by Clea Simon
“Playtime.” Those round eyes looked up at me. “He played with me.”
“That’s nice.” Unlike Wallis, I couldn’t get mad at a face like that.
“Back and forth.” He tilted his head and blinked. “And then he was gone.”
“He is gone.” I paused, sorry I had ever used the euphemism. “I’m sorry.”
“Never you mind that.” Wallis reared back, as if to cuff the kitten. “You go on.”
“I told her.” Ernesto drew back. “Playtime.”
“Come on, Wallis.” I reached for the kitten. “Cut the kid some slack.”
“Fine.” Wallis turned and stalked off, leaving me with a sulking kitten, no wiser than I’d been before.
Chapter Twenty-two
The phone woke me, but I ignored it. Sure, I may work out of my house. That doesn’t mean I ignore business hours—or my own rules. People who call before nine can leave a message. I am not an animal trainer for nothing. Besides, between Wallis’ sulking and Ernesto’s newfound curiosity—what Wallis would term neediness—I hadn’t slept well.
“Pru?” I waited until the coffee was brewing before I hit playback. “This is Jackie Canaday.” The slight edge of hysteria was familiar, as was the voice. “I’m calling about the kitten. Please call me back as soon as possible.”
I stopped and turned. This was great news. It was also, I could see, still a quarter to nine.
“Mama?” Tiny claws, like needles, grabbed at my ankles. That did it. I made the call.
“Jackie.” If she was comfortable using my first name, I’d use hers. Another rule of training: start off with the power dynamic you want. It’s a lot easier than trying to change it later. “Pru Marlowe here. You called about the kitten?”
As I talked, I looked down at the fuzzy baby. He was still holding onto my leg, his blue eyes fixed on mine. He couldn’t know who I was talking to on the phone, could he?
“Yes, thank you.” I did some quick calculations. If I left now, I could bring the kitten over to her before walking Growler. “I’m sorry to have been remiss.”
“Not at all.” The kitten’s fur was downy, and without thinking I held him against my cheek. “You’ve had other concerns, and it’s been no trouble having him here.”
“He’s at your house?” Her voice tightened.
A little purr, barely audible. “Mama!”
“Yes.” It’s hard to get stressed while holding a kitten. Besides, I’d left a note explaining that I’d taken the kitten for the time being.
“Mama!” He rubbed against the phone, and for a second I considered putting him on.
“Why?” I’m not that kind of a person. I was, however, beginning to feel the slightest bit of anticipatory regret.
“Well, I thought you’d be taking him to that animal hospital.”
I winced at my own forgetfulness. Of course, the well-kitten visit. “County,” I clarified. “Yes, Doc Sharpe—the vet there—had to delay our appointment, but I can easily run the little guy over there before I bring him to his new home.”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary.” The little nose, damp and cool, against my cheek.
“You have your own vet?” Maybe I’d find a reason to visit this little tyke. Training, maybe. Or to clip those pin-like claws.
“No, I’m afraid I’m not being clear.” Something was bothering this woman. Even with a kitten pressed close to my face, I could hear it, in her voice ratcheting higher. “You see, I don’t want you to bring that animal here. I want you to bring it to the vet. And I want him to put that animal to sleep.”
Chapter Twenty-three
My surprise did us all a disservice. At least, I figured it was my startled reaction that caused Ernesto to lash out, scratching my cheek and eyelid. But it wasn’t the shock—it stung rather than really hurt—that made me curse out loud, scaring the poor kitten and putting the woman on the other end of the line on the defensive.
“Well, I never!” I hadn’t known people still talked like that.
“I’m sorry, Jackie.” I had lowered the frightened feline to the floor, and now focused on trying to save his life. “I was—a cat scratched me as I was talking to you.” It wouldn’t help the kitten to name him as my assailant, but sometimes the handiest excuse is the truth.
“That’s what I mean.” She kept on talking. “They’re vicious animals, and this one—this one killed my father.”
