Death of a Dapper Snowman

by Angela Pepper

  She snorted. “Sounds to me like you two have quite the bond.” She came around the table and reached for him, but he gave her a sleepy-sounding hiss that made her step back.

  “Sorry,” I said on his behalf. “Maybe if you turn the light on, he’ll feel more comfortable.”

  She turned on her heel and left the room, muttering under her breath about the ungratefulness of cats.

  Once she was gone, Jeffrey stoked up his purr engine to high gear.

  I rubbed his chin and whispered, “She’s going through a tough time today. Be patient with her. She’s not always like that. We shared a bottle of wine at the paint-your-ceramics place once, and we had quite a nice evening.” I kissed his shining, dark nose. “Try giving her some wine. Everyone’s more tolerable after a glass or two. You can have catnip. Do you like catnip?”

  Five minutes later, I was still petting Jeffrey in the dark dining room and saying increasingly ridiculous things about catnip parties and such.

  He startled in my arms, hearing her before I did. Pam came thumping down the hallway with a wheeled suitcase and stopped at the arched doorway, an imposing shadowy figure.

  “I’ll be at my sister’s for the night,” she said, and then she was gone.

  “I know,” I said softly to Jeffrey. “She’s always so dramatic. Everything’s life or death with Pam. Heaven forbid you get a haircut without checking in with her. You know, she’s probably mad at you because you changed into a boy without her permission.”

  I snickered at my joke, and Jeffrey kept on purring.

  The refrigerator in the adjoining kitchen clicked off, and the house echoed with emptiness around me.

  Something creaked.

  I jumped up to make sure Pam had locked the back door. It was locked, but it wouldn’t take much to kick down a door like that if someone big wanted in.

  I nuzzled my chin against Jeffrey’s head as I walked through the house, checking all the doors and windows. When I got to the front room’s window, I peered out into the wintery darkness. The two investigators were loading up their evidence finds. I squinted, but couldn’t distinguish anything interesting.

  They started up their engines, washing the snow with a red glow from their tail lights. I watched as the unmarked crime scene investigation vehicles pulled away.

  Now it was just me, Jeffrey, the regular neighbors, and the terrifying serial killer from Pam’s overactive imagination.

  Chapter 12

  Alone in my father’s empty house, I tried not to imagine a crazed killer coming from house to house.

  Jeffrey meowed to let me know he might be interested in dinner. I took him to the kitchen, put out a can of soft food for him, then foraged in the fridge for something human. I couldn’t tell what Pam had been making for dinner, besides a mess. I settled on a roast beef sandwich.

  I sat at the table in the kitchen, facing the back door to keep a lookout for serial killers, and took out my phone to check for messages.

  There was a new text from one of my friends. She was an older friend, from Misty Falls. I didn’t usually chat with her much, so there were months-long gaps between our messages.

  She wanted me to go for drinks with her and some of the other girls we used to hang out with, back in high school.

  Short of getting a root canal, I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to do less.

  I turned to the Russian Blue cat and said, “Jeffrey, you need me to stay with you, right?”

  He finished his food and came over on wobbly legs to investigate my roast beef. He was recovering well from the day’s surgery, and would be fine, but I saw what I wanted to see: the little guy was too weak to be left alone, fending off the neighborhood’s serial killer with nothing more than his wits and claws.

  I lifted him up into my lap, where he sat politely as I dug through my sandwich for a small chunk of beef that didn’t have any mustard on it. He licked his glossy black lips in anticipation before I gave it to him.

  “The vet did say someone should keep an eye on you tonight. So, since Pam has gone to her sister’s, I suppose I’ll have to stay over with you tonight. What do you say to a sleepover party? We can watch old movies in the guest room.”

  He looked up at me with his beautiful green eyes and blinked twice to tell me yes. Then he looked at my roast beef sandwich and smacked his lips.

  I gave him another small treat, then sent a message back to my friend: I have to look after my father’s cat tonight. He’s a little shaken up.

