Page 14 of The Case of the Vanishing Valuables

As everyone shuffled toward the dining room, the locks clicked behind them out of habit. Gina was still helping Sally toher feet, speaking softly to her. “Don’t worry, Sally. You go ahead to dinner. I’ll make sure your medicines are on the bedside table.”

Ray raced ahead, following the scent of meat loaf like a bloodhound on a trail.

I let out an exasperated meow, casting a sidelong glance at Mortimer, who was already strutting into the dining hall like he owned the place.

Fantastic. While Ray filled up on meat loaf, I got stuck with the cat of doom. How did my life come to this?

Chapter

Eleven

The dining room buzzed with chatter as the residents of Tranquility Terrace dug into their meat loaf and mashed potatoes. Ray sat at a long table, listening as the residents swapped stories about the recent thefts. I stationed myself by the door, keeping my distance from Mortimer, who had claimed a spot in the corner and was staring out the window.

This is what I get?I thought, casting a disgusted glance at my food dish.Ray’s having meat loaf, and I’m stuck with kibble? It’s an injustice, really.

Mortimer gave me one of his slow blinks, like he had all the time in the world. I flicked my tail in irritation. He might have been the resident death cat, but that didn’t mean I had to like him.

At the head of the table, Mrs. Cartwright was slicing her meat loaf into tiny, precise pieces, like she was performing surgery instead of eating. “It doesn’t make sense,” she said, shaking her head. “Every one of us locks our doors when we leave our rooms. I lock mine twice—once with the knob and once with the dead bolt!”

Mr. Saunders, who was sitting next to her, jabbed his fork in the air. “Same here! And my watch still went missing!”

Around the table, the other residents nodded, murmuring in agreement. I could practically smell the paranoia in the air. My ears twitched as I tuned into the conversation.

“Well, if the rooms are locked, how could anyone get in?” Mrs. Simmons asked, furrowing her brow. “It’s not like anyone’s picking the locks. And it can’t be one of us. Could it?”

Ray, halfway through his second helping of meat loaf, leaned forward. “Good question,” he said. “How many of you are one hundred percent sure your room was locked?”

A few hands shot up, some more hesitantly than others.

“Well, what’s the explanation?” Mrs. Cartwright asked, lowering her voice to a dramatic whisper. “A ghost?”

The room grew quiet. A couple of residents chuckled nervously, but Mrs. Cartwright’s face stayed dead serious.

“Now, now,” Mr. Jenkins piped up, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Ghosts don’t steal jewelry.”

“I’m just saying,” Mrs. Cartwright huffed, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her fork. “It’s spooky how these things keep disappearing without a trace. My brooch vanished right off my dresser, and the door was locked. So unless someone’s sneaking through walls…”

Mr. Benedict, who’d been quietly watching from across the table, chimed in with a mischievous grin. “Maybe it’s Mortimer. A master of mischief. Cats are crafty, you know.”

I shot him a look that could’ve flattened his playing cards. Crafty? Sure. But what would a cat want with a stolen brooch? Mortimer didn’t seem to care that he was the prime suspect of a crime theory. He just blinked again then started grooming himself like he was above all this nonsense.

At the far end of the table, Sally shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting nervously toward Mortimer. “Mortimer was in my room earlier,” she said in a hushed tone. “I didn’t notice anything missing, but I didn’t have much time to check.”

Ray leaned in, wiping his hands on a napkin. “It could be someone with keys,” he said, his voice casual but probing. “Who else has access to the rooms?”

The residents exchanged uneasy glances.

“Well, the nurses do, of course,” Mrs. Simmons said. She shot a glance toward Gina, who was busy across the room, fussing over one of the other residents. “They need the keys for meds.”

“And Mrs. Hargrove,” Mr. Jenkins added. “She’s got the master key to the whole building.”

Ray nodded thoughtfully. “Anyone else?”

“Rick, the handyman,” Daisy chimed in, her voice quieter than usual. She shot a nervous glance at Ray as if she’d said too much.

The conversation hit a lull, the air thick with unspoken questions. I flicked my tail, continuing to sense the unease swirling around the room. Ray was putting the pieces together, I could see, but he still hadn’t reached the finish line. If only he’d stop staring longingly at his meat loaf and start focusing on the case.

From farther down the table, Mrs. Hargrove ate quietly, observing the conversation with polite interest but not offering anything. Her eyes flicked to Ray every so often, but she didn’t jump in. I could tell she didn’t love where the conversation was heading—toward people with keys—but she kept her face neutral. Smart.

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