[Lady Justice 26] - Lady Justice and the Cat Read online

  “Walt,” Maggie chided, “how could you possibly send that sweet thing to animal control?”

  Maggie was good. Real good. If I refused, I would look like Attila the Hun, Jack the Ripper, or some other heartless villain.

  “But Maggie, neither of us have ever had a cat --- or a pet of any kind for that matter. We wouldn’t know what to do.”

  “Oh pshaw!” Blanche interjected. “They practically take care of themselves. Just keep food and water in his dishes and his litter box clean and Clarence will be a happy camper.”

  “See!” Maggie said. “Besides, it will just be for a few days --- until we can find him a good home. I’ll ask around the office. I’m sure we can find someone who’ll take him in. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll take care of his food and water. All you have to do is clean his litter box once a day. How hard can that be? Probably take ten minutes, tops.”

  Blanche nodded in agreement.

  I could sense it would be pointless to argue. “Well, okay --- but just for a few days.”

  “Of course,” Maggie gushed, giving me a hug.

  It was a minor victory, but I had to come away with something.

  While we finished measuring the house, Blanche rounded up Clarence’s food, dishes, litter box, and a cat carrier.

  Maggie’s last chore was making notes for her crew. That being done, we were ready to depart.

  Blanche gathered Clarence in her arms. “Good-bye, old friend.”

  Clarence licked her nose and purred softly.

  She slipped Clarence into his carrier and handed it to Maggie. “Take good care of my baby.”

  “I will,” Maggie promised.

  I gathered the cat’s accoutrements and we headed to the car.

  The day had started so well, and here I was, trying desperately to figure out how I had become the proud owner of a cat.

  CHAPTER 3

  My grandparents had a dog on their farm. He was a good old dog. We hunted and played together each time I would visit. He was always happy and well cared for, but never allowed in the house.

  Having lived in an apartment all my adult life, I’ve never owned a pet myself. Owning a dog in an apartment in the city is way different than having one in the country.

  I’ve watched old Mort from the building next door, shivering in the wee hours of the morning, waiting for his little mutt to squeeze one out. Then he dutifully bends down and scoops up the steaming remnant in a plastic bag. I once wondered how that feat would be accomplished if the dog had diarrhea. Nevertheless, I knew that life was not for me.

  I have been to the homes of friends who were dog owners. More than once I have witnessed Rover scooting his butt across the family carpet, undoubtedly leaving a trail of some disgusting substance.

  And I have yet to encounter a dog, who, when introduced, does not stick his nose in my crotch, root and sniff. More often than not, leaving a glob of slimy goo on my fly.

  Needless to say, if Clarence had been a dog, he would have been on his way to the pound.

  But Clarence was a cat, and somehow he had suddenly become my cat --- at least for a few days.

  I don’t have anything against cats, except for the fur they leave all over everything. I just never bothered getting one.

  On the way home, we decided we would put Clarence’s food and water dishes in the kitchen and his litter box in the corner of the bathroom. It seemed like logical choices.

  Once in the door, I distributed the dishes and litter box according to plan. Maggie released Clarence who immediately began exploring his new home.

  When I returned to the living room, I could see right away there was going to be trouble. Of all the places in the entire apartment, he had chosen my easy chair as his perch. I watched as he circled and kneaded until it felt just right, then he plopped down as peaceful as could be.

  I figured if I was going to have any chance at all, it was imperative that I establish the pecking order from the get-go.

  When I approached, he gave me a non-committal stare as cats do.

  “Clarence,” I said in my sternest voice, “we have to talk.”

  He gave me another cursory glance.

  “Listen up, cat! You need to understand that you’re here against my better judgement, but I’m deferring to my wife’s wishes because I love her. Nevertheless, we need to set some ground rules. First, there’s only one alpha-male in this house and that’s me. Second, this is my chair and I don’t want you shedding all over it.”

  Suddenly, I felt ridiculous, standing in my living room having it out with a cat.

  Something in the tone of my voice must have gotten his attention. He rose up and looked me in the eye.

  We were standing there eyeball to eyeball, wondering which one of us would blink first, when Maggie came into the room and settled on the couch. “Great!” she said. “I see you two are getting along.”

  Before she came into earshot, I leaned down and whispered, “Okay, buster, what’s it going to be?”

  He bared his teeth, hissed, then jumped off my chair and onto Maggie’s lap.

  She immediately began petting and stroking his soft fur. He purred and gave her a lick on the nose.

  “Oh, Walt,” Maggie gushed. “He’s such a sweet cat. He seems to be fitting right in. Don’t you agree?”

  Maggie hadn’t seen his bare teeth just a moment earlier.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “He’s a real peach.”

  It was obvious that Clarence was no dummy. I might have won back my chair, but he was steadily entrenching himself in Maggie’s soft heart. I may have established my place as the alpha male, but I think he had already figured out who was the real boss of the household.

  Maggie rose from her chair with Clarence in her arms. “I’ve filled his food and water bowl. Let’s go show him where he’ll eat.”

  As the two of them passed, Clarence stuck out his tongue, and the expression on his face said, “Ha, ha! You lose!”

