Merry Wrath Mysteries Boxed Set Volume III (Books 7-9) Read online

  But if I was right, I didn't care if I got caught.

  I slowed down a little on Main Street and pulled up to the cabin and parked. There were fresh tracks in the snow. Someone had been here in the last couple of hours. I pulled my coat around me, unsure if I was shivering because it was cold or because I was terrified.

  I followed the tracks behind the cabin and spotted a small cage in the snow. Something was inside.

  "Philby!" I called out as I ran to the cage, threw the door open, and stuffed one very angry cat into my coat.

  Yeoooow! My cat screamed at me.

  Grabbing the cage, I ran to the car and started it up to get the heater going. My cat was ice cold but probably stayed alive by sheer fury. She was shivering uncontrollably inside my coat as I drove off, using side roads to get to the zoo.

  Yeoooooow! she chastised.

  I couldn't take her home or to Rex's house. The police had most likely found out I'd taken the car. Those two houses would be watched. By the time I pulled up to the zoo, Philby had stopped shivering. Her paws were still cold, but she seemed out of the woods as far as hypothermia was concerned.

  I couldn't stay in the car all night. People would notice an unfamiliar car parked and running. Once I was sure Philby was better, I pushed her down into my coat, grabbed the cage, and climbed the fence into the zoo.

  There was only one problem. As I entered the aviary, Philby's head popped out of the top of my coat. Her pupils instantly dilated when she saw what she thought was an endless buffet of prey.

  Uh-oh.

  "No! You can't eat these birds!" I hissed.

  Philby was trilling at the birds, which was her way of trying to hypnotize them to climb into her mouth. Usually she did this in the front window where she wasn't a threat. But now, one leap and she'd be free to chase birds as big as her. I didn't know what she was thinking.

  I closed my arms around her to hold her in my coat as I advanced to Mr. Fancy Pants' enclosure. What was I doing bringing her here? And why was I taking her to a place where she could trap a bird?

  Although Mr. Fancy Pants was bigger than her, my cat had an overly optimistic view of her odds. I sat on the floor in my corner until she was fully warmed up. Then I'd have to put her back into the cage.

  She wouldn't like that.

  Mr. Fancy Pants hopped over to us, his eyes fixed on the cat who thought she could destroy him. He cocked his head completely to the right side then the left. Then he hopped closer.

  Philby was chattering now, convinced she was hypnotizing her prey into lying down and waiting patiently until she could kill and eat him. Mr. Fancy Pants was probably hoping she was dead so he could eat her.

  "I don't wanna sort the recyclables!" Dickie shrieked.

  At that moment, all hell broke loose. Philby lunged out of my coat toward the vulture, who took off into the air. He landed on a perch about six feet up.

  Not to be deterred, Philby scaled the fake branch and started jumping into the air in order to catch her prey.

  Mr. Fancy Pants just stared down at her while she bobbed up and down in the air. This was going to end badly. Even though Philby was tough as nails, she was also a possible meal for the raptor.

  "Philby! Stop it!" I shouted as I tried to catch the obese cat, who looked like a beach ball with fur on a trampoline.

  Mr. Fancy Pants decided enough was enough and flew toward the closed door. He didn't slow down. Did he expect me to open it? I raced to the door and flung it open just before he made contact. That was close.

  Philby ran into the main area of the aviary, transfixed by the flying food around her. Little birds chirped loudly, staying as high as they could, while the big birds climbed higher in their enclosures, unaware that they were safe.

  "Philby!" I screamed as I ran around like a lunatic, trying to capture a rotund cat who was now miraculously spry.

  "Philby!" shouted Dickie. "Philby!"

  The cat froze and turned toward the macaw, who was on a perch about four feet off the floor.

  "Oh no you don't!" I ran as she ran.

  While I didn't like the macaw, I didn't want him to become my cat's dinner either. Dickie sat there, shrieking the cat's name, and I was envious because Philby didn't answer to me. I was almost to the pole when I skidded and fell.

