Cat-Eye Witness (A Klepto Cat Mystery) (8 page)

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, maybe to me, but Rags needs lizards, crickets and butterflies to chase.” She picked up the cat and carried him down the porch steps, placing him on the expansive lawn. Michael’s gaze followed her and he smiled.
Gosh, I love that woman,
he thought to himself before turning back to his newspaper.

Savannah watched Rags crouch in the grass and slink over to the taller weeds along the edge of the manicured lawn. He darted in, out, over, and under bushes, flowers and shrubs, stopping once when a white cabbage butterfly caught his eye. Savannah laughed at the little head-bobble thing he did while trying to keep his eye on the flitting butterfly. He took a few steps and jumped at something either real or imaginary in one of the flower clumps.

“Atta boy, Rags. Get some good exercise,” Savannah encouraged from where she sat on the lawn.
Shoot, he seems to have forgotten that I even exist,
she chuckled to herself.
He’s in his own world now—a world of fascinating sights and sounds. Uh-oh, he’s getting a bit courageous
. She stood and began to follow him across the lawn and around toward the south side of the house.”

Oops, there goes my phone.
She slid it out of her jeans pocket and squinted at the screen before putting it up to her ear. “Hi, Mom.”

“Savannah, you said you were going to call me back.”

“Oh, well, I was. I’m outside with Rags right now—following him around. Just got back from a late breakfast at the diner. What are you doing today?”

“Well, I’m on pins and needles about the sheriff.”

“The sheriff? What sheriff?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Vannie. You know what I mean. Why were the cops at your house this morning?”

Savannah knew she couldn’t keep it from her mother. Since the kidnapping ordeal with Joe Forster, Gladys had become even more protective of her older daughter. She was thrilled that Savannah had found happiness and was planning a future with a wonderful man, but the pain of almost losing her was still raw.

“Mom,” Savannah finally said into the phone, “someone was a murdered yesterday.”

“What? Who? Where?” Gladys shouted into the phone.

“It was no one we knew. It happened at the fundraiser. We’re all just fine. There’s an investigation going on and we’re helping the sheriff with it, that’s all. Michael and I are just fine, so is your sister.”

“Oh my God, Savannah! A murder in Hammond? Where, honey? Where did it happen? Wasn’t the fundraiser at Maggie’s home? Where you live? Oh no—Vannie…don’t tell me…”

“Well…” Savannah grimaced. “Yes, Mom. I’m living at a crime scene.” She chuckled, trying to make light of the situation.

“That’s awful,” Gladys said. “There was a killer at your house and he’s still on the loose? Oh, Vannie, you shouldn’t be staying there. Can’t you move in with someone? You could come home. That’s a good idea, why don’t you pack up and come home for a while?”

“Mom, I’m fine,” Savannah insisted. “Really, I am. Remember, I’m a big girl. Michael is with me and I have friends… Oh, Mom, I have to go. Rags is wandering away and I need to head him off. Love you, Mom. Please don’t worry.”

“I love you, too, Vannie. Stay in touch, will you?” Before Savannah could hang up, Gladys added, “And let me know when you set that wedding date. Soon, I hope.”

“Sure will, Mom.”

Looks like Rags wants to investigate the area inside the yellow tape,
she thought as she pushed the phone back into her pocket. She watched as he slowed his pace and walked cautiously toward the ladder that still lay on the ground partially hidden by shrubs.
Cats have a way of noticing when there’s something out of place.
Savannah smiled.
He’s never seen that ladder. It’s usually in one of the sheds. I suppose I shouldn’t let him walk around in there—it is part of the crime scene, after all. But what’s to stop neighborhood cats from going in there or wild animals?
she reasoned.
It’s probably okay.

Suddenly, Rags disappeared under a large azalea bush and Savannah noticed the plant begin to vibrate. “What are you doing, Rags?” She could see him peering out from under the bush and it looked as if he was pawing at something. She walked over to him.
Hmmm, that’s strange,
she thought.
He’s digging in some soft dirt at the base of the shrub
.
It looks like someone dug a hole here then covered it up.
She examined the rest of the ground in the area—the dirt was smooth and compact.