  Maggie set Clarence on the floor by his bowls. He ate a few bites, lapped his water, then looked up expectantly.

  “Maybe he has to go,” Maggie suggested. “Since you’re in charge of the litter box, why don’t you show him where it is?”

  I shrugged. “Sure. Come on, cat.”

  He just sat there and stared at me.

  “Walt! He’s not a dog. Pick him up and carry him.”

  Reluctantly, I picked him up, remembering the sharp teeth.

  Knowing Maggie was watching, he behaved like a good little kitty.

  Also knowing Maggie was watching, I placed him gently on the floor by his box. “There you go, Clarence. Crap city. Enjoy!”

  He sniffed the box, circled it a couple of times, then gave me a look that said, “Do you mind? A little privacy, please!”

  Maggie and I stepped out and he stepped in.

  While Clarence was doing his business, Maggie instructed me on litter box etiquette.

  “It’s really simple. The litter in the box is the clumping kind. When Clarence does a number one or a number two, it forms into a ball. There’s a deodorizer in it so there won’t be an odor. All you have to do is take that little scoop and remove the clumps once a day. Blanche said cats are real picky about their boxes, so it’s important to keep it cleaned out every day. Think you can do that?”

  “I’ll give it my best shot,” I replied.

  Clarence had finished and was busily pawing the litter and covering up the clump. As I watched, it had never occurred to me what the process was really like. With humans, there’s an old saying, “The job is not finished until the paperwork is done.” Yet, there is no such thing as cat toilet paper.

  I was pondering this weighty issue when Clarence solved the puzzle.

  He moseyed over to the corner, flipped on his back, raised his leg and started licking.

  Swell, I thought. Clarence takes a crap, licks his rear end, then jumps on Maggie’s lap and licks her face. Then I come along and kiss Maggie’s face. This just keeps getting bet
ter and better!

  Clarence paused for a moment, then gave me a look that said, “Yeah, I can lick my crotch and you can’t. Jealous?”

  Thoroughly disgusted, I headed back to my easy chair.

  Now that things had settled down, I recalled our conversation with Reggie Forsythe. His uncle’s exploits had captured my attention, but Clarence had derailed my thoughts.

  Now, with time to think, I was more interested than ever in the reclusive explorer and his untimely death.

  I picked up the phone and dialed Ox, my old partner on the force. “Ox, I need a favor.”

  “Sure, Walt. What’s up?”

  “Maggie listed a house today, owned by a Byron Forsythe. He was found murdered in the home a few days ago. I’d appreciate it if you could check into the case and fill me in on the details.”

  “I’ll get on it in the morning. What’s your interest?”

  “According to his nephew, Forsythe was a fortune hunter. He had been looking for D.B. Cooper’s bag of money and had just returned when he was shot. There is either a connection or it’s a coincidence, and you know how I feel about coincidence. I’m just wondering if the detective in charge put the two together.”

  “Wow! D.B. Cooper! That would be quite a haul for sure. How do you get mixed up in this stuff?”

  “I’m not mixed up in it --- yet. Just curious.”

  “I think that’s Derek Blaylock’s case. I’ll check it out and get back to you.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate your help.”

  I was happy to hear that Derek Blaylock was the detective on the case. Ox and I had worked with him many times and we had a mutual respect.

  At that moment, Maggie appeared. As soon as she was seated, Clarence hopped onto her lap and began licking her face.

  My first instinct was to tell her what I had seen him doing with his tongue earlier, but then I thought better of it.

  I just made a mental note which of Maggie’s cheeks I should nuzzle when it was my turn.

  After a few licks, Clarence settled in Maggie’s lap and she began to stroke his back. I could hear him purring from across the room.

  A moment later, I saw a puzzled look on Maggie’s face. “Walt, come feel this.”

  I joined Maggie and she placed my fingertips on Clarence’s back just behind his head.

  “Feel that lump? I wonder if it’s a parasite or something.”

  I massaged the spot for a moment. “If I were to guess,” I ventured, “I would say it’s a microchip. A lot of pet owners have them implanted in their pets in case they’re lost. They usually contain the pet’s name, the owner, phone number, stuff like that.”

  “That makes sense,” she replied. “Too bad we can’t ask Byron.”

  I felt around a bit more. “Unusual! Here’s another one. If they’re implants, Clarence has two of them.”

  “Sounds a bit excessive,” Maggie replied.

  “Remember, we’re not talking about a regular Joe. Byron was an eccentric. No telling what he might have done. Tell you what. Tomorrow, we’ll take Clarence to the vet and have him checked out.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  The three of us just sat there for a while, Maggie contentedly stroking her new pet, Clarence purring, and me wondering how in the world I ended up with a cat.

  Later after we turned in, I felt the bed bounce as Clarence made his presence known. He circled and pawed a few times, then finally settled in the space between us, purring softly.

  “Isn’t that sweet,” Maggie whispered.

  Sweet wasn’t exactly the word that came to mind, but Maggie was a happy camper.

  “Yeah, real sweet.”

  I just hoped Clarence didn’t have fleas.

  CHAPTER 4

  Jake Whitfield and Marcus Brody were busy going through the things they had taken from Byron Forsythe’s house.

