When the Cat's Away

by Dane McCaslin

  The situation suddenly struck me as ridiculous, and I began laughing. "Oh, the shame of it all! I can just see the headlines now: Seneca Meadows' geriatric druggies gone wild!"

  Officer Scott's mouth twitched. Some people just don't have a sense of humor.

  * * *

  "I sincerely hope that old Mrs. Dukowski doesn't get in trouble." Merry had followed me into the living room, swinging her legs up on the couch as she balanced her teacup and a very sleepy Trixie. "She's really a nice woman, always keeping an eye out on Bea's place for her."

  "Then thank goodness she has her eye medicine, right?" That set the two of us off into hysterical laughter again, and Trixie buried her head under her stumpy tail. I was beginning to think it was mostly due to lack of sleep and the relief that we'd managed to get rid of Officer Scott without a full confession of our recent activities.

  "Look, Caro." Merry's voice had turned serious. "I think that someone was looking for this." And she reached into her back pocket and withdrew a slim mobile phone.

  "What makes you think that, Merry?" A half-formed idea was beginning to take shape, and I did not like the direction it was going.

  "I found it in her desk drawer, just where she said it would be." She flipped open the phone and powered it on with a flick of her thumb. "There's gotta be something on here that someone doesn't want anyone else to see."

  "You 'found' it in her drawer?" Good grief; I was doing the finger air quotes thing again. "When was this, if I might ask?"

  "When we were in her office." Merry sounded impatient, her fingers working on the keypad as she began scrolling through the phone's records. "Holy cow! I had no idea Bea even knew how to text!"

  I rolled my eyes. "And you'd think that why?" Texting, it seemed to me, had become as common as speaking. In fact, I'd witnessed a teen in Candy's bakery doing both at the same time. "Isn't Bea tech-savvy or whatever it's called?"

  Merry laughed. "Bea still handwrites all of her sales receipts, if you can believe that. I've tried to get her to…whoa! Wait a minute now." She was staring intently at the screen. "Take a look at this, Caro." She passed the phone to me.

  The tiny screen held six words: You'll be sorry if you tell. I looked up at Merry, a frown on my face. "Who wrote this? Bea? Someone else?"

  "Are you sure you're tech-savvy, Caro? Look at the top of the screen. See that number? That's not Bea's cell; I know that one by heart. It belongs to whoever sent that message, no name needed." She reached out for the mobile. "Here. I'm gonna call it and see who answers."

  I shook my head. Merry was nothing if not impulsive. She made me look downright sedate, in fact. I tucked that away for future reference the next time I was accused of doing anything without thinking.

  "Merry, it's nearly two in the morning. I really don't think it's a good idea to call someone at this time, especially if they're threatening Bea."

  Merry tossed her head, and Trixie lifted a pointy nose, snuffling loudly to show her disapproval at being disturbed. "They'll just have to get over it then, won't they?" She took it from my outstretched hand and began tapping in the number. She listened for a moment and then slowly closed the phone, a startled expression on her face. "Caro, that number belongs—belonged—to Lucia Scarantelli." The color drained from her face as she added, "At least that's who recorded the message."

  "Lucia Scarantelli? As in, the Lucia who's dead?" I repeated the name, feeling both confused and excited. Maybe this was a step toward figuring out who might have had it in for the Dragon Lady. "What on earth did she mean about Bea being sorry?"

  "I have no idea, Caro!" Merry sounded impatient. "If I knew that then we'd be talking to Bea, not sitting here."

  "And that's a wonderful idea," I said, standing to my feet. "Let's go over to Bea's."

  "Now?" Merry looked up at me, her expression clearly indicating that she thought I was crazy. "I'm thinking that's not a great move, girlfriend."

  "And why not?" Now I was beginning to sound snappish; of course, I'm never at my best when I don't get my eight hours of sleep. "I would think that she'd thank us for retrieving the phone for her. Come on, I'll drive," I added generously.

  "Oh, fine." Merry eased Trixie off of her lap and stood up. "But when she comes out guns ablazin', I'm pushing you in front of me."

  "Wait a minute there, pardner." I hadn't counted on the timid Beatrice Lemon being armed. "She's got a gun?"