  She wrote back: Oh, Stormy, you are my most hilarious and best friend! You are so funny! I heard about everything. Please tell the cat I’m very sorry for his loss, but maybe the new neighbor will be nicer to him!

  I started to write back explaining that Jeffrey was shaken up from having his kitty-manhood surgically altered, and probably didn’t give a whisker about Mr. Michaels, but I simplified things considerably by texting back: LOL.

  The cat and I finished our roast beef sandwich, then retired to the guest room to watch television.

  I turned the TV volume down and put in a call to my father’s cell phone. It went to voice mail, and the mailbox was full. Either he forgot to bring his charger on the trip, or he was avoiding someone. He probably didn’t want to talk to Pam, because of whatever thing she was upset about.

  I looked up the number for the hospital in the city. The call rang and rang, and then finally someone answered.

  “May I have the room for Finnegan Day, please?” I asked.

  The girl on the phone spat back, “Room? Ma’am, this is not a hotel.”

  At the sound of her snippy tone, I felt a strange emotion: anger at some people’s big city attitudes. In Misty Falls, no employee would speak so rudely to a caller, because chances were the person calling was someone you knew.

  I breathed down the stormy emotions I was feeling and tersely replied, “May I have the floor for Finnegan Day?”

  “Who shall I say is calling?”

  “The pope.”

  I waited, enjoying the receptionist’s silence and waiting for her to hang up on me. She didn’t.

  “Uh… I didn’t catch that,” she said.

  “This is Stormy Day.”

  She snorted. “If you don’t want to say who it is, that’s fine.”

  “Honestly,” I said gently. “I know it’s an unusual name, but I really am Stormy Day, and I’m calling for my father, Finnegan Day. Please.”

  She muttered something, and the line clicked as she put me on hold.

  Mellow hold music played while I imagined the receptionist warning the floor nurse about me. Finally, the music switched to ringing.

  A woman answered, “Hello, dear. This is Dora. You’re calling to check on Finn?”

  “Yes. I’m checking on Mr. Day, though I would imagine he’s doing just fine if you nurses are all on a first-name basis with him. Has he been telling you big stories about his glory days?”

  Her giggle let me know that he had been.

  “How did the surgery go?” I asked.

  “Oh, he’ll be as right as rain in no time. It’s not a complex procedure. You’ll have to make sure he takes it easy and doesn’t strain himself.”

  “I’ll try.” Yes, I would try to make sure he wasn’t strained by being accused of a murder. “May I speak to him?”

  “I’m afraid he’s sleeping, dear. And hospitals are such noisy places that we hate to wake someone when they’re resting, because you don’t know when they’ll be able to sleep again.”

  “Hmm.” I looked up at the TV screen in the guest room. The channel was showing an old movie, and there was a logo in the lower corner showing it was the mystery channel. Sure enough, the woman on the screen, who was a nurse, glanced around nervously and then jabbed a syringe into a hospital patient’s arm. The patient, who was an older man, fluttered his eyelashes, then slumped his head to the side. He was gone. Murdered by the evil nurse.

  “Hello?” said the woman on the other end of my phone call.

>   “Are you sure my father is asleep? I’d really love to hear his voice.”

  “I can tell him you called. I’m sure he’ll be glad to know someone was checking up on him.” She paused, and I heard the clatter of something, either a food tray or a gurney, wheel by. After it was clear, she said, “How about you? How are you holding up, in light of everything?”

  “Do you mean the snowman?”

  The clattering returned, and she said over the noise, “I’m sorry, but I should be going. This isn’t even my shift. I hope to see you soon.”

  “You probably won’t. He’s got a ride home arranged.” I kept my eyes on the TV screen in the room, watching as the killer nurse hid away her evidence. “Unless… do you think I should drive out there and stop in? Is there anything I should be concerned about?”

  The clattering sound kept up, and now I could hear a woman in the background complaining about something—the vending machine, it sounded like.

