Fur-miliar Felines

by Harper Lin

  “Blake said he must have smuggled in some kind of weapon.” Tom clenched his fists nervously. “His wrists were sliced open all the way down to the bone. He bled out within a matter of minutes. You’d have to have nerves of steel to do that. But I can’t help but think…” I watched him swallow hard as he shook his head. “He might have thought he was going to use that weapon on one of the officers and it just didn’t work out that way.”

  “Oh gosh.” Bea gasped, taking hold of her mother’s hand.

  “I’m sorry.” Tom looked at me. “I didn’t mean to get so gruesome about it. I just think it’s best to get it all out.”

  “I’m going to call Jake,” Bea almost whispered.

  “Yes, dear,” Aunt Astrid said soothingly. “You go on and use the phone in the study.”

  Peanut Butter trotted after his mistress as Treacle rubbed back and forth on Tom’s leg, and Marshmallow remained on her cushion, calmly listening.

  Aunt Astrid continued to prepare dinner. It was just a few minutes, and the smell of oregano and tomato and garlic began to fill the air, making the room feel a good bit cozier.

  “Is Bea okay?” Tom asked nervously.

  “She worries about Jake.” I had to be honest, at least when it came to my family. “Any woman married to a police officer worries that way.”

  “Would you worry about me that way if we were married?”

  “Well, I don’t really know you all that well yet.” I blinked. “But truthfully, I worry about you running with scissors, using a can opener, chopping onions. Whereas I’m confident in your policing, I’m not so sure about your management of everyday activities.”

  “Is that so?” He chuckled.

  “Yup.”

  Finally, Bea came back into the kitchen.

  “What did Jake have to say?” Aunt Astrid rubbed her daughter’s arm as Bea brought down plates from the cabinet.

  “Well, he had quite a few things to say.”

  Tom and I leaned against the counter to listen.

  “First, he said that Mr. Wayne did not act like a man who was guilty of the crimes he was being asked about but that he was definitely hiding something. He also said that Blake patted him down before they put him in the squad car at his home.”

  “If Blake did it, then Mr. Wayne had to have been hiding that weapon in a very intimate place,” I said, looking at Tom, who cringed as well.

  “That’s another thing. There was no weapon found in the cell.”

  “What?” Tom snapped.

  “You were right. Jake confirmed that his wrists were slashed, elbow to wrist, almost to the bone, but they’ve not found any weapon.”

  “Ugh.” Tom rubbed his stomach. “So what do they think he used?”

  “His own fingers and quite possibly his teeth,” Bea said. “It’s not impossible.”

  “But it is improbable,” Tom insisted. “Unless someone in the station gave him a weapon. I’ve heard of officers urging inmates to end it all because prison time for a child murderer is the hardest time to do. Could someone there have done that?”

  “They’ve got cameras all over the station, don’t they?” I walked around to the pot my aunt had put on the stove and began stirring the pasta, which was bubbling nicely.

  “Yeah,” Bea agreed. “I’m sure they’ll be reviewing them. Internal Affairs will be all over this. Mr. Wayne claimed to have no next of kin, but I guarantee that if there is any kind of lawsuit against the police department, you watch the long-lost relatives start crawling out of the woodwork if they smell a big settlement could be coming.”

  “Did they mention what else they found at the storage unit?” I asked. “Anything useful there?”

  “Aside from the Flint girl’s body, there were a couple of bikes, boxes of old tax forms, dishes, tools, and some metal folding chairs.”

  “That’s weird.” I took the pot of pasta over to the strainer that was in the sink and dumped the steaming ribbons into it, releasing a mushroom cloud of steam. “So he really did store normal things in his storage unit? There were no Baggies of miscellaneous earrings or bracelets from other victims? No clippings of hair or teeth in Baggies arranged by date? No box o’ panties or worn nylons?”

  “Where do you get this stuff?” Bea asked, not wanting to chuckle but unable to keep the smile off her face.

