Maybe Murder Read online

  Maybe Murder

  Cat

  A Kalico ^ Detective Agency Mystery

  by

  Penny S. Weibly

  To Eileen and Deb who were my first gentle readers and are my dear friends. Thank you also to Roshan and Ryan for their feedback and encouragement. You are the daughters of my heart. Also to Zoe and Riley, my good dogs, who inspire me daily to live in the present and to discover joy in small things.

  Chapter One

  Benjamin Kalico grabbed his car keys, bolted out of his office, down three flights of concrete stairs, and ran across a side street to his car. In thirty seconds he had maneuvered his ten-year-old silver Honda Civic into the busy Austin traffic.

  “Talk to me, M’s,” he said to his assistant, placing his iPhone into a hands-free holder.

  “Tweets report a sighting of Sunny Bono at Live Oak and Alameda. That’s Stacy Park.”

  “Right.” He merged onto Congress Avenue heading south. If he timed the lights right, he would be at Stacy Park in six minutes. “What’s his profile?”

  “Sunny Bono is an eight-year-old, long-haired orange tabby with golden eyes. White chest. Distinguishing mark: white left paw. Not declawed. Indoor cat only. Escaped through a sliding glass door left open by a cable repairman. Missing since March 7 at approximately 7 p.m.”

  Kalico zigged into the right lane to pass a sightseeing Subaru, then swerved back into the left lane, just making it through a yellow light at Riverside. “The boy’s probably hungry; he’s been missing nearly forty-eight hours.”

  “Favorite food: Fancy Feast Savory Salmon.”

  Kalico pulled into the left turn lane at Live Oak. He tapped his steering wheel, willing the light to change. “Anything else?”

  “You won’t believe it.”

  “What?”

  “Sunny B has a favorite song. Owner sings it to him often.”

  “Don’t tell me.”

  “Yep. Apparently the cat loves I Got You Babe.” M’s suppressed a chuckle. “Last sighting was in the 1700 block of Alta Vista.”

  Kalico entered the Travis Heights neighborhood, found the correct block, and slowly cruised the length of the street, scanning each yard to his left for a flash of orange. He turned the car around and scanned the opposite side of the street before parking under a tall live oak. No sign of Sunny Bono.

  He rolled down his window, letting a warm March breeze fill the car, and brought up Sunny B’s mug shot from Kalico’s Pet Capture webpage. Deep golden eyes stared out from a tiger-striped face. He was a big guy at approximately twelve pounds. His owner, Miss Cheryl Adams, was pictured holding a petite black cat. Her caption read: “Cher and I miss our Sunny. $300 reward for his safe return.”

  Kalico opened his trunk to reveal neatly stacked plastic bins labeled with various missing pets’ names. He pulled out Sunny B’s bin and transferred a small, blue cat food bowl, a can of Savory Salmon, a feathered cat toy, and a gray sweater covered with orange and white fur into his backpack. He also grabbed a cat carrier, leather jacket, gloves, and a cat catching noose. Although the noose looked ominous, looped at the end of a long, hollow pole, he knew from experience the kind of damage a frightened or angry cat could do to unprotected skin. He absentmindedly rubbed his thumb against a jagged scar on the back of his right hand.

  Alta Vista was quiet. At 10 o’clock in the morning most people were at work, and Travis Heights Elementary was in session. Kalico walked slowly down the shady street, admiring the beautifully restored upscale homes with their deep front porches and groomed front yards. Lavender wisteria covered a tall trellis beside a dark gray and white house. He scanned the shrubs—no Sunny B. Kalico’s nose caught the unmistakable scent of Grape Kool Aid emanating from a mature mountain laurel.

  Five houses down, he caught a flicker of moving orange out of the corner of his eye. Kalico froze. “Here, kitty. Kitty, kitty, kitty,” he called in a high-pitched falsetto. “Come on: show yourself. Let me see a white left (right?) paw. Come here, kitty.”

  Nothing. Perhaps he had imagined the movement. He stood still, slowed his breathing, and stared into the shadows. Yes. Just there, under a dense elaeagnus shrub, an orange tabby stood like a statue, only the flicking tip of its tail indicating its displeasure. Silently, Kalico commanded: “Don’t run!”

