Katz Pajamas Series Boxset Read online

  Text and Illustrations Copyright © 2017 Jack Lugar

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of very brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Published and Distributed by The Jackodile Press

  Book Design by Jack Lugar

  Illustrations by Max Rambaldi (www.MaxRambaldi.com)

  Cover Design by Max Rambaldi and Samantha Yoo

  Get the latest details on Katz Pajamas and his upcoming mysteries at http://www.JackLugar.com

  Chapter 1 Hello, Kitty!

  Chapter 2 At the Fat Cat Café

  Chapter 3 Bogey and a Clue

  Chapter 4 Alley Cat to Fat Cat

  Chapter 5 The Cat Burglar is a Dognapper

  Chapter 6 The Tunnel Backstage

  Chapter 7 Let the Cat Out of the Bag

  Chapter 8 The Trap Trapdoor

  Chapter 9 Case Closed

  My name is Katz Pajamas. Yes, I’m a cat. But not just a plain old cat. That’s right. I’m special. Extraordinary, if I do say so myself. I’m Katz Pajamas, and I’m a detective. I solve mysteries. Some like to call me a private eye, gumshoe, snoop, or sleuth. Whatever you call me, make sure you do it when you have a mystery to solve.

  I’m a Maine Coon cat with the typical distinctive “M” on my forehead and thick fluffy brown fur making my already stocky build look a little bigger than I really am. I’m also recognizable by my wool fedora hat and overcoat.

  It was a Friday like any the other. I had just returned to my humbly furnished, wood-paneled, low-rent office after solving a case that I called the Cow Tipping Caper. It was a bit of a bovine bust when I discovered the farmer’s bull pussyfooting through the pasture after dark.

  I barely had the chance to take off my overcoat and hang up my hat when she entered my office. And hello, kitty! She was a slender Siamese with beautiful blue, almond-shaped eyes. Her fur glistened from the setting sunlight that shone through the lone window in my office. Her stunning, floor-length black dress shimmered in compliment. It was easy to say that no one of this breed had ever graced my office before.

  “You have to help me, Mr. Pajamas,” she purred as she closed the door.

  I scrambled around my desk and offered her a seat. “What seems to be the problem, miss…” I didn’t even know her name. “Kitty,” she said. Her voice was soft and lilting. “Kitty Cat.”

  I knew it. I knew she looked familiar. I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t recognized her the moment she walked through my door. Kitty Cat was the headline performer at the Fat Cat Café. She was an exquisite singer who was always in demand on Broadway. I had seen her perform live once before, and she could sing a song better than any bird I’d ever heard.

  “Mr. Pajamas…”

  “Please, call me Katz.” She already knew that I was like Fancy Feast in her paws.

  “Well, of course, Katz. You see something strange has started happening at the Fat Cat Café.”

  “Strange? In what way?” I asked.

  “Things are disappearing. Why, just this afternoon, my favorite pair of sunglasses disappeared right before my eyes.”

  “So you’re saying you were wearing your sunglasses when they disappeared?”

  She smiled with a little giggle. “Dear me. No, they weren’t stolen off my face, but wouldn’t that be a feat?”

  I have to admit. It was hard for me to keep my focus on the task at hand in the midst such beauty and fame. Every word she spoke floated from her mouth like delectable canaries flying over a warm bowl of cream.

  “And yesterday, a new pair of shoes that I had just bought practically walked off by themselves.”

  “It sounds like a mystery all right,” I said as I stroked my whiskers. “When’s the next time you’ll be at the café?”

  She told me how she had stopped by my office on the way to work. She hadn’t planned to stop but when she saw my sign and the light on, she decided to see if I could help.

  “You made a good decision,” I assured her. “l’ll stop by the Fat Cat tonight and do a little investigating… and maybe catch your show.”

  “That would be lovely,” she replied as she turned toward the door. As she opened it, she looked back at me and smiled. “I’ll save you a front row seat.”

  Before I could regain my senses, she’d left. Was that a dream? Did that really happen? Does she really need me, Katz Pajamas, to solve a mystery for her? I would have asked someone to pinch me, but I was the only one there, and it just looks awkward and is less effective when you pinch yourself. Trust me. I tried it once, and it only left me with a bruise.

  The Fat Cat Café was an exclusive club that most average tomcats couldn’t afford. You had to be rolling in the cash if you were going to make an evening of Kitty Cat’s performance and a fine meal. In fact, the only time I’d ever visited was when I won a gift certificate because I was the ninth caller on a radio call-in show. Sometimes I can be one lucky cat.

  When I arrived at the entrance to the café, I was greeted by a burly, wide as he was tall, sort of cat minding the door. He was the one who attended to the red velvet rope and let some enter and others wait. He looked like he relished his job of dashing other cats’ dreams of being part of the Fat Cat Café in crowd. And what he lacked in height he made up in girth and bravado.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” the doorman growled as I approached his clearly marked territory.

