Cat-Eye Witness (A Klepto Cat Mystery) (20 page)

“More than I care to think about,” Savannah said quietly. She then pulled back and said, “Oh, Michael, did you know that Damon’s in jail? They think he’s the one who tried to poison Rags.”

He hung his head and said, “Oh no. Poor Iris.” He looked up. “Why? Why would he do that?” he asked, obviously not expecting an answer. “What’s going on, Savannah? Can you make any sense out of it?”

She shook her head and nuzzled her face into Michael’s neck. “I don’t know.” Suddenly, she raised up. “Is that someone knocking at the door? It must be Craig Sledge. Would you get it? Tell him I’ll be right there—gotta check the Texas hash.”

Michael took his usual long strides into the living room and opened the front door. “Come on in, Detective. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea, bottle of water?”

Sledge stepped in, looked around and said, “You know, a bottle of water sounds really good. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Please have a seat. Savannah has to check the Texas hash and she’ll be right here.”

“Texas hash?” Sledge smiled and lowered himself into a chair. “I haven’t had that in years. It used to be my favorite dish when I was a kid.”

“Me, too,” Savannah said as she entered the room. She sat down across from the detective before saying, “You know, we have plenty if you’d like to stay.”

“Hmm. Tempting, indeed.” He considered the invitation for a moment. After making a clicking sound with his tongue, he said, “I still have some stops to make this evening. Better not.”

“It’s ready now—come on, join us,” Savannah insisted.
I’m not sure why I’m pressing for him to stay. I mean, it’s not like we’re friends or anything. But I must say I like the guy and I sorta feel sorry for him. He has a really tough case to handle,
she thought.
Besides, he seems to be a little lonely.
“What do you say? Can you spare thirty minutes?”

The detective seemed to relax some. He smiled over at Savannah. “That would be real nice. Thank you.”

“Good,” she said.

Just then, Michael walked into the room and handed Sledge a chilled bottle of water, which he promptly opened. He drank a quarter of it in one swig and replaced the cap.

Savannah addressed Michael. “Hon, would you set another place at the table? The detective is joining us for supper.”

“Cool.” He turned and headed back toward the kitchen.

Something caught Sledge’s eye. “Is this the eye-witness cat I’ve heard so much about?” He held out his hand and wriggled his fingers trying to get the cat’s attention.

“Yes, this is Rags.” Savannah smiled. Suddenly, her smile faded. She asked, “By the way, what did you find out about that meat? I hear you’ve made an arrest.”

He was more interested in making friends with the cat than responding to her question at the moment. “Hello, big boy. Aren’t you something?” He reached out and petted Rags in long strokes from his head to the tip of his tail. The cat seemed to enjoy this form of massage and kept rubbing up against the detective’s legs as if begging for more. “He’s striking. I don’t think I’ve seen a cat quite like him before.”

“That’s probably because you haven’t paid much attention to cats. Grey-and-white cats aren’t all that rare,” Savannah explained.

“Well, his white is so white—like he’s been bleached or something and his coat is so shiny. He’s really a good-lookin’ specimen.”

Savannah laughed. No one had ever referred to her cat as a
specimen
before. “We do love him. He’s full of personality.”

“Puuuurrsonality,” Sledge said, exaggerating the word.

She laughed again. Savannah was rather fascinated to see this side of Craig Sledge.

“What’s so funny?” Michael asked upon returning to the living room.

“Oh, the detective is punning,” she said.

“Punning?” He looked confused.

“Making puns. He said Rags has puuuuurrsonality.”

Michael continued to look confused.

Savannah waved her hand in front of her and said, “Oh, you had to be there.”

“I guess so. Did you show him what Rags found?”

She jumped a little. “No,” she said, reaching for the plastic bag she’d carried in. “Here it is, Detective. It’s not ours. I wonder if it might be a clue in the case.”

Sledge fixed his stare on Savannah and then glanced over at Michael. “You know, if we’re going to have dinner together, you should call me Craig.” He cocked his head a little. “If you don’t mind.”

“Sure, Craig. I’m Savannah and this is…”

“I know, Michael. Or Dr. Mike. I like that.”

“Well, either works—take your pick,” Michael said.

Craig Sledge took the plastic bag from Savannah asking, “Now what do we have here?”

“Some sort of scarf,” she said.

“Hmmmm, a black kerchief.” He examined the item through the plastic bag and asked, “Could that be blood on it?”

