Patricia Fry - Klepto Cat 04 - Undercover Cat Read online

  A Klepto Cat Mystery

  Book Four: Undercover Cat

  Patricia Fry

  Matilija Press

  ISBN: 978-0-9911065-3-0

  All rights reserved

  © 2014 Matilija Press

  Chapter One

  Gawd, I’m sick of this stench—sick! I can’t stand it. I’ve got to get out of here. Colbi Stanton opened her eyes again and pushed one elbow against the thin, bare mattress to raise herself up a little. I don’t know why I expect to see something different. How long has it been? Three days? Five? It was so dark in the cold, damp room and she was so weak from inactivity and lack of food that she was losing the capacity to recall. All I know is, if I don’t find a way out soon, I won’t survive. The only reason I’m still alive is because they can’t agree on how to kill me. She rolled over onto her stomach, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed. If I hear them argue about that one more time, I’m liable to commit suicide, she thought. She shook her head; tears squeezed out from between her lashes. Now I sound as crazy as they are.

  She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket and pushed herself up to a standing position. It’s so dark. She knew her way around the room pretty well now—eleven steps to the alcove where they’d cut a hole in the floor for her to use as a toilet. The only window was eight steps to the right. If only I could see out that window. But it’s painted black. With the small amount of light that comes in during the day, I can see that the window’s boarded up. If only she could break the window and escape. But there was nothing available to her. They made sure of that. No bed frame she could take apart. No furniture. I don’t even have any shoes, she thought. Besides, if I could break the window, how would I climb up there to get out? The sill has gotta be nearly six feet off the ground.

  Colbi had tried to hitch herself up to the window by grabbing hold of the windowsill, but she was becoming weaker and the feat more and more difficult. Her thoughts took her back home and to the lifestyle she’d carved out for herself. My sweet kitties…She lowered her head and began to cry. They have no one but me. She took a deep breath, glanced around the almost pitch black room, shook her head and burst into tears. It’s not fair—it’s just not fair. Those poor cats depend on me and now there’s no one. She blinked a couple of times. At least they’re free.

  She eased her way back to the thin mattress on the floor and quickly wrapped the lightweight blanket tightly around her petite frame. She was glad she had grabbed her dad’s jacket off the coat tree that Thursday morning on her way to work instead of her own size-six designer jacket, or she surely would have frozen to death by now.

  Colbi thought back to the night they’d snatched her. She felt good about an article she was writing for the Hammond Daily. She loved working on controversial stories as much as her coworker, a new journalist named Damon Jackson. In fact, the two of them had been involved in a friendly competition ever since he came on staff several months earlier. She knew he’d been in prison and had a shady past, but he seemed to be one of those who managed to rise above it all. She liked him. She liked him a lot and enjoyed spending time with him. She smiled about something he’d said when the two of them had coffee together that evening. She had let him read part of her latest column even though she knew she’d have to undergo some criticism.

  “Why would anyone care about a pet column, anyway?” he asked. “Who wants to read about cat poop and dog drool?”

  “Lots of caring people, that’s who.” Colbi knew she’d raised her voice. She glanced around the diner, hoping no one had noticed. But darn it, she thought, he makes me so mad the way he diminishes the work I do. She started to continue in her defense when she noticed a smile playing at Damon’s lips. “You brat,” she said, throwing a pencil across the booth at him. “You were baiting me.”

  “Hey, journalist abuse,” he called out.

  Just then, the waiter walked up and placed an order of French fries and two cups of coffee on the table. “Anything else?” he asked, looking from one to the other.

  “I think we’re set, Frank,” Damon said. “Thanks.”

  Colbi took a fry, dipped it into a little cup of ketchup, waved it in the air briefly, and said, “For your information, there are millions of pet owners interested in reading about cats, dogs, gerbils, and horses.”

  Damon creased his brow. “Millions of pet owners in Hammond?” he asked.

  Colbi frowned. “Well, no.” Her face brightened into a smile. “But my columns could go viral.”

