Authors: Rebecca M. Hale
How to Wash a Cat (8 page)
Chapter 7
TAP, TAP, TAP.
Persistent knuckles rapped on the iron framing of the door to the Green Vase.
Persistent knuckles rapped on the iron framing of the door to the Green Vase.
It was Sunday afternoon. I’d seen the tapper traipsing across the street from his art studio, but pretended not to hear him as I bent down into the waist-high pile in front of me, searching for a flash of the metal piece Isabella had stolen the day before. She had stuck her head into one of the open cardboard boxes in the middle of the showroom when we’d arrived—a suspiciously furtive look on her face—but I’d rummaged through it to the bottom without success.
I looked up, reluctantly, as Monty wrapped an arm around the edge of the open door and swung himself into the room, pivoting on his planted feet like hinges.
“You’re very welcome,” he said, tipping his head to doff an imaginary top hat that he caught with his free hand and swept grandly across the floor.
“Thanks,” I said warily, worriedly wondering what blessing had just been bestowed upon me.
“You’re like a little bird,” he said, fluttering his eyelashes, “that I’ve taken under my wing.”
I bit my bottom lip skeptically as Monty pulled the door shut and leaned against the cashier counter. He coughed lightly into his flattened palm. “I’ve polled almost all of the members of the board about your renovation proposal.”
He waved his hand in the air, dismissing the look of protest he anticipated on my face. “Don’t worry, they’ll be fine with either an antiques shop or an accounting office.” He pumped his eyebrows up and down. “Or—a combination of the two.”
I stared at him sternly, my hands on my hips, as he sauntered around the counter and hopped up on a stool.
“The thing is, it’ll be best if you can get it over with at the meeting this coming Tuesday. Frank Napis—,” he paused for effect, “is out of town.”
I looked up at the ceiling, at a loss for words. Tuesday was only two days away.
“And, this will be the last meeting for the chairman. Gordon Bosco’s about to step down. Who knows how the dynamics will change once they bring in someone new?”
A cool breeze ruffled the curls on the top of Monty’s head as the front door re-opened. He whipped around, nearly falling off of the stool as he leapt up to greet the new arrival.
“Ivan Batrachos,” Monty gushed, jutting his hand out, “so good to see you.”
I was standing midway towards the back of the store, still hip deep in the pile I’d emptied from Isabella’s box. I could just make out the solid shoulders of the man anchoring Monty’s bouncing torso. I wound my way towards the front of the store to get a better look at Harold’s assistant as Monty continued to pump his arm up and down.
Ivan was the physical opposite of Monty. His hulking form loomed like a giant next to Monty’s slim figure. Rich, olive skin glowed with the same confidence as his smile, which he turned in my direction as soon as I stepped out from behind Monty’s springing frame. A narrow scar ran down the left side of his face, curving underneath his square jaw, the slight disfigurement only enhancing his machismo.
“Ivan Batrachos,” he said in a deep, movie actor’s voice, offering me the hand he had just pried loose from Monty’s clinging grasp.
I shook his hand, taking in the earthy smell of new construction and freshly cut, redwood planks.
“So, I hear you’re taking over the place,” Ivan said, the deep, dark wells of his pupils flickering with a thinly veiled intensity. “I was so sorry to hear about Oscar’s death. You’re his niece aren’t you?”
I nodded, surveying his brawny physique. Ivan was neatly dressed in a workingman’s uniform. A clean, white T-shirt poked out of the neck of his plaid, button-down shirt. His carpenter-style work pants were constructed of a riveted—seemingly bulletproof—canvas fabric, a fitting match to his steel-toed, combat-ready, work boots.
“You know, your uncle talked about you all the time.”
The comment knocked me off guard, and my throat caught, delaying my response long enough for Monty to barge back into the conversation.
“Ivan, I had no idea you worked for Harold Wombler,” Monty said brightly, desperately seeking Ivan’s attention. “Well, I’d heard rumblings of that, but, honestly, I refused to believe it.” Monty leaned forward conspiratorially. “You’re far too skilled to be indentured to that man.”
