The Bengal Identity Read online

  Most cats have at least two kinds of fur—the silky or smooth guard hairs on top and a fluffier undercoat. The colors of the two can sometimes be different. Ayesha didn’t have much of an undercoat, but her guard hairs changed color close to her skin. It wasn’t the kind of “tipping” that occurs in some cats’ fur, though. I’d never seen anything like this before.

  I ruffled her hair back in several places and always found the same thing. In some areas, the dark brown color went a little deeper. In others, like her belly, the light, golden shade showed up more. But it didn’t follow any typical, natural pattern.

  When I paused, perplexed, Sarah asked me what was wrong.

  “Forget grooming,” I said. “This cat needs a bath.”

  “O-o-okay.” She sounded confused. “Think she got into something oily in the fire?”

  “Let’s just say, whatever she’s got on her coat might not be good for her, and I don’t want her licking it off.”

  We put Ayesha in the big bathing sink, filled it partway with warm water, and squirted shampoo over her. Again, she was a surprisingly good sport, as if she’d been bathed before. Wearing thin latex gloves, I massaged the soap deep into her coat and scrubbed gently with my hands. Sarah held the sprayer close to the cat’s skin to rinse her without upsetting her too much.

  Dark brown begin to swirl into the shallow bath water.

  “What on earth?” Sarah gasped.

  “There’s a reason we couldn’t tell what breed she was,” I guessed out loud. “And maybe a reason why Rudy claimed he didn’t know. She’s been dyed.”

  In spite of our efforts, only a little of the stuff washed out. Finally we gave up and towel-dried the cat. But not before we could just make out a faint pattern of leopard spots over her whole body.

  “That’s so bizarre!” my assistant said, with a shake of her head. “Why would anyone dye such a beautiful coat?”

  “Maybe to hide the fact that she’s worth thousands?” I flashed back on Rudy’s anxious and secretive behavior. “I’m betting Ayesha is a purebred show cat. And possibly stolen.”

  Chapter 2

  While we put Ayesha in our drying cage, with a stationary blower turned toward her to finish the job, Sarah began to see my point. “She does act like she’s used to this kind of treatment, doesn’t she? You really think that guy stole her from someone?”

  “Well, he probably didn’t get her from a shelter as a kitten—not a dark brown one, anyway,” I pointed out. “I’ll bet the story about the house fire was a lie, too. And if she’s a purebred, she might not have been spayed because someone wanted to breed her.”

  Sarah peeled off her vinyl gloves and dropped them in the trash can. “But if Rudy stole her, why park her here?”

  “Good question. Maybe somebody’s on his trail and closing in.” I planted my hands on my hips and studied our mystery cat, who seemed to be rather enjoying her blow-dry. “The question is, what should I do about it? If anything?”

  “You could tell the police. Your pal, Detective Bonelli.”

  I could. During the excitement that spring, I’d developed a professional friendship with Angela Bonelli, detective with the Chadwick P.D. I wondered, though, whether this was a serious enough issue for her to bother with. So far, I had absolutely no proof that Rudy Pierson—if that was his real name—had committed any crime.

  “I’d hate to sic the cops on him if it turns out that there’s some innocent explanation,” I told my assistant. “After all, it’s not even as if he was abusing the cat.”

  “No.” Sarah cocked her head over Ayesha, who stretched out like a sphinx, eyes blissfully closed, in the drying cage. “She looks like she’s in great shape.”

  Deciding I should give Pierson a chance to explain himself, I pulled out my cell phone.

  I got a generic recording, not even in his own voice. Was he using some kind of disposable phone? I left a message to say that, in cleaning up the cat, we’d discovered something odd and I was curious about it.

  “Probably a good thing not to tell him too much in the message,” Sarah said, after I’d hung up.

  “Yeah, I don’t want to spook him,” I said. “In the meantime, I guess Her Highness will be staying here for a few days, if not longer. Let’s go ahead and put her in the isolation condo, and then I’ll call Dawn.”

