Six Cats a Slayin'

by Miranda James

  “Maybe. It’s not funny, to me anyway,” Gerry said. “It will soon be fixed, and I can concentrate on the party.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “I gather that was the landscaping company you were talking to when I walked up.”

  “Yes, they’re going to hustle and get it done by noon, if they know what’s good for them,” she said. “Look, why don’t you come in for some coffee? I haven’t even had my first cup yet.”

  I started to reply that I couldn’t, that I had coffee waiting for me at home, but she had already turned away to go back inside—simply assuming that I wouldn’t refuse the invitation, I reckoned. I wasn’t thrilled to be going into her house this early, especially with neighbors watching, but I felt bad for her. She obviously wanted company. I followed her into the house, already considering how long it would be before everyone in the neighborhood thought we were having an affair.

  Gerry walked down the hall to the back of the house and into her kitchen. I stopped in the doorway and gawked at the room. Everything was black, white, red, and chrome. The appliances were new, all maraschino-cherry red. The new floor sported a dizzying, swirling, asymmetrical pattern of black and white porcelain squares, and I found myself almost mesmerized by it. The kitchen table and chairs had a fifties-diner retro style, with the chair seats covered in fabric to match the appliances. A large island occupied a great deal of space, but the kitchen was big enough that it didn’t seem crowded by the island.

  Gerry stood in front of a coffeemaker far more complicated-looking and expensive than mine. The rich scent of the coffee tantalized me, and I couldn’t wait to try it. Gerry poured a mug for me and then one for herself. “Cream, sugar, and sweeteners are on the table.” She opened a nearby drawer and withdrew a spoon.

  “Thanks.” I accepted the spoon and followed her to the table.

  She indicated the chair I should take, and once seated I helped myself to cream and sugar. She watched me intently as I took my first sip.

  The coffee had much more of a bite to it than my usual brew, spicy and strong, though it wasn’t unpleasant. The cream softened it enough to make it palatable to me.

  I could see she was waiting for my comment, and I obliged her. “Delicious.”

  Gerry smiled. “Glad you like it. I like my coffee the way I like my men. Hot and strong.” She drank more coffee.

  My face reddened. I felt it. Even I wasn’t dense enough to misunderstand her intent. I set my mug on the table and drew a breath while I tried to figure out how I was going to respond.

  All at once it struck me as funny, and I started laughing. Gerry appeared startled, but after a moment she grinned and laughed along with me. When the laughter ceased, I said, “I beg your pardon.”

  Gerry held up a hand to forestall what I planned to say next. “No need to apologize. That was truly cornball.” She snorted. “Hot and strong. What was I thinking?”

  “Well, I am flattered,” I replied, “but I’m happily involved in a relationship. I would never do anything to harm it.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Gerry said. “Who is it? Do I know her?”

  “I think you do,” I replied. “Helen Louise Brady. She owns the French bistro on the square.”

  Gerry nodded. “I’ve been in there several times. Great food. Looks like she does a lot of business. Tell me, does she own the building?”

  I had a sip of coffee before I answered. Why did she want to know? I wondered. Standard operating procedure for a Realtor, maybe. “Yes, she does.” I could have told her that Helen Louise owned several of the buildings around the square. Her father had been a shrewd investor, buying up properties in high-demand areas, and he had left everything to Helen Louise, his only child.

  “Good for her,” Gerry said. I expected more, but she lapsed into silence, staring at some point on the wall beyond my head.

  I decided to venture a question. “How long have you been in real estate? I found your flyer, of course, and I’ve seen your sign up at several houses around here.”

  “A few years,” she replied. “I don’t suppose you’re interested in selling your house, are you?”

  “No. Not at all,” I replied with a little more heat than I intended.

  Gerry didn’t seem to notice. “If you change your mind, let me know. What about your girlfriend? Will she be selling hers anytime soon?” She favored me with a slightly arch look.

  “We’re not planning to set up house together in the near future,” I replied, taken aback by what I considered an intrusive question.

