Cat-Eye Witness (A Klepto Cat Mystery) (7 page)

The detective smiled broadly. “Well, aren’t you quite the sleuth. Thank you.” He started to make a call and then looked over at Savannah, asking, “Did you get a license number?”

She looked from Michael to the detective. “Afraid we didn’t think of that. Sorry.”

He pointed at Savannah while putting the phone up to his ear, and said with a chuckle, “You’re fired, young lady.”

After making a request for a tow truck, Sledge placed his phone on the tabletop. “By the way, Ms. Jordan, do you recall anyone at the party with hair the color of Ms. Clampton’s?”

“Uh, well, let me think. Yeah, I’m pretty sure there was another woman—maybe two—with red hair. And our young friend, Charlotte; she has red hair. Why?”

Iris walked up to the table balancing a tray holding two tall glasses of iced tea. “Hello Detective Sledge,” she said dully, while setting the glasses in front of Savannah and then Michael. Tucking the tray under one arm, she took her order pad from her apron pocket and grabbed her pencil from the neatly wrapped twist at the back of her head. She faced the detective without looking at him. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Yes.” Sledge eyed the two glasses she’d brought to the table. “An iced tea sounds refreshing.”

Iris nodded. She addressed Savannah and Michael. “Are you two ready to order?”

“How about a waffle and sausage?” Savannah handed her menu to Iris. “With fruit.”

“And for you Dr. Mike?”

“Sounds good—same for me.”

“Anything for you?” She faced the detective, her eyes on her order pad.

“Nothing for me.” As Iris started to turn away, he said, “Actually, Ms. Clampton, I want to make an appointment to speak with you further and your older son.”

The woman froze in place and stared down at the floor.

“Iris,” Michael said, “are you all right?”

“Oh, yes,” she responded. She straightened her posture, glared over at the detective and said, “I’ll be home around three-thirty. You can come by at five, if you want. You have my address, right?”

“Yes. See you at five. And, Ms. Clampton,” he said as she started to walk away, “I’ll need a sample of your hair.”

“My hair?” she reached up with her hand and brushed back the loose strands she’d purposely left out when she wrapped her hair up that morning. “Why?” she asked.

“Protocol, just protocol. Do you have a brush or comb with you today? I could take the sample now.”

She stood staring at the detective. Finally, she snapped, “I’ll get it.” She spun on her heels and rushed away.

“She’s kinda uptight, ain’t she?” Sledge remarked.

Savannah and Michael didn’t comment. They just watched as their friend disappeared into the kitchen.

***

Savannah and Iris had become friends after Savannah moved to Hammond and into her aunt’s house. Iris was several years her senior. In fact, she’d gone to school with her Aunt Margaret. Life wasn’t easy for her. Iris had told Savannah of her difficult marriages and the heartbreak she experienced when her third husband left his two boys with her. She loved the boys and was dedicated to raising them as her own. They were good boys. But she worried about them—that they would be influenced by her older son Damon.

Not only did Iris work long shifts at the diner, but she did side jobs cleaning the veterinary clinic and a couple of other businesses. She and Savannah had hit it off when Savannah joined Michael in his practice. Iris had a knack for decorating and offered to help Savannah set up her office and examining room one weekend. That’s when she learned of Iris’s difficult past.

Savannah had been handling the trauma of her abduction and attack at the hands of Joe Forster pretty well. But one afternoon, she and Iris were working on the décor at the clinic, and she broke down. “It’s so silly,” Savannah said between sobs. “The smallest thing will set me off.”

“What happened?” Iris asked as she sat down on the floor beside Savannah, one arm around her shoulder.

“This darn catalog.” She stabbed her finger into the open page. “See this red plaid lumberjack shirt?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what Joe Forster wore the night he…” Savannah put her face in her hands.

Such an evil, evil man,
she thought.
He got it into his head that he should have Auntie Marg’s home because he was a blood relative of the Forsters and she merely married into the family. The way he harassed and threatened Auntie was terrifying enough, but then to have him break in and kidnap us and darn near kill us… It’s an awful nightmare that may never completely go away.

