by Clea Simon
“That won’t work in Japan. I remember how consumer crazy their markets are. If these cats are hot, people will want them now. Like this.” Sure enough, she’d pulled up an ad from a Tokyo paper. Translated it said: “Peach-puff soft, fuzzy furballs.” Beneath the headline was a basket of kittens, long fur fully fluffed, blue eyes shining out of round, chocolate-tipped faces. “New shipment of American ragdolls this week! Dozens to choose from!”
“Do you realize how farfetched this is?” I was getting caught up in this, but some part of my mind recognized that it didn’t make much sense. “That’s like saying ‘American blue jeans.’ Those kittens were probably bred right in Tokyo. Or, or in Singapore.”
“Singapore?” Violet shot me a look. “Maybe. But do you want to take that chance?”
“And what do you suppose we do?”
“Call the Customs hotline,” piped in Lynn. I’d almost forgotten we were in her office. “There’s an anonymous tip line the Feds have set up for anyone who may know something about illegal imports. The kind of clothes I do, I get offered a lot of strange things. Exotic animal skins, feathers from endangered birds, you name it.” She pulled a business card out of her Rolodex and handed it to me.
“But that’s for imports. These animals might be going out of the country.”
“Give it to me.” An exasperated Violet snatched the card from my hand and stalked over to the corner of the office to make the call. A few minutes later she was back, looking a little sheepish. “Okay, that didn’t go so well.”
“They didn’t care about cats being sold illegally?”
“Well, they wanted details. Like when and where the cats were leaving from. How many there were, and who was shipping them.” She looked up at me. “I realized I couldn’t really tell them anything.”
“That’s okay, kiddo.” We all stood there, looking at the computer screen. “Ragdolls of the Heart! Here Soon!” Those round faces looked so innocent. Monica typed in the commands to power the machine down. The image disappeared.
***
“You think maybe those kittens just all got placed?” Violet and I were driving away. We’d managed to find an outfit that Bunny had to love. It lay wrapped on the back seat, forgotten.
“Maybe. Or distemper wiped them out.”
“No, the mothers would have survived.”
“Maybe it wasn’t a kitten mill, then. Maybe the kittens are just gone, sold or given away. And Groucho and his equally sunny family are left with the kitten’s mother, and she’s just a regular house cat.”
“Maybe this time they’ll get her spayed.”
“Maybe.” Neither of us believed a word we were saying.
Chapter Eighteen
I’d already told Bill that I wanted to check out one of the bands playing Amphibian that night, and he’d sworn that it would be his pleasure to join me. So even though I was still somewhat disheartened—and two more calls to florists had done nothing to lift my mood—I took my cue from the frou-frou I’d been looking through all afternoon and tried to make myself somewhat fancier for the evening. In my case, that meant brushing my hair and putting a little eyeliner on, as well as cleaner jeans. But I was pretty pleased with the result.
“What do you say, Musetta?” As if on cue, my cat rolled on her back to take my measure upside down. With her mouth half opened, one white fang visible, she looked a tad demonic. “Good enough for rock and roll? Close enough for jazz?” She blinked, which I accepted as acquiescence, and after a quick belly rub I was out the door. “If any of those damned florists call back, ask them why they don’t want free publicity, will you?” I thought I heard a chirp—“mrup!”—as I locked the door, all three locks, behind me.
The stage was barely set up when I arrived at the downstairs club, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Sara Linda, a singer I’d loved back when she’d fronted the Crullers, had been added in the earliest opening slot. Whether I ever got to write about the local scene or not, this was my world. I didn’t want to miss any of it.
“Hey, Theda!” Sara waved from the impromptu stage, where the sound man had just rigged up monitors. “Glad you could make it.”
“There’ll be more of us.” I knew Bill was likely to miss Sara’s set; Fridays he tended to work late. But I’d told everyone I’d run into this week about Sara’s gig.
“Theda!” I had just taken a seat and was both pleased and surprised to see Cool descending the stairs, past a cut-out caricature of a witch and another of a black cat. God, I hoped Bunny wouldn’t notice those if she came by. Sara, a few years younger than either of us, was star-struck into silence. Her mouth slightly open, she sort of resembled my cat.