  He surveyed the compact blue and white house: shades drawn and no cars in the drive. Good. In slow motion he placed the cat carrier down, edging it partially under a shrub about five feet away from the crouched feline. He set his backpack down and removed the gray sweater, cat dish and Fancy Feast. He placed the sweater in the carrier. “Good kitty-boy,” he crooned. “I bet you’re hungry. Come on, Sunny Bono and get some dinner.” He inched back the lid of the Savory Salmon, emptied it into the cat dish, and pushed it to within two feet of the tense tabby. “Doesn’t that smell wonderful? Come and get it. Come on, Sunny.”

  Kalico stood up and stepped back, holding his breath. The cat was still crouched, ears down, and tail flicking. Obviously it was too scared to come out of hiding. Patience is a detective’s most important tool. Kalico sat down on the warm grass, never letting his gaze waiver from the cat. He thought he perceived a white front paw and certainly the cat had a white chest. It had to be Sunny B. Although the temperature had risen to 82 degrees—unusually warm for March—he donned his leather jacket and gloves. Sweat trickled down his spine.

  Minutes passed. The cat did not relax, but he did not run away. Kalico looked at the houses to left and right to insure that he was alone, then in a rusty tenor he began to sing “I Got You Babe” softly to the shrub.

  As Kalico began the chorus, he heard a distinct meow that mimicked “Babe.” Sonny Bono had emerged half-way from the shrub and seemed to be rocking in time to the song.

  Kalico continued, making up new words to the Sonny and Cher classic as he willed the tabby forward.

  Just a few steps more and I’ll get you home

  Your adventure is over and no more will you roam

  “Mister, what ya doin…?”

  Kalico’s song jerked to a stop, the cat retreated to the deep shadows, and the detective turned to see a little blonde girl in jean shorts, a red tee shirt, and pink flip flops standing beside him. Damn.

  Flushing, Kalico whispered, “Just trying to retrieve a lost cat.”

  “Were you singing to the kitty? I love, love, love kitty cats,” the child squealed. “Where is it?”

  “Shhhhhh. Quiet. We don’t want to scare him. Isn’t that your mommy calling you?”

  “Nah. Mommy sent me to get the mail out of the mailbox because I’m a big girl. Oh! Is that the cat under there?”

  Kalico held out an arm to keep the child from tackling Sunny B. “Listen. If you ask your mother’s permission, I’ll let you help me capture the cat. But you must be quiet.”

  “Okay!” she said in a stage whisper, then ran next door, shouting, “Mommy! Mommy!”

  Kalico returned his attention to Sunny Bono, half expecting the boy to have vanished. To the detective’s surprise, he was still sitting beneath the elaeagnus, eyes fixed on his cat food. He took a step forward.

  “I know you want it, kid. Come get it, Sunny Bono.”

  He began Sunny’s song again softly.

  “Excuse me, but you’re on private property.”

  Kalico swore under his breath as he watched Sunny retreat again. He turned to see a young woman staring at him suspiciously, holding the little blonde girl’s hand.

  “I know. Sorry,” he whispered. “You see, I’m trying to retrieve that cat.” He gestured toward the shrubbery.

  “See the orange kitty, Mommy? He’s lost and needs to get back to his mommy,” the child whispered. “The man said that I could help.”

  “Quiet, Meggie.”
The mother narrowed her eyes looking first at Kalico and then at the frightened tabby. Then, she smiled. “Why you’re that cat detective, aren’t you? It’s great work that you’re doing. I lost my dog, Freckles, when I was ten, and we never found him. I was devastated.” She sighed. “How can we help?”

  Kalico flinched at the woman’s nomenclature. He was, after all, a serious private investigator who for now just happened to find lost pets. He shrugged off his annoyance. Sunny B was still in his place. “Just stand back and be still. If he runs towards you, block him and herd him toward the carrier. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Meggie and her mom said.

  The waiting game began again. Gradually, Sunny’s tail stopped its frenetic dance and his ears pointed forward, nose twitching. He relaxed into the shade and the mulch.

  “Come on, Sunny B. Here kitty.”

  “Here kitty,” Meggie echoed.