  Dawn Tischler had unintentionally influenced me to open my business in Chadwick. We’d become friends in high school, as perhaps the only two students who really enjoyed our art history class; we also discovered a mutual interest in reading mysteries. Dawn’s enthusiasm for cooking far exceeded mine, though, and she aspired to be a nutritionist. Although we went off to different colleges and pursued different career paths, we’d stayed loosely in touch.

  When we’d reconnected a couple of years ago, it felt as if no time had passed. By then, Dawn was running a successful health food store in Chadwick. I’d visited her here a few times, noticed the town was affordable but also on the upswing, and got the idea to start my own shop. I’d even found a storefront about four blocks from hers. That wasn’t as unusual as it sounded, since the retail district of Chadwick was only about a mile long. The downtown consisted of ten blocks to the north of the highway ramp and six blocks to the south. Like Dawn, I’d gotten a bargain by finding a vacancy just off the main drag, Center Street.

  I called her now and, as I’d hoped, she did have a case of the mystery cat’s special food in stock.

  “Super,” I told her. “I’ll be over in just a minute.”

  Sarah’s normally mocha complexion blanched a little when she heard I was going out. “It’s just that . . . if that guy did steal the cat, and she’s really worth thousands . . . Well, from your message, he might guess that we found out about the dye job. He could come back here really angry.”

  I kicked myself, mentally, for not having considered that. “I don’t think you have to worry. At least now we’ve got the alarm system, remember? If you think you’re in trouble, just hit the panic button under the sales counter and it’ll bring the cops.”

  “That’s right, I almost forgot.” Sarah felt beneath the counter for the button and smiled in relief.

  Even so, I promised her, “I won’t be gone long.”

  * * *

  Nature’s Way occupied a Victorian structure, originally the town feed store, a block from Center Street, Chadwick’s main drag. Dawn Tischler had painted the outside in two shades of soft green—lighter for the body, darker for the fancy trim—which helped draw attention. I entered to the familiar jangle of bells above the front door and Dawn’s voice calling out sharply, “Tigger, rug!”

  Her six-month-old kitten must have been used to the command by now. He halted in his dash toward me and doubled back to the braided rug in front of the store’s old cast-iron stove. There, he sat obediently until Dawn fed him a cat treat. By that time, I had closed the front door, so he couldn’t escape.

  “I can’t believe I ever doubted you,” she told me, “when you said I could stop Tigger from running out by clicker-training him. Now I don’t even need the clicker anymore.”

  “I see that. You deserve credit, too, though. Not everybody can get the hang of that training or do it consistently.”

  Tigger had adopted Dawn a few months ago by taking up residence in her storeroom—she never did figure out how he’d gotten in. She’d made an honest attempt to find out if he belonged to anyone, then took him to the vet for the standard shots and neutering. She’d also managed to break him of his bad habit of racing for the shop’s front door every time it opened. She’d had to stash many of her products behind glass, though—small bottles of essential oil, stone pendants on shiny chains—because the little tabby still needed some outlet for his playful predatory instincts.

  Having behaved long enough, he romped over to me now and pretended to attack the laces on my sneaker.

  “You’re a goofball!” I managed to give him a quick squeeze before he bounded off again.

  Dawn ha
d dressed for the hot day in her typical elegant-hippie fashion, which suited her statuesque height and figure. Her terra-cotta tank top almost matched her wavy, shoulder-length hair and coordinated with the print of her long Indian cotton skirt. She made me feel blah in my khaki shorts and sleeveless polo. But then, she had only one cat to shed on her, while I had more than a dozen.

  “I’ve got your food right here.” Dawn crossed to the big oak display cabinet, one of many weathered pieces that helped give character to her rustic store. “Wild Life, right?” She glanced at the label on one can. “ ‘Grain-free, all organic meat.’ Sounds ideal, but I gotta say, I’ve had this case on the shelf for a month. Most customers look at the price sticker and put it right back.”

  I almost did the same. “Usually, when an owner requests a special food, they provide it or reimburse me. With this guy, though, I don’t know if I can count on that.”

  She picked up on my tone. “What’s the problem?”

  I explained about the edgy young man who’d left me only his name and cell number, and the feline who seemed to be traveling incognito.