“Jackie….” I didn’t know where to begin. “Look, if you don’t want the kitten, I can understand it. I can help find a new home for him. You don’t even have to see him again.”
“I’ve never seen him—seen it.” That edge of hysteria again. High-pitched, like a mosquito in the room. “That’s not the point.”
“It’s exactly the point.” I couldn’t let her continue. “I understand. You’re upset. But no vet is going to euthanize a healthy animal simply because—”
“Aren’t unwanted kittens killed every day?” She interrupted me. “And if I bring this one in and talk about what trouble it’s been?”
“What trouble?” The scratches were forgotten, even as I wiped my cheek. “I’m sure if you met him. If you held him. He’s a kitten—”
“He’s my property.” She barked, her words clipped tight. “I am inheriting my father’s house and all property within. And that kitten was a gift to my father.” She paused, and I scrambled for an appropriate response. “If you won’t do as I ask, then you have to return it, and I will take care of it. Any other action is theft, plain and simple.”
She hung up then, which was a good thing. Nobody would be served by me tearing her a new one. My coffee had finished brewing, and I poured it into a travel mug as I looked around for my feline housemates. That poor kitten had disappeared. Just as well, I realized. I couldn’t tell what Ernesto could pick up from me, and it would do him no good to share the thoughts that were whirling around my head.
I was surprised to see Wallis as I stormed toward the door.
“What?” I didn’t need to be polite. She would know from my thoughts what had just happened.
“So much for ‘Mama.’” She flicked her tail. “I tried to warn that kitten.”
“She’s mourning her own parent.” I didn’t know why I was defending Jackie. Maybe because I’d spent time with her sister the day before.
“Exactly.” Wallis would be more sympathetic to Judith, I realized. The middle sister was the one with the feline self-possession, not to mention the good looks.
She looked up at me. “Well, aren’t you, too?” Her voice sounded in my head.
“Wallis, please.” My tabby’s ability to read my thoughts made conversation confusing. “And for the record, yes, I do find Judith a little easier to understand than Jackie. That doesn’t mean I like her.”
“Maybe you’re not the only one.”
“Excuse me?” Wallis gave me the look she usually reserved for the kitten. “I’m sorry, Wallis, I’m not getting what you’re implying.”
“Pru, please.” Wallis’ eyes closed, her ears rotating slightly. I could feel her straining. She was searching for a way to explain. “Can’t you see beyond the obvious?”
“What?” I was getting angry now. More at my own stupidity than at my cat. “Jackie wants to get rid of the kitten. Doesn’t want it around her house.” That was it: her house. “Is this about the inheritance? That she’s getting the house? She can do with it what she wants?”
Another slow blink. From a cat that signaled approval. It also drew my attention to her eyes. Clear and cool and green, they were beautiful and alluring.
“This is about Judith, isn’t it?” I was thinking aloud, but I could hear Wallis start to purr. “This is Jackie getting back at her sister for being beautiful. For being their father’s ‘favorite.’”
Another slow blink, the eyes closing.
“
But Judith wasn’t the favorite, not at the end.” I assumed Wallis could read my memories. Still, it helped to say things out loud. “Jill was. And Jill is the one who started the investigation into their father’s death.”
Sisters. As the pieces fell into place, I thanked whatever gods there were once again for being an only child.
“Jackie can’t lash out at Jill, so she’s striking out at Judith. Is she going to keep trying to prove that Judith’s gift caused their father’s death? Or did Judith find something in the medicine cabinet—something that should not have been there? Does Jackie have something to hide?”
But Wallis was asleep.
Chapter Twenty-four
Some people say you shouldn’t drive with your emotions. Me, I’m not one of them. As far as I’m concerned, the car is the apex of human achievement. Driving is my best outlet—as well as my one financial indulgence. Not that I’m stupid, far from it. Anger just makes me cooler. Hones the edges, so to speak. And with my particular set of high-test wheels, I need to be razor-sharp. Especially when I’m driving fast, which I was.