  Merry laughed, restored to her cheerful self. "No, goofy. That's just a saying. It means that she might get really upset when we ring her doorbell at two in the morning. I'll let you do the explaining." She reached down and gave Trixie a scratch between her ears. "Okay, let's hit the road. And then I'm hitting the hay."

  The roads were deserted. Only an occasional patrol car could be seen as we drove through the sleeping town toward Bea's neighborhood. It was darker here, I noticed; several of the streetlights were out, and it appeared that not many felt the need to turn on a porch light.

  "You sure this is a good idea?" Merry sounded nervous, one hand on the door handle and the other holding the mobile phone. "I mean, we could come back tomorrow when it's lighter." She shivered. "I just don't feel comfortable with this, Caro."

  "Merry," I began firmly, "it is tomorrow already, and I am not coming back here. I need to get ready for Greg's return. I do have a life other than sneaking around and poking my nose into other people's business." I opened my door and got out.

  "Oh, isn't that just the pot calling the kettle black," Merry retorted. "Well, come on and let's get this over with." She flung open the car door and stepped out into the chilly spring air.

  The silence here felt different than that of our own part of town. It felt heavy, almost oppressive, and I made sure that Merry and I stayed close together as we crossed the raggedy lawn and walked up to Bea's front door. I could tell that Merry was feeling it as well; she was shivering, and I knew it wasn't from the night's coolness.

  There was a faint light shining from inside Bea's house. I lifted my hand to ring the bell, but Merry suddenly grasped at my arm. A crackling noise was coming from somewhere behind us, and we both jumped, clutching one another as if shot. When a calico cat appeared, winding itself around our feet and mewing, I almost laughed in relief. Merry lifted one foot and gently shoved the cat to the side, shaking her head.

  "I guess that's what you call a real scaredy-cat, right?"

  We giggled together, and the tension of the moments before was gone.

  "Here goes nothing," I muttered and pressed the doorbell before I could talk myself out of it.

  We stood silently and listened to the echo of the chimes from inside the house. Nothing stirred except the cat that had begun its figure eights around us again.

  "Ring it again, Caro," urged Merry. This time her suggestion to the cat wasn't as gentle. It gave her a baleful look and hopped off the porch, its tail high with indignation.

  "I hope that wasn't Bea's cat," I said, watching its progress across the lawn and into the darkness. "She won't thank us for running her pet off. Or for waking her up at this time of the night," I added dryly.

  "Oh, for Pete's sake, Caro!" Merry was sounding a bit cross again. I chalked it up to tiredness and the lack of caffeine. "We're doing the woman a favor." She reached across and pushed the bell down twice with vigor. "There. If that doesn't wake her up, she's gotta be deaf. Or dead."

  We stared at one another as the words sank in, missing the little flick of the curtain hanging in the front window. With our luck, she probably was. Dead, not deaf. When Bea answered the door, we jumped sky high.

  * * *

  "Thanks for bringing this to me, Merry, Caro, but honestly, it could have waited." Beatrice Lemon stood at her stove, pouring hot water into mugs that held tea bags.

  I tend to be rather choosy over the brand of tea I drink—I'm absolutely hooked on Tetley—but I'll drink anything in a pinch. This was one of those times; my eyes were beginning to feel gritty from lack of sleep, and I was noticing an
annoying buzz in my ears. Maybe I was really going crazy, finally cracking up, and this was just the beginning of the end. Next would be the voices in my head, telling me to… I jumped when Merry poked me.

  "Caro, I think your cell phone is calling you."

  Thank goodness. I wasn't hearing things, or rather, I was. It just wasn't imaginary things, only my spouse calling me from Oxford. Oh, dear, I thought as I pressed the "accept" button and stepped into the hall. A call at this time of the night did not spell good news.

  "Caro here," I said into the phone. "What's wrong, Greg?"

  "Why does something have to be wrong when I call?" Oh, dear: I'd either touched a nerve or wrongly assessed the reason for the call at ten in the morning his time. Wasn't he generally in a meeting of sorts then?

  "Sorry, Greg. It's just that's it's so early here, and I don't usually get a call from you at this time of the day. Or morning." I knew I sounded flustered and waited for Greg to comment in his typical manner.

