The Cat Collector Read online

  “He wants you,” Brent observed.

  “Since he saw his owner murdered by a man who also tried to kidnap him, maybe he’s scared of men right now.” Claudia glanced at Steve, who looked at her with warmth in his eyes.

  “Would you be willing to keep Wrigley?” Brent asked her.

  Astonished, Claudia replied, “But your aunt wanted him left in your care. She may have written that into her will.”

  Brent nodded in a thoughtful way. “I know. But Emily, my fiancée, is allergic to cats. She likes Wrigley, but whenever we stopped by my aunt’s, Emily would start sneezing. Aunt Lydia was healthy. We thought she’d go on for years and outlive Wrigley. I don’t think we can have him at home with us because of Emily’s allergy.”

  Claudia listened, still flabbergasted. “But doesn’t he belong to you legally?”

  Brent’s brows formed a vertical crease as he seemed to ponder a moment. “How about if I write up a bill of sale and sell him to you for a dollar?”

  “What about his Cubs prognostications?” Steve asked.

  “That would be up to Claudia,” Brent replied. “I can make a statement to the press that she will be handling that from now on.” He looked at Claudia. “If you want to, that is.”

  Claudia eyed Steve. “We can think about that later.”

  “Right. We have a murder to solve first,” Steve said.

  “I agree.” Brent faced Steve squarely. “So . . . am I still a suspect?”

  “I’ll verify your whereabouts at the time of the murder,” Steve replied. “You’re free to go. I’ll have an officer drive you back to the Worthington house. I assume you left your car there.”

  “I did,” Brent said. “Thanks. Do you have any clue who murdered my aunt?”

  “We’re still investigating,” Steve told him. “Her home wasn’t broken into, so it seems she knew the person. Or else the murderer had a key and knew her home’s security code. Do you have any idea who might have killed her?”

  “Maria Kowalski had her key and code. She came a few times a week to houseclean. But my aunt trusted her for fifteen years or more. She’s a middle-aged, sweet lady.”

  “It was a male who ran out with the cat,” Steve said. “Did your aunt have a gardener?”

  “Yes, but I doubt she would have given him access into her house.”

  “One more question. Did your aunt have any Tarot cards?”

  Brent’s forehead puckered. “You mean those fortune-telling cards with pictures on them? Not that I know of. She played bridge with her friends. Come to think of it, today would have been her bridge day. Ordinarily she would have been at her friend Mrs. Murphy’s this morning. Maybe the game was cancelled and that’s why she was home.”

  “If the intruder knew her habits, he may have expected her to be out,” Steve conjectured.

  “But she was home,” Brent said in a grave tone. “Knowing my aunt, she would have put up a big fight to keep anyone from taking Wrigley.”

  “Do you know if Maria Kowalski used Tarot cards?” Steve asked.

  Claudia stood there holding Wrigley and listened intently over the cat’s loud purr, mystified as to why Steve was asking about Tarot cards.

  Brent slowly shook his head. “I only met Maria a few times. She seemed pretty down-to-earth. No idea what her interests are. Why? Did you find a deck of Tarot cards at the house?”

  “Only one card. It looks old and the words are written in a foreign language. One of my men thought it might be Polish.”

  “Mrs. Kowalski has an accent,” Brent said.

  “If anything else comes to mind, let me know.” Steve offered his hand.

  “I will.” Brent shook Steve’s hand, then turned to Claudia. “I’ll leave Wrigley with you then. You’re his new ‘mom.’”

  “Let me know who his veterinarian has been,” Claudia said. “I’ll ask for his records.”

  “Will do.” Brent nodded goodbye, gave Wrigley a last scratch behind the ear and walked out the front door.

  Steve followed to talk to the police outside, then came back in. After locking the door, he walked up to Claudia. “So now you have three cats.”

  Claudia shook her head as she smiled. “Hope the other two will accept him.”

  As she held Wrigley, the white cat stared at her, eye to eye, in a profound way. Like he knew more than he should for a cat. Maybe it was due to the trauma he’d endured.

  “You mentioned a pizza?” Steve said.

