Let me state for the record that it simply doesn’t pay to snuggle up for a bit of a kip in the back of a nice warm car on a winter day. My human companion and I are in Taos, New Mexico, for what Tammy Lynn calls a ‘ski vacation.’ We have no such thing at home in Wetumpka, but Tammy’s friend Eleanor convinced her it would be the perfect way to spend Christmas. Since Deputy Aiden would be away at some kind of firearms recertification course, well…the entire thing was much too bothersome for me to worry over.
I helped Tammy pack her things and made it clear if she planned to leave me at home, I simply would not have it. Planting oneself plop in the middle of the luggage and refusing to allow the zipper closed is a brilliant technique for conveying the message. As my all-time idol Sherlock Holmes would say, it’s an obvious clue.
As for the concept of skiing, to me it appears that humanoids strap on all sorts of gear, including boots seemingly invented by the Marquis de Sade. They step onto long flat boards and slide down hills covered in snow. Together, we watched hours of travel videos on the subject—this is how I came to understand the sport so well.
That said, nothing on this earth would convince me to play a part in such a silly activity. Seriously, why go anywhere laden by all that encumbrance when you have lean, strong muscles and could just as easily leap down that hill and over all those boulders? Really. Bipeds certainly know how to complicate things. Which is precisely why, whenever I spend any amount of time around them, I’ll nearly always find a mystery to solve. My name is Trouble. I’m a cat.
Samantha Sweet scooped a mound of chocolate buttercream icing into her pastry bag and turned back to the tray of brownies on her worktable. Despite it being three days before Christmas, the Chocoholics Unanimous book club was meeting this afternoon at Mysterious Happenings Bookshop, and they required their usual monthly treat—any dessert, as long as it was rich and entirely chocolate. Last year she’d made them a yule log for their December meeting, but that concept was becoming a little outworn so she’d created these decadent Irish mocha brownies, hoping they would satisfy those ever-discriminating chocolate-lovers’ palates.
“So, Sam, do you and Beau have any big plans for Christmas Day?” Becky Gurule, her assistant decorator, was piping details on wreath-shaped cookies.
“Kelly and Scott are coming for dinner, and they’re bringing half the food. I’ve already warned my dear daughter that next year, once the wedding is over and they’re all settled, we’ll be guests at their house.” She piped chocolate ribbons onto the brownies, making each look like a little gift box. “Of course, our big holiday gathering is tomorrow night—Riki and Evan’s engagement party at our house. You and Don are coming, right?”
“We’re all set. I can’t remember the last time we got a sitter and dressed up for an evening out.” Becky set aside the tray of wreath cookies and picked up snowmen who needed white icing and raisin eyes.
Sam added tiny chocolate holly leaves and ‘berries’ to the brownie packages and set them aside. Her next project was to frost and decorate the four dozen cupcakes Julio had baked for tomorrow night’s party. Erika Davis-Jones, ‘Riki’ to all their friends, had chosen the more casual little cakes for her engagement party, telling Sam she would save the big cake for the wedding. With more than two dozen December wedding cakes to bake, decorate, and deliver, Sam wasn’t unhappy with her neighbor’s choice.
Her mind wandered momentarily to Riki’s dog grooming shop next door, where Beau’s Lab and border collie were at this minute receiving baths and nail trimming. Puppy Chic lavished them with attention and treats, and both dogs loved going there.
“What do you think?” Sam asked Becky as she turned out the first of the engagement party cupcakes. Each had a cloud of frothy white buttercream, a sprinkle of iridescent sugar ‘snow’ and a tiny topper with two intertwined hearts.
“Those are adorable! She’ll love them.”
From the sales room, the bells on the door tinkled and Sam caught the sound of voices with a distinct Southern twang. Jen, her front counter helper, peeked through the curtain that separated the bistro area from the kitchen.
“Are there any decorated cookies yet?” she asked.
Becky pointed toward the wreaths and some snowflakes she’d finished earlier. Jen picked up the tray and headed back. “Oh, Sam. Ivan called awhile ago. They’ve moved the book club meeting up to noon today because it’s supposed to start snowing around three o’clock. He wanted to know if his chocolate treats are ready.”
“I’ll take them over in a minute,” Sam said, setting down the fancy white cupcake. She eyed the large collection of undecorated ones, but she could work on those later. At the moment it was more important to get the brownies delivered.
She picked up the chocolate-laden crystal tray and started for the front door. Two women were sitting at one of the bistro tables, mugs of her signature-blend coffee and generous slices of her famed amaretto cheesecake in front of them.
