Kittens Can Kill: A Pru Marlowe Pet Noir

by Clea Simon

  “Hang on, Pru.” He pushed his chair back and looked up at me. It was true, I was leaning over his desk. He didn’t look threatened. Amused, rather, as he stared up at me. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information.”

  “Jill Canaday. The only one in that family who smokes. Or uses those stupid e-cigarettes, I should say.” She had been vague on the details. Didn’t matter, the outline of the case against her was clear. “Unless it was Judith, who I have reason to believe was behind the note.”

  “Did you just deputize yourself?” Creighton was grinning now. “Or, no, become a forensic expert?”

  “That note was left for me, Jim.” I pulled out his one guest chair and plopped into it. “Look, I think Randy from the smoke shop wrote it. He told me he hadn’t kept up with the Canadays, but I’m pretty sure he’s lying. I think he could tell you about Jill, about her bad habits. Maybe something about Judith too. Like if there was anything in her father’s downstairs medicine cabinet that shouldn’t have been.”

  “Maybe he could, Pru.” He leaned back further. Damn, he was looking relaxed. “But nobody is saying that. At least, nobody who works in this office.”

  I waited. He could be close-mouthed. He is a cop. But he’d already started talking. And, besides, he seemed to be in a good mood.

  “Jill Canaday is not a suspect, Pru.” He sat up. “We’re not even sure we’re looking at a homicide.”

  “I thought…” I paused to remember what Jill had told me. “Something about unnatural causes of death.”

  Creighton shook his head, his smile disappearing. “The man was a mess. The state police lab had their hands full with him.”

  “I figured they weren’t taking their time for fun.”

  “They are backed up,” said Creighton. “But now they have someone out from Boston. He’s good, but maybe too good.”

  “How’s that?” It wasn’t just that Jim was talking to me. This was interesting.

  “He found everything. Seems like the guy was a heart attack waiting to happen.”

  “I knew he was sick—”

  “He didn’t.” Creighton shook his head again. “At least, he didn’t act like it. He was taking painkillers. Using something for his cough. Everything he wasn’t supposed to take, he was taking. I’m almost surprised to hear that he wasn’t shooting heroin. But, no, there wasn’t anything that jumped out, nothing that shouldn’t have been in his system. Truth is, if this guy hadn’t joined the lab, we’d probably have chalked this up to human error. As it is, well, the DA wants me to look into it.”

  “So there are going to be charges?”

  “There’s going to be an investigation.” Creighton held my gaze. “That’s different.”

  “And Jill?”

  “I don’t see how she could have played into it. She wasn’t in town when it happened.”

  I thought of the note. “Unless she had help.”

  “More likely someone trying to stir up trouble.” Creighton looked at me. “You really don’t like her, do you?”

  “It’s not that.” I paused. “I don’t think. Things are funny around her. Around all three of them. You know?”

  “Why don’t you tell me?” He was in cop mode. I didn’t care. I needed to think this out.

  “They’re all so different—all three of them. And, well, I feel like all of them have something to hide…” It wasn’t until I said it that I realized how true that was. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, though, I regretted it.

  “What do you mean?” Jim sat up.

  “I—” I was tempted to say “nothing.” I knew my beau too well for that. What I could do was try to trade. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for?”

  “Pru.” He was shaking his head. “Believe it or not, this is my job.”

  “I don’t want anything taken out of context…”

  His eyes narrowed. I could see him weighing his choices. Rather to my surprise, he started speaking again. “Look, there are abnormalities in his blood tests. Nothing that couldn’t be explained away by carelessness or human error but…”

  I nodded. I got it. “You’re waiting to hear how the DA comes down.”

  “Not everything is black or white, Pru.” His voice was gentle. “There aren’t always simple answers.”

  “Tell me about it,” I muttered as I left.

  ***

  “Hey, Pru!” Albert hailed me as I checked my messages. I tried to ignore him, but he kept waving and calling as I strode across the foyer that the police department shared with animal control.

