Candy Canes & Corpses

by Abby L. Vandiver

  Yet.

  “Yeah, animals love me. I have a dog of my own,” he laughs. “A great big brown and white bulldog. Elway’s his name.”

  Yechh.

  “How cute. I’d love to meet him,” she says.

  “Absolutely.” He looks at his watch. “We better go. Our res is at 8:00.”

  “Okay, bye, snookums” she says in that baby-waby voice she sometimes uses as she rubs my head and strokes behind my ears.

  “I look up at her, trying to warn her. Trying to hypnotize her not to go. But she just stands there, leaning down, looking at me so I rub myself around her legs.

  “We really gotta go,” he says.

  She looks at me and pauses for a moment. And for a moment I think she’s going to get it. She’s going to see what I’m trying to tell her. For a moment, I think she’s going to let herself know what she knows.

  But the moment passes and she stands up. He puts her shawl around her shoulders and they leave. And I sit by the door, thinking.

  This is what I think:

  First, he lied about having a dog. If he had a dog, especially a big smelly bulldog named Elway (!) I would have smelled him. And I didn’t. I smelled no dog and especially no dog named Elway.

  But…and this was the most interesting thing: I did smell something on him. Some strange and vaguely familiar. It was a smell I’ve smelled once before though I don’t know where. But I’m quite sure it bodes ill.

  I look at my bowl full of deliciously moist and smelly food and then I go over and lap up a bit. Part of me wants to finish it up right now, but part of me realizes that if I intend to find out why and just exactly what he’s up to, then I have to do it fast. Before they get back.

  So I take one more tongue-ful of goop, then I hop up on the window sill. I reach up with my paw and unlatch it. Then I push it open just enough and squeeze through.

  And I’m out.

  PAISLEY

  “I’m not sure why Pumpkin is behaving so oddly,” I say to Rafe as we get into his car.

  “It’s okay. Maybe he doesn’t like me. Some cats are that way.”

  I smile but I know he’s not. Pumpkin, though not always the friendliest cat, doesn’t usually hiss at people. I think back to my last boyfriend, Jeremy. When he came out here for a visit, Pumpkin was never affectionate towards him - he never rubbed up against him or jumped on his lap - but he was never out-and-out rude, either.

  In fact the only person Pumpkin is ever very nice to—besides myself—is the neighbor to our left. Ben. A guy with curly brown hair and caramel-colored eyes. He always wears a baseball cap and has a big, chocolate lab.

  As soon as I think about him, as if by magic, Ben appears. I look over and there he is, walking with Choxie the lab.

  I smile and wave. He stops and waves back, then watches me as we drive off.

  For a moment I wonder if Pumpkin knows something I don’t. Then I tell myself not to read too much into things. The cat is just a cat who doesn’t know or care about anything except cat things.

  I look back and for a moment I could have sworn I saw Pumpkin, heading down the street. But I know that’s impossible. He’s locked safely inside the house where I left him.

  PUMPKIN

  I watch from behind a bush as they drive off, then I head out, waiting for Ben and Choxie to pass. The night is beautiful. There’s a gentle breeze but it’s quiet. I hear some kind of ducks honking in the distance, I look over—there’s a lizard crawling up a tree-- but otherwise there’s just the soft whisper of the wind.

  I breathe in the scents of the night as I prowl the jungle like a king. The Turners are cooking chili. The Radfords are doing laundry with lavender dryer sheets.

  I stop and lift my head. It smells like rain is coming. I’d better hurry.

  I’m not exactly sure where this Rafe person lives but I know it’s near the seedy side of town. I smelled the black tarry smell on his shoes that I recognize from my jaunts down there a few nights ago. So I head down the hill that leads me to waterfront area, passing right by an overflowing dumpster. It’s ripe with a fantastic smell that’s calling my name – so I decide to take a quick side trip

  I gracefully leap to the top of the dumpster. And just as I thought. Hot dog.

