The Case of the Invisible Thief (The Kitten Files Book 5), page 1
Perry Kirkpatrick
The Case of the Invisible Thief
First published by Toward Home Press 2019
Copyright © 2019 by Perry Kirkpatrick
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
First edition
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Thank you for reading!
About the Author
Chapter 1
I settled down on the arm of the red, over-stuffed chair, wrapping my tail securely around my four paws, and stared meaningfully at Keith. He was fidgeting terribly, and I wanted him to stop before it made me anxious.
He wasn’t getting the message.
I wasn’t sure what he was so nervous about. He’d solved several cases since my Christmas return from the “dead”, and at much greater speed than he would have without me. The case we were about to take on hadn’t sounded too hard from what he’d told me after the phone call.
His fidgeting was somehow making me itch. I squirmed and then brought my right, hind paw up to scratch my ear. I’m definitely right-pawed when it comes to scratching. Unless it’s my left ear that needs scratching.
I’m not a yogi, people.
I was midway through a deliciously soothing scratch when the door at the other end of the sitting room opened and Ms. Thornblood entered, looking like her usual put-together, black-and-red-wearing self. Her dark hair was spun up in some kind of twist at the back of her head.
I wondered how she got it so smooth without licking it.
Keith jumped to his feet, still fidgeting. “Uh, hi,” he said.
Brilliant, as always.
Ms. Thornblood didn’t seem to notice his eloquence or lack thereof. She extended her hand, beaming.
Keith’s ears went all red as he shook her hand slowly, his mouth twitching as he seemed to be trying to come up with something to say. I scrubbed a paw over my eyes.
What good is a detective if he leaves his brain at home?
Although the red ears could explain it. I wonder if he’s coming down with a fever or something. I’ve heard people flush when they’re too warm…
I tipped my head and winked as I stared at him.
He abruptly dropped Ms. Thornblood’s hand, plunging both of his hands into his pockets, and then promptly removing them again. Still beaming and not seeming in the least concerned by his odd behavior, she sat down in a chair across from him and he dropped back into his seat, narrowly missing knocking me down with his elbow.
I hissed in surprise.
He didn’t even look my way.
Ms. Thornblood glanced at me and smiled. “Hello, Mia.”
I meowed in response.
“Uh, so about the issue with your neighbor,” Keith said, clearing his throat.
“Yes,” Ms. Thornblood said, brushing an invisible speck off her black skirt. “I’m worried about him. He’s so distraught, and I know he’s hiding some of his distress because of the response the police gave him.”
Keith shifted in his seat, nearly knocking into me again. He seemed to have forgotten I was here.
That’s enough of that. I’m moving.
I stood up and threw myself into a luxurious stretch before jumping down and weaving my way under the coffee table between the two chairs to where Ms. Thornblood sat.
The closer I got to her, the more curious I became. There was a distinctly doggy smell coming from her shoes. I twitched my nose and sniffed delicately along the edge of one shoe and then across the toe of the other. I pulled back, curling my lips and fixing her with my green stare.
She was busy looking at Keith and didn’t notice me.
Tired of being ignored, I jumped onto the coffee table and used my teeth to picked up the pen lying there. Ms. Thornblood stopped mid-sentence and stared.
“Oh, you’re going to do it, aren’t you, Mia!”
She watched in fascination as I guided the pen with my paws, scratching out the words onto her notepad:
“Why do you smell like dog? You have some explaining to do!”
I stepped back so she could read my note, fixing her with an unamused glare. I hoped she wasn’t about to say she’d gotten one of those horrible, cat-chasing, dumb-as-they-come animals.
No, I don’t have opinions about dogs. Why do you ask?
She leaned forward to read what I’d written. As she read it, I suddenly wondered if the way I’d put it was too blunt. What does one call that? Writer’s remorse?
I didn’t know, but I was relieved when she leaned back in her chair and laughed. “Sorry about that, Mia. I didn’t realize you could still smell him on my shoes. You must have a keen nose.”
I nodded, since I do, in fact, have a very sensitive and perceptive nose.
Her eyes widened—I guess she hadn’t seen this particular trick of mine. “Keith!” she exclaimed. “Have you played 20 Questions with her?”
He groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “Don’t remind her! I was hoping she’d forgotten she could play it now.”
This is just one of many reasons why Ms. Thornblood and I are great friends and pen pals. We think alike.
“As I was just telling Keith, my neighbor, Andrew—the man having trouble with break-ins—has a dog.”
Oh, no.
“And since Andrew hasn’t been able to convince the police that someone is breaking in and taking or moving his things around, I was thinking perhaps you could see what the dog can tell you. Maybe he’s seen, heard, or smelled something useful.”
Wait… what?
I felt my eyes widen into enormous, staring saucers. Almost imperceptibly, the fur on my back lifted into a ridge.
