The Christmas Kitten: A Polly Parrett Pet-Sitter Cozy Murder Mystery Book 2 (Polly Parrett Pet Sitter Cozy Murder Mysteries) Read online

  “Oh, no.” Sophie braced herself to run when, at that moment, the door opened and there stood the man again.

  “Elaine, come on!”

  The dog paused and looked toward the man, then back at the girls.

  “Come on old lady. It’s time for bed.”

  Elaine gave a slight whimper and a wag of her tail as she continued to eye the girls, then reversed her course and headed back inside. As the door closed behind her the lights went suddenly dark and Sophie rolled on to her back. “Phew. That was close.”

  “But aren’t we going inside? I thought we were going to have sugar cookies.” Ammi was on the verge of tears again.

  “We have to stay hidden, silly. Look, there’s something over there,” she waved off to the right. “Let’s go see.” And wearily they dragged themselves away.

  Four

  “You did good,” said Doctor Jim as he examined the kitten.

  Beside me, Coco stood on her hind legs and pawed at the table. The doctor looked down. “You and Miss Coco,” he corrected himself.

  “She looks to be about six weeks old, so it’s fine to start her on solid food, but supplement it with the formula for a while yet. She’s a little thin, otherwise in pretty good health. We should get her started on deworming treatments, though.”

  “Whatever you say, doc.” “I scratched Coco’s head. “See, I told you she’d be OK.”

  Relieved that the kitten had no serious issues I turned back to the doctor. “I don’t suppose you have any idea where she might have come from?”

  “None at all,” he said cheerfully.

  “So she’s just another throw-away.”

  The doctor picked her up and eyeballed her. “She could be a Scottish Straight.”

  “A what?”

  “You’ve heard of the Scottish Fold cat breed? Their ears fold forward onto their faces and give them a sort of owlish look, but sometimes a kitten is born with normal ears and then they’re called Scottish Straights – at least, by some people.” He held the kitten towards me. “Look at those big, beautiful round eyes and the chubby cheeks. That’s indicative of the breed.”

  “Is her coloring typical of the breed?”

  “No, they come in all colors. But they have a trademark pose; they will sit back and rest their front paws on their belly. Like Buddha.”

  Huh, go figure.

  When we were all done the doc escorted me out to the reception area. “What’s the damage?” I asked.

  “No charge. You’re doing a good thing. Consider it a Christmas gift.”

  “Thanks, Doctor Jim. And you have a very Merry Christmas yourself.”

  I gathered up my charges and took them out to the van where Angel and Vinny were waiting. Because my schedule was so crazy I’d decided to take the kitten to my Mom’s where there were plenty of people to care for her. The big old farmhouse where I’d grown up had been converted this past year to a halfway house for homeless veterans and their pets. Actually, it was an ongoing process but we now had three rooms in the main house and one of the barns had been turned into a dormer of sorts. There were eight bedrooms upstairs, nothing plush but they were private and there were a couple of shared bathrooms. Downstairs was communal living space with a kitchen and recreational area.

  I’d been involved in a murder investigation last year and met Rooster, a Vietnam vet who had been injured in a mortar attack and suffered from PTSD. He was living on the streets and wouldn’t go to a shelter because none of them would allow his dog, Elaine, in. That’s when Mom had come up with the idea to use the space she had at the old farm to help others in the same situation. Rooster had since become a permanent fixture and occupied one of the rooms in the house.

  Anyway, to get back to the story; it was not yet eight. Doctor Jim was always early at the clinic and he never minded if I just stopped in. And I’d already dropped off the bracelet at the police station, which was opened at six sharp, Monday to Friday. Tyler was right, too, no-one was interested in it; the focus was on the missing girls. So my plan was to drive out to Welcome Home – that’s the name we gave the halfway house – drop off the kitty and my dogs, load up on Mom’s good coffee and get my Christmas shopping done while I had a chance.