Savannah looked around. Off to the left, she spotted one of the gardener’s shovels stuck blade-first in a raised garden bed. She looked back at the cat in time to see him starting to squat. “Oh no, Rags—I don’t think you should do that
…”
But it was too late;
Hmm, perfect litter box,
she thought. “Come on Rags. You’d better stay out of here. We might get in trouble.” She scooped the cat up in her arms and walked away with him, but not before making a mental note:
I wonder if I should tell the detective about the loose dirt.
She sloughed it off, thinking,
Oh, it’s probably nothing. Maybe it happened when Juan stood the ladder there to climb up and wash the windows. Or Antonio loosened the soil around the plant for some reason. Could be a gopher hole.

***

Iris heard a knock on the door and looked up at the plastic wall clock above the refrigerator.
Five o’clock. The detective is prompt
, she thought as she dried her hands on a terry kitchen towel,
I hope this goes fast. I just want this to be over with before…

She pulled open the front door. “Hello, Detective,” she said flatly. “Come in.” She considered offering him some of the coffee she’d just made, but didn’t want him to have a reason to linger; wanted him to leave just as quickly as possible. After motioning for him to sit on a straight-back chair against the wall, she perched on the seat of one across the room. She picked up the remote from the arm of a faded, worn sofa and clicked off the TV.

“Hey, I was watching that,” Brett said.

“Go watch it in your bedroom. Or better yet,” she said, “get busy on your homework.”

“Awwww…” he started as he reluctantly stood and headed toward the hallway to the bedrooms.

Before he was out of sight, Iris stopped him with a question. “Brett, do you know where Damon is?”

“Nope—not my day to watch him,” he said, laughing as he walked on.

“Damn him,” Iris said under her breath.

“Something wrong, Ms. Clampton?” the detective asked.

“I told him to be here this afternoon. He knows you want to question him.” She tried to sound calm. But she wasn’t calm.

“Don’t worry about him just now. We’ll find him when we need him.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Iris mumbled.

“What’s that?” Sledge asked, not hearing her comment.

“Nothing.” She moved her knees slightly to the left, reaching down to adjust the strap on one of her sandals. Sledge couldn’t help but notice the delicate chain she wore around one ankle. She sat upright and asked, in a less-than-pleasant tone, “So what do you want from me?”

He snapped open the case he’d carried in with him, took out a pair of glasses and slipped them on. “Ms. Clampton, I’d like to print you.”

“What?” she said, her attractive face twisting into an unbecoming scowl.

“Get your fingerprints. I have a kit with me…if you don’t mind.”

Iris shot him a disgusted look. “I don’t suppose I have a choice, do I?” She watched as he pulled his chair closer to where she sat and reached into the satchel. “I’m guessing this is your way of ruling out innocent people?” she said, using a questioning tone.

The detective chose not to respond. He just quietly went about rolling each of Iris’s fingers on the inkpad and then on a card. When the process was completed, he scooted his chair back a little and asked, “Ms. Clampton, are you struggling financially?”

“What? Why?” she insisted, now appearing confused.

“Just answer the question, please.”

“Well, sure, isn’t most everyone?” she asked, more to make a point than to solicit a response. “It’s a tough economy and I do have three boys to support.” She avoided making eye contact.

He looked intently at her. “Did you take the money from the Forster house yesterday?”

She met his gaze with fire in her eyes. Clenching her teeth, she said, “No! Why would I do that?”

Sledge smirked. “I don’t know, maybe you needed the money.”

She stared hard at him, her jaw set. “I work two jobs and I work hard. I don’t live beyond my means—never have.” She paused. “And I am not a thief!”

She stood and walked over to the front window, not so much to look out, as to collect herself. She quickly spun around to face the detective. “I really resent being questioned like this. You’re making it personal and I don’t think you have any justification for doing that.”

Sledge studied Iris for a few seconds. He cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t dress like a waitress who cleans offices at night.”

