I turned my attention back to the crossword. What was a four letter word for assassinate? Not, “kill”. That didn’t fit. It had to fit in with “adeptly” in the vertical column, so must end with a “Y”.
“Slay,” said Liesl.
I looked up, startled. Her eyes were still closed.
Chapter Nineteen
Kim Norwich
Saturday Evening
The show hall was technically filled with suspects, but we had to let everyone go home that night. I had followed, standing by in silence while the detective questioned people at length. The restroom was taped off and the men’s bathroom became a unisex facility for the duration of that day. That too had become a pigsty in short order. It was disgusting.
I walked up and down the aisle that night checking under each cage. I lifted curtains and drapes of all kinds. Under the cages were all sorts of grooming supplies, boxes with crackers and cheese, bags of potato chips and cookies. No wonder cat people looked the way they did. There were trash bags too, filled with unimaginable stuff. A couple of the cages had little mattresses, dog beds really. For the gnomes, children of the Cat People.
I used my flashlight and shone it into every corner. I didn’t know what I expected to see, but anything was possible.
A soft meow caught me by surprise and I shone the light up into the face of a blue Abyssinian. Tracy Pringle’s cat. She had left him here alone? He reached for me with one paw, pleading for attention. I looked around and saw no one. I opened the door and took him out. He settled happily into my arms, purring, reaching for my face with his paw, tapping me lightly on the cheek.
“Oh, great,” I said. “Now you know I have to put you back!”
“Miss Norwich, I’m here.” I turned to see Everett, my night man, standing behind me. He was a big fellow with a perpetual stupid grin. He was popping gum. I hesitated for a moment, thinking maybe I shouldn’t leave.
“Got a friend there, huh?” he said.
I put the Aby back in his cage and shut the door. “His owner’s an ass.”
“’Zat right?”
“Only an ass would leave a cat in a show hall overnight like this. But she’s an ass for plenty of other reasons too.”
He chortled, a low gravelly sound in his throat.
“Any special instructions tonight?” he said.
“Stay awake.”
Again the chortle.
“Just be alert. The cops will be crawling all over the place all night, but that doesn’t mean we get to slack off. You know this building better than they do. And check the back doors. I am sure I locked them, but check them again.”
“I’m on it. Get some rest, willya?” He clapped me on the shoulder with a heavy hand. I brushed it away.
“Keep a sharp eye out. The murder was in that restroom.” I gestured with a thumb. “And make sure this kitty has water.”
I turned and left the building.
Chapter Twenty
Cecilia Fox
Friday Afternoon
The judge stepped up to the table, and with a dramatic flip of his wrists, tossed Kenya up under the lights. With a solid “thunk”, the cat stuck the landing like an Olympic champion. His feet were squarely planted, his legs stretched, and he stood on his toes with his back arched slightly. He gazed out over his audience, a benevolent ruler, lifting his chin and stretching his neck upward. His head nodded, a light “yes”, that universal good-humored feline gesture. And his tail! Oh, his tail, that crowning glory, swept up over his back, flagging this way and that, a black-tipped banner of pride.
The judge stepped back from his table, allowing the cat to shine alone in his glory. Larry had no fear that Kenya would go anywhere. It was very clear that he knew what it was all about. There he stood, center stage, calmly absorbing the adulation that was his due.
Around me, I felt the spectators go breathless. “Wow,” said a voice behind me. I was suddenly aware that I was weeping, as this moment signified what all the trivia, all the effort was about: The constant search for that one special creature, who so effortlessly and fearlessly represented its breed, in temperament and stature, and in that elusive charisma that so few of them possessed.
Kenya had it. And despite all the squabbling, all the back-stabbing, not a soul here could deny that he deserved every award bestowed upon him.
At that moment, I realized the judge was speaking, but my thoughts had missed most of his description. I think he talked about Kenya’s perfect muzzle, the feral shape of his green eyes, his beautiful ruddy color. He was finishing with, “He’s got it all, this Somali boy. A great representation of the breed. And today, he is my Best Cat.”
As Larry said the words, he picked Kenya up, holding him high overhead, fully stretched. Kenya rested easily in his grasp, his front paws treading the air gently in his contented “swimming” motion. The crowd around me began to applaud. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I quickly wiped my eyes, and turned around to see Wesley standing behind me.
“Congratulations,” he said. I could tell by his smile that he meant it.
I smiled back. “Thank you so much!”
“Where’s your cat?” Andrew said. I was sitting alone, knitting, with no Kenya on his grooming cart.
“Oh, Roxanne took him to have his photo done.”
“Why didn’t you go with her?”
“She told me to stay here and keep Zephyr company.”
“Here’s the show catalog from Philly.” Andrew tossed a dog-eared manuscript onto my cart.
“Thanks!” I said.
“Yeah, you’re welcome.” He strode away. He took huge steps, but he was elegant in a way. He sort of floated when he moved, light and airy. I could imagine him pole vaulting or playing basketball.
I set my knitting aside and picked up the catalog. It had a yellow cover, which was illustrated with a badly drawn cat sitting on top of the Liberty Bell. “Philly Pheline Phanciers” it said. Yuck.
