The Tell-Tail Heart: A Cat Cozy (Cattarina Mysteries)

by Shaughnessy, Monica

  "You assume madness as the motive for the killings," Mr. Coffin said.

  "How can anyone think otherwise?" Eddie gazed past the line of row houses into the adjoining field. "Though I'd like to be certain. Details matter. Details are everything."

  "The district, from what my brother-in-law tells me, knows nothing of the villain. No suspects, no witnesses. Two murders a fortnight apart, two prosthetic eyes taken as plunder, both of them pale blue. That is all."

  "Both of them pale blue?" Eddie asked. He gave Mr. Coffin his full attention. "I—I hadn't realized. The paper never stated the color of the prostheses. How very curious."

  Mr. Coffin rose and retrieved his hammer. "No matter the color, two women are dead. And when they catch the culprit, I hope they lock him in the Eastern State Penitentiary."

  I froze at the utterance of the prison, a name I knew all too well, and a plan began to form. I didn't need brains or bribes to get past Claw; I needed brawn. And the Eastern State residents had plenty.

  Hunting the Spider

  Big Blue and his extended family lived behind the Eastern State Penitentiary, near the northwest corner, away from the houses and roads. I'd spent long afternoons in the field separating our neighborhood and the prison, observing the band of ferals as one might a bird through a window. An extraordinary strategist, Big Blue moved his troops with the passage of the sun, staying hidden in the building's shadow for much of the day. When individuals ventured into the light, they did so with great speed and cunning. This hearkened back to something my Auntie Sass taught me: unseen cats are safe cats. I hadn't seen Sass since Eddie adopted me, but I thought of the cream-colored longhair often and the wooden crate we shared behind Osgood's Odd Goods. If not for her, I would've starved on the streets after my mother died.

  I turned and looked toward home. Eddie and Mr. Coffin, no bigger than fleas at this distance, were exactly where I'd left them. With any luck, my friend would continue chatting and my absence would go unnoticed. I slunk through the tall grass, crossing the boundary between Big Blue's territory and mine, and came to rest at its edge where I yowled an all-purpose greeting.

  A gust of wind replied.

  This unnerved me more than anything. For all its criminals, the penitentiary was and always had been, from my brief surveillance, eerily quiet. I supposed the men inside were unable to talk, but I did not know why. This caused my imagination to create reasons more horrible than the silence itself, the worst of which involved the de-tonguing of prisoners upon arrival. I yowled again to fill the quiet.

  A white cat rose like a specter from a grass patch to my left. She spoke, assuring me of her mortality, "State your business."

  "I've come to see Big Blue."

  The ruff around her neck rose, almost imperceptibly. "How do you know his name?"

  "On a windless day, you can hear most anything—even a name."

  She cocked her head. "You look familiar."

  "I live across the field. In one of the row houses." I motioned in their direction with my tail.

  A look of recognition crossed her face. "Ah! You're the one who sits atop the fence posts and watches." She sniffed my nose in greeting. "I'm Snow."

  "I'm Cattarina."

  "That's your human name. What's your cat name?"

  "I no longer speak it."

  "I've seen Big Blue refuse audience to those who've lost their wild streak, their…cattitude." She twitched her whiskers. "So, Cattarina, what name do you give?"

  Cattitude? What a load of fur. I had cattitude to spare. I sat back and switched my tail, creating a fan shape in the grass. He had nerve, passing judgment on me for keeping two-legged company. And yet I had no choice. If I wanted to catch Mr. Abbott, I had to play his game.

  "It's…it's QuickPaw."

  "QuickPaw?" She eyed my ample physique. "I see why you cling to your new name, Cattarina. It suits you better."

  I stood, redistributing my waistline. "I'm still a good mouser. The best around by most accounts."

  "If you say so." She turned with a flick of her tail. "Follow me."

  We trotted deeper into their territory until we arrived at the rear of the prison. A gang of cats patrolled a small brick structure adjacent to the main building. The door of this sturdy shed hung open, revealing hoes, rakes, and other gardening implements. Snow brought me to the entrance and instructed me to sit. I did as she asked, claws out, as she disappeared inside to speak to Big Blue.

