Da Vinci's Cat

by Catherine Gilbert Murdock

  “Wait, did Michelangelo do this? He didn’t draw girls.” Even Bee knew that.

  “Certainly not. But I know who did.” Miss Bother eased herself into a chair. “There is disagreement, however. So much disagreement that it cannot be sold.”

  Mom couldn’t take her eyes off the drawing. “Maybe someone saw you online? I mean, it’s you, Bee. How long have you had this, Miss Bother?”

  “Much longer than computers.” Miss Bother chuckled. “My father found it in Italy even before he found me.”

  Mom looked skeptical. “So who do you think drew it?”

  “You’re a scholar.” Miss Bother smiled. “I’m sure you’ve seen his work elsewhere.”

  “Maybe,” offered Bee. It did look kind of familiar. But she’d seen thousands—seriously, thousands—of pictures. She spent half her life in museums.

  “Oh, you have.” Miss Bother looked from Bee to Mom, and back to Bee. “You know him well, I suspect. The great Renaissance master. Raphael.”

  Chapter 11

  The Sign

  Mom was way more upset than Bee. From the moment they left Miss Bother’s house—Miss Bother promising that Beatrice could come back anytime—Mom was spinning. She sat scrolling through her laptop, twisting her lip between her fingers. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “You’re going to end up looking like Jabba the Hutt if you keep doing that,” Bee warned her.

  “Even if the drawing was by someone very talented, who knows you, of all people—”

  “What’s so bad about me?”

  “You know what I mean. And how would they know to hide it there? Even we didn’t know you’d be here until four days ago.” She shook her head. “That darn cruise.”

  “Maybe they got my photo from school. Hey, maybe I have a secret twin! Do I have a secret twin? How come you never told me? Mom?”

  But Mom was already on the phone with Moo. She disappeared into the other room, whispering.

  Why did they need to whisper? It was just a drawing that happened to look exactly like Bee and also happened to be in a secret hiding place in a mysterious old house which made it the coolest thing in the history of ever. Miss Bother had said to come back anytime. What did that mean, exactly? How many minutes should Bee wait? She should bring something. Cookies, maybe. Miss Bother certainly needed better cookies.

  Mom returned, pocketing her phone. “Moo agrees it’s very strange. She’s curious about Miss Bother’s dialect. You know, every region of Italy has its own way of talking. How did she sound to you?”

  “I don’t know. Upset? Hey, can I bake cookies? Because I would be super-clean. I promise.”

  Mom, still twisting her lip, joined Bee at the window to stare at Miss Bother’s. “I wish I didn’t have this speech tonight.”

  “I’ll clean the whole kitchen before Moo gets here. Even the pans.”

  “I just don’t know what it means.” Mom’s phone rang. “Hey, what’s up?”

  Maybe Bee had a secret admirer from the year 1500. Maybe it was a sign, like in a book.

  “You’re kidding.” Mom rubbed her forehead. “Well, tell them to hurry up and fix it. . . . Yeah.” She hung up. “Moo’s train is delayed. So you’ll have to come with me till she gets in.”

  Bee collapsed onto the couch. “Mom, no! I’ll be the only kid. Or there’ll be one kid who’s Russian and who spends every minute gaming.”

  “Maybe I could find a sitter.”

  “A sitter?” Bee was outraged. “You leave me alone all the time.”

  “I leave you sometimes, in our very safe apartment.” She gestured at Miss Bother’s house. “But with that—”

  “Mom.” Bee stopped her. “Remember in When You Reach Me, when Miranda gets those messages that turn out to be from the future?”

  Mom made a face. “So that drawing is telling us the world is going to end and I’m going to win $20,000.” Mom also liked When You Reach Me.

  “Or the lamppost in The Magician’s Nephew, the one Lucy finds in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe?”

  “The drawing is a portal to Narnia. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “It’s—” But Bee couldn’t say that it was only a sign. That would freak Mom out even more. She pulled her tattered copy of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe out of her bag. “Look. I’ll just sit on the couch reading until Moo gets here. I won’t even start the cookies.”

  Somehow—Bee couldn’t quite believe it—Mom agreed. After talking to Moo again, and figuring out Bee would only be alone for twenty minutes, and checking that Bee knew how use the house phone because she still didn’t have a cell even though this was a perfect example of why she needed one. . . .

