Katz Pajamas Series Boxset Page 3

  Miss Kitty placed a calming hand on Rufus. “Please, Katz. Tell us. Put an end to this troubling time.”

  “This mystery was a question of access. Who had access to Miss Kitty’s dressing room and thus would be able to swipe her belongings? As I have observed, other than Miss Kitty, Mr. Bigly and Cali have the most access of anyone here at the Fat Cat Café.”

  “Surely you don’t think that I stole anything from Miss Kitty,” Cali said fearfully.

  “You do have access and the same size foot,” I pointed out.

  “But what would I do with kitten heels?”

  “Katz, do you really think, Cali would steal from me?” Miss Kitty questioned.

  I smiled as I continued. “Mr. Bigly also had access although a very different size foot…” Miss Kitty giggled. “But he does love fancy watches,” I noted pointing to his Panther de Cattier watch.

  “Yes, but I’m the one who gave Miss Kitty her watch.”

  “And why am I even here?” Rufus interjected. “You’ve already established that I don’t even have access to Miss Kitty’s dressing room.”

  “You’re right, Rufus, but you’re getting ahead of me. You see, there is someone else who also has unrestricted access to Miss Kitty’s room.”

  “Who?” Miss Kitty inquired.

  “Who, indeed?” I responded as I looked directly at Bogey.

  “Bogey?” Miss Kitty questioned with disbelief.

  Mr. Bigly laughed at the thought. “What would a dog do with jewelry and shoes?”

  “Yes, what?” I asked more sternly to Bogey, which seemed to trigger his defenses as he flared his teeth and emitted a grumbling growl.

  “So the dog did it,” Rufus exclaimed.

  Bogey was on high alert as he eyes flitted from each cat in the room. Miss Kitty still held him tightly, not quite ready to accept Bogey’s guilt.

  “Remember, Miss Kitty, how I found the screw to your sunglasses earlier this evening?” She nodded to me. “Well, I discovered the broken sunglasses in Bogey’s home when I was searching for him.”

  “You know how dogs can be. They do like to chew on things.”

  “Yes, but I can’t say the same for your shoes, watch, or missing…” I paused for a beat to create greater intensity. I can be a bit over dramatic, but I like to indulge myself.

  “Missing what?” Cali blurted as everyone leaned in closer to me.

  “This is ridiculous,” Rufus chimed.

  “What did you find, detective?” Mr. Bigly joined in.

  “The missing diamond necklace!” I pulled it out of my pocket displaying it with all its sparkling glory.

  There was a collective gasp from everyone in the room. “Katz, you found it!” Miss Kitty hailed. “But where?”

  I redirected my look back to Bogey. “Maybe our furry friend would like to show us.”

  As everyone returned their gaze to Bogey, the little mongrel leaped from Miss Kitty’s arms.

  “Grab him!” shouted Mr. Bigly as he attempted to block Bogey’s path.

  “I knew it was the dog,” Rufus proclaimed.

  With one final attempt to grab Bogey, Cali dove for him, catching him by his tail. Attempting to hold on, Bogey dragged her across the room, under a table, and through the front door of his dog house. But Cali only had a clump of tail hair in her hand when she emerged from his home.

  Everyone was sure that Bogey had made his escape knowing that the dog house had a backdoor that led out of the building. Of course, I was aware of that too and had planned for just this attempted escape to occur.

  “He got away,” Mr. Bigly grunted.

  “Not quite,” I assured him and the others. “Follow me, quickly.”

  I ran out of the dressing room and through the hallway maze. The others were close behind. We weaved through empty corridors until we finally arrived in the room under the stage. There we came upon Thom waiting for us.

  “Why are we stopping? Did we lose him?” Rufus asked.

  “Quite the opposite,” I replied.

  Thom stood under the stage’s trapdoor smiling. “I did just as you said Mr. Pajamas. As soon as I heard the pitter-patter sound, I sealed the box.”

  “Good work, Thom,” I said as I went over to the pulley system to lower the trapdoor. Of course, we didn’t have to see inside the box to know the contents because there was a barrage of barking that came from inside that told the story. I pulled on the chain and the door with the section of tunnel attached began to lower.

  “I used a section of wrought iron fencing that I had for a set piece. Makes it look like a little jail cell,” Thom proudly proclaimed.

  As the makeshift cell came to eye level, we could see Bogey growling and spinning around like a whirling dervish.

  Miss Kitty ran to her dog crying, “Bogey! How could you?”

  “Now, Miss Kitty, don’t be too hard on Bogey.” I couldn’t believe I was saying this, but there was more to the story. I couldn’t pin the whole thing on Bogey.

  “What do you mean, Katz?” Miss Kitty inquired.

  “Bogey had some help.”

  “So we know the dog had the access and was swiping Miss Kitty’s belongings,” Mr. Bigly recapped.

  “But the question is why?” chimed Cali.

  “Who cares,” grunted Rufus.

  “Because what does a dog need with any of those things?” Cali argued.

