Word Sleuths Chapter Two

"How many months were we in the car?" Pretty Boy complained, flexing his aching back the instant he set foot on solid ground. "Feels like forever!"

I ignored him and looked up at the modest home. An immaculate, treeless lawn stretched between us and the little yellow ranch with its white shutters and door. A low hedge ringed it, and the bright cement walkway led up to the stoop, then turned to follow the hedge around the side of the house. With the vision stored in my head, I took the path up the slight incline while Pretty Boy called out, "Hey! Wait for me!

"You don't give a fella any time to recover, do you?" he complained as he jogged up next to me. "Are you really that anxious to see your girlfriend?"

I didn't dignify the remark with a reply. My attention was on the picture window next to the front door. I saw shadowy activity within that I didn't like, so I hastened my pace, to Pretty Boy's further protest, and rapped on the door.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked. "You don't know what you're going to find."

I ignored him and knocked again. I imagined the activity within halted with the knock, but it took too long for anyone to answer, so I rang the bell. That spurred those inside to answer.

The woman who opened the door looked like what one would expect of the owner of the house. She was middle-aged with a tinge of white in her hair, and she was fuller than she must have been in her youth, but she was disheveled and sweaty as if she'd been toiling away at something. I took note of her nails as she took an almost imperceptible breath, then smiling curiously said, "Yes? May I help you?"

"Are you Rosalinda Sanchez?" I asked.

She scowled at me and said, "Yes. What do you want?"

I couldn't see past her shoulder no matter how I craned my neck, which brought a concerned look to the woman's face. Pretty Boy obviously sensed the awkwardness of the situation and decided to intervene.

"Sorry, ma'am," he said. "This might sound weird, but this is just a wellness check. You see, my friend here plays Word Sleuths with you online, and he was worried when you haven't played in so long, so he came here to make sure you were alright."

The woman scowled in confusion, then for a moment seemed nervous before rallying herself and offering a reassuring smile.

"Well, as you can see, I'm fine, so you don't have anything to worry about," she said a little too cheerily.

"Could you just tell my friend why you haven't played recently?" Pretty Boy asked, and for a moment I thought he shared my suspicions. But that impression was shattered when he added, "Just so we don't have to make the long trip again any time soon."

"Oh," she said, and she hesitated as if trying to make up some excuse. "Well, I just got bored, that's all. Just bored."

Pretty Boy punched me in the arm with the back of his hand. "See? I told you! Didn't I tell you that all the way here?"

I didn't dignify that with a response, either. I glanced at the picture window, then at the lawn, and told her, "Sorry to bother you, then. We'll go, now."

Pretty Boy seemed perplexed as I headed toward the steps. "That's it? I drove all the way here for that?"

"Seems like," I muttered, descending the three short steps to the concrete walk. I paused there to glance back at the woman, who watched from inside the door. "You have quite a perspicacious lawn."

"Uh..." She was at a loss for words for a moment before tentatively muttering, "Thank you."

"Two seconds?" Pretty Boy complained as he followed me back to the car. "We drove for months and spent only two seconds here? And why couldn't you have phoned?"

"Get in," I replied, grabbing the car door handle. When I tugged, though, it wouldn't open.

"It's locked, Sherlock," Pretty Boy said full of snark. I waited without comment as he unlocked the car with his remote, but before I got in, I glanced at the house. The woman was still at the door watching us.

"Well, what now?" Pretty Boy sharply asked. "All the way home again, or find a place for the night and start fresh tomorrow?"

"Drive around the block," I replied. "I'll tell you where to stop."

He peered at me intently, then suspiciously asked, "Why?"

I decided not to play games. "That isn't Rosalinda Sanchez."

"Who is it, then?" I had to give Pretty Boy credit. It sounded like he believed me.

"I don't know," I told him. "But I'm going to find out."

We drove around the block until we came to a spot where we could park close to but out of sight of the house, then we went to investigate. There was a line of chain link fence along the back of the properties but nothing between the lots on the block, so it was easy to sneak to the back of the house. There was an immaculate patio of pretty furniture and a sliding door to the kitchen, but I passed that after making sure there was no one inside to see us and headed towards an open window farther on. It was only ajar, and as I tried to quietly open it further, Pretty Boy grabbed my wrist and hissed, "What are you doing?"

"Breaking and entering," I told him.

"I know that!" He glanced at the patio door, and I could tell he expected to get caught in the act at any moment. "Why? And more importantly, WHY?"

I didn't bother to remind him that he already knew why. I yanked my arm free and continued my break-in, but he wouldn't shut up.

"If we're caught, you're on your own," he said, casting another glance at the patio door. "I don't know you!"

"We won't get caught," I told him, slowly pushing the sash up.

"And how do you know that?" His voice was thick with skepticism.

"She's too busy searching the house," I told him.

"She's -?" Pretty Boy scowled. "And how do you know that?"

"Her nails were short and ragged," I replied. I touched something soft and fuzzy and brought a tuft of orange fur from the sill. As I studied the tuft, I added, "And there were traces of soot."

"So... she's cleaning her chimney?" he ventured.

"She searched the chimney," I told him, trying my weight on the sill. "But only reached up into it. Otherwise, her clothes would be covered in soot, too."

Failing to hoist myself through the window, I said, "Give me a hand, will you?"

"No," he protested. "I'm not going to help you break into some harmless old lady's home without a darn good reason!"

