Menagerie

by Kristy Tate

  Leonard smacked his lips. “Well, now, that’s a mighty fine thank you.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” Lizbet said, right before she climbed onto his boat and settled down on a cushioned bench beneath the bimini top. She placed Tennyson’s basket beside her, smoothed down her skirt, and pulled a P.D. James murder mystery out of her bag. She typically preferred cozy mysteries to police procedurals, but right now she needed all the instruction on crime solving she could get, even if it happened to be British, and she didn’t know where else to find it.

  And what did it mean to get your panties in a bunch? Did panties come in bunches? She and her mom got theirs in packages. Leonard delivered them, so he probably knew more about where her panties came from than she did. This thought so unsettled her that she stewed about it for a long time. Everything she owned had come from her mom. But how had her mom gotten her panties as well as everything else? They grew most of their own food—canning and storing their fruits and vegetables for the long winter months. But some things—oatmeal, whole wheat flour, toiletries, books—were delivered by Leonard. Her mom must have bought and paid for them, but how? Had the blackberry wine business been that successful? And if so, why had her mom walked away from it?

  Lizbet let the questions bubble inside her until she thought she’d explode. When she decided she couldn’t take anymore, she did what she always did when stressed. She drew her bookmark out and lost herself between the pages of her novel.

  #

  A light rain fell and a heavy cloud hovered over the Queen Anne skyline. To Lizbet, the gray-shrouded city looked like it had escaped the pages of a science fiction novel. She clutched Tennyson’s basket and worried she’d made a mistake. Raindrops collected on the windshield and Leonard’s plastic poncho, but he didn’t seem to mind. Lizbet, sitting a row behind him was drier and probably warmer, but her mood matched the drizzly weather.

  “We should go home,” she whispered. “I don’t belong here.”

  “Not yet,” the cat replied. “But you will.” He let out a long meow. “The mice will be so hard to find among all this concrete.”

  “I won’t let you starve,” she told the cat. “Maybe we can purchase mice...somehow.”

  Leonard chuckled and shot her a quick glance over his shoulder. “You know you can buy canned cat food, right?”

  “They put mice in cans?” Lizbet asked. Why that seemed so much crueler than letting Tennyson stalk and eat mice, she didn’t know, but it did. At least with stalking and pouncing the mice had a sporting chance. Locking the poor things up in cans seemed wrong in so many ways.

  Leonard let out a belly laugh and his potato-shaped middle jiggled. “No, silly. I’m not exactly sure what they put in those little cans. It smells like the devil’s butt, but the cats love it. Well, except for the Siamese. There’s no pleasing those guys. I should know, I got myself one of those finicky creatures.”

  Tennyson looked as skeptical as Lizbet felt. She ran her fingers through the cat’s fur while Leonard guided his little postal boat into the busy harbor. Several others manning their own watercrafts called out to them and Leonard waved at all of them. These men and women watched Lizbet with questioning eyes, but Lizbet had so many questions of her own, she ignored their stares.

  Buildings as tall as trees. Air as rank as the slough. The sounds melded together, completely indistinguishable one from another. Gulls wheeled over her head, but she couldn’t catch their words. They were hungry, worried, and scared. Lizbet tightened her grip on Tennyson’s basket.

  “Let me take care of a few things at the postal center,” Leonard said. “It’ll take me awhile, but if you don’t mind sitting tight in my car, I can drop you off at Queen Anne General on my way home. Or, if you’d rather, you can walk. It’s just five blocks that way.”

  Five blocks? What composed a block?

  Leonard must have read the panic in her eyes, because he pointed out the large gray building on the hill. “It’s that place right there. Although, like I said, you won’t be able to take the cat inside.”

  Lizbet nodded, thanked Leonard, ignored his friends, and headed toward the hospital. She didn’t want to sit and wait. She needed to be up and doing something. If she kept busy, maybe her mind would stop running in circles. Juggling her suitcase, the macramé bag, and Tennyson’s basket, she left the marina and pier. Tennyson remained uncharacteristically quiet. Lizbet guessed he was as cowed as she was by the noise, sights, and smells of the city.

