Meow Missing

By Lisa J Lickel

Ivy's aunt is missing, and Ivy vows to find her ...after she gets out of this kidnapping mess.

 

Home in Apple Grove after a shortened honeymoon, Ivy is confronted with her first quandary of married life: admit to her husband that she picked up a piece of garbage that turns out to be the tip of the iceberg of an international sm

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fox Ridge Publishing
• Release date: Aug 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781088051924

Lisa J Lickel

Lisa J. Lickel is a writer who lives in Wisconsin. She has served on several historical society boards, and worked with programs, writing, and editing research projects. Lisa is a freelance editor, book coach, an avid reader, and book reviewer. Find more at www.LisaLickel.com.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I

nearly panicked at the sight of my bare left ring finger.

Then I remembered I’d placed my wedding band in its box so I could have the jeweler solder it to my engagement ring. Together like that, they were supposed to be more stable, with less risk of loss. Anything that provided stability was a win in my corner. The word picture, soldered together, was a nice commentary on relationships in my newly wedded state.

Adam would drop the box off at Wyler’s Fine Jewelry on his way to work at City Hall.

I unzipped my toiletries case in the bathroom of Adam’s—no, our—apartment. My name was taped inside the bag in case it ever got separated from me. Ivy Preston, and a really old e-mail address. I was going to have to get used to saying Thompson for my new last name, not that I hadn’t been dreaming about it over the last year and a half since Adam and I started our relationship.

Home at last after a ten-day honeymoon cruise on the Mississippi River, the thought of mundane chores like unpacking, doing laundry, or cleaning had never thrilled me before. I couldn’t wait to take care of my new home. What happened to my happy independent inner woman?

Adam’s arms wrapped me from behind and he nuzzled the side of my neck.

Mm…the real answer was that, finally, everything was right.

Thoughts of rocks through my windows, dead bodies under unworn wedding gowns, cold jail cells, and mysterious Samuel Clemens look-alikes lying on the floor flew out the bathroom vent with Adam’s loving hold.

Good morning, Ivy, my wife. Adam drew back to stare into my eyes, an action which had me flushing warm all over again.

Husband. I rolled the word around my tongue.

Getting things squared away? You have enough space in here, or do you want another shelving unit installed? He turned to survey the contents of my bag and the amount of room left in the cupboard bathroom of the apartment above Mea Cuppa, his—our—gourmet coffee, book, and gift store in downtown Apple Grove, Illinois.

A sigh of bliss built up in my chest. What other man would be concerned about whether he had enough room for me instead of complaining that I had too much female stuff?

Ivy?

Oh, yes, there’s plenty of room. I shook away the stars and hearts orbiting my head of fuzzy curls when he smiled again.

Then he did the watch-checking thing.

Time for me to get down to the office.

I tried to keep my grin from slipping, but I couldn’t fight gravity. My brand new husband had done admirably on our trip, the first time he’d spent more than a week away from his successful book and coffee shop chain store for many years. He hadn’t escaped from his mayoral duties as lightly, however, and answered texts or voice-mail at least daily.

Suck it up, Ivy, I reminded myself. You knew you were marrying the mayor. No complaining. I kissed the almost-dimple side of his mouth and adjusted the scarf he wore casually to disguise the old burn scars around his neck. There’s a lot to do with Apple Fest around the corner, I said. This will be a good year for celebrating, considering all the new business and community growth.

The light in his lovely molten metal eyes shone with understanding. With your tech skills to keep the communications organized and up to date, not to mention the advertising, I expect we’ll pick up the slack of missing last year’s festival.

There was a lot going on, what with the unusual amount of murders and all, I mumbled.

Adam just hugged me, kissed my temple, and left, whistling, down the stairs to walk the couple of blocks to City Hall, as he usually did.