"You know I'm right about this," I reminded him.

"Yeah," he admitted. "But can you convince the cops?"

"No one is going to call the police," I assured him. "Now, give me a boost."

He did, and I slid into the room. It was a study lined with bookshelves, and by the disarray I could tell the woman had already searched it. Books were scattered everywhere, and she had even broken the doors of the low cabinets beneath the shelves and smashed a free-standing globe in the corner. Obviously, it was especially important to her to find whatever it was she was searching for, and it was also important for Rosalinda Sanchez to hide it well.

Pretty Boy hauled himself through the window and hissed, "Do we really have to do this? Couldn't we just call the police ourselves?"

"She might get away," I told him, disappointed that he hadn't come to the same conclusion. "Besides, we need evidence."

"Just tell them you had a hunch," he sarcastically replied.

I showed him the tuft. "What do you make of this?"

He drew back in disgust at first, but as soon as he saw what it was, he said, "Is that... cat fur?"

I nodded. "It was stuck to the sash."

He peered at it intently. "So?"

"We'll see," I said, and headed for the door.

"We'll see what?" Pretty Boy quietly demanded. "And where are you going?"

"To look around," I told him, but as soon as I grabbed the doorknob, he leapt forward to stop me.

"Are you crazy?" he snapped, holding the door closed. "We're going to get caught!"

"Don't worry," I told him. "She's not the only one that doesn't belong here."

He allowed me to open the door and we slipped into a short hall. There was a bedroom to the left and a bathroom to the right, and straight ahead was the family room, where the woman was busy tearing the place apart. The bedroom and bathroom had already fallen victim to her, but I paused long enough to study the bathroom and confirm my hypothesis before we crept up on the woman. She was unaware of our presence until I cleared my throat and asked, "What are you looking for?"

She whipped around with the guiltiest expression before feigning anger. "What are you doing in my house? I'm calling the police!"

"Go right ahead," I told her. "We both know this isn't your house."

She glared at me, ready to kill. "I'm going to give you just one chance to leave, then I'm calling!"

"Let me save you some time," I offered, and strode to the phone on the side table. Pretty Boy followed me as my bodyguard in case of trouble, but it was unnecessary. The worst the woman could do was glare at me as I picked up the transceiver and poised my fingers over the buttons.

She immediately panicked. "No! Don't -!"

But she bit off the words before she could incriminate herself. I held position as I asked, "Why?"

"Alright, you got me," she said. "I'm not Rosalinda."

Pretty Boy stepped forward. "Then, who are you and what are you doing destroying her house?"

"Like I said," I reminded him, "She's looking for something." I peered at her intently to punctuate my question. "What is it?"

"You wouldn't understand if I told you," she said rather smugly.

"Try," I told her.

She shook her head. "Look, you don't care about that, do you? You only care about the old lady. Well, I promise, I didn't do anything to her. She just disappeared, that's all. She just disappeared."

"How?" I asked.

"How?" I could tell she was hiding something by the cagy expression on her face. "I don't know how! I chased her into her bedroom and when I got inside, she was gone!" She glanced quickly between us. "I swear! I didn't touch her! She just disappeared!"

"Tell us another one!" Pretty Boy sneered. He glanced at me and said, "Call the cops."

"She's telling the truth," I told him. "As much as she's willing to tell, anyway."

Pretty Boy paused in amazement. "You believe her?"

"She's a crook and she's trying to steal something important from Rosalinda, but she didn't hurt her," I confirmed.

Pretty Boy glanced at the woman, then back at me. "So, what do we do with her?"

"We call the police," I told him. "Breaking and entering. Unlawful search. Vandalism. Attempted robbery."

I started punching in the numbers, and the woman let out a horrified shriek before bolting for the door. Pretty Boy leapt to pursuit, but she got outside before he could dodge the sofa, and by the time he made it to the door, she was swiftly on her way.

"Let her go," I told him, and he halted right away. "We'll give her description to the police later. Right now, we need to find Rosalinda."

As I led him around the house, peering under the shrubbery that decorated it, he finally got annoyed enough to ask, "How is this 'finding' Rosalinda?"

"You know that tuft of fur I found?" I asked, searching for tracks.

"Yeah," he grunted. "So? She has a cat. Big deal."

"She doesn't have a cat," I told him. "There's no litter box in the bathroom."

"So, it's in the basement," he suggested.

"There is no basement," I told him. "No basement windows or exterior door."

"Maybe it doesn't have any of those," he tried to argue.

"That's against the building code," I replied. "Even for a house as old as this one."

"So, what?" he demanded. "Why are we looking for a cat?"

"Because a cat squeezed through the bedroom window where Rosalinda shut herself away from that woman." I couldn't believe I had to explain it to him.

"And?" he asked when I thought I'd explained it quite well.

I sighed at his thick-headedness. "Because whatever that woman was looking for, I suspect that it allowed Rosalinda to change into an orange tabby and escape through the window."

Pretty Boy paused, realization slowly dawning in him. He closed his eyes tight and shook his head. "I should have known it would be one of those cases."

I shook my head at his slow wit. "Just help me find Rosalinda so we can tell her she's safe, so she can change back to herself, again."

Pretty Boy nodded and looked under the bushes with me, but soon a frown creased his brow and he turned to me. "What makes you think she's still a cat? It's been a while, you know."

I shook my head at his stupidity. "Wouldn't you want to remain a cat if you had the chance?"