“Ooh, those brownies look fantastic!” said the one with reddish brown hair and green eyes.
“Thank you. I’d offer a taste, but they’re for the book club next door.”
“We popped in there and browsed for a few minutes,” the other woman said. “Tammy Lynn here owns a bookshop in our hometown. It’s called The Book Basket.”
They exchanged a few pleasantries, until Sam realized the tray was becoming heavy. She left the ladies to their mid-morning coffee. Staying to the middle of the sidewalk, she dodged the snow-packed spots against the building and balanced the chocolatey precious cargo while she reached for the door.
“Miss Samantha! So happy receiving Chocoholics’ treat. They most surely to be loving them.” The quirky Russian bookseller often mangled his English, but the sparkle in his eye never failed to bring forgiveness and a smile.
Ivan handed Sam a check and she set the tray on the table he’d set up in the reading group area where a circle of chairs awaited his avid mystery fans. A sleek black cat sat on one of the chairs, staring at the display copy of the group’s current choice, Sherlock Holmes and the Christmas Conundrum.
“Ivan, did you get another cat? I don’t recognize this one.”
The woman who stares at me seems a kindly sort as she gives my head a little tickle. I like her immediately and don’t even take offense over the fact that she is blocking my view of the book I’ve been studying, obviously something by a modern-day author, since Conan Doyle had never used that title.
“Is not mine,” the bookshop owner says to her. “He come inside with customer. His feet were cold.”
He mimics the way I had to shake my paws to get the snow off. More than ever, I’ve begun to question Tammy Lynn’s judgement about coming on this vacation. The bloody white stuff is cold! I’d immediately dodged the two resident cats (what were the odds they’d ever solved a single crime—for heaven’s sake, they probably couldn’t even read!). However, the little female had sent me a flirtatious glance. I might revisit her later, but at the moment my larger concern has been to clean the insulting icy bits from between my toes.
The woman—he called her Sam—is talking again. “He came in with a customer, but didn’t leave with them?”
“Man tell me cat not his. So, I let it stay awhile.” An exaggerated shrug from the man.
Well, I ask you, what’s a cat to do? Sound asleep in the backseat of Tammy Lynn’s car, dreaming of salmon for my supper, and the next thing I know a gust of cold air awakens me. While her friend fiddles with that monster bag she refers to as a purse, I step out for a quick nature call—which, for privacy, had to take place around the corner of the building. When I return, the ladies have disappeared.
Across the street, a dog ignores his owner’s entreaties to return to a truck with motor running where it’s surely toasty warm inside. Nice to see a little human groveling although canines are rarely that canny. With a little more begging and the offer of a nice treat, the dog concedes and leaps easily into the passenger side. Well done, my fine fellow. Well done.
No sensible cat will hang about in a parking lot, so I hopped up onto a planter box to check out my surroundings. The blasted thing was full of dead leaves and snow right up to my private parts. Talk about adding insult to injury. Really.
But then I spotted something familiar. Next to the bakery where the car is parked stands the most charming bookshop. I know bookshops. Tammy Lynn and I have one. They are always warm and dry, and they smell good, and there will be plenty to read. So, when a man with shaggy brown hair and an enormous jacket walks into the shop, I slip in right beside him. Chairs and a new Sherlock Holmes book—I’m in heaven.
Now, paws finally dry, I’m ready for the next adventure. The woman who brought the brownies is working her way toward the door. I sense she’s the type who is quite busy. There’s something else about her, a type of energy I can’t quite describe. If she comes around here often, I may try to sort out that secret.
For some reason Ivan was in a talkative mood, and Sam thought of the cupcakes awaiting her attention, along with her promise to help Becky with a wedding cake later in the day. She was about to interrupt his tale of the Christmas he’d spent backstage at the Bolshoi in the days when his beautiful young wife was a dancer, but a commotion at the door intervened.
“Sam! Oh god, I don’t know what to do.” Riki had run out of Puppy Chic without a jacket, still draped in the waterproof apron she wore when bathing dogs. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her normally flawless English skin was a blotchy bright pink.
Sam reached toward her. “Riki, slow down. What’s happened?”
“Ranger—he’s missing.” The groomer broke down in full-fledged sobs now.
Sam felt a moment’s disbelief. “Wait—missing? What do you mean?”
“Missing,” Ivan added helpfully. “It means you cannot find.”
The black cat had meandered to the front display windows where he’d stretched out to sun himself. Now, Sam saw his ears perk up, attention fully on the conversation.
