Cat Got Your Tongue

by Louise Clark

  Did it?

  She picked up the coffee mug again and sipped as she pondered this. For a very long time, even before Frank's death, she told herself she no longer loved him, but was she being truthful with herself? Did she need Frank in her life? If he was still in Stormy, but not talking for some reason, how would she feel if he started talking again? Glad? Happy? Relieved? Annoyed? All of the above?

  Would her heart be filled with tenderness and a wish that somehow she and Frank could go back into their past and recreate their perfect life? Except their life together wasn't perfect and never had been. What had linked them at the end and linked them now was Noelle. She looked gloomily down at the croissant before she popped the last section into her mouth. It was like Frank had divorced her and she'd never gotten over his decision to leave her.

  For some reason that thought buoyed her up. Divorced women got over their exes. They co-parented, but moved on to other mates. She could do that too. With Quinn. Somehow. She finished up her sinfully sweet coffee, collected her shopping bags, then headed over to the grocery store.

  Her cart was filled with milk, eggs, chicken and a dozen tins of cat food when she joined the checkout line. Stormy would have turned up his nose at the brand when Frank had been living in him, but he now ate it without complaint. Her cell rang.

  It was Ellen. "Will you be home soon, Christy?"

  "Probably." She put the phone between her chin and shoulder so she could dump items onto the conveyer belt. "I'm at the checkout now."

  "How long do you think you'll be?"

  "I should be home in about fifteen minutes. Why?" The woman ahead of her plugged her debit card into the chip reader while the cashier bagged up her items.

  "I'm going out. I'm trying to decide if I should take the car or call a cab."

  Getting a taxi to Burnaby Mountain could be a slow process. "I'll probably be home before the cab gets there."

  "Yes. It's not like finding a taxi downtown."

  No it wasn't. "They're checking me out now, Ellen. I've got to go."

  "All right. I'll wait for you, then take the car." Ellen rang off and Christy paid for her groceries, then she hauled the bags out to parking lot and stowed them in the van.

  She used back roads to return to the townhouse, so there was no traffic. She was there in less than the fifteen minutes she'd expected. She opened the hatch and picked up a bag, then reached for another.

  The cat hopped into the car. She ruffled the fur behind his ears. "Hey, Stormy. I got you new food."

  Something better than what you've been feeding him, I hope.

  She stared at the cat, who stared back. "Frank?"

  Of course it was Frank. It wasn't Stormy who was talking in her head.

  Chris, you need to stop Ellen.

  But Christy wasn't listening. "You're silent for a week—a week!—when we're all worried about you and the first thing you do is complain about food?" Furious, Christy hauled the bags out of the back of the car and stomped up her walk to the porch. She dropped the bags, then went back for another load.

  The cat was still sitting there, beside her groceries. Waiting for her.

  Chris, she's putting herself in danger.

  Christy picked up the remaining bags. "How could you not talk to Noelle? She has faith in you. She refused to believe you'd go without telling her. She assumed you'd talk to her once we came back. But you didn't! How could you do this to her? She loves you!"

  I...

  Christy turned her back on the van and headed for the porch.

  The cat hopped down and followed. I saw the murder. I couldn't stop it. I tried. The weaselly little bastard hit him with a rock and there was nothing I could do. I saw him die, Chris.

  She put her bags with the others and turned to face him. "You've seen death before. You were murdered!"

  That was cold.

  She put her hands on her hips. "There's nothing cold about the anger I feel right now!"

  They glared at each other. The cat didn't blink. It was Christy who looked away. She dug into her purse looking for her house key.

  The murder made me think it was time to move on, to whatever comes next.

  Christy froze in place, her hand in her purse, her back stiff and straight.

  But I couldn't go. I thought it was because I needed to wait until you and Noelle were back, so I could say good-bye, but... I'm still here.

  She turned back to him. "Why couldn't you go on?"

  The green eyes stared into hers. I don't know.

  Probably the most honest answer she'd had from Frank in years. "Maybe you need to work on it? Talk to Noelle. Reassure her, then give it another try."

