The Trouble with Cupid

by Carolyn Haines

  Trouble had understood quite well.

  She dusted the counter and the bookshelves with the feather duster Amelia left for her. It had dusted this shop for many, many years. She hoped it would dust it for many more. Book sales were not as brisk as they once were. Many huge bookstores had fallen; others were teetering on the edge of failure. She was lucky to be here in Wetumpka where people still loved to read and loved to buy books they could hold in their hands.

  Tammy enjoyed her e-readers and understood their place in the book world. The devices were devilishly convenient. But for her, the feel of a book in her hands, the smell of the pages, the ability to put it down and know that when she returned, her place would still be where she left it were important. No batteries, no charging cords, no lack of service would interfere with her reading pleasure

  Classified as Murder was still on the table between the chairs. She grabbed it as she dusted both the chairs and the table and tucked it under her arm. She wasn’t a neat freak, but she couldn’t keep up with her life unless everything was where it should be. A book out of place would gather other books out of place, the way a blouse left on a chair quickly gathered other garments. Pretty soon, she’d have so many books out of place, she’d have to take a Sunday to put them all away.

  She was headed back to the front room when Jerry stepped through the back door and startled her. She swung toward him. Jerry’s brown eyes widened. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You caught me off guard.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. I can come back later.”

  “Oh no,” she said with a smile. “You’re right on time, as usual. We have a lot to do today, so it’s good you’re here.”

  He closed the door behind him, put his things away against the far wall and came back to the box he’d been cataloging the day before.

  She managed to get a sandwich around two p.m., but when Jerry wished her a good night at five, she had to check her watch to believe it was time to close.

  When she’d locked the store, and turned the open sign to closed, she slid her shoes off and fell into one of the rocking chairs, which was where she was when Aiden knocked. She opened the door.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself,” he said. He’d apparently gone home after his shift and changed clothes because he wasn’t in uniform. His blue pullover softened his eyes. His jeans were dark blue and he wore a pair of cowboy boots. The effect was quite different from his in-uniform appearance. Tammy found herself feeling warm.

  “You ready to work on our puzzle again?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ll get the white board.”

  When she returned, Aiden was leaned back in his rocking chair, with his left foot resting on his right knee.

  She turned the white board around and set it on the easel, then joined him.

  Aiden’s silence brought her around. “Why didn’t you tell me you figured it out?” he asked.

  Tammy followed his gaze to the white board and barely managed not to let her mouth drop.

  The letters they’d worked on for so long last night were arranged in words:

  DELIVERY AT SIX ON VALENTINE NIGHT

  “I didn’t,” she managed. “I haven’t touched it since we put it away last night.”

  “Then who did that?” Aiden captured her gaze and held it.

  “I don’t know.”

  Was there anyone here but you?”

  “Jerry, but he was busy with his books all day. I don’t think he left the table except for bathroom breaks. He ate somewhere else.” She considered the board. “I turned it to the wall last night, Aiden. It was in the exact spot tonight. Nobody could have rearranged those letters without turning the board around. No one but…”

  She’d barely finished those words when Trouble leapt into her lap. She brushed a hand across his head. “Jerry doesn’t seem like a word guy. He’s a very nice man and I’m sure very good at many things. I just don’t think words are his thing.” She managed to avoid the very southern and very telling, “bless his heart,” by digging her fingernails into her palms.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Aiden said. “But if he didn’t, who did?”

  * * *

  Aiden’s gaze is on my face, waiting, I must assume, for me to confirm that I solved their puzzle. I made the effort based solely on my trust for these two humans. Experience has confirmed their trustworthiness among a species often lacking in that valuable trait. I’m afraid in most cases, a feline who can spell would find himself in a laboratory with electrodes attached to his head.

  Many of my abilities must never be revealed to anyone other than Tammy and Aiden, but it had been quite obvious to me these two were going to take so long unscrambling the message, the delivery would be made before they knew it was coming.