  You’re probably wondering why I don’t do my shopping on the internet when I’m always so busy. Here’s the thing: I love Christmas. Really, it’s my favorite time of the year – the food, the caroling, the decorations, the way complete strangers suddenly treat each other like long lost friends with cheery greetings and warm smiles. I just revel in the atmosphere, and that includes finding the right gifts for everyone. It’s just so much more personal to go into a shop and pick something up and know instantly it’s perfect for someone you love.

  It had snowed steadily throughout the night. Mallowapple didn’t have the resources to sand or scrape the roads unless really necessary, but people around here knew how to handle the weather. I’d had my snow tires put on a few days ago, when the bad weather was forecast, so the thirty-mile drive to Welcome Home would be no problem. There were a few tire tracks along the way but, other than that, the landscape was a pristine white wonderland that sparkled in the early morning sun. It was so lovely I burst into song with a chorus of Joy to The World, at which the dogs looked at me in alarm – um, I don’t have much of a singing voice. I didn’t care, though, and after a while they decided I wasn’t in pain or going spastic, and I just kept on singing.

  Pulling into the driveway my spirits soared even higher as I took in the festive scene before me. Several of our residents were already busy, adding toy soldiers along the porch rails of the house and building a crèche where the baby Jesus would lie in the manger. When I was a kid, my parents always made a big deal of the Christmas decorations for me and my brothers, Seb and Keene. But things change, and last Christmas had been the first time in years that the holiday spirit had been found once more at the old homestead. This year, the residents had collectively decided to create a real spectacle and have an open house on Christmas Eve. Notices had been put in local publications and flyers distributed, and we were really hoping for a good turnout.

  I waved to everyone as I headed into the house, cat carrier in hand and dogs at my feet.

  “Hellooo!” I made straight for the kitchen, drawn by the smell of coffee. Mom was in there, clearing breakfast dishes. She turned her wheelchair as I entered.

  “Hi, sweetheart. I just made a fresh pot for you.” She knows me well.

  I probably should tell you, Mom was once a champion show-jumper ‘til she had an accident that left her without the use of her legs. She sank into depression and, when my dad couldn’t take it any longer and left, she became bitter and angry as well. Thankfully, her involvement in Welcome Home changed all that; she’s back to being the strong, take-charge woman I always admired. She’s even started giving riding lessons, and we now have two rescued horses for that purpose. Honestly, I’m so proud of what’s been accomplished this past year. We had a lot of help from the local VFW (Veterans of Foreign Wars), both to get our 501c tax status and to do the physical work necessary to rehab the farm, and we still work closely with them to help our residents find work and permanent housing.

  “Hey, Mom.” I bent down and kissed her cheek, then put the carrier on her lap. “Here’s your littlest resident.”

  She lifted the kitten out and a voice behind me said, “Oh my gosh, she is so precious.”

  I looked over my shoulder and smiled at Captain Linda Gutierrez, the only female guest we currently had. “Wanna take on a new job?” I took the kitten from Mom and held her out to Linda. Tentatively she reached out with her left hand. “I, I don’t know. What would I need to do?”

  Linda had lost her right arm, her right breast, and suffered severe burns in an IED ambush while accompanying Rangers as a nurse in Afghanistan. She’d also suffered terrible depression and guilt because she had been the lone survivor. Four months ago she’d come to us with a big old mutt, after wandering the streets for
more than two years. Fiercely independent and private, she probably wouldn’t have sought us out if her dog hadn’t been sick. With no means to pay for his care she’d swallowed her pride and asked for help. Jocko, the dog, perked up for a while, but he was old and tired and a few weeks ago we dug a final resting place in our pet cemetery and said goodbye. That night, Linda disappeared. We put the word out to find her. It took a while but finally she was seen in a town about 100 miles away, asking for work in a restaurant. We sent Rooster to get her. He’s walked in her shoes and was the most likely to be able to bring her back. Only thing is, we didn’t know if we could get her to stay. It struck me that the responsibility of once again caring for a living creature might be just the medicine she needed.

  “She needs to be fed every few hours,” I said, “and litter box, play area and such set up for her. It’s best to keep her away from the other cats for a while yet. In a couple of weeks we can gradually begin to introduce them.”