A whiff of chocolate mocha wafted up from the shop below and made my stomach rumble. The temporary manager, Gina Prebble, would be here through the weekend, taking care of opening and closing and running the store. She’d agreed to stay in our apartment last week with its exceptionally convenient commute to work when Adam’s sister Marie made the arrangements for us. When we’d returned a couple of days early from the trip due to low water canceling one of the extra boating excursions we’d booked, Gina had thoughtfully moved to the fancy Prairie Hotel and Conference Center out on the highway, expenses covered, of course.

I glanced around the cream and navy blue bathroom with its sparkling fixtures. Gina was either amazingly clean or had hired someone. I still felt the need to wipe everything down. Not that I was germophobic—just the thought of another woman being the first in my space…well, you know.

After the quick bleach session, I rinsed and finished hanging up my toothbrush next to Adam’s…and felt something rattle in the empty toiletries bag. What had I left? I shook it out into my palm and was immediately transported back eleven days to the wedding, or rather, the prelude to our wedding night at Mrs. Daucett’s perfectly dreamy Victorian Bed and Breakfast in Hannibal, Missouri.

I had tripped on the hem of my wedding dress after we’d climbed the steps to the third floor turret room at the inn. Thankfully it happened privately, not in front of everyone at the actual wedding. I had landed on all fours in front of my husband who was about to open the door to our room. Well, more, like face-planted on the floor in front of Sam Clemens when I accidentally kicked his door open. He’d been staying in the room across the hall from ours.

Yes, the Clemens I mentioned a few minutes ago in my list of disasters. As if one could ever forget such an interlude at such a time. He was not the Samuel Clemens! Of course I knew that, but I was taken aback. Even more so when our hostess called him Mr. Waxley, the same last name as my Aunt Chris, my father’s only sibling. And then two men took Mr. Waxley away, presumably to a hospital.

Before Adam picked me up from the floor, I had noticed something sparkly near the door where the man had lain. Then I—we—got busy with other things and I forgot about it. (Me, blushing.) But in the morning I happened to step out the door before Adam and happened to kick the sparkly thing, happened to bend down and pick it up, happened to put it in my pocket, and it eventually made its way into my toothbrush bag where out of sight, out of mind.

Until now. The sparkly thing looked suspiciously clear and green with facets that were quite emerald-ish. I really should return it to Mrs. Daucett. Like, really soon. After I talked to Adam about it, of course. Explained how I forgot about finding and picking up a precious gem from the floor of the fantastic B and B where we spent our first night as a married couple, and probably tarnish the whole memory of our honeymoon?

I held the green sparkly thing up to the light. It probably wasn’t an emerald. What do I know about precious gems, anyway? Was it even precious? It was probably some tourist souvenir or something like that. If it was valuable, surely the owner would be looking for it, and if the owner asked her about it, Mrs. Daucett would call us. I fisted it and took a deep breath. Then I stuck it back in my empty toiletries bag and stuffed the bag behind a stack of towels.

Two hours later of pretending to dust and looking in all the cupboards and closets, opening and closing the washing machine and dryer and general looking-out-the-window activities, I could no longer dismiss the sound of the thing calling to me. Iveeee! Get me out of heeere! I retrieved the green gem and considered my options of confidants. Addy, my best friend, was the town’s veterinarian and probably hard at work. Amy, our friend Elvis’s fiancé, was likely at work at her business, Ethereal Events, and Marion, Adam’s assistant—well, it would look pretty weird for me to show up to talk to Marion about something I couldn’t share with Adam. My former neighbor Martha was downstairs working in the shop and besides she tended to chat a lot with customers, and wasn’t great at keeping confidences. Yolanda at the Apple Grove Gazette would have some good ideas about what to do, but I knew she was swamped with working on Apple Fest.

