“Don’t just stand there,” Caroline said, “grab the cats.”

  When Savannah saw a man down below holding Carmen up toward her, she quickly grasped hold of her and carried her to safety. Margaret took Rags and handed the leash to Savannah.

  “Carriers are in the thicket,” the man called out. “Put the cats in them.”

  “Thicket?” Iris questioned, taking a small white cat from him. She poked around in a mass of brush and discovered several cat carriers hidden from view. She put the white cat into one and went back for more.

  After several minutes, the man said, “That’s all. I’ve secured the escape door into the tunnel. Let me get the costumes and props.”

  Before he could do that, the shed produced another loud creak.

  “I’d hightail it out of there if I were you,” Caroline called.

  “But the costumes,” he whined. He looked up at the women, then dove into the darkness and returned with a large suitcase. It took two of the women to pull it up out of the cavern. He looked back, then climbed a handmade ladder and stepped out just as the shed collapsed into the hole. Upon seeing this, the man became weak-kneed and he fell in a heap next to the rubble.

  “Are you okay?” Savannah asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Did we get all the cats out?” he asked.

  “You tell us—how many did you have?” Margaret asked.

  “Eleven.”

  “We have only seven in the carriers,” Caroline announced.

  “We saw one in the inn,” Margaret said—no, wait, two.”

  “So two are missing?” he asked, near tears.

  “By the way, Sir Roscoe, or whatever your name is,” Iris pressed, “where’s my cat, Ginger? You took Ginger. Where is she?”

  The man looked aghast, then said, “Your tangerine tabby? Oh yes, I saw her go back into the tunnel a little while ago with Fiona.”

  Her hands planted menacingly on her hips, Iris scolded, “So what do you think you were doing living with these cats on my property without permission and without my knowledge, then allowing the cats free rein into my business?”

  The man remained quiet. He shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry if I caused you any grief. I sure didn’t mean to do that.”

  “So, Sir Roscoe,” Savannah challenged, “what’s your gig?”

  “My gig? What do you mean?”

  “What are you doing here?” she clarified.

  “Well, you see, I had a bit of bad luck a while back and I’ve been trying to get the circus going again so I can afford a permanent home for us—me and the cat troupe.”

  “In the meantime, you’ve been a squatter,” Iris insisted.

  He looked up at her. “I’m sorry about that. It’s just that I really needed a place where I could keep the cats. It’s not easy finding accommodations for us, as you can imagine. I heard about this old bomb shelter from some fellows I met downtown in the park. They helped me fix it up—you know, with rugs and things so the cats would stay relatively clean. Those men said they had stayed down there on many occasions and no one was the wiser.”

  “Well, your cats blew your cover,” Margaret said, chuckling.

  Sir Roscoe looked at her, finally saying, “Yeah, I guess they did. I didn’t know they were going into the inn.”

  “Yes, like rats,” Iris spat. She softened her tone and added, “Only much more lovely and sweet.”

  He smiled. “They are nice cats, aren’t they? I guess they enjoyed the good life in a beautiful place.” He called out toward the carriers. “Well, guess what, kitty-babies, Papa has gotten us enough money and enough bookings to move into a more suitable home. No more living underground.”

  Everyone laughed when they heard a couple of sweet mews.

  “Do you have someplace to go tonight?” Iris asked.

  “Yes. My partner has a van. He transports us to our performances. The cats and I can sleep in there tonight. We’ve done that before.” He looked around. “That is, once I’ve gathered up all my kitties. Would you allow me to collect Fiona? Then I’ll be off.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Iris said. She helped the man to his feet. “Ladies, bring the cats. We’re going to make Sir Roscoe and his troupe comfy in the inn tonight. Text Arthur. Where is he, anyway? He can help bring in the cats.”

  “I’ll contact him,” Savannah said.

  “Then we need to seal those escape routes,” Margaret said.

  “Not until we know all the cats are accounted for,” Savannah insisted. She picked up two carriers and headed toward the inn with Rags following along at the end of his leash.

