Patricia Fry - Klepto Cat 04 - Undercover Cat (2 page)

“Sure,” she said, shoving the ticket toward him and setting her purse down on the table.

She slid into her over-sized jacket, picked up her purse, and headed for the door when Damon called out, “Hey wait. Let me walk you to your car.”

As tired as she was,
Colbi was eager to get home and flesh out a piece the publisher was expecting for the weekend edition of the paper. She gritted her teeth
. However, that little rant I unloaded on Damon has got my adrenalin flowing.
She couldn’t help but smile as she recalled the shocked look on his face when she lit into him.
Well, he had it coming. Someone’s got to educate him about our furred and feathered friends. I guess he just didn’t have occasion to get to know any pets as a youngster. He was too busy doing the wrong thing. Maybe, just maybe, I can help him realize that all animals are cool—not just Rags.
She pursed her lips.
If not, there may not be a connection for us and that would be too bad. There’s a lot about Damon I really like.

“Your mom is sure attractive,”
Colbi said as they walked together toward the parking lot. She looked up at him. “How tall is she, anyway?”

“Five-ten, unless she’s wearing those platform shoes she likes.” He shook his head. “I got the short genes from my dad.”

“You’re taller than me,” she said with a chuckle.

“A mosquito is taller than you,” he said. “What are you, five-two?”

Colbi stood tall. “Five-four with my shoes on.” She stopped and looked over at Damon, “You must be, what…five-eight?”

“Bingo,” he said. “Good guess.”

“Naw, my dad was five-eight.” She looked over at Damon and added, “Only he was stout.” She slumped while saying, “Gads, I hope I didn’t get his stout genes.”

Damon looked at her.
“Doesn’t look like that’s going to happen anytime soon.” He then glanced up in the direction they were walking. “Driving the truck tonight, huh?”

She opened the door using her key, saying, “Yeah, I should have thought that decision through more carefully. The heater in this thing is junk.” She reached across the driver’s seat and plunked her purse down next to a tote bag holding a laptop and several thick files.

Colbi turned back toward Damon and he reached out and clutched the front of her bulky jacket with both hands, looked down into her face and said, “Well, this thing ought to keep you warm. Where did you get this, anyway, from a Sumo wrestler?”

“It was Dad’s,” she said. “I grabbed it by mistake this morning. She looked down at the wads of cloth he held in his hands and said, “See what I mean about the stout genes?”

“Yeah, you are just a skinny minnow in that thing,” he said, dropping his hands and stepping back a pace.

She scowled up at him.
“Skinny minnow?” She shook her head, then wrapped the jacket around her and climbed into the cab of the truck. “Night, Damon. Thanks for the coffee and fries.”

“Sure,” he said as he closed the truck door. He pulled the collar up on his jacket, put his hands in his pockets, and walked toward his own car.

As Colbi pulled away from the curb, her thoughts flashed back to her current project.
It was the last in her series on kitten mills and cat hoarders. Her boss Sterling Boggs was particularly interested in this column because she promised to expose some of the worst of the worst in the state. She hadn’t even turned over the information she’d gathered to the sheriff’s office yet, but she would before the story broke.
These people must be shut down,
she thought as she drove the five miles toward her parents’ home, now her house…all six slightly run-down rooms.

As
Colbi turned onto the dirt road leading to her house, she took a deep breath. Finally, the cab of the old pickup was beginning to warm up. She shuddered under her heavy jacket.
The truck heater is just one of the things I need to get fixed around here. But finding the time for things like that seems to be harder since I went on the paper full time and got involved with the Cat Alliance. Sure do enjoy the group. It has done me good to get out and meet people. I was so isolated when I was taking care of Dad out here at the place. I miss him terribly, but I do enjoy having a life outside of giving sponge baths, administering medications, and preparing meals.

What’s that?
she wondered as she pulled into the long driveway toward the two-story, wood-frame house. She looked in the rearview mirror.
Hmmm, guess it was nothing. Thought I saw a flash of light behind me.
She continued driving toward the house and parked next to her own car.
Darn, should have turned the porch light on.
She smiled.
Didn’t know I’d be having a late coffee date and debate with Damon.
She turned off the ignition and pulled out the key. She then reached over to pick up her purse and the tote bag containing the material she’d gathered for her story. She had everything in her grasp as she awkwardly turned the door handle and climbed down out of the truck.