Mom was my last best hope. Good thing she lived nearby. Geneva McTeague Preston, Professor McTeague as she was known to her former criminal justice students in northern Illinois at Maplewood College, had retired at the end of the last school year. She and dad had been a little older when they met and married, and had me, their only child. She had been widowed young and never dated, at least while I was at home. I tried not to blame myself. I’m not exactly a spring chicken, but certainly young enough to plan on having a family. Sooner than later. Anyway, Mom fell in love with Apple Grove, too…besides falling in serious like with one of our delightful citizens. Mr. Virgil Toynsbee had once served as Apple Grove’s mayor, long before Adam. He had been an attorney and had represented me a couple of months ago when I’d been wrongly accused of murder. Long story. He got me off, but in the course of events, met my mother. Both widowers, they hit it off well enough to have her sell our house in Maplewood and buy the little cottage I had bought for myself and my cat buddy, Memnet, when I relocated. Speaking of whom, I hadn’t seen the kids, that is, my Memnet, Adam’s cat Isis, and their kittens, for a week. Another good excuse for a visit as Mom was cat-sitting.

I headed out into the warm sunshine of early July, deciding to walk the half-dozen blocks since it wasn’t too hot yet and I needed to come up with a plan about how to broach the subject of my pocketed faux gem that didn’t involve the term kleptomania.

My mother had kept her maiden name for her profession of teaching. I also used it in my business, McTeague Technical Services, since it sounded cooler than Preston Tech. In reality, the name had no ties with Preston, so it kept me personally distant from a service that could be considered a busybody’s paradise. Not everyone wanted everyone else to know they couldn’t load a computer program, or figure out how to use e-mail, or have their messages filtered and forwarded. But, my business had fizzled since computers were easier than ever to use and set up, and cheap enough that people traded them out every couple of years. I still had a few clients for website design and maintenance and other communication services with overseas connections. I mostly worked for Mea Cuppa now. Keeping it in the family.

Whew, I needed to slow down. I was only a block from Marigold Street, and I still had to come up with a plan. Boyd Cook, Ruby’s younger brother, was mowing the Hoffmeister’s yard. I waved. He was a big, sixteen-year-old young man, being raised by a sister after their parents died. Nice kid, hard worker and conscientious. He mowed my lawn, too, and shoveled for me whenever there was enough snow. He’d gotten his driver’s license a month ago and was saving for a vehicle—a point of contention between him and Ruby about what type.

I liked Apple Grove and was looking forward to Apple Fest, which would be held on Labor Day weekend. I stopped at the corner before crossing the street and turning on Marigold.

Mrs. Tingle came out of her one and a half-story pink house onto her veranda and looked at me. No loitering, she said in a husky voice.

It’s me, Mrs. Tingle. Ivy Pr-Thompson. I’m just waiting for traffic to clear before crossing the road.

Oh, well, then… she muttered something else behind her dark glasses, flapped her apron she always wore no matter what, and went back inside with a bang of the screen door. She was harmless with her white poodle perm and beloved daffodils. But she had a point. No more loitering. I headed for my former house, half-hoping Mom was out.

She was in, and answered my rap on the back door.

Ivy, honey, you’re back! Oh, you know you don’t need to knock.

Mom held the screen door for me. It felt odd entering my former house as a guest. She’d moved in her own furniture. I decided to put a lot of my stuff, which had been my grandparents’, in storage for now. It had been hard enough to give up my independence with my house, but I’m glad I did. So far.

We got back early, I told her. Low water canceled the extra excursion on a historical cruise we signed up for, so we just came home.

She hugged me. And Adam went right back to work? Her eyes were warm with sympathy.

He’s the mayor. I married the package. And I’m not complaining.

Of course not. She rummaged in the refrigerator. Iced tea?

Sure.

Virgil suggested I put in a little patio out back, she said. Is that okay?

I laughed. It’s your house. But, yes, I agree with Virgil. How is he?

Oh, he’s fine. I convinced him to take it easy after all the excitement, and he’s feeling better.

And you? I took my glass, tinkling with ice cubes, and studied her. She flushed in a pretty way, one I understood. She was in love and I couldn’t have been happier for her.

I’m fine too. Her eyes crinkled along the sides. Let’s sit. Here or the living room?

Here. I plopped on one of her wooden chairs around a table I didn’t remember. Where’s this from? Is it new?

