Maybe Murder Read online

  “Lois, tell me about Stanley’s disappearance. What happened today?” Kalico asked.

  “I went to my dance class at the gym this morning, then did my grocery shopping. I guess I returned home at about noon or a little thereafter. Stanley greeted me at the door as usual and followed me into the kitchen, demanding his afternoon treat. I gave him his Catviar—he has such refined taste—then he went into the living room to nap in the window—or so I assumed.” Her eyes scanned the room as though willing her cat to reappear.

  “When did you notice he was missing?” Kalico prompted.

  “I put my groceries away, then made a turkey sandwich for lunch, poured a glass of tea, came out here, and turned on the television. I began to eat and to watch a sweet Hallmark movie.”

  “I just love those!” Katherine interjected. Her son quelled her with a look. “Sorry,” she said.

  Lois continued. “After a few moments, I felt that something was wrong: Stanley was not perched above my shoulder, begging.” She placed a fist in front of her mouth and her eyes filled with tears. “I panicked. I went from relaxed to full tilt crazy.” Lois described that push of adrenalin as she realized her cat was gone. She’d raced around the house, calling his name. Then she’d seen it: the front door was ajar. Lois shuddered. She’d rushed out of the house barefoot, searched the yard, then ran into the street.

  “That’s when I found her, poor dear,” said Katherine. “We searched the block, and then called you.”

  “I can’t believe I left the door open, but Stanley has never even tried to go outside.”

  “Lois, you’ve given him a wonderful home. He’s a pampered housecat, well fed, and well-loved. He was probably teased outside by a bird or a squirrel, then got scared, and is now hiding somewhere.” Kalico patted her shoulder reassuringly. “I bet he’s close and dying to get home!”

  “I hope you’re right. But what if…?” Her voice trailed off as fear and worry played across her face.

  “No ‘what if’s’,” Lynn and Katherine asserted in unison.

  “Lois, I need a can of Stanley’s favorite wet food, a toy, and his carrier. I’d like you to put food out for him in both the front and backyards, and keep the doors open—in case he finds his way home.”

  Lois gathered the materials Kalico needed quickly, pausing to stroke a fuzzy pink mouse.

  “We’ll text you when we find him. He’s most likely to come if you call him, but you’ll need to stay calm.”

  “I know. I know. But I don’t know what I’ll do if I’ve lost him. He’s my,” she choked on a sob. “He’s my family.”

  “Ben will find him,” Katherine said. “Now, let’s set out that food. We’ll search the house again and the backyard.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Kalico picked up the carrier with the Fancy Feast and the fuzzy mouse, and turned to Lynn. “Let’s go.”

  Kalico paused on the front porch, where old Mr. Douglas was snoring softly. He pictured Stanley cautiously sticking out his nose, crouched low. He imagined the big gray cat, whiskers twitching, rushing at a grackle on the front lawn. Then Stanley would’ve watched the bird fly away. He looked back at the house, but a noise—a car, perhaps—startled him. Instinct told him to hide, so he….

  “Which way?” Lynn stood beside him impatient to begin the search. Kalico moved to the trunk of his car, popped it, and removed a small backpack, two flashlights, a long-sleeved jeans shirt, and a pair of leather gloves. He handed a flashlight to Lynn. She raised an eyebrow questioningly.

  “Stanley is a, shall we say, portly housecat. He is frightened out here in the big wide world and will seek shelter. He may be under a shrub, behind a garbage can, wedged between two fences, up a tree, or even down a curbside drain. We need to search slowly, high and low.”

  “What are the odds that someone will find him?”

  “Fairly good. He’s been missing for less than two hours.” Kalico ran his hands through his hair—a gesture Lynn had seen before and no doubt meant he was less certain of finding Stanley than his words conveyed. She watched him don the backpack. Then he moved quietly up the street, and Lynn followed.

  An hour and a half later, they sank onto a bench located in the center of a small park at the end of the street. No Stanley. Although the rain had stopped, gray clouds still loomed low overhead, and a cold, North wind, not unusual for the end of March, blew steadily. Lynn covered her nose and chin with her rose-colored scarf and nestled her hands in her pockets. Kalico sat hunched beside her, checking his messages.

  “Anything?” she asked.

  “No,” Kalico sighed. “The rest of the volunteers have gone home.” His eyes continued to scan the shrubbery.