I flipped toward the back, where the Somalis would be listed. Sure enough, there was High Five’s Tigger, listed below Kenya and another ruddy cat. Andrew had added notes. “Short legs, low white,” he had written by the other ruddy’s name. Tigger had won in every ring.
I looked at Kenya’s name and paused. “Moorover’s Kenya Strut”, it said. “Breeder/Owner: Roxanne Moore.”
I was not mentioned.
Quickly I turned to the back of the book, to see if I was at least listed in the index.
No Cecilia Fox.
My heart pounded. Wesley’s words about Rusty’s disappearance were coming back. Hadn’t he said their names were omitted from the show catalogs? I stood up and walked to the end of the aisle, looking over at the show photographer’s booth. It was enclosed, and I saw a flash briefly illuminate the dark curtain which surrounded it.
I walked over to the booth, lifted the curtain and saw the photographer pointing his camera at an Oriental Shorthair. The owner looked up irritably and grabbed the cat. The photographer turned. “Yes?”
“I’m looking for my Somali. Is he here?”
“No, honey, there’s no Somali here. Sorry.” He turned back to his camera.
I let the curtain drop and began looking around. I couldn’t see Roxanne anywhere.
I went back to Kenya’s cage, walked past it down to where Jack was bent over the wastebasket, scooping out a small litter pan.
“Have you seen Roxanne?” I asked.
He looked up at me. I could see his eyes, widening, the pupils encircled with white. “No! Why would I?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Tracy Pringle
Friday Afternoon
Well, Larry’s final was a shock. He hadn’t even used Baloo. Talk about disrespectful. Roxanne and her nerdy little sidekick were certainly living up the Somali’s success. They were breaking out the champagne.
“Kenya must have granded!” Jack said. He was all smiles. Good sportsmanship was a must, of course, but let’s not overdo it.
I went over t
o Roxanne’s benching area.
“Hey Tracy! Have some champagne!” Roxanne held out a glass but I waved it away.
“Congratulations to you,” I smiled. “This is a wonderful show to grand in. You can get it done so quickly.”
“Yes!” Roxanne giggled. “Cheers!”
She held up her glass and took a swig. Her friend, that nerdy girl with the mousy hair, just sat there and didn’t look at me.
“Well, it’s great that he has finally done it. Gee, it’s just too bad that you couldn’t get a jump on the regional or national points. It’s kind of too late in the season.”
“Yeah, well, there’s always next year!” Roxanne chirped.
“Sure! There’s next year! You know, there are a lot of champions at this show.”
Roxanne nodded agreement, but her little friend looked up at me suddenly.
“I know that the Robards are trying to grand their Persian.” I added. “And your own nephew has that Devon in championship too.”
“And then there’s your Aby,” the nerd said, slyly.
“Oh, Baloo’s a Grand. He granded last season.”
“But he’s running for a National Win, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“It’s unusual for a judge to use an Aby and a Somali in one ring, isn’t it?”
“It’s quite unusual, yes.” The nerd was smart. Which wasn’t surprising, as nerds were supposed to be smart.
Roxanne took another sip from her glass of champagne. Then she said, “We’re not pulling him.”
“Oh! I wouldn’t ask you to! I was just making observations!”
“We’re going to finish the show,” Roxanne said. “We’ve come a long way to be here. Cecelia especially doesn’t have money to throw away like this.”
The nerd piped up. “Actually, it’s okay. I wouldn’t mind pulling him if it will help someone else.” Maybe she wasn’t so smart after all. Roxanne glared at her.
I smiled. “It’s okay, really. Leave him in, by all means. After all, we are all here to enjoy ourselves, right?”
I walked back to my own benching area.
“What’s going on?” said Jack.
“She’s not going to pull her cat.”
“Well, why should she?”
“Jack! Hello! Do you even give a rat’s ass about the success of your own animal?”
“I don’t understand what difference it makes.”
“No, you wouldn’t, would you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It just means that you don’t get what’s really going on here. Roxanne is intentionally screwing us over.”
“Oh, she would never do that.”
“Are you blind? Open your eyes! Just look at her, over there, all smug and pleased with herself.”
He did glance down the aisle where Roxanne sat. “I think she’s just enjoying herself. She’s got a happy personality. And I think you are jealous.”
“Really! Well you’d better just watch yourself, there, Mr. Man! Don’t get too cozy with Roxanne. I hear she’s got quite a little reputation.”
He became suddenly quiet.
“That’s right,” I added. “She’s not the Miss Perfect you think she is!”
“She’s always been nice to me.”
“Really! How nice? Just how nice is she, Jack?”
He shook his head. “Tracy, you are going overboard with this.”
“How can I be going overboard when our livelihood is at stake here?”
He was silent. He could see I had a point.
“I think that you should go talk to her and ask her to pull the cat. Seeing as how you are such good friends and all.”
“Tracy, please don’t make me do that.”
“Jack! Just who – and what – is your priority here? Please! Be a man, and do your duty! This is for the sake of our cattery and our life. You have to set your priorities. Period!”
He sighed, slapped his legs with both hands in a futile gesture, and stood up.