  Once the women had confirmed that all the cats were accounted for—they had found Fiona and Ginger just emerging into the laundry room—Craig and Arthur nailed shut the remaining escape route, and Iris escorted Sir Roscoe into the cat room with his cats.

  “The bed in here is comfy,” Iris said, but there’s not room for many cats on the bed with you. They’ll have to take turns.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Iris. This is so nice of you.”

  “Well, I’ve grown fond of your beautiful cats; I can’t put them out. Have they eaten?”

  “Yes,” their trainer said.

  “And you? Have you had dinner?” she asked.

  “Um…well…”

  “Come with me,” Iris said. “There’s some fried chicken and mashed potatoes left and I’m sure I saw Mattie take some gingerbread out of the oven.”

  “Oh, Ms. Iris that’s so kind of you, but you don’t have to do that. I’m okay. I have a snack bar in my bag.”

  “Come on, Sir Roscoe. I will not take no for an answer.”

  “I’d follow her,” Craig said, joining the others after making sure the opening in the cat-room closet was secure. “She won’t give up.”

  “Okay, then. Will the cats be all right in here? Can I turn them out of their carriers?”

  Iris looked at Craig and he nodded. “King Kong couldn’t break in or out of this room now.”

  ◆◆◆

  Their guest had finished his meal when Mattie offered, “More coffee?”

  “Yes.” He looked around at the others. “Will you join me?”

  Once they had all responded, Iris said, “I know it’s not polite to give a guest the third degree, but we have questions.”

  He stared into his cup. “I’m sure you do.” He smiled coyly. “Please, ask away.”

  “I want to know how you train those cats to do all those things,” Margaret said.

  Before Sir Roscoe could reply, Iris carped, “Now Maggie, let’s cover the important things first, shall we?”

  Defensively, Margaret said, “That is important, Iris. Wouldn’t you like your cuddle cats to respond to your commands? And Savannah, this is something you really should know.”

  “Okay, okay,” Iris said, “first things first. Sir Roscoe, how did you end up here on my property—or should I say under my property? You say a vagrant brought you here?”

  “And how long have you been here?” Craig asked.

  “Well,” the man said, “we’ve been here for going on a month now.” He sat back in his chair. “As for how I came to be here, well, sometimes my friend—you know, the one with the van—he takes care of the cats. He can stay with them at his uncle’s place when his uncle’s out of town; the old man travels a lot. So when Gary takes care of the cats, I often stay in homeless camps. As I told you, one of my friends there told me about the den.”

  “Den?”

  “Yes, under the shed. He only charged me twenty-five dollars a month to use it. My time was just about up.” He smiled. “As it happened, I now have enough money to get a place, and I have a few bookings. Oh, some of them are small appearances, in schools and church programs, but...”

  “A vagrant is renting out my property?” Iris squealed.

  “Just the den,” Craig said, tongue in cheek.

  “How did he know it was even there?”

  “I asked him that,” Sir Roscoe said, his eyes flashing with excitement. “He told me he has known this place since he was a kid. He remembers when the owners built that underground room. He said it was supposed to be a bomb shelter. Of course, no one ever used it to shelter from a bomb or even a tornado in this climate, so he and his buddies used to play in there as children. I believe he helped build the shed to conceal it.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” Craig said.

  Her curiosity still piqued, Iris asked, “How’d you know about the openings into the inn?”

  “Oh, the tunnel? The cats and I found that quite by accident. I didn’t know that they were going all the way to the inn.” He tilted his head. “But I did wonder how they were losing their costumes.” He looked at Iris. “You were taking them?”

  Iris nodded. “I have quite a stack of things you can take with you.” She shook her head. “Yeah, those cats of yours seemed to consider the inn their private resort. They came in and made themselves comfortable.”

  “I could tell. I see that Clancy has gained a little weight.”

  “Is that the grey-and-white one—the one that looks a little like Rags, there?”

  The man nodded.

  “He was always begging for food and eating the cuddle cats’ food,” Iris complained.

  “Sorry about that,” Sir Roscoe said.

