Mr Bigelow Smells a Rat

by Leigh Selfman

  “Then he’s the fool,” Ben says quietly.

  She looks into his eyes. They stare at one another.

  Really? Now? Just when you’re finally about to help me get to the bottom of this. Now you share a ‘moment?’

  “Should we call the police?” Ben asks her.

  Yes! Yes! I think we should definitely call the police.

  “And say what?” She gives him a sad smile. “That my date’s cheating on me? I’m not sure that’s a criminal offense.”

  “No. We’d say your date is up to no good. That we found evidence that proves he targeted you at the pet store and is trying to get a valuable painting out of your house.”

  “Yeah well….we don’t really have any proof he’s doing that. Yes, we have the suspicious boot and all the evidence inside it – but your dog found it near his building – not inside it. We can’t even prove the boot and the stuff inside it belonged to Rafe. Or to that woman he’s with.”

  “You’re probably right,” Ben sighs. “Okay, let’s go home.”

  We all walk back and get into the car. And as he starts the engine, Ben turns to her. “You know…you should probably find that painting.”

  “I plan on it,” she says.

  PENELOPE

  I say goodnight to Ben at the door. I know he wants to come in and look for the painting but I’m too tired and confused. I tell him if he wants to come back tomorrow we can look for it then.

  He says “sure” and starts to walk off, Choxie at his side.

  Then I think better of it. Why not try to find it now? I call out to him: “Hey, Ben. Maybe we could look for it for just a little while.”

  “Really? Great.” He and Choxie head back to the house, a spring in both their steps. Much to Mr. Bigelow’s dismay. But at least he doesn’t hiss at them or try to bite them. He walks away disdainfully and hops up onto a tall bookshelf in the living room where he can stare down at us from his high perch.

  “So where do we start looking?” Ben asks. “Have you seen any possible Monets anywhere in the house?”

  “No. But then I wouldn’t know a Monet from a Manet from a…a mayonnaise. Well okay, I would actually, probably know a mayonnaise.”

  “Especially if it were on the wall,” Ben smiles. Then he does an impression of Agnes’s accented voice. “Ze monet en zee wall.”

  “Well, I guess we should look on all the walls,” I say with a shrug. “And to tell the truth I actually do have some sense of what a Monet would look like. I think he does light, pretty flowery things. At least if I’m remembering correctly. I did a puzzle once when I was in grade school called Water Lilies that was taken from one of his paintings.”

  “Okay then, I guess you’re the expert. Upstairs first?”

  I nod and we all troop upstairs – Ben, Choxie and me. I look back to see that Mr. Bigelow is still sitting on the high shelf watching – but I’m sure he’ll be joining us soon.

  We start in one of the emptier upstairs bedrooms – emptier by GAA standards anyway. It’s still packed with old furniture and stuff but at least there’s a pathway through it all.

  “Wow,” Ben says when I open the door. “Agnes really was a…a collector wasn’t she? I’ve only been downstairs. I never realized.”

  I smile at Ben’s tact as we head into the breech and begin searching. “Agnes was a little bit more than a collector,” I say as I scooch behind the various shelves and credenzas and telephone tables to look at the paintings hanging on the walls. “I’m pretty sure she’d qualify as a hoarder – but only upstairs – thankfully. She kept the downstairs pretty presentable.”

  “Uh huh,” Ben nods as he studies a painting that hangs over one of the twin beds. “How about this one?” He turns to face me. “Could this be a Monet?”

  I come over and look, narrowing my eyes as I study it. The painting has splotches of color, reds, blues greens and all of it rather…abstract. “I don’t think so, it’s the wrong style,” I say squinting at the signature just to be sure. “Plus look at the signature. It says, Bea Stott.”

  “Hmm. Didn’t see that.” Ben says, moving onto the next painting.

  I go over to study two canvases that are leaning against the wall underneath the window. I glance at the signatures. “Nope and nope.”

  We spend another twenty minutes searching this room and then the next two hours searching the rest of the house. But all to no avail.