She walked toward the porch, but before she could reach the steps, she became aware that she wasn’t alone. She started to turn toward the sound she heard coming from her left when she felt someone grab her. The tote bag flew from her arms as she struggled to get free, but her assailant was much larger than she was and he easily overtook her by brute strength. Not one to give up easily, she continued to fight, kicking at the legs behind her, wriggling to get free of the grip, and screaming as loudly as she could. Suddenly she felt a damp cloth cover her mouth and nose. There was a pungent smell and then blackness. She wasn’t aware of anything until she woke up in the dark, dank room in what appeared to be a basement.

“Jackson, sorry to call you so early, but I’m trying to get in touch with Stanton. Do you know where she is? She’s not answering her phone.”

“Uh, hi boss. What time is it?”

“After eight.”

“In the morning?”
Damon raised off his pillow and looked at the clock next to his twin bed.

“Yeah,” Sterling Boggs responded. “Did you work late again last night?”

“Yes. And I know that Colbi was on a deadline with you. What happened? Didn’t she meet it? That’s not like her.”

“No it’s not. Do you know where she lives? Do you think you could find out what’s going on? I need that story.”

“Uh, sure, boss. I know where she lives. I’ll go out there and check on things. She may have just fallen asleep before getting the story to you.”

Damon recalled being out at
Colbi’s place twice before—once when he picked her up for a special meeting at the newspaper office on a weekend, and another time he gave her a ride home from work when her car broke down.

“Jackson, before you go…if she doesn’t have the story, do you have something we can run in its place? I’m desperate here.”

“I guess…yeah… I think I can put something together for you. But I’m sure Colbi is working on her story. Don’t jump to conclusions yet. I’ll call you in a few.”

“
Mornin’, Son,” Iris said when she saw Damon step into the kitchen dressed in jeans and a tan long-sleeved tee. “Coffee?” she asked.

“Yes, to go, if you don’t mind,” he said, tossing the jacket he was carrying across a chair.

She stared at the young man before her.

“What?” he questioned suspiciously.

“Oh nothing,” she said, reaching out to briefly touch his curly red hair. “I’m just happy to have you back.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, giving her the crooked smile she had yearned for years to see again.
“Me, too.”

She cocked her head and said, “I’m proud of you, you know.”

“Sure, Mom. That’s a mother’s job—to be proud of her kids.” Ready to change the subject of his life as a druggie and his incarceration, he said, “You must work this morning, huh?”

“Yeah, I get the lunch shift.” She faced the kitchen counter and reached for a travel mug, pouring it full of coffee. “Where are you off to so early?
A hot story?”

“I hope not—Boggs is sending me out to check on
Colbi.”

Iris spun toward Damon, her brows creased, a red ringlet brushing alongside one cheek.
“Colbi, why? What’s happened?” Iris asked hesitantly.

“Well, nothing, I’m sure. She didn’t get a story in when the boss thought she should and he can’t reach her, so he wants me to find out why—rattle her cage.”

“Oh dear—I hope she’s okay,” Iris said, pressing the lid onto the mug.

“I’m sure she is—she probably just fell asleep.” He grinned. “Boy, wait until I razz her about that.” He slipped on his jacket, walked through the living room with the travel mug, and opened the door to leave. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll see you later,” he called out as he closed the door behind him.

“Yeah, she’s just sleeping in,” Damon said to himself as he pulled up to the old Stanton place.
Both her cars are here. It’ll be fun waking her up. She’ll be freaked that she didn’t make deadline. And I’ll get to see what she looks like first thing in the morning…I imagine as pretty as she does during the day at work.
He chuckled to himself as he thought about how hard he had to concentrate on not concentrating on her at work, lest he become distracted.
She is one good-lookin’ gal with that cute figure, those gorgeous eyes, and that lush, long hair.
How many times he had longed to run his hands through her hair.
Someday, maybe, someday. Yeah, I know she’s a little older than me, but I guess we can’t help who we’re attracted to.