  “Interesting,” she said, eyeing me over the rim of her mug as she sipped her coffee. Before I could frame a response to that ambiguous comment, she continued. “I hope you’re looking forward to tonight. I’m expecting a lot of people. I’m sure you’ll know most of them.”

  “Probably,” I said. “Everyone will be curious to see what you’ve done with this house.”

  Gerry’s lip curled. “No doubt. That ought to bring them here, if nothing else does.” She laughed. “They’re in for a surprise or two.”

  Her tone had an edge to it, I thought, almost a combative one. What was she planning to do tonight?

  “That should be interesting,” I replied, hoping that she would elaborate without my asking a more pointed question.

  She didn’t. Instead, she laughed again. “We’ll see.” She glanced at her phone when it vibrated on the table. She picked it up. “Excuse me, a message I have to respond to.”

  I watched her as, head down over the phone, she tapped on it with both thumbs the way I saw young people do. I had never mastered the trick, instead using one finger most of the time when I texted.

  I drained my mug and set it on the table. Time for me to go home, I decided. When Gerry put her phone aside after a couple more rounds of texting, I said as much and stood to leave. To my relief she didn’t insist that I stay for more coffee. She seemed more than happy for me to go.

  Gerry led me to the front door. “See you tonight,” she said.

  I smiled and nodded. “Looking forward to it.” She shut the door behind me, and I headed down the walk and across the street. As I neared my front door, I realized that I actually was looking forward to the party tonight. Gerry had piqued my curiosity over whatever surprises she planned to spring. If nothing else, I thought, the party certainly wouldn’t be dull.

  TWELVE

  I was in the kitchen when Helen Louise arrived at ten minutes to seven. Diesel must have heard the key turn in the lock, because he darted out of the room. He escorted her into the kitchen, trilling and chirping—no doubt telling her how gorgeous she looked in her new dress.

  I caught my breath looking at her. Her dress, she had told me during a phone conversation, was silk, but she hadn’t shared the color. A brilliant emerald green, the dress had simple but elegant lines and reached to mid-calf. The fit was ideal for her statuesque figure, and the color complemented her lustrous black hair and dark eyes beautifully. Low-heeled black pumps, a black clutch purse, and a black jade-and-gold necklace completed the ensemble.

  She stopped a couple of feet in front of me, awaiting my reaction. “Stunning,” I said. “Every other woman at the party will be ready to claw your eyes out for making them pale in comparison.”

  Helen Louise laughed. “Thank you. That is exactly the effect I was going for.” She moved closer to kiss me. Then she drew back and eyed me critically. “You look pretty stunning yourself. That black suit is my favorite, and how clever of you to wear a tie that complements my dress.”

  Startled, I glanced down at my tie. I didn’t remember which one I had chosen. Then I laughed. The swirling pattern of emerald green and black did complement her dress. “We’ll just have to let everyone think we coordinated our outfits.”

  Stewart walked into the kitchen along with Haskell. “Turn around and let me see the dress,” Stewart said.

 
Helen Louise turned to face the two men, and Stewart whistled appreciatively. “Absolute knockout,” he said. Haskell smiled broadly and nodded in agreement.

  “You two look pretty spiffy yourselves,” Helen Louise said. “Don’t you agree, Charlie?”

  Stewart and Haskell wore black suits similar to mine, with white shirts and brightly colored ties. I had to admit that, with their muscular frames and broad chests and shoulders, they looked more impressive in their well-fitted suits than I did in mine.

  I laughed. “I do, although if the three of us stand around together at the party, the other guests are liable to think we’re undertakers.”

  Haskell laughed, but Stewart shook a finger at me. “Don’t even bring up any subject related to death,” Stewart said. “No need to put those vibes into the ether.”

  “I didn’t realize you were superstitious,” Helen Louise said. “You can’t taint the atmosphere by simply mentioning a subject.”

  “I’m not, particularly,” Stewart said. “Superstitious, that is. I simply don’t want the notion planted in my brain. I’ll have to flirt outrageously with all the attractive men and good-looking women at the party now to dislodge it.”