  His answer was lost in the sound of the door opening. "Oh, good. You're back," said Ellen. She held out her hand for the car keys. "I shouldn't be long."

  NO! Stop her, Chris!

  Christy frowned at the cat. "What are you talking about?"

  "I need information," Ellen said. "I was working on my notes, but they were incomplete. I think I've had a breakthrough, but I need to confirm it."

  Christy handed her the car keys. "Okay. I'll see you later then. I'll close the hatch for you."

  "Thanks, Christy." Ellen headed over to the van and opened the driver's door.

  Don't do this! Stormy bolted for the car and dove in just before Christy slammed down the hatch.

  "What are you doing?" Christy shouted.

  Saving Aunt Ellen!

  The van started to move as Ellen eased away from the curb.

  "From what?" Christy demanded, as Ellen stepped on the gas.

  The murderer. She's visiting the murderer. Call the cops, Chris!

  Chapter 33

  A private vehicle was one of the finest benefits of living in the suburbs, Ellen thought as she guided Christy's van out of the development and onto Woodland Drive, the area's main street. It would eventually lead her across Lougheed to the access ramp for Highway 1, part of the Trans Canada highway system. Though the Trans Canada skirted the city of Vancouver, bypassing it to cross the Second Narrows Bridge into North Vancouver, Highway 1 was the fastest way to connect to the main roads into central Vancouver. It was also the most fun to drive, with a hundred klick speed limit and a generous peppering of speeders.

  Woodland Drive wound down Burnaby Mountain in hairpin turns that were tight enough to satisfy the road rally enthusiasts who had once used it for their events before the area was developed into residential housing. Ellen swooped down the mountain, taking the first turn more quickly than she should. The wheels squealed and elation filled her. A second hairpin came up, this one leading to a stop sign where she would turn left to head for the highway. She took it fast again and skidded to a stop at the white line.

  Stormy the Cat tumbled into the passenger seat with a hiss and a growl.

  "What on earth!" said Ellen. She stared at the cat, who glared at her for a minute before he carefully began to groom his chest and shoulder. "What are you doing here?"

  There was no answer, of course. She shook her head. Living with Christy was giving her bad habits, like talking to cats as if you expected them to talk back. "Stupid cat. You must have jumped in when Christy was unloading her groceries."

  She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She should go back and return the cat to Christy. But she'd have to drive quite a distance out of her way. She'd be adding a half an hour at least to her commute.

  Behind her a car honked. She glanced in her rearview mirror. There was a small lineup of vehicles all waiting to access the connector street. The honk made up her mind. She turned right and aimed the car for the highway access ramp.

  The car gained speed and the cat hissed. He crouched down in the seat. Ellen reached the access ramp and gunned it.

  There was a surprising amount of traffic for late morning. Some passenger cars and a lot of trucks, from pick-ups to panel trucks to mammoth tractor-trailers. Ellen's blood began to pump hard as she judged the speed of the vehicles whizzing by and
prepared to merge with the on-going vehicles.

  The cat began to howl.

  Ellen jerked the wheel and almost rammed a black 4-by-4. She straightened and managed to join the flow of vehicles without further mishap, but she was shaken by the near miss.

  "Be quiet, you bad mannered beast!" Stormy fell silent and she drew a deep breath. She should have taken the cat back to Christy, but she was committed now, and the cat appeared to have calmed down. She breathed deeply, relaxed a little. The cat went everywhere with Christy and Roy. He was used to cars. Why shouldn't he come with her and behave?

  They whipped past an exit ramp, the next was the one she planned to use. The cat growled. She looked over at him. He was crouched on the seat, his green eyes fixed on her. His tail lashed from side to side and his lips were curled back in a frightful display of temper. "I get it," she said. "You're trying to intimidate me. Well, it won't work. I am not going back. You have come with me to Homeless Help. Then you'll have to wait in the car, because you are being rude."

  The growling stopped. She glanced over at him again and saw that the snarl was gone, although the tail still lashed. Feeling quite pleased with herself for having bested the beast, Ellen saw the sign for her exit coming up and switched into the inside lane.

