Shop Till You Drop

Chapter 34

“We better scout Brittney’s place. I want to see what it looks like at night,” Margery said.

“The same as in the day, only darker,” Helen said.

“Not true. Every place looks different at night. Acts different, too. Trust me on this. I’m an old night owl.”

Helen wondered what Margery saw at the Coronado after dark. Her landlady was providing the wheels for the cat caper. “Brittney goes to a different South Beach club almost every night,” Helen said. “Wednesday nights she goes to the Delano. Usually leaves sometime after nine.”

“Fine,” said Margery. “We got a date tonight at ten. It’s Tuesday, so we’ll nail the cat tomorrow.”

At ten o’clock, they pulled out of the Coronado and headed for the Seventeenth Street Bridge. Margery drove an old white Cadillac half a block long. Helen wondered if it was a state law that when you reached age seventy, you had to drive a big white car.

On the other side of the bridge, Margery made a left onto Bridge Harbour Parkway, and they were suddenly in the hushed, winding streets of the wealthy. Her landlady was right. Bridge Harbour was different after dark.

The huge houses looked more like hotels, with their two-story entryways. Huge, enormous, and giant described everything about these houses, except their lots, which were barely big enough for a modest ranch house.

“How come major mansions are built on such little lots?” Helen said.

“You can get land in Omaha,” Margery said. “They want water. The fewer drawbridges your yacht goes through before you get to the ocean, the better. Bridge Harbor is only one drawbridge away.

“Now, can we skip the house tour and get to work? Did you see all these ‘No Parking’ signs? What are we going to do with this car? I can’t park it. And look at these security patrols.”

Bridge Harbour houses were built along a system of canals. The security service had white patrol cars stationed at every little canal bridge.

“I counted six rent-a-cops on wheels,” Margery said. “This is not going to be easy. Show me the house. And tell me it doesn’t have a seven-foot wall, like every other place we’ve passed.”

“Oh, no,” Helen said. “It has a tall hedge, but a nice open driveway. The cab pulled right in.”

But no car could get in at night. The driveway was closed by an electric gate.“That wasn’t here during the day,” Helen said.

“At least it’s fancy wrought iron,” Margery said. “The cat can slide through the curlicues. I don’t like those security lights. Place is lit up like Times Square.”

Helen thought she saw something white flitting through the bushes. Was the cat on his nightly prowl? It was hard to tell in the glaring lights.

“Let’s get out of here before they notice my license plate,” Margery said. “We’ve got planning to do.”

They stopped at a Pollo Tropical and picked up dinner to go. Even the fast food in Florida was exotic. Where else in America could you get fried plantains at a franchise? They ate their chicken tropi-chops (three dollars and seventeen cents, with rice and beans) in Margery’s kitchen.

“With all that security, we’re going to need an excuse for wandering around,” she said.

“I could be a jogger,” Helen said.

“Security won’t fall for that,” Margery said, stabbing at her chicken. “Did you see any joggers on those streets at ten o’clock?”

“No,” Helen said. “Wait. What if I was looking for my lost cat?”

“I like that,” Margery said. “It’s almost true. It would explain why I was driving around, and why you were trying to catch a cat.

“Now we have to figure out how to get the cat. Are you sure it goes out at night?”

“There’s a cat flap in the door. I thought I saw something white in the bushes. But I don’t know how to get it to come to me. I’ve never had a cat.”

“We need catnip and peacock feathers,” Margery declared. “My friend Rita Scott grows her own catnip and makes these toys stuffed with catnip. Her cats go nuts over them. I’ll get some, and a peacock feather, and meet you at my car at ten o’clock tomorrow night.”

Helen spent all day Wednesday wondering if she’d get caught and spend the night at the Broward County Jail. She was glad it was a dark night with no moon. The two cat burglars met at Margery’s car. Margery was wearing a purple velour jogging suit and mauve tennis shoes. Helen had on jeans and a black sweatshirt. She always felt so conservative compared to her landlady.

On the Cadillac’s back seat was a peacock feather and a plastic ziplock bag. Inside the bag were fabric cat toys no bigger than Helen’s hand. She picked one up and sniffed it.

“It smells like grass,” Helen said.

“That’s the most potent catnip in the feline world,” Margery said. “Rita says you call the cat by name, none of that ‘kitty, kitty’ stuff. Then stick the peacock feather through the gate and wiggle it around. Cats love playing with peacock feathers. When the cat gets close to the fence, bring out the catnip toy. It will come running. No cat can resist Rita’s catnip.”

“What’s in that paper bag on the back seat?” Helen asked.

“Our last resort,” Margery said. “Do you have everything?”

Helen patted her fanny pack. “Yep. Q-tips in a plastic bag. Small Ziplocs for the sample.”

“Let’s go,” Margery said.

Bridge Harbour looked different again tonight. Now it was not only rich but powerful. The tall gray royal palms looked like dinosaur legs, ready to crush them. The security guards waited at the canal bridges like spiders, poised to trap them. Helen felt the fear snakes crawling in her stomach. She could lose her job for stalking a Juliana’s customer. If Helen was arrested and her name got in the papers, she might as well move. She’d never get hired by anyone, anywhere.

