Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum 25) - Page 99
She took a flathead screwdriver out of her purse and stuck it into the lock.
“All you gotta do is point this down a little and turn it.” She jiggled it around, but it wouldn’t turn.
“Hunh,” Lula said. “It looked easy on YouTube.”
She tried a paper clip and a nail file next. Still nothing. “This is real annoying,” Lula said. She took a hammer out of her purse, whacked the doorknob, and it popped off.
Crap! “You broke their doorknob.”
“That’s what you gotta do when there’s a tricky lock,” Lula said.
The door swung open, and we stepped inside.
“What’s that beeping?” Lula asked. “Do you hear it?”
I froze in place. “It’s an alarm system! We activated their alarm!”
“I don’t remember Annie saying anything about an alarm.”
The beeping stopped and a split second later the alarm siren started wailing.
“Yow!” Lula said, holding her ears. “That’s freaking loud.”
A fat cat streaked into the kitchen and hunkered down under the small table. I grabbed it and looked around for the carrier. No carrier.
“Screw the carrier,” Lula said. “There’s going to be police here any minute.”
The cat was hissing and squirming, trying to bite and claw me, trying to get away. I held it at arm’s length, and ran out the door.
“Get the doorknob,” I said to Lula. “Stick it back in and try to close the door. Maybe no one will notice.”
I ran around the house with the cat. I could hear Lula huffing and puffing behind me.
“Start the car!” Lula yelled at Eugene. “Start the car!”
We jumped into the car, and Eugene sped away.
The cat’s tail was totally bristled out, its eyes were slitty, and it was growling.
“I thought Annie said this was a nice cat,” Lula said, squeezing herself against the door, getting as far away from the cat as possible. “This is the cat from hell, and I feel a allergic reaction coming on.”
“It’s just had a traumatic experience,” I said. “We should talk to it in soothing tones. Nice kitty,” I crooned at the beast.
“Where are we going?” Eugene asked.
“Pull into a parking lot somewhere, so we can make a phone call and reorganize.”
Eugene found a 7-Eleven a couple blocks from the scumbag’s house and parked off to one side. The cat had quieted down enough for me to loosen my grip and punch Annie’s number into my phone.
“We have her,” I said to Annie. “We have Miss Muffy. Where are you?”
“How do I know you really have her?” Annie said. “I want to see a picture. Maybe you could FaceTime her.”
I hit the FaceTime button and pointed the phone camera at the cat.
“That’s not Miss Muffy,” Annie said.
“What?”
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