  I’d not planned on dropping into his office. Doc Sharpe had finally gotten back to me, letting me know he’d had a cancellation that afternoon. I would barely have time to go pick up the kitten and get to his office. If the good vet was squeezing us in, I could at least respect his schedule. But Albert was at the door now, panting from his exertions.

  “Albert.” I didn’t pity him exactly. I also didn’t want to be the cause of his coronary. “Your ladder. I’m sorry. I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”

  “It’s not that, Pru.” His eyes darted into the cop shop. “Can you…” His head jerked back two times—a third.

  “You okay?” If this man was having a seizure, I wasn’t sure what I’d do.

  “Yeah, yeah.” He looked around. “I wanted to talk. You know, in private.”

  “Got it.” I followed him back into his office but refused a seat. If this were about a woman, I’d be off in a flash. “What’s up, Al?”

  “You know, um, that I respect you, right?” I gave him the deadeye. That usually makes him cut to the chase. “I mean, this isn’t from me.”

  He’d begun fiddling with the papers on his desk. I needed to intervene.

  “Albert, I’ve got an appointment.” I turned to leave when another voice—softer but no less urgent—called me back.

  “Shiny.” Frank. I craned my neck but could see no sign of the ferret. “Want it, want it all…”

  “Is Frank there?” Albert didn’t blink at my non sequitur. Instead, he opened a drawer and the masked face popped up. “Shiny?” The black nose quivered in anticipation.

  I shook my head and formed a silent thought. “Sorry,” I tried to meet his button eyes. “What are you seeking? Is Albert treating you well?” I wasn’t sure what exactly I would do if Albert ever mistreated his pet. That I would do something was a given.

  “Watch out for yourself.” With a nod of his own, he dove back into the desk. “Here somewhere…mine…to eat!”

  “Uh, Pru?” Albert may have missed the entire exchange. It had, however, given him time to collect his thoughts, paltry as they might be. “It’s that lawyer.”

  “Great.” I knew what he was going to say before he formed the words. “He complain about me?”

  “Yeah.” Albert hung his head, as if he’d been the one who’d been yelled at. Maybe, I thought, remembering Wilkins’ high-handed way, he had been. “He’s pretty mad.”

  “I wouldn’t let him get to you, Albert.” I thought back to our last encounter. Everybody had said that David Canaday was the tough one. Well, maybe the late lawyer’s partner had a mean streak of his own. “I did the job, and he has no cause to complain. Not to you, anyway. You can tell him that, if he calls again.”

  “Shiny.” The muted voice inside the desk was happy now. Frank had found whatever it was he had wanted. “Just had to dig for it. Had to dig.”

  With a nod to the human, and a silent shout-out to the ferret, I took my leave.

  Chapter Fifty-three

  “So how is this little fellow?” No matter how many years Doc Sharpe has put in as a vet, he still talks like that. I’d taken the kitten out of his box and placed him on the table in front of the white-haired vet. Not that age mattered. Doc Sharpe looked as thrilled as a little boy about the puffball before him.
“Are we feisty? Are we fun?”

  “He’s feisty all right.” I kept one hand on the kitten while Doc Sharpe looked in his ears. I used my other to push his paws back down—the swinging stethoscope was too tempting a target.

  “Hmmm.” He slid the stethoscope down the kitten’s side, settling on his belly. “Sounds good. How’s he been doing?”

  “Good.” I gave him the basics—food, litter usage. “We had some sneezing at first, and I was wondering about FVR. But that seems to have stopped. There is one thing.” I bit my lip. I’m not a suspicious person, but I still hated to bring it up. “The day Judith gave him to her father. The day I first saw him? He was shaking and he vomited. He’s too young to have a hairball, and I was worried.”

  Doc Sharpe looked up at me then. I could read my own concerns on his face. “You didn’t bring him in?”