“Hey, glad you made it.” I really was. Cool had said she’d try to come out, adding that since her decision to go public, she’d felt safer and freer than she’d been in years. Still, an opening set in a tiny basement? Cool Coolidge?
“Cool, this is Sara. Sara Linda. Sara, Cool Coolidge.” Once more in the green silk shirt from the photo shoot and a pair of chamois pants that fit like a second skin, Cool could have stepped right out of a big-bootie video shoot, and I couldn’t blame Sara for stammering her hello.
“Pleased to meet you,” Cool smiled at the younger singer. “I think I remember the Crullers. You had that radio hit, right? And Theda says you’re just grand.”
“That’ll throw her off for the first three songs,” I whispered to my friend as we went back to our table.
“She’s got to get used to it sometime, poor fool.” The waitress came with our drinks, a draft for me, San Pelligrino for Cool, and we settled in. Sure enough, Sara did choke on the first song, repeating a verse twice. But she pulled herself together by the next tune, and soon was singing unselfconsciously, working her lovely soprano along with her finger-picked guitar.
“Brava!” Cool and I stood and clapped and yelled when the set was over, trying to make enough noise to cover up the fact that we composed fully a third of the audience. Making a mock bow, deep enough for her shoulder-length dark hair to fall over her face, Sara acknowledged us and slunk off. But she didn’t look unhappy.
“Trial by fire for that girl,” said Cool, still standing. “She’ll be okay. So, where’s the bathroom around here? If I’m going to keep drinking bubbly water…”
“Behind the stairs.” I pointed and as she wandered off I saw Sunny descending.
“Sunny!” My mood had been lifted by the music, and by Cool’s company. I headed toward her. “You missed Sara’s set! She was great.”
“Damn. I know when they add a fourth band they start early, but…ah well.”
The waitress walked by and I signalled her. “Sam Adams, right?”
“Yeah, thanks, Theda. You with your boyfriend tonight?”
“He might come by later. I’m with Cool.”
“Oh!” She looked even more shocked than Sara had been.
“Yeah, she decided it was time to start checking out the local scene again.” Until Cool said anything else, I wasn’t going to. Besides, Cool was walking back toward us by then. “Hey, Sunny.”
“Hey, Cool.” Even after hours of shooting her, Sunny couldn’t look our famous friend in the face.
“San Pelligrino? Blue Moon? Sam Adams?” With so few patrons, our drinks had come quickly. Feeling flush, I ponied up for the round and moved toward the table. When I got there, I realized I was alone. Cool and Sunny were still standing, looking at each other, but silent.
“Hey, Theda. I’ll be down later. When the music starts.” Sunny nodded toward me and headed toward the stairs. Cool came back and took her seat.
“What was that about?” I asked. Cool was shaking her head.
“Nothing I can talk about.” She looked sad, but then she turned toward me and smiled. “Hey, I know better than anyone that denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.”
That sounded familiar. “Sunny’s in the program? You never told me that.”
“And I’m not telling you now. Some things are private.”<
br />
“Yeah, I know: ‘What you say here, stays here.’ But that doesn’t fit with the Sunny I know.” I thought of all the drinks she’d cadged over the years. Cheapness isn’t an addiction, but had she gotten that many? And since when had she been trying to quit? “I mean, I never thought of her as someone with a problem.”
Cool just smiled and lifted her San Pelligrino in salute as the second band, three guys centered around a vintage electric organ, kicked in.
***
Wow, I had to be pretty out of it, I thought as the organ wheezed and roared. Violet always said I had a naive heart, not noticing when certain musicians were nodding out or so high they couldn’t talk. But someone I’d worked with? Three songs in, I murmured a “be right back” to Cool and went in search of Sunny.
I found her at the upstairs bar, looking at what I imagined was that same bottle of Sam Adams.
“Sunny, what’s up? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Hey, Theda. Tell you what?”
