Curiosity Killed the Cat Sitter

by Blaize Clement

  “You don’t know me from Adam,” I said. “Of course you’re nervous.”

  He grinned and nodded. “I guess you’d like to know how I know Phil.”

  “If you don’t mind telling me.”

  “We met at summer music camp a couple of years ago. I was a counselor, and Phil and I just hit it off. When I graduated from Juilliard, I got a job with the Sarasota Symphony Orchestra and looked Phil up. I’m a violist.”

  “Do all you musicians go to Juilliard?”

  He smiled. “No, just some of us.”

  “Juilliard’s very important to Phillip’s mother.”

  “I know. I think that’s the main reason he’s going there. He says she’s had her heart set on Juilliard for him since he first started playing piano.”

  “You think he’s just going to please her?”

  “Not completely. But he’d like to do something that would make her happier. He feels protective toward her. From what he says, she’s pretty depressed. Phil’s her whole life.”

  “I’d been thinking you two might have met at the Crab House.”

  He laughed. “No, that place is too noisy for me.”

  “But you do go there and pick Phillip up when he’s through playing?”

  He colored. “We have a late supper and spend some time together, then I take him home. Well, not home exactly. I take him to that spot where you found him there on Midnight Pass Road. He walks the rest of the way home.”

  “Had you ever noticed anybody there at that time? An early jogger maybe, or somebody walking a dog?”

  “Never. There’s never a soul out at that hour.”

  “Somebody was there yesterday. Did you see anybody then?”

  He shook his head. “He must have been hiding in the trees and grabbed Phil after I left.”

  “Did you see a car parked on the side of the street? Anything?”

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

  “Greg, do you know anybody who drives a black Miata?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “When you go to pick Phil up at the Crab House, have you ever seen a bald-headed man hanging out in the parking lot?”

  He frowned and took off his glasses. He had intelligent green eyes, and without his glasses, he looked no older than Phillip. “You know, I have seen a man like that. I noticed him the first time because he was standing next to a car, looking into it like he might be thinking about breaking into it. When I drove up, he walked off and went around the corner to the side of the building. Then I saw him again a couple of nights later. He was just leaning against the wall near the front door like he was waiting for something. Not like he was waiting for somebody, but for something, like something to happen. Why? Was that who beat Phil up?”

  “It might be. Somebody in the neighborhood saw a bald-headed man running along beside the woods right after Phillip was attacked.”

  “Do you think he was hanging around the Crab House to watch for Phil?”

  “I think he might have been, yes.”

  “But why?”

  “Greg, has Phillip talked to you about the murder that happened in the house next door to him?”

  “A little.”

  “He saw a woman come out of the house on the morning the murder was committed. I think somebody wants to make sure he doesn’t tell who the woman was. Do you have any idea who it might have been?”

  He looked shocked. “He hasn’t said a word about it.”

  His surprise seemed genuine, and so was mine. I thought Phillip would have confided that secret.

  Greg said, “You know, he’s been awfully quiet since that happened. Maybe that’s why.”

  “Quiet?”

  “Withdrawn, not himself. I was afraid it was something to do with us, but maybe it was because of the murder.”

  “Did he mention seeing a black Miata next door?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t remember anything about a Miata ever coming up. All he said about the murder was that you’d found a dead man in the next-door neighbor’s house and took the woman’s cat over to his house to stay for a while. He said his mother was annoyed because she not only hates the woman, she hates cats. That’s when I understood what a cold woman his mother must be. I know some people like dogs better than cats, but to hate cats?”

  I studied him for a minute. He had a kind, intelligent face that I liked. “You have a cat?”

  “Not anymore. I left her with my mother when I went off to school, and now they’ve bonded and Mom won’t let me move her. Actually, she was supposed to be the family cat when we got her, but she sort of adopted me, and after a while the whole family thought of her as my cat. She got really depressed when I left for college, but my mother spent a lot of time with her and she got over it. We got her when I was eight, so she’s pretty old now.”

  “Maybe it’s time for you to get another cat, one that’s all your own.”

  “I’ve thought about it, but I’ll have to wait until I can afford one. You know, the vet bills and the food and all. I still have a school loan to pay, so it may be a few years before I can take on that kind of responsibility.”

  The more I knew about this young man, the better I liked him.

  “Greg, if Phillip knows who the killer is, his life is in danger. I don’t want to alarm you, but if the killer has seen you and Phillip together, he may think Phillip told you what he knows. Until this whole thing is over, make sure you’re not alone in a secluded spot.”

  He gave me a wide-eyed stare. “I can’t believe all this is happening.”

  “It should be over soon. Just be careful.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Greg and I promised to stay in touch, and I left him staring out at Sarasota Bay. For the next couple of hours, I was too busy with my afternoon pet visits to think about everything that had happened. To tell the truth, I was on sensory overload. I couldn’t take in much more. The wonder was that I had been able to withstand as much as I had. I took it as a good sign. I must have gotten stronger without even knowing it.

