The Squeaky Clean Skeleton

by R A Muth

  Eager to stay out of the limelight, I took a couple of steps to the side. Hopefully, it was out of the newscaster's line of vision. Tugging Hazel's sleeve, I motioned with my head toward our van. "Come on. Let's go so I can buy some cat food and litter. If I'm going to be a cat owner, even temporarily, I'll need basic supplies."

  "Excuse me?" Hazel and turned to find a petite woman leveling her gaze at us. Her eyebrows narrowed into a straight line across her forehead, and her lips drew together to create a tiny heart-shaped bow. Without waiting for us to respond, she forged ahead, "Am I to understand that you two found my aunt's, ah, body? Or what remained of it?"

  Hazel looked at me and back to the newcomer before replying, “Your aunt?”

  “Yes. I’m Marci Livingston, and I’d like for someone to tell me what’s going on here.”

  From behind Marci, we could hear a voice asking, “Hi, may I interview you for my Careless Whispers blog?”

  Marci’s eyes grew round, and she beckoned us closer to the porch. Once there, she asked, “Is it true that Aunt Christine is dead?” The woman looked from Hazel to me with a face lacking any sign of emotion.

  Maybe she’s in shock, I thought, because if it were me, I’d be pretty upset at the news of a relative’s death.

  Hazel asked, “Your aunt is Mrs. Livingston?”

  “Yes, she is. Or, she was, if what I heard come over the police scanner at the coffee shop was true.”

  “That’s right! We were at Mocha Joe’s, and Ivy and I told her to rush right over here,” Mrs. Benefield’s voice announced behind me.

  I gasped and spun around. Good Lord, despite being the size of a walrus, the woman had the stealth of one of those big desert cats. Not that I was one to talk about anyone’s weight. My inner thighs rubbed together so much when I walked, it’s a wonder my yoga pants hadn’t spontaneously combusted.

  Puff Daddy looked at the cat in my arms and released a steady stream of barks and snarls, but the feline ignored the yappy little dog and snuggled closer against me, purring louder.

  “Yes,” Marci confirmed, “and I’m so glad you did. Thank you.”

  Marci shoved her hands into the pockets of her quilted black ski jacket. I recognized the brand as a top-end style with a high-end price tag. The retail value of the single piece of outerwear would cover more than a year of my house payments.

  That must be nice. Glancing at my partner, I saw her chewing her bottom lip, no doubt trying to decide how much or little information to share.

  The silence stretched on and became more awkward with each passing second. Mindful of Gavin’s warnings, but wanting to share at least a little info, with as much sympathy as possible, I blurted, “We can’t be sure. There was a bit of decomposition that made it difficult to identify the individual by sight alone.”

  “The person you should be asking these questions is the medical examiner.” Hazel looked around until she found her target and pointed to a man wearing a dark blue coat, the initials M.E. marking the back of the fabric in bold white, block-style letters. “He could tell you more about what happens next, or maybe you could ask someone from the forensics team.”

  “Except they weren’t the people who found my aunt, and I don’t care to know what happens next,” Marci insisted. “I need details about what happened. How did she get the way she is now? Who did this to her?”

  “But nobody’s proved who the victim is yet. Your aunt could be off on one of her adventures,” Hazel insisted.

  Pulling her hands from her pockets, Marci ran her fingers through her silky black hair and exhaled, her cheeks puffing a little. “Right. Can we go somewhere else to discuss this? Inside, perhaps?”

  “The police ordered us to stay out of the house until they’re finished investigating.” I nodded toward the front of the mansion where a cop I didn’t recognize sealed the front porch in yellow-and-black crime scene tape. Gavin walked by and narrowed his eyebrows at me. I lowered my voice and added, “It’s better if we don’t go back inside the house. The guy who just walked by us? He isn’t the friendliest policeman in Cooper’s Cove, or the whole region of Blueberry Bay, for that matter.”

  Two other men approached us. Aside from their hair color--one brunette and the other one ginger--they could have been twins. Their height and facial expressions reminded me of evil goons in a James Bond movie, but before I could inquire about them, Marci waved them over.