  As they moved further from the wharf, the air turned less briny but heavier with exhaust from the machines roaring through the streets. She found herself thinking, This must be a car, this must be a bus, but what is the contraption that travels through the air on the suspended track? What is the tall tower looking like a turtle stuck on a fence post?

  Like the buildings and vehicles, the people also came in all shapes, sizes, and colors. She immediately knew she hadn’t needed to worry about what to wear. Only a very few wore uniforms as strict as Leonard’s. Bearded men in shorts and flip-flops. Women in long skirts. Girls in pants so tight they looked like they were wearing stockings all the way up their legs. Men in blazers with crisp white shirts and colorful ties. A man in a white lab coat that flapped as he walked. A mother in jeans and a sweater pushing a baby stroller. A fat, curly haired, pink-cheeked baby waved his bottle at Lizbet. She smiled back.

  And there was an African American. She had never seen one before in real life. His hair, fashioned into a multitude of tiny braids, was nothing like the African America female she spotted across the street. And there was a redheaded man in a kilt. She wondered if he truly didn’t wear underwear beneath his skirt, but decided asking this would be as rude as asking if she could touch the black man’s’ hair. Although, she really wanted to touch the black curly hair and peek beneath the redheaded man’s kilt.

  The sensory overload tempted Lizbet to sit on a street bench and watch the tide of humanity wash past, but the need to find her mother pushed her forward. She kept her eyes on the tall gray building, knowing she’d be disoriented in minutes if she lost sight of it.

  She stepped off a curb and several things happened all at once. A bus driver blasted his horn. A car screeched so close that she felt the heat of its engine on her skin. She dropped Tennyson’s basket as a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her back onto the sidewalk.

  “What are you doing?” A man in a suit held her captive. His bald head glistened from the fine mist falling around them.

  She shook away from him. “I’m going to the hospital.”

  He snorted. “You’re going to need the hospital if you step out into traffic like that again.”

  Traffic. Lizbet glanced at the poles lining the sidewalks. A small box with an illuminated red hand flashed at her. A trio of lights hovered over the street. The cars rushed past, but when the light changed from green to red, the cars pulled to a stop at the painted white lines on the street.

  Fascinating. The lights controlled the cars. But how?

  “Are you okay?” the man asked.

  “No, I’m...Tennyson!” Where was he? His empty basket lay at her feet.

  “You’re Tennyson?”

  “My cat!” She glanced at the street. The cars idled beside her, but she guessed that as soon as the light turned red they would all zoom away and if Tennyson were hiding beneath any of the tires... “Tennyson!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “It is not the strongest of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change.”

  —Charles Darwin

  From Declan’s Research

  Declan pulled his Ford F150 up to the curb in front of Patty’s Poodle Palace and slammed his truck into park. The front window had dancing poodle silhouettes painted on it, a pink and white striped awning over the door, and pots filled with pink geraniums on the sill. Just looking at it threatened his manhood. He wondered if Beetle had an opinion on his barbershop...or beauty parlor.

  He du
cked inside, retrieved the freshly bathed dog, and headed outside as fast as he could. Immediately, a small dark-haired girl standing on the opposite corner caught his attention. She wore a boho skirt, clunky lace-up boots, and a long knotty green sweater, and carried a basket with something orange and furry inside it. Her long dark hair reminded him of someone or something...maybe a raven’s wing.

  He stopped short when he spotted Nicole on the corner of David and Third.

  She raised her hand in a small wave. Nothing like the girl in the boho skirt, Nicole did everything in an understated way. He supposed that was one of the things he liked about her. Her clothes bordered on boring. She wore her hair long, straight, sometimes pulled back, but usually not. Minimal makeup. It was as if she knew she was interesting all on her own and she didn’t need to be tarted up.

  Of course he wasn’t the only one who found her interesting. His dark thoughts turned to Jason Norbit. He almost forgot to wave in return.

  Nicole hurried over to him. “Hey, sailor!”

