Six Cats a Slayin'

by Miranda James

  “Yes, with a response from me. Poor child sounds upset, but hopefully this will reassure him or her.” I started to get up.

  “No, I’ll take it back.” Stewart disappeared into the hall but returned quickly. “All done. Are you going to lie in wait for this kid?”

  “Off and on,” I said. “I don’t intend to spend the entire day watching the front door. The child might not come back until tonight, and I would have wasted an entire day sitting there.”

  “True.” Stewart poured coffee into his favorite mug. He took a chair to my left. “Haskell and I can keep an eye out for someone lurking in the bushes while we work on the cage.”

  I chuckled. “Speaking of lurking in the bushes—last night after I said good-bye to Helen Louise, I was about to walk back into the garage when I thought I saw something moving out of the corner of my eye.”

  “Near the front door?”

  “I wasn’t sure,” I said. “I stopped and looked, but everything was still. I figured I had imagined it and came on inside. But now I’m thinking that what I saw was the child sneaking away after putting that note on the door.”

  “Possibly,” Stewart said. “You didn’t see anything on the door at the time?”

  “Perhaps if I’d really been looking at the door, I might have,” I said, “but I wasn’t. Sooner or later I will find out who this child is.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Stewart had a sip of coffee. “Haskell should be down soon, and we’ll get started on the cage.”

  “I really appreciate this,” I said. “I’ll cook breakfast for you.”

  “That’s kind of you, but I’m going to be having a cold breakfast.” Stewart grimaced. “My cholesterol is up, and I need to lay off the bacon and sausage for a while. So it’s a bowl of granola, yogurt, and fruit for me this morning.”

  “What about Haskell? Is he having a cold breakfast, too?”

  “Yes, he’s going to have the same, although I suspect he may want toast as well.” He smiled fondly. “He does like his buttered toast and jelly.”

  “Don’t we all,” I replied. Not to mention buttered biscuits, cheese grits, scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage. Maybe country ham, too. I shook my head, thinking guiltily of my own cholesterol levels, always a little above the norm.

  “What’s wrong?” Stewart asked.

  “Food cravings.” I laughed. “The minute anyone starts talking about healthy food, I immediately think of all the things for breakfast that you shouldn’t eat every day. Which I do.”

  “There’s plenty of granola, yogurt, and fruit,” Stewart said, his tone bland. “Feel free to help yourself.”

  “Thanks. I might just do that.” I pushed back from the table. “Before I eat anything, I’m going back upstairs to feed the kittens and clean their litter boxes. Then I’ll have a shower. Diesel, do you want to come with me?”

  The cat, who had evidently ignored the poodle long enough that Dante had finally given up, meowed. I gathered the cans of food and the bag of dry crunchies and placed them on a tray I dug out from one of the cabinets.

  “See you in a bit,” I said to Stewart, who nodded.

  Diesel raced up the stairs ahead of me. He seemed to know our destination. When I reached the second floor, I saw him disappear into Laura’s old bedroom.

  I made sure to shut the bedroom door to limit the possibilities if any of the kittens escaped from the bathroom. Diesel stood ready in front of the bathroom door, from under which I could see small paws protruding. Diesel growled and batted at the paws, and they were quickly withdrawn.

  Balancing the tray on one hand, I opened the door enough for Diesel to slip in. After a few seconds I slipped into the bathroom, too. As I had guessed, the kittens had swarmed over Diesel. My boy had been smart enough to lure them about three feet away from the door.

  I fed the kittens and gave them fresh water before I attended to the litter boxes. When I finished, I spent a few minutes playing with them, holding and stroking each one in turn. Ramses wiggled the entire time I held him, impatient to get down and join in the fray with his siblings. The others seemed to enjoy the attention I gave them.

  I left Diesel in the bathroom with the kittens, promising to return after my shower. He appeared to be happy staying with the active quintet.