  “You know weirdos like Mr. Wayne keep trophies. Right?” I nudged Tom for backup. “They all do so they can go back and fondle them and relive the experience. Like normal people hang their diplomas on the wall or report cards on the fridge so they can look at them and be proud, serial killers keep their own twisted version of a certificate indicating a job well done.”

  “It’s sad but true,” Tom concurred. “Good one, honey.” He patted my back gently and then rubbed it affectionately, making me melt in his direction while I placed a big bowl of spaghetti in front of him.

  “I’m suddenly not so hungry,” Bea said.

  “I’ll eat hers.” I elbowed Aunt Astrid, who nodded while patting her daughter on the shoulder. “For some reason, this doesn’t affect my appetite.”

  “Well, one thing is for sure,” Aunt Astrid said, fixing her own plate and taking a seat at the counter with Tom and me. “Time will tell if Mr. Wayne was the culprit.”

  “What do you mean?” Tom asked, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. “He may not have confessed, but finding poor Donna Flint in his storage unit is pretty damning evidence.”

  “It is,” my aunt replied before rolling a huge ball of spaghetti on her fork and shoveling it in her mouth. “But something tells me this isn’t over yet.”

  Santa’s Village

  “You are going to look fantastic,” I told Treacle as I put a small headband with reindeer antlers on it on his head.

  “This is so embarrassing.” He meowed.

  “It isn’t. It’s fun. Get in the holiday spirit.” I scratched underneath his chin. “You will probably be the most handsome pet there. After I put on your bowtie.”

  “A bowtie?”

  “Yes. Look.” I held up the deep-maroon collar with a lovely velvet bowtie attached. “It’s beautiful. It’s not tacky or loud. It’s a very respectable tie, and I have one to match.” I held mine up for effect.

  “Are you wearing antlers too?”

  “Well, I wasn’t planning on it, but now that you mention it, that might not be a bad idea.” I shrugged. “Bea, Treacle thinks I should wear the antlers, too. What do you think?”

  “Well, I’m not sure since Peanut Butter and I will be winning the contest. I don’t know if it will make a difference what you do.” She smirked.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “Well, it looks like it is on.” Treacle pushed his head against mine as I looked him in the eye.

  Treacle came with me to the Brew-Ha-Ha. It was hard for him to adjust to staying inside when the weather got colder. It wasn’t a horrible day. The sun was shining, but the wind had kicked up, and that sent the temperature to the low thirties, just a whisker below freezing. I’d promised Treacle he could go out on his own before quitting time and I’d meet him at the house so he could get a little fresh air and run today’s cabin fever out of himself.

  But for now he was content to let me dress him up as he lounged on the window ledge, looking out onto the bustling sidewalk.

  “Bea, your mom is here,” I announced, waving to my aunt through the window. She looked as if she had to use the bathroom badly.

  “You aren’t going to believe this.” She huffed as she burst through the front door, setting off the chimes attached to the hinges. “I stay away from the newspapers. You girls know that. But have you seen the Wonder Falls Bugle?”

  Of course I hadn’t. To be honest, I didn’t care to read about the new statue in front of the library or how the women’s auxiliary was having their annual Winter Dip for the Polar Bears of Wonder Falls to take a swim in the frozen, man-made lake a couple miles out from downtown, or the editorials complaining about parking a
t the post office.

  “We usually don’t get it at the house until after noon,” Bea said.

  “You have a subscription to the Wonder Falls Bugle?” I teased.

  “I like to support the locals.” Bea pouted. “I’ll bet you didn’t know there was a new sculpture in front of the library. It’s of Timothy Monroe.”

  “Who in the world is Timothy Monroe?” I griped.

  “I don’t know, but it’s a beautiful sculpture. Very lifelike, and you know how much I love bronze statues.”

  “Would you two quit your babbling and listen?” Aunt Astrid pulled the crumpled newspaper from her beautiful satchel made of a red Indian tapestry. “Look at this.”

  She spread out the newspaper on the counter. In smaller print than the headline that read Mayor Announcing New Charter School Qualifications was the line Murder Suspect Commits Suicide During Police Questioning.