  Haskell snorted. “As if you needed an excuse.”

  Stewart ignored that sally. “Shall we saunter over? It’s two minutes to seven.”

  “Do you want us to be the first ones there?” Helen Louise asked. “Isn’t that a bit uncouth?” Her lips twitched.

  “What if it is?” Stewart said. “I want to be able to watch as everyone else arrives.”

  “Whatever for?” I asked.

  Haskell rolled his eyes. “So he can act like he’s a reporter on the red carpet and comment on what they all look like in their party clothes.”

  Helen Louise linked her arm with Stewart’s. “You can be Alice Roosevelt, and I’ll be your best girlfriend.”

  Haskell looked puzzled, and I explained the reference. Alice Roosevelt was once supposed to have said that if you knew anything bad about someone, you should come sit next to her and share the dirt. He rolled his eyes again when I finished my explanation.

  After a brief check on the kittens, we stopped in the hallway for Helen Louise to retrieve her coat. Haskell opened the door, and out we went. I had looked out the living room window earlier to see whether Gerry’s decorations were back in place. They were. Alight, they looked as obnoxious as I anticipated. I wouldn’t get the full effect, I was sure, until I was standing right in front of them.

  Two cars occupied space in front of Gerry’s house. Some neighbors would no doubt walk to the party. Two children, girls around nine or ten, stood on the sidewalk gawking. They squealed in excitement and pointed at various parts of the display as we walked past them and up the walk.

  Gerry’s assistant, Jincy—whose last name I had forgotten already—opened the door to us. She recognized me and nodded, and I quickly introduced the others. She stood aside and waved us in. “Down the hall and on the right at the back is the den,” she said to Helen Louise. “You can leave your coat there.”

  Helen Louise thanked her, and I walked with her to deposit the coat on one of the chairs we found in the room. At least, I thought it was a chair. It looked horribly uncomfortable to me, an object shaped like the number five, but without the bar at the top.

  Helen Louise and I looked at each other and shrugged. We walked back down the hall to rejoin Stewart and Haskell. The former, I noted, had placed himself beside the door to the living room. He faced the front door, so evidently Haskell hadn’t been completely joking when he mentioned the red-carpet routine.

  Haskell stood with Jincy near the front door, engaged in conversation with her. Helen Louise and I approached Stewart.

  “Any arrivals while we were putting away my coat?” Helen Louise asked.

  Stewart shook his head. “Shouldn’t be long now, though.”

  There was still no sign of our hostess. I wondered about that, and then it dawned on me that she was probably either in the kitchen dealing with the catering staff or upstairs waiting until more people arrived. Then she would sweep down the stairs the way Loretta Young used to in her television show, smile benignly upon her suitably appreciative guests, and deign to converse with us.

  Good grief. I’m starting to sound like Stewart. I had to suppress a chuckle at the thought. Later on, I would have to share that with him.

  Helen Louise, Stewart, and I chatted while we waited for our hostess to put in an appearance and for more guests to arrive. Waiters came by with champagne and indicated that food awaited us in both the living and dining rooms. We each accepted a glass of champagne. I didn’t have a refined enough palate to discern one champagne from another. After a sip—it went down smoothly—I looked to Helen Louise, who did have a refined palate.

  “Bollinger,” she said appreciatively. “Evidently our hostess has expensive tastes, or else she’s out to impress.”

  “Provided,” Stewart said with a grin, “that anyone else besides you tonight can tell Bollinger from the bargain bubbly most people serve at parties like this.”

  Helen Louise grinned and gestured toward the door. “Here comes someone who can tell.”

  Surprised, I glanced at the door to see Milton and Tammy Harville pause to talk to Jincy while Haskell moved to join us.

  “Milton?” I said. “Or Tammy?”

  “Milton,” Helen Louise responded. “He’s quite knowledgeable. We often talk about wines when he comes by the bistro. When Tammy isn’t with him, of course.” She sipped her champagne. “When they’re together Milton hardly says a word, particularly not to me or any of my female staff.”