“Okay, slow down,” Sam said. “Have you checked all over your shop? Labs are notorious for finding hidden stashes of treats. Was there an extra bag of cookies somewhere?”
Riki shook her head. “I’ve been over it all. I thought maybe he’d run out the back door, but the alley is empty except for our vehicles. Not even a paw print in the snow.”
“Maybe he sneaked out the front door. The sidewalk is mostly clear and prints wouldn’t show. Did you call out for him?”
“Everything,” Riki wailed. “I shouted, I whistled.”
Sam tamped down her anxiety. The neighborhood, only one block off the Taos Plaza, was always busy with vehicle traffic and with the Christmas rush, this week was chaotic. Ranger was fairly savvy about cars, but like all Labs he was the friendliest of dogs. He could have followed some kids down the street and could soon find himself in unfamiliar territory.
“Let’s call Beau. Normally, I wouldn’t think of using Sheriff’s Department resources to track a dog, but Ranger is his best buddy. He’s had that dog since he was an abandoned puppy.” She didn’t voice the concern that the dog was getting on in years and his hearing had become noticeably worse. What if he wandered into traffic, not hearing the cars?
Thank god, Sam thought, that one of the perks of being married to the sheriff was a direct line to him that got answered in mere moments.
Beau picked up on the second ring. “What’s up, darlin’? Want to take a lunch break together?”
“Oh, Beau …” Sam struggled to keep her voice steady as she explained the situation.
“We’ll have an APB out on him in just a minute. He’s got his collar on—maybe someone will call us.”
Sam turned to Riki, who shook her head. “I’d only finished drying him,” she said. “His collar isn’t on.”
Sam felt the blood drain from her face. This wasn’t good. She told Beau, and could hear him breathing harder as he strode through the squad room and issued orders to the dispatcher. His voice was tense as he came back to their conversation.
“Okay. Every cruiser and every deputy are out there looking for him. He can’t have gone far. I’m going outside to look around the station. He’s been here before—maybe he’ll catch a scent and figure out how to get to me. I’ll send Evan and Rico over to your location, to look for paw prints in the neighborhood.”
“Beau, I’m worried.”
“Me too, but he’ll turn up. It’ll be all right.”
Sam put her phone away, wondering if he was saying this only to reassure her. Riki’s face was still set in worry lines and she looked as if she could break down crying again at any moment.
“I only turned my back for a minute,” Riki said with a desolate voice. “He was in the lobby with me while I calculated someone’s bill. I went to the back to ask Kelly a quick question and I assumed Ranger tagged along with me. But then … we just couldn’t find him anywhere.”
Sam put an arm around Riki’s shoulders. “We will. It’s going to be okay.”
I am in love. That beautiful English girl—despite her association with dogs—she’s heaven. I’ll admit it’s the accent—I could listen to her speak all day, nonstop. Plus, she’s brought me a mystery to solve. I’m apparently the only one who already knows the most important clue. All I have to do is alert someone to the fact that I may have witnessed a black dog being lured into a truck. I should have been more astute as to the implications of the situation rather than assuming the dog belonged to the human concerned to get him out of inclement weather. Instead, I confess to being distracted by the enticement of a warm, cozy bookstore. I must give this some thought.
When the lovely one called Riki leaves with Sam, I am on the case, slipping out the front door practically between their legs. At the bakery, I’m momentarily dismayed to see Tammy Lynn’s car is now gone. But we’ve been separated before and it always gets sorted. There’s a case to solve, and this is clearly where my duty lies.
“We can’t let the cat inside,” Sam is saying. “Health inspector would have my hide if a cat hair showed up in the chocolate.”
Indignation rose. As if I shed!
But my lovely princess comes to the rescue, stooping to pick me up. Oh my!
“I’ll take him to my place and get him into a crate until we can look for his owner,” she tells Sam.
Not exactly what I’d pictured—I’d hoped for time on her lap and the exchange of a few kisses. Appears I must settle for delayed gratification.
The women are making a plan. Sam must complete some bakery work, leaving me to an entire lovely afternoon with Riki. She is already stroking my head and murmuring sweet phrases. Perhaps we could forego that crate if I remain close by her side. I purr loudly to let her know how much I appreciate her kindness.
We part ways with Sam at the bakery door, and I cuddle into Riki’s arms as she walks toward her business, Puppy Chic. The one thing they don’t really tell you about such doggie salons is that they absolutely reek of clean dog hair! Not to mention the whining, yipping litter of puppies in one corner. Riki tells them their mom will be home soon and Riki will help her find them wonderful homes. I can certainly understand why they are up for adoption!