  “It’s a good question, Cali. One that I had to ask myself,” I confirmed. “Once I realized that Bogey had access to the items and a way to remove them from Miss Kitty’s dressing room, my next question was why. Then it occurred to me that Bogey wouldn’t take them for his own use. In fact, only Cali would have any purpose like that.” Cali started to protest, but I quickly raised my hand to assure her. “And even though Cali had a good relationship with Bogey as it appeared. Cali was not Bogey’s accomplice.”

  Miss Kitty interrupted, advising, “Katz, you need to tighten up the middle of your performance.”

  Nodding, I replied, “and upon the advice of an expert, let me show you what I found.” I pulled out my smartphone and opened the social networking site Catbook.

  “This is no time for posting a status update, Mr. Pajamas,” Mr. Bigly chided.

  “You are correct, but what I want to show you is a new feature on Catbook. It’s called Storefront. It’s like a classifieds section where cats can buy and sell items they no longer need.”

  “You’re saying that Bogey has a Catbook page and was selling my belongings?” said Miss Kitty astonished.

  “No, Catbook has strict rules that only allows cats to set up profiles. But when I did my search, I did find your Victoria Felino kitten heels and Panther de Cattier watch for sale. And the seller’s name was…” Everyone was hanging on my every word. They held their breath with expectation. “Sufur Ilongaps.”

  “Sufur Ilongaps? Who’s that?” Cali questioned.

  “It’s no one,” I replied.

  “Well, that doesn’t do us any good, does it?” Rufus smugly growled.

  “No, it doesn’t,” I confirmed. “But Sufur Ilongaps, is an obvious pseudonym. You see, Bogey would bring the items here, where his accomplice would lower the trapdoor and collect them to then post on Catbook Storefront.” I showed them the item for sale on my phone. “Knowing that Bogey would make a run for it, and the dog house back door being his best escape route, I had Thom close off the tunnel here at the trapdoor.”

  “That still doesn’t tell us who Sufur Ilongaps is,” Mr. Bigley said.

  Once again in her doggie baby talk Miss Kitty knelt next to Bogey and said, “If onwy wittle Bogey Wogey could te’ wus who made him do these tewwible fings.”

  “Yes, Bogey. Tell us,” I mocked.

  Bogey let out a yip. To me it was the sound of anger, but that wasn’t how Miss Kitty heard it. “Oh, he’s trying to tell us,” she exclaimed. “Who speaks dog?”

  Bogey barked again.

  “What’s that?” I questioned as I too knelt next to the make
shift cage and Miss Kitty. Bogey let out two barks.

  “Who?” I pretended to ask.

  “You speak dog, Katz?!” Miss Kitty shrieked with joy.

  “Bark! Bark!”

  “Rufus, you used to have a dog, didn’t you?” I pointed out.

  “Yeah, b… b… but…” Rufus stammered.

  “What do you think he’s saying?” I pried.

  “Bark. Bark. Bark bark bark,” Bogey continued.

  “A rat terrier? Rufus, was your dog a rat terrier?”

  Rufus was silent as he looked back and forth between everyone.

  “Rufus?” I queried again. “Maybe I should say, Sufur Ilongaps? That is Rufus Spagnoli spelled backwards, right? That is your full name?”

  “But Miss Kitty rescued Bogey from a shelter,” Cali interjected.

  “That’s exactly what Rufus wanted everyone to think,” I confirmed.

  Rufus started to back out of the room before turning and making a run for it, but I had planned for such an attempt to escape and had called the Cat Cops in advance. As Rufus dashed for the door, the Cat Cops made their appearance in the doorway blocking his path. With no way to escape, he surrendered without so much as a scratch.

  As we watched Rufus and the Cat Cops make their exit, Mr. Bigly took me aside. “You only made one mistake, Katz.”

  “Oh really?” I questioned. “How so?”

  “You solved the case too quickly.” Mr. Bigly pointed over to Miss Kitty. Thom and Cali were helping her release Bogey from his makeshift cage. “You’ve become dispensable.”

  He was right. What does a gorgeous leading lady need with a two-bit private-eye tomcat? “That’s the way it goes,” I acknowledged. “If I do my job well, sooner or later I’m no longer needed.” I shook Mr. Bigly’s paw and thanked him for his hospitality. He was truly appreciative for my work and handed me a sealed envelope, which felt like it was loaded with lettuce if you know what I mean.

  As I turned to leave, Mr. Bigly asked, “Are you going to say good-bye to Miss Kitty?”

  I paused a moment and looked over at her cuddling a somewhat disgruntled Bogey and mouthing words I couldn’t hear but were most likely in the sound of baby talk. “No. I think I’ll leave things as they are.” With that, I turned away again and left the Fat Cat Café.

  What had already been a long day with the Cow Tipping Caper, became that much longer after spending most of my night at the Fat Cat Café. Returning to my hole-in-the-wall office, I dropped my coat and hat on the rack by the door and plopped into my duct taped office chair. It was a far cry from Miss Kitty’s opulent dressing room.