  “Hi Nicole.” He scrambled for something witty to say. Wanting to compliment her somehow, he searched her face, her clothes, her hair...but found nothing in anyway remarkable. He had to remind himself that this was precisely what he liked about her.

  “Who’s your friend?” she asked, smiling at him.

  Friend? He had friends, Of course some were friendlier than others...She knew most of his friends. She’d been in his kindergarten class, so they’d known each other—and their friends—for a long time. Was this a trick question? Had she guessed how he felt about Jason?

  She squatted beside him to pet Beetle, and comprehension dawn on Declan like a stack of books hitting him in the head so hard he felt stupid.

  “Huh, this is Beetle.”

  “Beetle, you’re a looker!” she crooned at the dog.

  “And he smells better than usual, too.” What a stupid thing to say. Why would she care how the dog smelled?

  Nicole glanced up at him with her large green eyes. “Beagles are known for their sense of smell, right?”

  “That’s not what I meant...” He jerked his shoulder in the direction of Patty’s Poodle Palace. “He just had a bath.”

  “He’s cute. Is he yours?”

  “No, I’m...” He thought of Jason’s Mercedes and the Norbits’ house on Lake Oleander and didn’t want to admit he was a paid dog-walker. Not that he was ashamed of having to work. That wasn’t it. He just knew some girls cared about money and status. He hoped Nicole wasn’t one of those girls. “He belongs to a friend.”

  Nicole gave Beetle another rub between his ears before she climbed to her feet. “You want to come by tomorrow night? I’m having a party.”

  Words caught in Declan’s throat and for a second he worried they would choke him. “That would be great!” he managed to get out, hoping he didn’t sound as eager as he felt.

  “Great!” She repeated his word. “I’ll see you then.” She wiggled her fingers at him, or maybe at Beetle, and turned to go.

  He stood on the corner, watching her hair flounce around her shoulders, liking the way the sun glinted on her honey blond curls, and the bounce in her step. After she disappeared into a party supply store, he shook himself, turned and...where was Beetle?

  #

  A beagle raced past Lizbet, braying like a wounded donkey as he brushed against her. A flash of orange fur streaked through the crowd.

  “Tennyson!” Lizbet took off after the cat. She caught up to the beagle first. Stepping in front of him, she confronted the dog. “What do you think you’re doing?” She slapped his nose.

  “Cat! Cat! Cat!” The dog brayed and tried to go around her, but Lizbet captured his collar and gave it a sharp tug.

  “Listen here, Neanderthal.”

  “Cat! Cat! Cat!” The dog continued his howl.

  Lizbet squatted to eye level and placed her hands on either side of the beagle’s head. “You are not going to chase that cat.”

  The dog met her gaze and dropped to its haunches.

  “How did you do that?”

  Lizbet looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. A young man about her age stood in front of her, an empty leash dangling from his hand. His thick hair curled over his forehead.

  “He’s listening to you. Beetle doesn’t listen to anyone unless they’re holding raw meat.”

  “Is that true, Beetle?” Lizbet asked, searching the dog’s brown eyes.

  “I’m hungry,” Beetle whined.

  “He says he’s hungry.” Lizbet relinquished her hold on the dog’s collar as the young man took possession of it. For a half-second, his hand brushed hers, sending tingles shooting up her arm.

  Lizbet stood and wiped her hands on her skirt.

  “He told you that?” The young man smirked as he repositioned the dog’s collar and tightened the leash.

  “Well, it’s pretty obvious. Look at him. He looks like he could use a good meal.”

  “The cat not only sleeps in my bed, she also eats all my food,” Beetle whined.

  “Do you have a cat?” Lizbet asked.

  “Well, yeah, my mom does but...”

  “The cat is probably eating Beetle’s food. No wonder he hates cats.” Lizbet glanced around. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to find mine. Tennyson!”

  “Meow.”

  Tennyson perched on a windowsill ten feet off the ground.

  “How did you get up there?”

  “Not sure,” Tennyson replied. “Better question, how will I get down?”

  “It’s like he’s talking to you,” the young man said.

  “What? No...” Lizbet placed her hands on her hips and gazed up at the cat. “Jump down.”