Mom blushed pink. It’s, ah, Virgil’s. He thought it would look nice. And it does.

Yes. I hitched a breath and refrained from butting in too deeply right away. I’d sort of ease into potential wedding plans after I unloaded my problem. A ball of fluffy gray spots, followed by a tumbly second ball, raced into the kitchen. The kittens! They’ve grown. I reached for Four, the unnamed final kitten of Memnet and Isis’s litter. Their father, my pet Memnet, a purebred Silver Egyptian Mau, sauntered into the room. He kept plodding in a stately manner right for me, then jumped into my lap as if I’d never been absent. He stretched into a comfortable position, then cleaned his right front paw. I stroked his head between his ears, which contented both of us.

Were you planning to take them home today? Mom’s question held both disappointment and hope.

I considered trying to handle two grown cats and a kitten and all their equipment…oh, right.

I walked! I said in my innocent cheery voice. Adam and I will come back later. At the sight of her half-smile, I added, Sometime in the next couple of days?

I’ve enjoyed their company. Mom curled one leg under the other. So, tell me about the trip.

Everything was so great. From the gorgeous Bed and Breakfast place in Hannibal, to the cruise. I never knew the Mississippi had so many wonderful places to stop and visit. I want to go back to New Orleans some time.

It’s a lively town with a rich, fascinating history. Mom toasted me with her glass.

I took a deep breath, then let it out. I gazed around the kitchen.

But? Mom prodded.

I twitched my lip and reached into my pocket. I found this at the inn the first night. I sort of forgot about it. Um…what do you think it is?

She took the green gem in hand, and turned it over. She reached for her glasses. Did you report it?

I squirmed. Not yet.

Mom pulled off her glasses and studied me. I squirmed more and added a grimace. I really did forget, until I got home and unpacked. It must be some touristy thing, like from a keychain or something, right? Just junk?

Yet you wanted to ask me about it? Not Adam?

I don’t want him thinking he married some kleptomaniac, Mom. I just wanted your opinion on whether I should throw it out or get in touch with the B and B owner.

Why not just take it down to the jeweler’s and have it appraised?

Maplewood had been one of those bedroom communities where people moved in and out and didn’t always stop to get acquainted. Here, in Apple Grove, everyone knew everyone else’s business. Especially if you were married to the mayor.

The phone rang. I had left the wall unit when I bought the house. I just seemed to go with the retro nineteen fifties décor, and it was useful having a landline as well as my cell. People around here just expected you to have a local number.

Mom winked and went to answer while I sat there completely mortified to realize I was starting off married life on a left foot. I would contact Mrs. Daucett as soon as I got home and dug out her card and number.

Isis stalked into the room in queenly fashion. She cast a disdainful Smoke Egyptian Mau gooseberry-colored eye in my direction then went to stand at her water bowl. She wouldn’t drink from it if there was so much as a speck of dust floating. She could wait. I heard Mom hang up.

Thanks, Mom, I told her when she returned to the table. I knew all along what I should do. I’ll call Mrs. Daucett and tell her about it. I guess I just wanted to see you. And the kids. I scrubbed Memnet’s ruff. Mom didn’t answer right away, and sat down slowly. What is it? Not bad news, I hope. The back of my neck bristled with nervous anticipation of hearing about some disaster.

I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. That was your Aunt Chris’s neighbor who watches over her place while Chris is gone. Apparently someone broke in through the back door last night, but as far as she could tell, nothing was damaged or stolen. The police are making a report, and she wondered if I knew where Chris was.

Don’t you? I asked casually. Doesn’t the neighbor have her number?

She said Chris hasn’t returned any messages.

You may think this is juvenile of me, but even when I stayed with Aunt Chris as a kid, I never really thought about what she did. I mean, every time I think of her, I think ‘library.’ She was always at the library or wanted to go to the library, or meet me there. I never minded because I like the library. I thought she worked there. And then…I confess I just didn’t think much more about it. I feel bad that I haven’t spent time with her in the last ten years like I used to when I was home.

