Shirley Link & The Black Cat Read online

  Shirley

  Link

  The Black Cat

  Ben Zackheim

  Also in the Shirley Link series:

  Shirley Link & The Safe Case

  Shirley Link & The Hot Comic

  Shirley Link & The Treasure Chest

  For our cat, Evvis. We miss you!

  “I also could do this. Life is not so dull after all. I will keep my eyes open, and find out things.”

  Dr. Joseph Bell (Sir Conan Arthur Doyle’s model for Sherlock Holmes)

  Chapter One

  The Haunted Fridge

  The black cat’s meow sounds exactly like a barfing dog. Really.

  I’ve been sick with the flu all week, and for the last four days in a row, this cat has shown up at about 3pm. He sits in our front yard, and hollers at who-knows-what. Whatever he’s trying to say, he sure wants to make his point.

  Wonderful. Now he’s either coughing up a hairball, or swallowing his tail.

  It’s a good thing I like cats.

  Mom, on the other hand, is ready to move to a motel. She called the animal control guy to come and catch the critter, but he’s a slippery one. Anyone who gets too close is treated to his innocent “who me?” stare. He’ll stand calmly, until you’re two feet away -- and then POW, off he goes. Around, under, over, it doesn’t matter. He’s fearless!

  Like David Sparks, the rookie police officer Mom is training? He came over yesterday morning with his chest puffed out, confident he’d be able to snag the cat. Instead, the cat snagged him. When Officer Sparks lunged, the cat bounced off his shoulder and got his claw caught in Sparks’ ear.

  Ouch.

  And the cat’s reputation around town is growing. People gossip for hours where he came from, and where he goes at night. Some love him and claim they can hear him sing a really bad version of the Rolling Stones’ song Let It Bleed. That is, if you plug one ear and listen closely. Others hate him and say he’s responsible for the spike in stray kittens this Spring. In fact, people talk about him more than they bring up my adventures, which is fine with me. The cat can take the heat. In fact, I’m sure he enjoys it!

  Ugh. My adventures. That reminds me.

  Before I got sick, I was working on a case for a few Seniors from school. The deal was, if I could get a picture of the ghost in the abandoned fridge out in Mr. Howard’s field, one of the Seniors would drive me to the Doctor Who convention in Boston next weekend.

  I didn’t catch a ghost but, just before I caved into this sickness, I found the walkie talkie that Bobby Trimble hid inside. He’s also a Senior from my school, and he lives in a house on the edge of Howard’s field. Apparently, he gets his kicks making spooky sounds from his walkie as kids pass by the refrigerator.

  Bobby Trimble eats trouble like my friend Wylie eats bacon.

  “You okay, Sweetie?” Mom asks from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Fine, Mom, thanks.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  “Clear sinuses and a new mystery would be great!”

  “Very funny, Shirley. If the detective thing doesn’t work out, you can be a comedian.”

  “You wish,” I mutter.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing, Mom!”

  She has my number and she has a million ways to make me know it, including a sub-atomic silence so deep that Dad once phoned home from his office because he sensed something was wrong. She’s a cop. I’ve seen her break a thief by just staring at him. He couldn’t tell the truth fast enough.

  I so want to be like Mom when I grow up.

  “You should take a walk, if you’re up to it,” she says as she passes by my bedroom door. “Get some fresh air.”

  Good idea. I’ll head to Bobby’s house and tell him he needs to stop scaring his classmates.

  Chapter Two

  A New Case

  I text Wylie and Marie that I’m heading outside for the first time in a week. School’s over for the day, so it should be a good time to catch up.

  By the time I reach the field outside Bobby’s house, my two best friends have spotted me.

  “Wow, you look awful!” Wylie says, with his standard charm.

  “Thanks, Wylie.”

  “Wylie! That’s an awful thing to say!” Marie takes a swipe at his shoulder, but she’s also smiling, just a little. “If you have to say something, you say rough week, huh?, or something like that!”

  Wylie turns to me, deep in thought. “You, uh, look like you’ve had a rough week?” Marie shakes her head and gives me a big hug.

  “You’ve been canoeing without me?” I ask them. Marie and Wylie stare at each other, stunned. “And you skipped school to do it?” I continue. “My bad habits must be rubbing off on you two!”

  “How could you possibly know that?” Marie asks, smiling, but clearly disturbed that I could figure this out just by looking at them. She says she feels like she’s walking around without clothes when I’m around. What can I say? The only thing I’m good at is noticing obvious things that others miss. And making some pretty good guesses based on the information I have.

  I point to Marie’s right hand. “You have a blister on your right palm, near the thumb. You always hold your oar too tightly,” I say.

  “Fine. But how did you know we skipped school?”

  “You’re both much tanner than when I saw you last. The only sunny spell we’ve had in the past week was Tuesday morning.”

  Wylie growls, frustrated. I smile, and soon enough, they join me.

  “You sure you should be outside?” Marie asks.

