by Clea Simon
Vulnerable. I thought, again, of Rose. If I hadn’t visited her, Bruce would never have suspected her of hiding the last kitten. If I’d convinced her to call the police, he might have been caught, or seen them and been scared off. I tried to imagine what the confrontation had been like: A hulking, overgrown boy, probably starting to pry open a window like he’d done at Violet’s. Rose opening her door to see what was causing the commotion. Had he said he’d come for the kitten? Had she rushed him to defend her animals? Had they struggled? My head hurt and I felt dizzy again.
“Head down, Miss. Now, breathe in.” Violet had been replaced by the medic, who put one arm around me and with the other gently lowered my head between my knees. “Just breathe. Everything’s all right now, Miss. Everything’s all right.”
Except it wasn’t, of course. It wouldn’t ever be.
***
“You didn’t kill her, you know.” By the time I got us home, driving at a shaky forty miles per in the right-hand lane, Bill was waiting. He now had me tucked into my comforter, on my sofa, with a mug of hot cocoa liberally laced with brandy in my hands. “You didn’t kill Rose. And if it weren’t for what you did, her murderers might have gotten away with it.”
He was too much of a cop for me to believe that. “You’re lying, Bill. Am I that much of a basket case?”
“Close.” He smiled and sat down next to me, pulling a pliant Musetta onto his lap. “But in this case, I mean it.”
I stared him down. Musetta started to purr like a little engine.
“Okay, okay. Let’s just say that from what I’m hearing, Watertown Homicide wasn’t anywhere close. Nor were the Feds. I don’t think Rose was ever really a suspect in the cattery thefts. But the investigators were looking at other judges and breeders, people who had inside knowledge of the show schedules, and they leaked what they thought might draw out the real perps. From what I can tell, they hadn’t even considered the vendors yet. I mean, I’m sure they would have—and you did take a hell of a risk—but—”
“But we caught them,” I interrupted before he could slip into lecture mode. “Poor Rose. She was right to be afraid, even though the real brute wasn’t the caller who had threatened her.” I thought again of the smoke and the rising heat, of that awful search for some way—any way—out. “We didn’t know we were walking into a trap, Bill, I swear. If anything, we thought we’d find some horrible kitten farm and we’d end up calling animal control.” Once I’d seen Sandy, I’d also wanted to get my hands on her bully of a boyfriend, too, but that was hardly information to share with my own beau.
“Well, you did more than that.” He leaned over the coiled cat and kissed the top of my head. “And I’m proud of you.”
***
My throat was sore and my body felt battered when we woke the next morning. It was too late, right? The sun had me pegging the time at noon. Musetta had already made herself scarce, abandoning her place on the bed to catch up on her own business. But Bill was making breakfast, and not taking any excuses.
“C’mon sleepyhead. You got an extra hour already cause we turned the clocks back. And we’ve got an open house to go to. Caro’s already called.”
I groaned. How could I deal with kids or cats?
“That’s the adrenaline run-off talking. It leaves you stiff. Have some eggs.” He’d made eggs? “Some food and the company of your friends will do you good.”
He was right, of course. The fake smile I’d plastered on my face became real enough after an hour at the shelter. The open house, by any measure, was a huge success. More than two dozen kids showed up, many dragging parents, some leaving with the paperwork that would result in the adoption of one of the shelter’s inmates. Bunny told stories of good witches, and Violet and Caro showed the children, and some of the attendant adults, the correct way to pick up a kitten and pet a cat. Monica came by with her boyfriend, Tess brought a guitar, and Cool thrilled the parents by a quick visit and impromptu singalong. Even Lynn showed up, surprising everyone with a bag of rainbow-colored feathers that promised to make the Halloween costumes even wilder. Once the kids were settled into their mask making, with Caro supervising the use of glue, Violet and I had a moment’s break.
“So, I’ve told Caro. And if I tell you, then I’ve really got to do it.” We were standing off by the kitchen, where some of the less social cats had taken shelter.
“Huh?” I was definitely feeling slow on the uptake and had poured myself another mug of coffee, my fourth of the day.
“Smoking. I’m quitting. Have quit, actually, as of today.”
“Congratulations!” Another notch of tension left my shoulders. “What brought this about?”
“Yesterday, if you must know.” I waited. “It wasn’t exactly like my life flashed before my eyes, but, you know, it made me think.” She paused. Sibley jumped off the table and sauntered over to rub his gray-capped head on her shin. “And my throat was so sore, well, if I never taste smoke again I don’t think I’ll miss it.”
“Well, good for you.” I hugged her and she smiled. Sibley, for his part, was kneading the rug.
“Of course, I’m not promising I’ll stay with it, but…”
“Violet!” She laughed and I joined her, but then her pixie-like face became serious again.
“I was thinking, Theda, about that woman. Denise.”
I sipped from my mug and waited.
“You know how she was being so nice to me? You think she thought I wanted in on it? That I wanted to force my way into her scam?”
I remembered how the pet store manager had positioned herself as Violet’s newfound friend, one who offered her discounts—and a place for any spare kittens at her next adoption fair. I shook my head.
“Not exactly. She thought she was smarter than all of us.” I reached to pet the spotted cat’s ears as I reasoned it through. “After they couldn’t find the kitten at Rose’s place, they must have realized they’d made a mistake. I think they may have searched my place, too.” Violet’s eyebrows registered her shock, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. “I think they looked in my apartment, but with my housekeeping.…well, maybe we’ll never know. When they couldn’t find that last kitten there and I wasn’t leading them to it, they must have figured out you still had it, somewhere—but that you didn’t know what you had. That’s why Denise started offering to help out with any new kittens that just happened to show up at the shelter. She thought she was shmoozing you.”
