Fat Cat At Large

THREE

Chase dropped her outstretched hand to her side and spun toward the unknown man. He was middle-aged and had a preppy look, khakis, blazer over a polo shirt, sockless dock shoes.

“Should we pull the knife out?” she said. “He’s not bleeding much. Maybe we should.”

“You probably should have wiped your prints off and thrown it away before I caught you.”

Chase rose and the guy took a step backward. “We need to call nine one one,” she said.

“Why did you kill him?”

Now Chase took a step back. “Kill him? Is he dead? Why would I kill Gabe? “

Her mind raced. She had reason enough to kill him. This man thought she had. Her prints, as he said, were on the steak knife that obviously had killed him.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Torvald Iversen. I’d shake your hand, but it’s bloody.”

Chase inspected her right hand. He was right again. “Then you call nine one one. What if he’s alive?”

Torvald stepped around her and felt for a neck pulse. He gave her a dark scowl, then punched the three numbers into his phone. The man went out the front way to talk to the dispatcher, leaving Chase with the body . . . and her cat, still chowing down.

“Quincy, how could you?” She wiped her hand on a paper towel and stuck it in her pocket before she lifted her cat off the counter and nuzzled her face against his warm head. To her relief, he didn’t try to return to his feast. He might be full, she thought. Half of it was gone. She chanced another glance at Gabe, but he hadn’t moved. He had to be dead.

Being careful to avoid the body and the surrounding pool of blood, she followed Torvald Iversen onto the porch. He was slipping his phone into his pocket. “You’re to stay here, not leave,” he said.

This guy was annoying her. “Says who?”

“Says the dispatcher I just spoke to.” His voice was quiet, but smoky, in a creepy sort of way.

“And I suppose you’re free to go?”

He sneered, but halfheartedly.

“I thought not.” Chase, being a better person, did not return the sneer. “I have to get my cat home.” That sounded lame as soon as she said it. But what was she going to do with him while being questioned by the police? “Who are you?”

As the ambulance pulled up, lights and sirens at full speed, Quincy tensed in her arms. Chase tightened her grip and returned to the living room to shield him from the commotion a bit. The door, however, was standing wide-open and the noise made it into the living room just fine.

Her face buried in Quincy’s soft, orange fur, she felt tears begin. Then her hands started shaking, which alarmed Quincy even more. This was the second encounter with Gabe that had ended up with her shaking and distraught. But it would be the last. Deep inside, a small blossom of relief opened. He wouldn’t release a rat in her store. He wouldn’t report her to the health department (unless he already had). And he wouldn’t shut her down.

“What were you doing here, anyway?” She jumped. That man, Torvald, had come up behind her.

She hoped she hadn’t spoken any of her thoughts aloud. “Chasing my cat. He ran away and snuck in here.”

“He knows how to open doors?”

Two uniformed men, and one woman, ran past them into the kitchen.

“What are you doing here?” she asked Torvald.

“I had a business meeting scheduled with Mr. Naughtly.”

She wondered why he didn’t buy his donuts during business hours like everyone else. “It looks like he was ready to eat dinner.”

“It was a dinner meeting.”

A warm, familiar voice came from the doorway. “Chase? What’s the commotion?”

“Dr. Ramos! Am I ever glad to see you.”

“I was on my way to the drugstore when I saw the vehicles on the street. Is Gabe okay?”

“You know Gabe?” Did everyone know him?

Dr. Ramos gestured to the south. “I live two condos away. What’s happened? Are you feeling all right?” He must have noticed the tears on her face.

Torvald Iversen cleared his throat. “I arrived and found her pulling out the knife she stabbed Gabe Naughtly with.”

Chase whirled toward him. “That’s not true!” Quincy tightened his claws on her sweater.

A policeman with a deep five-o’clock shadow joined the group. “Who found the body? The call said someone named Iversen?”

“No, I found him,” said Chase. Her cat squirmed.

“Why don’t I take Quincy to my place until you’re done here.” Dr. Ramos took control of Quincy and, after assuring the policeman that he’d just arrived, walked down the stairs and into the night. Chase was sad to see the only friendly face disappear.

An hour later, after she told the policeman what happened, and after a detective arrived and she related everything three more times, she started walking toward home. She wondered how she would find Quincy and Dr. Ramos, but he hailed her from his screened-in front porch, two houses down.

Ten minutes later, ensconced in a recliner of fake—but very nice fake—leather, wrapped in an afghan, and sipping hot chocolate, Chase had almost finished going over the events of the afternoon to Dr. Ramos, who urged her to call him Mike.

“I told the exact same story to the policeman and to the detective, who showed up after you went home. That awful man, Torvald Iversen, kept interrupting and contradicting me the whole time we were questioned by the police officer, but the detective took us into upstairs rooms and talked to us separately. That man thinks I killed Gabe Naughtly!”

