The Great Catsby

by B K Baxter

  “I tried to get her to focus on what she’d brought me there for. Instead, she ‘accidentally’ spilled her drink down the front of my T-shirt, then insisted I take it off so she could wash it for me. But once she pulled it over my head, Tabby laughed and shoved the shirt down her skirt so I couldn’t grab it back from her.”

  His cheeks were flushed, and his voice started to stumble. “She started touching my… my chest. She even kissed me. I don’t like to be touched, and… and I didn’t want… she’s a married woman. So I told her I was sorry I couldn’t help her, and I ran out of the house and walked the two miles home.”

  Stanley wouldn’t meet my eyes, ashamed of having fled.

  “It’s not your fault,” I reassured him. “Did anyone see you walking home?”

  Shrugging, he finally met my gaze. “It was dark, and I don’t remember seeing any cars.”

  “Is this the first time anything like this has happened with Tabby?”

  His gaze flicked to Sheriff Rains, then back to the floor. “Yes.” The way he responded made doubt blossom in my stomach, and I wondered what Char had said about Tabby in high school.

  “Is there anything else you can remember?” I asked, hoping against hope there was something we were missing. “Anything that might have seemed out of place?”

  Stanley shook his head. “Not that night, but there was something. Something that happened when I was delivering groceries a few months back. When I got to the Means house, Tabby answered the door and had me carry the groceries into the kitchen and put them away.”

  I goggled at that. Making the delivery boy put your groceries in your fridge and cabinets? That was a new level of imperiousness.

  “I did what she asked, but while I was working, I heard a noise in the hallway and went to look. That’s when I saw Tabby kissing someone. Someone who was not Vince Means.”

  My eyes widened. “How do you know it wasn’t Vince?”

  “He was wearing coveralls and a baseball cap,” Stanley replied. “Vince Means doesn’t even wear coveralls to work on his classic cars, so I knew it wasn’t him.”

  “Any idea who it was then?” Rains drawled.

  I turned around to give him a dirty look for interrupting. He ignored me, focusing on his prisoner.

  “No. His back was to me, and like I said, he was wearing a ball cap.”

  “So Tabby was having an affair with someone else, and she came on to you?” I asked. “I think we can establish that she’s an unfaithful spouse, which means Vince would have even more motive to have her whacked.”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Rains said, gently gripping my arm to pull me back from the cell as I strayed closer. “Time to go, Junior Detective.”

  “I’m going to figure this out, Stanley,” I called back as the sheriff led me down the hall. I frowned when I saw his head was bowed, his mouth muttering words I mostly failed to catch. Something about green lights and false hopes.

  “You’ve had your fun, but now it’s time to go home,” Rains said when we were back in the office.

  “I don’t know how you can be so cavalier about this. You just learned that Tabby was having an affair. And that T-shirt? It was clearly planted at the scene by the real killer.”

  The corners of his mouth turned down sharply. “Nothing Taz just said clears him of the crime, and no one can back up his story.”

  “What about the lipstick I saw on Vince’s collar when I stopped by his office? It matches the color his secretary was wearing.”

  “You went to Vince’s office?” When I nodded, the sheriff let out a sound of annoyance. “You’re not to approach anyone with your speculations anymore, do you understand? Stop trying to sabotage this case.”

  “Do you get paid extra to act so stubborn? I’m trying to solve the case!” My frustration with the St. Dismas Parish Sheriff Department knew no bounds.

  “You’re going to stop snooping around before you end up getting hurt. Not everyone appreciates you poking around in their business.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s a warning. Stay clear of this case, and let the professionals do what they’re trained to do.”

  “It’s very reassuring to know our tax dollars go to arresting the wrong man. Maybe next, we can hand out tickets to people who don’t speed or who park within the lines.” I stalked toward the door, my temper close to boiling over.

  “Or we could use them to send nosey northern folk back where they came from,” he called after me.

