“No, you aren’t. You work in the flower shop.”
The tone and his assumption stung my pride. I tugged my identification folder from my hip pocket and flipped it open, holding it out for his inspection.
“See,” I told him. “D.B. Hayes. Diana Barbara Hayes.”
The little squirt actually took the folder and examined it, comparing me to my picture. While it wasn’t a particularly flattering picture and my hair was shorter back then, my features were clear enough to satisfy him.
“You don’t look like a private investigator.”
“I get that a lot.” Unfortunately it was true. “That’s what makes me good at my job,” I added, giving him my stock response. “Look, kid…what’s your name anyhow?”
“Mickey.”
“Okay, Mickey,” I said, replacing the folder. “I’d really like to help you out, but I don’t know anything about cats. Your best bet…”
But the kid had come prepared for a brush-off. He whipped out a bent photograph of himself holding an indistinguishable blob of gray fur. He thrust it in my hand before I could finish my suggestion.
“Here’s his picture,” Mickey said in a rush. “His name is Mr. Sam and he’s seventeen. That’s old for a cat. The screen door doesn’t latch so good, so he musta got out between nine and ten this morning. I searched the whole neighborhood, but I can’t find him. We live right near the park, so I bet he went there to chase birds or something, but I can’t search the whole park by myself. And I have to get home before my mom finds out I’m not at the pool with Ray and his mom. See, my mom’s kinda nervous on account of my dad getting killed. Mom’s been under a lot of stress.”
That put the brakes on my objections and captured my full and complete attention. “Your dad was killed?”
He nodded gravely. “That’s why you have to find Mr. Sam. I don’t want my mom to cry anymore. She’ll be real upset when she finds out he’s gone. I was supposed to watch him.”
I had so many questions jamming my brain, I couldn’t decide what to ask first. Unfortunately the kid moved a lot faster than my thought processes. He plopped the wad of crumpled bills on the work counter and sprinted for the front of the shop before I could blink.
“Hey! Wait!”
“You can keep the picture,” Mickey tossed over his shoulder.
“Wait! Mickey! Wait! What’s your last name?”
I chased him out the front door, but he was already astride a fancy red bike.
“Where do you live? I need more information!”
“I gotta go!” he shouted. “I’m late! Keep Mr. Sam when you find him. I’ll come back tomorrow to get him.”
The bike turned the corner and sped off down the sidewalk.
I started to run after him before I remembered that I was alone in the store. I couldn’t leave until Trudy returned.
Blast! How humiliating to be caught flat by a ten-year-old kid. Since standing there wasn’t going to do much good and the afternoon heat was sucking my lungs dry, I returned to the chill air inside the store. I stared at the grungy heap of crumpled dollar bills sitting on the counter in the back room. Now what was I supposed to do?
I’m a dog person. I don’t even like cats.
Chapter Two
Finding a gray cat is not like looking for a needle in a haystack. It is the haystack. The world is full of gray cats—at least, Lakewood Park was on this particular day.
There were dozens of small parks in and around town, not to mention the valley, a system of parks that twisted around a good portion of Cuyahoga County. But using my deductive abilities, I took the direction the kid had headed and his comment about the pool and chose Lakewood over Madison Park, since they were the only two that had pools nearby.
Searching for a cat is a job for Animal Control, not a private investigator, but the kid had hooked me with those sad eyes. And I admit the whole bit about his father being killed had dangled a carrot I couldn’t resist. It could have been a traffic accident. Heck, it probably had been a traffic accident. But I wanted more information.
Besides, the kid had given up a Glimmer Man game—whatever that was—to hire a detective to find his uncle’s old cat so his mom wouldn’t cry anymore. Heck. I didn’t have any choice. Not when he’d paid up front.
I had no intention of keeping his money, of course. I’d locked it away in my aunt’s desk drawer and I’d give it back to him as soon as he picked up his cat. And hopefully one of the two beasts I’d managed to catch would turn out to be Mr. Sam.
Not being totally stupid, I’d stopped by a pet store on my way to the park to pick up a few things I figured I was going to need to trap and hold Mr. Sam. Silly me. I should have added bandages, iodine, even tourniquets, to my list of necessities. Blood still trickled down my hand, squishing between my fingers and smearing the steering wheel with sticky residue. I should have remembered that cats come with claws. Nevertheless I had two mostly gray cats that sort of matched the picture Mickey had given me. One of them had better be Mr. Sam.
As far as I’m concerned, one gray cat looks pretty much like another. Even though the first one was a darker gray and had white under his chin and the second one had a patch of white on his belly, either one could be the cat in the picture as far as I could tell. The two nasty-tempered little monsters were in my car yowling at the top of their considerable lungs. They’d been friendly enough when I was petting them and offering them treats, but once I’d put them inside, all hell broke loose.
Sam One was inside the box a stock boy had given me. Since I hadn’t planned on finding more than one cat, I didn’t have a second box, but Sam Two had come willingly into my arms until I’d tried to add him to the same box. Hence all the blood. Sam Two was now crouched on the floorboard in the narrow backseat after tearing strips of skin off my hand.
Driving with a cat loose in the car made me nervous, but I wasn’t about to try picking the beast up a second time. And short of putting him in the trunk, there was no other option. To make matters worse, I’d spotted a third gray cat right before leaving the park. By then my need to help the kid was waning big-time. It was growing late and my stomach was grumbling over the small salad I’d had for lunch, and where would I have put a third cat anyhow? As it was, I was going to have to smuggle the two beasts into my apartment without being seen and I doubted they were going to cooperate.
I debated blowing my diet by stopping for a fast-food hamburger on my way home, but given my luck, Sam Two would prefer fast food to the kitty tuna I’d bought. He’d probably have it eaten before I got it out of the car. He’d certainly eaten the treats I’d offered him as if he’d been starving—which, from the paunch on that cat, was a big, fat lie.
I figured my best bet was to go straight home and change into something more appropriate for tailing someone who lives in the Shaker Heights area. I could get fast food on my way to the assignment. Besides, I needed to call Aunt Lacy and remind her I wanted to borrow her car tonight. I could hardly drive around on the east side of town in an antique VW Beetle painted mostly in