  “What now?”

  “I’ve texted M’s, my assistant, and she’ll post Stanley’s picture and notify all of our volunteers and the shelters to be on the lookout for him.”

  “Maybe he’ll find his way home. He’s got to be getting hungry. Besides he couldn’t have gone very far.”

  “Maybe,” Kalico sounded doubtful. “Even though Stanley is a senior citizen, if he was frightened or being chased, he could’ve travelled a couple of miles.”

  “Poor Lois,” Lynn shivered.

  “I guess we need to go back and tell her.” Kalico did not move.

  “I guess….” Lynn stayed seated, staring up at the branches of an Arizona ash, willing the lost cat to appear.

  “I hate this!” Kalico’s hands formed fists, and he scowled at the sky. “It’s almost impossible to find a cat if he’s missing more than a day. Where the hell could Stanley have gone?”

  “Maybe a kind person took him in. He’s obviously a house cat and, from what I understand, quite social?” Lynn offered.

  Kalico’s features lightened a bit. “Yes, that’s always possible. It’s just that he’s so much more than a pet to Lois. Stanley appeared three weeks after her husband died. He immediately claimed Lois as his own, riding on her shoulder like a furry parrot, curling up on the pillow beside her, following her from room to room. I think she believes that her husband sent the kitten to comfort her.” He shook his head. “Sometimes I think she believes that the cat is her Stanley reincarnated. Losing him will be like losing her husband all over again.”

  Lynn placed a comforting hand on his arm. “Let’s cross the street and go house to house again. In cases like this, action is always better than inaction.” She nodded her head decisively, reminding Kalico of her aunt. She rose and held out a hand to Kalico. “C’mon. I want to see the cat detective in action!”

  Kalico groaned, but allowed her to pull him to his feet. The wind had blown color into Lynn’s cheeks and her blue eyes sparked with determination. Kalico felt momentarily light headed. “Say, after we find Stanley, let me take you out to dinner.” He held his breath.

  Lynn paused then grinned. “It’s a date. I’m famished, so let’s find that cat!”

  They circled the little park one more time, then crossed the street to a two-story red brick home, beautifully landscaped and shaded by mature live oak trees that were just filling out with new green leaves. Lynn got down on her hands and knees to check the rain gutter while Kalico searched a border of Yaupon holly. He softly called in a falsetto, “Stanley! Here kitty, kitty. Stanley!” They moved quietly to the front beds rich and fragrant with dark mulch, and then progressed to the far flowerbeds, filled with purple iris and paperwhites. A rustle of leaves brought them to a halt. They held their breath, and Lynn pointed to the corner of the house. When she took a step forward, a squirrel burst into view, scrambled across the lawn and up an oak tree.

  “Shoot,” she sighed. “I thought we had him!”

  “Shhhhh!” Kalico held out a hand. They listened to the hum of Mo-Pac traffic, the distant moan of a siren, the gentle whisper of wind in the tree branches. Then, faintly, a distinct and distant ‘meow.’ “Did you hear that?’

  “Yes, but where did it come from?” Lynn whispered.

  Again they listened intently. The squirrel broke
the silence, chattering angrily above them. They looked up at the canopy of the tall Live Oak, and there, high above them perched on an upper limb they could just make out, the figure of a gray cat, his white tipped tail flicking nervously.

  Lynn grabbed Kalico’s arm, giggled, grinned, and exclaimed, “It’s him. Oh, we found him. We found him!” She did a little happy dance.

  Kalico smiled down at her and laughed with relief. “Thank heavens!” He returned his attention to the precariously perched cat. “Now, to get him down.”

  Lynn had her phone out. “Can’t we just call the fire department?”

  “No. They actually don’t rescue treed cats.” Kalico studied the stately old tree, noting its graceful symmetry, and scouting a climbing route to Stanley.

  “Should I call Lois?”

  “Hold off for a moment.” Kalico imagined Lois’s panic at the sight of her big boy literally out on a limb about thirty feet above the pavement. Her emotions would not help get Stanley down safely. He rummaged in his backpack and pulled out the can of Fancy Feast. Holding it over his head and within Stanley’s view, he opened it with dramatic flair. “Here Stanley. Come and get your dinner. Come here, kitty,” he called.

  Stanley meowed more loudly in response, but did not move. The cat’s back was toward the trunk, and he was settled about five feet out on a secondary branch that seemed to bow a bit under his weight and to sway slightly in the light wind.