  My only hope was that Philby wouldn't be able to jump that high. It was a weak hope, because that cat was capable of anything. That was when I noticed that the feline Hitler wasn't slowing down. I guess once you get bulk like that moving, it's hard to slow down.

  I was wrong. Philby connected with the pole, hard, then looked up to receive his prey. Dickie flew and started circling the room, looking like a really expensive cat toy. Meanwhile, Mr. Fancy Pants was sneaking up on Philby.

  "Philby! Come here!" I shouted as I crawled toward her.

  "Philby! Philby!" Dickie screeched.

  The vulture had his wings spread but was running across the floor. This wasn't going to end well. The bird had more weapons than the cat. I had to do something to stop Mr. Fancy Pants.

  And then I had it. I waited until Fancy Pants was almost on top of her and shouted, "Bobb!"

  Philby closed her eyes and hissed violently, shooting backward like a deflating balloon and skidding into the oncoming raptor. This was a useful tool I'd discovered when Philby moved in. Her previous owner had been named Bobb, with two b's, and he wasn't very nice. Fancy Pants went down like a vulture-shaped bowling pin. The two animals scrambled to get to their feet, but I scooped up my cat.

  Half an hour earlier, this cat had been left to freeze to death. Now she was in the ultimate hunting ground. I wondered what went through her mind as I popped her into the cage and closed it.

  I spent the next ten minutes luring the vulture back into his enclosure. He was convinced that every other bird had Girl Scout Cookies and eyed them with what he probably thought was a threatening look, but it really came off as goofy.

  At long last, I herded him back into the enclosure, where he ran over to Philby, locked in her cage, looking just as angry as she had when I'd found her outside.

  The bird walked all the way around the cage, looking the cat up and down. Philby met his gaze with furious intensity. Finally, the vulture climbed on top of the cage, made some weird noises, and barfed through the bars onto the cat.

  * * *

  "It's your own fault," I said for the fiftieth time.

  I'd managed to finagle the feline into the sink of the restroom and was rinsing her off. By the way, regurgitated Oreos are a pain to get out of white fur. Philby gave me the stink eye even as I tried to blot her dry with the brown paper towels from the motion-sensitive dispenser.

  Why hadn't I packed any towels in my go bag? I'd have to do that next time. The paper towels didn't work out very well, and I had one angry cat when I was done.

  "Now we have to go." I sighed. The safe house wasn't turning out to be very safe after all.

  My cat yowled as I stuffed her back into my coat, collected my things, and left after making sure things were marginally clean. Someone was going to find some seriously agitated birds and several pounds of wet cat hair and paper towels in the bathroom. I kind of wished I could be there to see that.

  Back in Rex's car, I realized I couldn't exactly go on the run with Philby. If anything, she'd proven to be a loose cannon in the aviary. Not that I thought Rex was being held in a place surrounded by bird guards (in which case, I would need her). It was too cold to leave her in the car.

  Bart! Philby had to have been taken from Rex’s house! Was Bart okay? I called the house but got no answer.

  So I drove to Kelly's house.

  "What's going on?" Kelly yawned as she opened the door. She stared at the large bulge in my coat. "What is that?"

  Philby popped her head out of my chest, and Kelly hurried us inside, where I told her about the clue while not telling her about the zoo.

  "I can't keep her here," she said. "Robert's allergic."

  I nodded. "I
know. I just want you to take her to Rex's house and give her to Bart."

  I thought about this. Either Bart was going crazy, looking for the missing cat, or he didn't even realize she was gone. The third option would be that whoever took her, tied him up…or worse.

  "You should probably make sure he's okay too," I added.

  I waited for her to argue, but instead, Kelly took the damp cat from me. "What are you going to do now?"

  "I'm going to Linda's. We have all four clues now, and that means Rex has run out of time."

  "It's two o'clock in the morning!" Kelly said.

  "That's a good point. Call her and let her know I'm on my way so I don't surprise her." With that, I left.