  The prison overwhelmed not just me but the whole of Fairmount with its size. An intimidating fortress, it reminded me of the castles in Eddie's history books. Four corner towers connected the walls, creating a smooth stone box. However, the building lacked the gargoyles common in medieval architecture and had an altogether utilitarian feel—unsurprising considering its function. I craned my neck to look inside the garden shed. Nothing but darkness and tools. Earlier, the risks in coming here had seemed insignificant. But as I waited for the enigmatic leader to make an appearance, my nerves vibrated like piano strings. I grew wistful at this comparison. How I loved to sit atop Sissy's square piano and watch the inner workings as she played. I licked my paw and wiped my face. Music graced the Poe household less and less these days—a pity.

  Presently, Snow left the shed, followed by a large blue-grey cat with velvety fur of a thickness I longed to knead. His broad face and small ears lent him the regal air of a king, a comparison furthered by the castle behind him. Had he emerged with a crown, I wouldn't have blinked. Quiet as smoke, he drifted toward me, studying my features with eyes the color of pumpkin. I'd just thought about slinking away when he spoke. "Why have you come, QuickPaw?"

  "To seek your help."

  "Go back to your master."

  "Master? But how did you—"

  "Your shape tells me everything I need to know."

  Clearly, a new health regimen was in my future. I steered us away from my oft-maligned midsection. "Current state aside, I once lived free like you. And when I did, I earned my name. The waterfront knew no better mouser."

  A couple of the sentries snickered. Big Blue quieted them with a crook of his tail. "Then why seek my help?" he asked.

  "While I am an excellent hunter, I lack the necessary skills to defend against a group of attackers." I withdrew my claws and began to pace. "I need to travel past Logan Square and—"

  "Claw," Snow hissed under her breath.

  I stopped, midstride. "You know him?"

  "As much as anyone can know the deranged," she said. She slunk beside the tom and whispered in his ear. "I say we help her, Blue."

  "I know you've had your quarrels with Claw," Big Blue said, "but is that any reason—"

  "Quarrels?" She switched her tail. "Your memory is clearly shorter than mine." She turned and began grooming herself with a little too much force.

  Big Blue watched Snow for a time, then spoke with hesitation. "War is a human folly. But…I'll grant your request, QuickPaw."

  Snow quit licking her fur and glanced at us over her shoulder. "You will?"

  "Yes," he said to her. "But after she's proven worthy of my help."

  He whispered something to Snow. She nodded. I swallowed.

  "We have an excellent mouser as well," he said to me. "But there can be only one champion. So I'd like to propose a challenge. If we win, you must tell every cat along the waterfront that my son, Killer, is Top Hunter."

  "K-killer?"

  "And if you win," he continued, "I'll guarantee your passage beyond Logan Square."

  The rules were simple enough: hunt until Bobbin, the lead sentry, completed his rounds, catch as many mice as we could, and let Big Blue decide the winner. Yet his son was my opponent. Given their familial connection, I had serious doubts about the fairness of the competition. After a nod from Snow, the sentries called their goliath from the tall weeds, chanting, "Kill-er! Kill-er!" to summon him. I don't know which shook more, my knees or the spear grass parting before the beast. Catching Mr. Abbott had better be worth this. I ste
adied myself as my opponent emerged: a grey-striped adolescent with a white chest, no more than a year old.

  "Killer?" I asked, eyeing the scrawny male. "You're a bit short in the whisker, aren't you?"

  Killer objected, "My whiskers are long enough—"

  Big Blue stepped between us, halting the verbal jests. "Don't underestimate my offspring, QuickPaw. What he lacks in experience, he gains in speed."

  My offspring. Fiddlesticks. The tournament had just become impossible to win.

  Big Blue continued, "For this trial, you will catch as many mice as you can inside the Spider." He glanced over his shoulder toward the penitentiary.

  "The what?" Either he didn't hear me, or he didn't care to explain. The tom left to speak to Bobbin, crossing the field in commanding strides.

  "He means we hunt inside the prison," Killer said. "We call it the Spider."

  "You've been inside the prison?"

  "You don't think we spend the night out here, do you, QuickPaw?" Killer said. He left to position himself near the base of the gardening shack.

