Джанет Кантрелл - Fat Cat Spreads Out

“Wait!” she screamed. “Wait!” She windmilled her arms.

He looked in her direction and reached for his handle to close the door.

“You forgot something!” Not true, but she had to stop him. She put on more speed than she’d known she had. Almost there.

That got his attention. He let go of the handle and waited for her to reach him, panting and breathless.

“What did I forget?” he asked.

“Let me catch my breath.” She bent to put her palms on her knees while her lungs burned and heaved. The cold air didn’t help her recover. She was disappointed that Mike wasn’t there.

“I need to . . . ask you . . . something,” she panted and coughed twice. She drew in the lingering odor of sweat and also that of the cigarette dangling from his surly lips.

He squinted at her, suspicious. “I thought you said I forgot something.”

“I’m sorry. I had to . . . stop you.” Her breathing was almost back to normal. “I desperately need to know something.”

“Know what?”

A thump ing noise came from the back of his windowless van.

“What’s that? Do you have an animal back there?”

“Huh? Yeah, that’s . . . that’s Wolf, my dog.”

“Please tell me. I want to know. I have to know. I won’t tell anyone you told me. The travel agent said you saw someone run out of the butter building.”

“How do you know that?”

“Her partner, Holly, told me. It was immediately before Dr. Ramos went in.”

“Not exactly. Maybe five or ten minutes before.” He started the engine.

“That person could very well be the killer. Who was it?”

“I’m not talking to any cops.”

“Can you tell me? I’m not a cop.”

“I don’t want to get involved at all, understand?” He still had one hand on the door handle. His fingers twitched impatiently, and his vehicle idled loudly. It needed a new muffler, Chase thought, almost choking on the black cloud of exhaust spewing from the rusty tailpipe. The thumping continued in the back of the vehicle.

“Yes, I understand. I said I won’t say anything to them. I only want to talk to him, to know what that person saw when he was inside.” Well, that and whether or not he’d murdered Larry Oake.

“It was that feller, that crazy one.” He let go of the handle and made a circle beside his head, the universal symbol for cuckoo .

“Do you know his name?”

“Nope. There, I told you all I know.”

“Thanks so much. I appreciate it.”

“If someone comes around asking, I won’t say I saw anything.” He sneered at her. He transferred his cigarette to his left hand and took hold of the door handle with the same hand.

The thumping continued, but now she noticed a pattern. Three short knocks, three slow ones, then three more short raps. SOS! The message Mike had been texting her! He was in the van!

Chase grabbed the handles of the bay door and tugged.

“What the hell you doin’?” Hardin yelled.

“Dr. Ramos is back there! I know he is! Let him out!” She shook the handles, but the doors remained locked.

“Let go of my door. I’m leavin’. This fair has caused me enough problems. That foreigner. And the blonde. And now . . . now you.”

She paused, confused by what Hardin had said. Chase changed tactics and grabbed the driver’s door, still open.

The van started to roll. She hung on, jumped onto the running board beside the driver’s seat. “Stop!” she yelled over the sound of the loud engine.

He accelerated and shoved her with his left arm. The man was strong, but Chase clung to the door and started screaming. The cotton candy vendor, loading a pickup truck with boxes, raised his head.

“Help! He’s a kidnapper!” she screamed. Maybe that wasn’t the best tactic, since she was obviously not being kidnapped. “Help!” she continued to yell, hanging on tight. Hardin let go of the handle and pounded on her knuckles with his fist. She gulped down a scream, but still didn’t let go.

The cotton candy vendor ran toward them, followed by two others in the lot.

The van sped up, heading toward the exit of the parking lot. Chase kept screaming. Hardin kept pushing her, trying to get her off his vehicle. Her knuckles slipped on the handle. If she gripped the edge of the door, she was afraid he would slam it on her hands.

They reached the gate. The brakes squealed. Chase grinned in relief, trying not to fall off as the van screeched toward the heavy metal gate that barred the way.

It was a solid metal affair, and if the van hit it, Hardin probably wouldn’t be able to drive away. The vendors were inspected as they left the fair every day and today, the last day, was no exception. The gawky kid in the blue uniform came out of the small white guardhouse waving his arms.

“Slow down, sir. You were going too fast.”

Chase jumped off as the van rolled to a stop. “There’s a man in the back.” She was out of breath, could barely get the words out. “He’s a kidnapper.”

“The man in the back is a kidnapper?” the kid asked.

She pointed at Hardin. “ He’s a kidnapper. You have to get Dr. Ramos out of there.”

“Hands on your head, don’t move.” Detective Olson was behind her, pointing a gun at Hardin.

Chase collapsed, hard, onto her knees. Olson didn’t catch her this time.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Chase finally staggered into the arena. The Fancy Cat Contest was well under way. Anna flapped her hand, urging Chase to hurry to their stand.

When Chase got there, she looked her over. “You look . . . well, you’ve looked better.”

“I’ll tell you later.”

She and Mike had been questioned and checked over by medics in the parking lot. They had bandaged her knees where she had hit the pavement and her hand where Hardin had banged it with his fist.

Mike had sat on the ground beside her. He was rumpled and his knuckles were raw from pounding on the inside of the van, but he didn’t look too awful from his ordeal when he emerged from the back. He related some details to her. Hardin had gone to the clinic after packing up and told Mike he had something he needed to see and that it was in his van. Mike had thought he was going to show him the collar. But, when Mike stuck his head in the back door, Hardin had shoved Mike all the way in and slammed the door.

As they watched, Hardin was stuffed into the back of a squad car in handcuffs, yelling that he hadn’t done anything and didn’t know anything. Detective Olson climbed into the front seat to question him. Chase thought Hardin wouldn’t tell Olson anything about who he had seen run out of the butter sculpture building.

One thing puzzled Chase. The patrolman who had read Hardin his rights had said he was under arrest for murder. He had killed Larry Oake? That didn’t make a bit of sense. Then it dawned on her. He must have strangled poor Sally Ritten. But why?

When Chase ducked her head inside the squad car window and said she was showing Quincy any minute now in the Fancy Cat Contest, Detective Olson, showing his softer side, told Chase to go ahead and he’d get her official statement later. She had waved to Mike and limped off.

“Most of the cats are finished,” Anna said, keeping her voice low. “It’s almost our turn. Where have you been?” She sniffed. “I can’t decide if you hair smells more like a locker room or a bar.”

“I’ll fill you in, I promise,” Chase said. “I feel much better than I look . . . and smell. Although I’m still completely confused. At least I found Mike and he’s all right. He should be here any minute.” Quincy crouched on the stand where Anna had been steadying him with one hand while he watched everything that was going on, his whiskers twitching and his ears swiveling.