  Minutes passed. A garbage truck passed, putting Sunny back on alert. Sweating profusely now, Kalico cleared his throat, looked apologetically at Meggie’s mom, and sang his song again.

  Behind him, a light soprano joined in, singing the harmony. At the chorus, Sunny B joined in. By the time they were through the song once, the cat had emerged from the shadows and was eyeing his cat dish. Kalico could sense Meggie vibrating behind him, and signaled her to keep still as he and her mother kept singing softly to the cat. As they reached the chorus again, Sunny seemed to sigh. He moved to the bowl of food, sighing and purring simultaneously. Meggie squeaked softly.

  Kalico placed his gloved hand on the cat catching pole with its looped noose dangling from the far end. He hated the pole—he knew logically that it would not hurt the animal and that it protected him from teeth and claws—yet it felt cruel.

  Decision time.

  He set the pole back down and removed the glove from his right hand. Humming softly, he approached Sunny Bono and gently placed his bare hand on his back, stroking it gently. Sunny tensed, but did not stop eating. Kalico continued to pet his back and sing. Supper done, the cat turned his golden gaze to Kalico’s face, seemed to like what he saw, and, purring, rubbed his cheek against the detective’s knee. “Okay?” Kalico asked politely. Sunny seemed to nod his acquiescence, so he was lifted into the detective’s arms. Meggie and her mom held the cat carrier up so that Sunny could be placed safely inside.

  “Hurray!” Meggie and her mother cheered and applauded.

  “Nice kitty! I helped,” Meggie shouted.

  “That was amazing. How did you know that he wouldn’t fight or run?” asked Meggie’s mother.

  “I didn’t. It was just a feeling.” Kalico flushed.

  An hour later, Sunny Bono was safely home and in the arms of his delighted owner, Kalico had a check for $300 in his pocket, and was feeling satisfied as he sat behind his desk and dug into a hamburger and fries. People could make fun of his pet retrievals, but at least his work made his clients happy. As an intern, his job had consisted mostly of trailing unfaithful spouses to gather evidence for divorce: a process that broke hearts, leaving behind sadness and bitterness.

  “Send the picture, and I’ll update our pages,” M’s called from the reception area.

  “Will do.”

  In an instant M’s saw a beautiful orange tabby cradled in the arms of a tearfully smiling woman. She posted it on the agency’s webpage and Facebook accounts with the caption: “Sunny and Cher reunited! We got you, Babe. Sunny Bono joyfully returned to his grateful owner, Cheryl Adams.”

  Chapter Two

  As Miss Emelia Winterjoy entered Suite 305, the dilapidated home of The Kalico Detective Agency, her nose was assaulted by the smell of onions, French fries, and mustard. The young woman behind the reception desk did not bother to look up from her iPhone; she just waved her toward the detective’s office.

  Detective? The young man who rose hastily to greet her looked more like one of her recalcitrant high school seniors. Ignoring his extended hand and quelling his greeting with a look, she declared, “My neighbor is a murderer.”

  “Good afternoo…Please, won’t you... What?” Benjamin Kalico’s pulse raced. Murder?

  “Young man, are you hard of hearing? I have come to hire you to solve a murder.”

  “Terrific! Who’s the victim? When did the killing occur? Where? How? Ms….?” Grinning, Kalico grabbed his tablet, prepared to take a statement.

  Miss Winterjoy settled herself onto a cold, metal chair and inspected the Private Detective’s license framed behind the young man. “Miss Winterjoy,” she corrected him. “I should be more specific. The murder has not yet occurred. I want to hire you to prevent it.”

  Kalico’s grin vanished, and his right hand pushed through his shock of red hair that was already standing on end. Damn.

  “I am neither delusional nor wanting attention.” She fixed her blue eyes on his brown ones. “And I am prepared to pay you a retainer as well as cover your expenses—provided they are reasonable.”

  At the word, retainer, his grin reappeared. “All right, Ms., I mean, Miss Winterjoy. Tell me about this perspective murder.”

  “Prospective,” she corrected. “Perspective signals your point of view.”

  Forty-three minutes later, Benjamin Kalico ushered Miss Winterjoy out of his office.

  “Remember, I expect detailed daily reports and an itemized list of expenses.”