  I kept an eye on Big Blue, waiting for his signal, and puzzled over the name he'd given Eastern State. Did a giant eight-legged beast stand guard inside? If so, what did it eat? Prisoners? I shivered at the thought of a man bound with silken threads, waiting to be devoured by a carnivorous spider. Then I pictured Mr. Abbott—stained cravat and all—in the same confines and sniffed with satisfaction.

  "Heed my advice, QuickPaw."

  "Hmm?" I turned to face Snow. She'd snuck away from the others and crouched beside me now, staying low.

  "Use your ears, not your eyes to best my son."

  Before I could ask what she meant, Big Blue shouted "Begin!" and set the race in motion.

  Bouncing from door handle to window casing to eave, Killer sprang straight up the gardening shed and onto its roof before Bobbin rounded the corner. The grey and white blur then leapt onto a mass of ivy clinging to the prison wall, which he expertly scaled to the top of the wall. I shook off my surprise and followed his route as best I could. It took a few tries to land on the shed roof, but I persevered, reaching the ivy in good time. I jumped, grabbed for the lowest vine on the wall, and sliiiiiiid back down the stone face amid laughter. After a string of failures—some from which my pride may never recover—I hoisted my hindquarters to the top.

  The vast complex of the Eastern State Penitentiary lay before me, revealing the Spider. To my relief, I found not an arachnid but a scheme of buildings resembling one. Rows of prisoner dwellings spread out from a central watchtower hub that, on the whole, looked like legs connected to a central body. A marvel of construction, indeed. Never again would I snub its tourists. I watched unnoticed as guards marched single prisoners, each wearing an ominous black hood, across the compound and into adjacent dwellings. No words passed between the men, creating a silence that unnerved me.

  My opponent had already hopped onto an interior greenhouse, dropped into the complex, and was fast approaching a series of private yards adjoining the prisoner dwellings. I thought about following him but recalled Snow's advice. Had she said them to hinder or help me? While I was competing against her son, she seemed keen for Big Blue to help me. So I took her advice, listening to the swing of the doors, the rush of water through plumbing pipes, the skiff-skiff of shoes on steps. I listened for so long that the cats below likely wondered if I'd gone mad; I listened for so long that I wondered if I'd gone mad. Throughout my quiet observation, I noted Killer's routine. He would disappear into a prisoner yard, emerge with a mouse, scale the greenhouse to the top of the wall, and toss his prize to Snow. In between kills, he taunted me, calling me LazyPaw and LardBelly.

  I persisted, swiveling my ears to catch any squeak, no matter how faint. Then I heard it: a scratching of rodents near the northeastern corner tower. Eureka! I scampered along the rear wall toward my destination, ignoring the jeers below. Without a doubt, the sound had come from a cast-iron downpipe that shunted rain from the tower's parapet. I hung over, teetering on the wall's edge, and examined the rusted T-joint that connected the vertical section of pipe to the horizontal. The mice had made their nest here, allowing them several points of access. Since no rain had fallen in recent weeks, they'd had time to set up house and reproduce.

  The crowd cheered below as Killer added, one by one, to his growing pile. Snow may have provided this advantage, but winning lay in my paws. I swung onto the drainpipe and kicked the back wall with my rear legs, trying to break the joint that held it in place. The mice inside began to scramble, rustling the metal with their tiny claws, driving me wild. I kicked harder and harder until the rust crumbled. With a final push, I freed the vertical section and rode it down, down, down until it hit the ground with a resounding crash that rattled my teeth and scattered Big Blue's troop. Mice and nesting fluff erupted from the end of the downpipe.

  Like a wild thing set free after captivity, I exploded with energy, swooping and pouncing on the mice with a precision earned through years of experience. And now that my feral instincts were back, none could best me. Once I'd caught the runners, I returned to the drainpipe to catch the small pink ones still in the nest. When it was over, I'd gathered every rodent but one, and only because his tail had ripped off during the chase.

  Wheezing and smeared with blood, I collapsed near my heap as the contest ended. Somewhere beneath my exhaustion, an untamable feeling hatched deep within me. It pecked at the shell of domesticity, hardened this last year with Eddie. I hadn't felt this vital, this necessary in a long time. Maybe hunting my largest prey yet—a human murderer—would be as much for my benefit as Eddie's.