“Well, we’re getting rid of that catalog right this minute,” Iris insisted. With a dramatic flair, she picked it up and let it dangle between her forefinger and thumb as if it were contaminated. Her face lit up. “Hey, we can have a ritual and burn and bury it.”

Savannah remembered laughing at Iris and saying rather sheepishly, “I guess I really am being silly.”

“No, no, you’re not being silly, Savannah,” Iris said tenderly. “What you’re experiencing is very real. And let me tell you, there are tricks you can use that will truly help.” She looked over at Savannah and said matter-of-factly, “I killed one of my ex-husbands once.”

“What?” Savannah stared wide-eyed, mouth open.

“Oh not really.” Iris laughed. “I just pretended that I did through a ritual. I made a crude doll that represented him. Then I stabbed him with pins and scissors, set him on fire and buried him in the backyard.”

“You really did that?” Savannah asked.

“Yes, and it worked, too.”

“Oh my gosh, he died?”

Iris chuckled. “No. But I stopped dwelling so much on the negative aspects of our relationship and breakup. I put my hatred of him to rest—at least to a point.” She leaned forward toward Savannah. “Our minds are strange. Either it takes over or we take it over. Now you decide. Do you want your mind to be in charge—to react to everyday things like that picture in this catalog and make you feel awful, or do you want to rid your mind of the negative hold this creep has on you?”

Savannah recalls nodding. “Sure, I’d like to overcome the fears, anger and all that negative stuff.”

“Well, let’s burn and bury those fears and that anger, then.”

Savannah smiled a little upon remembering the look on Michael’s face when he saw the two women heading out the back door with a catalog, matches and a kitty-litter scoop (their makeshift garden spade). He told her later that he considered asking what they were up to. But, when he saw how intense they were as they chatted on their way out, he just smiled without interfering. He told Savannah that he was pleased to see she was making friends of her own.

Once the office decorating was completed, Savannah found herself stopping by Iris’s home occasionally. Iris sometimes called her just to chat. In fact, it was Savannah who invited Iris to join the Cat Alliance group her aunt and Max ran.

Iris had expressed an interest in getting involved in something outside her small world. She said that was part of her healing—to devote some of her energy to helping others—to do good for someone else. In this case, animals.

***

After a minute or two, Iris returned to the booth. She set a glass of iced tea on the table in front of the detective and dropped a plastic bag with her hair sample next to it. She started to walk away, when she changed her mind. She moved in closer to where Sledge sat and quietly asked, her voice shaking, “Can I ask what this is for? Am I some sort of suspect?”

“Uh, as I said, Ms. Clampton, strictly protocol. Thank you.” As if dismissing her, he reached for his tea, removed the straw and took a large swig.

Savannah’s eyes narrowed.
Well, that was rather rude,
she thought. She felt Iris’s pain as she watched her disappear through the kitchen door.

Soon, the detective swallowed down the last of his tea, stood and pulled three dollars out of his jeans pocket, tossing the bills on the table. “I’ll leave you to your lunch,” he said with a slight bow. “Ms. Jordan, I’ll be in touch.” He placed a business card on the table in front of her. “Please call if you notice anything else that might be of importance to us, would you?”

Still feeling a bit dazed, she simply nodded.

Once the detective left, Michael centered himself on the booth seat and focused on Savannah. “What are you thinking about, hon? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“Just worried about Iris,” she said. “She seems so stressed. When you were talking with the detective, I saw her on her cell phone arguing with someone—probably her errant son. He is such a problem. I wish she’d just toss him out on his ear.”

“Why doesn’t she?” he asked.

“Oh you know,” she said, waving her hand in the air, “…typical mother.” She lowered her voice and became animated while imitating a whiney, over-protective mom, “‘He has no place to go.’ ‘He needs me.’ ‘He’s never been on his own…’ I think she’s letting mother love get in the way of her peace of mind and her other boys’ future.” She took in a ragged breath. “And she’s probably not doing Damon any favors, either.”

“Who had the waffle and fruit?” the waiter asked in jest.

“Oh hi, Frank,” Michael said. “What happened to Iris?”

“Don’t know—had to leave all of a sudden. Said she isn’t feeling well.”

Savannah shot Michael a concerned look. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes.