  Twenty minutes later I returned—showered, shaved, and dressed in more appropriate daytime attire. I called to Diesel before I opened the door, and he warbled in response. I opened the door wide enough for him to ease out, and he did so. I managed to close the door before any of the inmates escaped.

  The sun had begun to rise, I noticed as Diesel and I walked into the kitchen. I heard sounds of activity coming from the direction of the living room but decided that I wanted my breakfast before I went to see how the cage was coming along.

  I contemplated yogurt, granola, and fruit, but not for long. I suppressed the little voice that was urging me to follow Stewart’s example. I prepared cheese grits, a couple of slices of buttered wheat toast, and two sausage patties. Diesel sniffed appreciatively, but he would be disappointed. No sausage for him. They were too highly seasoned.

  By the time I finished eating and drinking another cup of coffee, I could see sunlight streaming through the kitchen window. The weather forecast had promised a clear, chilly day. That was good, because if everything went as planned, Sean and Frank, my son-in-law, would arrive at nine to start installing Christmas lights on the front of the house. Frank, with his experience in stagecraft and set design, had drawn up a tasteful plan for illumination. Had it not been for his enthusiasm and Sean’s willingness to assist, I probably wouldn’t have bothered. Time enough for that when baby Charlie and Rosie were old enough to enjoy the holiday.

  After clearing up the small mess I had made cooking and eating breakfast, I headed through the hall to the living room, accompanied by Diesel. We stopped in the doorway to survey the progress.

  My volunteer carpenters had put down a drop cloth to protect the hardwood floor. From what I could see, Haskell and Stewart had completed one segment of the frame and were now working on the second one.

  “You’re making good progress,” I said.

  Haskell glanced up. “It’s not a complicated design, but it should be sturdy enough to do what you want.”

  Diesel padded over to inspect the completed segment, for the moment propped against the wall. He sniffed it, then prodded it with a paw. He looked my way and chirped, as if to tell me he approved of the work. Haskell and Stewart continued to work, oblivious to the cat’s actions.

  “Is there anything I can get you?” I asked. “Water? Coffee? Juice?”

  “No, thanks,” Stewart said. “Soon as we finish this bit we’re going to take a break and have breakfast.”

  “Okay. I’ll be around, though, if you need me,” I said. “Come on, Diesel. We’ll be in the den for a while.”

  I retrieved my laptop, and the cat and I got comfortable on the couch. While I caught up on e-mail, Diesel snoozed beside me. I had nearly finished with e-mail when my cell phone rang. I set the laptop aside because the caller was Melba. I knew the conversation could last awhile.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “Morning, Charlie,” Melba replied, sounding perky.

  After an exchange of the usual pleasantries, Melba said, “I got to thinking about Billy Albritton.”

  “What about him?” I asked, puzzled.

  “About why he kind of brushed me off,” Melba said. “I got to thinking about it last night, and it seemed to me he didn’t mind talking to me—he’s always been flirty, you know—until I brought up Geraldine Albritton.”

  “Obviously you think that means he knows something about her and didn’t want to let on that he did,” I said. “Right?”

  “Right. He’s slick, all right, else I would have caught it then, but at the time I believed him when he said he
was in a hurry.” Melba laughed. “I’m not going to let him get away with it, though.”

  I tried not to chuckle. “What are you going to do? Show up at his house and bang on the door until he lets you in?”

  “If I thought that was what it would take to get a real answer out of him, I’d do it.” Melba’s tone held a touch of frost. “You know I would.”

  “Yes, you sure would,” I replied.

  “I’m going by his appliance store first thing Monday morning,” she said. “I don’t think he’s there on Saturday. I’ll insist that I have to talk to him, and only him, about replacing my washer and dryer. If he thinks he’s going to get some money out of me, he’ll be more willing to talk.”

  “Fond of a dollar, is he?” I didn’t know the councilman myself.