“Okay. I’ll go talk to her.”
He walked down the aisle. I opened the cage door and peered in at Baloo, who was asleep in the corner with his head beneath his cuddle bed. I reached in and pulled him out, holding him upside down so that I could stretch his foreleg to check the stripes. He meowed a protest and squirmed. One of his back claws caught my arm. “Ouch!” I threw him back into the cage. Jack was supposed to have trimmed his claws, but apparently had missed one. I glanced over in his direction and stopped suddenly.
Jack was standing with his back to me, talking and shaking his head. He had a glass of champagne in his hand. And I saw Roxanne’s hand inching up the back of his leg.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Wesley Taft
Friday Afternoon
“He needs to take that damn hat off,” I muttered. “Who does he think he is, Elton John?”
The judge opened SuMe’s cage and reached for her. She coiled backwards, pressing into the corner, pushing against the tile board wall with her spine. The judge bent, pausing for a second. The group of exhibitors waited breathlessly. Would she bite him?
The Bobtail growled a protest as he scooped her from the cage with one hand. She curled up, a spotted muff, slender white legs wrapped desperately around his sleeve. She mewed unhappily. He plunked her up on the table, where she hunched and hissed defensively.
“Oh,” I balled my hands into fists. “She is just not being herself!”
SuMe glared up at the judge as the hat loomed over her, her eyes bright and glittering. He held a toy up, a long stick with a bit of sparkling fluff on the end of it, and waved it enticingly before her. SuMe took one step backward, her hindquarters tightening like a spring.
“Oh no,” said Max.
With an ear-splitting scream, the cat leaped and slapped the brim of the cowboy hat. Her claws dug into the straw as she hauled herself up desperately. It flipped down over the judge’s face and he grabbed it, holding it momentarily suspended over his eyes as SuMe scrabbled over his head, projected herself from the crest of the hat, bounced to the floor and shot across the room.
“CAT LOOSE!” I shrieked. I jumped up and ran after SuMe. Max was right behind me. Across the show hall, hands shot in the air as one after another, people spotted her white form darting under cages and bursting through the aisles.
“She’s here!” someone called.
I circled a row of cages, bent over and looked beneath. SuMe huddled near an open briefcase, squatting amongst a roll of paper towels and various grooming supplies. She looked up at me, her ears flattened against her head, her round dilated orbs showing no glimmer of recognition.
She hissed, a gust of foul breath shooting out between the flat pink tongue and pointed teeth.
“SuMe, it’s me!”
“For God’s sake!” Max called from behind me. “Don’t negotiate with her! Just grab her!”
But SuMe turned and glided away.
“NO!” Max cried.
A hand on the other side of the row shot up. “Over here!”
I charged to the end of the aisle in time to see SuMe scooting beneath a row of bleachers, which were folded up against the wall. “Oh my God!” I dashed to the bleachers, flinging myself down on the floor next to them. I looked beneath, but saw only darkness.
“SuMe!” I called. “Come here baby!”
I peered into the darkened space, waiting for my eyes to adapt, but saw no sign of her. I looked up at Max, who stood bent over me with a look of utter panic. I heard my voice drop to a calm, cold tone.
“Please go see if anyone has a flashlight.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Andrew Gilbert
Friday
“Do you know where Kenya is?”
I looked up to see the Mouth Breather standing over me with a look of quiet desperation. “No, why?”
“He’s missing! Roxanne took him and I’m afraid she’s not going to give him back.”
I rolled m
y eyes and shook my head. “Good Lord. Roxanne the Cat Napper strikes again!”
She recoiled visibly, sinking down to the floor, crumpling into a little ball. “Don’t say that!” she wailed.
“God Almighty!” I opened the cage door, took out the little red girl and thrust her into Cecilia’s arms. “Take her! I’ll sign her over! I’ll even let you name her!”
Cecilia lifted her tear-streaked face and looked, and there was the little red girl, purring and wrapping her warm little monkey paws around her wrist. Cecilia calmed immediately. She looked up at me. Her nose was running.
“Oh, no! I couldn’t!” she said.
“Yes! Please do! I know you like ruddy, but believe me, she is the better one of the two and has the best personality.”
“I’m sure she does,” she sniffed. “But I want Kenya! I can’t live without him! I can’t!”
She burst into tears again. Eyes were watching her, people stopping and staring. But she couldn’t stop.
“Hey!” I said. “She’s coming! Here!”
I handed her a tissue. She hiccupped, mopping at her face with one hand and cradling the kitten in the other. The kitten was sensing her tension and she was squirming to get free. Roxanne walked past us, but she did not stop or even look at us.
I looked after her in disgust. “She is just one mighty bitch.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ginny Robards
Reminiscing
One would never know it, but when I was younger, I had been quite cute, with chestnut ringlets and a tiny waist. When Liesl was a teenager, not long after we started showing K. Purr, I met a man at the dry cleaner’s. Even though he was built like a linebacker, and noticeably overweight, he was far too beautiful for me to associate with. He was tall and blonde, with a blinding smile and shoulders as wide as the doorway.
Nancy J. Bailey - Furry Murder 01 - My Best Cat Page 9