  Silence from the Oxford end of things made me wonder if the connection had been broken, but then he spoke. "It's what time? Are you certain, Caro?"

  Yes, I was certain. I'd only just the moment before glanced at my mobile's screen to note the time before ringing Bea's doorbell.

  "What are you using for a time piece, Greg?" I already knew the answer; his grandfather's watch, a gold-plated monstrosity of a wristwatch, was my husband's pride and joy. Periodically it let him down, having a need to be wound instead of new batteries inserted, and I had a feeling that this was one of those times.

  "Oh, good grief!" I heard him mutter. "Listen, Caro. I'll ring you back later. Right now I need to get over to the main hall; I'm either two hours late for breakfast or six hours too early for dinner."

  With that he rang off, leaving me grinning on my end of the line. He'd call back later, of that I was certain. I mentally crossed my fingers for him that he'd eventually find something to eat. My dear spouse can get grumpy without his three squares and assorted snacks.

  "Everything okay?" Merry asked as I came back into the kitchen.

  "Yes. He's just a little off his game at the moment. A sort of jet lag in reverse, I'd call it." I slid into a chair and reached for my tea. I probably shouldn't have been drinking anything with caffeine at this hour, but it smelled divine. I shrugged, figuring that I could nap later with Trixie, the Queen of Sleep.

  "I waited for you so we could talk to Bea together," Merry said casually, watching me over the rim of her mug. "I figured that way I wouldn't need to repeat myself."

  Oh, sure, I thought sardonically. You're just too yellow to tackle this on your own. I took another sip of tea, my mind already skipping along a tangential path: why was yellow any more cowardly than, say, purple? Or even orange?

  "Hello? Earth to Caro? Come in, Caro!" Merry snapped her fingers in front of me and I started.

  "What?" I asked, giving Merry my best injured look. "Did I miss something important?"

  Bea reached across and patted Merry's hand, a tired smile on her face. "I think we're all a little drained here, Merry. This really can wait until later, can't it?"

  Merry shrugged. "I suppose so. Unless you can tell us in ten words or less why Lucia Scarantelli was threatening you, then yes, it can wait."

  Bea's face turned pale, and she set her mug down with a hand that shook. I shot Merry a look that said "now you've done it, pal," to which Merry responded with a toss of her head. Brilliant. I could tell that there would be no rest for the wicked after that cleverly worded comment. I did have to admire the tactic, though; Merry was undoubtedly ingenious when it came to dropping a verbal bomb.

  "Is there something we can help you with, Bea?" I aimed a little kick toward Merry's foot, hoping she'd take the hint and jump into the conversation. Instead, she sat mulishly quiet, still offended at my lack of attention. Fine. I could handle Bea on my own. Over a decade as a married woman had provided me with a lot of practice in managing touchy situations.

  "No, there's nothing you can do," said Bea, a fine sheen of sweat appearing on her forehead. "Besides, there's nothing else she can do to me now, you know?"

  Yes, I did know. I pasted a smile on my face and hoped that Bea couldn't see the neon sign that flashed over my head announcing my pet peeve. You know?

  "If you're certain, Bea," I began, reaching over and placing my hand on her arm. "Merry and I will get out of your hair and let you get some sleep. I'm sure that we could do with some as well. Merry?"

  I stood to my feet and carried my tea mug over to Bea's sink, noticing the array of old-fashioned canisters sitting on the counter. Second Time's the Charm, I thought as I rinsed out the mug, setting it to drain on a worn towel that said, Early to Bed and Early to Rise over a picture of a rooster. I'm not snobbish by any means— at least not on the level on which I've been accused— but I was very grateful for my well-appointed kitchen, particularly the Keurig coffee maker. I felt sorry for someone who seemed to work as hard as Bea did and still have nothing to show for it.

  And then I remembered what Merry had told me about the friction between Lucia and Bea, how the head of the Chamber of Commerce felt that the second-hand store was bringing down the tone of Seneca Meadows' downtown. It must have been doubly hurtful for Bea: she struggled to make a living among used items, and she had to live among them as well. No wonder she didn't want to talk about Lucia Scarantelli. If I was her, the only comment I'd make would be "ding dong, the witch is dead," or something along those lines. I had a sneaking suspicion, though, that Beatrice Lemon was nicer than I was.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The next morning came much earlier than anticipated. The knocking on my front door was insistent, sending Trixie into a flurry of barking and me into the hallway before my eyes were even fully opened. I hoped that whoever was standing on the other side of my door wouldn't be offended by my rather tatty nightgown; I tend to sleep in comfort whenever my hubby is away.