  MR. BIGELOW

  “If only Choxie could use his excellent nose to figure out where she kept the Monet,” she says to Ben as they fruitlessly search yet another room for hidden treasure.

  Yeah, that’s likely, I think, glancing over at Choxie who is snoring away, sprawled out in the entryway of the room. The slobbering oaf is so needy that he’s unable to be more than a few feet from Ben at any given moment – and then all he does is plop down to sleep.

  Ben smiles at his sleeping canine then looks over at me. “Isn’t Mr. Bigelow more likely to know where Agnes kept things?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” she says. “But even if he knew, I doubt Mr. Bigelow would let on.”

  Smart thinking.

  Then, as if wondering whether I really could help her, she looks over at me and stares into my eyes. “Where is it Mr. Bigelow?” she asks.

  I stare back at her, unblinking as she waits for my answer.

  Then, because I firmly believe in positive reinforcement training – I decide to reward her for her insightful realization that she knows nothing, and I know all.

  I turn and give her a ‘come hither’ motion with my tail, as I lead her towards the answer.

  I walk slowly, giving her the chance to follow – then I stop and look back to make sure that she is.

  And…I have to give it to her. She is. She looks dubious, but still, both she and Ben, (and Choxie, of course) are now trailing behind me as I lead them to a sitting room just off the main bedroom.

  I sashay inside and then I look back.

  Choxie has (of course) plopped himself down in the doorway again and has, to all intents and purposes, fallen asleep. But she and Ben walk into the room and look around.

  “Wow,” Ben says, “This must be the one empty room in the house.”

  “Yeah,” she sighs, disappointedly. “I cleared it out to use as my closet/dressing room. I’ve always wanted one of those even though I don’t have that big of a wardrobe.”

  As I walk over to my squeaky toy that’s sitting in the corner and pounce on it with a satisfying HONK, I look back triumphantly.

  At which point she and Ben both laugh.

  “Well I guess he led me to the treasure,” she says coming over to pet me.

  “To his idea of the treasure anyway,” Ben laughs. Then he picks up my squeaky toy and tosses it across the room.

  “Yep, he’s led me to the one room that doesn’t have a single painting in it,” she says with a smile. “I’m just going to grab a sweater while we’re in here.” She rubs her bare arms. “It’s so cold and drafty.” She flings open the closet door and it immediately smashes into the wall that’s catty-corner to it.

  “You should probably put a door stopper on the wall to prevent it from getting smashed,” Ben goes over and touches a slight dent in the wall. “I can do that for you if you want.”

  “Really? Thanks, that’d be great,” she smiles. “I don’t know why they put the closet door so close to the next wall…but these old houses seem pretty weird.” She yawns, then covers her mouth with her hand – at which point Ben looks at his phone.

  “Well, I guess it’s getting late. We can continue the search tomorrow if you want.”

  “Sure. Although I think we’ve pretty much covered every room. Including the attic and the basement. But thanks again for everything tonight.”

  He nods and they look at each other once again. Then they head downstairs with Choxie trailing close behind.

  PENELOPE

  As Ben and I walk to the front door, I yawn again. I really do need to get a good night�
��s sleep.

  I open the front door to let my guests out, and notice that Ben is looking at something behind me with interest.

  “Hey where does that go?” he asks.

  I look back and see that he’s studying the area below the stairs. “What do you mean? That’s a wall. Isn’t it?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Ben goes over to get a better look. He moves the console table out of the way and studies the triangular area below the stairs. “Look how uneven this is. This half of the wall isn’t flush with this half.” He presses on the different areas of the wall, apparently looking for some kind of hidden doorway. “A lot of times people hide storage cubbies underneath stairways.”

  “That’s true.” I watch him as he continues to press along the wall. Then, as he gets closer to the edge, the wall seems less solid. The area he presses on moves in and then pops back out.

  “Oh,” I say, surprised.

  “Et voila,” Ben smiles. He steps aside to make room for me to go inside.

