by Katie Penryn
“How do you know she hasn’t moved on to a new partner?”
“She and her best friend, another teacher, often buy cool drinks in their lunch hour and sit over there,” he said pointing to a couple of metal tables on the pavement. “I don’t eavesdrop intentionally but I can’t help hearing some of what they say. They spend a lot of time bitching about the victim.”
“May I ask you why you’re telling us all this?”
“I knew your father and mother back in the days when they stayed here for their holidays. I had dinner with them once. There’s no way your mother is a murderess.”
I thanked him for his help, bought a copy of the local daily paper and ordered three orange sodas. Dredging up information on a hot summer’s afternoon was thirsty work.
Jimbo nudged me. “Penzi, the dogs are panting. They’re too hot out there tied up in the sun.”
Monsieur LaPresse was kind enough to give the dogs a bowl of water.
We tossed off our drinks and hurried back to the house to consider what we had learned so far.
*
As we walked back along the Esplanade a large orange van came into view in the distance. It was parked outside our house.
We weren’t expecting a delivery and so I assumed it was for our neighbors. However, as we approached the driver climbed down. He had obviously been watching for us in his wing mirror. He waved his clipboard at us.
“About time. I’ve been waiting long past the regulation twenty minutes. I haven’t even had my lunch yet. You are Madame Mpenzi Munro? The neighbors said you had gone for a walk with your dogs. So dogs equals Munro? No?”
As I reached him I checked out the signage on the side of the van. Above a montage of every zoo animal known to man it said Reliable transportation of exotic animals.
“The delivery can’t be for me.”
He thrust the clipboard under my nose making me take a step back. I almost slipped on the smooth cobbles but Sam caught my elbow just in time.
“See here,” the driver said. “Madame Mpenzi Munro — one domestic cat — 12 kilos live weight.”
Chapter 11
Felix
The delivery man’s bad tempered voice penetrated the side of the truck frightening the two scarlet cockatoos into starting up their hideous squawking again. They’d ceased since the motion had stopped. The silence had been a godsend after the long trip all the way from the airport in Paris. The driver had dropped off various dogs and cats at houses along the way and made a delivery of a reticulated python and two chimpanzees at a wild animal park. Apart from a sibilant hiss now and then the snake had been the quietest of the lot.
I was not surprised Ms Munro was reluctant to accept the delivery. She knew nothing about me.
My patron, Sir Archibald Munro, Mpenzi’s father, left instructions for me when he vanished into the jungle on his last anthropological trip. I was to stay back at base and if Sir Archibald did not return within thirty days I was to fly to France where Sir Archibald’s daughter would be waiting for me.
Sir Archibald tasked me with being Mpenzi’s bodyguard, but it sounded as if he had forgotten to tell his daughter.
Would she accept me or not? I hoped she would. The thought of a return trip to the Middle Congo didn’t bear thinking about.
I swished my tail from side to side unable to still my anxiety. To make doubly sure I crossed my front paws and hoped for the best.
The van door opened and the delivery man stuck his unpleasant scowl inside.
“Here he is. Take a look.”
My first sight of Ms Mpenzi Munro: tall, slim, sunlight glinting off long auburn hair, dark brown eyes dancing with curiosity and a sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks. I watched her pupils dilate as she stared into the dark interior searching for me, looking for a small cat-sized cage but my cage was big enough for a rhino.
She spotted me.
“Hey, puss-puss,” she called out in a light voice. “You must be so hot in there.”
The driver elbowed her out of the way and opened up the doors wide. “Madame, I have to inform you the van is air conditioned.”
“Not very efficient is it?” she answered back.
Point to Mpenzi. I liked a girl with spirit.
The driver climbed up into the van. The cage was too large for him to manage on his own. He drafted a blond guy in to help. From the briefing Sir Archibald gave me I guessed this was his older son, Sam.
The two of them angled and edged the cage to the end giving me a cat’s eye view of my new duty station.