Ivan chuckled good-naturedly. “Oh, I’ve learned a lot from Harold—and he gives me free rein on my projects. I’ve got no complaints.”
“Perhaps I could give you a quick overview of our plans,” Monty offered, flushing giddily. He pulled out some of his sketches from a parchment tube, flourished the roll proudly in the air, and took them over to the counter near the cash register.
I leaned against the dental chair, watching the amused look on Ivan’s face as he followed Monty over to the counter. The turn revealed a thick mullet of golden brown, sun-licked hair that flowed over Ivan’s shoulders and swished several inches down his back.
“Oscar and I had discussed some renovation ideas not long before he died,” Ivan said casually as he leaned over the counter, waiting for Monty to unfurl the sketches on its surface.
Monty’s shoulders stiffened like a clothes hanger had been inserted underneath his shirt. His ears turned an abashed red.
“Oh?” His voice squeaked with strain. “You don’t say.”
“Oscar was going to fix up the Green Vase?” I asked, incredulous.
Ivan shrugged his loose, limber shoulders, causing a temporary rapid in the waterfall of hair. “Sure. He’d asked me to come by and look at the storefront. He wanted to do something simple to make it acceptable for the board and get Napis off his back. We tossed around some ideas—drew up a couple of tentative plans. It hadn’t gone very far.”
Ivan turned his head to look at Monty’s face, which had suddenly gone abnormally pale. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” he said encouragingly.
“Oh,” Monty said as if he’d punctured a lung. His long, sweating fingers clamped down tightly on his rolls of sketches. “You put together some proposals for Oscar?” he gulped, his voice pitching higher and higher.
“Yeah, but they were preliminary really,” Ivan said, flicking his hand dismissively. “Go ahead. I’m interested to see what you two have come up with.”
I tilted my head, puzzled at Monty’s sudden panic to show off his work.
“Look,” Ivan said consolingly, “I’m no Picasso.” He pulled a folded square of butcher paper out of one of his pockets and smoothed it on the counter. “Here’s what we came up with from before.”
I stood on my tiptoes to look over Monty’s frigid shoulder and Ivan’s firm, muscular one. With one glimpse I understood Monty’s paralysis.
Ivan’s sheet of sketches was almost identical to the ones Monty had created for me two nights earlier.
Chapter 8
“PERHAPS,” MONTY SAID painfully, struggling to clear his throat as he turned around to face me. “I should explain.”
Ivan glanced up from the sheet of sketches he’d spread out on the counter. From the quizzical expression on his face, he seemed unaware that his work had been pirated.
I sat down in the dental chair, a wave of suspicion surging over me. Monty approached me apprehensively, his face strobing blotchily from an embarrassed violet red to a colorless gray ash. He pulled a trembling hand through the curls on the top of his head.
“You see,” Monty gulped, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, “it all started at the last board meeting.” He stuck a finger into the snug space between his neck and bow tie and tugged to loosen it.
“You know your neighbor, Frank Napis?” Monty tipped his head towards the southeast wall. “He’s the guy who runs the shop next door.”
I nodded, my expression still stoic, as Monty stepped closer to the dental chair.
“For the last several months—ever since Frank moved in there—he’s been petitioning the board with complaints against the Green Vase. He brought another one at the board meeting last week.”
Ivan cut in, his voice solemn. “There’ve been rumors that Frank was building a case to have the Green Vase condemned—so it could be seized by the city and put up for sale.”
Monty waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, Miranda would never let him get away with that, I’m sure.” He smiled reassuringly at my concerned expression. “Look, once you start work on the renovations, Frank won’t have a leg to stand on.”
I felt a worried tension winding around my shoulders. “So what happened at the last board meeting?” I asked.
“Right,” Monty said, slapping his hands together. “This time, Frank was complaining about Oscar’s gutters.”
Monty began to circle the room, the soles of his shoes clacking softly on the wood floors. “Everyone was there—except Oscar. I’ve never been able to figure out why Miranda let him get away with that.”