Within minutes, the pleasure of being stroked by my English beauty is reversed by the sheer noise and scent of the place. I must get out of here.
“Damn it!” Sam swore as her shaky hand botched another cupcake. She scraped off the icing and started over. “That’s three of them.”
“Sam. Take a breath,” Becky said gently. “Look, why don’t you go home? Or go join the search if that would help. You obviously need to get out of here for awhile. I can handle the wedding cake on my own, and we can finish the cupcakes tomorrow for Riki’s party.”
At the moment, the last thing she felt like was hosting a party. But she told herself Ranger would turn up. Surely, he would. She couldn’t imagine Christmas with a family member missing. She nodded at Becky’s suggestion and returned the unfinished cupcakes to the big walk-in fridge in the corner.
“I hate to leave you with all this,” Sam told Becky.
“Go. It’s all good. We’ll manage.”
Sam gave her a hug and picked up her backpack purse, digging out her truck keys as she headed to the back door. In the alley, the most recent snow had accumulated on top of an older layer of dirty ice. She made her way to the back door of Puppy Chic, reassured Riki and Kelly, but had no news to share on Ranger yet.
“Meanwhile, Nellie’s ready to go,” Riki said, turning away Sam’s credit card.
Sam took the border collie’s leash and led her to the back door of the truck. Nellie hopped inside while Sam turned back to her daughter to firm up the plans for tomorrow’s engagement party. Kelly, as Riki’s friend and employee, was also her maid of honor.
She closed the doors and gave the vehicle a couple minutes to warm up. Might as well cruise slowly through the neighborhood and call out to Ranger as she drove home. Who knew? —maybe he would be on his way to the ranch. There were many stories of dogs finding their way home from much longer distances than these ten miles.
There was no sight of him during the long ride home, and it was a bleak evening at the ranch that night. Sam found herself staring at Ranger’s empty bed near the fireplace, and Beau started at every little sound, rushing to the door to check the front porch. No one turned on the Christmas lights or suggested an eggnog. There was nothing to celebrate.
The only surprise of the evening was when Sam discovered the black cat from the bookstore, the one Riki had carried to her shop, had somehow found its way into her vehicle and home with her.
“We can’t make him stay outside,” she told Beau when the cat rubbed against her legs. “He’s obviously sleek and well fed, and not used to cold weather.”
Beau simply nodded. He offered to heat a can of soup for their supper, and they ate in near silence.
“We should get on the phone and call all our friends in town,” Sam finally suggested as she put their bowls in the dishwasher. “Maybe he wandered over to the B&B, or even Rupert’s house.”
Everyone on her list agreed to keep an eye out for the missing dog, and promised to call if he showed up, no matter what hour. Nellie had settled in her own bed, her sad eyes staring at Ranger’s empty one, and the cat had found a warm spot on the sofa at the end nearest the fire.
Beau slipped an arm around her shoulders. “We’ve done all we can, Sam. Let’s go to bed and get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
I was feeling quite content in my fireside nest as Sam and her husband turned out the lights and went upstairs. The black and white dog, a female, seemed like a nice sort. We’d met, of course, in Sam’s vehicle on the way home. She was far more curious about me than I about her, naturally, but I sensed a sadness about her. She realized a family member was missing. If only I could explain to her about the truck I’d seen.
On the edge of sleep, the ever-wary cat, I sense a faint sound. A light comes on at the stairway landing. Footsteps touch the carpeted stairs. From beneath a casually flung paw, I watch with one eye. It is Samantha.
She crosses the living room and opens a door—a closet of some sort. When she backs out a few moments later, she holds a dark box in her hands. I get a good look at it, as she comes over and sits right beside me on the sofa. It’s wood, carved in an interesting pattern of X shapes. The color is drab, the stain mottled. Definitely more of an artifact than an item of modern décor.
Sam holds it on her lap and spreads her hands over the surface. What happens next makes my fur bristle.
The wood begins to lighten to a golden color, nearly a glow. And in the intersection of each X shape, colored stones become visible—red, green, blue. They glow and sparkle. And the sound! It puts out a high-pitched whine that sends me off my pillow, every hair on end, my back in a tight arch.
“Hey, little guy, it’s okay,” Sam whispers. “It won’t hurt you.”
Bloody hell! How is it possible she doesn’t hear the hum from the thing? How is she not being electrocuted?
I back away but can’t take my eyes from it. Sam continues to hold it for another minute or two, then she takes her hands off the box and rubs them together. She seems more content and relaxed than she has all day. She sets the box on the coffee table and closes her eyes.