  “Anything on the computer?” Jake asked.

  “Nothing that will help us find the loot,” Marcus replied. “Lots of research about that Cooper guy and the FBI’s search. That’s about it. How about you? Anything in the journal?”

  “Maybe,” Jake replied. “He talks about jumping out of the plane, landing in the forest, and searching the surrounding area. Then on day three, he says he has found what he’s been looking for and heads home.

  “The next entry says he’s hidden his discovery in a safe place. Listen to this. ‘In the event of my demise, information as to the location of my discovery is stored in a microchip which I’ve had implanted in my feline companion along with a VHF transmitter.’”

  “That’s crazy!” Marcus said, obviously confused. “Why would he stick those things in his girlfriend?”

  “You idiot! He didn’t say feminine companion. He said feline companion. A cat!”

  “Cat! I don’t remember seeing a cat.”

  “Me either, but there must have been one hiding in the house somewhere.”

  “Well, that explains why we couldn’t find the loot. I guess we’ll have to get our hands on that cat. You know anything about those chip and transmitter gizmos?”

  “I think those are the things owners put in their pets to identify them and track them if they’re stolen or run away.”

  “So how do they work?”

  “Don’t have a clue, but I know somebody who does, Hector Lopez. Before he snuck into the country from Mexico, he and his gang were kidnapping rich kids for ransom. I remember him telling me a lot of wealthy Mexican families had tracking devices implanted in their children. I’ll bet he knows.”

  “Gee, I don’t know, Jake. Hector Lopez is a mean dude. I don’t trust him.”

  “Neither do I, but if we want the money, we have to find that cat. You got a better idea?”

  “Guess not.”

  “Then I’ll make the call.”

  Ninety-three-year-old Bernice Crenshaw was in her robe and slippers when the phone rang.

  “Hello.”

  “Is this Bernice Crenshaw, Social Security Number 408-44-2785?”

  The inquiry caught her by surprise. “Uhhh, yes, this is Bernice Crenshaw, but I can’t exactly remember my Social Security Number. Old age I guess. I can look it up if you want. Who is this?”

  “My name is Joshua Livingston and I’m an agent with the Internal Revenue Service.”

  “My goodness! Why are you calling me?”

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news, Ms. Crenshaw. The IRS audited your last three tax returns and we’ve found some discrepancies.”

  “Oh dear! What kind of discrepancies?”

  “It appears you underreported your income and took some unauthorized deductions. You owe the government back taxes and a sizeable penalty.”

  “Oh no!” she gasped. “I certainly had no intention of cheating the government. How much do I owe?”

  “Let me see. The back taxes come to eighteen hundred dollars and the penalty for three years is another six hundred. That comes to twenty-four hundred all together.”

  “Heavens no! What should I do?”

  “Well, obviously you’ll have to pay, but if you’re willing to make restitution today I think we can help you.”

  “Really! How?”

  “I’m sure this was an honest mistake. My Station Chief has authorized me to forgive the penalty portion if you can clear this up today. That would save you six hundred dollars.”

  “Oh thank goodness. That’s very kind. Where should I mail the check?”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Crenshaw, but this has to be cleared up today. It would take several days for your check to arrive by mail.”

  “I --- I don’t know what else to do. I don’t drive.”

  “I may have a solution. I’m going to be in your area this afternoon. I would be happy to drop by and pick up your check.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “Of course. The men and women at the IRS are here to serve.”

  “Oh, thank you. Should I make the check out to the Internal Revenue Service?”

&
nbsp; “No need to do that. Just make it out to cash and put your Social Security Number on the check. I’ll see that it gets to the right department.”

  “What time will you be by?”

  “How does three o’clock sound?”

  “Perfect! That will give me time to bake you some cookies for your trouble.”

  Bernice hung up and immediately called her boyfriend, John.

  “John, can you come over? I need your help.”

  “Sure Sweet Cheeks. I’ll be right there.”

  Living just across the hall, John was there almost before she hung up.

  “What can I do for you, Sweetie? Change a light bulb? Swat a spider? Scrub your back?”

  “John, I need to borrow some money.”

  “What on earth for?”

  “I guess I cheated the government on my taxes and they want me to pay up. The man said I owe eighteen hundred dollars. I only have about twelve hundred in my checking account until my Social Security check arrives. Could you loan me the difference? I’ll pay you back.”

  “What man told you that?”

  “A man from the IRS --- on the phone --- just a few minutes ago. I think he said his name was Livingston. He was real nice. He said if I paid him today, he could save me six hundred dollars in penalties.”

  “Jesus, Bernice! That’s a scam! You actually believed this guy?”

  “Well, he said he was from the IRS. I was scared. I don’t want to go to jail. That’s how they got Al Capone, you know. Tax evasion. I’m too old to be some jail bird’s bitch!”

  “They don’t put old people like us in jail, for chrissakes! What did you tell him?”

  “I said I’d pay, of course. He’s coming by at three o’clock to pick up the check.”

  John looked at his watch. “Perfect! That gives us plenty of time.”

  “Time for what?”

  “Time to set a trap for this scumbag. Let’s go see Walt.”