  Damon grinned across the table at her and popped a fry into his mouth. He grasped his coffee cup and eased it up to his lips.

  Colbi looked hard at Damon. “What was it like?” she asked.

  “Huh?” he glanced up.

  “In prison,” she explained.

  “Oh.” He took a sip from the pottery cup and looked off into space. “Not too bad, I guess.” He looked out the window into the darkness. He then focused his eyes on hers. “I really don’t like talking about it, if you don’t mind.”

  She raised her perfectly arched eyebrows and tilted her head, her soft brown hair cascading over one shoulder. “Why not? I think it’s an interesting topic. I’ve never interviewed someone who has been incarcerated before,” she said. She thought for a moment and then added, “Not that I know of, anyway.”

  Damon set his cup down and leaned forward. “I was in a bad way, Colbi.” He stared over at her pretty face, focusing on her pink lips for a moment, and said, “It’s just a bad memory and I don’t want to go there.” He raised his voice a little, adding, “…if you don’t mind.” Damon looked into his coffee cup, a wayward coil of dark-red hair falling slightly forward along the side of his head. He looked across at her before saying, “I lost a chunk of my life that I’ll never get back. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in survival mode.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Colbi said flippantly.

  He shook his head. “You’re not getting it, Colbi. It’s harder for me than for most folks… I have more to learn and I have to constantly prove myself.”

  She thought about that for a moment and then said, “The world really is an interesting place. And the kind of work we do allows us to learn more and more about it every day.”

  “Boy, that’s the truth,” he agreed. And meet interesting people, Damon thought as he drank in his tablemate’s features with hungry eyes. He’d known Colbi for only a handful of months, since he got the job with the newspaper. She’d come to Hammond a few years earlier to take care of her ailing father. She started writing the pet column for the paper and doing a little freelance writing work. When her father died, she hired on as a regular reporter. Damon landed his job by applying, fortuitously, just when another reporter gave his notice.

  “So what’s your next big scoop?” Damon asked, a crooked grin on his face.

  She cocked her head and smiled coyly. “As if I would tell you, curly-top.” She glanced up at his thick head of red hair. I like the way he keeps it short all around, but leaves it kind of curly on top. Attractive, she thought.

  After a few moments, she said, “I might invite you to the Pulitzer awards ceremony.”

  “Yeah, right,” he said, laughing out loud. “Like anything happening in this town is worth a Pulitzer prize.”

  “What do you mean? It isn’t the event, it’s the way the writer presents it. You don’t think I could win a Pulitzer? You know, I won awards in college.”

  “For writing about cats?” he teased.

  “What’s wrong with writing about cats and dogs and other animals?” She took on a more serious tone and explained, “There are some important stories to be told about anima
ls.” She shifted in her seat, looked intently at him, and said, “What is second in our lives?” She thought for a moment and then added, “First for some people…It’s our animals—our pets. We’ve done a lot to harm them, from abandoning thousands of cats every year to over-hunting and encroaching on their ranges, causing animals to go extinct. I’m not even sure that most of us who love our pets are treating them as well as we could be; look at the commercial junk we feed them, for example. We smoke in the same room with them. We subject them to all sorts of stresses and chemicals and dangers, even in our homes.” She leaned toward him and asked, “Do you know how many beloved pets die in our homes or on our property because of our negligence and ignorance every year?”

  “No.” He couldn’t help but continue to grin at her enthusiasm.

  She sat back in her seat, pouting. “You’re making fun of me.” She stared into his hazel eyes, and asked, “Don’t you even like animals?”

  He thought about the question for a moment and then said matter-of-factly, “It was a cat that put me in jail.”

  “Oh yes, I remember reading about that.” She shook her head back and forth slowly. “Rags is one amazing cat.”

  “Yeah, amazing,” he said sarcastically.

  She focused her dark-blue eyes on his. “You can’t be serious about blaming the cat for the stupid things you did.”