The moment she lets go of it, that infernal noise goes away. My whiskers relax, my coat becomes smooth again. The box’s vivid colors begin to gradually fade; the stones go from sparkling to sedate to drab, the wood from golden back to its original dark brown.
Sam gives a big sigh and walks upstairs. The light on the landing goes out.
In the dark, the box still has a faint glow. Ears forward, I know I must have a look. I hop lightly up to the coffee table and walk across some magazines. The light from the box is nearly gone and I reach out a tentative paw. A quick tap. Sam is right, it doesn’t hurt. I give it another feel. When my paw rests on it longer than a full one-thousand-one second, the golden glow pulses. Whoa!
Without a thought, I spring to the sofa but since there is no pain I go back. Another light touch, a little more glow. Away, it fades. Hmm…the object definitely has a sort of power. Oh, how I wish I could consult Sherlock at this moment or my dear old Da.
Sam slept badly—too energized by the power of the box, too saddened by their dog’s disappearance. By morning she could have easily crawled under the quilt and ignored the world, but this was the worst week of the year to contemplate a lazy day. Beau checked with his dispatcher, although he had told Sam there would have been a call in the night if any of the cruisers had found the missing dog. They breakfasted on toast and each headed out.
The bakery was a crazy place. Becky had finished decorating yesterday’s wedding cake. Sam gave instructions for the party cupcakes, and Becky would finish them while Sam made the wedding delivery. Customers came in for their Christmas-dinner pies and pastries, and there was the influx of weary shoppers who trailed over from the plaza to warm up with coffee and strudel.
Riki popped in to see if there was word of the dog. Her eyes welled when she heard the answer. “We can cancel the party, Sam. I won’t ask you to be a hostess tonight.”
“Nonsense. The party will go on. And we will get positive news today. I’m sure of it.” She didn’t mention the vision she’d had last night while holding the wooden box, which had been given to her by a reputed bruja on her deathbed. More than a witch, however, Sam had come to believe the old woman was a curandera, a healer. The box had certainly provided Sam with a healing touch and the answers to several unanswered mysteries over the years.
By seven that evening, there was still no news about Ranger, but Sam and Beau were determined to put on their best holiday smiles and not let their personal sadness affect their family and friends. Kelly had worked all afternoon to decorate the great room in the big log ranch home, pulling holiday and wedding themes together for the newly engaged couple. An array of food came from Sam’s friend Zoë, who operated the best B&B in town. Specialty drinks were being blended by Rupert, her flamboyant writer friend, and young couples filled the rooms. Sam felt joy at seeing how her daughter’s and Riki’s generation blended so well with her own.
Nellie and the new black cat had apparently become friends. At the moment, the border collie was the life of the party among the guests, cavorting and bringing her toys to anyone who would pay attention, while the cat watched from the stair landing.
“I wonder where that cat came from,” Kelly said, as she and Sam carried the tiered plates of cupcakes to the dessert table.
“No one knows.”
“If an owner doesn’t show up, can I take him home?” Her voice carried the same Mom-can-I-keep-it? tone from childhood.
Sam laughed. “Sure. But after Christmas I think we’d better at least make a little effort to find out where he belongs.”
After Christmas. She wondered if Ranger had wandered into someone else’s life and they simply weren’t reporting it because the holiday season was too busy?
Every home should have stairs and a landing overlooking the main room. I love this! From my vantage point I can follow conversations…does Sam know Kelly thinks she might be pregnant…and watch interactions…Riki and Deputy Evan have kissed at least six times! All right, I admit to being faintly jealous of this last bit. She is so cute and so British! Then there’s the man in the blue plaid shirt who isn’t talking much. A woman introduced him as her guest, but no one else seems to know him. And he gives me an uneasy feeling. Very uneasy—because I’m almost certain he’s the one I saw near the bookshop. The man with the truck. The one who lured the black dog. I must tell Sam!
Sam watched as Rupert refilled drinks and Beau stoked the fireplace again. Kelly and Scott were whispering over something in the corner, probably something to do with their own wedding plans. She re-checked the food tables. Zoë had gone all out with posole, chicken enchiladas, homemade tortillas, cornbread, and guacamole—traditional New Mexico Christmas Eve food. She had hugged and thanked her friend repeatedly. It paid to have a pal who was accustomed to cooking for a crowd.