Driving and thinking, I’ll admit, with the one helping the other. Maybe it’s something to do with blood flow—the oxygen from the rapid shift and the growl of the engine. But as I made my way into town, I had an idea. Something that just might work.
The exchange with Wallis had suggested it—my reaction to the tabby’s implacable stare as much as anything. Jackie Canaday was in mourning, the first sharp stages of grief. But there was something else going on with her, too. I’d picked it up from the start. A strange hysteria that hinted at more than sadness.
Jackie felt guilty about something. And she wanted to pin that guilt elsewhere. On the kitten, if she could. On one of her sisters, if not. Now that was not my responsibility. Hell, if Jackie had hastened her father’s death, it wasn’t my problem. I could even understand the temptation in retrospect. What I couldn’t stomach was her callous attitude toward the kitten. It didn’t seem likely that anyone would euthanize a healthy animal But if she surrendered it now—during kitten season—and if the tyke had another seizure…No, Ernesto was the one innocent in this whole story. The Canaday sisters could turn on each other, for all I cared. I wasn’t going to let that poor kitten be their fall guy.
I slowed as I drew near my destination, more to think, than to admire the scenery. Beauville is beautiful this time of year. The trees are more or less leafed; the new foliage throwing a lacework of shadow across the road. Under the trees, I knew, those same shadows hid death. Spring was more than kitten season, and baby animals everywhere were the most vulnerable. My connection with one such creature shouldn’t have meant a lot. It was more that I felt responsible—that my species was responsible—that got me. Wallis would say I was a hypocrite. At least, she’d imply as much with the angle of her tail or a turn or her ears. I couldn’t argue. I knew we were a mean and silly species. And maybe that could be something I could use.
Jackie said that she had inherited her father’s house, and that fit with what I’d overheard. But I assumed that the title—like the rest of the estate—would depend on the resolution of a death certificate. Plus, if she and Judith were contesting the will, then the delay might be even longer. Legally, the kitten might still be in limbo. It was a small edge, but I’d take it. Sometimes, I thought as I pulled up at the rundown white ranch, our human prissiness could be an advantage.
Sometimes, I realized with a growing sense of glee, our nastiness could be, too.
***
“Mrs. Horlick.” I was almost crowing as I bounded up her cracked concrete walk. “So good to see you.”
If I’d startled the old bag, she didn’t show it. Sure, she blinked as I greeted her, but that could have been from the smoke. As usual, a Marlboro hung precariously between her lips as she stood in her doorway.
“You’re bright-eyed this morning.” She flicked the ash into the shrubbery and waited for an explanation.
“Got a new client.” My grin was real. I was enjoying this. “A lawyer.”
Her eyes narrowed, and this time I didn’t think it was because of the smoke. “A lawyer?”
“Laurence Wilkins.” I was hoping that she wouldn’t question my newfound openness. “He’s got a squirrel problem.”
“He’s got more than a squirrel problem.” She took a drag. I waited.
“Really?” It seemed I needed to prime the pump. Back behind her, I heard a clipped bark. Growler had heard me arrive and was anxious for his walk. I needed to hurry her along. “Problems with a client?”
“Aren’t you the curious one?” Another flick into the bushes. “I’m going to get my dog.”
“You should know better, walker lady.” Growler had accepted my apology before the end of the block. Gruffness aside, he knew me as an ally. “That one…huh!”
He squatted to illustrate his point, and I struggled to explain.
“I’m looking for gossip,” I said, unsure how the word would translate. “I need to know the dirt.”
The shaggy white head tilted up at me, and I realized I felt ashamed.
“I’m trying to find out how bad a fight is.” I pictured the sisters and the house. My best chance with the kitten might be a prolonged dispute about the will. Wilkins didn’t know what I’d overheard, so I couldn’t ask him directly. “It’s to help somebody.” It was a sad excuse.
“That one doesn’t help anyone.” He turned and trotted on. I followed. “You should know that, walker lady.”
