Art Heists and Hairballs Read online

  Art Heists and Hairballs

  Bailey Booth

  All Rights Reserved.

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  Copyright © 2021 Bailey Booth. All Rights Reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to [email protected]

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  Booth, Bailey. Art Heists and Hairballs (Spy Kitty in the City)

  Cover Design by Molly Burton, Cozy Cover Designs

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Guard Dogs and Guitars

  Also by Bailey Booth

  Chapter One

  Hi, my name’s Addie Dawson, and pulling up to Helping Paws Animal Shelter always filled me with trepidation. Not the I hate my job variety. Just the opposite. I loved my job, but I wished there wasn’t any reason for me to have it. The sinking feeling was solely associated with the fact I never knew what might wait for me when I got there.

  This was one of those mornings.

  My coffee soured in my belly when I spotted the box sitting by the door. Not even a travel crate. A cardboard box. Ugh.

  We marched to the beat of our own drums in Harmony, New Hampshire. That was why I felt at home here. So there was an outside chance we’d received a middle-of-the-night delivery.

  But I knew better.

  I said a quick prayer to Saint Francis of Assisi and climbed out of the car. He was the patron saint of animals, and I had his metaphorical number on speed dial.

  “Hey, buddy,” I said as I lowered myself to the pavement beside the box. Dampness immediately seeped through my leggings. The responding yowl sounded an awful lot like help! Definitely a cat, but when they were scared, animals all spoke the same language. I needed to gain its trust in a hurry. “I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but things will only get better from here on out. My name’s Addie, and you’re at Helping Paws. You’re safe here. You’ll be warm, fed, and loved and then I’ll find you an awesome forever home.”

  I was rewarded with another loud meow and some scratching in response. Good. I liked them feisty.

  “This isn’t my first rodeo, so I’ll bring you inside before I let you out.” I fully expected that protest when I lifted the box. The only thing more heartbreaking than finding an animal waiting for me in the parking lot was having them escape before we even got in the door. This was New Hampshire, and we had some serious wildlife waiting in the woods behind the shelter for that kind of opportunity.

  Kicking the door closed behind me, I swiped the light switch with my elbow. I’d done this too many times. The animals who called Helping Paws home greeted me.

  “Good morning! We have someone new. I’ll be getting them settled and Brooke and Casey will be here soon to help me get everyone fed.” People thought I was crazy for telling the animals everything I planned to do, but I liked to think they understood me. Even if they didn’t know the words, they definitely understood intent and goodwill.

  My efforts were met with another yowl I hoisted the box onto the table. Whoever was inside was pretty heavy, which I hoped was a good sign. A paw poked through the drooping slit that was supposed to be an airhole. I hit speed dial to Saint Francis one more time, hoping Brooke would be able to handle whoever I found inside when she arrived. She was studying to be a vet, and what she didn’t have in certifications she made up for with some seriously on-point instincts. Although my employees were always quick to suggest we call Dr. Oliver, the good-looking recent veterinarian grad that volunteered time at the shelter when he could.

  The yowls from the box became more urgent, almost human sounding.

  “You’re almost out, I promise.” I put on my gloves before slitting the duct tape that held the soggy cardboard together.

  I was greeted by a plump, frowning cat. Ears back, eyes full of rage. And a hiss.

  “I like that you’ve got some fight in you after a rough night. You’re safe here.” I didn’t attempt to pick up the cat yet. I liked having eyeballs too much to even thinking about handling an angry animal. “Newcomers get wet food. It’s a luxury I can’t give you every day, but we’ll make sure you’re comfortable here until we can find you a home.”

  The newest resident of Helping Paws was a black cat, and they were notoriously hard to adopt. We were a no-kill shelter, but each long-term resident meant that we wouldn’t have the room to help someone else.

  I’d do everything in my power to find this cat a new home. Just like I did for everyone who came through our doors.

  Placing the food and water on the table, I smiled at the cat, who’d taken the first opportunity of freedom to clean themself. Besides some muddy paws, this cat appeared to be in good shape. Saint Francis was reading his text messages today.

  The cat looked me square in the eye. “I need your help.”

  “Of course you do.”

  Wait a minute, what?

  I turned to the door, but no one was there. It was just me and the shelter animals. I looked at the cat again. “What did you say?”

  I was treated to one of those exasperated looks that only a cat could give. “I need help. I’ve been catnapped.”

  “Good morning!” Casey called out as she walked in with Brooke. The animals went wild in response to her voice. There was something about the way she talked to them that made them all fall in love with her. When she wasn’t working at the shelter, she was a YouTube influencer, so we played her videos for the animals when we needed to soothe them. “We brought oatmeal breakfast cookies.”

  “Are you actually going to eat them this time?” Casey loved to cook, but she frequently had a first date on the horizon, which meant Brooke and I reaped the benefits of her hobby. I didn’t mind. My idea of a perfect Friday night was sitting in front of the TV watching the weekly marathon of my favorite cooking show, Parking Lot Potluck, and eating food someone else made.