  “Wow, that really is strange,” she agreed. “You think somebody was trying to disguise the markings? But don’t a lot of cats have similar coats?”

  “They do, but hers is really unusual—rings, all over, like on a leopard. I think they’re called rosettes. Only a few types of cats have those markings, so by hiding them he’s also hiding her breed.” I plucked a can of Wild Life from its case and read the label. “ ‘Especially recommended for exotics such as Bengals, Ocicats and Savannahs.’ There you go! I think Ayesha is one of those. And if she’s an unspayed female, she could be worth a lot of money.”

  “I’ve never even heard of any of those breeds, so I’ll take your word for it.” Dawn let out a yelp as her kitten snagged the hem of her long skirt with his claws. “This guy’s a mutt off the street, and he’s wild enough for me.”

  I smiled at the kitten’s attempts to get a rise out of my friend. “I shouldn’t stay too long. Sarah’s nervous about being in the shop on her own, just in case there is something weird going on.”

  “Before you leave, I have to show you something.” Dawn unfurled a new table runner that she’d had designed for the upcoming Chadwick Day sidewalk sale. Of sturdy nylon, most of it was plain white and would lie across the middle of a display table, where any products she put on top would anchor it. The front part would hang down and show the name of her shop and the logo—two green leaves sprouting from one stem and framing a golden sun.

  “Looks sharp!” I said. “The printer did a nice job.”

  “I used Alpha Printing, right here in town, and he gave me a good price. You should get one for your shop, Cassie. You took a table for the sale, too, didn’t you?”

  “I did, but . . . You know me, always playing catch-up where marketing is concerned. I do have one of those pop-up canopies, though. My folks used it sometimes, while my dad was alive and we had a house, for backyard parties.”

  “Well, that’s a start. Put out your brochures, and some of the cat trees and carriers that you sell . . .”

  I nodded. “I should step it up a notch this time, though. My display at Small Business Sunday this spring was pretty lame.” Silently, I wondered if any of my own three cats would be willing to hold still for a live grooming demonstration. I didn’t relish losing one of them in the crowd if he or she made a sudden bolt for freedom.

  The bells over Dawn’s front door jangled again, and a tentative young woman stepped in. She wore a gauzy top with belled sleeves over cutoff jeans that bared sunburned legs. Shagged brown hair that was blonder at the ends framed her oval face, and her features and movements were sharp and birdlike.

  When Dawn’s kitten raced toward the visitor, she knew enough to shut the front door quickly. “Who’s this?” She laughed, stooping to greet the tabby.

  He screeched to a stop a few inches from her, then hopped sideways with his tail puffed, inviting her to chase him.

  “That’s Tigger, our resident lunatic.” Dawn held out her hand. “I’ll bet you’re Teri.”

  “You guessed right. Easy to find this place—I love the green building!”

  “Thanks.” Dawn smiled. “It took a little effort to get permission from the Chamber of Commerce, but eventually they came around.”

  “We’ve got your order.” Teri pulled out a checklist and ran down the quantities of squash, green beans, cucumbers, eggplant, tomatoes, and other summer vegetables that Dawn apparently had bought for the fresh produce section of her store.

  “All sounds right to me,” Dawn said. “Can I have a look before you unload?”

  “Sure.” Teri glanced toward a fit-looking man of about thirty, with short bangs and a beard, who also had come in the front door. “That okay, Rick?”

  “No problem. Can I pull the truck around to the back?”

  “Perfect,” said Dawn. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  After the two vendors went back outside, Dawn explained to me that she’d been disappointed lately with the produce from her usual supplier, so she was trying out a local, organic farm. “Teri came by last week with a brochure, so I figured, what the heck,” she told me. “Can you wait here till I come back, Cassie? I won’t be long.”

  I nodded, and Dawn headed out to check out the truckload of produce. Meanwhile, I phoned Sarah. She told me all was well, and for good or ill, Rudy had not been back to the shop.

  “Our new boarder is raising a racket, though,” my assistant added. “She’s got some lungs. He should’ve called her Beyoncé!”

  I laughed. “When I get back, we’ll figure out some way to keep her occupied.”