  “Shall I put it in the oven?”

  “Might as well. We can’t go out and I’d rather not have strangers coming here delivering take-out.”

  Claudia carried Wrigley back to the guest room. She opened her bedroom door and let Jasmine and Knickerbocker out. Both sat by the closed guest room door like furry sentinels.

  Later, Claudia and Steve finished the last pieces of pizza. “I was surprised to hear about the Tarot card,” she said, wondering why he hadn’t mentioned it to her earlier.

  “It was found on the floor near the broken crystal vase.”

  “Seems odd to find just the one card. Anything else you forgot to tell me?”

  He paused and made a half-smile that caused an attractive crease in his cheek. “In the rush to keep you safe, I guess I did forget. Sorry.” He stared at her in a fond way. “On this case, you’re both a help and a distraction.”

  She quietly thought through his comment, then decided to let it go. “What will you do next?”

  “Interview the housekeeper. Want to come? Your presence might put a middle-aged lady at ease. We found Mrs. Worthington’s address book. Shouldn’t be hard to locate Maria Kowalski.”

  “Guess I really am connected with this case,” Claudia said, still thinking it unusual to be asked to go along on a police investigation. “It’s been nearly six months since we solved the Radek murder, and I acquired Jasmine.”

  “I like having you along,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m happy that you’re part of my life.”

  Claudia drew in a breath. “I like being with you, too. Dating. It’s been good.”

  His brown eyes connected with hers, growing more intense. “We could . . . you know . . . make it permanent.”

  She sensed he meant marriage and found herself not wanting to take the hint. “We have a great relationship as it is.”

  He smiled and looked down. “What’s that old Supremes song? Something about not hurrying love.” His eyes met Claudia’s with indulgent resignation. “I’m happy just being with you.”

  Claudia tried to hide her discombobulation. He said the L word. Oh, gosh. Change the subject. “I think I have some ice cream in the freezer. Want some?”

  “Why not?” Steve said in an affable way. “Ice cream is always the great comforter.”

  CHAPTER four

  A Whole Other Ball Game

  “So why don’t you marry him?” Amy asked, pushing her red curly hair back with a show of impatience. “He loves you. How do you feel about him?”

  Claudia began to wonder if she should have agreed to meet her old friend for lunch at the Bumblebee Café. Or if she should have confided what Steve said last night. Amy was often a little too direct and sometimes showed an inclination to want to run Claudia’s life. She’d known Claudia too long and too well, that was the problem.

  “That’s just it. I . . . I don’t exactly know how I feel.” Claudia stirred her spoon in her barely touched mushroom barley soup. “I mean, I like him. A lot. But love is . . . that’s a whole other ball game.”

  Amy’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “Okay, that’s easy. Now that you’re Wrigley’s new ‘mom,’ why don’t you ask the cat? He predicts baseball games.”

  “Oh, ha ha,” Claudia wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

  “You’re pushing forty, so you can’t take forever to decide. He might not wait.”

  Claudia set her spoon down and straightened her back. “But I’ve gotten used to being single. Set in my ways, I suppose. It was a mental adjustment for me to have hi
m stay over last night. He meant to protect me, I get that. But he started giving me orders in my own home. Even if I wanted to marry again, I’m not sure he’s good husband material. I’ve never liked high-handed men.”

  “Oh, come on. He’s a cop who decided to personally assign himself to protect the woman he loves. So he did what he needed to do. And he’s patient when you fend off any hint that he’s about to propose. He respects you.” Amy shook her head in frustration. “How can you pass up this wonderful man?”

  “You’re too romantic,” Claudia chided her friend. “Look, there’s a statistic that says married men live longer than single men. But single women live longer than married women. I think that shows who has to absorb the most stress in a marriage. Men like to be in control. I loved my husband. He was very sweet, but even with him, there was some of that male-dominance thing going on.”

  “Testosterone,” Amy said. “It’s in their blood. Just talk back.”

  Claudia ignored her and continued making her point. “It was a bewildering adjustment to find myself widowed and single again. But I’ve become very happy these last years, paddling my own canoe.”