  For such a tiny thing the kitten had an almost thunderous purr. Linda held her to her cheek then kissed the top of her head, and an edge of her lip turned up in the slightest of smiles. “I don’t really know anything about cats, but I guess I could try.”

  Yes! Mom and I exchanged a fleeting glance of triumph. It was the first positive sign we’d seen from Linda since she’d been back.

  “In that case, I’ll help you get organized,” I picked up the coffee pot, “after I get a dose of caffeine.”

  “We’re going to need some hot chocolate, too.” I whirled around to make a snappy remark to Rooster about turning into a marshmallow – he’s a die-hard coffee drinker – but the words choked in my throat. He stood there, an arm around each of two very bedraggled-looking girls. Instinctively, I realized these must be the missing kids, but I was so taken-aback I was lost for words. Not so my mother.

  “Polly, put the kettle on. Girls,” she addressed the sisters, “come in where it’s warm. I’ve got some sugar cookies I baked just yesterday.”

  The smaller child’s eyes went wide with delight. She must really like sugar cookies, I was thinking, but she surprised us all by pulling free of Rooster’s hold and rushing toward Linda.

  “Dopey,” she cried out, which struck me as a little rude. “You found him.” And I realized she was talking about the kitten, not Linda, as she reached her arms upward.

  Five

  “You could have knocked me down with a feather when I saw them lying there on the horse bedding.” Rooster was recounting to Sheriff Wisniewski how the girls had been found. For a while in the kitchen it had been a madhouse, with everyone asking questions at once until Mom took charge, delegating Rooster to call Wisniewski, and organizing hot baths, clean clothes and a meal for the kids.

  “They must have come through the forest. That’s almost 10 miles direct from the town. It’s a miracle they ended up here. Just a few steps in a different direction and we’d have been looking for frozen bodies this morning.” Rooster shook his head in disbelief. “It was Batt Vargus who found ‘em. He’s on mucking out duty this week and went to get some clean shavings to lay in the stalls and there they were, fast asleep. It’s a good thing we keep the barn heated.”

  Mom had seated the kids at the kitchen table with more hot chocolate. They looked pretty bedraggled with bits of shaving stuck to their clothes and in their hair. Sophie, the older girl, was withdrawn, almost sullen. Ammi, on the other hand, turned out to be quite the little chatterbox and soon their story began to come out.

  Amalie had found the kitten and brought it into the house. Knowing her stepmother would not be pleased she took a bracelet of Nicole’s and put it around the cat’s neck because in her child’s mind it would “make the kitty more pretty.”

  Nicole, as expected, told her to get rid of the kitten. When Ammi cried and begged to be allowed to keep the kitten Nicole had snatched it, saying she’d throw it out with the trash. It was then she noticed her bracelet and became absolutely furious, and slapped Ammi across the cheek. More frightened than hurt, Ammi screamed. “I said she was mean and ugly,” she told us, “and I wished she’d never married daddy. Then she was going to hit me again and Sophie told her to leave me alone and pushed her and, and…” the words trailed off and Ammi looked anxiously at her sister who glared back. Moments later Sophie’s features softened and she sighed, “It’s alright, Ammi. I guess we have to tell the truth; that’s what Daddy would want.” She squared her shoulders and looked right at the Sheriff. “I killed Nicole,” she said.

  Six

  After a minute or two of stunned silence during which we watched the tough ten-year-old morph into a frightened and lonely little girl who sank to her knees, dissolving into tears, the first to react was Linda. She stepped forward, placing the kitten into Mom’s lap then dropping to the floor, putting her one arm around Sophie and pulling her close. Silently, Amalie rushed forward and climbed onto Linda’s lap, where she clung while Linda rocked back and forth making soft crooning noises.

  The rest of us hovered awkwardly around, unsure what to do, until sweet Elaine, who’d been watching everything from her bed in the corner, padded over to the trio and bent her head to nuzzle the girls. Shamed that a dog was showing more compassion and initiative than we were, we moved as one to surround the children, muttering reassurances.