Ms. Thornblood looked penitent at my reaction. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mia. I didn’t know you felt that strongly about dogs. I promise he’s a very well-mannered creature. Highly trained.” She looked uncertain now.
I willed the fur on my back to lie down as I put pen to paper again.
“Explain to me again why the police aren’t dealing with this?” I wrote.
She shook her head. “It’s a shame. Apparently they don’t think a blind man knows when his things are missing.”
I blinked. Andrew-the-Neighbor was blind?
Who would steal from a blind man? That was just extra wrong, and it needed to be stopped.
“Okay, we have to solve this one. I’ll talk to the dog.”
Chapter 2
Ms. Thornblood led the way down the wide, tree-lined sidewalk to her neighbor’s house. I trotted alongside Keith, trying to ignore the cheap blue leash clipped to my red collar. For one thing, blue is not my color.
And for another, I hate leashes. But people might question an untethered cat just happily walking alongside her owner, so we used it to keep up appearances.
The properties in Ms. Thornblood’s neighborhood were quite large—enough room for the enormous mansions plus plenty of grounds around them to showcase beautiful landscaping.
This meant that the walk “next door” was a decent little hike for a cat-sized creature.
Also, the cement sidewalk was cold on my toe beans.
I was feeling crankier by the minute and by the time we reached the house, I was grumpy enough to turn into a flying ball of claws if the neighbor’s dog so much as looked at me funny.
Rather than lead us to the front door, Ms. Thornblood opened a small gate in the white picket fence and led us along a path to a side door near the back of the mansion. “He lives alone,” she explained. “It’s just him and his service dog, except for the weekly visits from his housekeeper and gardener. He prefers to use the kitchen door.”
Keith nodded, and I pondered the information. When I had solved my first case—figuring out who was leaking personal information about Ms. Thornblood to the tabloids, it had turned out to be one of her staff. I eyed Keith, hoping it had occurred to him we might want to chat with the housekeeper and gardener.
But this was Keith we were talking about, so I made a mental note to write him a real note and suggest it.
Ms. Thornblood rang the doorbell and waited. After a moment, a voice came through a hidden speaker, asking, “Who’s there?”
“It’s Clara Thornblood,” she said.
“Oh, right, right! Of course. Be right there.” The man’s voice brightened.
Keith shifted.
The top half of the door had a white-curtained window in it.(Are these types of doors for indecisive people who can’t decide between putting in a window or a door
“Hello, Clara,” he said. “Did you hear that? The door isn’t squeaking anymore!”
“Did you oil it, then?” Ms. Thornblood asked.
I felt a bit lost.
“No, it stopped on its own just after you were last here.”
“Well, I’m glad it’s not bothering you anymore. That must have been annoying, especially with how well you hear.”
He smiled. “Speaking of which, who have you got with you?” He turned slightly toward Keith.
I cocked my head. He really could hear better than the average human!
“This is my detective and friend, Keith, and his… support cat, Mia.”
I wanted to snort. Support cat?
I was more like tech-support than emotional support. I’m pretty sure Keith would barely be able to solve cases without me.
The man smiled. “Good to meet you, Keith. I’m Andrew P. Crawford. It’s a mouthful, I know. Clara thought you might be able to do something about these robberies?”
“That’s the idea,” Keith said, clearing his throat and nodding.
Why are you nodding? The guy can’t see you!
“Well, come in, come in!” The man opened the door wider and moved to the side so we could pass. “My dog is cat-friendly, I promise.”
I stiffened and smelled the air. There was definitely a doggy smell coming from the open door. But there was also warmth, and I was tired of freezing my toe beans.
We entered, and the man led us confidently through a large and gleaming kitchen to what was probably supposed to be a dining room. It instead housed a grand piano and a small seating area.
“Andrew is a musician,” Ms. Thornblood explained in an undertone. “Quite talented. Only plays for small, local gatherings anymore, though.”
I sniffed the air and swiveled my ears, searching for signs of the allegedly cat-friendly dog. The room smelled strongly of him, but the coast seemed to be clear for the moment.
Andrew sat down at the far end of the white couch and motioned for Ms. Thornblood and Keith to find seats as well. They each took an armchair across from him.
I was about to settle down between the two chairs when I finally spotted him.
The dog.
He was sitting on a dog bed beside Mr. Crawford’s end of the couch, his pointed ears raised high and his eyes locked on me.
Cat-friendly, cat-friendly…
I crept under Keith’s chair and stared back.
“Okay, go say hi,” Andrew said, laying a hand on the dog’s head.
Here we go…
I tensed.
The dog got up from his place—and he was much bigger than he’d looked. He was as tall as the arm of the couch! I scooted backward, further into the shadow of Keith’s armchair. The dog crossed to Ms. Thornblood, his enormous tail swinging in wide, arcs.