  “And your cats frightened my cat handler away,” Iris complained.

  “I’m sorry about that, too. And I feel as though I owe you, Ms. Iris. How can I possibly repay you?”

  Margaret quickly chimed in. “Teach us how to train cats.”

  ◆◆◆

  By ten Wednesday morning, Sir Roscoe and his troupe of performing cats had left the Kaiser Inn in a van, and a team of workers had arrived to survey the damage that had occurred the night before. They demolished what was left of the shed and began the process of hauling in soil to fill the cavern where the man and his cats had been living.

  “Well, that was one for our memory books,” Craig said as he and Iris sipped coffee and watched the activity from one of their garden rooms later that afternoon.

  “I think I’d rather forget it,” Iris grumped.

  “Forget what?” Arthur asked as he and Suzette joined them.

  “Hi,” Iris greeted. “Come, sit. Want coffee or iced tea or…?” she asked.

  “No,” Arthur insisted. “Please, enjoy your coffee. Mattie’s bringing us our cocktails and some of her banana bread in a minute. I saw you out here and asked her to bring enough bread for all of us.”

  “Nice,” Craig said. “I smelled it baking. I’ve been waiting for it to come out of the oven.”

  “Cocktails?” Iris questioned. “You kids don’t drink, do you?”

  Arthur chuckled. “Very little. No, we usually drink healthy fruit-and-vitamin drinks for breakfast and we didn’t get one this morning, so we’re having them with our afternoon snack,” Arthur explained. “We brought some of the fixings for our health drinks with us and Mattie’s been making them.” He grinned. “In fact, Suzette has Mattie drinking them with us. I think we have a convert there.”

  “Mattie eating healthy?” Iris asked, a sparkle in her eye.

  “She’s doing a lot better than when she was cooking for us,” Arthur said. “It sounds like she’s really utilizing the greens from your gardens in salads and other dishes.”

  Suzette nodded. “Yes, it seems she’s eating more veggies. She was making a lot of rich saucy, cheesy dishes and I see she’s not doing that so much. In fact, the veggie lasagna she made a couple of days ago was amazing.”

  Arthur looked out toward where the shed had been. “So what’s their plan?”

  “Once they finish filling in that hole, I guess we’ll build another shed,” Iris said.

  “A bigger one,” Craig suggested. “Rupert’s been asking for more gardening equipment.”

  “And no trapdoors this time!” Iris insisted. She shuddered. “To think that people were living out there and they had access to the inn. That just annoys the heck out of me and freaks me out.”

  “Well, that’s in the past now,” Craig said. “On to a new problem.”

  “Why a new problem?” Iris asked. “Can’t we just move on to normalcy?”

  “Normalcy is life with problems,” Craig said. “At least in my world.”

  “Yeah, I guess that kind of sums up detective work, doesn’t it?” Arthur said.

  “And life,” Craig added.

  Iris rolled her eyes at her husband, then said, “Well, is everyone ready for our next adventure?”

  “Adventure?” Suzette repeated.

  “Tomorrow we feed the homeless.”

  “Oh yes. Yes, I’m ready. I’ve never done that before,” Suzette said. “I think it must be satisfying to provide a Thanksgiving feast for people who wouldn’t ordinarily get it. I imagine everyone’s awfully grateful.”

  “Some seem to be,” Iris said.

  “There are people who aren’t grateful?” Arthur asked. “I would be so thankful to folks who would give up or postpone their own Thanksgiving and go out of their way to prepare and serve a grand meal for me.”

  “Yeah, it’s a pretty concept, all right,” Craig said.

  “But not an accurate one?” Arthur asked.

  Craig shook his head. “Not really. Oh, there are some who are grateful, like Iris said, but overall, you’re feeding a bunch of knuckleheads who expect it. Some even complain if the gravy’s not hot enough or they find a lump in their mashed potatoes or we run out of something because they’ve come back through the line for seconds and thirds.”

  “Oh,” Suzette moaned. “That’s crushing.”