“Oh, he’s cute,” said Mpenzi putting a finger through the mesh to tickle me under the chin.
I’m a sucker for that. We were going to get along fine.
But, a young boy — younger son, Jimbo? — came around the end of the van with two, not one, but two huge German shepherds. They strained to have a good sniff at me, perhaps a good bite.
Mpenzi turned around and ordered them to sit. Thank goodness. I didn’t want hot dog breath all over me when I was enjoying my first breath of fresh air for hours.
“Can I see the waybill again, please,” asked Mpenzi. “I want to know where this cat has come from.”
Bad timing, I could have told her that.
The driver huffed and puffed. “Give us a chance, lady. Let me get the darned thing over to your front door.”
Sam and the driver deposited me and my cage on the pavement to the side of the steps leading up to the front door. Only then did he fetch his clipboard from the van and hand it to Mpenzi.
Of course, I had forgotten she couldn’t read very well. Sir Archibald had warned me. No problem. The family had coping strategies.
She passed it to young Jimbo who read out, “Sender: Sir Archibald Munro; Country of Origin: Middle Congo.”
“So, does it make sense, young woman? I’m running late and I still have a delivery to make.”
Mpenzi took the pen off him and scribbled on the form.
The driver strode back to his truck. Sam called out after him, “Hey, aren’t you going to help us get the cat and the cage inside?”
He swung round barely breaking his stride. “Door to door delivery, son, means just that.”
He hoisted himself back into the cab, fired up the engine, the brakes hissed off and he hauled the vehicle round in a tight turn. Five goes it took. The right front wheel missed my cage by half an inch. And he was off down the road to deliver those mawkish cockatoos.
*
Sir Archibald’s three children collapsed onto the step. Noting Jimbo’s attention had lapsed, the dogs took advantage and snuffled up against the mesh. I employed standard dog scaring tactics: puffed myself up, every hair standing on end, and snissed loudly. What I consider a combination of a snarl and a hiss, cat style.
“Jimbo, can’t you control the dogs?”
“I’m doing my best. They’re hot and thirsty and they aren’t sure about the cat.”
“Okay,” said Penzi taking charge — I decided I could use her nickname. “Put the dogs in the study and come back and help Sam and me get this thing into the house. We can manage it between the three of us.”
While she waited for Jimbo to return dogless to help carry my cage, Penzi stroked me again through the mesh. Good. She liked cats.
My cage became a palanquin and they carried me into the house. A brief discussion followed as to where to put my cage.
“It’ll have to go on the back verandah. I’ll take the cat out and bring it into the house.”
I muttered to myself. “Hey, I’m not an it. I’m a he.”
The kids opened the back door and staggered out with the cage. What a sight. Don’t say I’d come to live in a junk yard.
“What’s its name anyway?” asked Jimbo.
It was about time someone wondered about that.
Penzi handed the delivery docket to Sam.
“There’s nothing on the docket.”
I would have to help. I climbed the inside of the cage and raked my claws al
ong the top of the cage.
Sam twigged and found the metal file fixed there. Inside was my life history, medical notes and my name.
“It’s a male—”
It?
“His name is Felix.”
Of course that wasn’t my secret name. All cats have a secret name and mine is — sorry, it’s a secret.
“He’s three years old?”
In cat years, of course.
“It says he’s a Savannah.”
“What’s that?” asks Jimbo.
Penzi didn’t know, nor did Sam.
“We’ll Google it when we get him inside.”
Thank goodness I didn’t have to stay out there in that tip of a yard. Never seen such a mess. And what was that old fridge doing standing there? It stank.
It was good being cuddled by Penzi as she carried me inside. She smelled of newly cut roses. She fixed me a temporary bed, a large velvet cushion on top of a baby grand piano. Brave of them having a baby grand so close to the sea.
Jimbo fetched me a bowl of water and I lapped it up. I’d been in danger of dying of dehydration in that hot van. He set a plate of kibble down by me, but I was too jet lagged to eat. I gave my face a good wipe with my paws and settled down to watch my new protégés.