  “I need to get out of that house. Besides, I need to tell Bobby something.”

  “Uh-oh. What did he do now?”

  I understand Wylie’s attitude. Bobby has a bad, well-deserved rep. For example, last month, he was caught stealing school supplies. Not because he needed them, or thought they were valuable. He stole them because he was bored and he’s never figured out a way to entertain himself that doesn’t involve trouble. He’s a lot like an acquaintance of mine, Jacob, minus the ambition. “He hid a walkie talkie in the coolant tray of that old junk fridge. He makes spooky sounds when people pass by. Freaks them out.”

  Wylie chuckles. Marie glares at him so he tries to stop, swallows wrong and begins hacking. I see these two haven’t changed in the last few days.

  “That’s more clever than usual for Bobby,” Marie grumbles. “He’s getting better.”

  “Yeah, but he’s going to get beat up if he keeps going. I don’t think he has many friends left.” I’ve seen Bobby hanging out with a girl at school, but it’s not a good sign. She’s kind of known for being trouble, too.

  “Who’d want to be his friend?” Marie asks. “He’s always frowning and acting like he’s better than everyone else.”

  “Marie, he’s a nice guy,” I say. “He’s having a tough time. It’s one of those things where we expect him to act that way, so he does. He needs a friend.”

  “Wow,” Marie says, eyes wide. “So noble! So you’re going to hang out with Bobby?”

  “I didn’t say it would be me,” I answer, glancing at Wylie.

  “Hey, don’t look at me,” Wylie whines, holding his hands in the air. “ I’m busy with the friends I got.”

  Bobby Trimble lives in a little ranch house with his dad. His mom died of cancer a few years back. I can’t imagine the amount of pain her death must have brought to her family. That’s why I always try to give him the benefit of
the doubt. But he’s making it harder to be sympathetic as time goes by. He doesn’t seem to be learning any lessons.

  I knock. Bobby answers. He’s so thin and sad-looking. His hair’s a mess and I think he’s wearing the same clothes I last saw him in. I remember when he was happier, back when his mom was alive.

  “Hey Bobby.”

  He glances at us, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What do you guys want?”

  I hand him his walkie.

  “Aw, man, I was wondering where that went! Why’d you do that, Shirley?”

  “You shouldn’t be trying to scare people.”

  “Yeah, it’s lame, dude,” Wylie says. “Well, okay, it’s not lame, it’s actually kinda funny, but still, you know, not cool, right?”

  Everyone frowns at Wylie.

  I break the uncomfortable silence. “Just stop okay? The Seniors don’t know what you were doing, and I won’t tell them.”

  “Were they the ones who got scared?” Bobby asks, beaming.

  “Jane, Hyla and Sam, yeah,” I say.

  “HA! Awesome.” He sees we’re not as thrilled, loses the grin and starts to close the door.

  “Bobby,” I say. He peeks through the crack in the door. “If you ever want to talk...”

  He closes it on me. Lightly, sure— but the message is clear.

  As we walk along the edge of the field, Marie has to say something. It’s her nature. “I thought you didn’t want to be his friend, Shirley”

  “I changed my mind. Who else will try?”

  “Someone his own age,” Marie shoots back. “He’s, like, 18. He doesn’t want to hang with a 14 year old.”

  “Let’s go to a movie!” Wylie says, probably to break the awkwardness.

  “That’s a great idea,” Marie adds.

  “I need to get back to bed.” I’m exhausted, even from a short walk.

  “How about tomorrow?” Wylie asks, his voice cracking a little.

  “I’ll see how I feel. You two go ahead.” They stop walking and when I turn to face them they’re just staring, like I told them to stick dynamite in their ears. “Why are you both looking at me like that?”

  “Nothing,” Marie says. “No reason. Just. You know. We always go together, the three of us.”

  “Yeah. It’s no fun if you’re not there, Shirley,” Wylie whines.

  I roll my eyes. “You guys always complain that I hate everything. You say I ruin every movie we ever see.”

  “Yeah. But you ruin them... in a... good way!” Wylie says, not even convincing himself. Marie nods, unable to keep eye contact with me.

  I see what’s going on. They don’t want to be alone because then it would be a date, and heaven forbid they ever go on a date. Why wasn’t their canoe trip a date, in their minds? Who knows! It’s not a logical thing. They have their own weird way of thinking about their friendship. I’ve been trying to nudge them together for a year now, since it became clear that they have strong feelings for each other. But they seem to think that being boyfriend and girlfriend will ruin our team. Maybe they’re right. But as I watch two of my favorite people twist themselves into knots to avoid the truth, I’m reminded that honesty is always best.

  We’re all spared the rambling when Tom Watley, a friend of my dad, waddles over to us. His trick knee must be acting up again. It usually does when the seasons change.

  “Shirley, there you are.”

  “Hi, Mr. Watley. What’s up?”

  “Probably nothing, but... “ He struggles to find the right words. I can smell a new case.

  “Go ahead, Mr. Watley. Is there something I can help you with?”