Margery drove slowly by Brittney’s house. “The red Porsche is gone, and the house lights are off except for one in the back. I think she’s gone,” Helen said.

“Then let’s go to work,” Margery said. “I’ll drop you off and drive slowly around the subdivision. I’ll be back shortly.”

Helen took a deep breath, then picked up the peacock feather and stuffed three catnip toys in her pocket. She walked over to the wrought-iron gate and crouched down in the flower bed. It was filled with sharp white rocks and spiky green plants with sawtoothed leaves. A lizard ran out of the flower bed, and Helen jumped. A spiky plant left a long scratch on her hand. Helen wondered if the cops could get her DNA from the blood on the white rocks.

“Here, Thumbs,” she called, in a hoarse whisper.

Nothing.

“Thumbies,” she called. “Here, Thumbs. Here, boy.” Was that a rustling in the bushes?

Helen stuck the peacock feather through the gate and waggled it around. A white blur shot out from the bushes and nailed the peacock feather, leaving it twisted and broken.

“Thumbs!” Helen said.

“Mrrr,” the cat said, switching his gray tail. In the security lights, he looked more like a stuffed toy than ever, except for those enormous six-toed feet. They belonged on a lion, not a cat.

“Look what I’ve got for you.” Helen held up the catnip toy, just outside the gate.

Thumbs whipped a paw through the gate and snagged the toy from her hand before she knew what happened. Now she had another long, bloody scratch. Thumbs had the toy inside the gate, where she couldn’t reach him.

“Thumbs,” she pleaded. “Thumbs, come here.”

The cat ignored her, as only a cat can. Thumbs was fascinated with the toy. He sniffed at it and batted it across the driveway. Then the dignified cat began leaping like a kitten. He ran around the driveway like a crazed hockey player, swatting the catnip toy with his paw, falling over it, doing back flips. She’d never seen a cat behave like that. Catnip was not a mellow high.

Thumbs jumped, ran, and rolled with the catnip toy, while Helen begged him to come back. Finally, he gave the toy one massive swipe and knocked it into the ornamental pool. He sat by the pool and stared sadly at his drowned plaything.

“Thumbs,” Helen said, holding up another catnip toy. “I’ve got another one. Here, boy.”

Finally, she had his attention. Thumbs raced over to the gate and tried to swipe the toy from her hand.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Helen said. “This time you are coming out here.”

She held the cat toy two feet from the gate. Thumbs slid through a wrought-iron curlicue. She wasn’t sure how a big cat could get through such a small opening. When he was on the other side, Helen grabbed him.

“Gotcha!” she said.

She was nearly blinded by the spotlight in her eyes.

“Would you come away from there, please,” a voice said.

Oh, oh. She’d been caught. Where was Margery? Helen hung onto Thumbs. She was not letting go of this cat, not after all the trouble she’d had catching him.

“May I see some identification, ma’am?” the voice said. It was not a question. It was a command. “Do you live in the area?”

“No,” Helen said. “I’m . . .”

More lights in her eyes, this time from another car. A door slammed and she saw Margery get out.

“Oh, good,” Margery said. “You found Thumbs. That’s our lost cat,” she explained to the security guard. Margery reached into the bag in the back seat and pulled out a paper. “We’ve put up these flyers all over Lauderdale. One of our neighbors called and said she’d spotted Thumbs all the way over here.”

The security guard read the homemade flyer like it was a court document. Helen could see the headline: “LOST!!!!! GRAY AND WHITE CAT WITH BIG FEET! ANSWERS TO THE NAME THUMBS. REWARD!”

Thumbs was starting to squirm. If he escaped, she’d never catch him. If he scratched her, she’d lose another pint of blood.

“Pardon me, sir,” Helen said, “but Thumbs has been missing for a full day, and he needs his medicine. He has a bad mouth infection.”

The guard backed away from the diseased animal. Margery pulled a bag of cat treats from her purse and said, “Here, I’ll give him this and you give him his medicated swab.”

When Thumbs opened his mouth, Helen ran the Q-tip inside his cheek, then quickly pulled it out. Margery popped a treat in the cat’s mouth before he could protest. Helen stuck the swab in a Ziploc bag. The guard watched them.

“We really need to get him home now,” Margery said.

The security guard walked them to Margery’s car. “Glad you found your cat, ladies,” he said.

“Not as glad as we are,” Helen said. Margery elbowed her to shut up.

Margery drove to the end of the street and out of Bridge Harbour. Then she turned around and went back to Brittney’s house.

Helen hopped out and dumped Thumbs over the fence. He looked up at her. He didn’t want to go back to the ice palace, and he was wearing a fur coat.

“You’re a good guy,” Helen said. “But you’ve got to stay here if you’re going to help us.”

As she ran for Margery’s car, she saw Thumbs padding toward the house. It could be her imagination, but he seemed dejected.

“Thumbs is such a nice animal. I hate to leave him,” Helen said.

Margery swatted at the white cat hair swirling through her car like a snowstorm.

“Are you kidding?” she said. “We brought most of him with us.”