  "Who is it?" I put my lips near the door's jamb and waited for an answer. I was still too blurry-eyed to trust my vision at the spyhole in my door; I do not do well at all with only four hours' rest. "I'm not opening this door until you identify yourself. And this better be good," I added. Forewarned is forearmed, as my grandfather would say.

  "It's Joey, Caro. Merry's cousin," he added unnecessarily.

  I knew exactly who he was, and he wasn't coming in without an escort, no matter how cordial our last visit had been or what his gender preference was. Thanks to Greg's comments about Joey's opportune appearance, I was still clinging to some very insistent doubts.

  "Now is not a good time for a visit," I said firmly through the door. "Merry and I were out really late last night—actually it was early this morning, and I'm still tired."

  "Merry's the reason I'm here, Caro," came the reply. From the sound of things, Joey had moved his own lips right next to mine on the other side of the door. I jumped back, not caring for the proximity. "I went over to her place, and she's not there."

  I sighed. "Please wait a moment, Joey. I need to get dressed first." What a stupid thing to say, I thought with irritation at myself. From the silence on the other side of the door, I knew that Joey was either grinning…or making a face.

  I all but stomped down the hall, flinging off the offending nightie as I did. Trixie gave a startled yelp as it fell on her, and I quickly retrieved the garment, scooping a wriggling dachshund into my arms.

  "Sorry there, girl," I said as I nuzzled her furry little head. "Your daddy would have a fit if anything happened to his little princess while he's gone."

  Speaking of the man, I realized that he hadn't called again. Hopefully that meant he'd gotten his timing back. Nothing can irritate my dear spouse more than being early or late to a function. He's always operated from an "on time" preference.

  I quickly donned a clean pair of jeans—the stretchy type for curvy figures, which mine definitely is—and one of Greg's button-down shirts. Comfort before fashion is my mantra, particul
arly when I've not had a decent amount of rest. With Trixie scampering ahead of me on her truncated legs, I headed back to the front door.

  Joey didn't look any better than I felt. The dark circles under his eyes were a match for my own, and although he was neatly dressed, his hair gelled and sculpted into an interesting style, he still looked rough.

  "Coffee or tea?" I asked over my shoulder as I led the way to the kitchen.

  "Coffee, please, and the stronger, the better." He sank into a chair and rested his head on his hands. "Caro, I'm worried about Merry. She's really good at letting me know when she'll be gone, and I haven't heard squat from her."

  "She's a grown woman," I said mildly. "Surely she's allowed some freedom, right?" I set a mug of steaming breakfast blend coffee in front of him. "Help yourself to cream and sugar."

  He sipped the brew and grimaced. "Whew! That's a little warm. And no thanks to the cream and sugar. I drink my coffee black." He managed a smile. "I'll take a slice of cheesecake if you've got any left, though. Gotta keep my sugar level topped off."

  I grinned at my morning guest. "A man after my own heart. Hang on a minute. I'm sure I've got something around that will do the trick."

  Thank goodness for the emergency coffee cake I'd hidden in the freezer. A few moments in the microwave and voila! Joey and I sat in silence, blissfully enjoying the caramelized sweetness that contrasted so well with the medium roast of the coffee. Finally, managing to resist the temptation to lick my plate clean of crumbs, I sat back and smiled, actually feeling almost human in spite of the short night.

  "So, Joey," I began, pushing the plate away and taking a final sip of coffee. "You're here because Merry didn't answer her door?"

  He shook his head. "No, I'm here because she isn't home, and I'm worried."

  "And you know she isn't home how?" I let the question hang in the air between us, waiting until he'd swallowed the last piece of coffee cake.

  "Because when I went in her house, she wasn't anywhere to be found." He reached across for my plate and stood, taking both over to the sink and rinsing them. "Do you want these in the dishwasher?"