“She did become all friendly after the cat show. Was it just the timing? Or do you think it was something about the way we were acting, or something she heard us say?”
“I don’t know if we’ll ever know, Violet.”
“Yeah, I know.” My friend leaned against the doorjamb and for a moment even her purple cowlick seemed to sag. “I just wonder if there was something I could have done earlier that would have kept them off Rose.”
“Like not isolating a sick kitten?” I heard an echo of Bill in my own voice. “Or hanging a banner advertising your ignorance of show cats?”
She smiled sadly. I hugged her, and hefted Sibley up to place him in her arms. “C’mon, let’s go back to the kids.”
***
By Monday, I was feeling more like a human. Or I would have been, if I hadn’t been woken by the phone. It was Lannie: news of her photographer’s arrest had shaken her already fragile confidence.
“Theda? Did you hear about this?”
I did not want to go into details about what had already transpired, so I passed along what I knew of her prospects. “She may get probation, Lannie. One of her victims is refusing to press charges.” Cool had told the police that Sunny had done her a favor, forcing her to go public. Ronnie was working on her, though, so I didn’t know how long that would hold.
“But blackmail! That’s so…” She paused. I waited for her to say “tacky” or “low class.” She didn’t, letting silence complete her sentence, but in that moment I recognized my own sympathy for
Sunny. I’d thought I wanted her to suffer, to do time for scaring Rose, and maybe she would. But I was a freelancer, too, and broke. It was a hard life at times.
“Hey, did you get my message?” Something good had to come of this.
“Yes, I did. I think that’s a marvelous idea. Will the sister agree?”
“I think so. I was just about to call her,” I lied.
“Well, set it up. I’ll find somebody to send!”
It was after nine, so even before coffee I called the number for the Rose Blossom Cattery.
“Ivy?”
“No, this is Joy, the vet tech. Hang on.”
As I waited, the endpiece I’d pitched to Lannie appeared in my mind: A full-page photo of Ivy and the new litter. A portrait of new life at the site of tragedy. Would Ivy want to do it, though? Would it seem too morbid or, worse, too cute?
“Theda. Sorry about that. There’s just so much to take care of.”
“Sorry for disturbing you, then.” She must be cleaning out the offices at last.
“No, I needed the break. Joy has me practicing bandages on an old squeeze toy and it was getting pretty dull.”
“Bandages?”
“She says that I need to know some basic emergency medicine if I’m going to take this on.”
“Ivy?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’m going to keep the cattery. The thought of some stranger coming in and carting all these beautiful animals away was simply intolerable.”
I was speechless.
“And my children are basically grown. Dave has been saying I need a hobby. Well, this isn’t a hobby. Far from it! But with Joy agreeing to stay on, I think I can do it.”
“Would you like a little publicity?” I told her about my idea for a photo. She loved it, with two additions.
“Joy’s got to be in it. She’s going to be an employee, and she’s really the expert. And, Theda? Can we shoot the kittens under a sign that says ‘Rose Blossom Cattery’? We’re keeping the name, of course. It’s what people know, and we want people to remember her.”
***
Coffee was finally brewing when the phone rang again. Musetta was twining around my ankles mewing for her own breakfast, and I thought I’d let the machine take it.
“Theda? You there? This is Mathers. Tim Mathers.”
My old editor, the youth-seeker. I waited and, strangely, Musetta did too.
“Theda? Please pick up. Please?”
How could I resist?
“Hi, Tim. I was off in the kitchen. What’s up?”
“Theda, I know we got into it a bit when we last spoke, but I wanted to know if you’d consider writing for us again.” I waited. “The column, Theda. Your column—‘Night Lines’? If you still want to do it, we could use it. Every week. We could even put you on a retainer.”
So baby Jessica was above writing now that she was an editor. Still, did I want to work for her?
“Would I be reporting to you, or Jessica?”
“Me. Can you believe the ingratitude of that girl?” Clearly I’d missed some gossip.
“What happened? She running the city room now?” I couldn’t resist a little lip.
“Yeah, yeah, she is.” I thought I heard him sputter, like he’d swallowed his own coffee the wrong way. “But not for us. Not anymore. She gave notice on Friday. She’s been hired away by the Washington Post .”
I laughed so hard I scared the cat, but by the time she emerged from under the sofa Tim and I had a deal: a one-year contract, renewable, that would pay enough of my expenses to keep us all in Fancy Feast. My first column would be on the Violet Haze Experience, due next Tuesday. I gave Musetta her belated breakfast after that, along with a good ear scratch that had her purring as she ate, left a message for Bill, promising him a celebratory meal of a different sort, and another for Bunny, telling her to look for me in the newsroom again. Then I pulled on some clothes and headed out for Violet’s, planning my interview questions on the way.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to B. Iris Tanner of Silverlock Cattery, who first introduced me to Turkish Angoras, and the incredibly knowledgeable and generous members of the Cat Writers Association (including Wendy Christenson, Marva Marrow, Louise Holton, Steve Dale, Amy Shojai, and many, many others) for all the feline facts. All their info was solid gold, and any mistakes are mine. Fellow authors Caroline Leavitt, Brett Milano, and Vicki Constantine Croke provided boundless emotional support, writing advice, and caffeine. Frank Garelick and Lisa Jones, Sophie Garelick, Ann Porter, and of course, always, Iris Simon cheered me on. Ann Collette of the Helen Rees Agency lent an eagle eye to the manuscript, and numerous independent bookstore owners, particularly Kate Mattes of Kate’s Mystery Books, have helped launch Theda Krakow in style. All the great people at Poisoned Pen, notably editor Barbara Peters, publisher Robert Rosenwald, Nan Beams, Marilyn Pizzo, and Jessica Tribble, made this book better— and possible. Jon S. Garelick, as always, read, supported, encouraged, and believed. Thank you all.
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