  I must admit the unscrambling was difficult even using the coloured letters. There were simply too many letters to conveniently rearrange. It wasn’t until I decided Valentine was one of the words and six seemed right for the x, that the solution began to reveal itself.

  Special though these two may be, they require frequent reminders that I am, indeed, a feline and not a small furry human. To reassure them, I could throw up a bit of my dinner on the floor, but that’s extreme. Instead, I shall curl up in Tammy’s lap and do a thorough wash of my fur.

  Just like any ordinary feline.

  * * *

  Aiden knelt before the white board with his head cocked to one side in a perfect thinking pose. Tammy was satisfied Trouble had unscrambled the letters, although the fact that he’d done what she and Aiden could not was sort of embarrassing. Having a cat who could read skated on the edge of strange; having one who could unscramble letters better than you could only be described as bizarre. She glanced at Trouble. He was an amazing animal; had done things over the months that no cat had ever done before. Things she was careful never to speak of, not even to her closest and best friends. She and Trouble could keep those secrets between them.

  But . . . she watched him clean his coat, his little pink tongue darting in and out of his mouth. Trouble lifted his back leg and stretched long to clean his toes.

  Tammy couldn’t contain the laugh that bubbled from her.

  “What?” Aiden asked, turning to stare at her.

  She gestured at Trouble. “Sometimes I forget Trouble is a cat.”

  “I can see why,” Aiden said with a laugh of his own. “But right now, he’s definitely a cat, and one who seems to think he’s covered in dirt.”

  Tammy glanced down at the cat, suddenly worried their conversation might hurt his feelings, but Trouble was unconcernedly now cleaning the fur under his right hind leg. She brushed his head. “He is a special cat.”

  “He is, but it’s hard to believe he unscrambled these letters. I think, as unlikely as it seems, it must have been Jerry.”

  Tammy didn’t argue with Aiden. He’d been quite willing to accept Trouble’s specialness all along. She could hardly blame him for not wanting to believe Trouble could do what they could not. After all, his success felt a little less than comfortable even to her. She carried the white board to the back room, but she didn’t turn it to the wall. She might find time tomorrow to ask Jerry if he’d unscrambled the letters, just to cover all the bases. “So, there will be a delivery at six on Valentine’s night, but a delivery of what?” she said. “And to where?”

  Chapter 5

  As I’ve said, felines are a subtle lot who can slip out of human housing in a heartbeat. Something is being delivered tomorrow night, something important enough to cost a chap his life. Something important enough so Tammy has been injured, slightly injured, true, but the Tammys of this world should never be deliberately injured.

  Logic says the biped who initially purloined Classified as Murder is at the center of this mystery. It’s our misfortune he is no longer available for conversation. We are left to focus on the few clues he’s left behind.

  The other suspect can be assumed to be alive. If the delivery is slated for
Wetumpka, this man is still here.

  Somewhere.

  I’ve observed Jerry. He is slow moving even for a humanoid. When he opens the door at mid-day, I slip through and am on my way before he closes it. For all the hype about canines and their sense of smell, my nose is more sensitive than any dog’s. The biped who attacked Tammy had a distinctive odor, not unpleasant, even to me for whom smells are often unbearable. I will use my nose along with my other senses to ferret out this violent fellow.

  The biped’s smell reaches me seconds after I begin my search, a fortunate turn of events. He is nearby, but not directly in my path. I cross the road. The smell grows stronger. As I near a seafood restaurant, his scent intensifies beneath the smell of fish.

  I have him!

  Many biped locations will reject any effort on my part to enter, particularly where food is concerned as if I might leap onto the tables and nibble the food like some buffoon without breeding or culture. Insulting as it is, it is something to consider when selecting a course of action.

  I find a warm corner and curl up for a nap. My nose will wake me easily when my target exits the restaurant.

