Kittens Can Kill: A Pru Marlowe Pet Noir

by Clea Simon

  Not that there was much to see. Despite her dramatic coloring, she looked pale and drained today. Her body language radiated fatigue and something else. Determination? Yes, that was it. I could almost feel her gritting her teeth. She had just buried her father, so perhaps there was a reasonable explanation for the tiredness that dragged down her wide, elegant mouth. The set of those lips? Well, she was at the lawyer’s, her father’s former partner. This couldn’t be a pleasant duty, though it was apparently a visit she had to make. As to whether she felt responsible for his death, and whether that added to the weight of this particular visit, I couldn’t tell. Not by looking.

  I turned back toward the house so I could grab both sides of the ladder and took a step down. As much as I could get from watching her, I had responsibilities too—and they included two more holes to patch. Another step. Albert’s ladder was in about as good shape as I could expect, and I lowered my weight carefully, half expecting each rung to give way beneath my feet.

  The sound of the engine made me pause. I turned my head half expecting to see Judith driving away, and was a little surprised to see another car pulling up instead. An older model—smaller—with the dents and dust that indicated an owned car, as opposed to some airport rental. Jackie, wearing another shapeless dress, but looking to my first glance a little less tired than she had been. Of course. The oldest daughter had been worn down by the constant care of the invalid father. As terrible as grief might be, at least she was no longer also weighed down by that particular responsibility. The middle girl had arrived fresh and rested, to be met by tragedy.

  Remembering the scene at the grave site—and Judith’s cold anger when her sister had had her meltdown—I waited. I needed these women on my good side—at least one of them—and I know enough not to get between two animals fighting. But whatever had sparked between them yesterday had died down. Judith had clearly been waiting for her older sister and walked over to greet her. They didn’t hug. Maybe they weren’t a hugging family. They did talk, heads down for about a minute. I was too far away to hear what was said, but some kind of truce seemed to have been made. Even though she had been here first, Judith hung back as Jackie began walking up the path to Wilkins’ front door. From my perch behind an eave, I saw her step onto the granite stoop. Judith followed a few steps behind.

  I carried the ladder over to the new extension. I’d missed my chance to confront either sister without it being obvious that I’d been watching them. I might as well do my work. But before I could start on the second gate, the sound of another car stopped me. Beauville is a quiet town, and here on the moneyed side, traffic is as rare as street people. Still, I was kicking myself as I saw a little Mini Cooper pull up, bright red and as perky as a robin. Of course: Jill. Whatever was going on with the lawyer, all three daughters were involved.

  “Jill!” Jackie called out and turned back down the path to face her.

  Judith hung back, greeting her baby sister with a snarl. “You’re late.”

  “I know.” The younger daughter alone was casually attired, wearing jeans and a pullover that may have fit our town’s dress code but made her look out of place among her sisters. “I got lost. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Her oldest sister reached out an arm, as if to draw Jill in. “I’m glad you’re here.” Jackie had dropped her voice, but near as she was to the house, I heard her. I also heard a snort—Judith, who rolled her eyes in case anyone had missed the point.

  “What?” Jackie turned on her, the truce forgotten. “She lost her way, Judith. That’s not a crime. She hasn’t been back for a while.”

  “Little Miss Perfect lost her way, all right.” The venom in Judith’s voice surprised me. “And you know this because you’re the good girl. The one who stayed.”

  “ I stayed here because someone had to.” Jackie fired back. “You weren’t going to take care of him. Not you, no—”

  “You love it.” Judith was practically hissing. “You define yourself by it. Jackie, the good daughter. Jackie, the caretaker. Jackie, the responsible one. Who wasn’t home the one day our father could have used some help!”

  “Someone had to shop. Had to cook for him. And if you hadn’t brought over that— that cat…”

  “She’s here! She’s here!” The sheltie’s high-pitched bark added to the cacophony.

