The Lucky Cat
Black Cat Vol. 1
A Salem Massachusetts Mini Mystery
Lisa Shea
Copyright © 2014 by Lisa Shea / Minerva Webworks LLC
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Lisa Shea
Book design by Lisa Shea
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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~ 2 ~
I breathed in the scent of rosemary, its pungent aroma bringing me back to my grandmother’s cooking. She had adored rosemary and added it liberally to pretty much everything she made. Even now I could see her mustard-yellow apron tied neatly about her ample waist and the twinkle which perpetually shone in her eye.
I moved to the window of my small office, pushed up the pane, and gazed out at the street. Sofia, my mentor, had been right. It was lovely. Salem, Massachusetts had a mystical quality to it during any season, and with it being October first, we were heading into the most magical time of year. The trees lining the brick sidewalk opposite me were glistening in golden foliage. Behind them, red brick shops were neatly painted and decorated. The first floor held large-pane window storefronts while the second floor sported rows of windows with white shutters just like mine. The third story held dormer windows poking out of the black roof like attentive eyes.
With my window open, the aroma of rosemary bubbled up even more richly from the herbal shop below. I had met the owner there yesterday when I picked up my keys; she was a sweet if a bit absent-minded lady.
I turned from the window and went back to sit at my desk. So this is what it had come down to. My rising star in the Boston police department had come to an abrupt, tumultuous halt. I’d weathered eight years of negotiating the treacherous landscape of being female and black in the bastion of old-school power. All of that work down the drain - and all because, when my supervisor had attempted to fondle my rear for the tenth time in a day, I had slammed my fist into his face, breaking his nose. Oh, I’m sure they would have taken me back, once I attended a month’s worth of anger management courses, but I’d had enough.
That very night, drowning my sorrows in a large glass of sauvignon blanc over at Legal Sea Foods, my mentor had made the offer. She’d been a P.I. here in Salem for almost thirty years and was ready to retire to Florida. She had the perfect house picked out in Sarasota. Her Salem office and apartment were paid for through the end of the year. If nothing else it would give me a place to stay at night, a place to go during the day, and some time to think.
So here I was.
A tentative knock came at my door. I looked through the half-pane window which still proclaimed “Sofia Gonzales – Private Investigator” in gold letters. The woman beyond was in her mid-thirties, scrawny, and huddled beneath a pale blue windbreaker. Her mouse-brown hair was pulled back tight into a ponytail.
I stood and moved around the desk. Did I have my first client already? I waved her in.
Her thin voice matched her features. “Are you … are you Sofia Gonzales?”
I shook my head with a smile. “No, my name is Kathy Taylor. Sofia was a friend of mine and she’s turned the agency over to me. I’m just getting settled in.”
“My name is Paula. Paula Carraway. And I want to hire you.” Her hand moved to press tightly against the black purse at her side.
I waved a hand at the lone chair before the desk. It was solid maple and probably weighed more than I did. “Please, have a seat. How can I help you?”
She tenuously perched on the front edge of the seat, and I moved around to mine. My desk held a pencil holder with three pens, a phone, and nothing else. I hadn’t even taken out my laptop yet – it still sat in its quilted bag behind me.
“I need … it’s just that …” Her eyes drew over my features. “Wow, has anybody ever told you that you look exactly like Halle Berry?”
I held the smile on my lips.
Only perhaps ten thousand times.
“You’re very kind,” I murmured. “You were saying? You needed my help?”
“Oh, yes,” she nodded, her hands wringing in her lap. “It’s just that, you see, I need you to find … my cat.”
My shoulders slumped. It was going to be one of those days.
“Did you try distributing flyers?”
Her eyes took on an intense shine and she leant forward, shaking her head. “You don’t understand. My daughter, she has cancer. Nothing was working. And then she saw some cartoon thing on TV – Mimi’s Deliveries or something like that – and she decided that she needed a black cat. I went out with her the very next day up to Russell Orchards in Ipswich where the cashier had a litter of black kittens. And, you know, Suzy started to get better! I don’t know if it was the cat, or what, but I don’t care.” Her eyes gained a laser-like focus. “I need the cat back.”
I nodded, reaching into my laptop bag and pulling out the laptop. I set it up on the corner of the desk and powered it up. In a minute I had Word open on the screen. “OK, so what does this cat look like? Black, I guess?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. It’s about a year old now.” Her eyes misted. “The doctors weren’t sure Suzy would even last a year, when we first got Spooky. But Suzy is doing better every day.” Her lips pressed together. “Or was, until the cat was stolen. Now Suzy is fading again. I have to get that cat back.”
I looked up at Paula. “You’re sure Spooky was stolen?”
She nodded energetically. “Someone broke in. Smashed in the side window. Came right into our home, while we were at a chemo treatment, and stole Spooky.”
My brow creased. “You’re sure Spooky didn’t just escape while the thief was taking other valuables?”
Paula shook her head. “Nothing else was taken. Only Spooky.”
I blinked. “You’re sure? Maybe you missed something. No jewelry, watches, or spare credit cards?”
“Only Spooky,” she repeated adamantly. “I checked the whole house.”
I stood. “Could we go take a look around the house?”
She sprung to her feet with a glow coming to her face. “Does this mean you’ll take the case?”
I’d been a cop so long that I’d forgotten that I could simply refuse to help her. But, looking into her eyes, I knew I’d do my best to find the feline. Her daughter deserved that much.
I told her my fee and she handed over a credit card without a moment’s hesitation. That done with, we headed down the stairs and out onto the street.
Her house was only a few blocks away – a lovely pale yellow two-story colonial with black shutters. She took me around to the brick-paved driveway and pointed at the shattered window. I stepped forward to it. The glass clearly splayed inward from the impact. I looked around the driveway area. Unfortunately, the brick did not have any obvious clues like a large boot impression, size 12, with a distinctive ridge in it.
An elderly man in a tweed jacket drew to a stop on the sidewalk. Alongside him was a dachshund on a paisley leash. “About time you got that cat under control. She’s been yowling up a storm for a week solid now. We finally have some blessed silence.”<
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Paula flushed. “Spooky’s lost, Mr. Danforth. Have you seen her?”
“No, and hopefully she’s gone far away,” he sniffed, moving down the street.
I raised an eyebrow. “Tense neighbor?”
She glanced at the house next door. “Just likes his quiet, I guess. He’s usually fairly friendly.”
She led me inside. The home was messy, with toys strewn everywhere, but I imagined Paula had far more important things to deal with right now than making sure her mantle was dusted.
The living room had a long, dark brown couch, a recliner, and an unlit fireplace. An oriental screen shielded the window from view.
Paula nodded her head toward it. “I picked up all the glass, but the edges of the frame still have sharp remnants. The guys to do the replacement should be here in a few hours.”
A young girl, maybe nine, came scrambling into the room, her eyes wide with hope. “Did you find Spooky?” Her bald head was looped with a pink headband sporting a large fabric rose.
I dropped down to one knee. “That is a beautiful flower you have there, young lady.”
She beamed. “Thank you. My nana gave it to me.” She looked over her shoulder as a slender woman with a cloud of white hair came into the room.
The woman’s eyes sharpened. “I thought we were done with police visits for the day. Suzy needs her rest from all this excitement.”
Paula crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Kathy isn’t a cop, ma. She’s a private investigator. And