  Finally, Mom drove off with her laptop and bag and scarf (indigo!) that she’d bought especially for the speech. The scarf was the same color as the sky outside, actually—the top of the sky. The rest of the sky was still sunset.

  Bee plopped onto the couch. Even from the couch she could see Miss Bother’s house, and a light in Miss Bother’s living room, and fireflies in the yard. There was still time for cookies. Moo would love the drawing, too.

  She flipped through The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Lucy’s parents never talked about babysitters. Lucy’s parents weren’t even around. Lucy got to ride lions.

  Bee snuck another look at Miss Bother’s. Wait—what? There was something in the yard . . . a cat. The yellow cat with black-lined eyes.

  “Don’t you dare,” Bee whispered as the cat slunk through the grass.

  The cat leaped, and Bee gasped—

  But the cat was only batting at fireflies.

  Bee snorted. “Joke’s on you.” Fireflies were super bitter. That’s how they got away with being so obvious. One bite of firefly and you never wanted more.

  Bored with fireflies, the cat wandered toward Miss Bother’s house. She climbed the kitchen steps, blurry in the shadows—and suddenly she was no longer there. She had vanished.

  Bee grabbed the phone, punching in numbers. “Answer, answer,” she whispered.

  “What’s up, Queen Bee?” Mom sounded like she was in a room full of people. Which, hello, she was.

  “Mom, listen. That yellow cat? It just, like, vaporized.”

  “Water, please,” Mom said to someone. “Bee, I’m kind of in the middle of something. You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Oh. Right. Sorry.” Quickly Bee dialed Moo.

  “Pronto, Bombo, come stai?” Hey, Bumblebee, how are you? Bombo was Italian for “hornet,” mostly, but it could also mean “bumblebee.” Bee and Moo preferred bumblebee.

  “I’m okay but there’s this cat in the yard that just, like, vaporized. . . .”

  “You are not bringing a cat into the house again?”

  “No. But it’s really strange.” She glanced over at Miss Bother’s house. A light flickered in the living room, but that was it.

  “We’ll take a look when I get there, okay? Now you stay safe like a little bee and do not move. I am bringing your favorite mozzarella. Ciao bella.” Bye, gorgeous.

  Bee set down the phone and took another glance. There—the cat! Sitting on the back steps licking a paw.

  Bee squinted. It must have come through the kitchen door somehow. . . .

  The cat vanished back into the house.

  Bee pressed her face to the window. It sure was hard to see through the twilight and the overgrown bushes, and the flickering lamp didn’t help. What had Miss Bother said? Something about her father making accommodations for a cat.

  As Bee watched, the cat’s head appeared.

  Bee sagged in disappointment. The kitchen had a cat door, duh. Now that she looked, she could see it clearly. There was a flap and everything.

  The cat threaded its way through the shaggy lawn. Flicker flicker flicker, went the soft yellow light from Miss Bother’s house. Then longer flickers, like fliiicker fliiicker. Or maybe flowker. . . . How would you describe a long flicker? Then flicker flicker flicker again.

  T
hat was weird.

  Flicker flicker flicker stop. Flowker flowker flowker stop. Flicker flicker flicker. Three flickers, three flowkers, three flickers—

  “Wait—what?” Bee leaped to her feet. “It’s SOS!” With trembling fingers, she dialed Moo. “Moo, she’s calling SOS.”

  “Who? This train, I could push it faster.”

  “The old lady next door. The light is blinking SOS.”

  Moo’s voice rose. “Where is this SOS? Are you safe?”

  “Yes, I’m safe,” Bee sighed. “It’s the lady next door with the Raphael drawing.”

  “Possibly Raphael. There is no signature.”

  “It’s an SOS,” Bee repeated. “What do I do?”

  “You stay there, you lock the door, you do not talk to anyone. Capisce?” Understand? “I will be there in half an hour, it looks like. Questo stupido treno.” This stupid train. “Sit tightly. Ciao.”

  “Ciao.” Bee frowned at the phone. Half an hour was forever. What if something was really wrong? What if something had happened to Miss Bother? She couldn’t just sit tightly. She needed to act.

  Chapter 12

  You’ll Make Everything Better

  “Miss Bother?” Bee rang the doorbell, listening to it echo. “Miss Bother?”