That’s odd,
he thought.
Looks like one of Colbi’s shoes—the clogs she wore yesterday. I can never understand how she keeps those things on and why she wears them when she’s going to be on her feet all day. They look uncomfortable to me.
He got out of his car and walked over to where the shoe lay just to the left of the porch. He picked it up.
Why would she take her shoes off on such a chilly night before going in? And if she did, where’s the other shoe?

He looked around and didn’t see the mate.
I guess a varmint could have made off with it—this is kind of wild country out here.
He recalled Colbi talking about seeing all kinds of wildlife out there—raccoons, possums, and such.

What’s this?
Damon wondered. He walked toward a puddle and retrieved a piece of paper.
Guess it rained some last night,
he thought. He turned the paper over and read, “Cat Hoarders—a Hindrance or a Help?”
Hmmm, is this from the big story she was working on? What’s it doing out here?
He looked around the area again. Finding nothing else, he walked boldly up the porch steps, placed the items on an old wooden chair and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he used the horseshoe knocker, striking it several times. He opened the screen door and knocked again.

Just then, he spotted something out the corner of his eye. He glanced quickly, just in time to see a cat disappear under the porch.
Oh yeah, she feeds a bunch of cats out here. Scraggly beasts!
He turned back toward the door and knocked again and again.

He walked along the porch to a window and attempted to peer in. All he could see was a small slice of the room. No movement.
Nothing seemingly out of place.

“Mew.”

Damon looked toward the sound. There, just at the edge of the porch, were two round green eyes staring at him. “What do you want me to do? I’m doing my best to find her.” He shook his head.
What the hell is the matter with me? I’m talking to a stupid cat.
He glanced in the cat’s direction.
That’s a small cat—maybe a kitten. And it’s still staring.
“I wish you’d stop that,” he said as he turned to walk toward the back of the house.

It’s strange that she’s not responding, but I guess she could be in an upstairs bedroom and doesn’t hear the knocking. “
Colbi!” he called. Nothing.

He walked back up the front porch steps and tried the doorknob.
Locked. Beginning to feel a bit panicked, Damon took out his cell phone and called her number. It went to voicemail. He left a message. He then walked down the steps to the driveway and called Sterling Boggs. He paced as he spoke. “Hey Boss, I’m out here at Colbi’s house and I can’t find her. Her cars are here—both of them. But I can’t raise her.” Something caught Damon’s eye. He stopped pacing…hesitated and then said into the phone, “Hey wait a minute—keys. There’s a set of keys on the ground…let me see if one works on the front door.” Shortly, he reported, “I’m inside. Hold on and let me see what I can find.”

“
Colbi!” he called out loudly. When there was no response, he walked through the ground floor calling and then took the stairs two at a time and checked all of the bedrooms and the bathroom. “That’s odd,” he said into the phone. “She’s not here. Her cars are here and I found one shoe outside.”

“What about her purse—her laptop, are they there?”

Damon looked around in what he thought was probably her bedroom. He then walked back downstairs, stood in the middle of a small dining room, and glanced in every direction—into the small kitchen and the living room. “I don’t see any of that stuff.” His eyes wandered over to a coat tree and he added, “…or the jacket she wore last night.” Damon felt as if he would explode. His voice quivered a little as he said, “Boss, something’s wrong. I’m sure of it. I’m going to call Craig Sledge.”

“Okay, whatever you think—you don’t suppose she just went for a walk, do you?”

He frowned, contemplating the question. “I kinda doubt it—I think something has happened to her. Boss, I’m worried. Let me get Detective Sledge out here and I’ll call you later.”

Before Damon could end the call, he heard Boggs say, “About your backup story, Jackson…”

He hesitated before responding. “Yes, I’ll get something to you before noon. You can count on it.”

Twenty minutes later, Damon greeted the detective—the man who was at least partially responsible for Damon’s successful reentry into society. It wasn’t clear why Craig had chosen to mentor the young man while he was in prison—perhaps because he was sweet on Iris, he saw promise in Damon, or he wanted to make up for losing his own son to drugs, but both mother and son were extremely grateful. “Thanks for coming out, Craig,” Damon said while rubbing one hand over his head.