  “That isn’t exactly the most honest headline,” Bea whined. “Do they mention they found a body in his storage unit and that maybe this was an admission of guilt?”

  “They do, but it’s down at the bottom of the article.” Aunt Astrid pursed her lips. “But this isn’t the end of the story.”

  “What do you mean?” I scratched Treacle behind the ears.

  “While I was at the bank, picking up our deposit bag, I was talking to Lynette Rosette. You know Lynette? She always wears all those gold necklaces and bangle bracelets?”

  Bea and I nodded.

  “Lynette is very nice.” Bea smiled. “She’s always got the most pleasant disposition. Her aura sometimes glows pink.”

  “Oh yeah, the one with the pink aura,” I joked. “I know her.”

  “Well, Lynette told me that another teenager has gone missing.”

  “You mean Mr. Wayne had killed a third we didn’t know about?” I was shocked.

  “No.” Aunt Astrid took a seat at the counter. “The child disappeared yesterday.”

  None of us said anything as we let the news sink in.

  “Mom. Could it be that this teenager is just a runaway?” Bea asked. “I hate to think that that is a better alternative, but isn’t it?”

  “His name is Colin. He’s a straight-A student,” my aunt said. “He was class president. Played in the band. Well liked by just about everyone.”

  “Did he go to Bibich High School?” I asked.

  My aunt nodded sadly.

  “So Mr. Wayne was innocent and the killer is still out there?” Bea gasped.

  “I wouldn’t say he was innocent.” My aunt surprised us both. “But it does appear that there is a copycat out there.”

  I chuckled.

  “What’s funny?” Bea looked at me.

  “A copycat,” I said. “It’s just kind of funny that we’ve got a giant cat roaming the streets, invisible, or at least in disguise, and the word associated now with this new development is copycat.”

  “Yes. It is a bit ironic,” my aunt agreed. “But either way, we’ve got an issue on our hands. Not to mention what Jake and Blake and even Tom are going to do about this. There will certainly be questions, and even at this beautiful time of year, there are some people who never want to let a crisis go to waste. This will get worse before it gets better. I can feel it on several different levels.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t go to the reindeer contest,” I volunteered. “Maybe we should just hang around and…”

  “And do what?” my aunt interrupted. “We can’t really do anything until we close the café.”

  “Cath, were you just looking for an excuse to not get beat by Peanut Butter and me?” Bea looked up at the ceiling, as innocent as a slice of peach pie.

  “You hear that, Treacle?” I scratched him under the chin but stared at my cousin. “Before we beat the big bad guy in town, we are just going to have to put a little hurtin’ on the family.”

  “It’s a beautiful day to show you who makes the better reindeer, cuz,” Bea taunted as we both left the café, leaving Aunt Astrid and Kevin to handle the lunchtime patrons. “Peanut Butter and I will see you there.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I answered. “We’ll keep an eye out for you in the losers’ circle.”

  I was holding Treacle in my arms, where he snuggled contentedly.

  “You’re really all about the winning, aren’t you?” he purred.

  “Not really. I just wanted to show you off to the world, that’s all.”

  It was true. As we made our way to the center of town, about four blocks from the café, people pointed and smiled at my beautiful black cat wearing his distinguished bowtie and lightweight antlers, and he’d even allowed me to add a simple Santa hat that matched mine.

  Downtown was a winter wonderland. Christmas music was piped through speakers all along the main drag. The lampposts were all adorned with red-and-green banners. Poinsettias were outside almost every storefront. But my favorite was the lights. Even on a gray day like today with the smell of snow in the air, the Christmas lights shined bright.

  The majority of the shops had simple white lights, looking very traditional and timelessly classy. But then there were the rogue shops like Something Sweet Candy Shop and Brillows Second Hand bookstore that used what looked like dozens of strands of multicolored bulbs, giving their windows the appearance of being encased in bright, glowing candy. I loved it.