  “Beatrice?” came a weak cry. “Sei tu?” Is that you?

  Bee put her mouth to the door. “Miss Bother, it’s Bee.” Although Miss Bother knew that already. “Is everything okay?”

  “Hello, Beatrice,” Miss Bother called in her quavery old voice. “I’m afraid I’ve had a bit of a spill.”

  See? Something was wrong. Bee had been super smart to run over. “Miss Bother, I’m going to come in, okay? I’m opening the door now.”

  “Mrow.”

  Bee jumped, startled, as the cat padded across the porch. “Dumb cat,” she muttered under her breath. “Um, Miss Bother, the door is locked.”

  The cat pawed at the door. “Mrow,” it ordered.

  “It’s locked, you dummy.”

  Miss Bother’s voice trickled through the wood. “I’m afraid I can’t reach it. Oh dear . . .”

  “Mrow.” The cat stalked away, tail lashing.

  “Thanks a lot,” Bee called. “You could chip in, you know.” Bee was always being told to chip in— That was it! She raced after the cat. “Hey, wait up.”

  By the time she reached the back of the house, the cat was nowhere to be seen. But there: the cat door. Bee knelt on the steps. “Miss Bother?”

  “Goodness me, Beatrice, where are you?” Miss Bother’s voice was much clearer.

  “I’m at the cat door.”

  “Goodness, how remarkable.”

  “I know, right?” The cat door was pretty big, actually. Big enough for her shoulders. If Bee stretched one arm and twisted . . .

  “Are you hurt?” Miss Bother sounded worried.

  “I’m okay,” Bee grunted. She wriggled her hips, pulling her knees through. . . . She was in.

  She stood up, brushing at her T-shirt and leggings. The kitchen smelled of fish, eww. A tuna sandwich sat on the counter next to dirty cups. Bee hated the smell of tuna fish.

  “Goodness me, if I’d known the cat door was so accessible—”

  “Don’t worry.” Bee peered around the living room, looking for Miss Bother. “I can wiggle out of anything. That’s what my grandpa Pepe says.” She stepped into the front hall. “Miss Bother! Are you okay?”

  Miss Bother was lying across the stairs, still holding her cane. She smiled up at Bee. “Beatrice. Che bella.” How beautiful. “It gives me such pleasure to finally know your name.”

  Bee tried to think of something to say besides Are you okay? “Um, I saw your SOS.”

  “Aren’t you clever?” With great effort, Miss Bother stretched out her cane to push the light switch. “I could just reach it.” She lay back with a wince. “For so long I’ve hoped you would come.”

  “I’m really sorry. I should have figured out the SOS right away.”

  “Poor Beatrice, that’s not what I meant. Goodness, your shoes are two different colors.”

  “I’ve got another pair just like them at home.” No matter how many times she said it, the joke never got old.

  “Oh, it hurts to laugh. I wish I had shoes like that when I was a girl.”

  “You should get some now.”

  “Can you imagine?” Miss Bother beamed up at her. “The girl from Raphael. And here you are at last—”

  A crash startled them both—the crack of breaking china. Miss Bother winced in pain.

  The cat trotted into the living room carrying the tuna sandwich. “Mrow,” it whined, kind of muffled, dropping it with a look of disgust.

  “Juno!” cried Miss Bother. “Look, Beatrice. It’s Juno.”

  “You mean your father’s old cat?” It was so embarrassing, having to ask.

  Miss Bother didn’t seem embarrassed, though. “He always said she’d return. Come, Juno.”

  The cat sniffed at the sandwich, ignoring them.

  Bee squirmed, trying to figure out where to look. Maybe Miss Bother had hit her head. Or maybe she was a little, you know, the way old people got. The way Grandpa Pepe always lost his glasses. “I, um, I think I should call Moo.”

  “Here, Juno—Moo? Who is that?”

  “It’s what I call my mom. She calls me Bombo.”

  “Oh, that’s marvelous. A wild little bee!”

  Bee grinned. “She named me that when I first starting walking. I don’t know why.”

  “You must have been quite a bundle of energy.” Miss Bother smiled, her head resting on a step. “And now you are here with your portrait.”

  Bee glanced toward the dining room. The drawing wasn’t Bee, obviously. But still, it was interesting. Like a sign . . .