  If I could have climbed higher onto the roof, I would have. Although I was partly behind the eave, if any of them looked up, they’d see my ladder—and, soon after, me. As much as I enjoy a good drama, I had not asked to see two sisters flaying each other, and I certainly didn’t need to be labeled a busybody.

  “Judith! Jackie!” Jill’s voice broke through, loud and clear. “Stop it, please!” For a moment, I was afraid she’d seen me. I expected her next words to refer to the woman on the ladder, with a caution about airing dirty laundry in public. “This is hard enough,” she said instead. “Please, shall we?”

  A door must have opened, because suddenly the sisters had a canine escort. The sheltie, her gray muzzle showing her age, did her best to scamper up to the trio.

  “She here? She here? Greetings!” Now that she was out, the sheltie’s communication was silent, the only outward sign was in the enthusiastic, if slightly stiff, wag of that flaglike tail.

  “Hey, girl.” Jill bent to pet the eager arrow head, so like a collie’s. From the way the sheltie strained upward, I got the sense that such affectionate gestures weren’t a frequent occurrence in the Wilkins house, at least not since Mrs. Wilkins had died. But, wait, the gray muzzle wasn’t directed toward Jill.

  “Who’s there?” One sharp bark. The sheltie might be old, but she had a good nose.

  “I’m a friend.” I concentrated on reaching the little dog. “A friend.”

  I flattened myself against the wall and waited. Judith and Jackie must have gone ahead, and I heard Jill hurry to catch up, the dog following close behind with a soft chuff. “We’ll see.”

  The silence that followed lasted for a few seconds, then the birds started up again. The sisters had gone inside.

  I wasn’t crazy about the idea of hanging out any longer, but I wanted to get the job done. I don’t think I’ve ever been more careful about moving a ladder than I was this day. Hell, I would have carried it around the long way, rather than be spotted by the feuding family, only a quick reconnaissance trip had reassured me that the shades in Wilkins’ home office were drawn three-quarters of the way up.

  Still, I was quiet as could be as I leaned my ladder up against the new construction. The spring earth was soft and moist, the plantings here a little farther along, and the base of my ladder dug in soundlessly, releasing the scent of leaf mold and new life as I secured it. The sun was warm on my back as I climbed up to the second squirrel hole. A pity, really. Spring days like this one were all too rare. I could have enjoyed a little manual labor today, if my mind hadn’t been preoccupied with keeping unnaturally quiet.

  “Mine! Mine!” Spring is nesting season for most creatures, and off in the woods, a crow was defending his territory.

  “Here! Here! Here!” A thrush called out. Not, I realized, responding to the crow but to a more dangerous threat. “Here! Here!” Yes, she was trying to draw off a predator. Offering herself up rather than let some beast—was it a blue jay? A hawk? ­—get at the fledglings I could just envision at the edge of her panicked cry.

  “The entire estate.” I nearly dropped my hammer at the sound of the voice, so near by. “In excess of two million,” the voice continued. I looked down. Yes, the shades were drawn nearly to their apex, but on top the windows had been lowered, to let in that soft May air.

  I went back to my business, holding the squirrel gate up against the soffit as I fitted a nail up to the bracket. Animals take care of their young, lawyers as well as birds. The daughters had come together for the reading of their father’s will, perhaps the last duty of Canaday’s f
ormer partner.

  “Feed me, feed me.” Ah, the thrush had returned home. Her fledglings had no idea of what she had risked. Only that they were hungry. My heart went out to the mother bird who, even now, was refocusing on her young ones’ insatiable appetite. “Feed me!”

  I’d finished the gate and now held up a piece of wire netting to bolt alongside. Squirrels don’t dissuade easily, but this was thick enough so that even a nesting mama would have trouble gnawing through it. Four quick taps, and it was up. Leaning over, I looked at the other side. I didn’t know who had the nerve to shortchange a lawyer, but somebody did. From the ground, this addition looked solid. Out of sync, maybe, with the precise balance of the original architecture, but nice enough. Those big windows would look out over the back lawn, if Wilkins ever lowered those shades.