  It was almost sunset when I got to Tom Hale’s apartment and ran with Billy Elliot. When we got back upstairs and I took his leash off, I went into the kitchen and sat down at the table where Tom was pushing buttons on a calculator and writing numbers on a form of some kind. He gave me a puzzled look over his glasses, and then laid down his pen.

  “What’s wrong, Dixie?”

  “Tom, did you know that Marilee Doerring had a living trust that left her house to her cat?”

  He did one of those blinking head jerks that people do when they hear something shocking, and then he laughed.

  “I didn’t know it, but I’m not surprised. She had a kind heart.”

  “You were her CPA. How come you didn’t know that?”

  “Because it had nothing to do with how she paid taxes.”

  I picked up a pencil on the table and studied it intently. Nice point. No teeth marks.

  I said, “She made me trustee.”

  “Why is it that I don’t think you’re happy about that?”

  “Because it sucks, that’s why. I don’t want that responsibility, Tom. I don’t want the house, I don’t want the car, I don’t want the cat. I don’t think it’s fair that she could just dump it on me without my permission.”

  I sounded a lot like Shuga Reasnor, but it was how I felt.

  “Being trustee doesn’t mean you have to take care of the cat personally. You can hire somebody else to do it. There must be a thousand people right here in Sarasota who would jump at the chance to move into that house and take care of the cat for you. Hell, if I didn’t think Billy Elliott would be jealous, I’d do it.”

  Hearing that affected my brain like I’d just had a slug of double-caffeine coffee.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. You’re only responsible for seeing that her wishes are carried out. You don’t have to take on each responsibility personally.”

  “Will you take care of all the fi
nancial stuff for me?”

  “Sure. You decide what you want to do and how you want it done, and I’ll take care of it. I’ll pay myself a fee from the estate. I’d recommend that you sell that Ferrari right away. I can handle that for you.”

  I was feeling better and better. Maybe Marilee hadn’t played a dirty trick on me after all. Except that a lot of people would consider having the trust a huge bonanza for me. A lot of people might also think I had known about the trust all along. A lot of people might consider it a motive for murder.

  When I left Tom, I drove to Bayfront Village. The woman at the front desk saw me when I came in the door and immediately picked up the phone to call Cora. Cora must have answered on the first ring, because the woman waved me on before I got to her desk.

  “She’s waiting for you,” she chirped, as if my visit were a magnificent gift. I suppose in a retirement home, all visitors are considered a magnificent gift.

  Cora had opened her door a crack again, and I rapped on it with my knuckles and pushed it open. No lights were burning, and the apartment had the dreary look of space where sunlight had recently withdrawn its warmth. Cora was sitting in a wing-back chair by the glass doors to the sunporch, still in her nightgown, her wispy white hair sticking up in the gloom like apparitional floss. I switched on a lamp and sat down in a chair at an angle to her. Neither of us said anything for several minutes, just sat there in the half-lit room and breathed in and out.

  After a while, Cora sighed. “They say God never gives us more than we can handle, but sometimes I think God has overestimated what I can take.”

  I said, “Have you eaten anything since this morning?”

  She looked startled, as if the idea itself was foreign. “Well, hon, I don’t remember if I did or not.”

  I got up and went in the little kitchen, switching on fluorescent lights that made harsh reflections on the white countertops. I found a can of vegetable soup, and while it heated, I made a pot of tea and got out cups and saucers for two. I poured the soup into a pretty blue pottery bowl, added crackers and butter, and carried the supper tray to the living room.

  Cora eyed the tray with a flicker of interest. “There’s a TV tray behind the sofa there,” she said. I put the tray down on a lamp table and looked behind the sofa, where a wooden TV tray was folded flat. I pulled it out and set it up in front of Cora’s chair, put a napkin in her lap, and arranged her meager meal.

  “You’d make a good waitress,” she said.

  I poured myself a cup of tea and sat down and watched her take a few tentative spoonfuls.

  “It’s good,” she said. “I didn’t think I was hungry, but I guess I am.”

  For a few minutes, the only sound was the click of spoon against bowl and Cora’s faint slurping noises. She ate the entire bowl of soup and several buttered crackers before she pronounced herself full.

  I removed the TV tray and poured us both another cup of tea. Her color was better now and her eyes had lost some of their stunned dullness.

  I said, “Cora, do you know an attorney named Ethan Crane?”

  “Well, I did, Dixie, but Ethan’s been gone now for a good while, a year maybe. Did you know him, too?”

  “No, but his grandson called me today and asked me to stop by his office. It seems he has taken over Mr. Crane’s practice. His name is also Ethan Crane. Do you know the grandson?”

  “No, I can’t say as I do. He’s taken over Ethan’s practice?”

  “That’s what he said. He had a living trust that his grandfather had drawn up for Marilee. Do you know about that?”

  She frowned. “A living what?”

  “A trust. It’s a kind of will. According to the younger Mr. Crane, Marilee had two trusts, one for you and this other one that he talked to me about. Do you know about the trust she set up for you?”

  “Oh my, yes, I know all about it. I have a copy of it. It’s personal, dear, so I won’t tell you what’s in it, but I won’t ever have to worry about running out of money.”