  “Let’s give him a moment to think about his supper,” Kalico directed, pulling Lynn away from the base of the live oak. They craned their necks and watched. Stanley remained frozen in place.

  “I think he’s stuck,” offered Lynn. “Now what?”

  “The way I see it, we have three options: 1. We could call a tree service company. They have the harnesses and skills to scale the tree, but are not necessarily experts with pets. 2. We could wait Stanley out, hoping that he will get hungry enough to turn around and come down without breaking his kitty neck. 3. I could go up and get him.” Kalico studied the stately tree, tracing the way up in his mind. “Right now, I’m leaning toward getting him myself. The climb is fairly straightforward. I can go up the right side, cross over to the left at the midpoint, and climb to just below Stanley’s branch. I think the branch just below him will hold my weight. If I can get below him, I can reach up and grab him by the scruff of his neck.” Kalico was talking more to himself than to Lynn. “Yes, if I can position myself just below and a little bit behind Stanley, I can pick him up and bring him down.”

  “Ben, that sounds dangerous.” Lynn lifted worried eyes to Kalico’s face, which presented a heretofore unseen stubborn jut to his jaw. “I vote for the tree service and a call to Lois.”

  “I hear you, but that will take too long. We only have an hour or so before sunset, it’s getting colder, and there’s a chance of more rain tonight.” He nodded emphatically once. “I’m going up.” He handed her his phone and buttoned his jean shirt.

  “Do you need the carrier? What about Lois? Ben!” But he was already six feet above her, shimmying up the rough trunk, preparing to hoist himself up to another branch. Lynn stood below, her eyes darting first from Kalico whose figure was being quickly being swallowed by dense leaves to Stanley, crouched and still above him. She held her breath.

  Kalico worked his fingers into the ridges of the old oak’s trunk; his right foot slipped, then rested on a convenient knob. He pushed up, got his left foot onto the next branch, and lifted himself up. He leaned against the trunk for a moment, breathing heavily and wishing that he’d spent more time on the climbing wall at the gym. He glanced down at Lynn, just making out her upturned face. A lovely face, he thought. He could hear Stanley’s staccato meows. Chances were that he could turn himself around and come down the tree himself.

  Kalico prepared to shift to the left side of the tree. If his calculations were correct, this move would place him just below Stanley. He hugged the tree, wedged his left foot into the juncture between the branch and trunk, and blindly swung his right leg around. For an instant—nothing. His heart pounded, and he began to slip. Then, contact. He shifted his weight, released the trunk, brought his left leg over, and rested precariously on a branch that groaned ominously under his weight. But the big gray cat was now within his reach.

  “Hey, Stanley-boy. You certainly have gotten yourself out on a limb.” Kalico spoke in a low, soothing voice. The cat’s ears were flattened against his head and his tail flicked erratically. “Me too, come to think of it.” Sure, he had reached the cat successfully, but how was he going to get the big boy down? A vision of Stanley and himself plummeting to the ground played itself out in his mind. Stupid. What was he trying to do? Impress Lynn? He should go back down; find a ladder; call for help. Stanley had been found. He was safe—for now. Just then, the cat inched forward away from Kalico. His branch shuddered and bowed.

  Kalico held his breath as an idea formed. He slowly unbuttoned his jean shirt, keeping up a soft patter of talk. “Stan-the-man, Lois is worried about you. I know you want to come home, eat a good dinner, and curl up in your bed. You know me, boy. We go way back. C’mon. Relax. Besides, you don’t want to make me look bad in front of a beautiful woman.” He moved a hand toward the cat, continuing to speak to him calmly. Slowly, slowly, he placed his hand on Stanley’s back. He could feel the cat’s muscles tense beneath his thick coat. “Don’t do anything foolish, boy.” He let his hand rest. Minutes passed. Then, Stanley’s ears perked up, and Kalico could feel rather than hear a purr motor rumbling in the boy’s chest. “Good, boy. Now, I am going to lift you off this branch. Easy. Easy.”

  He grasped Stanley by the scruff of the neck and lifted. The cat’s claws dug into the bark for a moment, then released. Kalico pulled him into his chest, winced as the cat’s claws pierced his skin, then quickly buttoned Stanley into his shirt. It was a tight fit, but it secured Stanley. He hugged him, then rapidly retraced his path down the oak, finally jumping three feet to the ground.