  “Nah, not really. But I still don’t like cats. They’re descended from wild cats, for heaven’s sake. They’re sneaky and look mean.” He hesitated. “Rags is a pretty cool cat, actually. He’s not like other cats.” He looked up at her. “He’s a klepto, you know.”

  “Yeah, I’ve met Rags over at the Iveys’. He is something special, that’s for sure. Last time I was there, he was rummaging around in my purse. I think he got away with something.” She laughed. “I still don’t know what it was. Haven’t missed it,” she said with a shrug.

  Damon absently pushed his coffee cup from side to side with one hand. “We have a dog—well, it belongs to my younger brothers. I don’t have much to do with it. Never really saw value in wasting time with dumb animals.”

  Colbi stared over at Damon through eye slits. She set her jaw. “Wasting time?” she mimicked. “Dumb animals?” She shook her head, lips pinched tight. “You’re the dumb animal, Damon. Don’t you have any idea how important animals are to our very existence?”

  He laughed. “Sure I do. They’re important at mealtime. Nothing like a good steak, is there?”

  She sat back in the booth seat and took in a deep breath. “You’re really impossible.” She slapped her napkin on the table and picked up her purse. She stopped and glared over at Damon. “You know, I can usually see two sides to most any controversy.” She hesitated and then continued, “But how anyone can so blatantly disregard the value, beauty and…well, spiritual qualities of animals—especially cats—is…well, something must be wrong with you.” She started to scoot out of the booth, but stopped. “Oh you’re not the only one who thinks like you do. Do you know that I feed nearly a dozen stray cats at my place simply because of attitudes like yours? People move and leave their cats behind, or they don’t take care of them, so the cats run off. They let them breed indiscriminately and then don’t take responsibility for the offspring. People like you are a real detriment to the entire cat population!”

  “Hey, wait a darn minute,” he said holding his hands up as if to defend himself. He smirked at her and said, “I’ve never ever moved and left a cat behind.” He laughed and added, “Nor have I let a cat breed indiscriminately or, come to think of it, any other way.”

  She scowled in his direction, stuffed the file folder with her latest column in her large purse, scooted to the edge of the booth seat, and spat, “You’ve apparently never helped a cat, either.” She looped her purse strap over her shoulder and stood up.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll attend your Pulitzer prize ceremony.”

  “Who’s getting a Pulitzer prize?” Iris asked as she walked up to their booth.

  “Oh, hi Mom,” Damon said, standing and giving her a peck on the cheek. “Didn’t know you were working tonight.”

  “I’m not. Brett needs a ride home from band practice and I stopped in here to pick up my paycheck. What are you two up to?” she asked, looking from one to the other.

  “Hi, Iris.” Colbi smiled. “Just having a little coffee before going home to work,” she said as she reached into the booth to retrieve her jacket.

  “You two are workaholics,” Iris scolded.

  “Well when you love writing, it’s hard to stop,” Damon explained.

  Iris looked over at him and smiled proudly. Who knew? She thought. My boy, the writer. I couldn’t be more proud if he was President of the United States. Just to have him off the streets and off drugs… She could feel her eyes welling up. She took in a deep breath, pulled her fitted turquoise corduroy jacket around her and said, “Well, enjoy yourselves, kids…gotta go.”

  The pair stood in place and watched Iris walk to the back office. Colbi leaned into Damon. “Well, with your attitude, I don’t think I want you there,” she hissed.

  “Want me where?” he asked looking puzzled.

  “At the Pulitzer awards ceremony.”

  Damon couldn’t help it; he started to laugh.

  Colbi’s eyes bore into his face. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “Oh nothin’. Here, give me that check. I’m paying tonight.”

  “Sure,” she said, shoving the ticket toward him and setting her purse down on the table.

  She slid into her over-sized jacket, picked up her purse, and headed for the door when Damon called out, “Hey wait. Let me walk you to your car.”