  “Yes, Miss Winterjoy. Not to worry. I will get right on the case.” He closed the door behind her and faced his receptionist.

  “Lost tabby?” Melissa Moon, “M’s” to her friends, yawned.

  “Murder.” He watched as her dark brown eyes outlined with black charcoal registered his news. Then he continued. “And look!” He flashed a check for $1000.00 in front of her surprised gaze before waltzing it around the room.

  “Pay day is this Friday,” she reminded him. “Sign it, and I’ll deposit it.” She held out a hand tipped with black nail polish.

  “And you will be paid on time. Did you ever doubt it?” Kalico signed and handed over the check, then two-stepped back into his office, still grinning.

  “But who was murdered…?”

  Kalico stretched his 6’ 2” frame out, placed his feet on top of his desk and gazed at a diagonal crack that ran through his ceiling. So what if the old woman was fanciful, imagining murderers behind each rose bush? At least he was investigating a possible murder and not another lost pet. Since he had recovered Diva, a show quality Persian cat, for its socialite owner three months ago, he’d had nothing but lost pet cases. A video of Kalico handing the beautiful feline over to her equally beautiful owner had gone viral, earning him the media-induced name of the “Cat Detective.” At least business had been steady if not particularly profitable….

  Kalico sat down in front of his computer. Miss Winterjoy suspected that her friend and neighbor, Mrs. Nancy MacLeod was in danger. Several accidents, including a fall downstairs and a fender bender, had convinced Miss Winterjoy that someone was trying to murder her friend. And that someone was none other than Connor MacLeod, the intended victim’s twenty-two year old grandson who had moved in with her just weeks prior to the first accident. Miss Winterjoy seemed to feel that young MacLeod was a villain based on the facts that he had plagiarized his senior English thesis, slouched, and rarely made eye contact.

  First step: background checks. His new client had saved him time—he would not need to do an extensive search for her history.

  “You will want to check my credentials,” she had said, handing him a neatly typed, two-page resume. “My full name is Emelia Rose Winterjoy. I was born on March 16, 1949 in Austin, Texas.” Noting Kalico’s attempt to do the math in his head, she said, “That makes me seventy years old. I earned a bachelor’s degree in Education from the University of Texas as well as a Texas teaching certificate. I began teaching English at Travis High School in 1971, where I remained until I retired in 2015.”

  Glancing down at her resume, he noted that in her long career she had served as Depart
ment Chair for ten years, earned a Masters degree in Victorian literature, and was honored by the Texas Professional English Educators Association.”

  “You are welcome to search that Internet contraption for me,” Miss Winterjoy had said, scowling at his laptop. “You will find no criminal history or…” her blue eyes had glinted with amusement, “stints in a mental hospital––although you may question the sanity of someone who spent her life wrangling teenagers. I live in a house that I inherited from my mother in 1988, enjoy gardening, my book club, and long walks with my dogs.”

  Kalico set her resume aside and Googled her. Not surprisingly, Miss Winterjoy did not engage in social media. She did not have a Facebook or Twitter account, and her email seemed to be lightly used.

  Kalico retrieved the bag of French fries he had stashed in his desk drawer and crammed cold, greasy potatoes into his mouth. Miss Winterjoy was exactly who she appeared to be: a concerned old woman who wanted to protect a friend. She was probably lonely, bored in retirement, so she needed to imagine murder to fill the time. As long as she was willing to pay, he was willing to indulge her fancies.

  A booming voice in the reception area interrupted his thoughts.

  “Hello, M’s, my love. When are you going to give up this glamorous life and get a real job? Is the Cat Detective in?”

  “This is as real as it gets, Officer Carrillo.” Melissa Moon smiled at the burly cop who filled her reception area. “He’s in the office—a big case.”

  “Benjamin, my man, another catnapping? A felonious feline, perhaps? Or have you graduated to the pooch patrol?” Victor Carrillo chuckled and leaned against the office door.

  “Laugh all you want, Victor, but those pets pay the bills.”

  Victor looked at the shabby office. “Not very well. When are you going to give this up and join the force? So what’s the big case you’re working on?”

  “Possible homicide.” Kalico watched his friend’s eyes narrow.

  “Best not to interfere in an ongoing police investigation.”