  “Thank God!” Lynn rushed forward and hugged Kalico, instigating a startled hiss from his shirt. Stanley poked his head out from beneath the detective’s chin, narrowing his golden eyes. Lynn laughed, stepped back, and snapped a picture.

  An hour later, Stanley was safely home, having received a huge meal and countless scritches from neighbors. Kalico and Lynn were seated at his parents’ kitchen table, eating grilled cheese sandwiches and rich tomato soup. Tired from the events of the past two days, Kalico let the conversation buzz around him, amused as his mother and sisters, who just happened to drop by, fired questions at Lynn. It was only after he had driven her back to her car and waved good-bye that he realized he had not asked Lynn about the plan she had concocted with her aunt.

  Chapter Twelve

  Emelia Winterjoy marched slowly forward, her eyes scouring the ground. She stooped periodically to peer under a shrub, run fingers through a dense patch of liriope, or examine the under canopy of a rose bush. Methodically, she crisscrossed Nancy MacLeod’s front yard with extra special attention on the large rose bed where her friend had been stung. Forty minutes later, she had uncovered two tennis balls, a small, rubber porcupine with half of its quills missing, and a mud encrusted rawhide chew. But no EpiPen.

  During the early morning’s dog walk, she had found herself considering Kalico’s latest report: Although there is a possibility that Nancy’s accidents were engineered, we cannot ignore the fact that they are most likely what they appear to be: accidents. Perhaps, he was right. Perhaps, the simplest explanation is the best one. She sighed. Perhaps, she was becoming a fanciful old woman. Was she seeking excitement in an otherwise routine life? Perhaps. Had she read too many murder mysteries? Yet three potentially life-threatening accidents in less than three months…What were the odds?

  The brisk walk had cleared her head. She would search for the missing EpiPen. Perhaps it had fallen out of Nancy’s gardening bag and now rested unnoticed in the yard or in the house. Discovery of the pen dropped behind a cha
ir would go a long way to indicate that the bee sting was, indeed, an unfortunate accident.

  Emelia stretched to ease the tension in her lower back from bending over for so long. As she straightened, Connor emerged from the house and slouched towards her. Stand up straight, she thought. Aloud she said, “Good morning, Connor. Off to work?”

  “Yea.”

  Stop mumbling. “Sunday brunch must be very busy, I suppose?”

  “Yea.” He moved to his car.

  “I’m picking up your grandmother from the hospital early this afternoon,” Emelia offered to his back.

  “Uh, thanks.” His eyes slid across her face, then he shrugged into the driver’s seat.

  Really! How could Nancy have such a monosyllabic hulk for a grandson? But she smiled and waved as he pulled away.

  After he turned the corner at the far end of the block, she moved decisively to Nancy’s front door, inserted her key, and stepped into the silent house. She paused in the entryway. The gardening bag usually hung from a peg on the wooden clothes tree. Emelia searched the floor beneath the stand, then patted down the coats and rain slickers, checking each pocket for the EpiPen. Nothing.

  She surveyed the living room. A pair of men’s Nike’s were discarded in the center of the rug, a shirt was draped over the arm of the recliner, a mug—without a coaster—sat on the coffee table which was also cluttered with papers. Really, she thought, Connor could clean up after himself. She moved to the kitchen where dirty dishes were scattered on the counter. An empty pizza box and three beer cans filled the sink. Emelia shook her head and mentally rolled up her sleeves. It would be up to her to make the house fit for Nancy’s return. God knows, what I’ll find upstairs. At least, cleaning would insure a thorough search. She decided to begin upstairs and work her way down.

  Grabbing the Nikes and shirt, Emelia climbed the stairs and pushed open the door to Connor’s room. As she expected, the place was a disaster. A mountain of clothes crowned what was most likely an armchair, the unmade bed looked like it had been hit by a twister, the trash can overflowed, and a half-eaten slice of pepperoni pizza was stuck on the nightstand. She placed the shirt in the empty dirty clothes basket and set the shoes neatly in the boy’s nearly empty closet. Her eyes scanned the floor: no flash of bright orange signaled the presence of the EpiPen. She moved next to the bed and glanced underneath it before turning her attention to the nightstand and gingerly opening the drawer—empty except for a pack of gum, three pens, and condoms.