  As tired as she was, Colbi was eager to get home and flesh out a piece the publisher was expecting for the weekend edition of the paper. She gritted her teeth. However, that little rant I unloaded on Damon has got my adrenalin flowing. She couldn’t help but smile as she recalled the shocked look on his face when she lit into him. Well, he had it coming. Someone’s got to educate him about our furred and feathered friends. I guess he just didn’t have occasion to get to know any pets as a youngster. He was too busy doing the wrong thing. Maybe, just maybe, I can help him realize that all animals are cool—not just Rags. She pursed her lips. If not, there may not be a connection for us and that would be too bad. There’s a lot about Damon I really like.

  “Your mom is sure attractive,” Colbi said as they walked together toward the parking lot. She looked up at him. “How tall is she, anyway?”

  “Five-ten, unless she’s wearing those platform shoes she likes.” He shook his head. “I got the short genes from my dad.”

  “You’re taller than me,” she said with a chuckle.

  “A mosquito is taller than you,” he said. “What are you, five-two?”

  Colbi stood tall. “Five-four with my shoes on.” She stopped and looked over at Damon, “You must be, what…five-eight?”

  “Bingo,” he said. “Good guess.”

  “Naw, my dad was five-eight.” She looked over at Damon and added, “Only he was stout.” She slumped while saying, “Gads, I hope I didn’t get his stout genes.”

  Damon looked at her. “Doesn’t look like that’s going to happen anytime soon.” He then glanced up in the direction they were walking. “Driving the truck tonight, huh?”

  She opened the door using her key, saying, “Yeah, I should have thought that decision through more carefully. The heater in this thing is junk.” She reached across the driver’s seat and plunked her purse down next to a tote bag holding a laptop and several thick files.

  Colbi turned back toward Damon and he reached out and clutched the front of her bulky jacket with both hands, looked down into her face and said, “Well, this thing ought to keep you warm. Where did you get this, anyway, from a Sumo wrestler?”

  “It was Dad’s,” she said. “I grabbed it by mistake this morning. She looked down at the wads of cloth he held in his hands and said, “Se
e what I mean about the stout genes?”

  “Yeah, you are just a skinny minnow in that thing,” he said, dropping his hands and stepping back a pace.

  She scowled up at him. “Skinny minnow?” She shook her head, then wrapped the jacket around her and climbed into the cab of the truck. “Night, Damon. Thanks for the coffee and fries.”

  “Sure,” he said as he closed the truck door. He pulled the collar up on his jacket, put his hands in his pockets, and walked toward his own car.

  As Colbi pulled away from the curb, her thoughts flashed back to her current project. It was the last in her series on kitten mills and cat hoarders. Her boss Sterling Boggs was particularly interested in this column because she promised to expose some of the worst of the worst in the state. She hadn’t even turned over the information she’d gathered to the sheriff’s office yet, but she would before the story broke. These people must be shut down, she thought as she drove the five miles toward her parents’ home, now her house…all six slightly run-down rooms.

  As Colbi turned onto the dirt road leading to her house, she took a deep breath. Finally, the cab of the old pickup was beginning to warm up. She shuddered under her heavy jacket. The truck heater is just one of the things I need to get fixed around here. But finding the time for things like that seems to be harder since I went on the paper full time and got involved with the Cat Alliance. Sure do enjoy the group. It has done me good to get out and meet people. I was so isolated when I was taking care of Dad out here at the place. I miss him terribly, but I do enjoy having a life outside of giving sponge baths, administering medications, and preparing meals.

  What’s that? she wondered as she pulled into the long driveway toward the two-story, wood-frame house. She looked in the rearview mirror. Hmmm, guess it was nothing. Thought I saw a flash of light behind me. She continued driving toward the house and parked next to her own car. Darn, should have turned the porch light on. She smiled. Didn’t know I’d be having a late coffee date and debate with Damon. She turned off the ignition and pulled out the key. She then reached over to pick up her purse and the tote bag containing the material she’d gathered for her story. She had everything in her grasp as she awkwardly turned the door handle and climbed down out of the truck.