  It was then the officer who’d accompanied Wisniewski walked in. “Uh,” he did a double take.

  “What is it, Frellick?” Wisniewski spoke curtly.

  “This is Ms. Harris from Child Services, Sheriff.” And he stepped aside to allow a pug-faced woman entry. Well, to me she looked a little puggish: solemn eyes, wrinkled brow and squashed nose.

  “I hope you weren’t planning on questioning that child without me present, Sheriff Wisniewski?”

  “No, ma’am.” The Sheriff raised his hands. “But I am going to have to detain her. She just confessed to murder.”

  “Then you’d better make sure you mirandize her; but I want to speak to both girls first... alone.”

  Wisniewski sucked in a deep breath. “Frellick,” he snapped, “you’re with me. Rooster, you too. I want a word with you.”

  When the front door slammed shut, Mom turned to the social worker. “You can take the girls into the room across the hall. It will be private there.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Linda said, keeping a possessive arm around Sophie as Ammi hung on to her leg.

  “Just the girls,” the woman raised her hand in a blocking motion, then used that same hand to gesture impatiently at the sisters. “Come along.” They gazed at her in wide-eyed terror and held even tighter to Linda.

  “They’ve been through terrible trauma,” Mom pushed her chair forward, “and they’ve formed a bond with Linda. I think it best she stay with them.”

  The two women glared at each other, but I knew my mother’s look. I’d been the recipient of it enough times, and I had no doubt who was going to win this eyeballing contest.

  Ms. Harris glanced away. Told ya! “Very well.” And she marched away, Linda ushering the girls behind her and giving Mom a grateful look over her shoulder.

  I was running late, and there was really nothing I could do to help Mom. Besides, I had to stop and take care of a bathroom break for a charming Pekingese named Han before I did my shopping. So I kissed Mom on the cheek, called the dogs and loaded them into the van and off we went.

  Seven

  Han’s “parents,” Kathryn and Will Beaudry, both worked from home, so this was not a regular visit. Today they had a meeting to attend that would keep them occupied for five or six hours and they didn’t like their precious boy to be alone that long. They lived in a lovely antique Colonial home, which they’d renovated themselves, with access through a security gate. I had the code but couldn’t reach the keypad from the van and had to climb out. It was a bit of a nuisance and I was always fearful the gate would start closing before I got back in my vehicle.

  I punched in the numbers, the heavy gates began to swing op
en and I reached quickly for the open van door… too quickly. I slipped on the packed snow, falling forward. Grabbing the door handle I was able to spare myself from ending up on the ground; instead the door slammed closed as I leaned on it and caught my baggy sweater firmly in its grasp. My head bounced off the window and I clung on, slightly dazed, waiting for my fuzzy brain to clear when I heard the click of the lock. Oh, no. The dogs, reacting as if this were some new game, were bouncing and barking and one of them had hit the lock. Inside the van I could see my keys hanging from the ignition and my cell phone laying on the console. Aaargh.

  The squeal of the gates starting to close brought me back to my senses. The gate code was a six-figure number that I kept on my phone, and for the life of me I couldn’t remember it now. There might be a way for me to get into the house but I’d have to get through the gates first. With barely another thought I tugged at the bottom of my sweater to pull it over my head but it would only stretch a few inches. So I crouched and wriggled downwards, backing out of the garment and dragging my arms through it so the sleeves were inside out as it dangled from the door, and I was left topless. Thank goodness I wore a bra today.

  My effort was to no avail. As I straightened up the gates shut with a depressing finality and I was left standing half naked in the freezing cold. I worked my way back into the sweater and forced my mind to consider how to get out of this plight. The dogs were looking expectantly at me, waiting to see where this new game was going.

  “Open the door,” I squeaked in that high-pitched voice we use for pets and babies. “Come on guys. Jump on the lock again. Good puppies. Yaaay.” And to demonstrate I bounced up and down as best I could while attached to the vehicle, and banged on the window. Angel yawned and lay down, Vinny decided it was more fun to wrestle with the quilt that covers the back seat; only Coco continued to watch intently, but didn’t move a muscle.