  Chapter 12

  The roommate’s new friend sneezed a lot.

  I knew that some humans were weak, their systems unable to handle the awesomeness that was the feline species, but Char wouldn’t surrender to that weakness. She bravely attempted head pets even though her eyes were puffy and her nose leaked like a faucet.

  “I’m sorry about Charlie,” Char was saying as the roommate poured her another glass of wine. “He’s a good guy, but he’s got a blind spot when it comes to his job. As sheriff, it doesn’t look good if someone is going around checking up on his work. Doesn’t exactly inspire confidence, you know? And I know how he feels. It’s like the way everyone threatens me with Dr. Loomis’s second opinion. The old man is on his way to blind, for goodness sake!”

  Jade didn’t seem ready to forgive Char’s brother, and I made a mental note to make him feel my claws at my first opportunity. “Well, your brother isn’t blind, but he might as well be. He knows that Tabby was cheating, and he knows about the lipstick stain, which means it’s likely Vince was cheating too.”

  “Not to play devil’s advocate,” Char said, opening a box of crackers and digging inside it, “but lots of people cheat on their spouses and no one ends up dead. Unless we find something that can connect the affair to the crime, we’ve got nothing.”

  “What about what Tammy said? That her daughter had something on Vince that would ruin his standing in town? That could be motive for murder, right?”

  “Sure, it could be,” Char said, snatching a cheese slice and stacking it on her cracker. “It could also just be an angry woman acting out and flinging accusations any which way.”

  Jade slumped against the table, putting her head down and letting out a frustrated groan. That made it the perfect time for me to jump up on said table and display my behind as close to her face as possible.

  “Chonks!” she complained, picking me up and settling me in her lap. “Behave yourself.”

  I allowed her to stroke my back for the moment, wondering what they planned to do next in their novice-style investigation.

  “Did you find out anything about the drugs?” Jade asked hopefully.

  “Nope.” Char frowned. “And my brother found out I was snooping around and told me he’d find a new coroner if I couldn’t let him do his job.”

  “Oh yeah. Your brother did say he’d fire you.” Jade bent down to shove her face into the ruff of fur at my neck. “What do we do now, Chonks?”

  Meowing never did any good but I tried it now. All it did was provoke a half-smile on my roommate’s face. Then she bent over and set me on the floor. I set off, bored with their conversation.

  Besides, I already knew who the murderer was.

  I’d figured it out the night the book club descended on our new digs. I could smell it then, just like I could smell it the first night I’d gone out the broken basement window in the middle of the night and snuck into town. I’d been staring at the decorations in the window of a storefront when I’d caught sight of movement inside. I’d smelled something on the figure who’d come out. Something faint. Something damning.

  Now that I thought about it, those windows reminded me of something Jade had been reading me just the other day. I didn’t know why it was taking my roommate so long to catch on. Silly human.

  I knew who killed Tabby Means, and I knew how they did it. But because humans were dependent on their dumb mouth sounds for communication, I wasn’t able to tell Jade what happened. I’d been dropping clues for
her to find, but so far, she hadn’t caught on.

  It would be so much easier if my roommate were a cat. Then again, I supposed one of us had to make a living to keep us in kibble.

  I debated curling up in the streak of sunlight on the sitting-room floor, but what I was really craving was a session with the handyman with the magic fingers. Ethan Millbank gave the best pets of any human alive. I wanted him back here quick.

  But if I had to leave everything to my roommate, she’d never get up the gumption to invite him over. The last time Jade had let a man know she was interested, I was barely weened. That meant it was up to me to get Ethan back.

  And I had just the thing.

  These old houses had a lot of things that went bump in the night, not all of them supernatural. I’d already scoped out something the humans had hidden from themselves and I believed I’d found a way to get the roommate to call back the handyman for a full investigation.

  Soon, I would just have to roll over on the rug and expose my belly to those magic fingers. Sure, I would still bite, but I’d let him get in a good massage beforehand.

