Feline Felony
Never in a million years would I have believed that such a crime could happen in my little hometown.
But it did. Two days ago.
A kidnapping.
Or technically, a cat-napping.
Usually, the toughest crime reported by Sunnyville Journal was bicycle theft. Now, we had something really serious on our hands.
Tibbles, a frisky cat with a gray coat, was being held captive. Her owner, old Ms. Winston, was on the edge of a breakdown.
As the society columnist for the Sunnyville Journal, it’s my job to report on the local gossip—who’s attending the charity ball, who’s marrying whom, who’s wearing what. But this morning, my editor put me on the Tibbles case as an investigative reporter.
That’s right, investigative reporter! I had been given a chance to reach the top of my profession, and I certainly wasn’t going to blow it.
I spent the last hour reading through the details of the case. Two mornings ago, Ms. Winston—who by the way, is loaded—woke up to find Tibbles gone and a ransom note on her front porch.
The note demanded $500,000 in cash be placed under the backyard deck of her fancy house at midnight. Ms. Winston did as instructed. But the next morning, the money was gone, and Tibbles hadn’t been returned.
After Ms. Winston notified the police, the story spread like wildfire through town.
At lunch time, I walked over to Ms. Winston’s home to get the details for my story.
“Clarice, please come in.” Ms. Winston opened the door for me. Her eyes and cheeks were red and swollen.
Now, I never liked Ms. Winston. She’d donated lots of money to this or that charity, just to get her name in my column, not out of the goodness of her heart. In fact, it occurred to me that she could have made up this catnapping story just for the attention. But a cat lover myself, I kept an open mind.
I entered Ms. Winston’s kitchen. She introduced me to her niece and nephew, Lois and Lyle, who were seated at the table drinking coffee.
“The police have no leads,” Ms. Winston said, wiping her eyes with a tissue.
“Where did you find the note?” I asked.
We all followed Ms. Winston out to the front porch. “Here,” she said, pointing to the wooden swing. “The police are checking the note for fingerprints.”
“And where did you last see Tibbles?”
Ms. Winston took me to the side of the house, her niece and nephew following behind. She pointed to the hedges across from the cat door. “Oh, please excuse the weeds. I fired my gardener three weeks ago, and well, good help is just so hard to find…I left Tibbles here for her morning stroll.”
I bent down and examined the bushes, dotted with dandelions and shiny green leaves.
“Every morning, Tibbles walked through the hedges to the park.” Ms. Winston bit her trembling lip. “I should have called the police immediately…”
“I’m sorry, Auntie,” Lyle said. “I searched everywhere for her.”
“I kept calling out for her,” Lois added.
Ms. Winston sniffled. “You’ve both been wonderful. I just don’t understand why they haven’t brought Tibbles home. They got the ransom money.”
“Whoever took her is probably an amateur who can’t figure out how to bring her back without getting caught,” I said. “We’ll find a clue that will lead us to her.”
We returned to the kitchen and sat at the table. My reporter’s instinct told me the crime was an inside job. I studied the three suspects.
Ms. Winston repeatedly wiped her eyes. Lois kept her hands folded on her lap. Lyle acted fidgety, scratching his neck.
Reporters had to be nosy to sniff out a story, so I questioned the motive. “Ms. Winston, tell me about your will.”
“All of my money goes to Tibbles,” she said. “Lois and Lyle are my only living relatives. Whoever takes care of Tibbles will inherit everything.”
“You know how much I love her,” Lois said.
“Not nearly as much as I do,” Lyle said.
Ms. Winston sighed. “I haven’t decided who will be best. But with Tibbles gone…”
Before I could question her further, the telephone rang.
Ms. Winston jumped to answer it. “Chief Darvee…Have you found her?…Oh, I see.” She hung up the phone, sniffling again. “There were no fingerprints on the note.”
“I suspected as much,” I said. “Whoever took Tibbles was very smart. May I have a cup of coffee?”
“Certainly.” Ms. Winston stood, poured the coffee, and handed me the mug. “The ransom was nearly all my life savings. But I would never put a price tag on Tibbles.”
“I think whoever took her knew that,” I said.
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked.
I ignored her question. “Lyle, will you pass me the cream?”
By the time I stirred the cream into my coffee, I had no doubt about what had happened. I reached for the phone and dialed the police. “Send the Chief over to Ms. Winston’s immediately.”
The three of them gaped at me.
“What’s going on?” Ms. Winston asked.
“The person who took Tibbles is in this room,” I said. “Lyle, please roll up your sleeves.”
He shifted in his seat, then obeyed. His arms were covered in red welts.
“Just as I suspected,” I said. “Those shiny green leaves in the hedges are poison ivy. Tibbles is very likely carrying poison ivy oil on her coat. When Lyle passed me the cream, I noticed the rash on his wrist.
“And you, Ms. Winston. At first I thought your cheeks were swollen from crying, but now I see you have a touch of poison ivy too.”
I turned to Lois. “You’re the only one without the rash. Like I said, whoever took Tibbles was smart. Smart enough to wear gloves so there wouldn’t be any fingerprints on the note. Ms. Winston probably got the rash from Tibbles days ago. Lyle got it when he went into the bushes looking for Tibbles. But because you wore gloves, you didn’t get poison ivy.”
Lois’s cheeks turned as red as her rashes. “No!” She dashed for the door. As she opened it, she ran right into the arms of Chief Darvee.
Later that evening, after Lois had confessed, Ms. Winston had Tibbles back in arms—safe and sound. And I had my first investigative byline and a fat raise. Who says crime doesn’t pay?