“Sure, buddy. Now what do you think is going on?”

“Man, I don’t know. It’s as if
Colbi has just disappeared. I had coffee with her last night. She was coming home to finish a piece for the paper on deadline. But it doesn’t look like she even went inside.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. “I found these out here on the ground. The door was locked.”

“So you went in using these keys?”

“Yes, I had to make sure she wasn’t hurt or…” Damon looked down and shook his head. “Where the hell is she?” he asked, not expecting an answer.

“Try to stay calm, Damon. We’ll figure this out. Generally, as you may know, we don’t investigate a missing-person report until they’ve been gone for a period of time, unless there’s evidence of foul play.” He looked at Damon as if waiting for a response.

“Heck, I don’t know what evidence you need, Craig. But what girl would take off her shoes on a cold, rainy night before stepping up on the porch?”

“What shoe?” Craig asked.

“I found one of the shoes she wore last night right there where you’re standing,” Damon explained.

“Maybe she took them off on the porch and left them there because they were muddy. A stray dog or maybe a wild animal might have found them interesting and knocked them around.”

Damon frowned and rubbed his chin.

“Just playing devil’s advocate, kid.
It’s sometimes useful in a situation like this.” The detective stood in place and looked around at the scene before him, taking in the automobiles and considering the placement of the lone shoe. “Where did you find the keys?” he asked absently.

Damon pointed. “About here—halfway between the truck and the house.” Then he remembered something else. He walked over to the porch and picked up the piece of muddy, water-logged paper. He held it up. “I found this over there in that puddle.”

When Craig scratched his head and looked puzzled, Damon said, “I imagine it’s a page from some of the research she’s been doing for a story that was due this morning.” He looked at the page again and said, “I think she’s been investigating something to do with cat abuse.”

“You don’t know?” Craig asked, taking the paper from him. “She didn’t tell you when you were together last night?”

“Naw, we sometimes have this friendly rivalry thing going on and she wanted to keep it a secret until the story broke.”

Craig studied Damon’s face. He looked down at the paper. “Cat hoarders? Why would anyone hoard cats and why is it worth writing about?”

Damon shook his head. “Well, I’m not exactly sure. She’s been doing a series on cats, abuse, and stuff and this last piece was supposed to be a real eye-opener for a lot of people and maybe cause some other people a lot of trouble, I guess. There are laws against animal abuse, you know.”

“Well sure, but…” Craig started. He then looked pensive for a moment, cocked his head, narrowed his eyes, and walked forward several steps. “What’s this?” he asked bending down for a closer look at something that was barely visible from under one of the shrubs.

Damon walked over to where Craig stood. “Looks like a man’s handkerchief—a muddy handkerchief. Probably was her dad’s. This was his place until he died.”

Craig pulled a plastic bag out of his jacket pocket and, using the point of his pen, scooted the piece of cloth into it. He sealed the bag, took another look at it, and slipped it into his pocket saying, “I’ll hand it over to the lab.”

Damon’s voice raised an octave. “So you think something has happened to her?”

“I didn’t say that, kid. But it won’t hurt to have this checked out—just in case.”

The two men started to leave the home, when Damon remembered something. He walked back over to the porch and looked around the area. “Here kitty,” he said, chuckling a little, thinking he’d never in a million years hear himself say those words. He walked along the side of the house, looking around the yard, behind bushes, up in the trees, and finally he walked back over to the porch and peered underneath. He saw a variety of bowls; some of them still held a smattering of cat kibbles. There were two nearly empty water bowls. He found a hose and filled the water bowls. Then he leaned down as far as he could without his knees resting on the damp, rain-soaked ground and spotted eyes—several pairs of little round eyes—staring out at him. “Okay guys, if she doesn’t come back pretty soon, I’ll bring you all something to eat.”
Stupid cats. Why am I talking to stupid cats?
he thought.
They don’t understand what I’m saying. But they’re Colbi’s cats and I know she likes them, so I will take care of them for her.