Riki’s idea for the cupcakes had turned out beautifully. Little romantic snowballs, stacked on serving plates on a five-tier frame, the display had a wedding-cake feel but more casual. She wondered if the couple would stick with their idea of a Valentine wedding…which brought back memories of when Beau had proposed to her at Christmas and their own Valentine plans, which had gone more than slightly awry.
She smiled. For the first time in two days, things felt all right. Perfect, if only their special big dog weren’t missing. She turned toward the kitchen, planning to refill the guacamole dish. From the landing came a loud meow!
“Hey kitty cat, what’s up? You look pretty happy up there.” She reached up to scratch his chin through the gap between balusters.
The cat perked up and ran down the stairs. As she watched, he crossed directly in front of her, looked up, and meowed again.
“Okay, what—you want outside?” They’d rigged a litter box for him in the corner of the kitchen, but maybe he wasn’t used to it yet.
She opened the front door and stood aside, but clearly it wasn’t what the cat was telling her. He ran to a chest of drawers near the coat closet, their normal drop-off place for keys and phones and such. With an effortless leap, he was on top.
So he’d chosen a new perch from which to watch the party. She started to turn away.
Meow!
“Really? What are you saying?”
He extended a black paw and batted at the carved box, which she’d meant to put away in the closet safe but had forgotten. Rarely did she leave it out when there were guests in the house. Its powers were too great, and she’d learned there were people in the world who would do nearly anything to steal it from her.
But this was hardly the time to open the safe and stash it away. Maybe she should carry it up to her bedroom.
The cat pawed the box again.
“Sam? Where’s the bag with the extra tortilla chips?” It was Beau.
“I’m on my way to the kitchen now. I’ll grab them.”
She picked up the wooden box and stuck it into the middle drawer of the chest. “Happy now?” she asked the cat.
Sam handed the chips and guacamole to Beau, and went back to make sure she’d set out enough bowls and spoons for the posole. They were nearly ready to announce dinner, but when she walked back toward the buffet setup, movement at the dessert table caught her eye. The black cat was up there, eyeing the cupcakes.
“Oh no, you don’t,” she threatened, stalking toward him. “Off that table!”
Before she reached him, the pesky animal had batted one of the cupcakes off the plate and she barely caught it mid-air.
“You! Out!” She set the cake on the table and chased the cat toward the front door.
But he didn’t go to the door. He sat down in front of the same dresser and stared at the drawer where she’d put the box. As she approached, he turned his head and gave her a knowing look.
What the hell? What is it about this cat? She glanced back toward her guests across the room, where Zoë had taken charge and was steering them to form a line and help themselves to the food.
“All right, cat, what is it?”
He stood on his hind legs and touched the drawer with his front paws.
“Something about that box… But how would you know…?”
His pawing became more frantic and she opened the drawer. Picking up the box, she set it on the floor in front of the cat. Immediately, he backed away, staring at it without blinking.
“Something about this bothers you?” Sam picked it up again, holding it close to her chest, and the cat rubbed against her legs. “And this is what you want me to do about it—hold the box all evening? I’ve got company. I can’t do that.”
The wood had begun to change again, becoming golden, and the stones were beginning to glow. She couldn’t let anyone else see this. And she couldn’t allow the cat to keep making a fuss—someone would notice.
With a casual move, she grabbed a woven afghan from the back of the sofa and draped it over her left arm, concealing the box. The guests were filling their plates with food, Beau was chatting with a couple of his deputies, and the cat had settled onto the sofa as soon as Sam picked up the box. Weird, but she knew what to do.
She slipped upstairs and took the box into the master bathroom. It had spent a good part of its time here, anyway, acting as a jewelry box before she had learned of the bad guys who wanted to get their hands on it. Now, she opened a cupboard and shoved the box into the middle of a pile of clean towels. That should keep it safe until later, when she would lock it in Beau’s gun safe again.
Downstairs, the party seemed to be going well. Guests had settled with their dinner plates—some at the dining table, others in chairs near the fireplace, a few hardy souls had carried bowls of steaming posole out to the back deck, braving the chill so they could stare at the snowy landscape and watch the full moon rise over the top of Taos Mountain. It was the sort of scene the Pueblo Indians called the Cold Moon.
Sam filled a small plate with enchiladas so she could carry it and nibble while she circulated. Riki called her toward the sofa, where she introduced two of her friends who would be bridesmaids, along with their dates. All thirty-somethings, Kelly’s age, young and friendly—they greeted her and raved about the cute cupcakes and how they heard Sam would be baking Riki’s wedding cake.