“I wondered. Kinda looks like it.”

“Where did you find this?”

“My cat…”

He interrupted. “You’re not going to say your cat found it, are you?”

“No,” Savannah said with an impish smile. “I believe he stole it.”

“Say what?” Now Sledge looked confused. He continued holding up the plastic bag and examining the item inside. “Did your cat say where he got this?”

She laughed. “No, not exactly.”

“Not exactly?”

Michael stood and excused himself. “I’m going to check on dinner. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure, hon,” Savannah said.

Craig remained silent. He then asked, “What do you mean the cat didn’t
exactly
tell you where he got this? You’ll have to explain that one to me.”

“Well, you see, he’s a bit of a kleptomaniac. He finds things and takes them, then hides them—usually in his stash in an upstairs bedroom. I’m guessing he found this the day of the fundraiser, hid it and later added it to his stash. That’s where his friend Charlotte found it—in his toy box.”

The detective looked across the room at the cat, who lay stretched out in his best Egyptian sphinx pose. Sledge mulled over what he’d just heard. Finally, he said, “Well, I’ll be. If that don’t beat all...” He stared over at Savannah. “Now, as I understand it, the cat was in the room when the murder took place.”

“Yes,”

“So it’s possible that the murderer took this kerchief off because he got blood on it and set it down or he used it to wipe his (or her) hands. The cat found it and hid it, only to come back later when no one was looking and retrieve it.”

“Could be. Or, he might have found it later somewhere else in the house, a bathroom, living room, kitchen…” Savannah offered. “Oh, and Charlotte, said she saw someone wearing a scarf like this around his head at the fundraiser.” She watched as Sledge continued to examine the object. And then she asked, “Is it helpful?”

“Might be, Savannah,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Might very well be.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Michael said as he entered the room. “I pulled the casserole out of the oven. The salad is tossed. Is anyone hungry?”

The trio walked into the kitchen. “You can sit here, if you like Det…uh Craig.”

“Thanks, Dr. Mike. Okay if I wash my hands here at the sink?”

“Sure thing,” Savannah said. “Soap’s in the container there.”

“This really looks good,” the detective said after being seated and serving himself a scoop of Texas hash.

Savannah smiled. “It’s my mom’s recipe, but it never seems quite the same when I make it. I hope it’s okay.”

After the trio had been eating for a few minutes, Michael addressed Savannah. “Delicious, hon.” He then turned to Sledge and asked, “Did you have that meat analyzed?”

Sledge set his fork on his plate, wiped his face with his napkin, finished swallowing and said, “Oh yes. That meat was seriously laced with some sort of poison—I don’t remember what the guys at the lab called it. But they said it had enough in there to kill a kennel of rottweilers.” He moved his head from side to side. “Nasty stuff.”

Savannah stopped eating and looked over at Rags, who was sitting next to her on the floor. A tear rolled down her cheek. She dabbed at it with her napkin, took a ragged breath and said, “I hear you think Damon Jackson’s responsible for this.”

“Well, things are pointing in that direction. We’ve got him in custody for now.” Sledge took a few bites, downed a swig of water and began shaking his head. “You know, something just doesn’t add up.” He looked over at Savannah and Michael. “Well, there’s a lot about this case that doesn’t add up. There are a lot of dots, but they don’t quite connect.” He reached over and took another helping of the casserole, while saying, as if to himself, “I just wonder what part your friend Iris…ah…Ms. Clampton, plays in all this.”

Savannah stared at the detective. She started to speak and then changed her mind. She watched as he took a few more bites of his meal.

Suddenly, he leaned forward. He looked at Savannah, glanced down at the cat and asked, “Have you seen a glove in his…stash?”

She thought before responding. “No. I haven’t seen one. But I haven’t actually checked up there lately.”

“Would you, please? It’s important,” he said.

“Sure will.” She nodded, the shock of his comment about Iris lingering painfully in her mind.

***

“Savannah, they’ve charged Damon with murder,” Iris wailed. “What am I going to do?”

“Wow! What happened?”
The kerchief. My gosh, that must have been Damon’s and that suspicious stain must have been Marvin Byrd’s blood. Why else would this decision come so quickly on the tails of discovering the kerchief
? “Iris, did they say what evidence they have?”

“I really haven’t talked to anyone, yet. Just got the depressing news. I am so upset. Damon must be scared out of his wits.”