  Moving slowly, I enter the hidden closet which is about four feet wide and five feet deep. And like every other room in the house it’s packed with GAA’s belongings.

  “What’s in there?” Ben calls out.

  “There are a lot of vintage suitcases stacked along the walls,” I call back to him. “There’s also dust. A lot of dust!” I sneeze as if to prove my point.

  “Mind if I join you?” Ben crowds into the closet next to me.

  We’re so close I can smell his soap. Or maybe it’s cologne. Whatever it is it smells fresh and clean and slightly musky.

  For a moment we stare into each others’ eyes. Then I can’t help it, my eyes go his lips. They’re pretty sexy – not too thin, not too thick. Just right.

  I force myself to look away. “Okay, um…any paintings in here?” I say.

  Ben smiles at me, then slowly looks away. “Um…yeah. Let’s see.”

  He moves some of the boxes at the far end of the closet away and low and behold…there are three paintings leaning against the wall.

  I move closer to Ben for a better view and feel his presence as he pulls each painting toward himself so we can see them better.

  “No,” I say to the first one.

  “No, definitely not,” I say to the second one.

  Then he reveals the third one and we both stare at it saying nothing.

  The painting is a long, narrow landscape done in pale yellows and soft oranges. It’s framed in a fancy gilt frame and looks quite old.

  “Let’s get this into the light,” Ben says, picking it up and carrying it out into the dining room. He puts it on the dining room table.

  “I see a signature,” I say as I move in close and study the bottom edge of the painting. “But it’s very faint. But that first letter does look like an M.”

  “It does. It’s a very nice painting. Striking really.”

  I nod. It is a very nice painting.

  “I mean…if the Monet is any of the ones we’ve seen, it’s this one,” he says. “Don’t you think?”

  “I do,” I say as I google Monet Landscapes in order to find something to compare it to. Then Ben and I look at the various images on my phone and compare them to the painting in front of us.

  “The light reflecting on the water looks similar to this one,” I say as I bring up an image on my cell off a 1908 Monet painting.

  “Yeah, it does,” Ben nods. He scrolls through a few more images on my phone and shows me another one. “And the brushstrokes on that tree look similar to the tree in your painting.”

  “Yes, I see what you mean,” I frown. And then I can’t help but smile. We sound like two gallery owners conferring over an acquisition – rather than two nobodies who don’t know the first thing about art.

  Still I can’t help but be excited. If this is the Monet that Agnes was talking about, it would solve all my problems and then some. It would allow me to pay off all the back taxes on the house and have some left over to start my bookstore/cafe!

  “Well…” Ben breaks the spell. “I say we take it to be authenticated tomorrow. But right now, it looks like Choxie needs a walk. So, I guess I should get going.”

  “Okay,” I say with a smile as I follow him and Choxie to the front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” And as they walk down the steps Ben turns and gives me a cute smile and a wave. Then he and Choxie walk away.

  I close the door behind them.

  “Well, that turned out to be a fun night, wasn’t it Mr. Bigelow?” I say leaning against it.

  Mr. Bigelow doesn’t answer. Instead he heads into the kitchen and stares at the treat box. I toss him a few treats and he gobbles them up quickly as I pour myself a glass of wine.

  I take a sip and think about how the night went. I could easily be depressed at how badly used I was by Rafe – but it wound up being a better night than I could’ve imagined. And not just because of the possibly valuable painting. “Ben is pretty cute, don’t you think?” I say to Mr. Bigelow. But he doesn’t pay me any mind – he’s still attempting to get one of the treats out from where it rolled under the stove.

  “And he’s really nice. He was really helpful tonight. Both he and Choxie.”

  Watching Mr. Bigelow maneuver the treat out with his paw, I smile, feeling happy and relaxed and hopeful for the first time since I moved here. And maybe, thanks to the Monet, I’ll even be able to stay.