  I felt it best to play dumb and pretend like I was unaware of the high-class, exclusive protocol of entering the hallowed halls of the trendiest spot in New Purrt, Catifornia. “Oh, I thought I’d just catch a show tonight,” I said with a smile that would make the Cheshire proud.

  “Well, I don’t know who you think you are, but…”

  “The name’s, Pajamas. Katz Pajamas,” I interrupted.

  “I don’t care if you’re the Pink Panther. You can’t just waltz in here off the street and think you’re going to get served.”

  “Funny you should mention my friend Pink. You see, I’m a private eye too, and I’m here to investigate a mystery. In fact, I have a couple questions for you.”

  I noticed the shiny sunglasses atop his head as they reflected the lights on the marquee proudly announcing Miss Kitty Cat’s headline performance. I panned down to the ground to see his new shoes. Surely, he wouldn’t be so bold as to swipe Kitty’s belongings and then wear them to the café. But it’s the job of a sleuth to never assume anything and instead ask the questions, follow the clues, and find the answers.

  “Are those sunglasses new?” I enquired.

  “Not really,” huffed the doorman.

  “Seems kind of unnecessary to wear them around at night.”

  “That’s why they’re on top of my head. They go with the outfit, but my dog scratched them up, so I just wear them as an accessory really.”

  “You have a dog?” I questioned. Just the mention of a dog can put me in a foul mood, the mangy, drooling creatures that they are.

  “Used to. Cute little thing, but I had to, uh, give him away.”

  “That’s too bad,” I said unsympathetically.

  “Yeah, but I still wear the glasses here because, you know, sometimes all these flashy lights bother my eyes.”

  It made sense, the café’s entrance was lit up brighter than a Christmas tree. I was about to move on when he added, “Besides, I just picked up a new pair the other day.” This made me wonde
r where he “picked up” this new pair of sunglasses. This case may be easier to solve than I thought.

  Squinting my eyes with suspicion, I redirected my gaze from the sunglasses on top of his head to his feet. “What about those shoes? What brand are they?”

  “Pumas, of course.”

  “Of course,” I dryly replied. Pumas were the shoe at the top of everyone’s list around here. However, most of the high class ladies like Miss Kitty wore kitten heel pumps, and Victoria Felino was her designer of choice. There was no mistaking a pair of Pumas for Victoria Felino kitten heel pumps. It was also obvious that the size of the doorman’s foot was twice that of Miss Kitty’s.

  “So if you’re about done, why don’t you scat, cat,” the doorman said with a snarl. It was apparent he wasn’t warming up to me.

  “I appreciate the suggestion,” I replied with a hint of sarcasm, “but as I said, I’m here to see the show. My name should be on the list.”

  The doorman pulled out his clipboard with a couple pages of names. He scrolled down page one and flipped over to the second page. I could hear him mumbling the names as he scanned the pages. “Nothing. You’re not on the list, so scram.”

  “There must be a mistake. I was personally invited by Miss Kitty Cat herself.”

  “If I had a quarter for every time someone told me that, I wouldn’t be standing out here dealing with dopes like you. I’d own this place.”

  No doubt, that’s probably a common line, but it was true in my case. “Check again, please.”

  The doorman glared at me for a moment before looking back at his clipboard and again mumbled the names as he scanned them. At the end of page two, once again, he looked up at me shaking his head. This time the look in his eyes was even more menacing. The kind that says, “beat it or I’ll toss you,” without having to utter a single meow.

  Even though I wasn’t one to give up easily, I had no urge to be given the heave-ho that night, so I started to turn away when I heard my name. And it floated familiarly like the sound of flying canaries over that warm bowl of cream. It was the melodic voice of Miss Kitty.

  “Katz. Mr. Pajamas,” she called.

  I turned toward the entrance of the café and saw her. The vision of felinity silhouetted by the marquee lights.

  “Katz, please forgive me, I was in such a hurry when I got here, I forgot to put you on the list.” She came over to me and extended her hand. “Please join me.”

  “Mug buh guhh…” Yes, that was what came out of my mouth as I took her hand and she led me to the entrance of the café. You could say, the cat got my tongue.

  “Rufus, Mr. Pajamas is my guest. Please make sure he is treated with the greatest of care.”

  The doorman’s name was Rufus. Ha! I was expecting Butch, Tiger, or Dark Lord. Instead his name was Rufus. He didn’t seem nearly as intimidating as he did before. “Yes, ma’am,” he responded, humbled.

  “You’re here just in time, Katz.”

  “Really, I thought the show didn’t start for a half hour.”

  “You’re right, but another of my personal belongings has gone missing.”

  I had forgotten that I had come to the Fat Cat Café not for pleasure but for business. I was there to find the perpetrator of these mysterious misdeeds.

  “What’s disappeared this time?” I inquired as I remembered my task.

  “Funny you should phrase it that way.”

  “What would be funny about another missing item?”