Mom looked at me with that puzzled exasperated look she got when she thought I should know better. C’mon. I was over thirty. She had to understand by now that I’d never know better.

She shook her head. We were sworn to secrecy, your father and I. Silly now, after all these years. I have to confess something to you, too. Even though we lived in the same town, I never took the time to know her as well as I should have.

We visited. I even stayed with her once in a while.

When she was home, Mom agreed. But we were never personal. She’s rather private.

As are you, I added silently. Her husband had some hushed up government job. He was gone so much.

What happened?

I’m not entirely sure. There’d been some talk of divorce, but that was about the time your father died. She frowned. I’m afraid that since we never saw Stephen again I just assumed she had taken care of it quietly, in her own way, and I didn’t bring it up, nor she with me.

It’s just odd how we can be related to people and never know them.

That’s true, Mom said. Nevertheless, she’d tell me when she’d be gone on extended trips and give me contact information. I am worried. She’s never been quite as gone as this.

Mom?

Of course she’s traveled at length, researching for her writing.

Okay, now I’m a little freaked out. I sat up straight, making Mem lurch. Aunt Chris writes books? Or what, like travel articles? Why didn’t I know this? Why a secret?

Not travel. She writes mysteries. Thrillers, I guess.

I was getting frustrated to the point of shaking answers out of my normally cool, no-nonsense mother. Yes? I prodded.

Well, it’s just that…she writes under a pseudonym, and we…well, I, I guess…we never discuss it.

Who. Is. It?

You must promise that you won’t reveal this. It’s more than about her name and privacy. There are other matters at stake. She held up her hand to ward off the frustration I was about to unleash on her like an angry waterspout.

Darling, yes, I know you are completely trustworthy, as is Adam.

Good, I didn’t have to remind her that for the past decade I had made an almost living at keeping other people’s secrets. And Adam was Apple Grove’s mayor…and of course he was…well, perfect.

I calmed down. An inch. My stomach growled, like it does when I’m upset. Or happy. Or hungry.

Chris writes as Abeline Dujardin.

Seriously. I had to scramble on my knees to find my jaw. And my eyeballs. They all dropped like lead weights on a deep sea diver. I gulped. There was an expose on her two years ago, I whispered. About all the cases she and her team have helped solve for the CIA while she does her research for her books. So, my dear aunt was not a librarian. But she looked like one. Wispy, tall, forever hopelessly unfashionable, straight gray-streaked hair and glasses from the eighties. A perpetual cardigan. Masculine hands. Sensible shoes. And it had been at least twenty-five years since the first book came out just before my father died, so there were a good two dozen in the series. Even I waited for the next one. I slumped. I should have been getting them for free.

Then the hair on the back of my neck prickled. I looked at my un-placid mother out of the corner of my eye.

She smoothed a wayward lock of her beautifully honey-brown hair off her temple. A nervous gesture, very unlike her.

Which answered my question of whether or not my own mother was a member of the crime-solving team. Made sense. I pressed my lips together and swallowed the natural whoa, cool beans that my high school inner nerd desperately wanted to gush.

But this time, she went away but didn’t tell you? I asked. How did you…

Of course I knew she was leaving. Venezuela, she said, for a month.

She didn’t mention it when she came to my bridal shower. I felt left out.

Mom just raised a brow. Like I’d ever cared before when my aunt went on a trip. I’d just been jazzed by all the postcards she used to send.

It hasn’t been a month, I pointed out. She’s not overdue.

But she’s not answering her phone, and the Venezuelan guest ranch says she never checked in.

Chapter 2

I

left Mom jotting lists of places to check and people to call about Aunt Chris’s possible whereabouts, starting with her usual airline. How my mother thought she could obtain privileged information about passengers just got more interesting since I now knew Mom had government connections. I twisted my mouth in speculation. Probably with more than one agency. Her former student, Elvis Hillert, had come to Apple Grove for field work in the police department for Mom’s class while