  “It’s Friday, so it means I’ve got to fit into Lucky.” It was the name of her little black dress that never disappointed.

  The ladies approached the table and frowned.

  “I see we have someone new.” Brooke swallowed a mouthful of cookie and squinted to inspect the cat. “Did the cat come in this box or is this a if it fits I sits situation?”

  “I was catnapped!” The cat protested again. The voice had a hint of an older female, one who’d had a pack-a-day habit and had seen some things. “I need your help!”

  The ladies cooed over the cat, offering a hand to sniff before scratching her head.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked.

  “Hear what?” Casey asked. “She’s purring, so she’s friendly.”

  “They found the spot.” The cat grimaced. “I can’t stop purring when someone finds the spot.”

  It was official. I’d lost my mind. “You don’t notice anything unusual about her?”

  “Not yet. She’s beautiful and well fed,” Brooke said. “And pretty trusting for someone…you never said if she came in this box.”

  “Yup. Found her waiting for me outside the door in a damp box.”

  The ladies groaned. We’d had many conversations addressing what we thought about anyone who could do such a thing to an animal and there was no need to revisit.

  The ca
t pushed up to encourage more head rubs. She hadn’t gone for the food right away, which was odd. Most of our new residents were hungry. Maybe she had been catnapped, like she’d said.

  Or the lady at the drive-up window put hallucinogens in my coffee.

  “She wants something.”

  Brooke, Casey, and the cat glared at me when I said that.

  “That totally came out wrong. Are you sure you don’t notice anything strange?”

  “She’s in awfully good shape to come here in this ratty box. That doesn’t make any sense.” Brooke furrowed her brow. “Once we get everyone else fed, I’ll give her an examination.”

  “What are you seeing, Addie?” Casey asked. “I haven’t had my coffee yet. You need to spell it out.”

  Did I tell them?

  “I’ve been catnapped,” the cat said again. “You all seem very nice, but I want to go home.”

  Here goes nothing. “Does it sound like she’s…talking?”

  That was the look I expected.

  “Nothing other than purrs.”

  “I swear I can understand her.” Way to double down on the unbelievable.

  Brooke and Casey side-eyed each other. “You do have a special touch with the new animals. You make them feel at home here,” Casey finally said. “Maybe that’s why you think she’s talking.”

  “Okay, never mind then.” I turned on my heel before they could see me turn red. “I’ll get the kibble ready for the rest of the residents.”

  “Addie!” Brooke called me back. “What did she say?”

  I swallowed hard. It was almost impossible to find good, loyal employees who worked as hard as Brooke and Casey. They were students at Harmony Community College, and they wouldn’t be with me forever. Brooke would be a doctor, and Casey had plans for online world domination.

  “She says she’s been catnapped.”

  Their lips quivered, and I wasn’t sure if they wanted to laugh or cry. I put my hand on the cat’s head, loving the little internal motor of approval. I needed it.

  “There are people who can communicate with animals,” Brooke said. “We’re learning about it in school. It’s new science, and controversial, because” —she gestured at me and the cat— “but my question is, why would you be able to understand this cat, and none of the others here?”

  “Just lucky, I guess?” Maybe I hadn’t lost it after all. “Maybe I should stick with her and see what else she says.”

  The ladies hung up their coats, put on their aprons and got to work, and I stayed with our newest resident. She watched my every move.

  I put my hands on my hips. I spent plenty of time talking to animals, but the conversations had always been one-sided. Now that there were other humans here, I was a self-conscious about continuing the conversation. “Am I the only one you can talk to?”

  “I can talk to everyone. So far, you’re the only one who’s understood me.” The cat stood, stretched, and carefully stepped over the drooping side of the box. “Do you have any tuna?”

  “Okay, so you’re not a stray.” Besides the muddy paws, my new friend had a shiny, thick coat, white legs that made it look like she was wearing pants, and a pudgy belly.

  She groaned. “I told you, I was catnapped.”

  “What happened?” I had to admit, it was amazing to get the story of why she’d been dropped off here. Usually we were left guessing.

  “I witnessed a crime.” The cat walked toward me, stopping at the edge of the table. Her yellow gaze captivated me. “I chased the robbers, but I lost them. I tried to find my way back to the gallery, but there were so many scents!”

  Gallery. Interesting. Not home. She wore a pink collar, but there was no pendant sharing her information. I hoped she had a chip.

  “There was a box outside, and some food in there. I was starving. The next thing I knew, I woke up and the box was sealed. Now I’m here.”

  “I’m food motivated too. What’s your name?”

  She steeled herself. “Persephone.”

  “Nice to meet you, Persephone.” I looked toward the kennel area. Brooke and Casey were busy feeding and greeting our residents. They were soaking up dog kisses and cat rubs and weren’t paying us any mind. Persephone drank her water, but she wasn’t touching the food. “Do you know where you live? Or your owners’ names?”