  “This time,” she said adding extra emphasis on the word time, “it’s my watch. You are so clever with your words, Katz.”

  I blushed at her compliment but had to point out that “I was unaware it was your watch that was missing until you told me just now.”

  “Then you must me psychic,” she mused. “It’s probably why you are so good at what you do.”

  I blushed more. Fortunately, the redness of my face was hidden by my fur.

  “I saved you a seat up front, but first, maybe I can show you my dressing room. Maybe you’ll find some clues.”

  This sounded like a fine idea to me. I was hopeful that the moment I entered her dressing room, I’d find a couple sure fire clues that quickly pointed to the perpetrator and I’d be able to relax for the rest of the evening with an entertaining show and a tall glass of milk.

  Her dressing room was everything I expected and more. From the moment I entered I knew I was in the presence of a star, and that wasn’t only because there was a big gold one on the door. From the red velvet couch and chairs to the make-up vanity with a mirror surrounded by lights. It was the dressing room I had always envisioned for a Hollywood star right down to the yippy little dog.

  Dog?!

  I loathe dogs. And they aren’t too fond of me. With their perky little ears and beady eyes. There he was barking at such a high pitch I was sure the glass on my pocket watch would shatter.

  I took a step back. Back. Back up to the wall where I couldn’t retreat any further. The vicious little thing had me cornered. I was sure he was about to take one of my nine lives, which I could hardly afford considering my line of work. Fortunately, Miss Kitty rescued me in a nick of time.

  “Oh, Bogey, stop that.” She swooped in and picked up the ferocious, little beast. “This is Katz. He’s here to helpy, welpy your wittle mommy, wommy,” Miss Kitty explained in her best baby voice.

  Of course the only thing worse than dogs were cats talking in a baby voice, but for some reason, I was willing to overlook Miss Kitty’s singular flaw. Ironically, she told me that Bogey, her dog, was a rat terrier. I thought, I’d like him better if he were just a rat. I know just what to do with rats.

  From the moment that malicious monster laid eyes on me, he had plans to do the same with his teeth. I could see it from the dribble of drool dangling from his jowls. And if Miss Kitty ever turned her back for even a moment, Bogey flashed his teeth at me.

  But being a cat of focus and priority, I didn’t let Bogey distract me from my job. With one eye on the lookout for clues, the other kept check on Bogey. Miss Kitty’s dressing room was ornate but spotless, so it wasn’t likely that the missing items were hiding under a pile of dirty clothes or trash thrown on the floor.

  Miss Kitty sat at her vanity and touched up her make-up, and I explored the room looking for the finest of details with the help of my high intensity, magnifying glass with a light ring around the glass to help see in dark corners. As I moved around the room, Bogey seemed to become disinterested in my demise and retreated into his little dog house in the far corner. While I was slightly suspicious that this was a ploy of his to draw me unsuspectingly closer before an attack, I put that thought in the back of my mind.

  “You’re afraid of dogs, Katz?” she asked.

  “Not afraid, but somewhat suspicious.”

  “It’s okay to be afraid. It’s what you do with your fear that defines you. Every night before I go on stage, I have to fight the urge to hide in the safety of my dressing room. But I conquer my fear and let it propel me to success.”

  “Those are wise words,” I said as I crawled along her floor. “You obviously speak from experience…” I paused as something shiny caught my eye. It was small, metallic, and a clue.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “No, it’s something right.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  I reached under the lip of the cabinetry with a pair of tweezers I’d pulled from my coat pocket and squeezed them onto the shiny object. As I stood up, I presented my find to Miss Kitty. “This!” I exclaimed.

  “It looks like a screw.”

  “Yes, but not just any old screw,” I proudly chimed. “It’s a screw to glasses of some sort. Maybe…”

  “Sunglasses,” she said with joy. “Oh, Katz, you are wonderful. You have only been here a minute and you’ve already found a clue.”

  “Yes, but it may be too small for fingerprints, and it may not even be from your missing sunglasses,” I warned.

&
nbsp; “True, but everyone has to start somewhere.”

  Miss Kitty was charming and upbeat and… right. I did have to start somewhere and maybe, just maybe, this would lead to the answers we were looking for.

  I placed the screw into a baggy so I could have it analyzed. I sealed the baggy and slipped it into my pocket.

  “I knew I made the right decision to stop in your office today.” Miss Kitty smiled and her eyes glistened as she threw her arms around me for the biggest hug I’d ever received. I hadn’t noticed until that moment how much she smelled like peaches. I was instantly lost in her perfume orchard.

  As I mentally hovered in a fictitious fruit cocktail, the dressing room door abruptly open. “Oh, I’m sorry Miss Kitty. I thought you were already on stage.” It was a bookish, young feline with cat-eye glasses and wearing a twin-set right out of the 50s. A twin-set is a cardigan, crew neck sweater combination, which isn’t really important other than the fact that I’m a detective and a master of observation.