  I take my wine and head back upstairs to take a bath. As I do, I pass the possible-Monet painting that’s on the dining room table. I stop and study it again as

  Mr. Bigelow hops up onto the table next to it. He sniffs at it then he sits down nearby to groom himself. “Tomorrow we’ll have the painting authenticated and hopefully it’ll be real,” I say. “I just love a happy ending, don’t you?”

  Mr. Bigelow blinks at me, unimpressed.

  MR. BIGELOW

  I pace around the bedroom, feeling on edge. As I pass the bathroom door, I peek in – she’s falling asleep in the bath and seems happier than she’s been since she moved in here. But still…I can sense something’s wrong. I just wish I knew what it was.

  I go into the bathroom and sit next to her and meow a few times.

  Her eyes open slightly, and she reaches out to pet me with a wet hand. “Hi Mr. Bigelow, honey…what’s wrong?”

  I meow again, looking right into her eyes.

  She stares at me and I think she’s going to get it. To pick up on the alarm I’m trying to send her. But then her eyelids start drooping and she falls back asleep.

  It’s all up to me, I guess.

  I head down the stairs then pause halfway down. Listening. Alert.

  But I’m not picking up on anything out of the ordinary, so I walk into the living room.

  I head to the front door and sniff around the bottom of it. No suspicious smells there. I jump up on the window ledge and stare out. I don’t see or smell anyone outside. But I sense something. Something bad is coming.

  PENELOPE

  I drag myself out of the tub and quickly pull on a warm sleep shirt and shorts. Then I climb into bed.

  “Mr. Bigelow,” I call out – usually he’s somewhere in my vicinity at bedtime, but I don’t see him anywhere around. I wonder if I should go downstairs and look for him as he was behaving a little oddly earlier. Usually when I’m in the bath, he climbs into the sink and grooms himself – but tonight. Tonight he was just sitting there, meowing at me.

  Oh well. He probably just wanted more treats.

  I snuggle into my covers. “Mr. Bigelow,” I call out half-heartedly. “Come here Mr. Bigelow.”

  Then I fall asleep.

  MR. BIGELOW

  I hear her calling me from upstairs, but I ignore her. Instead I go into the guest bathroom and jump onto the back of the toilet. Then I leap all the way up and onto the small, high window. I slip through the narrow opening and out onto a tree branch outside.

  Making my way to the ground, I prowl around the perimeter making sure everything’s
okay. Which is when I hear them. Footsteps. Coming from the bushes in the back of the house.

  Freezing in place, I listen – then I spot them. Feet, heading toward the house. He’s trying to be quiet…careful. But I see him. He’s all in black with something black pulled down over his face.

  I stalk behind him, quiet as a panther, watching as he goes to the back door. He’s doing something with his black-gloved hands, trying to get it open.

  Slowly….slowly I creep up behind him. Then…just as he gets the door open...I pounce!

  I clamp myself onto his back and he spins, screaming trying to get me off. He backs me into a wall and mashes me up against it. Hard. I yowl but I’m able to dig my claws in and climb up and over his head and clamp on even tighter.

  “Aahhh!” he screams. He dances around blindly, with me clinging tightly to his head, until we both wind up out in the atrium.

  He screams again and pulls his mask off – taking me with it - flinging me down hard onto the ground. And for a moment I lie there, dazed and stunned, watching as he grabs his mask and puts it back on. Then he backs away out of the atrium, slamming the sliding-glass door closed between us.

  I meow at him and scratch at the glass door until he pulls something metal out of his pocket and aims it at me.

  “Stop! Don’t shoot!” she yells, running down the stairs looking terrified. We both freeze and look over at her. “Don’t hurt him! Please. He’s just a cat!” She jumps in between me and him.

  At which point he aims the metal thing at her.

  PENELOPE

  My hands fly up automatically as I stare at the gun which is now pointed at me. “Oh no. Don’t shoot. Please,” I say, turning away and closing my eyes.

  “Where is it?” he growls. “Where’s the painting?”

  “What?” I say. I’m so shocked and confused by what’s happening that I wonder if I’m still dreaming.

  I open my eyes again and look at the gun. Unfortunately…it looks very real.