  Was I too cavalier with my co-leader? Not really. She'd drugged me three times. Paybacks were hell.

  Linda met me at the door, fully dressed. I smiled. She was a real trouper. And she had cinnamon rolls and hot tea waiting. Forget trouper! She was the best!

  The teacher looked over the last clue. "And you said that there wasn't anything else? There should be something. This gives you no insight into the endgame."

  I had to agree. The kidnapper left us hanging with this one. I took a sheet of paper and wrote out the four clues, trying to see if there was something we'd missed.

  Wedding traditions as good as gold…Let's start out with Something Old.

  Weddings make a family of two…Let's add in Something New.

  There will be no honeymoon tomorrow…Let's turn next to Something Borrowed.

  This is the bride's very last clue…Let us end with Something Blue.

  "I don't suppose there's an anagram in there somewhere?" I asked hopefully.

  Linda shook her head. "I don't think so.

  "Does it look to you like there's something hidden in these clues?"

  Linda studied them while I wolfed down three cinnamon rolls. She took out a pencil and played with the words, rearranging them into several combinations. But all she came up with was nonsense.

  "Are you wet?" my former teacher asked. "In this weather?"

  I nodded. "Wet cat. You don't want to know."

  "I'll grab a sweatshirt. You get that coat off and the shirt too."

  Something scratched me as I unzipped the coat and fell on the floor when I removed it. It was just Philby's collar. Must've come off when he was under my coat. I picked it up and set it on the table. Linda returned with a sweatshirt, and I went into the bathroom to change.

  "Much better," I said as I joined her.

  She was staring at the collar.

  "That's just my cat's collar. It came off in my shirt."

  And then I froze. Philby didn't wear a collar. I'd tried several times to put one on her, but she always managed to shrug it off. This was easy because her body was larger than her neck and head.

  "Did you notice?" Linda handed it to me. "It's blue."

  "And it has one of my old Girl Scout Leader pins on it," I murmured.

  Linda said, "Something old. And the collar is brand new."

  I almost dropped it. "And it's something blue!"

  We scrutinized the collar and found that the loop that held it all together was a ring. A gold wedding ring.

  "Something borrowed!" Linda said.

  But I didn't hear her. Pulling it off the collar, I looked for the inscription that I hoped wasn't there.

  To R from M with love.

  It was Rex's wedding ring.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It felt like the air had been sucked out of my lungs. I squeezed the ring in the palm of my hand as if that would bring him back. We were out of time. We'd failed. I had no idea where to look for my missing fiancé. I'd blown it. Rex was still in danger, if he wasn't already dead.

  "Merry!" Linda tugged on my elbow, and I turned to stare at her. "Look!" She held up the collar, showing me the underside. A piece of paper had been folded and taped there.

  "There's always hope." She patted me on the shoulder and then worked on removing the piece of paper.

  Linda Willard unfolded it and laid it on the table.

  "It's sudoku!" she cried. "I can solve this!"

  "But there's nothing highlighted." I shook my head. "All we'll have is a bunch of numbers. How will that help?"

  "Merry Wrath!" The teacher drew herself up to her full height, which was still a foot shorter than mine. "What have I taught you about giving up before trying something?"

  I slouched, chastened. "You don't give up until you've tried and exhausted all options."

  "That's right. I'll get to work." She sat at the table and began.

  I walked into the living room and checked the windows. No police. Maybe they'd given up on the idea that I was the bad guy. Ted Weir wasn't so bad. This was his job. He'd make a fine detective someday. I shouldn't be so hard on him. And he had Kevin Dooley for a partner. The man deserved a prize for that.

  Sheriff Carnack was another matter. While we weren't close, he had helped me with a couple of cases. He knew about my past, and I was sure he trusted me. But back at the police station, he didn't say a word. And it made me worry. But Carnack had given me carte blanche to investigate.

  My cell buzzed. It was Kelly.

  "Is Bart okay?" I asked before she could speak.

  "He's fine. He'd been sleeping and woke up to find the back door open and Leonard barking. I dropped off Philby."