  Her exit led her onto Hastings Street and necessitated a much slower speed, but Hastings was almost as much fun to drive as the highway, since street parking was allowed. Every block there was a car pulling out or one attempting to parallel park, which meant that you had to nip into one lane or another to avoid being stuck. It took concentration, though, for someone with the limited experience Ellen had of driving herself. She was completely focused on avoiding a delivery van pulling out of a spot in front of a butcher shop, when the cat meowed and put his paw on her leg.

  She screamed and jumped. Her foot pressed heavily on the gas and she lurched into the left-hand lane, cutting off the car behind her and earning an annoyed honk. Her heart pounding, she said, "Don't do that!"

  The cat meowed again, a plaintive sound that made her feel like a horrible person. She drew a deep breath to help herself reestablish her equilibrium. She did not scream at people. Or cats, for that matter. She didn't scream at all. She might want to, but she didn't. She showed a calm, controlled face to the world, no matter what the situation. That's what a Jamieson did. Hadn't she lectured Christy on that very subject time and again while she was married to Frank?

  The cat meowed again, but she ignored it. She breathed in through her nose and then let the air out in a whoosh through her mouth. Her heartbeat slowed. That was good. She was herself again, which was important because she had almost reached her destination.

  It occurred to her that finding a spot to park in this busy and congested part of town would not be easy. She began to watch for openings along the street, or a lot where she'd probably pay a fortune, but which might be easier than parallel parking.

  As she drove, the area around her changed. What had been a prosperous street filled with pedestrians moving in and out of small shops, became one where few people milled and the storefronts were either vacant, or rundown. She saw the sign for Homeless Help, and there, right in front, was a parking spot.

  "Perfect!" she announced and put on her indicator to let the impressive line of cars behind her know that she was about to become the one who was the cause of the traffic congestion.

  The cat stood on his hind legs and put his front paws on the dash. His tail lashed and he howled just as Ellen cranked the wheel as she began to back in.

  Rattled, she snapped, "You. No more nonsense, or you'll go into the back." The cat dropped down from his upright position onto the seat, to hunch there as she guided the car smoothly into the space. She killed the engine then half turned in her seat to stare at the cat. The cat stared back, defiant. "I have no idea why Christy puts up with you."

  Because she's married to me.

  Ellen blinked as shock rolled over her. "What did you say?"

  Because she's married to me.

  The first time the words had sounded in her head there was an annoyed and impatient tone. Now there was smugness, as if the speaker knew how much he had shaken her and was pleased about it.

  That rallied Ellen as nothing else could. "Nonsense," she said, and opened the car door.

  Her intention was to get herself out quickly enough to leave the cat locked in the van. A passing car made a swift exit impossible. Stormy was out the door and under the vehicle before she'd managed to turn back to the van.

  Annoyed, she slammed the door shut. She looked over the roof, hoping the cat had made it onto the sidewalk, and saw that a young woman was coming out of Homeless Help. Her hair was a rainbow of neon colors and was cut in a short, ragged style that could have been done by an expert or by someone who simply hacked off her locks with scissors. There was a ring in one eyebrow and another through her nose. She was wearing jeans and a cloth jacket that had both seen better days.

  As she paused to change the open sign to one that said closed until 1 pm, Stormy slipped past her ankles and into the building. The girl looked down and saw the cat. She waved her hands ineffectively as she said, "Shoo!"

  Ellen dove around the back of the van to the sidewalk. It had never occurred to her that Homeless Help would close for lunch. Or that Sydney Haynes wouldn't be in the building all day. Yet beyond this young person, the storefront was empty, which fit with her putting up the closed sign.

  For the first time, Stormy was proving useful. "Excuse me," Ellen said, hailing the young woman.

  She looked up, her expression blank. "Yes?"

  "The cat that just rushed into your building. It's mine."

  The girl blinked. "So you'll get it out?"

  "He. The cat is a he," Ellen said, surprising herself. She wouldn't have expected to champion a cat in a million years.

