Fat Cat At Large

THIRTY

Chase stopped her bicycle in the middle of the bridge, her favorite part of the early morning ride she had been doing all too seldom lately.

“Looks like it’ll be warm again today,” said Julie, stopping beside her.

“I’m so glad you could make it this morning. We haven’t done this in ages.”

“Too long,” agreed Julie. “What with my trial and your troubles . . . Trial and troubles, sounds like a blues song, doesn’t it?”

“What do you think of your chances right now?” The testimony for Julie’s big trial was in its fifth day, having started last Friday.

“It’s hard to tell. This jury is very good at keeping a straight face and not letting on what they’re thinking. Better even than most of them are, I think.”

“Have you been able to find out anything else about that restraining order Iversen took out?”

“I haven’t had a chance to try, but I may be able to sneak a peek later this week. I did get a look at Hilda Bjorn’s file. They’ve opened a new case on her attack, of course.”

“Is my name the only one down for a suspect?”

“Well, so far, yes. But it’s very early days for that. What I want to tell you is that she’s doing well and they expect a full recovery. Did you know that she’s eighty-seven years old?”

“I’m glad she’ll be all right. But I wish she’d realize she’s wrong about seeing me right at the time when the murder was committed. Someone needs to recover her memory.”

“Grandma said she’s going to see Hilda in the hospital tonight.”

“Yes. I hope Anna can jog her recall. This will get Anna’s mind off the trial, too.”

“I think it would be better if something could get Bill Shandy’s mind off it. He’s so concerned for his rotten stepson.”

“What’s going on with his own son?”

“Rick? He’s almost worse than Marvin!” Julie picked up a stone from the bridge and heaved it over the railing. They both watched it plummet and sink into the depths of the Mississippi. “The guy has just lost another job. He only keeps them a few months, according to Grandma. He’s hitting his father up for money again. She says Bill feels so guilty because he has the money, but doesn’t think he should keep handing it out to him. He knows he should make his son grow up and take responsibility.”

“I agree. I might put it differently, though. He should let him grow up. Maybe the problem with all three of his kids is that he’s given them too much.”

“You could be right. Rick is the youngest and he’s forty-two.”

“And still asking his father for money?”

Julie nodded, staring at the swirling Mississippi below them. “At least every month.”

A pair of mallards floated by. They didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

“Still, a guy can’t be responsible for what his grown children do,” Chase said. “Poor Bill.”

“Marvin’s mother might be more to blame than Bill. Grandma says she was always urging Bill to never let her children be poor. Now that she’s dead, he feels he should honor her wishes.”

“But he can’t stand behind a son, or a stepson, who’s doing illegal things! Stealing from a charity organization that was formed to help children—that’s pretty low.”

“You don’t have to tell me. I’m on the prosecution’s side.”

“Do you have the proof to convict him?”

“Oh yes. But don’t tell Grandma. I’m trying to keep as much of this from her as I can.”

“It’s a deal,” Chase said.

“And I’m still nervous about getting you that info after your questioning. You haven’t mentioned that to anyone, have you?”

“Of course not! I’ll never do that.”

“I know. It just gives me the willies. I hope you’re completely out of this mess soon.”

“You and me both.”

When Chase returned to her apartment to change clothes for work, Quincy was acting strange. He didn’t rise from his bed to greet her, but sat licking one of his forepaws. She went to the bedroom to change, but he didn’t follow her like he usually did.

“Hey, big guy,” she said, coming into the kitchen, her shorts changed for slacks, but still wearing her T-shirt. “How about your morning din din?” She scooped out the dry diet food and topped it with her concoction. When she set it on the floor, Quincy stared for a minute, then got up and limped across the floor to his dish much more slowly than usual. Chase wondered if she should worry. When he finally got there, Chase saw that he had left tracks on the gray tile kitchen floor. Wondering what on earth he’d stepped in, she grabbed a paper towel to wipe the floor. The towel, however, showed bright red. She almost dropped it. Yes, she should worry! Quincy was bleeding!

It seemed to be his right front paw, so she grasped his leg to try to see if the bottom of his foot was cut. He snatched it away and hissed! Oh dear. Something must be very sore, his paw or his leg or something.

She heard Anna come in the back door and rushed downstairs to tell her that poor Quincy was bleeding.

“Poor baby!” Anna cried. “Can I try to look at him?”

“Sure, you can try. He won’t let me touch his leg.”

Anna trotted up the stairs. Chase was a little miffed. Why did Anna think Quincy would let her handle him when he wouldn’t let his owner, his favorite person, do it?

She followed Anna up the stairs and came into her living room to find Quincy sitting in Anna’s lap. He was on a dishtowel she had put over her jeans. Chase bit her words back when she realized that it was one of her good dishtowels, one of a set that she’d gotten on a trip to Amish country to see her friend Charlotte Bessette, who owned a wonderful cheese shop in the town of Providence, Ohio.

Not only had her cat abandoned her, he was managing to get bloodstains all over her nice linen dish towel.

“Look, Charity.” Anna lifted his front leg from the paw. “His dewclaw is bleeding.”

Chase realized she had grabbed his leg exactly on his dewclaw. No wonder he’d been irritated. “Why is it bleeding? Should I call Mike?”

“Dr. Ramos? Yes, I think so. Something’s wrong. Maybe it’s infected.”

“The vet sees him all the time. How could it get infected that fast?”

Anna gave her a stern look. “I’m not a veterinarian. How should I know?”

Quincy curled up in Anna’s lap with his tail over his nose. “It doesn’t seem to be hurting him,” Chase said. “I’ll go later. Right now we need to get the shop opened.”

It was obvious Anna thought Chase was doing the wrong thing by waiting, but she didn’t say a word, just gently set Quincy in his bed and swept past her on the way to the kitchen.

Chase finished dressing, ran a brush through her hair, and went to work. Once she and Anna got to working, and established their habitual rhythm, the day seemed brighter.

“Have you decided what you’re going to say to Hilda Bjorn when you see her tonight? Julie said you were visiting her in the hospital.”

“I am going to. I haven’t decided exactly. But I do want to see how definite she is about who she saw and when she saw them. I won’t single you out, but I’ll ask her about everyone she saw. Maybe that will jar something loose.”

“We should keep in mind that she was viciously attacked. I suppose you’ll be safe enough in the hospital, but if someone thinks you’re getting information from her, do you think you’ll be in danger?”

“Who’s going to know I’m there?”

“I don’t know. But someone knew she was giving evidence to the police.”

“Unless her attack has nothing to do with the murders. That’s another thing I’ll try to find out, what goes on in her life and if she’s in danger from elsewhere.”

“That’s a good idea. I hadn’t thought of that.” Her mind had held one track lately: the murders and the whys and wherefores connected with them. Hilda probably had a family somewhere, possibly relatives with feuds and factions. Maybe someone was in her will and wanted to inherit soon.

Chase’s mind turned to the dead men, Gabe and Torvald. Their connection was that they were working together to obtain her shop. In other words, she was the link between them. But how did Hilda Bjorn fit in? Could Anna find out?