As usual, Michael finished his meal first. He sat watching Savannah and then he reached for the newspaper that lay on the table. “Oh, there’s a story about what happened in the paper, already,” he said.

“Oh no. I didn’t see it. What does it say?”

“I guess they didn’t have much information when they went to press. It’s just a brief report—pretty much just the basic facts… ‘Man murdered at fundraiser on the Forster property.’

Let’s see, he was Marvin Byrd, as we know. He owned several small businesses around town.

Says he’s been here in town for ten years. He ran mostly construction companies and had his hand in businesses that supported construction and housing developments. He had a wife and three kids: Steven, whom we met, of course; an older son; and a daughter named Kathleen. Marvin Byrd had a brother—probably the uncle who was with Steven this morning.” He lowered the newspaper and shook his head, saying, “Gosh, that’s sure too bad. I just wonder what happened…why this happened.”

***

“Don’t you just love a lazy Sunday?” Michael asked as he drove Savannah home from the diner.

“Sure, only...”

“Only what, hon?”

“Only, I wish we didn’t have this awful…thing hanging over our heads. To think that someone died in my home—well, Auntie’s home. I just wonder who he was, really—what kind of man—and why he died. Why here? And who did it? Is it someone we know?” She turned in her seat toward Michael. “Do we know a killer?” She then clasped her hands together in her lap and shivered a little. “It just has me feeling so unsettled.”

“I know.” Michael reached over and patted her knee. “It’s a tragedy. Things like this aren’t supposed to happen…well, in a place like this.” He pulled into the driveway of the Forster home, stopped the car and looked over at Savannah. “I have an idea.”

“What?” she asked a hint of suspicion in her voice.

“Why don’t you and Rags go adventuring this afternoon?”

Savannah’s face lit up. “Good idea. He hasn’t been out since the last time Charlotte was here playing with him. I’ll go see if he’s up for an outing.”

“Good, I’ll be on the porch swing reading my paper,” he said as they ascended the few steps to the large wraparound porch.

“Wait.” Savannah suddenly stopped and looked around. “Do you notice something?”

“What?”

“The stuff’s gone. The clean-up committee must have come early today and hauled everything away. Look.” She pointed toward the cluster of patio furniture on the porch. “They even hosed off this area and picked up the last of the trash.” She wiped her fingertips across her eyes and choked up a little. “Are they fantastic, or what?”

“Was it like this when we left for brunch?” Michael asked.

“I have to tell you, I didn’t even notice. They may have been here at the crack of dawn, for all I know.”

Rags was almost always ready to go outside. He seemed to understand the tone and gestures—or was it the actual words or Savannah’s thoughts?—when she indicated that it was okay for him to go out. She’d search for the cat and, in a sing-song voice, lure him toward the kitchen door—never the front door. She didn’t want him becoming accustomed to going out that way, lest he try to escape when someone visits. Although the house was set back on the property, this exit was closest to the road and the driveway and Savannah didn’t want him anywhere near traffic.

“Come on, Ragsie, wanna go outside, sweetie?”

She walked into her bedroom just in time to see him jump down from the bed. He trotted toward her, his tail high. Savannah smiled. “There you are—wanna go outside, huh?” she cooed. She walked through the living room and dining room toward the kitchen and Rags’s door to freedom. He trotted alongside her. She unlatched the door and propped it open.
If something scares him, he can run into the house instead of up a tree or down the street,
she thought.
We do get vermin, as Auntie calls them.
She chuckled to herself. She recalled,
I have seen a few coyotes and some beautiful bobcats since I’ve been here.

She knew that at fourteen pounds, Rags would present a challenge for most any owl, possum or raccoon, but the cat was not predator-wise. And that’s why he wasn’t allowed outside alone.

Savannah smiled as she watched Rags stop at the open kitchen door and peer out—sniffing at what might lurk beyond the threshold. Apparently satisfied with what he sensed, he stepped out onto the porch and began exploring.

“Hi Rags, old boy,” Michael said as the lanky grey-and-white cat came into view. Rags looked up at Michael and then strolled over and rubbed against his legs.

“Come on Rags, let’s go out on the lawn and find something interesting,” Savannah urged.

“Well that’s insulting,” Michael said feigning a dejected look. “You mean, I’m not interesting enough?”