  The girl's expression didn't change. "Who cares?"

  "He does." Ellen almost shook her head at herself in exasperation. This was not necessary!

  The girl shrugged. "Hurry up, then. I want my..." She shot Ellen a sideways glance, as if she was considering something. Then she smiled, tightlipped. "Fix."

  Ellen stiffened and the girl's smile widened. Ellen narrowed her eyes and looked down her nose at the girl. She said coolly, "I have come to see Sydney Haynes. Is he in the building?"

  The girl glowered at her. "Who's asking?"

  Ellen raised an eyebrow and didn't reply. The girl shrugged and pointed inside. "He's got a private office in the back. He's there now."

  "Thank you," Ellen said. The girl didn't reply. Ellen went into the storefront. The girl hunched her shoulders and headed off to wherever it was that she would acquire her fix. Ellen took stock of her surroundings.

  The interior of Homeless Help was simple and utilitarian. Beside the door where she stood was a plate glass window, which had two metal folding chairs in front of it. The walls were a faded cream, dingy with years of dirt. On one was a calendar with pictures of monster trucks advertising a garage that serviced them. On the wall facing the door a large round clock showed that it was now five minutes after twelve noon. A wooden counter stretched the width of the room, bisecting it. Behind it were shelves full of goods.

  At first, Ellen could see no way for her to get to the back office the girl had spoken of. Then she noticed there was a door on the far side of the back wall and in front of it the counter was hinged so that it could be folded back to allow access to the area behind the counter and to the door itself.

  She lifted the countertop.

  Don't do this, Aunt Ellen! Syd Haynes is dangerous.

  She passed through and made her way to the door, ignoring the voice in her head. The cat tangled around her feet, making her stumble, as if he didn't want her to go into Sydney Haynes' back office. How absurd. She pressed forward.

  The cat leapt up, snagging his claws in her pant legs, reminding her of the day he'd punished the odious social services woman for searching through Christy
's private things. "Stop that!" she hissed, not wanting to have her trousers ripped. Or to be treated in the same way as Joan Shively.

  Stormy meowed. There's still time to stop! Turn around. Walk out the door.

  The damned voice was unnerving her. "I'm here now. I can't turn around."

  Yes, you can. The voice became more urgent. Aunt Ellen. Listen to me! Go. Now!

  She lifted her hand to knock, but hesitated. Perhaps the voice was right. Perhaps she should leave without talking to Sydney Haynes. She lowered her hand, took a step back.

  The door opened. "Sadie? What the hell is going on out here? I thought you were going to lunch?"

  Ellen pasted a confident smile on her face, even though panic assailed her at the fierce glower on Sydney Haynes' face. In that instant he looked mean and dangerous. But then maybe she was seeing something that wasn't there because of those negative comments the voice in her head was making. "Hello, Mr. Haynes." She shoved out her hand. "I'm Ellen Jamieson."

  He narrowed his eyes and frowned at her hand, but didn't take it.

  "I hope you remember me. We've met a few times. I've come to ask you some questions."

  His eyes searched her face and Ellen held her breath. At her feet the cat growled.

  Sydney Haynes scrutinized her a minute longer, then he smiled, a friendly smile that reassured her and told her that the voice in her head was nothing but nerves talking. "Of course I remember you. Come in, Ms. Jamieson."

  He held the door wide and Ellen passed through into the private area behind. The cat scrambled between their feet, determined not to be left behind.

  * * *

  Frowning, Christy watched Ellen drive away with Stormy in the van. Saving Ellen from the murderer. As if. That was Frank all over, dramatic, expecting her to react to his pronouncements as if she had nothing else to do. As if he hadn't been silent for the last week, upsetting everybody. Making them grieve. Filling his daughter's eyes with sadness whenever she looked at her beloved cat.

  She turned back to the house and walked to the porch where she opened the door before she picked up a couple of bags of groceries to cart inside. Ellen wasn't the kind of person who faced down murderers. What had she said? That she'd been making notes and needed more information? Frank had it wrong. He was overreacting.