She smiled and blushed a little at the compliments, but something about one of the men in the group distracted her. He wore a blue plaid shirt, was in his early 30s, with blond hair and dark eyes, wearing the half-shaven look that seemed so popular. But what caught Sam’s attention was the aura surrounding his hands. A murky orange color glowed around them.
It wasn’t unusual for Sam to see auras after handling the wooden box. She’d almost come to expect it. Right now, Riki had a light pink emanating from her face. But what Sam had learned was that murky colors, especially red or orange, had often led her to recognize criminals. In fact, she’d helped Beau solve several cases with this strange ability.
She asked Riki the man’s name—Paul Raynard. The more she watched his hands, the more uneasy she felt. But she had no evidence to go on, no basis for the feeling. It was another problem with her gift—she couldn’t just confront a stranger based on a vibe.
Kelly stepped in and offered to take empty plates. “Everybody, finish up. We want to get into those cupcakes,” she teased.
Within minutes, others had picked up the hint and cheered Riki and Evan to come forward, make little speeches, and start handing out the cakes.
Later, Sam snuggled next to Beau in bed. “It was a good party, darlin’,” he said.
“Um, it was. And I hate to bring up business, but since you’re going in super early in the morning, could you check something for me?” She described the man, Paul Raynard, and glossed over the fact that she’d just ‘had a feeling.’ Beau was familiar enough with those, and he trusted her instincts. “Can you see if he’s in your databases anywhere? Just make sure he isn’t wanted for some heinous crime?”
“Seriously? Did you get that strong a feeling?”
“Not really. More of a dishonesty vibe. It could be nothing, but since one of Riki’s friends is involved with him … well, I’d just like to know.”
Christmas Eve. It seems a big deal among humanoids. Sam was on her mobile this morning telling someone how crazy things would be at the bakery because they would close at noon and had—and I quote—a bazillion orders to finish. It all sounds quite thrilling to me, so I choose to catch a ride with her.
She pays scant attention when I hop into the back seat of her truck and, with its four-wheel-drive, we drive merrily through four inches of fresh new snow. The white powder is quite nice in contrast with the brown adobe buildings and their vivid blue doors and window frames. I think of Tammy Lynn and hope she isn’t missing me dreadfully, but truthfully, working on the mystery of the dognapping is far more interesting to me than anything happening on the slopes.
Knowing I will be unwelcome inside the bakery, once I enjoy my limit of the white powder on the ground (roughly ten seconds’ worth), I traipse over to the bookshop where I know there will be comfy chairs. I locate the perfect spot in the sunny front window and have barely finished cleaning snow from my toes when movement outside catches my eye. A man is getting out of a truck and walking toward the bookshop.
It is the man! The dognapper!
Time for action! I spring from the window display, unfortunately knocking over three books in the process, and land at Ivan’s fingertips on his keyboard.
“Cat! Go!” he shouts, although he changes to a friendlier tone when the customer comes in.
“Do you have any books on how to care for dogs?” the man asks.
No! I shout, although I know the humans hear it as Meow! Ivan leaves his desk and shows the customer to the non-fiction section. Thinking quickly, I knock the telephone receiver off its hook and press the buttons for 9-1-1.
“Sheriff’s Department, what is your emergency?”
I try my best to explain that we have a thief and dognapper in custody, but it isn’t getting through to the obtuse woman at the other end. We felines must often wait for events to catch up, once we’ve made our contribution to the effort.
When Ivan and the bad man came back, I implement all my stalling techniques to delay them—knocking pens off the counter, walking over the cover of the book the man had chosen, sauntering between Ivan’s face and his computer screen. Finally—blessedly—Sheriff Beau’s cruiser arrives.
Sam carried the last of the cake orders to the sales room. Customers had been coming and going all morning, picking up their orders and depleting the bakery cases of everything from muffins to cheesecake to rugelach.
“Something’s going on at the bookshop,” said the lady who was handing over her credit card to Jen.
Sam glanced up, startled to see Beau’s cruiser parked sideways behind a pickup truck at Ivan’s. She rushed over in time to see the black cat pacing and circling Ivan’s desk, clearly agitated. A customer stood there, looking nervously for an exit, and Ivan was attempting to understand how a 911 call came from his address when he hadn’t even been near his phone.
But Sam knew. She recognized the man—Paul Raynard. When she met Beau’s eyes and tilted her head toward him, he stopped to listen.
“Sorry, I hadn’t had time to check the databases,” he said.
For Sam, the clues fell into place in an instant—the cat’s agitation, the incident last night over the wooden box, and her sense of dishonesty about Raynard. She picked up the dog care book from the desk. “What breed is your dog?” she asked.