She glanced down at her designer jeans, lime-green body-hugging knit top and matching green high-heeled sandals. She twisted the cuff of bracelets around one wrist. “As if it’s any of your business,” she said, raising her eyes to meet his. “I know how to shop.” She glared at him. “I buy rich women’s cast-offs—you know, secondhand clothes from thrift stores and consignment shops.” She hesitated before saying, “I like getting dressed up. Is there a crime against that?” She looked at her watch and said, “Actually, I have an appointment in a few minutes, so if you don’t mind…”

“Tell me this, Ms. Clampton,” he said, ignoring her, “have you ever embezzled money from an organization or company—PTA, Pop Warner Football or…” he paused before saying, “a youth baseball program?”

Iris sank down into the closest chair, crossed her arms and pressed her body against the caned back.

“Well, Ms. Clampton?”

After several seconds, she dropped her arms and leaned slightly forward. “Okay, that wasn’t me,” she said. “You’ve gotta believe me.”

“The charges were false? The investigation faulty?”

“Actually, yes.” She tightened her lips in a grimace before saying, “I was told that my way of handling my son would come back to bite me.” She forced a laugh. “Heaven knows it’s like a flea or mosquito constantly nibbling at me. But now—this is more like a wasp swarm or a bear attack.”

Sledge furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about, Ms. Clampton? I’m not following you.”

“Metaphors,” she said looking down at her hands in her lap. “Just metaphors.”

“Can you answer the question?” he asked without emotion.

She straightened her posture. “Yes, I took the fall for the missing money. But I didn’t take it.” She stared off into space as if reliving another time in another place. “I thought my son was going to straighten up. He got a job…quit hanging out with riff raff…” She shot a glance over at Sledge. “He promised me he would stay off drugs.” As if apologizing, she said, “What can I say? I’m a mother; I believed him. Rather than see him go to jail at a time when he truly seemed to be on the right track, I accepted the blame. I took on extra work and paid it back.”

“And did he keep his promise to you?”

She let her shoulders slump as she rested her arms in her lap. “Humph! I think you know the answer to that, Detective. His life is out of control and he makes it awfully difficult for the younger boys and me. It’s miserable when he’s here, and when he’s gone, I worry. There’s no peace, if you know what I mean.”

The detective’s crusty demeanor seemed to give way, momentarily, to something resembling compassion. “I’m sorry, Ms. Clampton. I really am.”

Iris sat straight in her chair. She quickly wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “What do you want, Brett?” she asked when she saw him enter the room.

“Gatorade.” He glanced from Iris to Sledge and said in his defense, “What? I’m thirsty.”

“Okay, son. It’s okay. There are some crackers in the cupboard if you’re hungry. Dinner will be late tonight.”

The couple watched as the boy returned from the kitchen carrying his beverage and snack. He looked over at Iris before disappearing down the hallway.

Iris took a ragged breath. “No one knows what it’s like—not really.” She studied the detective’s face. Lashing out at him, she said, “You can be sorry all you want, but you have no idea what kind of life we live—the constant fear and chaos…” She stood, and started to pace.

“Actually, I do,” Sledge said almost inaudibly.

Iris stopped and looked over at the detective. She waited. She’d never allowed herself to look at him for so long. She couldn’t make eye contact, lest he somehow see or sense her thoughts—her fear—her secret.
He’s really rather nice-looking,
she thought.
Hell, that’s a complication I don’t need in my life right now—I’m shoving that thought right out of my head.

Finally he began to speak. It was as if she weren’t there. “I had a son who was caught up in the drug scene. He stole, he manipulated everyone who trusted him until there was no more trust. He drove a wedge between my wife and me so deep that it couldn’t be repaired.” He looked up at Iris; sat straight in the chair. Directing his attention toward her, now, he said, “Yes, Ms. Clampton, I know what you’re going through and I must tell you that you have to take your life back.” Speaking in monotone now, he said, “You can’t let him take your life from you. His drug habit will destroy you and those two other boys. You’ve got to stop that from happening.”

Iris swallowed hard, and asked quietly, “Is that what you did, Detective?”

He frowned, blinked, and focused his eyes on the pencil in his hand for a moment before saying, “Well, my boy was killed in a drug deal.” He looked up at Iris. “Shot dead at the age of twenty-four.”

“I’m so sorry,” Iris said quietly, lowering herself into a chair.

The detective took in a deep breath. “So am I, Ms. Clampton. So am I.” He stood, picked up the fingerprinting kit and said, “That’s all for today. Try to get your son to come in and see me, will you?”