“You’re shaking again.” Mike hiked the afghan up her shoulder where it had slipped off.

She wasn’t shivering from cold, but it felt nice to have Mike Ramos fuss over her like that. What she was shivering from was harder to get over than cold.

“Do you think they’ll believe him?”

“I imagine they’ll check everything out. Lots of people must have seen you outside, trying to find Quincy.”

The cat caught the sound of his name and picked his head up off Chase’s lap. She wasn’t so sure lots of people had seen her. The five of them had separated—she, Anna, Julie, and Laci to search and Vi to guard the back door. She hadn’t seen anyone on this street before she reached the condo.

The chirrup of Chase’s phone sent Quincy shooting to the floor. He leaped into Mike’s lap.

“See how he moves?” she said, digging her cell out of her pocket. “So graceful? He’s not all that fat.”

She ignored his frown and answered her phone. She had let the other dozen or so calls in the last couple of hours go unanswered.

“Where on earth are you?” Anna asked. “We’ve been worried sick.” Anna sounded on the verge of tears.

“I’m okay and Quincy’s okay.” She heard Anna let out a long breath. “It’s a long story. I’ll be home in a few minutes. Is that where you are?”

“Yes, we’re at your place. We’ve been going door-to-door trying to find you two. There’s something happening at one of the condos up the street, too.”

“Yah, that’s where I’ve been. I’ll tell you all about it.”

Mike asked if she’d like a ride after she ended the call, but she thought the walk would be good to clear her head.

It was nice to be alone for a few minutes before answering still more questions. Quincy snuggled his head into her neck with his paws over her shoulder for the short trip. His long whiskers brushed her neck. Night had fallen. The tree-lined residential street was dark and quiet. The vehicles with flashing lights had departed. A crime scene van waited outside Gabe’s place, but its engine was turned off. She took her time covering the two blocks to her place. The business district of Dinkytown at nearly ten o’clock was more brightly lit than the blocks to the north, bustling with returning college students and, this week, some families.

She headed up the stairs in the rear of the building and found Anna and Julie inside her apartment. Anna grabbed Quincy and Julie hugged Chase, then they traded. When everyone had been hugged, Chase scrubbed her hands with water as hot as she could stand it. She kept imagining she could detect traces of blood, but Anna pronounced them clean. Chase accepted a cup of cranberry herb tea and settled into her chair with her feet on the hassock.

“Where are Laci and Violet?” she asked.

“We sent them home after an hour of searching,” Anna said. “They both looked dead tired. Young women have no stamina these days.”

Chase knew she herself couldn’t keep up with Anna and wasn’t surprised that her two employees had the same failing.

“I’m not sure yet,” Anna said, “but we might have an accounting problem.”

Accounting problem? Chase was the one who did the books. “What sort of accounting problem?”

“I’ll have to go over what I think I saw again. I don’t want to worry you for nothing. Just thought I’d mention it. Now tell us what’s going on.”

When Chase had told them everything she knew—that Gabe was dead, that Torvald Iversen was a jerk, and that Dr. Ramos was now Mike and, on second thought, fairly good looking—she remembered she hadn’t finished the cleanup in the shop. Quincy crawled into his cat bed and gave his collar a good scratching while she talked.

“I’ll go, you sit,” said Anna.

Julie sat on the floor beside the cat’s bed and patted her lap. Quincy left off scratching and accepted the invitation.

“I have to go downstairs to get a scoop of diet food for Quincy anyway. It won’t take but a few minutes.”

Anna protested, but let Chase leave.

Chase flicked the light switch at the top of the stairway and made her way down to her shop. She didn’t have to exit to the alley, since there was a door into the shop at the bottom of her steps. This door was rarely locked, but it was tonight. Vi had been guarding the alley entrance to the shop. Maybe she had locked everything when she’d left.

After Chase ran back up the stairs to get the key she hadn’t brought with her, she noticed that Quincy was crouched on the kitchen counter and Anna was holding something behind her.

She’s slipping him treats again, Chase thought. She’d deal with that later.

She ran down the steps again and opened the door into the dark kitchen.

Two dots of light glowed red in the light that came into the rear window from the parking lot streetlamp. The dots were near the floor. Chase stopped, puzzled. She saw another pair of glowing embers, then another.

She switched on the light and three huge white rats scurried out of the kitchen, pushing through the doors into the showroom.

Swallowing a scream, she stomped the floor, trying to flatten an imaginary Gabe Naughtly to a pancake. She let out some choice words aimed at the man, then stood still, remembering he was dead. Murdered.

Julie and Anna both clattered down the stairs in response to her stomps.

“Now what?” Anna and Julie could see the rage on her face, she was sure.

“Rats.” She pointed at the swinging doors.