  I wake practically choking on the man’s smell because he is right beside me. I rise and stretch to loosen the tendons in case I need to avoid capture or injury. I am turning to follow the biped when Jerry steps onto the sidewalk.

  I fall into a deeper stretch.

  The stranger turns. “See you later.”

  “Don’t worry,” Jerry says. “We’ll get her.”

  “Get” whom? Tammy? My claws tighten at the thought, tighten again when I consider that Jerry is often in the Book Basket alone with Tammy. Jerry retreats toward the book store. I trot behind him and try to devise a reliable method of warning Tammy.

  * * *

  Tammy looked up from her accounting software as Jerry closed the back door.

  “Have a good lunch?” She and Jerry seldom chatted because each of them had so much to do in an ordinary day, but politeness was a part of Tammy’s DNA. Asking how one’s lunch went was an important oil to smooth any relationship, even employer/employee.

  “Very nice, ma’am. Thank you.”

  She stepped into the back room, pointed at the white board. “Do you know anything about this? Deputy Waters and I tried to unscramble the message night before last, but couldn’t. I left the white board here overnight. Last night, we found it unscrambled as you see it now. Did you unscramble the words, perhaps?”

  “No, ma’am. I don’t think I could have.” He sounded sincere enough, but Tammy hadn’t missed the widening of his eyes when she showed him the board. These words meant something to Jerry.

  Trouble wove himself around her legs, sliding his velvet body first across their fronts and then returning for a nice pass against their backs. She picked him up. “I suspect you want your lunch now,” she said while she stroked his fur.

  Trouble’s throat rumbled.

  She put a handful of delicately broiled shrimp in his bowl and freshened his water. Trouble never complained about anything, perhaps because of her efforts to make sure he always had what he wanted. When she’d completed her chores, she headed for the front room, but Trouble, who should have been devouring his lunch, was instead standing in the doorway, completely blocking her path.

  “What is wrong with you?” she said as she tried gently to move him aside with her foot. The cat seemed to weigh a hundred pounds. “Trouble!” she said, not bothering to hide her irritation. “Lots of work in there for me. Now, move.” This time, she used a bit of force against his side.

  Trouble moved with a deep grunt.

  “Don’t complain,” she said as she entered the front room. “Your lunch awaits.”

  For a few minutes, Trouble left her alone, but when he returned to the front room, he leapt into her lap with such force, he knocked her sideways. She caught him so he didn’t have to dig his claws in to stabilize himself. “What is the deal, big boy? You had plenty to eat.” Just to be sure, she checked his food bowl. Empty and licked clean. “So, you’re not hungry.” She checked his water bowl. Still full of clean water.

  Once again, he blocked her exit from the room. Instead of moving him, she studied him. Trouble communicated in many ways, including verbally as he’d just demonstrated with his grumbling. Another method was to behave in unusual ways, like blocking the door or leaping into her lap like an undisciplined kitten.

  He was trying to tell her something. Since the food and water bowls were good and his litter box was sparklingly clean as well, and he didn’t want her to leave the back room, this communication had something to do with that room.

  Which told her little unless he’d decided she should catalogue books instead of completing her mid-month calculations.

  During her musing, Trouble kept his gaze directly on hers. Tammy looked around the room for something out of place, but except that Jerry’s shoulders were stiff as he worked on his books, everything was normal.

  She took a tentative step. Trouble moved back, but not out of the way. Instead, he turned, lifted his black tail high and walked to Jerry where he dropped into a sit and peered at her over one shoulder.

  Jerry. Okay. She suspected him, too, but there was little she could do about it right now.

  With a shake of her head, she went back to her books, but she noticed when Trouble went to his fluffy bed. She also heard him grumble low in his throat again.

  * * *

  The day passed in a blur of figures. Tammy closed her computer and stretched.

  “Good night, ma’am. See you tomorrow.”

  “Good night, Jerry. Have a great evening.”

  “You, too.”