I didn’t know what to say. Suddenly all the beers I’d bought for Sunny over all the years came back to haunt me. Had I made things harder for her?
“Just, well, I just feel bad. I didn’t realize you were dealing with things and I probably just made everything worse.” I wasn’t making sense, even to myself.
“What are you talking about?”
It was time to spill. “I didn’t know that you had a problem. I mean, that you were in the program.” Sunny looked up and started to speak. I raised my hand. “Cool didn’t say anything, but, well, she did sort of give you away. So have you been trying to quit drinking?”
“It’s private, Theda.” She was right. Why was I pushing?
“I know, I’m sorry. It just totally took me by surprise.” Something was coming together in the back of my brain, but I couldn’t make out just what. “I mean, the other night you were saying you didn’t want to drink because you were working. We didn’t push you, did we?” That wasn’t it.
“Uh-uh.” If anything, Sunny looked more downcast than before.
“It’s not the whole thing with Rose, is it?” I was reaching, but such violence did have repercussions. “I mean, you didn’t know her, but that was still pretty harsh. Was it that?”
“No. Well, yes. Maybe. It was just so stupid, you know? The whole thing. So stupid.” Sunny looked up at me and I realized that this wasn’t her first drink of the evening. She wasn’t slurring her words—not yet—but there was something unfocused in her gaze, like she was looking two feet past my shoulder. Maybe she did have a problem.
“Yeah, it really blew me away too.” This I could relate to. “Just out of nowhere.”
“And over so little, too. It was nothing.”
My heart stopped, then started again so loud I could barely hear myself. “What did you say?”
“Just that it was so stupid.”
“No, you said ‘so little’ like you knew that someone was squeezing money out of her.”
“Well, she was telling everyone about the threats.”
“No she wasn’t. She was afraid to tell anyone. And you said you hadn’t talked to her—hadn’t been able to reach her.” Suddenly it all came back to me: the phone log that supposedly hadn’t revealed any suspicious calls. Sunny explaining how she’d justified her number being on it to the cops, using our joint assignment as an excuse. Sunny telling me that she’d only left messages, when I knew Rose had been staying close to home because of the kittens being due. Even Sunny’s intense interest in the assignment, as more than just a well-paying gig. And she was going to Cool’s meetings?
“Wait a minute.” I grabbed her wrist. I didn’t know if Sunny would try to run or slap me or just laugh in my face, but I had to get it out, see if it made sense. “You made those calls to Rose. You did, because you figured if she was going to be in the story, she must be making money. When she balked, you figured out that she was small potatoes—you told me that—but you still thought she might be worth at least twenty grand. And you’ve been going to Cool’s meetings. I bet someone spotted her, someone who recognized her, and tipped you off. You’ve probably been going since you heard she was back in town. Not to give up your own drinking, but to get the dirt on her. On our old friend. For money. It was you!”
I was ready for anything. Braced for a fight. Everything was coming together. Everything except Sunny, that is. As I stood there, blocking any exit from her barstool and holding her wrist, she seemed to collapse. Her face turned inward, her mouth opened, and she let out a bawl like a three-year-old.
“Wah!” She started to wail, the volume rising. With my free hand, I grabbed some bar napkins and shoved them toward her. I wasn’t going to let go.
“Sunny! Pull yourself together!”
“Tired…broke…” Nothing else that sounded like adult English was forthcoming, and I felt myself begin to melt. Almost.
“Sunny! Sunny!” Dropping the napkins I grabbed her other wrist and began to shake her hard. “I understand the money. But why did you have to hurt Rose, Sunny? Why?”
“No!” Her head was hanging against her chest, but the way she shook it back and forth was very clear. “No,” her sobs wracking her body now. “I didn’t, I didn’t.” But clearly she had. Still, I wasn’t going to get any sense out of her, and every face at the bar was looking at me as if I had three heads. Even for clubland, we were making a scene.