  “I didn’t want to risk it.” I looked around. “Not when you have so many kittens here.” He knew what I meant. Distemper spreads like wildfire. “Wallis has had her shots, so….” He understood. “And then, well, he seemed to recover. I was hoping it was something he ate.”

  “Could be.” The vet turned his back on us, leaving me holding the kitten. I knew that was a sign of his trust in me. Clearly, I could control a kitten. Most people could. But with lawsuits on the rise, I also know he would never leave an animal unattended with any other pet owner—or caregiver, which is what I was. It was also, I thought, a way for him to gather his thoughts in relative privacy.

  When he turned around, his face was blank. “You were thinking of the greater good?”

  It was a leading question. “Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe I just didn’t want it to be anything.” Now was the time, if there was ever going to be one. “Doc, I—”

  He looked up at me, his pale eyes watery and tired behind those glasses.

  “I meant to tell you,” I licked my lips. Caught myself doing it, too. “The kitten has had his first FVRCPC,” I said.

  “He has?” Those eyes might be tired, but they didn’t miss a thing.

  “Yes.” I reached to move the kitten. Ducked my head. “That’s one reason I was concerned, you see. I thought maybe he had a reaction.” I was over explaining. Talking too much. Time to shut up.

  The silence was palpable. Even Ernesto seemed to sense it, squirming under my hand.

  “How long ago?” Doc broke the silence, placing the hypodermic back on the tray.

  “Three days.” I knew he was thinking of the virus’ incubation period. Of the risks I’d exposed the shelter to, simply by bringing him in. But he could do the math.

  “Well,” he said. I watched as the truth put new creases in his forehead. “If he didn’t have FVR, then that should take care of it. Too soon for the booster, though. Rabies?”

  I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until then. “Good idea,” was all I said. “Can’t be too careful.”

  Ernesto mewed softly, as Doc put the combo vaccine aside and readied the rabies shot. When he was done I put the kitten back in his carrier. “I’ll have Jill disinfect this room when she comes by later.”

  “She’s really helping out?” Clearly, he trusted the youngest Canaday girl to be more thorough than Pammy when it counted.

  “That she is, and she’s a natural.” He pulled off his gloves and deposited them in the trash. “Not like you, Pru,” he added quickly. “But she has a feel for animals. Clearly loves them. If this kitten is going to end up in her care…” He shook his head.

  “We’ll give him two full weeks.” I finished the thought. That was the standard protocol for distemper, long enough for the virus to manifest. If he didn’t sicken by then, he would most likely be fine. “After I bring him in for his booster, I’ll release him. If she still wants him,” I said.

  He looked up. “I can’t imagine she won’t. She’s already told me she’ll be here for the summer, at least. I gather she’s considering staying here. Helping to put her father’s estate in order.”

  “Does that include his work with the Friends of County?” As soon as I asked, I realized this must still be a sore spot. The vet’s face paled as he shook his head. “I’m sorry, what is it?” I asked.

  “Only the usual.” With one finger, he pushed his glasses back up his lumpy nose. “Too few resources and too many commitments.”

  “Might things be looking up now?” I am far from a pollyanna. Something about the old Yankee, though, made me want to give him hope. Maybe it was that he’d overlooked my theft of the hospital’s drugs. Maybe it was simply that he was kind. “Considering our biggest enemy is gone?”

  “You would think, Pru. You would think.”

  “Well, maybe Jill will be a positive influence. I know she’s working with the family lawyer.” I wasn’t going to gossip. I still didn’t know what exactly was going on. “But things change.” For all I knew, she’d be locked up in two weeks. For all I knew, I could be, too.

  Chapter Fifty-four

  “We’re home!” I made too much of a fuss coming in. I was worried about the kitten. About Doc Sharpe—and my own career. The Canadays were trouble, no two ways about it, and I had already heard more than I wanted.

  “More than you wanted?” Wallis greeted me with a gentle pass-by and watched as I unlatched the door to the carrier. “Has Ernesto finally started using complete sentences?”