  Small sheds representing a dozen different countries popped up in the main square like a Santa’s Village. A person could get some decadent homemade fudge, hot chocolates, or even a hot toddy. There was bratwurst and jerk chicken, slices of pizza and egg rolls, and one little shack serving fresh sushi. Everyone working was wearing Santa hats or red-and-green aprons. The air smelled warm and delicious no matter where you walked, and with Christmas just a little over a week away, school was out for the holiday, and there were lots of kids tagging along with their parents.

  “I don’t think I’d be able to let my child go out and enjoy all this without holding my hand. Not with all the trouble and disappearances going on.” I squeezed Treacle. “It’s hard enough letting you go out.”

  “I know how to defend myself.” He stretched his razor-sharp claws on my arm. “Kids are, well, stupid.”

  I nodded, knowing what he meant. As I looked around, I saw one teenage girl with her coat hanging wide open exposing a very daring T-shirt beneath. A teenage boy was walking with his hands thrust deep in his jean pockets, his shoulders pulled all the way up to his ears, wearing nothing more than a hoodie, and he didn’t even have the hood up.

  “If they can’t figure out how to dress when it’s cold, they shouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere by themselves. Especially when there might still be a predator out there,” I said to Treacle.

  But my thoughts weren’t going to make a difference. Plus, I’d only heard about the wrath of teenagers when they didn’t get their way. I’d never experienced it firsthand. I have the feeling it’s probably as nasty as that hairless cat in the portal at the late Mr. Wayne’s house, if not worse.

  “This way to the reindeer contest,” I read on a cute red, white, and green pole with an arrow pointing to a large tent. The sounds of barking dogs could be heard coming from the inside along with a couple of bird squawks and one lonely meow.

  “You ready for this?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Rock Star

  Once we stepped inside the tent, we felt warm all over. The heat was on high so the pets wouldn’t be too chilly. Water bowls were placed randomly around the edges. A small patch of green grass was also situated far from the contestants and the judges for any four-legged friends who might not be able to make it outside for a nature call.

  When I saw Bea walk in, she was carrying Peanut Butter in his carrier, which she had decked out like a sleigh.

  “Oh brother,” I chided as I waved her over. “You sneaky little crafter, you.”

  “I couldn’t help myself.” She giggled. “I was struck by the ghost of impossible Christmas projects. I started on
this back in September and still wasn’t sure if I was going to finish it on time.”

  “I got to give it to you, Bea. Peanut Butter’s sleigh looks great. Doesn’t it, Treacle?

  “Are you hating this as much as me?” I heard Peanut Butter ask Treacle.

  “Just relax. It won’t last too much longer,” Treacle replied before yawning.

  He was right.

  As Bea and I sat next to each other, smiling and admiring all the adorable “reindeer” that had turned out, before we knew it, the judges had made their decision and were awarding a white third-place ribbon, a red second-place ribbon, and final first-place blue ribbon.

  The winner of the Santa’s Reindeer Pet Contest was a Yorkie wearing plush stuffed antlers with a couple of jingle bells attached. It might not sound like much, but the antlers stood over two feet high. The dog stood eight inches high, tops.

  “That was fun.” I bumped Bea’s hip as we walked. “Are you bringing Peanut Butter back to the café?”

  “No. He’s had enough excitement for today. I’ll meet you back there. Don’t tell my mom who won. I want to see her face when you describe that little dog.”

  I nodded and laughed with Treacle dozing in my arms. As Bea went one way and I went the other, I was shocked to see a group of teenagers bouncing and pogoing excitedly around one person. It was Mr. Clyde Tumble. What kind of cologne could he be wearing that attracted teenagers that way? They were shouting hellos and Merry Christmases. Clyde was high-fiving them and giving side hugs and pats on the back to his adoring fans.

  I thought back to my high school days and recalled my favorite teacher, Miss Arndt. She taught English, and I just had a knack for the subject, so I did receive a little favoritism in the class, but I never acted like this when I saw her in public. Seeing a teacher outside school was like spotting a skunk. You acknowledge it’s there then quickly hurry in any other direction.

  But Mr. Tumble was a rock star.

  “Will you be at school after break?” one especially bubbly girl asked with her ponytail swinging wildly behind her.