Jimbo opened up a laptop. Kids these days. “A Savannah is a special kind of cat. Verrrrrrry expensive. They cost thousands.”
“Here, let me see that,” said Sam pushing Jimbo out of the way. “He’s a hybrid cat.”
And that wasn’t all.
“He’s a cross between an ordinary cat and a wild serval cat from Africa. Wow!”
They all crowded round and stared at me.
“He has the most beautiful markings,” said Penzi. “His face is like a wild tabby and his spots are like a jaguar’s.”
Tabby indeed.
“And such green eyes. Bright green.”
“Glowing peridots,” said Penzi stroking me gently from head to tail.
I couldn’t help it. I had to purr. She had such a gentle touch.
She snatched her hand away.
Sam burst out laughing. “He sounds like a Harley Davidson.”
I couldn’t wait till they heard me meow. Baritone, pure Bublé, and I wasn’t bragging.
“Can we let the dogs back in?” asked Jimbo.
Penzi nodded, and I tensed up ready to psyche those German mutts if they gave me any trouble. They thought I was just a cat.
But Zig and Zag — I ask you, what silly names — did no more than sit by the piano gazing up at me. I tried to read their body language, but all I could smell was dog. Not my favorite odor.
Enough everyone. I needed to have a nap. Africa to Europe was one helluva journey for yours truly.
Oh, no sleep yet. Jimbo wanted to know how old I was in human years.
“Felix is twenty-six,” he called out.
Yes, I was the old man of the party.
My eyelids drooped. Going, going….
Jimbo began to giggle. Oh no! What now. I half opened my eyes. Jimbo was jumping about the room pointing at Penzi. What on earth was wrong with him?
Penzi took the words right out of my mouth. “Jimbo, for heaven’s sake, calm down. What’s wrong with you?”
“Penzi’s a witch. Penzi’s a witch.”
“Oh no, I’m not,” she said grabbing hold of him and tickling him till he cried for mercy.
“Do you take that back?”
“No, no,” he said bent over double and laughing fit to burst. “You are a witch, so. You’ve got a cat now. Dad’s sent you a cat.”
I knew she was a witch, Sir Archibald told me. But I wasn’t that kind of cat. I was no witch’s familiar. I was a person in my own right, a bodyguard, and proud of it.
*
Penzi showed me where the cat flap was out into the back yard. Useful but I didn’t plan to spend any more time out there than I had to. The family went to bed leaving me on top of the piano and the dogs in the kitchen. It didn’t take the dogs long to come creeping through to the living room. They sat one on either side of the piano stool staring at me. I played it cool and stared back until Zig, or maybe it was Zag, put his/her paws up on the stool ready to jump up onto the piano.
Time for a shift I thought. That’d scare the living daylights out of them. But as I geared myself up mentally they twisted round and ran for the back window where they stood on their hind legs and scratched the glass. What were they so excited about? They had forgotten all about me so I jumped down onto the floor, sauntered across to join them and jumped up onto the window sill.
Rats. Hundreds of rats. The yard was full of them. Nasty dirty creatures. A threat to the children. I had to do something…and quick. I dashed for the cat flap and zoomed through skidding across the verandah and banging my head on one of the pillars. The thump turned every rodent eye my way. While I lay there dazed the rats regrouped into attack formation. Whiskers twitching and noses wriggling they inched their way towards me, their eyes shining red in the dark.
I had to do something and so I switched up. Cat to leopard in a split second. Whoosh! I flicked my claws. Skedaddle went the rats but not fast enough. Left, right, up in the air, I batted them with my heavy paws, killing each one with one blow. Such a squeaking and a scrabbling but no one escaped my wrath. How dared they?
Final count: Rats - Nil; Felix - 197. Now the family would be safe from vermin.