  “These are my cousins, Pierce and Royce,” she explained when they reached us with no indication of what name went to which cousin.

  The cat raised his head and gave a low hiss, baring his teeth and scowling. Rubbing the feline between its ears, I murmured soothing words in an attempt to get my new furry friend to settle.

  Ignoring the cat’s reaction to her cousins, Marci turned to them and explained, “These are the women who found Aunt Christine.”

  “Allegedly,” Hazel reminded.

  “So, you’re not the ones who found the victim?” one of the men asked.

  Unsure which cousin to address, I focused on petting the cat between its ears while Hazel explained, “We found someone, but the authorities won’t have a positive I.D. for the victim until they run some tests.”

  “What were you doing in the house?” the other one asked.

  Hazel looked at me, then at the men before replying, “Mrs. Livingston hired us to clean out the attic. I’m Hazel, and this is Tori. We own Bubbles and Troubles, an estate cleaning service.”

  “That’s wicked cool. If Aunt Christine’s dead, it saves us the trouble of hauling all that stuff to the junk shop,” one of the male cousins said. His smile was way too gleeful for someone who had recently lost a family member, but I wasn’t about to point it out.

  The other heir rubbed his hands together and added, “It will be so much easier to sell the house that way. Don’t you agree, Marci?”

  Hazel and I glanced at each other. These people were quick to discuss unloading Mrs. Livingston’s estate and its contents. Shouldn’t they be mourning their aunt?

  Chapter 9

  “You two stop. You may not have been as close to our aunt as I was, but I spent every summer with Aunt Christine. I have a lot of good memories, even if you don’t,” Marci chastised her cousins, not bothering to lower her voice.

  The cat hissed at the men again, and the ginger-haired cousin took a step back. “We’ll have to get rid of that if we’re going to sell the house, too.”

  “What do you mean, get rid of it?” I held the cat a little closer.

  “Tell her, Royce,” the brunette male who I now knew was Pierce said. “The best cat is a dead cat.”

  Royce drew the tip of his index finger across his throat before explaining, “Because the shelters are overcrowded and euthanize a lot of their animals.”

  “Besides, everyone knows black cats are the hardest for shelters to get adopted.” Pierce stared at the cat in my arms as he spoke. “That hairball on four legs is as good as gone.”

  Although I had a cat all through my childhood, Duffy’s allergies prevented me from keeping a pet during our married years. I could have tried a goldfish, but it wouldn’t have been the same. Nothing prevented me from having one now, though and besides, I’d as much as promised my fuzzy new friend a place to stay, and a promise was a promise. “I’ll take the cat.”

  “Tori, are you sure?” Hazel and the three cousins stared at me.

  “Yep. I’ll take the cat to my house and get him set up, but I’ll also post his photo on the Reel Life app in case anyone in the area recognizes him.” The cat snuggled closer as if giving its approval. The tension in my shoulders began to ease away for the first time since we discovered the skeletal remains.

  “People still use that app?” Royce snickered behind his back. Pierce wasted no time in joining him.

  “Everybody! There are a bunch of us in Cooper’s Cove who use it, and all my cousins in Redwood Cove, California, and Vivian, my Girl Scout pen pal from Northern Virginia who moved to New York Cit
y.” I would have gone on defending my favorite social media network but realized I was gaining an audience and pressed my lips together.

  Hazel frowned and sighed. “So, none of you object to Tori taking the cat?” When they shook their heads, she continued, “Good, because she’s already bewitched it. You see how much it likes her.”

  The cousins peppered Hazel with questions about me and I thought I heard the word “witch,” but I was busy using my phone to take a picture of my new furry friend when the sound of a male clearing his throat filled the air.

  “I’m going to say this one time, and in one minute, anyone who is still here is getting some new bling and going for a ride in my police car.” Gavin patted the handcuffs hooked to his belt and winked at me. Addressing the group again, he continued, “This is a crime scene. Anyone who does not have authorization to be here must leave. The last time I checked, which was about two seconds ago, none of you had any permission to be here. Vah-moose!