  The cat gave me a look.

  “Silly me. No one owns you. What can you tell me about the people who feed and take care of you?”

  “My person is called Margaret, and she owns the Galerie Bellamy. She must be devastated about the missing painting. And of course, me.”

  Oh. Galerie Bellamy had been all over the internet. A priceless painting had been stolen in the middle of the night last week. It was a Bournaise, a trendy “new” painter, though he hadn’t lived to enjoy his fifteen minutes of fame. The stories online had been pretty juicy, claiming the owner of the gallery had been the lover of the artist.

  Last I read, they had no leads on who took the painting.

  There was a huge reward for information leading to the recovery of the Bournaise. Money that would go a long way in helping the residents of Helping Paws who didn’t have a voice. With Persephone’s help, I might be able to claim it.

  Chapter Two

  “Are you coming out with us tonight, Addie?” Brooke asked.

  “I thought Casey had a date.”

  She rolled her eyes. “He canceled. I need to stop swiping on this stupid site.”

  “Maybe we should set you up with Doctor Oliver.” I waggled my brows.

  “We could, but he’s only got eyes for the animals.”

  “And Addie,” Brooke added, and I groaned. “Don’t lie, the two of you have shared some longing looks that have nothing to do with veterinary business.”

  “I can’t date him. If it goes bad, we’ll have no one to help with the animals.”

  “So are you coming with us?” Brooke waggled her brows.

  “Add tonight to my ever-growing collection of rainchecks.”

  Casey waved her hand and tossed her apron into the hamper. “We’re never getting her to go out after work. I swear, when I get my Boost Your Self-Confidence course finished, I’m giving you a free pass.”

  “My confidence is fine. You don’t want an old lady hanging around with you.” At thirty-two, I was ten years older than my coworkers. We had a ton of fun at work, but I was their boss, and there were supposed to be boundaries. Which was why all I could share with the adorable doctor was those looks. The funny thing was, I hated rules. I ditched my brokerage job for that reason. But now that I was in charge, rules sometimes came in handy. “Persephone told me who her owner is, and I want to see if I can contact her.”

  “Persephone?” Casey raised a brow. “Purr-sephone? Whoever named her has a sense of humor.”

  “And they’re probably missing her.”

  “That’s a valid reason to bail. You’ll come out with us next weekend, then?” Brooke bounced on her toes, giving me her most hopeful look.

  “I came home to New Hampshire to embrace my socially awkward self. After working all week, I’m super happy to veg out in front of my cooking shows.”

  “You don’t even cook.”

  “I like to eat.” I had a little bit of a takeout problem. I reframed it: I support local businesses.

  “You know where to find us if you change your mind. Or if Persephone has more to say.” Brooke winked at me on her way out the door. Casey waved and followed.

  Tonight, I had a date with a cat.

  I knew better than to show up empty handed. After a quick trip to the supermarket to stock up on solid tuna in oil, I returned to Helping Paws. This would be easier if I could bring Persephone home as a foster, but I lived in the in-law apartment above my sister’s garage, and in exchange for jaw-droppingly cheap rent, she forbade me from bringing any animals home with me. She insisted her kids were allergic—to everything—but I had a feeling it was her way of making sure I didn’t get comfortable up the
re.

  The crack of the can got a few curious meows from our other feline residents. Persephone’s new travel case was still sitting on the front table. I didn’t see the point in getting her acclimated since I’d most likely be bringing her home over the weekend.

  “Hope you’re good with sharing,” I said when I opened the door to the kennel.

  Persephone rubbed against my hand. I probably smelled like the good stuff. “As long as you got enough for everyone.”

  “Can you understand what they say?”

  “Of course I can.”

  “Tell me everything.” Having a translator would be amazing, and I had to make use of my short time with Persephone. She had a home, and it was my job to reunite her with it.

  “The one next to Harriet wants to be moved. Says she snores. Marcy, at the end, is afraid of the dark.”

  “Oh. I’ll find a nightlight.” And do a little rearranging before I left for the night.

  Maybe I could make a deal with Persephone’s person to have her come visit every once in a while. Like a cat consultant.

  I paced the waiting area of the shelter as Persephone and the others enjoyed their meals.

  I hated making phone calls, but calling the gallery cranked my anxiety to eleven. Usually I was excited to reunite a pet with their human, but Persephone came in with no tags, in a soggy box. What if she’d wound up here on purpose? I’d use the same criteria I used to evaluate potential adopters to make sure I was returning her to a safe, loving home.

  Maybe Persephone knew who took the painting…visions of reward money were definitely dancing in my head. That money could do so many good things for the shelter. I might have borrowed against it when I went on my tuna shopping spree.

  Gourmet meals weren’t a part of the Helping Paws’ budget.