  He takes a deep breath. “Well,” he manages to say, “I’m not sure. But I think I’ve been robbed.”

  Chapter Three

  Little Treasures

  You think you’ve been robbed?” Marie says.

  “It’s a weird thing, but, yeah, I noticed a small gold box that I keep on my dresser is gone. I never use it for anything, so it’s not like I watch it like a hawk, but it is valuable.”

  “When did you notice it was gone?” I ask, trying not to let on that my nose is as stuffed as a Thanksgiving turkey.

  “This morning. But I’m not sure that’s helpful. It could have been missing for days and I probably wouldn’t have noticed.”

  “Any guests or workers in the house recently?”

  He gives it enough thought that a frown forms on his face. “No.”

  “Do you mind if I take a look around your house?”

  “I was just going to ask you to,” he says, relieved that I’m intrigued.

  Mr. Watley smiles at Wylie and Marie. I think he’s waiting for them to say goodbye to me.

  “We’re a team,” Wylie says, settling his arms on our shoulders.

  Mr. Watley nods, and I put on one of my crooked smiles. Marie reaches around Wylie and pokes me, her signal that I should relax my face before I scare somebody.

  “Okay?” I ask.

  “Sure!” Mr. Watley manages. “Yeah. Sorry. Follow me.”

  From the start, I observe that Mr. Watley takes really good care of his old house. Its fresh, off-white paint job looks great with the richly stained front porch.

  He asks us to remove our shoes before we enter. I’m glad because I wouldn’t have felt right walking around this place in my Snuggs.

  “My wife insists,” he explains meekly.

  Mr. Watley is one of those guys who goes to the hardware store every day to browse. His latest home improvement project appears to be stripping the side porch. The wood is bare, and white dust lies all over the lawn on the side of the house.

  We greet his wife, Lisa Watley, as we pass through his den and head upstairs. She’s a sweet lady, always ready with a smile. No one sees her much outside of the grocery store, but people like her.

  I clear my head as we pass into the bedroom, upstairs. I like to try and see things with as fresh a pair of eyes as possible. Of course, my eyes are filled with gunk from my bug, but it’ll have to do.

  Everything is crystal clean and well placed. The warm light of the sun comes into the room, lighting things perfectly for an interior design magazine photo or a crime scene investigation.

  “It was on this chest of drawers.” He points to a nice piece of furniture. The chest has four drawers and a mirror on top that leans against the wall.

  “Do you mind?” I ask.

  “Please. I already checked, but another pair of eyes could get luckier.”

  I pull on the four drawers. They all slide open easily. I reach a hand in deep and pat around for any concealed spaces. Nothing.

  I put my forehead against the wall and check behind it. It’s flush. There’s literally not a centimeter between the drawers and the wall.

  I crouch down and look underneath the dresser.

  Now that’s interesting.

  “Mr. Watley. May I take a look downstairs?”

  The living room is as clean as the bedroom. I walk to the sliding glass doors that lead to the back yard. I get on my knees and wipe my finger around the edges of the doors. Nothing. Not even a spot of dust.

  Next to the sliding doors is a small dog door. I push on it and Mr. Watley says, “That was for Lacie. She died last month.”

  “Mom told me. I’m sorry to hear it. She was a really sweet dog.”

  I sit for a moment and study the dusty mess outside.

  “I’ve been trying to clean up that disaster for the last few days,” Mr. Watley says. “I was sanding the porch and the bag on the sander was supposed to suck up the paint dust. I didn’t realize it had a hole in it until it was too late.” He glances sheepishly at his wife, who is not happy with his latest home improvement.

  “We spent th
e entire day yesterday cleaning this house,” Mrs. Watley grumbles, before putting on a grin. “Would you all like some grapes?”

  Wylie lunges for the outstretched bowl. He can be counted on to clean the food out of any kitchen in town, if given an invitation and two minutes.

  I crawl around the floor, peeking underneath the furniture. I work my way to the kitchen. I could eat off of these floors, they’re so clean.

  Wait a sec.

  Low on the fridge door. I run my finger over a small circle of white dust. It’s the same stuff I found under the drawers upstairs.

  “When’s the last time you vacuumed the house?”

  “We did the whole house last night,” Mrs. Watley answers.

  Interesting.

  I get on my feet and feel a little wobbly. Wylie holds onto my arm. “Is there anything special about the box? Any characteristic that will help me identify it?”

  “Hm. Shiny gold,” Mr. Watley says. “You can tell it’s valuable just by looking at it. The handle is shaped kind of like a rope bridge.”

  “Great, thanks. And is anything else missing from your home?”

  “No,” Mrs. Watley pipes in before her husband can answer. “Once we noticed the box was missing we scoured the place, and it looks like everything is here. We have a lot of valuable items in the house. That’s what’s so confusing.”

  “You were both here all day today?”

  “No, we were at work.”

  “What do you think, Shirley? Any ideas?” Mr. Watley asks.