  But first, there was something I had to do. Returning to the sitting room where the girls were making their way through the bottle at a healthy clip, I pulled a stealth move, creeping behind the couch, then circling the room so that I could approach unseen.

  Like a mythical warrior cloaked in shadow, I suddenly sprang, revealing myself as I leapt on Char’s lap and immediately put my paws on her chest.

  “Chonks!” she said through clogged nostrils. “You want a hug?”

  I rubbed my head against the side of her neck, setting off a flurry of back-to-back sneezes that made Char let out a string of curses afterward. But by then, I was already running down the hallway, set on my act of sabotage.

  I was a cat who knew what he wanted. And right now, I wanted someone to scratch behind my ears with fingers that felt like they’d been made for feline worship.

  Ethan Millbanks, come back to me.

  And Jade too, I suppose.

  But mostly me.

  Chapter 13

  I sat bolt upright in bed, letting out a little shout as sleep abandoned me in favor of confused fear. “What’s going on?” I asked, the words slurred with grogginess.

  A sound comprised of a metallic screech and a softer rhythmic tapping rang out again, and I realized that it was this disturbance that had awakened me. I didn’t know where the noise was coming from, but it was the third time tonight it had jarred me awake. I grabbed my phone to check the time and frowned, figuring that getting up early might just be my new thing.

  I was making coffee and debating the source of the sound when the doorbell went off. It was still early, especially for house calls, but since I was up already, I might as well see who it is. Whoever it was, I hoped they were prepared for the sight of me in my fluffy pink bathrobe and slippers.

  Carrying the cup of coffee to the front door with me, I was surprised to find Dinah Mercer on my porch. She greeted me with a bright smile that reminded me of a televangelist’s wife. “Hey there!” she said, her chipper voice making me wonder if she was one of those ungodly morning people.

  “Hey,” I said, my tone more subdued. “What brings you over here so early in the morning?”

  Dinah looked past me and into the hallway, as if trying to gauge whether an antique chandelier could be installed in the entryway. “I noticed on my way up the steps that the loose board is fixed. I applaud you for making repairs to this beautiful home.” She ran her fingers across the doorframe with the awe of a teenage girl petting a horse for the first time.

  “As you said, I can’t afford a lawsuit.”

  Dinah ignored my acerbic tone and launched into the pitch that would have dragged me out of bed if I hadn’t already been woken up by the noise. “I wanted to see about adding your house to the historical homes tour of the area.” She pulled out a pamphlet and passed it to me.

  It was a glossy color brochure containing a map of St. Dismas Parish with stars representing the antebellum mansions in the area, and wide-outs from each star had a picture of the home. There were six homes listed. Dinah wanted me to be lucky number seven.

  “Did you ever talk to my uncle about this opportunity?” I asked, trying to hand the brochure back.

  “Keep it,” she said, refusing to receive it. “And yes, but he always insisted on maintaining his privacy, and as it was clear he wasn’t well, I respected his wishes. But you?” She looked me over and shrugged a shoulder. “You’re young and healthy and just the sort of owner we’d love to have on the tour.”

  “I’m sorry—” I began, but she cut me off, waving her hands in front of her.

  “Hear me out. I’m hoping to open a historical museum in New Orleans in the next few years, and it could bring more tourists to our little hamlet. Tourists mean more money in our coffers, which could translate to more money for the public library, for instance. So everyone wins.”

  “Dinah, I think that idea has merit, but—”

  “I’m so glad you think so!” She pulled out a neatly typed piece of paper and handed it to me. “Here’s a list of improvements that would not only recover some of the glory of this old house, but it would make you stand out from the other houses on the tour.”

  I stopped reading after the list suggested I repaint in the “historically appropriate” colors of mint and ebony. “I can’t afford all this on my salary.”

