Hairless Harassment

Chapter Nine

This was it. Fight or flight. Preferably both.

I’d been detained by a murderer before. I’d been pitched into the wharf and left for dead. I could survive this. Summoning all my strength, I bit down on the fleshy palm that covered my mouth.

Yes! That did it.

My attacker cried out in pain. He pulled away at once, clutching his injured hand. “Ouch, what’d you do that for?” his voice came out a bit high-pitched for a man—nasally, too.

“Hey, you’re the one who attacked me!” I corrected, studying his red face and matching red flannel pajama pants. He was far less scary now that I got a good look at him, but it didn’t change the fact that he could easily overpower me with his size and strength.

“Who are you?” I demanded. “What are you doing in my woods?” He didn’t need to know I’d only just moved in that afternoon. In fact, I’d probably be safer if he didn’t.

At least he had the decency to look properly chastised. Still clutching his wounded hand, he rushed in with an explanation. “I heard talking, so I came out to see what was going on, and then you ran straight into me.”

I scoffed and crossed my arms over my chest. It must be nice to be a man, to be able to wander into the dark woods with no worries for your safety beyond the normal serial killer with a chainsaw type of thing. Then again, I often found myself charging into dangerous situations with little more than my temperamental tabby to back me up. I guess that meant I couldn’t judge him too harshly. “That still doesn’t tell me who you are.”

“I’m Matt Harlow,” he said, thrusting his uninjured hand toward me in greeting.

“I bit the first. Do you really want to trust me with the second?” I asked, widening my eyes in challenge just like my cat so often did to me. I wouldn’t feel safe until we got out of the forest. I was at way too much of a disadvantage here in the dark unknown with a much larger man before me and an injury slowing me down.

Matt jolted back and offered up a nervous laugh. At least he was scared, too. “Good point,” he said. “So you’re okay, right?”

“I’m fine,” I said, even as the throbbing in my toes intensified.

“That’s all I needed to know.” He lifted his arm in a swift wave, then turned back in the direction he came from. “Have a good night.”

I stood watching him go until he ducked out of eyesight, then continued my journey back toward home. So that was Matt Harlow, the senator’s next of kin. Had we met under different circumstances, I could have prodded him for information, see what he knew. As it was, though, I’d much prefer to wait for the light of day and a reliable cell signal before possibly accusing him of murder.

Okay, so he seemed like a nice enough guy—tall, chubby, not unlike a teddy bear, but that didn’t change the fact that his inclination upon meeting me had been to grab hold of me and cover my mouth. That was way creepier than those hair-lacking, riddle-smacking cats would ever be.

“I’m home,” I called when at last I trudged through the door. I’m not sure why I even bothered announcing myself when clearly my feline roommate wasn’t too bothered about my safety.

Octo-Cat intelligently remained hidden. Otherwise, I definitely would have given him a stern talking to about abandoning me in the woods right when the Sphynxes were about to reveal something crucial to our case. Well, if he wanted to hide from me, he could go to bed without dinner for all I cared.

I stomped through the house just to make sure he knew how angry I was with him. On my third pass through the open floor plan of the lower level, I stopped off at the kitchen to plop a fresh serving of Fancy Feast into Octo-Cat’s bowl. As much as I wanted to teach him a lesson, I also didn’t want to have to deal with an entire night’s worth of his yowling.

But I got my jab in anyway, because I served him his least favorite flavor—the chicken we had only because it was part of the multi-pack I got from our local warehouse club store. Normally I saved up several dozen, then dropped them off as a donation for the local animal shelter, but I figured it would be okay to use one for a very necessary revenge.

Not satisfied, I marched up the stairs to my tower bedroom and wedged the door shut behind me. The cable company would be coming by tomorrow to connect the Internet, so for now I had to depend on my phone’s mobile connection to surf the web before bedtime. Although the pages loaded painfully slow due to our proximity to the woods, I wanted to do some quick research into the senator’s recent activity to see if anything jumped out as a possible clue to her murder.

While I was at it, I looked up Matt Harlow, too. From what I could tell, he was just a normal middle-aged guy from the city who’d recently gotten divorced and worked a job in sales. Nothing jumped out at me as serial killerish, but it was possible he’d only killed once to date, provided that Lou’s untimely demise could be pegged squarely on her son’s shoulders.

Honestly, I was stumped here.