  “I didn’t realize it was as bad as that,” I said.

  “That’s why he tries to keep her out of the drugstore,” Stewart said. “The woman is obsessed. He can hardly do his job when she’s there because she dogs him like you wouldn’t believe.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen it a few times, and it ain’t pretty.”

  I looked at Tammy, glowering at Jincy while Milton conversed with her. A peroxide blonde, Tammy had a hard look about her. She seemed permanently disgruntled whenever I had the misfortune to run into her. Milton served as the target for all her discontent. He couldn’t seem to measure up to what she required, no matter how he tried. She ran him down all the time, even right in front of him. I wondered why he didn’t seek a divorce on the grounds of mental cruelty.

  We continued to watch the trio near the door. From what I could tell, Milton was making an effort to end the conversation with Jincy. He kept darting sideways glances at his wife. Tammy continued to glower. Finally, she seemed to have reached her boiling point. She grabbed Milton’s arm and towed him away from the door, leaving Jincy open-mouthed and Milton beet red.

  Tammy pulled her husband into the living room without any acknowledgment of the four of us by the door. Milton glanced at us, his expression a sad mixture of apology and shame.

  Stewart sighed. “Did you see what Tammy was wearing? I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman with a knack for always picking out the most unflattering outfit she can find.”

  I hadn’t paid any particular attention to what Tammy was wearing myself. I had been too busy watching her face. Helen Louise had noted the outfit, however. “Can’t argue with you, Stewart,” she said. “Her skin looks like leather from all those hours in the tanning bed. Wearing gray with blonde hair and a complexion like that makes her look so much older than she really is.”

  I had to agree, now that I took a more critical look at Tammy, that the combination of gray dress, bleached hair, and tanned skin made her look way older than Milton.

  “Enough of that. I don’t know about y’all,” Helen Louise said, “but I’m ready to sample the food. I’m curious to find out who did the catering.”

  “I’m ready, too,” I said. “Excuse us, guys, unless you want to join us.”


  Stewart shook his head, his gaze intent on the front door as new guests continued to arrive. Haskell sighed. “I’m coming with you. I’ve had enough red carpet for one night.”

  The three of us stepped around Stewart and into the living room. As I gazed around the space, I noted that some pieces had been shifted to accommodate two tables full of food. The holiday decorations were on the minimalist side, as they had been in the hall, I now realized. I wondered why Gerry hadn’t attempted to make the rooms more festive when she had gone overboard in decorating the exterior of the house. Anything in the holiday mode that might jibe with the industrial feel of the room, however, was hard to imagine.

  I followed Helen Louise and Haskell to the end of one of the tables. They picked up plates, napkins, and forks and began to move down either side. I could tell from my partner’s expression that what she saw laid out did not impress her. I had to agree. Given the money Gerry had spent on the champagne, I somehow thought the food would be more than what one could get at the local discount warehouse. Mini-quiches, a variety of cheeses and crackers, sliced apples and grapes, and sliced ham and turkey—all no doubt tasty enough, but nothing out of the ordinary. We loaded our plates and moved on.

  The second table replicated the first, we discovered. “Perhaps the dessert-type items are in the dining room,” I said.

  Helen Louise shrugged and cut a mini-quiche in half. “Probably those little cheesecake squares and chocolate-covered cherries.” She chewed the piece of quiche. “Not bad,” she said when she finished it. “Not great, but not bad.” She ate the other half.

  “Not near as good as your food,” Haskell said. “But I’m not going to turn it down.”

  I finished a cracker with mozzarella and a couple of red grapes. I loved cheese, and the mozzarella tasted fine. I might have to go back for more of it, I decided.

  We moved out of the way of other guests who had drifted toward the tables, and found a corner across the room from the one currently occupied by Milton and the still-haranguing Tammy. While we ate, I couldn’t stop watching the unhappy couple. Milton looked like he wished the floor would swallow him, but other than simply walking out on his wife, I doubted there was any way he could cut off the flood of vituperation. I couldn’t hear the words, but the tone was obvious, even fifteen or more feet away.