  “I should let you go,” said the nurse, and she ended the call.

  I settled back on the bed, grabbed the remote, and quickly changed the channel to something a bit less creepy.

  It took a while to find something that wasn’t about people being murdered, but I eventually settled on a show about a guy who helps people work through behavioral problems with their cats.

  Jeffrey curled up next to me, not moving except to twitch one silky dark gray ear whenever a cat on the screen hissed or howled.

  With each hour passing, I got more sleepy and Jeffrey started to get more alert. I stripped down to my T-shirt and slipped under the covers, which apparently meant play time for kitty. He chased the lump of my toes under the covers.

  After a few minutes, he decided my toes were too easy to capture, and jumped up on the windowsill to look for better prey.

  I switched to some late night talk shows. My eyelids were heavy, but I fought the urge to sleep. Suddenly, Jeffrey let out a yowl that was five times as terrifying as anything we’d seen on the cat program. He yowled again, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  “What is it?” I asked him.

  He huffed and paced the windowsill, his sharp feline eyes picking up on something he didn’t like.

  I turned off the TV and switched off the bedside lamp so I could better see out into the dark with my regular human eyes.

  I looked left and right, focusing on the ground, expecting to see a nocturnal rodent going about its business in the snowy bushes. There was nothing down there, as far as I could tell, but before I could return to my warm bed, movement caught my eye.

  Something was flashing in the window next door. Was it just the reflections of a nearby vehicle, driving by? I held very still, becoming increasingly aware of the pounding of my heart. The window of the house next door had its curtains wide open.

  Someone was inside the house, and the flickering light I saw had to be that of a flashlight. The longer I watched, the fewer doubts I had.

  I could have ignored it as a game being played by the neighbor’s kids, if only I’d been standing on the other side of my father’s house.

  Unfortunately, I couldn’t jump back into my warm bed and ignore this.

  Someone had broken into the Mr. Michaels’ house. They were in there, right now, searching for something. Or hiding something. Like evidence.

  Logic told me the robber could very well be the murderer. My pounding heart told me the same thing.

  Chapter 13

  For the second time that day, I got out my phone with the intention of calling the police. This time, instead of leaving the mailman with the job, I actually made the call to 9-1-1.

  Jeffrey kept watch on the windowsill, fascinated by the flashing circle of light in the house next door.

  The emergency dispatcher took the information and said, “Police are on their way now. There’s a car nearby, so it won’t be long.”

  “Good. Do you know which officers are coming? I know some of the local police.”

  “Ma’am, I can’t disclose that information. Are you alone in the house?”

  “Yes, but I’m fine. Thanks for everything.”

  She wanted to keep me on the line with her until they arrived, for my safety, but I told her I’d be fine and ended the call.

  Jeffrey turned his head and gave me a wide-eyed look, like he was waiting for me to do something about the break-in happening next door.

  “Maybe I would go over there myself, if things were different,” I told him. “Like if I was a big, strong man, and you were a dog.”

  Jeffrey flattened his ears.

  “I didn’t say it would be better. Don’t act insulted. I’m glad you’re a cat and not a dog. And I’m glad I’m myself, and not a big, strong man.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at the door to the bedroom. It was open, and now every creak of the house setting in or the rattle of the furnace turning on sounded like the Crazed Snowman Strangler coming to take another victim.

  How could I protect myself? My father probably had his old service revolver, but it was locked in a safe, in his bedroom. I quickly dismissed the idea of getting the gun and thereby inadvertently supplying the Crazed Snowman Strangler with another weapon to add to his arsenal of knock-out drugs and strangling hands. That was the last thing I wanted to do.

  At least the police would be there soon.

  Just to be safe, I walked over to the bedroom door, shut it, and twisted the lock. The door didn’t lock, though. I groaned. Growing up, my sister and I would chase each other around the house with water pistols, playing cops and robbers. My father got so annoyed at us banging on doors that he took the locks right off the few doors we hadn’t already broken.