“Hello, there, Good Boy!” Ms. Thornblood said in the voice she had used with me when we first met. She treated me with more dignity now that she knew my secret. The huge dog sat, his tail still wagging, and looked positively angelic while she scratched behind his ears.
This dog’s name better not be Good Boy.
He repeated the process with Keith. Then, he dropped his nose to the floor and sniffed all around the perimeter of the chair. When he got to the back, he laid down on his stomach and stared at me.
“Hi?” I said in a whisper. “I’m Mia.” I scratched a paw over my nose in nervousness.
The large dog blinked and then sneezed. I could see his tail still wagging, appearing behind his head on the left—then on the right—then on the left—
It occurred to me he might be trying to hypnotize me. I shook off the ridiculous thought.
“If I come out will you promise not to eat me?”
The dog cocked his head and sniffed at me in interest. So far, he hadn’t said anything. He’d just stared and sniffed and stared some more.
I decided to take a chance and crawl halfway out from under the chair.
Which put me very close to his big, wet, sniffing nose. I twitched my ears nervously but forced myself to stay.
“So,” I whispered. His nose stopped sniffling for a moment and his ears raised. “I need to interview you about what’s been going on here. Any ideas about who’s been breaking in and stealing stuff?”
There was a long pause. I was almost convinced this was going absolutely nowhere, and this allegedly smart dog was even dumber than most.
Then he said, “Cat-friend smells… stressed.”
I laid back my ears. “Of course I’m stressed! A massive dog is sticking his nose in my face!”
“Bob not that big! Bob lap-sized.”
“There’s no way you’re lap-sized.”
“Pretty sure Bob lap-sized. Bob lay on Andrew-patient when he worried. Calm him down.” He cocked his ears and looked at me thoughtfully.
I retreated a few inches. “That won’t be necessary, Bob.”
Chapter 3
“Why is Cat-friend here?”
“The name’s Mia,” I said despite the sinking feeling I would forever be Cat-friend.
It appeared I was right. “Is Cat-friend a service… cat?” He wobbled his huge head from side to side slowly. “No, Cat-friend not smart enough to be service cat.”
“Excuse me—” I stopped mid-sentence. This was going to take forever if I tried to argue my intelligence to the slow-witted dog. I decided to take the high road and show my intelligence instead.
“Listen, Bob, I need to know if you’ve seen anything that might help us figure out who is breaking in to your house.”
There was a pause as Bob seemed to consider what I’d said.
For a long time.
His tail stilled.
Finally he gave a little sneeze and his tail started back up. “Bob was so sleepy. Couldn’t keep eyes open to see.”
There’s a shock.
Unlike cats, dogs sleep as if nobody is going to be sneaking up on them. That’s not very smart, if you ask me. I think it’s safe to say we cats have the better sleeping system. Eyes barely closed, ears always listening.
Bob cocked his head. “Smell Bad-Boy.” He began sniffing the air with his great, wet nose.
I perked up. “Who’s Bad-Boy? What did he smell like when he broke in? What makes you call him that?”
“Bad-Boy!” Bob sprang up and disappeared in the direction of the doorway. I ducked into my hiding place and turned to peer out the other side of Keith’s chair.
A new set of legs had entered the living room, and Bob was sniffing them, saying “hi” as Mr. Crawford had called it.
Oh. He wasn’t saying Bad-Boy was the burglar, he was announcing the man’s arrival.
“Oh, there you are,” Mr. Crawford said. “Clara, Keith, this is my brother, Mortimer. He’s just come to town. Mortimer, this is my lovely neighbor, Clara, and her friend, Keith. He’s a private investigator.”
The humans shook hands and murmured polite things. Meanwhile, Bob circled back around the chair and hunkered down, looking pleased at there being another person in the room.
“Bad-Boy is here,” he said, grinning.
“I noticed.”
“Bob calls him Bad-Boy because Andrew-Patient is disappointed in him.”
“Well, I’m not really here to investigate any family feuds, so… let me know if you remember anything about the break-ins.”
“I will let Cat-friend know.” The dog’s gaze suddenly snapped to a nearby window. I glanced up as well and saw a bird hopping from tree branch to tree branch just outside.
“Bird!” Bob exclaimed, raising his ears. He swiped at his nose with one paw. “No, Bird-friend. Bob doesn’t chase friends.”
I silently scooched back under Keith’s chair, uncomfortable with the fact that Bob had needed to designate me a friend too.
You’d like to be chasing me right now, wouldn’t you, crazy canine?
***
During our meeting in which I learned absolutely nothing from the allegedly smart dog, Keith had learned that the only others with regular access to Andrew P. Crawford’s home were a housekeeper who came once a week to dust the place—including the vast amount of rooms the owner wasn’t using—, and a landscaper who only had keys to the outbuildings and who wasn’t around very often since it was winter.