An impatient scratching sounded outside my door.

“Go away!” I called, not wanting to deal with my diva cat just then.

Octo-Cat murmured a few soft words to himself that I couldn’t discern, although it sounded like he was having some sort of argument. “I’m sorry!” he called to me after a slight bit of hesitation.

I was so shocked I dropped my phone onto the bed beside me. I don’t think I’d ever heard that particular combination of words cross his lips. “You’ll be sorry,” sure, but never a genuine, heartfelt apology.

I smiled to myself, ready to milk this moment for all it was worth. Just like Octo-Cat, I had to get my victories somehow. “What was that?” I asked, pretending I hadn’t heard.

Whether he was here to demand a better flavor of Fancy Feast or because he genuinely felt bad, I didn’t know. At least it was something, though.

When his voice came out strained, I could tell this moment was punishment enough. “You know what I said. You’re just—aargh! I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry!”

I raced toward the door as if in slow motion. Honestly, the moment wasn’t that different from all those times the heroine runs in slow motion through a field of bright flowers to reach her hero. Yes, I loved my cat, and this moment was special to me, so don’t judge.

Swinging the door open, I smiled down at him and said, “I forgive you.”

“Great,” he said with a sly smile. “By the way, there’s some nice green puke waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs.” He trotted away, swinging his hips triumphantly. Honestly, I couldn’t even remember what the green puke punishment was about, but I had bigger fish to fry.

Leaving my door open in case he wanted to come back for some apology cuddles, I snuggled back on my bed and returned to my research on the late senator and her next of kin.

First I read all the news articles pertaining to her from this past month. That bored me out of my mind, so I shifted my focus to what I personally knew already.

With the notes app on my phone open and ready, I typed in everything I’d discovered so far:

Served four terms, likely to be reelected.

Died by falling down the stairs.

Bottom stair smashed in.

Mom asked to investigate for the news.

Icky gut feeling at the crime scene.

Two Sphynx cats from breeder in France.

Officer Bouchard stood guard outside for the better part of the day.

Mr. Thompson came to visit and was turned away.

Next of kin is Matt Harlow. He ran into me in the woods and covered my mouth when I tried to scream.

There, that was everything so far, right? If I considered everyone mentioned in the list that meant my first round of suspects included Officer Bouchard, Matt Harlow, Mr. Thompson, my mom, and some cat breeder in France. And, oh yeah, also her two cats. I should have probably added any person who was rumored to be running for the senator’s seat in the next mid-term election, too. We were still more than two years away, which made me think a political opponent was rather unlikely.

That led me back to another very important question: how did the senator know Mr. Thompson? Sure, I could just ask him the next time I showed up at the firm for work, but would he be willing to tell me the truth or just send me further astray?

I Googled for close to an hour, searching for any connection between Harlow and Thompson, but came up short. Since I was still off work for the remainder of the week, I decided to call in a favor from a friend.

“Hello?” Charles, the junior partner at our firm and my former crush, answered in a hushed whisper.

“Charles, I need a favor,” I told him.

“I’m at the movies with Breanne. Just a sec.” I heard some angry groans from his fellow movie-goers, then a minute later his voice came back loud and strong. “In the lobby now. What’s up?”

“The senator was murdered today,” I told him in case he didn’t already know.

But he did. Of course he did. “They haven’t ruled out the fact it could have been an accident,” he corrected.

“But I have,” I said, and he knew better than to argue. “Anyway, interesting fact: Thompson showed up this afternoon and tried to gain entry to the house, but the cops turned him away.”

“That’s weird. Wait, how do you know that?”

“I live next door now. Remember?” I answered matter-of-factly.

“You just can’t keep away from a good mystery, can you, Russo?” he said with a laugh, even though we were talking about a murder here. It made my heart melt for him a little all over again. Seeing as he was spoken for, though, I swallowed back that particular feeling and returned my focus to the facts before us.

“Can you look into Thompson for me?” I asked. “Find out how he knew the senator? Why he showed up today?”

“Will do,” he said. “That all?”

“Yeah, get back to your date, lover boy.” I hoped he couldn’t detect the sarcasm in my voice. Whatever the case, he quickly ended the call, leaving me alone in my giant house once again—and possibly with a murderer next door.

Maybe I could convince Nan to move in early? Then I would have a temperamental cat and a feisty old lady to protect me, should trouble come calling.