  “Oh, and Queen Victoria? I hope you’re taking that cat with you. It was wicked stupid that you even brought it on the job. What does it do, chase mice?”

  Before I could explain, again, that this wasn’t my cat, it swatted at Gavin with its razor-sharp claws. The police officer looked at the trio of red lines forming on the back of his hand, and his face turned the color of beach plum jam. Any doubts I had about taking the cat home disappeared the moment it defended me.

  “Gavin, I’m so sorry,” I offered, hoping my voice held the note of apology that was more sincere than I felt.

  “That thing’s shots better be current. If I get rabies, you’ll be sorry!” Turning on his heel, Gavin stormed off in the direction of his police car.

  I stroked the side of the cat’s face and whispered, “Good kitty.”

  “Wow. Is he always like that?” Marci asked.

  “Who?” Hazel and I asked in unison.

  Marci tilted her head in Gavin’s direction. “The police officer. He seems a little, ah, domineering.”

  Did Marci just lick her lips? Could she actually be interested in Gavin? Before I could warn her off, Hazel snickered.

  “Nope. Sometimes he’s worse, but I get to say things like that because he’s my brother.”

  “Your brother? Wow, okay.” Marci pulled a card from the pocket of her designer-label jeans and handed it to Hazel. “So, all of my contact information is here. I want to talk to you two as soon as possible about exactly what you found.”

  “Marci, are you sure you’d rather not remember your aunt the way she was?” I asked.

  “Allegedly,” Hazel corrected me. “Nothing is final about the victim’s identity until the medical examiner or coroner or whoever runs some tests.”

  Marci looked from Hazel to me, “I’m positive. I have a lunch appointment in Glendale but would love to meet with you both after that, if you’re free, that is.”

  Hazel sighed. “Yeah, we should be free. The police are declaring the entire mansion a crime scene kind of put a huge kink in our schedule.”

  “Fifteen seconds!” Gavin used the bullhorn in his patrol car to bellow at us.

  Turning on her heel, Hazel stalked off to her van, calling over her shoulder, “Fine, Gavin! We get it!”

  “We’ll call you,” I promised before following Hazel to the van and sliding into the passenger seat. The cat sat on my lap as I shut the door and fastened my seat belt, then curled into a ball and began purring.

  “So, is the little guy your new roommate?” Hazel observed as she turned the key, the engine roaring to life.

  “Maybe. We’ll have to see if anyone claims ownership first.” I stroked the cat’s side and smiled, silently hoping nobody would. The idea of having a pet became more appealing with each passing minute.

  Hazel navigated through the crowd of onlookers, tapping her horn as needed to get the busybodies to move out of her way. “Well, I hope you can afford things like food and litter for it if we don’t find more work soon.”

  “Oh!” I reached for my tote bag and, with as little disruption as possible to the creature on my lap, rummaged until I found Asher’s card. “I forgot to tell you that I got a lead on a job over the weekend. With all the excitement, it slipped my mind until now.”

  "Huzzah!" Hazel cheered after I filled her in on my news. "This is perfect. We can go by Kitty City on the way to your house, and then I'd like to go home and grab a shower. I feel wicked gross after being that attic with the corpse and everything. Let's call and see if he's free to talk after that."

  Phone in hand, I made the call and put Asher on speaker. It only took a few minutes to confirm the details. The brewery owner insisted we drop in any time before that evening's dinner rush, and when the call disconnected, my best friend and I cheered, our spirits buoyed.

  Hazel tapped her fingertips on the steering wheel while I held the cat at arms' length and gently waved him back and forth in a makeshift dance. Although he hadn't scratched or bitten, I could have sworn he rolled his eyes and sighed.

  "Fine, mister grumpy pants," I muttered and returned him to my lap. "You could have had a career as a dancing cat and made a ton of money, but that's okay."

  Thanks to a combination of Hazel's lead foot and keen navigational skills, the cat and I, along with a giant shopping bag of cat supplies I could hardly afford, were home half an hour later.

  Once inside, I deposited the cat on my kitchen floor and worked to set up the litter box in the guest bathroom. The cat was a guest, technically.

