
Jake ignored the comment. “Hey, wouldn’t it be fun if Daryl and Colleen could join us?”
“Join us where?”
“At Chester’s Snow Angel Farm.”
“Where is that?”
“A few miles from here.”
Katherine laughed out loud. “Colleen hates the cold. I couldn’t imagine her making a snow angel. Besides, Daryl is probably very busy with his deputy duties.”
“Okay, maybe it’s a Jake and Katz event. Oh, by the way, Chester’s daughter operates a hot chocolate bar.”
“Hot chocolate?” Katherine said, perking up to the idea of a cup of her favorite winter beverage.
“Yes, her specialty is peppermint loaded with marshmallows.”
“You’re killing me,” she said in a teasing voice.
“Since I’ve solved our problem of what to do on this official university snow day, I’m off to find another blanket for the bed. Where’s the feather comforter my parents gave us for a wedding present?”
Before she could answer, Abby tunneled up from the covers until her head peeked out, “Chirp,” she cried. She reached out and patted Katherine with her paw.
“Try the bottom drawer in the oak dresser in the guest room,” Katherine called after him, then whispered to Abigail — the Abyssinian with a propensity to eat wool, polyester, and goose feathers. “I think your secret is no longer safe.”
The nonplussed feline blinked her golden eyes and ran her tongue over her lips.
“You didn’t just do that,” Katherine said with a twinkle in her eye.
Jake returned to the room and spread the blanket on the bed. His voice rose with shock. “What is that?” he said, pointing to a gaping hole the size of a Frisbee in the middle of the comforter.
“What do you mean?” Katherine asked innocently.
“Chirp,” Abby cried, gazing up at Jake with love in her eyes.
“I know we don’t have moths,” Jake said, amused, picking up Abby, who collapsed in his arms. He turned her on her back and ran his hand over her stomach. She purred loudly.
“What are we going to tell your Mom and Dad?”
“They’re not coming back from Florida until spring, so I think we’ll come up with something by then.”
Jake climbed back in bed and put his cold feet on Katherine’s leg.
“Stop it!” she said, half-serious, half-laughing. “Your feet are glacial!”
“Katz, I’ve got it figured out this way. The mansion is over a hundred-years-old. It’s not insulated. The windows are single-pane, and the house is about as energy efficient as a tent in the artic.”
“But, Jake,” Katherine said, concerned, turning toward him. “We could have stayed at the bungalow. At least it was warm.”
“I don’t know about you, but I felt . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence.
“Felt what?” Katherine coaxed.
“It wouldn’t be cool to not move back when so many people fixed up the mansion to the way she was before your friend, Jacky —”
“Oh, here we go,” Katherine complained.
“Let me finish. Before Jacky decided to come late to our wedding, drunker than a skunk, and then have a smoke, which blew up the water heater!”
“Ma-waugh,” Scout agreed.
“Jake, you’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“Nope,” he said, then added, “A house of this age shouldn’t be left vacant in the winter.”
“That’s what you keep telling me,” Katherine said, starting to get up.
Jake gently pulled her back. “What’s the hurry, Mrs. Cokenberger?”
“Suddenly, I’m starving. I can fix us a three-cheese omelet.”
“That’s one of the reasons why I married you,” Jake chuckled.
“You are really full of it this morning. You know I can’t cook.”
“Yowl,” Iris agreed. The other cats responded likewise. Lilac burrowed out from underneath the blankets, and stood on Jake’s chest. “Me-yowl,” Lilac shrieked. Abby chirped in a low tone.
“Oops, I guess I should have spelled it out.”
“Cats don’t eat omelets . . . or do they?”
“They do if they have t-u-n-a,” she spelled, “in them.”
“Okay, last one out of bed gets to shovel the front walk.”
As if on cue, the cats soared off the bed, and thundered down the hall. Racing down the stairs, Scout cried up to the humans who were slowly taking their time getting out of bed. “Waugh,” she demanded, which sounded like, “Feed me. I’m starving to death.”
* * *
After the cats had been fed, and Jake had finished his fourth cup of coffee, he reached across the table for Katherine’s hand. “I have a great idea where my new office will be.”
Katherine looked at him curiously. “It’s in the basement. Are you not happy down there?”
Jake gave a curious look. “Actually, Katz, I’m not a superstitious kind of guy, but since the judge died there, I can’t get past it. I can’t concentrate. The place gives me the creeps.”
“I had no idea. Why don’t you make one of the bedrooms upstairs into your office?”
“That’s exactly what I want to do, but it won’t be in one of the bedrooms.”
“Where’s it going to be?”
“In the attic.”
Katherine spit out her coffee. “The attic?” she asked incredulously. “Jake, it’s an architectural nightmare up there. It would involve major remodeling. Besides, it’s full of bats.”
“Seeing one bat every year doesn’t qualify as being full of bats.”
“But it doesn’t have interior walls or a ceiling. The floorboards need work.”
“Uncle Cokey and I’ll sand the floorboards, and then stain them.”
“No way! Cokey and flammable stain are not allowed in this house.”
“Understood. Now, if you’re finished eating, come with me to your office. I have some sketches of the floorplan to show you.”
Katherine smiled and looked at him adoringly. She loved him. She’d give him the moon if she could.