“Theda, here, let me take over.” It was Bill. I couldn’t tell how long he’d been there, but he was putting away his cell phone as he walked toward us. Nodding to me, he wrapped an arm around the distraught girl, protective but also very hard to resist. “Come on, Sunny. Let’s wait outside.” He raised his voice for everyone to hear: “Nothing happening here, folks. Go back to your own lives.” I followed them into the cold night and waited until the cruiser pulled up. One of the uniformed cops cuffed Sunny and read her her rights, while Bill talked softly to the other.
“I didn’t kill Rose, Theda. You’ve got to believe me.” The cop had his hand on Sunny’s head, starting to maneuver her into the patrol car, but she had turned to me. Her face was wet with tears and mucus and half-covered with her hair, but her eyes were wide and desperate. They caught mine, and I looked away. “I never hurt anyone.” I could still hear her. “Never!”
***
“You okay?” Bill was standing beside me on the sidewalk and I realized I was shivering, despite his coat around my shoulders. The cruiser had left several minutes before but I was still seeing its lights. Seeing Sunny’s face—and Rose’s. Maybe I nodded. I meant to.
“C’mon, let’s get you back inside.”
The noise and warmth broke my daze. “Cool!” I looked up at Bill. “She’s downstairs. I’ve got to tell her.”
He looked at me hard for a moment, holding my face in his hands. He brushed one thumb along my cheek. Had I been crying, too? But I must’ve passed muster. “Okay, I’ll meet you downstairs in a few.” He’d pulled out his cell again and was heading toward the quiet of the street as I turned toward the stairs. “And Theda? Please don’t say too much. I mean, we don’t yet know exactly what happened.”
I walked stiffly back down to the music room. Amazingly, the keyboard trio was in the middle of a song, three voices raised in harmony. According to my watch, less than twenty minutes had passed since I’d gone upstairs.
“What’s up?” Just looking at my face, Cool could tell something had happened. I wiped a sleeve across my eyes and realized that they were still damp. Where to begin?
“It was Sunny, Cool. Something she said just clicked. It was Sunny who was blackmailing you.”
She was shaking her head, pretending like she hadn’t heard me. “No way.”
“The drinking and the not drinking. The way she’s been acting.”
“I don’t believe it. I’ve known her, well, as long as I’ve known you.”
“And you suspected me at first.” She looked up. “Be honest.”
“But she was in the pr
ogram.”
“She pretended to be. I mean, I don’t know that much about it, but did she seem to be really committed?”
Cool sat back in her chair, chewing on her lip as she thought it through. “Well, she never spoke. But a lot of people don’t at first. It’s hard. And she never identified herself. I thought, well, I thought she just wasn’t ready. But she certainly knew me, even though we only use first names.”
She paused and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she looked a lot less certain. “Theda.” Cool leaned toward me; her pink cheeks had gone pale. “Can this be? Can she really have betrayed me, betrayed the group like that? This blows the whole program out of the water. I mean, how can I trust it?”
I leaned forward and took her hands in mine. “You can trust the program because it works for you, Cool. You know that. Look at yourself.” I was paddling as quickly as I could. “Look at how well you’re doing.” She nodded slowly. Something was getting through. “And in all fairness, I’m not completely sure that Sunny was the one calling you. You said the voice was disguised, right? But I am pretty sure she was the one threatening Rose. She just as good as admitted it.”
“You think she killed Rose?”
“I don’t know. I mean, it’s hard to believe, but…” I leaned back in my chair and tried to put it all together. Sunny’s denial, her wet beseeching face were clear before me. But what did they count for? “Wait, when did you get the last call?”
“Monday. That was the one that said to get the money together by the weekend.”
“And Rose was killed sometime Wednesday morning. Something must have gone wrong. Hurting Rose must have been an accident, that must be why she gave up on the whole scheme.”
“But why? I still don’t understand. We were friends once, Theda. At least, sort of. Club buddies, back in the day.”
I couldn’t explain it, beyond the most basic level. “She needed money, Cool.” It was all I could offer. “She’s just been scraping by. And I think she’s jealous.”
That seemed to floor her. “God, I really need a drink. A big double shot of whiskey with a frosty draft chaser.” Now it was my turn to be alarmed.
