Syrah.
Candace had given me her private mobile number, and I called her for the address and directions. As expected, the place was five minutes away. But it took me longer than that to round up Chablis and Merlot, who after yesterday were not eager to get back in their carriers and the car.
I found the place easily, set back in the woods on the opposite side of the two-lane highway that ran along the lakefront properties. The Mercy Animal Sanctuary was housed in a long log cabin with two hurricane-fenced runs on the side farthest from the entrance. Four dogs barked their greeting when I pulled into the small parking area.
I rolled the windows down an inch or two for Chablis and Merlot’s comfort and climbed out of the van. But before I even made it to the shelter door, a young brunette wearing jeans and an oversized sweater met me outside.
“Hey there,” she said. “Allison Cuddahee. How can I help you?”
“Jillian Hart. I’ve lost—” I took a deep breath. “L-lost my cat.” I wasn’t about to cry again. Stupid tears. You’d think I would have used them all up in the last year.
Allison opened her arms and came to me. “You need a hug, Miss Jillian Hart.”
She was a tiny thing, maybe three inches smaller than my five-foot-six and at least ten pounds lighter, but Allison Cuddahee provided one monster hug. It felt wonderful to have a caring human touch, and all the tension seemed to leave my body. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the calm in my center.
She broke away a second later but kept her hands on my upper arms. “I want you to tell me about your kitty, but let’s go inside. Winter has apparently arrived on this fine Saturday morning.”
That hug seemed to have infused me with determination—the kind I’d been famous for before John’s death. I would find Syrah. I was certain I would. And I had a feeling that Candace, and now this young woman, would help me do just that.
We entered an office area and were met with a loud “Hey there,” by an African grey parrot. There was also a cage full of chirping canaries, a fish tank bubbling away with plenty of colorful swimmers and a glass case with the biggest tarantula I’d ever seen. A chill ran up my arms. I’m not a fan of spiders.
I focused on the bird, with its gorgeous scarlet tail. “Hey there,” I said.
“What can I do ya?” came its response.
I laughed and said, “This is obviously a Southern African parrot.”
“Snug loves his buttermilk biscuits, so I guess you’re right.” Allison took a seat behind a cluttered and rusted metal desk, gesturing for me to take the folding lawn chair opposite her. “Money goes for the animals, not the decor, so sorry about the chair.”
“A chair’s a chair, and I like your philosophy,” I said.
“I’m sorry to say we haven’t had any cats turned in recently, but let me get every bit of your information. We have a strong network in Mercy—we use old-fashioned word of mouth. We’ll help any way we can.”
Allison and I spent the next few minutes talking about Syrah, the break-in, the police coming out, but when I mentioned the flyers, she shook her head sadly. “Those won’t do you any good.”
“But why? I thought—”
“Sign ordinance. They’re probably all snatched up already. I’m surprised the cops didn’t tell you. Who came out to take your report? Morris?”
I nodded. “Morris and Candace.”
“Morris needs to retire—and that’s me being nice. Candace is a whole other story. She was probably too busy looking for cigarette butts or picking up pebbles to tell you about the sign thing. But you’re saying no jewelry or computers or electronics were taken?”
“Taken from where?” The door that I assumed led to the shelter area had opened, and a tall redheaded man who looked to be in his early thirties joined us with this question. He put a freckled hand on the back of Allison’s neck and rubbed gently.
“Jillian, this is my husband, Shawn. He does the heavy lifting around here.” She smiled up at him. “Someone broke into Jillian’s house, and one of her cats is gone.”
Shawn focused his hazel eyes on me. “I heard about a break-in. Lake house on Cove Lane?”
Seemed the network was alive and pumping out information. “That’s the one.”
“And nothing was taken except your cat?” he said.
“I didn’t say he was taken,” I said.
“But that’s what you think, right?” Shawn said.
“I guess I do,” I said.
“Candace found a clump of his hair out by the road and tire tracks nearby. Am I stupid for thinking someone would steal my cat?”
“Course you’re not. Don’t go beating yourself up, girl,” Allison said. “I can tell you’ve had enough stress in the last twenty-four hours.”
I smiled. “That’s for sure.”
“Maybe we can help get your cat back,” Shawn said. “What’s he look like?”
“He’s a sorrel Abyssinian. But why would someone steal a cat?” I said.
Shawn nodded toward the parrot. “I asked myself the same question after we had a break-in here. Lost two cats and a dog. Snug told us all about it. But think about it. Pretty cat sitting in your window? Person decides they want him? Wouldn’t put it past some jerk.”
That was when I noticed the camera in the ceiling corner facing the entrance. “You have security cameras?” I said.
“Yup,” Shawn answered. “That’s why you’re sitting in a folding chair. You skimp in some areas so you can have the best equipment in others. Listen, you need security, so call up—”
“Tom Stewart?” I said.
Shawn smiled for the first time. “Tom does fine work. We haven’t had any trouble since he did his thing here. Ask Snug. He’ll tell you. No trouble, huh, Snug?”
The parrot walked back and forth on his dowel, bobbing his head. “No trouble. No trouble, Snug.”
I shook my head and smiled. He sounded so human. Then I looked at Allison. “I have my two other cats in the van. I’m not leaving them home alone until I see Mr. Stewart about a plan to protect my house.”
Allison said, “Two more? Why didn’t you say so? Let’s bring them in. Then maybe you’d like to see some of our clan. They need good homes. You could become a part of our very important network and help find them places to live.”
I stood. “I’d be happy to do that. All three of my cats were rescues.”
Shawn helped me bring in Chablis and Merlot and after a good fifteen minutes of visiting—with Merlot far more interested in Snug than any of the people—the Cuddahees were ready to show me the shelter.
As we started for the door that led to the rest of the building, I said, “If I can’t put up flyers, what can I do?”
“You came here. That’s what will help the most,” Shawn said.
“Come visit our friends. It’s good for the spirit,” Allison added.
They led me to the lost or abused animals that had found sanctuary with these kind people. I counted ten cats and the four dogs I’d seen earlier. Every cage was clean, every dish full of food and every water bowl brimming. The dogs—two Labs and two mixed breeds—seemed happy. But I did notice that the cats had clean but tattered blankets to curl up on. I needed to fix that. Each cat should have a quilt of its own. I had some in my van and would give them to Allison before I left.
I cuddled with a few kitties, their soft fur soothing beneath my touch. When one after the other closed its eyes and purred, I wanted to take all of them home. But that wouldn’t work. I couldn’t seem to hang on to the three I had. After I petted the four exuberant dogs, we started back to the office.
I said, “When was your break-in?”
“Last spring,” Shawn said.“Do you think they were stolen because someone thought they could make a buck?” I asked.
“Snug would have been the one to take, then. He’s worth a lot of money. I have to say that the missing dog was a handful of trouble. Pretty yellow Lab, but way too full of herself.”
As we reentered the office single file, I still had those kittens on my mind. “What’s your adoption fee?”