  Giving the tuna a last dismissive sniff, the cat wandered away.

  “Don’t go, Juno.” Miss Bother tried to shift and grimaced. “Oh dear, I truly am hurt. Beatrice, mi amore”—my love—“might you call me an ambulance?”

  Bee straightened. “Really?” She’d never called an ambulance before.

  Miss Bother waved toward the living room. “There’s the phone.”

  It wasn’t easy, though. Bee had never used an old-fashioned phone. “How do you—oh.” She stared at the circular part that went round and round. “That’s why people say dial.” Finally she reached 911, and answered all their questions, and put the handle thing back on its base. “Someone’s on the way. . . . Hey, that’s why you say hang up! Because you hang the phone up. Wow.” All these terms that had never made sense.

  Miss Bother lay back, closing her eyes. “I must confess, Beatrice, that I had quite lost hope.”

  “I’m so sorry—it’s just that I’ve never used this kind of phone—”

  “Come, Beatrice. I must tell you something.” With effort, Miss Bother reached for Bee’s hand. Her skin was so thin that blue veins showed through. Bee had to sit close to hear her. “My father found your drawing in Italy, in a little city—”

  “Um,” Bee interrupted, “the drawing isn’t really me.” Just to be clear.

  Miss Bother smiled. “It did not have Raphael’s signature, however. So my father traveled to Rome—back to Rome—to acquire it.”

  “You mean like a forgery?” Bee knew that word from Moo. It meant fake.

  “Quite the opposite. While in Rome, however, he found me. He never returned there. What if something happened, and I was left alone? But it made him very sad.” She squeezed Bee’s hand. “You’ll fix it, won’t you?”

  “Um, sure. Can I, um, get you some water?” She hoped the ambulance got here soon. There was definitely a problem with Miss Bother’s head.

  “I wish you could have met him. He was so wonderful.” Miss Bother twisted, straining to look up the stairs. “I haven’t been inside his office in years—I never wanted to see it again. Not until today.”

  Red and blue lights flashed through the window. Whew.

  “Excuse me.�
�� Gently Bee pulled her hand away. “I, um, need to get the door.”

  Heavy footsteps crossed the porch. “EMTs,” a man shouted.

  “Beatrice?”

  “Yes, Miss Bother?” Bee paused, her hand on the knob.

  “I know you can do this.”

  And then the house was filled with emergency medical technicians and their rolling bed and their loud, loud voices. Loudly—like Miss Bother was deaf—they asked about her medicines and her age, checking her temp and blood pressure, writing everything down.

  The EMTs acted super professional, but Bee could see them looking at the chipping paint, the dust-covered mirror, the stained rugs. It’s not her fault, she wanted to say. It’s not her fault she’s old.

  “So you were going up the stairs when you fell?” the guy EMT asked, shooting a sideways glance at the tuna sandwich on the floor.

  “Yes. I had just received word from an old friend.” Miss Bother looked right at Bee when she said this.

  “So who’s next of kin?” the woman EMT asked Bee. The EMT’s hair was pulled back in one of those tight buns Bee could never make.

  “Um, we’re just staying next door. We got here today.” We would have helped if we’d known!

  “This young woman was simply—helping,” Miss Bother whispered. She gasped as they lifted her onto the bed-thing and strapped her in. “She’s going—to fix it—”

  “Let’s get you to the hospital,” the guy said, pushing the bed.

  “Bye, Miss Bother.” Bee did her best to sound cheerful as Miss Bother rolled by. She looked so small, lying there! Like she was disappearing. “You’re going to be fine.”

  “Thank you for coming, Beatrice.” Miss Bother’s voice was almost lost in the commotion, her face creased with pain. Even so, she smiled. “I know you’ll make everything better.”

  Chapter 13

  Alone in the House

  Bee watched the EMTs slide Miss Bother into the ambulance and drive off. Then she raced back to the living room to call Mom.

  She shouldn’t call Mom; she knew that. Mom was right in the middle of a huge speech. But Bee suspected Moo would not be one hundred percent happy with what had just happened. She’d say I told you to sit tightly. She’d say you go into a strange house through the cat door? So instead Bee dialed Mom. Well, Mom’s voicemail. “You’ve reached Miriam Bliss,” the voice said. “Please leave a message.”