  A whole hot dog that some human just tossed away. Maybe they dropped it and refused to eat it after that – I know humans are funny that way. But their loss is my gain. It’d be a crime to let something like that go to waste—plus I need the energy for what lies ahead. So I leap into the big garbage bin and land right on top of a cardboard box – this will enable me to get a better angle on the hotdog without falling in. And just as I lean my head down to nibble it up – I hear a hissing sound that makes me freeze in place.

  I look around. A skinny cat is sitting on the edge of the dumpster, staring at me. He leaps onto a cardboard box right across from me and hisses again. As if to tell me that this is his territory. His hotdog.

  I hiss back and stare at him – I can take him. He’s old and skinny and I can tell he’s a little shaky on his feet. He may have been tough in his day but not anymore.

  I look down at the hotdog. I’m about to start tearing into it – but I see him staring at it so desperately. So I do something underheard of. For me anyway. I back off.

  I wouldn’t normally give in this way – it’s a matter of pride after all. But this guy – his coat is missing patches of fur and one of his eyes has something wrong with it. And he’s really, really skinny.

  I, on the other hand, have a bowl of stinky food just waiting for me at home.

  So I make a show of backing away – like I’m afraid of him. And as soon as I do, he pounces on the hot dog gobbling it up as if I’m not even there. Poor guy.

  Just as I’m about to walk away, I smell something familiar. It was the same thing I smelled on Rafe so I know I’m close. I follow it down the street.

  It’s a harsh smell. I can tell it’s coming from one pale green building – or at least the street leading up to it – which is all black and smooth like they’d just paved it with that smelly stuff.

  Yup this is definitely the building – now I just have to get inside. I look at the balconies on the front. There’s no way I can jump that high. Maybe if I jump onto the high wall and go from there to the lowest balcony, I could make it. But I’m not sure I can. Still, I’m about to attempt it, when I notice someone walking out. Before the metal door closes all the way, I race up the front steps and slip through.

  Whew. Close call on the tail.

  But I’m all in one piece as I sashay down the hall, smelling at each door.

  Not this floor.

  I head up the the curved, carpeted stairs. I walk down the hall on the second floor, my nose alert. Not this floor.

  There’s one more floor of dingy metal stairs. I race up and sniff around. It’s the second door down from the stairway. Apartment 32.

  I jump up trying to get to the doorknob but I can’t reach it. Instead, I sit out from mewing sadly in the general direction of apartment 33. That’s the apartment from which emanates the smells of cooked cabbage and warm milk and that pink medicine that human people take when they eat too much cooked cabbage and warm milk.

  Perfect.

  My pathetic mewling grows louder and more plaintive. Finally the door to apartment 33 opens.

  An old grey head peeks out. I look over at her mournfully.

  Meow meow meow.

  “Oh, hello kitty. Are you okay?”

  She takes a shuffling step out towards me, wearing slippers that were probably white once—now they’re a splotchy shade of grey. Her quilted robe is pale pink and green and smells like the face cream that my last human used to put on every night.

  I stare at her. She comes over and reaches down to pet my head. “Are you Mr. Bronson’s cat? I didn’t know he had a cat.”

  She hesitates then knocks on Rafe’s door for me. “Mr. Bronson. Hello. Mr. Bronson!” She knocks a few more times but no one answers.


  “I’m sorry, kitty. But Andrew doesn’t seem to be home.”

  Andrew? He said his name was Rafe.

  She looks at me, wondering what to do now, so I make it easy for her. I get up and walk past her right into her apartment.

  “Oh dear,” I hear her mumble, but she doesn’t try to stop me. Instead, she closes the door behind me and puts the chain on. “Well, I suppose you could stay here until Andrew gets back. Why don’t you sit next to me on the couch.”

  Already there.

  I’m up on the sofa before she even sits all the way down. When she does, I hop into her lap and lie there as she pets me gently.

  “Aw. You’re a good kitty, yes you are. You’re a sweet one.”

  I start purring. She reminds me of my old human. Of Agnes – we could sit like this for hours. My eyes start to close, and if I try, I could almost believe she really is Agnes.

  “I used to have a cat once. An Abyssinian. His name was Max.”