  Up here, though, I could see a different side of the story. The squirrels had chosen this space for a reason. This had been a big job. Expensive, no doubt. But the money hadn’t been well spent. Shoddy workmanship had left a gap between the gutter and the roof, allowing rain and ice melt to soften the wood framing. If this weren’t relatively new, it would have already rotted through. As it was, it was easy for some determined rodent to gnaw an opening. I held the second piece of netting in place and debated the larger question. Should I tell Wilkins? I’d be doing him a service, alerting him of upcoming maintenance issues. Then again, I might be drawing down his wrath ­—and legal expertise—on someone I knew. Much of Beauville’s original population still cobbled together jobs, changing from season to season with demand. Maybe what I was seeing was careless. Maybe it was the result of one job too many. An out-of-work teacher trying his hand as a carpenter. A contractor cramming in too many gigs during the good weather. I thought of that frenzied thrush. “Feed me! Feed me! Feed me!”

  Life was hard all over.

  “What?” One word, so loud I almost fell off my ladder. “Are you kidding me?”

  Jackie, I thought. She had an edge to her voice that her sisters lacked.

  “Please, Jackie, sit down.” I was right. Wilkins sounded like he was doing his best to calm her.

  “Judith.” Jackie ignored him, using what I recognized as a command tone. “Look at me. Did you know anything about this?” I couldn’t help myself. I leaned toward the window.

  “Wait, you automatically think that I…?” Judith, her temper rising.

  “Please, Judith. Jackie.” The voice was soft, the tone placating. Jill the peacemaker, trying to quiet her sisters.

  “Your father’s wishes were clear.” Wilkins again. I leaned further. Too much, almost, and had to catch myself on that loose gutter. “…finish her education.” I missed something—and the lawyer had lowered his voice further. Well, he had known I was up here from the start. “You have the house,” I heard him say. “He made a point to leave you the house.”

  “I don’t care about the house.” Jackie also didn’t care who heard her. “You know that— I— We were all his daughters and I— I’m the one who…”

  “Jackie.” Judith cut in, her voice growing sharp. “Please.”

  “You weren’t here.” Jackie, her voice growing more shrill by the second. “You never visited. You got away. You ran—”

  “Jackie, please.” Wilkins again, trying to be reasonable. “I know how strongly you felt about your father. But I always tell clients, money does not equal love.”

  Even I winced at that, and the three women in the room below all burst out in aggrieved protest. Wilkins must have realized his misstep, because he kept talking, his deep, low voice bulldozing over the higher-pitched complaints.

  From my perch, I pictured him looking through papers as he lumbered on about probate and “eventual disbursements.” A charity that could be written off. Judith, it seemed, would be getting an annuity. “He remembered each of you,” he said. “And as soon as the medical examiner signs the death certificate, we can begin the process.”

  Another outburst followed. Still, he kept on talking, seemingly intent on wearing them down.

  “I’m sure there’s nothing amiss,” he was saying. “Nothing the three of you, his heirs, need concern yourself about.”

  I’d stopped listening around then. I had enough to get the picture. The estate would be held up until the medical examiner signed off. David Canaday had left most of his money to his youngest. And Jackie, at least, was pissed.

  As quickly and as quietly as I could, I finished tacking up that last piece of mesh. All I wanted to do was to get away. No way was I going to tackle Wilkins today; his limited people skills had already been stretched to the limit. But before I could make good my escape, the front door opened. I leaned into the roof, hoping to make myself less visible, and watched the scene before me.

  Judith was the first out, her arm around Jill, who appeared to be crying. Maybe the meeting had reawakened her grief. More likely, I thought, her oldest sister had scored a few hits. As I watched, Judith bent over her kid sister, offering her comfort or pledging support, while she walked her to the little sportster. As she walked to her own car, I could see the toll the meeting had taken. Judith looked tired, possibly ill.

  Jackie, meanwhile, was lingering by the house. Hoping for a last word, I thought. A chance to change what she’d heard. At one point, I thought she was going to ring the bell again, but she didn’t.