  “Wallis, I thought you could read my thoughts,” I said. I didn’t want to enunciate what my fears were. I told myself I wanted to spare the kitten. The truth was probably more selfish.

  “With ease.” Wallis came forward, sniffing the kitten. “I’m not the one with the stunted senses, you know.” Quickly, as if she didn’t want me to see, her tongue darted out, knocking the kitten over with a thorough swipe. “I’m not the one who doesn’t take in what’s right in front of her.”

  “I know, Wallis.” There was nothing to it but to admit it. “You’re right.”

  “Clueless.” With a bat of her paw, she set the kitten scurrying off and turned to follow. “Thinks that every child is her responsibility. Thinks that every kill is, too.”

  “But Ernesto isn’t…” I paused. This was too cold-blooded, even for Wallis. Unless she meant the squirrel…

  “Not the sense of that kitten.” And with that she left the room.

  ***

  Wallis had left me with a lot to think about, but I didn’t need her to point out the obvious. If I was going to extricate myself from this family, I had to get ready for Ernesto to leave us. And that meant checking out Jill—and Jackie—Canaday’s home. If I had missed something—a geranium, even some peeling paint—I’d be in a better position to know what had made the kitten so sick that day. What his prognosis was. I reached for my phone and then thought better of it. The Canadays felt no qualms about dropping in on me unannounced. Who knew what I’d find if I did the same? I reached for my keys instead. If Jill was going to cohabit with her oldest sister, I needed to make sure neither of them would be a potential threat to the kitten. A surprise visit was in order.

  “Ms. Marlowe.” Jackie answered her door wearing jeans and that same blue sweater. “Did we have an appointment?”

  “No.” I looked at her. She looked different. Better, I thought, despite the casual clothes. More relaxed. “I wanted to have a look around.”

  “A look around?” Her voice ratcheted up an octave. So much for more relaxed.

  “If you don’t mind.” I stepped in. The kitchen looked the same. So did the living room when I got to it. Minus the dead body on the floor, of course. “Do you have any houseplants?”

  “What? No.” She paused, clasping her hands together. “My father—he thought they were clutter.”

  “I see.” I didn’t. Not really. “So he must have been thrilled about getting a kitten.”

  “Judith didn’t—” More hand clasping. “She didn’t know him like I did.
She wasn’t around that often.”

  “I gather.” I was done wasting sympathy on this family. “You didn’t stay around to meet the kitten the other night. His name is Ernesto, by the way.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed. I waited. “I guess I was a little…when Detective Creighton came by, I realized that perhaps I should have waited. Should have made an appointment.”

  She was right, she should have. I still didn’t buy it. I thought about the note. She had to have seen it. What had it meant to her?

  “Did you have any help?” I was watching her. Looking to see if she’d react to the phrasing of the letter. “So you didn’t have to do everything alone?”

  Her face was impassive, pale and drawn. Her fingers, however, were active, rolling the edge of her sweater back and forth. Kneading again or—no, I was thinking of the motion like a cat would. She was rubbing her hands together as if washing them. A nervous reaction. She saw me looking and tucked them under the hem of her sweater. The same blue sweater I had seen her in before. Or not quite. Something was different.

  It hit me. “You got the spot out,” I said, pointing.

  “What? Oh, yes. Yes, I did.” She grabbed at the edge of her sweater, rolling it up as if I’d said the opposite.

  “I’m sorry.” I shook my head, confused. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Only, it’s such a nice sweater, and it’s handmade, right?”

  “Yes, I knit.” She cleared her throat. “Knitted. I used to have all this free time.”

  “Of course.” I remembered those hours by a bedside. “Your father.”

  “Well, yes.” Jackie looked away, blushing. The hem of that sweater wasn’t long going to survive the way she was rolling and pulling at it. Already that bottom button, the one with the rounded metal top, looked ready to pop off.

  The button. Wait. With a top like that, it would roll back and forth. Make a little noise as its embossed top defined tight circles on a hardwood floor.