  I looked around the room for other options. I could move the dresser to the door and barricade myself in. I grabbed the side of the dresser and gave it a tug. Nothing budged.

  “Speaking of big, strong men,” I said to Jeffrey, “I wouldn’t mind having one around for times like this.”

  I gave up on moving the dresser and returned to the window, keeping a lookout for the police. The flashlight inside the house next door disappeared around a corner, and Jeffrey lost interest. He looked up at me like I was now the most interesting thing around. I was flattered, so I decided to tell him a story.

  Since we were on the topic of big, strong men coming to the rescue, I told him about the time my former fiancé got the shock of his life, courtesy of me.

  I’d been brushing my teeth in the bathroom of our shared house when I spotted an enormous, hairy-legged spider walking leisurely across the bathroom counter. I already had a plastic cup in my hand for rinsing my mouth, and I did what seemed logical at the time. I flipped the cup over and trapped the spider underneath it.

  I finished brushing my teeth and used my cupped palm to hold water to rinse my mouth, so I wouldn’t disturb the spider. I planned to use a nearby magazine to slip under the cup, so I could then escort the harmless spider to somewhere better, outside the house. As I leaned down, my wavy hair fell across my face, which got me thinking about getting a haircut. Naturally, I spent the next ten minutes fussing in front of the mirror, styling my hair this way and that, imagining different looks.

  I forgot all about the trapped spider. Half an hour later, my fiancé went in to brush his teeth, and that’s when I remembered the trapped spider, but it was too late. He lifted up the plastic cup, discovered a giant, beady-eyed spider staring back at him, and let out a blood-curdling scream

  I ran to the bathroom, laughing harder than I had in months. I was glad for the excitement, because life had gotten tense, and we hadn’t been laughing much lately.

  When I got to the bathroom, I was still laughing. I stopped as soon as I saw his face. He didn’t see any humor in the situation at all. We had one of the worst fights of our relationship. He thought I’d hidden the spider on purpose, and didn’t believe me when I swore I hadn’t.

  “The spider was the beginning of the end,” I explained to Jeffrey.

  He lick
ed his paw and dragged it over his ear and whiskers. His ears flicked up and he turned to the window again.

  Red and blue lights were bouncing off the snow.

  “So much for sneaking up on the intruder,” I said, as much to myself as to the cat.

  A room light flicked on inside the house, and then flicked off again. Was the burglar in a panic?

  The red and blue lights grew dimmer as the police car continued down the street, not stopping at Mr. Michaels’ house.

  “Damn it,” I growled. They must be having trouble finding the address. I pulled on my jeans and sweater. I didn’t know what I could do, but I knew I had to do something.

  I ran through the kitchen to the back door, because my boots were there. I yanked them on without tying the laces, and sailed out the back door and down the steps.

  I was so busy looking around for the location of the flashing lights and the police cruiser, I didn’t look where I was going. I crashed right into someone.

  A big, masculine someone.

  “Stormy!” he said. “Stay inside.”

  I blinked up at Officer Tony Milano. “But… you drove past the house.”

  “That’s my partner, Peggy,” he said. I couldn’t see his face that well in the dark back yard, with only the light of the street lamps from the front of the houses, so I couldn’t see if he was angry at me or just focused on the burglary call.

  “You should know better,” he said.

  I smacked my head.

  “Right. I know this move,” I said. “You do a big light show at the front, and the perp runs out the back, right into your arms.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So, why are you here?” I stared up at him with wide eyes and gasped. “Tony, you don’t think I’m the perp, do you?”

  “You did run right into my arms, kiddo.”

  “Don’t you dare—”

  He stopped me from giving him hell by clamping his hand over my mouth. I was just about to give him a good bite when I noticed the neighbor’s door slowly creaking open.

  Tony saw it, too. He slowly dropped his hand away from my mouth. We both watched silently as a tall, skinny man crept out of the house.