  Melba’s snort resounded in my ear. “You better bet he is. Like all the Albrittons. Most of them started out poor, and some of them still are. The ones like Billy who’ve managed to make a few bucks hang on to them as hard as they can.”

  “I have no doubt you’ll wear him down,” I said.

  “I’ll let you know,” she replied. “In the meantime, you mind if I come over and see those babies you’re fostering?”

  “Sure, come on,” I said. “Are you thinking about adopting one?”

  “I might,” Melba said. “There’ll never be another Diesel, but it might be nice to have a cat of my own around the house.”

  “I think you’d love having a cat.”

  Diesel meowed loudly.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked.

  Melba chuckled. “I did. Tell that sweet boy I’ll be seeing him in about twenty minutes. That okay?”

  “Sure, see you soon.” I ended the call. “Your friend Melba’s coming over to see you and the kittens.”

  Diesel meowed again. He knew Melba’s name.

  “Come on, let’s go to the kitchen and make some fresh coffee for Melba.” I rose from the couch. Diesel oozed off onto the floor, rolled onto his back, and stretched. I laughed and headed out the door.

  I took a detour to the living room to let Stewart and Haskell know that company was arriving soon. They acknowledged my announcement but didn’t look up from their work. The second frame was complete, and they were now stapling the wire mesh into place.

  Diesel met me in the kitchen. While I rinsed the coffeepot and prepared the maker for another round, he disappeared into the utility room. I heard crunching noises when I turned off the water.

  By the time the doorbell rang to announce Melba’s arrival, the coffee was ready. Diesel scampered ahead of me to the door to greet the visitor.

  When I opened the door, Melba looked at me with a frown. “I just saw the weirdest thing. I thought I saw a child’s head sticking up out of the shrubbery.”

  NINE

  I stepped past Melba to get a clear view of the front of the house. “Which side?”

  Melba pointed to my left. I stepped onto the lawn and began searching the shrubbery. I continued around the side of the house and into the backyard, but with no results. The child had disappeared.

  Melba and Diesel waited for me at the door. “Did you see him?” she asked.

  I shook my head, frustrated. “No, not a sign. Come on in.” I stopped to look at the door, having remembered the note I had left there. I was not surprised to see that it was gone, tack and all.

  I motioned for Melba to precede me. Once we were all inside I shut the door and led the way into the kitchen. “I made us fresh coffee. Let’s have some, and you can tell me exactly what you saw.”

  “All right.” Melba chose a chair while I poured coffee for us. Diesel settled on the floor by her chair. I knew she liked cream and sugar in her coffee, and I set those on the table.

  While she stirred her coffee, she said, “It was when I was pulling in to the driveway. I happened to glance over toward the front of the house, and I thought I saw something moving in the shrubs. I stopped the car a moment, and then this head popped up. I blinked, and then it was gone. The kid must have realized I was in the driveway and ducked down.”

  “Anything descriptive you can tell me about the head you saw?” I asked.

  “Darkish hair on the short side,” Melba said. “Looked like a girl’s cut to me, but I can’t be sure.” She sipped at her coffee. “This is good. Are you going to check for footprints?”

  I laughed. “I’m not Sherlock Holmes. What would I do with footprints?”

  Melba shrugged. “That’s what they used to do in old mystery movies. You could make a plaster cast.”

  “If I had plaster on hand, I could,” I said. “But I’m not in the habit of keeping it in stock.”

  “It was just a suggestion. You don’t have to sound so snarky.” Melba scowled at me. “You’re the one who goes around solving mysteries, not me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, penitent. “I didn’t mean to make fun of you. It simply struck me as funny. Can you really see me getting down in the dirt in the flower bed, pouring plaster and whatever else you do to get a cast?”

  Melba laughed. “Well, no, I reckon not. I bet your knees aren’t any happier than mine doing that kind of thing.”

  “No, they’re not.” I grimaced at the thought. “Okay, dark-haired child, probably a girl. Did you get any impression of height or age?”