  Midnight in Philadelphia

  As I lay in the grass awaiting Big Blue's judgment, I cleared my throat with a good cough. It didn't take much to wind me these days. Killer, however, had fully recovered. The little saucebox hopped circles around the older sentries, batting their tails and flicking dirt on their toes. Had I ever been that young and insufferable? I coughed again as Big Blue and Snow approached, their faces solemn. I rose to greet them, still exhausted from the trial.

  "I'm afraid we have a tie," Big Blue said.

  "A tie?" Killer howled. He skidded beside us, shredding grass. "Impossible."

  I lifted my chin. I hadn't won. But I hadn't lost.

  "I counted them, son," Big Blue said. "A tie's a tie. But that makes honoring my word a difficult thing. We never discussed a draw."

  "May I suggest—" I coughed again, this time harder. The hunt had taken more of a toll than I'd thought. "May I suggest we—" I lurched forward and belched a long, slender object at their feet, settling the matter.

  Much to Killer's dismay, I'd won by a tail.

  Snow and I strolled through Logan Square Park, intent on drawing Claw and his gang from hiding. Behind us, Big Blue and his sentries shadowed our movements along the trail, using bushes and tree trunks for cover. Most everyone had turned out for the skirmish, most everyone but Killer. He'd begged to come along, but his mother denied the request, instructing him to stay behind with Bobbin to guard the mice kills. I glanced at her. Snow's life had taken a different path from mine—motherhood, a long-time mate, unfettered living—but was it any better? Dead leaves crackled beneath our paws, filling the silence until I summoned the courage to talk. "Are you happy?" I asked.

  "Very happy. I have a large family, many friends, a big territory."

  We hopped over a fallen branch and crossed into a gloomy stretch of park that smelled of rotting vegetation. Shrubs and trees arched overhead, forming a tunnel of sorts that cloaked us in semidarkness and widened our pupils. Summer's leftovers—moss and fern and toadstools—littered the path. Tinged with brown, they'd begun to lose their grip on the season.

  "You didn't ask, but I will tell you anyway. I am happy, too," I said. "Without me, the Poe household would collapse. I watch over Sissy, eat scraps for Muddy, and serve as muse for Eddie. He's a man of letters, you know. Of great importance." My thoughts drifted to my friend, pr
ovoking a half-purr that I quickly stifled. "In return, Eddie feeds me breakfast and dinner, scratches me between the ears, and worships me in a most satisfactory manner."

  "You're not the only one who watches from the field. I've seen your Eddie, and he looks very kind." Snow lowered her voice. "Don't tell Big Blue, but I've always wondered what it would be like to live in a house and have a human dote on me."

  "Most days, it's grand." I yawned to clear my head. "If you don't mind me asking… Why did you help me win the contest?"

  The snap of a twig stopped us.

  Snow seemed relieved at the interruption. "Who's there?" she called.

  I tried to look ahead, to see beyond the shrubs obstructing our view, but they had grown too thick. "My whiskers are telling me this is a trap," I said.

  "Then let's spring it." She trotted past me along the curve, her tail high. I ran to catch up, praying Big Blue hadn't lost us in the greenery. As we rounded the bend, Claw, Ash, and Stub leaped from the bushes, surrounding us on all sides. My whiskers are never, ever wrong.

  "It's our old friend, Tortie," Claw said. "And she's brought a friend." He studied Snow with more care than I'd expected. "Haven't I seen you before?"

  "You knew my mother," she said. "We met when I was a kitten."

  Stub rubbed along Snow's side. "You're all grown up now, pretty molly. You looking for a mate?"

  "Take care, Stub," Ash said. "Once I finish with her, she won't be nearly as charming."

  "Leave her alone," I said. "Your quarrel is with me."

  "No, QuickPaw," Snow said. "It's with me. It always has been."

  Claw arched his back. "With you? I don't even know—" His eyes widened. He'd obviously recalled their connection—a strong one, from his mien.

  "Yes… That's it. Now you remember," she said to Claw. "The way you chased my mother into the street." She flashed her canines. "The way the carriage wheels dragged her over the cobblestones. The way she died, gasping for breath in front of a little white kitten." Snow bristled her tail and shrieked, "Now you will die!"