  Craig glanced at her. “You can’t expect rewards for your efforts. If you do it for the gratitude, you’ll be disappointed.”

  When Suzette became quiet, Arthur said, “You’ve popped her bubble, Detective.”

  Craig shrugged. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, but you asked.”

  Iris leaned forward and put a hand on Suzette’s arm. “There are some beautiful moments in the day, believe me.”

  Suzette smiled. “Really?”

  “Yes, but you have to look for them—a shy smile on a child’s face when you give him an extra-big slice of pie, a hug from an elderly man who finds a warm coat that fits in our clothing giveaway closet, or a sincere thank you from a mother as she watches her children enjoy a rare hot meal. The gratitude is there, but some have just forgotten how to express it; some are afraid to.”

  “How insightful,” Arthur said. “So you’re saying that we should feel good about helping people whether they can say thank you or not. It’s enough just knowing that we’re making a difference for those people in that moment.”

  “Exactly,” Iris said.

  “Okay,” Suzette said. “I get it. Do it for the right reasons.”

  Chapter Eight

  Bright and early Thursday morning people began filtering into the church hall, ready to don aprons and help to prepare and serve Thanksgiving dinner. The main dishes had been cooked and were in the warmers. Max and Margaret were part of the early-morning shift. The second shift came to prepare the cranberries, vegetables, and rolls. Volunteers also helped set up tables and chairs in the church parking lot. Savannah and Michael made sure their children felt the giving spirit as they coached Lily in arranging the plates, utensils, and napkins. Teddy had fun helping Michael fill several large coolers with ice and water bottles. Along with Savannah and Gladys, the children also organized games and toys in the classroom and wiped clean the playground equipment.

  “Looks like we’ll have a pretty day,” Savannah said as she prepared materials for some of the planned activities.

  “Yes,” Gladys said. “It’s a near miracle to see the sun on Thanksgiving. I just hope it doesn’t get too hot outside for the children.”

  “The playground’s shaded; they’ll be fine.” Savannah looked out through the window at the small play area. “It’ll be a great day for the kids to swing and climb and ride the trikes around the new cement pathway. Glad they got that poured in time.”

  “How many children do you usually get?” Gladys asked.

  “You never know,” Savannah said. “There will be five helpers here—some inside and some outside. We have another three or four on call if we need them.”

  “You’ll take them from the serving line and clothes giveaway closet?” Gladys asked.

  Savannah nodded. “Yeah. Things will just move more slowly at some of the other stations.”

  “I guess it’ll all work out,” Gladys said, “but with children, as you know, things can quickly go awry, especially when some of them don’t have proper parenting to begin with.”

  “So true,” Savannah agreed. “We have to be prepared for anything.”

  “Are you?” Gladys asked.

  “I hope so.” When Savannah saw Teddy pushing a toy truck toward the open classroom door, she ran after him, catching him just as he crossed the threshold. “Back her up there, buddy,” she said, guiding the truck and the toddler back inside and closing the safety gate. She paused and muttered, “I wonder what she’s doing.”

  “Who?” Gladys asked, looking up from sorting through a box of crayons.

  Savannah shook her head and joined her. “I don’t know. Some woman. I guess she’s looking for cans or something.” She chuckled. “She looks like she’s just getting home from a rough night on the town.”

  Gladys strained to see who her daughter was talking about. “Oh, you mean the one in the long skirt?”

  “Yeah. That’s kind of fancy for a casual Thanksgiving dinner in a parking lot,” Savannah said.

  Gladys got a faraway look in her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. I see nothing wrong with dressing up for special occasions, no matter where they’re held. I sure miss those family Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners where we dressed in our finery. Even if we were just going to Mama’s and Papa’s place or Maggie’s or if I was hosting it, we’d dress. We used cloth napkins and our finest china and silverware.” Facing Savannah, she added, “Young people today don’t even know what fine china is. You don’t have a good set of dishes, do you?”

  “Yes, I do,” Savannah retorted. “My everyday dishes are nice. Plus,” she added, “I have Grandma’s china. Don’t you remember?”