  Amy gave her an I-can’t-believe-you look. “So your life plan is to live to a ripe old age alone? Be an elderly cat lady?”

  With consternation, Claudia realized she didn’t exactly know what she was trying to say. She didn’t have any life plan. Fortunately a further argument came to mind. “Here’s another issue. Steve carries a gun and has to take risks in the line of duty. I don’t like the possibility of being widowed again. Once was enough.”

  Amy looked at her squarely. “None of us knows the future. Steve might live to ninety-five. So could you. Will you want to look back on your life and remember the man you let get away, because you couldn’t make a decision?”

  Claudia pressed her lips together, getting really annoyed. “Well, I took my time thinking over whether I wanted to marry my first husband. That’s just the way I make decisions, slowly and carefully.”

  Amy’s eyes grew big. “Did you hear what you just said?”

  “What?”

  “You said your first husband. Which implies there’s going to be a second husband.”

  Claudia replayed her own words in her mind. “I did say that, didn’t I . . . ?”

  “So down deep you may already be thinking you’ll marry Steve.”

  Dumbfounded, Claudia could find no coherent reply. Her body hummed with a strange, but energizing nervousness.

  ◆◆◆

  That evening, after the clinic closed, Steve picked up Claudia and drove to Maria Kowalski’s two-story apartment building on the edge of Briarwood.

  After Steve rang her doorbell, a thin, sixtyish woman with salt-and-pepper hair opened the door and looked at them with serious brown eyes.

  Steve had his badge in hand and showed it to her. “Steve O’Rourke, Briarwood Police. This is Claudia Bailey. She’s familiar with this case, and she’s caring for Wrigley the cat.”

  “I’m Maria.” She motioned with her hand in a shy but cordial way. “Come in, please.”

  She invited them to have a seat on her beige couch that had a colorful afghan over the back. Maria settled herself in a padded, oak rocking chair, facing them. A basket of knitting sat on the carpeted floor next to her rocker. The scent of cooked cabbage emanated from the kitchen.

  Claudia gazed at the lace curtains on the tall windows at the end of the small living room and the pots of healthy looking violets on a long, narrow table in front of the windows. “You must have a green thumb,” she said to Maria. “I tried, but never could keep violets alive. Pretty curtains, too.”

  “Thank you. My mother grew violets and I learned from her.” Maria spoke with a rich accent, but her English was easy to understand. “The curtains are old. My mother brought them with her when my parents and I moved here from Poland long ago. My parents are gone now. So is my husband. Old family keepsakes are a comfort to me.”

  Claudia looked at Steve, who seemed to be listening with patient interest, though she knew he had important questions for Maria. She noted that he didn’t seem to mind waiting for a distinctly female conversation to finish. Okay, maybe he’s not such a high-handed male after all.

  Steve smiled slightly and looked at Maria. “As I told you on the phone, Briarwood Police are investigating Mrs. Worthington’s death. I need to ask you some questions.”

  Maria nodded. “I understand. She was my favorite client. Hard to believe she’s gone.”

  Steve took out his digital recorder and turned it on. After stating the pertinent info, he set it on the polished wood side table next to the couch, beneath a lit lamp with a fringed shade.

  “How long have you worked for Mrs. Worthington?”

  “Sixteen years.”

  “You had a key to her house? Did you know her home’s security code?”

  “Yes, she trusted me with her key and gave me the code. She served on several charity boards, so she was often out at meetings, and I needed to get in when she wasn’t home. She only turned on the security system when she went out of town.” Maria’s face softened with nostalgia. “She wanted a spotless home and it’s quite a big house. She liked to host catered dinner parties. So I would come to clean twice, sometimes three times a week, depending on her plans.”

  “You got along well?” Steve asked.

  “Always, from the first time I met her. One of her woman friends recommended me.”

  “How about her cat?”

  Maria’s mouth curved into a small smile. “Wrigley and I were pals. He’d get lonely when she wasn’t home, so he followed me around the house as I cleaned. I’d pet him when I stopped to take a break.” She looked at Claudia. “I’m glad he’s being taken care of.”