  I breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. Go back to bed. I'll call you in a few hours."

  Next I dialed Riley. He answered on the first ring.

  "Merry! Where are you?"

  Awww. He sounded concerned.

  "At Linda's. She's working on the last clue."

  "I'll be right over," he said and hung up.

  I watched at the window. His neighborhood wasn't far from here. After what I'd gone through this night, I should have been exhausted. Instead, I was hopped up like a speed junkie who'd been given an adrenaline shot. We were close.

  "I found something," he said as I answered the door.

  Back in the living room, we sat down. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. I was getting kind of sick of paper clues.

  "Lana," Riley said, "might be here after all. She's gotten in touch with an old ally—Vladimir Shoshenko. He's in Omaha."

  I snatched the piece of paper. "Phone records?"

  He pointed at several highlighted numbers. "The Feds are watching him. Have been for months. On a gun-running charge. According to this guy I worked with there, they kept hearing phone calls between him and a woman he called Svetlana."

  I felt like I already knew this. Sort of. I asked a different question.

  "Riley, your theory that Rex and I have crossed paths. Have you thought about that?"

  He frowned. "Not really. I kind of gave up on it. Why?"

  This was going to sound crazy, but Riley was used to that with me. "Because I have the feeling that something like that did happen. Only it was something Rex did before I did." I explained the dreams.

  "Okay," he reasoned. "You think that Rex, in his past, came across something that you later were involved in? Interesting."

  I threw my hands up. "But the possibilities are endless. And I have no idea what it could be!"

  Riley looked at the kitchen. "We have to start somewhere. Let's go through your tenure at the Agency."

  I was desperate for anything that would help. And it was the one thing Riley and I could recall together. For the next two hours, we ran through our field assignments. I can't tell you about them because many of them are still classified. Except for the time we got "married" in Norway.

  "Maybe that's it?" I asked. "You kind of married me, and Rex is going to marry me?"

  He sat back. "You might be onto something there. Has Rex ever been to Norway?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't discussed it with him."

  It was hard to be a spy, even an ex-spy, and know that there were some things you just couldn't discuss with your loved ones. Now, I regretted that b
ecause there was possibly something in my past that connected with Rex.

  "I think we've hit a dead end," I said finally. "It was a good theory. What made you come up with it?"

  Riley stared off into space. "I don't know. It just popped into my head. When Bobby Ray Pratt's body was put in my house, I couldn't figure out how I fit into this being revenge on you and Rex."

  "Well, like I said, it was a good idea. Those dreams were probably just psychosomatic."

  He smiled. "You know, I took a class in that in college. It was pretty interesting. The things you say can pop up in your dreams. Sometimes they really do mean something."

  "And sometimes they don't?" I added.

  "And sometimes they don't. Anyway, it was just a low-level class that I needed for my transfer."

  I smothered a yawn. "I thought you went to Cal State all four years. You majored in political science, right?"

  "True. But I started somewhere else and transferred. I missed the ocean. But hey, sounds like you know more about me than you do your fiancé," he teased.

  I shook my head. "That's not true. I know that he also majored in political science. At Iowa State."

  Riley's jaw dropped.

  "What is it?" I suddenly felt very alert.

  "The school I transferred from"—he took a deep breath—"was Iowa State."

  It was as if the sound was turned way down and the lights were turned way up.

  I could barely get the words out. "What years were you there?"

  "2006 to 2008, I think."

  "Rex was there 2006 to 2010." My voice was barely a whisper. "It's you! You are our connection."

  We sat there in silence, our minds working through the problem. This was a puzzle on another level. While Linda was in the kitchen scratching out the answers to her sudoku, we were concentrating on ours.

  "You must've had a class together," I mused. "Or dated the same girl?"

  That would be something, because Riley was a player. He dated more women in his lifetime than a normal man after three reincarnations as George Clooney. The good news was that Rex only dated a few women. I'd heard their names and even met one, but was that the connection?