How to Catch a Cat Read Online Free Page B

move. Surprisingly nimble for her age and physique, at this point, she could be anywhere in the crowd—or on her way out the front gates.
    Frustrated, Oscar hobbled toward the stage. In six months of searching, he’d never been this close to catching her. He couldn’t give up now.
    He coughed out a short wheeze, and his chest constricted. His heart was giving out on him; he knew his long life was nearing its end.
    He didn’t have much time left.
    This might be his last chance to stop Mabel’s killing spree.
    —
    PANTING FOR BREATH, Oscar reached the rear of the audience, just as the mass of people turned to face him.
    The onlookers had shifted their attention to a roped-off corridor that would be used to bring the America’s Cup trophy onto the stage.
    Forged in 1851 to commemorate the first regatta, the silver chalice was carried on a gilded platter held at shoulder level by a pair of tuxedo-clad ushers, who were in turn flanked by armed security guards.
    The crowd migrated toward the corridor, and Oscar was soon caught in a crush of spectators angling for a view of the famous trophy. Heads bobbed up and down, bodies weaved from side to side, and arms stretched high, holding camera phones up in the air.
    The frenzy intensified as the sailing crews joined the cup in the corridor, preparing to escort it onstage.
    The sailors would be boarding their boats immediately following the cup presentation ceremony, so they were already dressed for the day’s crucial race. Each man was covered from head to toe in a specially constructed wetsuit made of a reinforced material that looked like high-tech chain mail.
    In yet another change over the cup’s earlier competitions, the crew members were professional athletes, brawny men who had trained for over a year to handle the physical demands of the flighty new boats—and who were difficult for an aging old codger with a cane to see over.
    Stymied, Oscar glanced back at the television screen. The shot homed in on the silver cup as the ushers lifted it onto the stage. But in the background at the corner of the frame, he caught a glimpse of moving clothing.
    Mabel was headed toward a hangar at the far end of the pavilion grounds.
    With everyone’s attention focused on the stage, the hangar’s technical display would likely be unoccupied.
    Clutching the cane, Oscar lumbered toward the hangar’s wide entrance, determined to nab the Ninja and end her killing ways for good.
    He didn’t stop to consider that his own image might have been flashed across the event camera’s wide screen—or that he and his clunky cane had been spotted, an easily discernible discrepancy among the face-painted, flag-waving racing fans.
    The Ninja had waited six long months for the opportunity to finish off the man who had exposed her crimes.
    She’d spent endless hours contemplating how to exact her revenge on the meddler who had upended her murderous routine.
    As Oscar approached the hangar entrance, the question had to be asked.
    Who was hunting whom?
    —
    OSCAR STEPPED INTO the hangar and cautiously looked around.
    It was a cavernous building, capable of accommodating several hundred spectators.
    But at this moment, Oscar appeared to be the only person inside its exhibit area.
    The applause from the pavilion stage echoed dully through the open rafters, amplifying the emptiness of the space.
    Monty had attempted to reinsert himself into the proceedings. There was a sound of shuffling followed by the Baron’s crisp voice as he regained control of the microphone.
    “Thank you, Monty. Let’s have another round of applause for Mayor Carmichael . . .”
    Oscar shook his head. Monty would not be kept silent for long.
    He dismissed the noise from the stage and concentrated on the hangar.
    The main display featured several practice boats. These were prototypes that had been used by the competing teams early on in their training. The finely tuned details of the versions being used in the championship