  Her face crumpled and she sobbed quietly with her hands over her face. I waited, knowing that tears would come like that for a while, just spring out when she least expected them, as if there were a well of tears inside her that had to pour out on their own time. When she was cried out, I got up and got Kleenex for her from the bathroom and sat back down.

  “Cora, the trust that Mr. Crane wanted to talk to me about was different from the one Marilee had for you. This one was for her cat.”

  Cora stared at me wide-eyed. “Her cat?”

  “The cat that I take care of when Marilee leaves town. His name is Ghost. She made this trust about a year ago, right after I started taking care of him. I didn’t know anything about it until Mr. Crane told me, but she put her house and car and everything in her house in this trust.”

  Cora looked as if she was about to smile. “For her cat?”

  I nodded. “For her cat. And she named me the trustee.”

  Cora put her head back against the chair and laughed. Then she looked at me. “This is the truth? Marilee left her house and car to her cat?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  She laughed again, a girlish laugh of pure delight. “That’s Marilee,” she said. “Lord, that girl was always dragging home every stray cat she saw. She wanted to give a home to all of them, and some of them didn’t even want a home, they’d rather be roaming the alleys. But no, she couldn’t stand it, she had to take care of all of them.”

  “It’s an awful lot of money, Cora.”

  “Well, don’t worry about it, hon. Marilee must have trusted you to take good care of her cat or she wouldn’t have named you that whatchacallit.”

  “Under the terms of the trust, when the cat dies, all the money that’s left goes to me.”

  “And it should. Cats live a long time. You ought to get paid for all that time.”

  “But I don’t want it, and I’ll get somebody else to take care of Ghost.”

  She smiled at me with a new sparkle in her eyes. “Well, you’ll have plenty of time to figure out what to do with it when the time comes. And by that time, you might want it.”

  “This doesn’t bother you?”

  “Land no, it don’t bother me one bit. It tickles me, is what it does. You know, Marilee was a good girl. Lots of people might look at her with all the money she made and think she was something else, but she was a good girl, and her leaving all that to her cat just proves that she was. Now when I think of my baby, I won’t be thinking of how she ended her last minutes on this earth, I’ll be thinking that up to the very end, she was a little girl wanting to take care of all the cats in the world. A generous, loving little girl. That was my Marilee.”

  I leaned over and patted her veined hand. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Cora.”

  “I guess that’s true. We never had much, but I always gave what I had.”

  Carefully, I said, “For such a young woman, Marilee acquired quite a lot.”

  She nodded proudly. “She did, that’s a fact. Marilee always had a head for figures. When she started getting the money from the Fraziers, she wasn’t old enough to take care of it herself, and Lord knows I didn’t know how to handle that much money. We wanted to get away from the Fraziers, so we moved here and she went all by herself to Ethan Crane and got herself declared a grown-up. I don’t remember what he called it, but I signed some papers and he had her something-or-other removed through the court.”

  “Disabilities of nonage.”

  “I guess so. Anyway, after that she could handle all that money by herself, and she did right well. She bought us a house first off, a nice little frame house in Bradenton, and then we went out and bought everything new. New refrigerator and new stove and new beds and mattresses. Oh my, we had a time doing that. First time either one of us had ever had a whole houseful of new things. She spent over half of the first money she got on the house and furniture and a new car for herself and one for me. But the money was going to keep coming in
, every year, you know, so Marilee would sit up every night studying about how to invest it.”

  I did a bit of fast calculation of what half of a quarter of a million dollars invested twenty years ago would be worth today at 10 percent compounded interest, and my head got swimmy. If the same amount was invested every year for twenty years, the total value would be more than I could count. Even accounting for Marilee’s expensive lifestyle, she had made herself an extremely wealthy woman.

  Cora was watching me figure it out. “When I die,” she said, “all the money she made goes to help other poor girls get an education or start their own businesses. Ethan Crane set it up that way for her.”

  “I never realized,” I said.

  “Well, you wouldn’t, would you? Marilee never forgot where she came from, or how hard it was for us before the money. I kept working for a couple of years, but she wouldn’t hear of it, and so I finally quit. It was about time, too, my ankles were going real bad. I haven’t worked a lick since, and Marilee’s always taken good care of me. She was a good girl.”

  Feeling chastened and slightly guilty, I got up and washed the supper dishes. I wondered if I would have been half as responsible as Marilee had been if I had started getting a quarter of a million dollars every year when I was sixteen. Marilee continued to surprise me.

  On my way home, I turned on impulse and drove around the curve to Marilee’s house. A white Jaguar sat in her driveway, and I pulled up behind it and got out. When I rounded the corner of the garage, I saw Shuga Reasnor at the front door, trying to unlock it. She looked around at me with a dark expression of frustration and resentment.

  “Have you had the damn locks changed?”

  I shook my head, all innocence. “Doesn’t your key work?”

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with it! You must have a key, let me in. I need to get some of my things.”

  “I’m not authorized to let anybody in, Miss Reasnor.”

  “Oh, bullshit! Who’s going to authorize you? Cora? The police? I have a right to go in and get my personal property before they send in some estate liquidator to haul everything off.”