He walked on. Sniffed a sapling whose new leaves were still small and perfect, watered it, and looked back at me. “And you think you’re the one holding the leash.”
Growler was right, up to a point. As much as I might buck at authority, I needed clients like Tracy Horlick to pay my bills. And to try to outplay her at her own game was risky.
I was considering my other options even before we finished our walk. Tracy Horlick greeted us at the door with a smile that made my skin crawl, which confirmed Growler’s warning.
“I was wondering where you were.” She’d applied more lipstick in the interim, and it cracked as she bared her teeth.
“I gave Growler an extra long walk today.” The smile I gave back was just as real. “The weather’s so fine.”
Her eyebrows went up at that. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.”
I shook my head, confused. She couldn’t know that I’d taken the bichon down to the river as a peace offering. He’d even let me brush him quickly before we’d turned onto his block.
“There’s a new girl in town. Doing what you do.” Tracy took a long drag and waited for her words to sink in. “From what I hear, she’s going to need the work, too.”
“Excuse me?” I had other things to do. Places to be.
“Jill Canaday.” Another drag, an excuse to examine me between those half-closed lids. “She’s not going to get anything by the time this is over. Not with what she’s been up to, so she’s gunning for what you’ve got.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Growler barked—“No!”—just as Tracy Horlick’s snark hit home. Thanks to him, I didn’t bark back.
“Really?” I’d responded, managing to be a little little less brusque in my response.
The old lady had just grinned, if the stretching of her mouth could be called that. And I left, feeling like a fool.
What to believe, what not? That was the problem with using Tracy Horlick for information. Had I been played by the youngest Canaday girl? As I’d bent to unhook Growler’s leash from his collar, I’d taken a moment to collect myself—and to give the fluffy white dog an ear scratch of thanks. He’d tried to warn me. I prided myself on denying his person the pleasure of my shock, though from her evil leer, I must have shown something before I turned away.
Tracy Horlick had given me something, though. That comment about Jill needing the
work? That fit with what I’d suspected. The older sisters were contesting the will. I wasn’t surprised. Whether they would have a case, I didn’t know.
I had planned to follow up with Laurence Wilkins. The one-way squirrel doors should be enough to solve his problem, but lawyers are trickier than squirrels, and I wanted this client to feel like he’d gotten his money’s worth. What I didn’t know yet was how to ask about these feuding sisters. After all, I wasn’t supposed to have heard anything and my little-bird excuse wouldn’t fly with a lawyer. That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try.
Jackie’s call had reminded me that I had other duties. As worried as I’d been, I had neglected to follow up on Ernesto’s care. On the spur of the moment, I turned and headed toward County General. If nothing else, the drive would give me a chance to strategize my approach to Wilkins.
Maybe I could pose it as a question of custody, I realized, as I pulled into the animal hospital’s lot. I doubted the deceased had had a chance to include his new kitten in his will, if he would have even bothered. But maybe there was precedent—something I could use to keep the kitten out of Jackie’s hands, anyway.
That was a problem I’d tackle later, though. Right now, I had a very particular errand in mind.
Spring hits us hard out here in the Berkshires. After months of cold and mud, suddenly the natural world wakes, shaking off its winter stupor and embracing life. And creating it: spring is known as kitten season in the shelter world because of the sudden influx of baby animals. And so stepping into County, which also serves as our local shelter, meant facing a cacophony of crying babies, both animal and human. Adoptions and surrenders were in full swing by now, and that was hard on everyone. Sure, Junior has found the right puppy. And even though Doc Sharpe runs a tight ship—no animal would leave its mother too early—that doesn’t mean the puppy isn’t scared and confused as it is separated from its mother and placed in a carrier box for the first time. Same thing for Molly the moggy. It’s not her fault that nobody noticed she wasn’t a kitten anymore—and that they ignored Doc Sharpe’s advice to keep her indoors. Now she’s been scooped up from that nice bed she made in the laundry room, she and her kittens, and is wondering why they’re all stuck in a metal cage instead.