  While I had the phone out, I went online and checked a couple of cat breed Web sites. I concentrated on the exotic breeds and tried to determine what Ayesha might be. First I checked out the Savannah, a cross between a domestic cat and a type of African wildcat called a serval. But big and long-legged as Rudy’s cat was, she didn’t match the cheetah-like proportions of a Savannah, which also could weigh up to twenty-five pounds. After a little more research, I was convinced Ayesha had to be either an Ocicat—really just a domestic cat with wild markings—or a Bengal, a true hybrid developed from domestic stock and Asian leopard cats.

  I’d know better after I could see more of her real coat . . . and her temperament.

  The produce delivery must have passed Dawn’s inspection, because she let Teri and Rick unload the crates of vegetables into her store and settled up with them. After they’d gone, she offered me first pick before she arranged everything on the tiered shelves of her produce display.

  “Maybe another time,” I said. “I’ve got the case of cat food, and that may be all I can carry.”

  “Come back with your car,” she suggested.

  “It’s in the shop, getting its sixty-thousand-mile checkup. Say, have you ever had work done at Gillis’s Garage?”

  “Just a brake job once. Why?”

  I described the juvenile come-ons from Todd that had made me squirm, including his creepy fascination with vicious animals.

  Dawn groaned. “He actually asked you if you did a bikini car wash? Gross! Tell him you have a boyfriend.”

  “He’d probably try to convince me that he could do more for me than any other guy.” I looked down at my boring, casual clothes and ran a hand through my shoulder-length brown hair, limp from the heat. “I got myself so glammed up today, too, with no makeup and my bangs needing a trim. Guess I was just asking for it.”

  “That’s right, you shameless hussy.” My friend grinned. “Maybe Todd likes a challenge.”

  “I don’t care what he likes. Hey, jerk, just check my car and fix anything that needs it. That’s all I ask.”

  Shaking her head in amusement, Dawn walked me toward the door. “When I went there I dealt with an older man, maybe his father. Bob, I think his name was—nice enough. Somehow, I must have escaped Todd’s attention. Maybe I’m just not his type.”
/>   “I get the sense that anything female would be his type.” Remembering the exotic boarder waiting for me back at the shop, I had an unnerving thought. “In fact, I’d better keep Ayesha under wraps. Todd was going on about how great it would be to own a wildcat.”

  * * *

  Back at my shop, Sarah welcomed me by crossing her eyes and pressing her hands to her ears. Even from the customer’s side of the front sales counter, I could hear the reason. Someone back in the condo area was making the most unearthly noise, a full-throated yowl that trailed off into a low, guttural warble.

  “Beyoncé?” I guessed.

  “Who else?” Sarah nodded toward the case of food I carried. “Maybe she’ll calm down when she gets her filet mignon.”

  “I don’t have that, but I do have quite an assortment.” Breaking the plastic wrap stretched over the cans, I read a few labels. “There’s beef, all right, and trout . . . duck . . . venison . . .”

  An extra-loud caterwaul suggested that our royal guest had heard me.

  “We’d better hurry,” Sarah suggested, “before she starts snacking on one of her neighbors.”

  “Oh, I doubt that’ll happen.” Nick Janos, my handyman, had built the closet-sized cat condos with sturdy mesh doors to take some abuse and still keep the boarders secure.

  I chose a can of the beef dinner and went back to feed Ayesha myself. At least when she saw me, her mournful tone took on a happier lilt. She stood with her hind legs on the second level of the condo, where the food and water were kept, and stretched nearly to the top of the door, with her front claws hooked into the mesh. Her pose clearly displayed the half-camouflaged rosettes on her lighter belly.

  “Yowwwrr!” she demanded.

  She already had scoured her ceramic bowl clean of all the dry food Sarah gave her, but I guess as a big girl with a high metabolism, she felt entitled to more.

  “Okay, okay. Keep your spots on.” I cracked the condo door open just enough to grab the empty bowl—didn’t need our newcomer running loose right now—spooned out the new food, and popped the dish back in. Ayesha dove into it as if she’d been starved for weeks, although her excellent body weight didn’t show any evidence of that.