  “Not with that creature there.”

  Lizbet glanced at Beetle. “Can you go away?”

  Beetle glared at her, didn’t answer, and sat back on his bony haunches.

  “It’s a public street corner.” The young man’s lips twitched.

  “I know, and you and your dog have every right to be here, but I’m afraid my cat won’t come down as long as you’re here.” He was perhaps the most handsome thing she’d ever seen, and that’s what made it so hard to say what had to be said. “Could you please just leave?” She made little shooing motions with her hands.

  He balled his fists and placed them on his hips. “What makes you think your cat will come down if I go?”

  “Frankly, I don’t care if you stay or go, but Beetle must leave or my cat won’t come down.”

  He planted his feet about hip-distance apart, folded his arms across his chest, and gave Lizbet a defiant what are you going to do about it stare.

  Lizbet stared back for several seconds before an idea came to her. She put down her bags, reached for a window ledge about three feet high and swung herself up. A startled woman at a desk on the other side of the window gave her a wide-eyed look. Lizbet, knowing that now, unlike the Scotsman in his kilt, everyone would be able to see her underwear, found another handhold and began to scale the wall.

  “What’s the problem here?” A man in a police uniform stepped up to them. “Miss, I insist you come down!”

  Lizbet looked over her shoulder. “Why?”

  He frowned up at her. “It’s forbidden...You can’t climb the buildings.”

  “Obviously, I can.”

  The policeman shook his head.

  “Oh, you mean, I shouldn’t. Well, why not?”

  “You’ll get hurt, or you’ll hurt someone else.” The policeman frowned at her and tapped his foot.

  “Seems unlikely,” Lizbet called back down. She was now halfway to Tennyson and she wasn’t going to come down without the cat. “How can I hurt anyone? Other than Tennyson, I’m the only one up here.”

  “Get down right now, or ‘I’ll have to write you up!” The officer pointed at the sidewalk.

  “Am I breaking a law? I don’t see any no climbing signs.”

  “We can’t have signs for every little thing!” He stoo
d directly below her.

  “You didn’t answer my question. Is there a city ordinance against climbing the buildings?”

  “Yes!”

  Lizbet suspected the officer was lying.

  “Go ahead and climb down,” Tennyson said. “You won’t do anyone any good if you’re in jail.”

  She gazed at her cat for half a second before jumping down. Her skirt floated around her before settling back around her knees. It took her a moment to catch her breath and find stability. She pointed a finger at the young man. “His dog chased my cat.”

  The police officer turned his frown on the young man. “There are leash laws here, son.”

  The young man blew out a frustrated breath. “He got away from me.”

  The police officer’s lips twitched.

  The young man raked his fingers through his thick brown curls. “I know he looks old and slow, but—”

  The police officer clapped his hand on the young man’s back. “Gotta keep a grip.”

  Lizbet silently conferred with Tennyson and he meowed back that Lizbet should go to the hospital. He would wait for her on the ledge. While the police officer and the young man talked about leashes and proper pet etiquette, Lizbet slipped away.

  It wasn’t easy to run with her macramé bag, cat basket, and suitcase banging against her legs as she weaved through the people thronging the busy sidewalk, but she managed to reach the wide double doors of Queen Anne General without knocking anyone over.

  She paused on the black rubber mat in front of the entrance. To her amazement, the glass doors slid open. She dropped her bags in surprise.

  “Here, let me help you.” A man in a dark wool suit that perfectly matched his ebony hair reached for her suitcase.

  Lizbet fell to her knees and quickly scooped up the few things that had escaped her bag—a hair brush, a container of lip balm, and her novel.

  “You’re a James fan?”

  His eyes were almost as dark as her own. His thick black hair was brushed away from his face, exposing a widow’s peak. A flicker of recognition tingled in the back of her mind. She had met this man before, she was sure of it, but she couldn’t say where, how, or when. Looking in his face was like looking at a photograph of a not too distant memory. He was tall, but solid—nothing like the lithe young man who belonged to Beetle—and he had huge hands with strong fingers and blunt nails. An unexpected shiver crawled down her back.