  Back in the kitchen, I took care of filling the cat's food and water dishes before setting them on the floor next to the trash can. When I looked around for my new furry friend, he was gone.

  "Uh-oh. Where'd you go, little guy? Kitty? Here, kitty-kitty-kitty!" I called, wandering into the living room. Instead of finding the cat, however, a strange man stood in its place, his arms raised over his head as he stretched with languid movements.

  Chapter 10

  The man noticed me and lowered his arms, the corners of his mouth lifting into a grin that dimpled his cheeks.

  Brandishing the nearest object within reach, which happened to be the television remote, I pointed it at him and screamed, "Who are you and what are you doing in my house?"

  "Howya, lass. I'm called Rune, and ye brought me here in the other lass's coach." He jerked his head in the direction of the dooryard.

  Not only was my home intruder tall, dark, and handsome, but he also spoke with an alluring Irish accent. Wonderful. Keeping the remote pointed at the stranger as if it held the ability to freeze him in place, I stooped to look under the sofa.

  When the search revealed little more than a few vagrant dust bunnies, I stood and faced the intruder once more. "I'm only saying this one more time. Tell me how you got inside my home now!"

  "Calm yerself, lass. As I said, ye brought me here."

  Keeping my back to the wall, I craned my head to glance down the length of the hall. Darn. Still no kitty-cat. Did this guy scare him off our something? Aloud, I argued, "No, I brought a cat here, after Hazel and I went to Kitty City, where I spent a fortune in cat supplies."

  "Aye. It's me." Rune drew the fingers of one hand through his mane of thick, black hair and tilted his head, his eyes sparkling. I noticed a scar on his chin and ignored a faint memory nagging at the back of my mind.

  Taking in the way the man's muscles rippled beneath the fabric of his white silk shirt and black trousers for the first time, my mouth dropped open. When I didn't respond, he pulled his fingertips against his palm in a poor representation of a cat's paw, swiped the air, and winked. "Don't tell me ye can't see the resemblance?"

  This guy was nuttier than a fruitcake. He looked more like one of those models on the covers of Regency romance novels than he did a cat. "No, I do not see the resemblance, and I'm calling the police if you don't get out of my home right now!"

  "Ye mean the shades from earlier?"

  "Shades?" I struggled to understand his odd way of speaking. "Do you mea
n sunglasses?"

  "No, not like specky four-eyes. Shades like the policeman. Gavin, ye called him?"

  Pointing the remote at him again--although I wasn't sure how I'd use it as a weapon--I challenged, "Oh, so you're friends with Gavin? Great! It explains so much and will make it easier for him to haul you out of here since you won't leave on your own."

  "Now, lass, don't get yer knickers in a twist."

  "My knickers?" I paused between the two words. "You must be high if you think you're going to trespass into my home and talk to me that way."

  "No, I'm not off me face, although I reckon we both could use some bevvies right about now."

  "I have no idea what language you're speaking, but you need to give me my cat and get out of my house right now." I waved the remote about for emphasis as I spoke. "So help me, I will not hesitate to call 9-1-1."

  "9-1-1 of what?"

  "9-1-1! The number you dial to call the police!" Unsure whether they had 9-1-1 service wherever he was from, I added, "Oh, whatever! You're about to get a first-hand demonstration of how it works!"

  The man held his arms out to his sides, palms facing toward me, and asked, "How can I prove to you that I'm your cat?"

  A smugness crept through me. "Fine. Tell me something only the cat would know."

  "The lass called Marci has fond memories of her aunt, and she asked to meet with ye and the other lass later." Now it was his turn to grin at me.

  But my next words erased that smile right off his face. "That proves nothing. You could have been an eavesdropping bystander who overheard our conversation."

  Rune pursed his lips before smiling again. "Ye've got my bottle in your pocket. Ye know, the bottle ye rubbed in the attic before speaking the phrase? Ye put in yer pocket in the kitchen before it could fall."

  Much to my surprise, everything he said was correct. Although Gavin was hot on my heels, he didn't enter the room until after it happened.