  “She’s gone.” I’d almost forgotten the aging sheltie. She’d walked out with the sisters, I realized, and now whimpered softly, her black leather nose sniffing at the open air. “She’s left me.” With a low whine, she turned and head back into the house.

  “Mine!” That crow again, in the woods.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Maybe I should have let her be. Maybe she shouldn’t have dumped a kitten on me. I’d already left several messages for Judith Canaday, so once I was done with my afternoon rounds I figured I’d try again. As I suspected, she’d retreated to her fancy hotel. She hadn’t had the sense to refuse all calls.

  “Judith? Pru Marlowe here.” I made a quick decision. I didn’t know what was going on with that family, but I wasn’t supposed to know anything. Besides, no good would come of putting her on the defensive. And I like having a little more knowledge about a situation than anyone expects. “I’m calling about the kitten?”

  A sigh. In anyone else, it might have been grief. In this case, I bet she simply didn’t want to bother.

  “Jackie doesn’t want it, right?” At least she remembered how we’d left things. Which, of course, was my cue to fill her in.

  “I wasn’t sure where everyone stood.” I wound up my summary. That was true on more levels than just the one where a cat was concerned. But there was that, too. “I didn’t feel right leaving the kitten alone with everything going on,” I went on. “Besides, I was going to have him checked out by a vet. Or did you have that done already?”

  “What?” She had barely been listening. “No. It’s a kitten.”

  Sometimes I don’t know why I bother. Cats need vaccinations, same as children, and that bout of sickness—almost a seizure—had been preying on me. Distemper usually moves fast—in days, if not hours, it can kill. But there were always outliers. Individualized manifestations. Secondary infections. Not that the woman on the phone had a clue.

  “Judith.” I fought the urge to bark at her. I’ve trained parakeets that were smarter. “When you purchased the kitten, did you get papers?”

  “Of course.” She was offended. I could hear it.

  “Did these include certificates of vaccination?” I was hoping so. After all, kittens can get shots as early as eight weeks, and I was hoping this little fellow was right about that age.

  “I’m not sure. I didn’t check.”

  I bit my lip. Some airlines insist on seeing vet certificates before they allow an animal onto a plane. Then again, Judith had the kind of assurance that would probably make min
cemeat of most airline staff.

  “Look, you’re staying at the Mont, right?” I took her silence as assent. “I can be over there in fifteen minutes. Twenty at the most. I’ll go through the papers.”

  “This isn’t the best day.” I could hear the edge creeping into her voice.

  “I won’t take long.” Still in training mode, I ignored her implication. “See you soon.”

  Dealing with one of David Canaday’s daughters was not how I wanted to finish my afternoon. But waiting on her pleasure would be worse, and so I hit the highway with a roar. Two hundred horses don’t mean anything, not if it’s powering a lunk of steel. But I had one of the first of the remodeled GTOs, the ones that carved off some of that dead weight. I could feel the 350 cubic inches singing as I shifted. I was almost sorry when the Mont came into view as I took that last turn, right where the hills start, in record time.

  The Mont Chateau. Judith had done well by herself. While her sisters were living in their father’s old house, Judith was luxuriating like a tourist. Built to resemble some kind of French country house, the Mont didn’t look that out of place in our green hills. The combination of stone and half-timbers sort of fit the background, but not the Belleville budget. Even in high season, we were more motel than Mont, and as I took the curving drive up to its entrance, I found myself wondering about Judith’s lifestyle. About her expenses and her expectations.

  The valet was trotting toward me before I’d stopped, but I waved him off. Sure, he was bored. This place couldn’t be half-full. No way was he driving my car. I parked at the side of the traffic circle in front of the entrance and pocketed my keys. One look at my face and he backed off, nodding. He didn’t know me. He didn’t have to.

  “Judith Canaday?” The woman at the front desk looked just as bored. She knew to hide it, though, with a smile that gauged my chances of being able to afford a room there perfectly.