  She grabbed her coat. “Let’s go, Trouble.” He was at the back door, black tail twitching, head up. “Trouble?” They always went out the front door, but as Tammy studied him, she decided Trouble was right. Tonight, they should go out the back door and see where Jerry was headed.

  She went back through the shop, turned the open sign to closed and locked the door. Her key also fitted the back-door lock.

  She didn’t see Jerry, but Trouble seemed to know the way. He led her down the street toward the river, moving fast enough so she had to trot to keep up. His tail, dark as it was, led her forward. It helped that he was moving in a straight line and not turning corners. About a block from the river, he waited for her. She stopped beside him. He rolled onto her feet and lay there like a dying animal.

  She swallowed her initial irritation and decided he meant her to stay where she stood. The problem was they were exposed at this location. She lifted the cat and moved behind a tree. From that vantage point, she would be invisible once full darkness descended, but she could still see what happened on the riverbank.

  Seconds later, a man came up from the river. His body shape was familiar enough to tell her it was Jerry. Not more than a minute later, another man joined Jerry. This man’s body shape was also familiar, but Tammy couldn’t quite place him. She glanced at her phone. Five thirty. Aiden was to pick her up at seven.

  Thirty long, cold minutes later, a light bloomed far down the river, a dim light, but clear in the darkness. Trouble, who’d been stretched along the ground like a lion at rest, rose and pointed himself at the light like a bloodhound. Tammy kept her gaze on it as it moved up river toward them.

  “Delivery at six on Valentine night,” the coded message had said. She glanced once more at her cell phone. Five fifty. They were right on time. She glanced around for Jerry and his companion, but both men had disappeared.

  “Come on, Trouble,” she whispered as she left the shelter of the tree. She ran doubled over. Trouble trotted with her, his body visibly quivering.

  She dropped to her belly and wormed her way to the top of the grade, but all she saw was the river bank. There was no sign of either Jerry or his companion. The light from down river was near enough now she could make out the boat, a big cruiser with a high foredeck.

  The part of the river she was watchi
ng had no dock. The boat dropped anchor mid-river, launched a smaller boat over its side and dropped a rope ladder. The pilot of the smaller boat kept it near the big one by holding onto the rope ladder, but even so, the smaller boat clanged against its big brother.

  Figures, slight built and wispy, slid over the side of the big boat and climbed down until they could drop into the smaller one. Below her, a bird called, not a nightingale, not a whip-poor-will, but a robin, who to her knowledge never spoke at night. Tammy scanned the riverbank again, but if anyone was there, they managed to remain invisible.

  When the last of the wispy figures made it safely into the smaller boat, the pilot turned it toward shore. Tammy judged his trajectory. He would land nearby. For a moment, she considered returning to the relative safety of the trees, but as fast as the small boat was moving, she didn’t have time.

  Trouble remained beside her, which she took as his agreement with her decision.

  As the smaller boat neared, the sound of the oars slapping the water reached her. The pilot was running without lights and without a motor.

  A long chill chased itself down her spine.

  The bow crunched as it slid along the shallower water near shore. The pilot leapt to land and hauled the boat up using a long rope attached to its bow. When he had it secured, he stepped back.

  The wispy figure nearest the bow stepped out, moving slowly, head down, shoulders hunched. A second person followed, its hair long enough for Tammy to discern these were women, ultra-thin, slow-moving women. On the bank, they huddled together. Given the scant clothing they wore, they were surely freezing.

  Movement from her left brought Tammy’s head around. Jerry and the other man were running toward the women. “Stop right there,” the man with Jerry yelled, and now Tammy realized this was her attacker. “Don’t you move a foot, brother.”

  Tammy got to her knees. Before she could climb to her feet, however, Trouble landed on her back like a bowling ball. “Okay, okay,” she whispered as she dropped back to her belly. “Get off, already.” He dropped to the ground and stood pointing at the scene to their right.