  I let out a sigh of exhaustion. It was the sound that signaled that I was done with a case. I was momentarily free to let down my guard.

  I settled down into my haggard office chair and positioned my typewriter to document my work. Typing up a report of the events of the case, a skill I learned when I was coming up through the ranks of the Cat Cops, helped me appreciate the energy and effort I put into each case as well as serve as a record of how the case was solved. In more than one instance, I’ve referenced a set of clues from a past case to help solve a current mystery. My father always told me, “A short pencil is better than a long memory,” which meant that writing things down would always help me remember. So even though I was using a typewriter and not a pen and paper, the idea was the same. And I wouldn’t retire for the evening until I’d documented all the actions of the day.

  I let out a wide-mouthed yawn, bearing my teeth like a lion, as I began to type. It was moments like these that I regretted not paying attention and practicing in my typing class. Hunting and pecking at each key, I noted Bogey, the tunnel to the trapdoor, and Catbook Storefront. As I sleepily wrapped up my notes, I pondered the wonderful, enchanting Miss Kitty. She was gracious, infectious, and out of my league. She was, still is, and always will be the cat’s meow.

  After the last few taps of the typewriter’s hammers hitting the page sounded, I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. Another case was successfully solved, which meant another week where I could keep the lights on. And maybe buy myself the premixed chocolate milk instead of mixing it myself.

  The life of a detective can be challenging with my livelihood depending not only on clients walking through my door with problems to solve, but actually solving them. Being a private-eye gives me opportunities to help cats like Miss Kitty and experience amazing places like the Fat Cat Café. For me, every day is an adventure. I’m always doing something new, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  The End

  KATZ PAJAMAS

  The Haunted House of Hashimoto

  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 A Wet Cat

  Chapter 2 A Cast of Cats

  Chapter 3 Follow the Clues

  Chapter 4 Cats in the Kitchen

  Chapter 5 How to Catch a Ghost

  Chapter 6 A Secret Passage

  Chapter 7 Out the Window

  Chapter 8 Where’s Wigglebutt

  Chapter 9 An Impressive Cat

  Chapter 10 A Gift

  Chapter 11Last Call

  The rain was pouring down so hard it felt like I was driving under a mile-long waterfall. The only things that assured me I was still on land were the blinding flashes of lightning that would light up the surrounding trees. It was a night I would have preferred to be curled up purring by a fire. Instead, here I was driving up a narrow road barely able to see the turns ahead.

  I had received the invitation by mail only two days before, but to decline such an invitation would be unheard of. I had been invited to the monstrous home of Hiromasa Hashimoto. Of course, when I say home, I mean sprawling castle-like structure that sits atop a hill for all in the city of New Purrt to see. Mr. Hashimoto was well funded and not afraid to let everyone know. In fact, his home was so expansive, he often hosted lavish gatherings of the rich and famous and a portion of the mansion acted as a bed and breakfast for his guests.

  And this is why I have risked my life, navigating the treacherous winding road through the year’s worst storm up to the House of Hashimoto. While I am by no means rich, I do have a certain level of fame. Of course, you know me. I’m Katz Pajamas, the best detective in New Purrt. I solve the mysteries that no one else can. I don’t mean to brag, but solving mysteries is what I do.

  As I arrived at the top of the hill, the lightning and thunder continued their impressive display, but the rain had started to let up. I jumped out of my sporty convertible and made a dash for Hashimoto’s front door. My fedora and overcoat were good protection from the elements.

  Fortunately, there was a generous overhang on the front porch to protect me from the rain. As I shook the water off my coat and hat, I surveyed the location noting the security camera watching my every move, the ornate trim around the door, and a fanciful knocker on the door shaped like two cats’ tails. Scanning the driveway to see what other cars were parked there, I noted a Jaguar coupe, Mercury Cougar, and Catillac. My ‘66 Sunbeam Tiger, a red ragtop, didn’t seem too out of place next to the other guests’ cars. The real sore thumb was a large semi-trailer truck off to the side of the house, but someone as wealthy as Mr. Hashimoto might have stranger toys than a semi-truck.

&
nbsp; I reached for the knocker, but before I could announce my arrival, the door opened, revealing a tall, extremely slender cat reminiscent of a long retired basketball player. Eye level for me was pretty close to his belly button, so I leaned back as I scanned up his torso to find his face and look him in his eyes. He was hunched over a bit which was probably the result of years of looking down to the other cats around him. “Hello, sir. I presume you are Mr. Pajamas,” he slowly spoke in a deep bass tone.

  “Yes, Katz Pajamas, private eye,” I replied.

  “I know,” he said dryly. I could tell he was a British Shorthair cat by his accent, thick fur, and broad face. What was atypical was his slender, lengthy frame because his breed typically presented a chunky body, which made me suspect that somewhere in his line was a mixed breed. That’s probably true for most of us though.