Time for a well earned rest and a sip of Laphroaig, my favorite scotch whisky. Slipping my hunting flask back into my pocket, I shifted down to cat again, washed myself and dived back through the cat flap expecting to have to fight off the dogs — their curiosity at least, their enmity at most — but they greeted me with doggy smiles and a wild wagging of tails. They woofed at me softly and escorted me one on either side back to my bed on top of the piano.
It was clear, we were a team.
Chapter 12
“Penzi,” Jimbo called up to me next morning. “Come and see.”
An astonishing sight met my eyes when I ran downstairs. The yard was full of dead rats. Hundreds of them.
“It must have been Felix,” said Jimbo running up to Felix and stroking him.
“It’s more likely they all died from a disease,” Sam said.
I stared at Felix wishing he could talk. “Dad did say he was our bodyguard.”
Sam laughed. “You can’t be serious. One cat couldn’t kill all those rats.”
Felix sat up and began to preen his whiskers. Zig and Zag ran into the room and sat down in front of the piano wagging their tails.
“See,” said Jimbo. “The dogs agree with me.”
Felix slid down to the floor and, accompanied by the dogs, made a stately progress into the kitchen where he sat and meowed for his breakfast, changing to a purr when I reached for the kibble. He tucked into his food while we three Munros laid the table. Kibble finished he jumped up onto one of the chairs and looked from me to Sam to Jimbo and back again.
“Funny cat, that,” said Sam. “He looks as if he’s attending a meeting and waiting for the chairman to speak.”
I fished the toast out of the toaster, dropped it onto my plate and sat down at the table. I’d forgotten the Marmite. If I’d been on my own I would have bent my kinetic powers on the jar, but as the boys were there I had to get up and fetch it.
When I took my seat again I said, “I think Felix is psychic. Cats are you know. He’s right. I was going to suggest we go over what we know so we can decide what to do next.”
Sam served himself to a helping of Weetabix. “We know the professionals work on the motive, means and opportunity of the suspects. We should do that. First, I’ll make a list of suspects. Fetch me a pen and a pad from the study please, Jimbo.”
“Why me? Why can’t you get it?”
Felix put his paw on the table next to Jimbo’s place and meowed.
“All right then.” Jimbo slid down off his chair and did as he’d been asked.
Sam put down his spoo
n and picked up the pen. “Suspects? Who’ve we got so far?”
I went first. “Edna’s French boyfriend.”
“His ex-girlfriend,” added Jimbo.
“Edna’s parents,” said Sam writing them down.
“You can’t really think her parents killed her?” I asked.
“Why not? Most killers are closely related to the victim. Anyone else?”
“That’s all we’ve thought of so far. It’s not many is it? Just three.”
Sam poured milk on his cereal. “I’m sure we’ll think of some more as we continue with our investigation.”
Felix meowed again. I poured him some milk in a saucer. “We have to find out if any of the suspects had the opportunity to kill Edna. That means checking to see if they have alibis.”
“Dubois told us the means was rohypnol and anyone could obtain it so that piece of information isn’t helpful in deciding who’s guilty. What about motive?”
“We’ll have to investigate each of the three suspects, find out where they were when the murder was committed and see if we can come up with a motive. The obvious motive for the boyfriend’s ex is jealousy and revenge. Also, were there any problems between Edna and her boyfriend?”
“And the parents?” Jimbo reminded us.
I recapped what we had to do. “The means are certain — that drug. We have to check for opportunity and see what we can find out about possible motives. However, as soon as breakfast is over I want you both to put on a pair of rubber gloves and help me pick up the dead rats and put them in bin bags. If it’s as hot today as it was yesterday, the stench will be appalling if we don’t get those bodies cleaned up. After that we must wrap up the mirror so it’s ready to take up to the château.”
*
We were all about to have a nap after lunch as a relief from the heat when the phone rang. It was Camion, the driver, to say he could come round at three to collect the mirror for Izzy and take it up to the château. I rang her immediately and caught her before she took her siesta. She said that was fine and reminded me that she expected us all for tea.