“Iris, you have to calm down. Does he have an attorney?”

“No. Sondra Blair says she can’t defend him because she’s defending me—but I don’t know why I need defending. I’m in the clear, aren’t I?”

Savannah ignored her question. “Can you get him a public defender?”

“That’s what she suggested, since I don’t have money for any big-time attorney.”

“Okay, that’s what you’ll do first, then. After that, just take one day at a time. And remember, the truth will come out. If it wasn’t Damon, he’ll be out in due time. If it was, well, Iris…he’s probably where he belongs.”

“I guess so,” Iris said quietly. “Thank you, Savannah. You’re a good friend.”

“Take care, Iris. And call me whenever you need to talk.”

As she hung up the phone, Savannah remembered something the detective had asked her to do last night. She rushed up the stairs and into the room where Rags squirreled away his treasures.
My hair scrunchies,
she smiled.
So that’s where they’re all disappearing to. The sweet thank you card from Mom for her birthday gift.
She shook her head.
Gosh he’s sneaky. What’s this?
she wondered as she held up an unfamiliar object.
A little packet of batteries—like for hearing aids. Oh no, whose could these be?

She finished laying out each item, confiscating those that she thought might belong to visitors. No gloves.
I must remember to ask Charlotte if she’s seen one up here.

***

“Thanks for rushing the lab work on that scarf—hanky or whatever it is,” Sledge said into the phone. “It is as I suspected—the victim’s blood on the suspect’s clothing.”

“So you tied that piece of cloth to Damon Jackson?” Gonzales asked when he saw Sledge hang up the phone.

“Sure did,” he said with an air of satisfaction. “Booked him last night. Those photos from the party helped us identify who it belonged to.” Suddenly, his demeanor changed dramatically. “I would just feel better if he had a motive. What was Jackson’s connection to the victim? So far, I can’t come up with a thing. Have you given it any thought?”

“Shit, yes.” Gonzales laughed. “Like twenty-four/seven. It’s a tough case—there’s just something not quite right. Like there’s too many people involved who aren’t really involved; too many clues that almost, but don’t quite fit. It’s a puzzle, all right.”

***

“What are you doing here this morning on your day off?” Michael asked when he saw Savannah walk into the examining room.

“I missed you,” she said peering through the door into the hallway to see if anyone was around. She closed the door slowly, walked over to Michael and planted a kiss on his lips.

He pulled her to him. “Well, good morning to you, too,” he said before passionately kissing her back.

Upon hearing a light tap on the door, they quickly moved apart. “Yes?” Michael croaked. Savannah flashed a mischievous smile in his direction.

The door opened and their receptionist Scarlett peeked in. “Dr. Ivey, Dora Lipton is here about her kitty, Powder.”

“Sure. I’ll be right there.” After Scarlett left, Michael looked at Savannah. “So where are you off to today?”

“Wanted to check on Mrs. Kinsey’s dog. Then I’m going to help out over at Max’s place this morning and this afternoon, Charlotte and I are going out to see Miracle and Hope.”

“Sounds fun.” He leaned in and gave her one last kiss before saying, “See you tonight, then. How about if I do the cooking?”

“Oh nice. I’ll be at your place around five-thirty, okay?”

“Yes. Bring Rags. He seemed to enjoy getting to know Buffy.”

“Oh,” Savannah said, sounding excited. “Is Buffy still there?” She looked pensive. “You know, I think Buffy reminds Rags of Layla—she has a similar look, with that long hair and soft Persian face. He was becoming attached to Layla before she and Aunt Marg moved in with Max.”

Both Savannah and Michael walked out the door into the hallway and turned in opposite directions.

***

“I’m concerned about infection,” Savannah said to their tech, Bud, who was with her as she examined the mild-mannered poodle mix.

“Yes, the wound looks a little nasty. Darn pit bull.” Bud looked over at Savannah. “When will dog owners start taking these dogs seriously and manage them more sensibly?” He gritted his teeth in anger. “They should be nowhere near other dogs without being restrained.”

“I hear ya.” Savannah dabbed at the stitches with alcohol and then applied a healing salve. “If only they saw what we see here every week, they might understand that at least some of those dogs can’t be trusted.” She stood and asked, “Will you redress this and give Tasha another round of antibiotics? Her fever’s down, but the fact that she has one is worrisome.”