  “Do you have other clients you clean for?” Steve asked.

  “I used to, but the last few years I’ve only worked for Mrs. W.” Maria chuckled. “I called her that, and she didn’t mind. She gave me a generous raise, and I was able to make ends meet with her as my only client.”

  As she sat, quietly listening, Claudia thought this a bit odd. “Even with the nice raise, wouldn’t it still be better to have had at least one other client? You had a few days available when you weren’t at Mrs. Worthington’s. And now you have no clients?”

  Maria slowly nodded and looked at her hands, gnarled from arthritis, in her lap. “I’m not as spry as I used to be. My back gives me trouble sometimes. So I see a chiropractor one day a week. And I often have other doctor’s appointments, too. But you’re right, I need to find some new people to clean for.”

  Claudia felt empathy for the woman’s situation. “Have you thought of maybe having a young person help you? A high school student looking to earn a little money, for example.”

  Maria stared at Claudia with a stunned expression and straightened up in her rocking chair. “No. I prefer to work alone.”

  Claudia and Steve shared a glance. She sensed he was on the same wavelength noticing Maria’s change in demeanor.

  Steve resumed questioning the lady. “Where were you on the morning Mrs. Worthington was killed?”

  “At my chiropractor, all morning.” Maria seemed to relax and grew talkative again. “Had to wait. His office is always crowded. He put me on an ice pack for a long while, and then did adjustments on my spine. And traction. I can give you his number, so you can verify it.”

  “Yes, I’d like the number.” Reaching into his pocket, Steve pulled out a card encased in a clear plastic evidence bag. He held it up. “Have you ever seen this before?”

  Maria gaped open-mouthed at the card, her face growing pale. “Yes.” She swallowed. “It’s a Tarot card. From a deck that was my grandmother’s in Poland. How . . . where did you get it?”

  “On the floor of Mrs. Worthington’s living room. Between her dead body and a broken crystal vase,” Steve said, matter-of-factly.

  “Oh, no . . . no.” Maria weakly lifted her trembling hand to her face.

&nb
sp; “Are you all right?” Claudia worried that the lady might faint.

  Maria folded her arms over her chest, hugging herself as she seemed to try to pull herself together. “I’m all right.”

  “Any idea how the card got there?” Steve asked. “Do you usually carry the deck of Tarot cards with you?”

  “No. Never. They’re a keepsake from my grandmother. The deck is in a drawer in my bedroom.” She pointed to a doorway to her left. “I don’t know why that card would be at Mrs. W’s.”

  “Would you be willing to show us the deck of cards?” Steve asked.

  With deliberation, Maria stiffly pushed herself up from her rocking chair, walked into the other room, and came back with a set of cards held together with an old rubber band. She handed them to Steve.

  Steve took off the rubber band, and he and Claudia quickly looked through the cards. Claudia marveled at how timeworn they appeared to be, graying around their soft edges, some with stains. But the colors of the arcane drawings were still vivid.

  “Are the words beneath the pictures written in Polish?” Claudia asked.

  Maria nodded.

  Steve had left the card found at Mrs. Worthington’s house lying on his knee. Claudia picked it up and tried to figure out the printed drawing. The picture showed a yellow hoop with a blindfolded woman in a medieval dress in the middle, her arms stretched to hold onto the hoop. She seemed to be standing on the back of an ancient white-haired man who was on all fours. On her left and right were two people clinging to the hoop, one of them upside down. Above her head stood another human figure. At the bottom were the words Kolo Fortuny.

  “Can you translate?” Claudia asked Maria, turning the card toward her. “What’s the meaning of this particular one?”

  “It’s the Wheel of Fortune.” A grimace creased Maria’s lined face. “It’s often interpreted to mean good luck. A change in life.” Her composure faltered. “But it can mean bad luck, too.”

  “Any reason why this card would have gotten separated from the deck?” Steve asked.

  Maria lowered her gaze. “No idea,” she replied. She looked up at Steve, her eyes sharp. “Are we done? You have more to ask?”