  Melba considered my question while she drank her coffee. She shook her head. “No, not strong enough to be helpful. I didn’t see enough of her to judge. I couldn’t tell whether she was crouching at the window or standing upright.”

  “How about the size of the head?” I was grasping for anything that could help identify the child.

  “Wasn’t real big, so I’d say a younger kid maybe.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I figure ten years old at the most.” I told her about the note I had put on the door for the child. “She had obviously already taken it down, but if she was looking in the window of the living room, she might not have read the note yet.”

  “Does it matter?” Melba said.

  “No, I don’t suppose it does. She’ll read it at some point.”

  “Have you thought of rigging up a camera there by the living room windows? You could probably get video of the kid and be able to identify her from that,” Melba said.

  “I hadn’t really considered it,” I replied, “though I suppose I should think about it. I wouldn’t have a clue how to do it myself.”

  “I bet you Frank would know how. Sean might, too. They both know a lot about computers and wiring and things like that.”

  “True.” I drained my coffee and set the cup aside. “They’ll both be here at ten to put up Christmas lights on the front of the house.”

  Melba got up to refill her cup. “You haven’t done that before. Why’d you decide to do it this year?” She returned to her chair. “Surely not because most of your neighbors do it every year.”

  “Certainly not for that reason.” I had never gone in for competitions with neighbors over holiday decorations. “The family suggested it because we used to do it in Houston when Laura and Sean were young. I guess now that they both have children of their own, they want to revive the tradition.”

  We finished our coffee, and Diesel and I took Melba up to see the kittens. After half an hour with them, Melba looked like she was ready to adopt all of them. She seemed particularly taken with Ramses. He easily claimed first place in the personality stakes among the five, but the adorability factor stood consistently high. By the time we left the kittens, I think Melba had already begun planning for adoption.

  “Until we know where they came from,” I reminded her, “I can’t give them away. I don’t imagine the child will be able to keep any of them, frankly, given the situation, but things could change.”

  “I know,” Melba said, “but I’m an optimist.” She gave me a quick hug, and Diesel a rub
on the head, at the front door. We watched until she was in her car, and then I stepped back inside and shut the door.

  I checked my watch. About three-quarters of an hour before Sean and Frank were due to arrive. Diesel and I spent a few minutes in the living room, watching Haskell and Stewart. They had the mesh on both segments now, and Haskell had begun work on the door. They were making such rapid progress, I knew it wouldn’t be long before we could bring the kittens back downstairs.

  Diesel stayed with them to supervise, and I went upstairs to retrieve my book. I had been in a historical-mystery mood lately, and I was revisiting an old friend, Ellis Peters’s medieval monk, Brother Cadfael. I had already reread the first five in the series and was now midway through the sixth, and perhaps my favorite, The Virgin in the Ice.

  Back in the den, I settled down with the book. When Sean and Frank arrived, I was deeply immersed in twelfth-century England. I would have preferred not to have been interrupted because I was near the end, so it was with considerable reluctance that I put down the book to go over the design plan one more time with Sean and Frank.

  “Everything is in the garage,” I told them after I had once more assured Frank I liked his design. “Are you sure you don’t need me?”

  “We can handle it, Dad.” Sean looked tired, but I knew better than to comment on that. Other than asking how Alex and Rosie were doing this morning, I didn’t inquire further.

  Frank, after a quick sideways glance at Sean, said, “Laura and little Charlie have gone over there to visit while we’re working here. Laura’s going to help Alex catch up on laundry and a few things like that.”

  I nodded. “Sounds like a good plan.”

  Sean looked away. I gathered from his body language and his silence that he hadn’t made any further headway in getting Alex to agree about hiring a nanny. I felt bad for Sean and Alex, and I prayed that this wasn’t going to cause significant harm to their relationship. Surely Alex would see sense before much longer; otherwise she was going to end up in the hospital.