Raynard’s eyes darted again toward the door. “It’s um…”
But with Sam, Beau, Ivan and the black cat staring at him, he couldn’t come up with an answer.
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t mean anything.”
“Didn’t you see the Missing Dog posters we put up all over the neighborhood?” Sam asked.
Raynard’s face crumpled. “My little son is out there in the truck. I just needed a gift for him. His mother died last summer and this is our first Christmas without her. It had to be a special gift and I saw this dog. I thought he was a stray. Honest.”
Sam wasn’t so sure about that claim, but if they could get Ranger back…
“Where’s the dog now?” Beau asked.
“In my garage. I’ve fed him and walked him. I just needed to keep him hidden from Joey until tomorrow morning.”
Beau let out a chuff. “Listen, I appreciate the spot you’re in, but I can’t let you have my dog. You’ll have to find another.”
“I can’t afford a purebred, and this time of year every shelter puppy is spoken for,” Raynard said, sounding as if he might cry.
Sam took Beau aside. “Go get Ranger. I have an idea. See you at home later.”
I must give credit to this Samantha Sweet woman. She’s kind and very smart—not to speak of whatever magical power she has. After the sheriff and this Raynard guy leave, Sam says she is going over to Riki’s shop, so of course I trot along with her.
“Does your friend still have puppies to give away?” Sam immediately asks.
When Riki says yes, the woman is away for the holidays and has entrusted her to mind the pups until she could advertise them in January, the rest of the Christmas miracle is set.
That afternoon, at Sam’s house, Ranger comes home to a rousing welcome. He is quite excited, bouncing in that disgusting over-eager way dogs have, slavering over treats—the whole messy business. All the humanoids have tears in their eyes. I watch from the stair landing and lick my paws.
Sam sets about gathering items, including two strings of Christmas lights she claims are extras, an unsold cake from the bakery, which I must admit is quite the decorative wonder, and some small gifts of extra dog food, treats, and a few toys Nellie and Ranger no long care for. By the time we leave at dark, we have quite the carful, especially that infernal eight-week-old mutt who keeps nipping at me and wanting to play. Really.
Ignoring the puppy, I stare out at the snowy scenery, the prevalence of blue holiday lights, and the curious paper sacks with candles in them, which line the roadways and sidewalks. Beau stops in the driveway of the Raynard home. Sam puts the puppy into a large box with a big red ribbon on top—he can stay there, for all I care—and they load their arms with the gifts they have wrapped in colorful paper. We walk up to the front door. Actually, I hold back a tad—can’t imagine that puppy’s excitement when he is allowed to pop out of the box.
Looking about for an escape route, in case one is needed, I spot something that causes my heart to leap. Next door to the dognapper’s house is a small inn, and I recognize it! This is the place Tammy Lynn and Eleanor are staying, and there, in the car park, is her vehicle! I simply stare for a moment.
The front door at the Raynard house opens just then, and a dark-haired boy with sad eyes spots the package in Sam’s hands. Small whimpers can be heard and there is a fair amount of wiggling from the box, so she sets it on the porch. The little boy lifts the lid with a shriek of excitement—a furry white blur emerges and covers his face in puppy kisses. All the adults say aww…at once and Sam actually wipes away a tear or two. Even I feel a warm spot in my little feline heart as the boy picks up his puppy and hugs it.
I hate to miss the excitement here but, on careful consideration, my part in solving this particular mystery is done. I’ve faced down criminals far more deadly than this one, but rarely solved a case with more emotional impact. Now, it is time to reconnect with home. I bound across the open expanse and leap up to the hood of her car, still warm. I can remain all night, if need be, but as it turns out, I don’t have to.
The girls, cheeks ruddy from a day in the snow, come out and Tammy Lynn spots me right away. “Trouble! Where have you been? Shame on you for disappearing like that—you had me worried half to death.”
Despite the scolding, I know she is overjoyed to see me.
She rubs my back, just the way I like. “You were gone two nights, and I’ll bet you’ve already solved some local crime spree.”
Of course I did. I simply purr and allow her to carry me inside.
“I can’t remember a happier Christmas Eve,” Sam told Beau as they snuggled together on the sofa. A softly lit tree, cups of eggnog, two happy dogs snoozing by the fireplace…it didn’t get much better.
“I wonder what happened to that black cat,” he said. “He was with us, then he wasn’t. Vanished as fast as he showed up.”
“Quite a puzzle, and I’d swear he really did try to help us identify the dog thief,” she said. “I hope he found his way back home. And at least he wasn’t too much trouble.”