  I can feel her sadness through her hands. I curl up against her. Purring louder.

  “That’s a good kitty,” she says again. And soon…she’s sound asleep. The only noise is from the loud laugh track that’s playing on the TV.

  I wait a few moments more, to make sure she doesn’t wake up, then I climb out of her lap and jump down onto the floor. I walk over to the long gold curtains and I push them aside. Then I nose the sliding door open and soon I’m on the balcony.

  I jump up onto the patio table and look over to Rafe/Andrew’s balcony next door. I see a bicycle. And some boxes.

  I look back at her and see her sleeping there. I feel bad about leaving her. If anyone needs a good cat, it’s her. But I don’t have time for anything like that now. I have to jump across the space between the balconies without falling three stories to the ground below. Should be a piece of cake.

  I jump onto the ledge. Look at my target. Then I leap.

  I must have miscalculated because my front paws only just reach the white stucco balcony. I’m sliding down. About to let go…but I cling on…I pull myself up and over. I stand for a moment, catching my breath. Then I hop down and walk right into his apartment.

  I look around. It’s dark and dingy. A total sty.

  The thing is, I heard him tell her that he had his own business. Then they drove off in one of those fancy cars with the low, fast engines. He wasn’t acting like someone who lived in a place like this. Someone who had a couch and an old TV and a sad looking dining room table with an old pizza box on it. Just what was this guy up to?

  The other thing is, there is absolutely no dog here. Never has been one either. I head into the bedroom where I hope to find some clue as to what’s really going on.

  PAISLEY

  At dinner, we’re getting along nicely. Rafe has a sense of humor, which I appreciate. He tells me a funny story about his dog, Elway. About their playing Frisbee in the park and how the dog ran right through a family’s picnic and ruined the whole thing. He tells me how he treated the family to lunch here at Le Jardins, just to make up for the damage.

  “I’d love to see a photo of Elway,” I say. “Do you have one on your phone?”

  He hesitates, then pulls out his phone. “I did.” He frowns as he scrolls through some images on his phone. “The problem is, it crashed the other day, and I lost everything. All my great videos and photos of Elway and everything else. Unfortunately.”

  “How awful,” I say. But I can’t help but wonder…if he lost everything, why does he have so many other photos in his library?

  As if reading my mind, he says, “These other photos are ones I tried to retrieve from my online backup but they’re all pretty old.”

  “Ah. Of course,” I nod.

  Question unasked and answered. I tell myself not to be so suspicious.

  He orders Champagne and we toast. Then he wants to hear all about me.

  I explain how I made my living working at a bookstore and my dream is to own my own cupcake café/ bookstore of my own. And how I’ve inherited Great-Aunt Agnes’s house and am in the process of cleaning it out. And how I hope I can stay here and make it work, even though Aunt Agnes owes thousands in back taxes – a debt which I’ve along with everything else.

  “Well, your great-aunt’s house is beautiful,” he tells me. “I mean just from what I saw of it on the outside and in the entry. I’d love a tour of it.”

  “Absolutely. Once I get it cleaned up. Until then I fear it’s a fire trap. I think GAA was a bit of a hoarder, actually. She travelled the world in her youth and collected everything that caught her eye.”

  “GAA?”

  “Great-Aunt Agnes—I call her that for short.”

  “Ah. Were you two close?”

  “No, I didn’t even know her.”

  “Then why’d she leave the house to you? Were you her only living relative?”

  “Oh no. She had others. A distant cousin of mine who really wanted the house was one of them. But for some reason Great-Aunt Agnes wanted me to have it. And the cat.”

  “Ah…the cat was hers too?”

  “Yes. Pumpkin – though I don’t think he likes me much.” I shrug and take a sip of my champagne.”

  “So what what’ll you do with them when you’ve got it all organized. A big garage sale?”