“And Gordon,” Ivan piped in. “The board chairman, Gordon Bosco, wasn’t there, either.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot about him,” Monty said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “He hasn’t been to a meeting in ages—he’s been too busy. I guess that’s why he’s stepping down.”
Monty aimed a raised eyebrow towards the dental chair. “Gordon invested in a biotech start-up a while back. I think they made him CEO of the company. I hear they’re about to announce progress on a huge milestone. It’s all very hush, hush, of course.”
Monty thumped the rubbery cartilage on the end of his nose as his eyes glassed over. “You know, I’ve been wondering who they’re going to pick to take Gordon’s place. I’ve been thinking about tossing my hat into the ring.” His head swung hopefully back and forth between Ivan and me. “I’d make an excellent choice, don’t you think?”
Ivan averted his eyes from Monty’s questioning look; I stared up at the ceiling, the corners of my mouth curling skeptically.
Monty cleared his throat and resumed his pacing. “So, Frank claimed he’d suffered water damage in one of the back rooms of his building, because the water wasn’t draining properly from Oscar’s gutters.”
Monty streamed around a pile of boxes to give a knowing look at Ivan. “Mold. Nasty stuff—especially for old buildings.”
“Mmm,” Ivan hummed encouragingly, amused at the spectacle unfolding in front of him.
Monty turned back in towards the center of the room. “It was the same old song and dance—Napis whining that the Green Vase is a pit, it looks bad for the whole neighborhood, and Oscar never does anything about it.”
Monty skated through the room as he spoke, skidding to a stop in front of a gold-plated saddle Oscar had mounted on a sawhorse. He swung a long leg over it as he continued.
“Nobody was really paying any attention. They’d seen it all before.” Monty leaned forward in the saddle. “But not me. I keep a close eye on things.” He paused dramatically, swinging his leg up high in the air as he dismounted his wooden horse. “Alert and ready for action, that’s Montgomery Carmichael.”
Monty picked up a gold-headed cane from a nearby display case and began swinging it in front of him like a baton. I winced as the twirling cane narrowly missed a pair of fragile glass lamps. “Frank gets this facial tic when he’s worked up about something. The whole time he was speaking, his mustache kept jerking back and forth. I thought it was about to jump right off of his face.”
My forehead crinkled involuntarily. I was certain Frank Napis had not had a mustache the night I’d seen him closing up his store.
“Napis has a mustache?” I asked as Monty crept around the back of the recliner.
I heard the tip of the cane punch a lever on the back of my chair. A startled Rupert shot out from underneath as the chair kicked back. I found myself lying on my back, staring up at Monty’s pale face and froth of brown curls.
“Oh, he’s got a mustache,” Monty assured me. “A fabulous one,” he said wistfully. “It curls out on the ends and everything.”
I fed my arm through the slats on the side of the chair, trying to reach the lever to right it. Monty stared off into space, absentmindedly stroking the sides of his mouth, thinking about Frank Napis’s mustache.
“Moving past the mustache . . . ,” Ivan prompted.
“Right,” Monty said sharply, breaking out of his trance. He pushed in the lever, and the dental chair popped up, slamming me back into a seated position. “Frank left the meeting right after he made his complaint. He didn’t even wait to hear the board’s ruling. I thought that was kind of strange.” He shrugged. “They sided with Miranda, of course.”
Monty started another tour of the room as he continued. “Miranda slipped out of the boardroom not long after Frank. I had the suspicion that something was up, so I followed her outside.”
Monty paused, his eyes ping-ponging back and forth between Ivan and me. “You’ll never guess who was waiting for her.” He licked his lips and said in a lofty voice, “Oscar.”
I collapsed back in the dental chair, exhausted by Monty’s antics.
“They stepped away from the boardroom and walked down a side hallway. I slid around the corner and snuck into a room that runs parallel to the corridor where they were standing.” Monty’s eyes were ablaze, reliving his moment of espionage. “I crept into a broom closet and climbed up on a bucket, so I could see out of a vent. I had a perfect view—I was almost right on top of them!”
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