  “Well, dear, you could always sell.” Dinah looked around as if sizing things up. “I myself would offer a fair price for the property. In fact, you might not know this, but one of my cousins built this house himself, back when it had been surrounded by fields of sugar cane. If you sold it to me, I would promise to lovingly restore it to be a testament to both our relations that have gone home to Jesus.”

  My eyes widened at her last remark. “I’m sorry, Dinah, but I don’t think it would be right to sell this house. My uncle wanted me to have it, and he passed it on to me for a reason.” I didn’t let her know that I had yet to figure out what that reason was. “I appreciate the offer, but—”

  “This is just too much house for one person,” she interrupted, changing tactics. “I don’t know how you’re going to keep up with it. I can show you a nice little property in town, one that won’t cost a fortune to maintain. Not to mention, it will save you a bundle on your tax bill. I’m sure your uncle doesn’t want you knee deep in property taxes.”

  “Uncle Mike left a trust to pay property taxes and help with upkeep. I’m sorry, but I’m quite happy here and I don’t plan to sell.”

  “I see,” Dinah said, her excitement fading. “Well, if you change your mind, here’s my card.”

  I took it, then bid her goodbye and watched her walk to her car. As she drove away, I went back inside, returning to the kitchen to freshen up my coffee. I tossed Dinah’s card on the table, but I hung the map of the parish up on my refrigerator, figuring it might come in handy. The list of suggestions went into the recycling.

  When I turned around, I noticed Chonks on the table, pawing at the card. Suddenly, he snatched it up in his mouth and jumped off the table, running off down the hall.

  “Crazy cat,” I said, shaking my head. Chonks was always running off with some thing or another. He’d somehow gotten one of Mercy’s earrings the night of the book club meeting and I’d only found it later when he was carrying it around in his mouth.

  Taking a long drink of coffee, I felt the last of the cobwebs leaving my brain. Dinah Mercer was an interesting woman. Polite but pushy, she seemed to live more in the past than in the present, always trying to bring things back to the way they were. The problem was, while the past might be rosy to some, to others, it was nothing worth revisiting.

  “I got news for you, Dinah,” I muttered to myself as I made my way to the shower. “The old times weren’t so great for everyone.” Sure, some folks had mansions but others weren’t so lucky. Like in Gatsby. The fashionable high society houses weren�
�t that far from the valley of ashes, after all.

  I was in the shower when I heard the clang again, loud enough this time to make me jump and almost slip. After my shower, I dried off, got dressed, and tidied up before it was time to head into work. Like every other morning, I had the exciting task of scooping out Chonks’s litter box. It was my least favorite thing about cat ownership, and if I could have taught him to scoop it himself, I would have.

  I hadn’t even gotten to the first scoop when I noticed something sticking out of the litter. Grabbing a paper towel, I used it to pick up the item, which turned out to be Dinah’s card.

  “Chonks!” I yelled. “What has gotten into you?”

  Finishing up with the litter box, I was walking down the hall when the mysterious sound rang out again. From this location, it sounded not so much like a clang as a long, mournful moan. My skin broke out into goose pimples, and the notion that the source might be supernatural scrabbled across the surface of my mind.

  “No,” I said to myself as I started walking again. “Jade, you will not start thinking this place is haunted.”

  Chonks looked up at me from his place at the end of the hall, his expression giving me the feeling he was chiding me for being ridiculous. “I know, buddy,” I told him. “No ghosts and ghouls here. Just something in need of repair, right?”

  The cat looked at me a moment longer and ran down the hall to the entrance to the kitchen, where he stopped and looked back, his tail swishing. I followed him into the kitchen, and he took off again, running to where the old-fashioned phone hung on the wall. Chonks batted at the long, curly cord a couple times, and I laughed.

  “Okay, okay. But you know that phone isn’t connected, dummy.” Still, I got the message he was trying to convey, or the message I was attributing to him at least. I doubted his cat brain was smart enough to know he was even standing under a phone.