  “Ha!” I laugh and take a sip of my wine. “No, honestly,” I say with a shrug, “I don’t know what I’ll do with all the stuff yet. Maybe I’ll sell some of the things to a collector. It’d be nice to sell everything as a set. I mean I’d love to keep it all, but it’ll be impossible. It’s a big house, but some of the rooms are stuffed so full you can barely walk into them. There’s still about three times as much furniture as it can hold. I’ve gotten the living room and salon cleared out, but the upstairs rooms are a total obstacle course.”

  He nods. “Well, I’m always looking to furnish my summer house, so let me know if you have anything interesting you want to get rid of.”

  “Will do,” I smile. “If you’ll excuse me… I’m going to run to the ladies’ room.”

  I get up and head to the bathroom and when I return, I see Rafe at the table waiting for me and think how handsome he is. He immediately puts his phone into his pocket and looks up with a smile as I approach.

  “Perfect timing. Our entrees are here.”

  PUMPKIN

  I realize I have to move quickly. They could be back at any time. I sniff under the bed and don’t see anything of interest there except a lot of dust. This guy could really stand to do a little housekeeping.

  I head into the closet and sniff around the shoes and bags on the floor. Nothing there to tell me what that smell is that I smell. Or what this guy is up to.

  On an upper shelf I see a box that looks interesting. So I jump up onto the shoe rack and from there leap up to the high shelf.

  I paw at the box, but I can’t get the lid off that way. So without further ado, I nudge my nose against it with my entire weight behind me and the box falls to the floor with a loud, satisfying crash.

  Then I leap down and sniff around all the papers that fell out of it. A lot of it is that green stuff that humans use to get things with. I’m not interested in that…only the photographs that are in the box with it.

  One photo shows an image of my old human, Agnes. She’s walking out of her house, dressed for the cold. It must have been taken many food bowls ago as she’s wearing a certain scarf that she lost in the leaves when they first started falling from the trees.

  Then I see a more recent picture. This one is of Paisley. She’s carrying a box up the steps and into the house. It must be from when she first moved in. I place my paw on it and shove it away and see another one of Paisley. In this one she’s walking to my favorite place — the Pet Oasis food store.

  Hmm…I think that’s where Paisley said she met this Rafe character. I’m pretty sure anyway. Sometimes I don’t listen to her that carefully.

  I paw that one away and see a little metal thing. I sniff it. I
t has Agnes’s lotion smell on it and I know it’s important. I think the thing to do is to take all these items home. But getting them out the door could be a problem.

  I look around and spot a pair of red high-heeled ankle boots in the corner. I drag one of them over and then shove the metal thing and photographs inside it. Then I carry the boot onto the patio and drop it over the edge.

  I’m just about to head out the front door to retrieve it, when I hear something jiggle. I look up to see the front door knob begin to turn.

  He’s back!

  I hiss, then I dart away and quickly dive into the bedroom and hide behind the laundry hamper in the closet.

  Then I wait.

  PAISLEY

  “Pumpkin! I’m home!” I look around, but I don’t see Pumpkin in any of his usual spots. He’s not by his bowl, or on my computer keyboard or on my bed or on the couch or in any of the rooms that I can see.

  “Pumpkin!” I call again, growing a little nervous. He’s usually somewhere nearby when I come home, ready to greet me with a stare and a blink of his yellow eyes.

  But now, nothing.

  “Pumpkin where are you?” I head down the hall, calling out again.

  I realize it’s a big house and he could be anywhere. But all the doors to the spare bedrooms are closed and I’ve looked everywhere else.

  I head back to the kitchen and see that his food is untouched. Which is unusual. He’s nowhere near his litterbox either.

  It’s then that I notice that the window in the living room is slightly open.

  I don’t think I left it that way, but Pumpkin couldn’t have opened it...could he?

  I hurry out the door growing more and more panicked.

  “Pumpkin! Here kitty kitty!” I call out. I look out into the dark night and see nothing.

  Then I hear a noise to my right and look over. It’s not Pumpkin but my neighbor Ben with his dog, Choxie.

  “Everything okay?” he asks walking over.

  “I can’t find Pumpkin,” I say in a nervously. “I left him locked inside but I think that somehow he got out.”