Cat In An Indigo Mood

Chapter 5

Wild Woman

It really began with a dame.

But then, it always does.

I had decided I needed good raw meat, so I was back at my old stand, the stand of canna lilies behind the carp pond at the Crystal Phoenix Hotel and Casino, that is.

I was not setting up shop again, honest. I was just resting and thinking about a mid-afternoon snack.

I am well aware that my purported daughter, Midnight Louise, is the house dick, can a little doll be a house dick, around here nowadays.

So there I am, lounging among the lilies trying to catch a few Zs when the leaves of the lily-next-door part, trembling.

She is trembling too, all the way to the tips of her full-length fur coat.

That coat is as white as a magician's rabbit and her face is also a pastel tribute to the Easter season: pale pink nose. blush-pink inner ears, sky-blue eye, sun-yellow eye.

Yup. The lady is either wearing one color-changing contact lens, or Mother Nature gave her two-tone vision.

I am not sure which exquisite orb to look into, but she does not notice my schizophrenic attempts to focus.

"Are you Mr. Midnight?" she asks in a soft, quavering voice.

"On formal occasions, yes."

"I suppose this is a formal occasion," she decides, mincing past the carp pond without a glance at the afternoon's seafood selection.

I realize that her pure-white coat, while not as fluffy as a Persian's, declares her a purebred.

I have seen a lot of good-looking dames in my time, but this little doll has made a career of it. She is a lean, fine-coated lady and from the look of her, she is in big trouble.

"Have a seat," I say, brushing off a flagstone with my second most useful appendage.

She settles uneasily on the indicated spot, swishing her luxurious train nervously. Her long nails work in and out, lightly scratching the stone.

"And what can I do for you. Miss--?"

"FurbeIow."

I had noticed.

"That a last name or a first?"

"My, ah, friends call me Fanny."

"I bet they do. What is the nature of your problem?"

"A gentleman friend is missing."

I fix my gaze on her. "You are sure this is not an intentional absence?"

"Wilfrid would never leave without saying goodbye." She stretches a long silken rear gam and with her tongue straightens the seam where you can see pink peeking through.

Wilfrid. What a wimpy name! "I can believe that. What is your... uh, occupation, may I ask?"

"I was a showgirl, but I am retired from the ring, and now serve as a lady's companion." I nod. This dame has pedigree written all over her, but she seems to get around a bit too much for one of the pampered darlings of the blue-ribbon set.

"That is how I got here," she adds accommodatingly. "A former ring-mate begged her mistress to take me along for a beauty pageant they are holding in the hotel today. I had heard there was a house detective here."

"Indeed there is, and he is at your service." I feel no qualms at usurping Midnight Louise's role, since she usurped mine. Even in the feline world it is usurp or be ursurped.

"Did Wilfrid have any visible means of employment?" I ask.

She nods, the spidery edges of her coiffure brushing a canna lily leaf.

"He worked as a domestic. Our pets were neighbors. He was not . . . purebred, but he was a real gentleman, and I can assure you that the only reason he is missing is that something has happened to him. I am so worried!" she adds in a breathy rush, her composure shaken for the first time.

Lucky Wilfrid the Wimp. "When did Slick Willie go missing?"

"Two nights ago. The next morning, when I repaired to my facing window to greet him, I saw the blinds were still drawn shut.

I am afraid that his pet is missing also, but that is merely a symptom of the real problem. As soon as Wilfrid was let out each morning, he came to call on me. We were going steady, you might say."

"So his . . . employer is absent as well?"

"There is no sign of life at his residence. None."

"Have you considered the usual vacation? Human beings . . .er, pets, are often not considerate enough to advise others of these alterations in habit." Her head shook on its long elegant neck. "Wilfrid is usually accommodated at the medical compound when his pet is running off by herself."

While I am contemplating this missing purrson report, I notice an agitation among the nearby lily leaves. I have a pretty good idea what it is, and rise to meet the enemy.

"Ah, Miss Louise. I am interviewing a client in the inner office.

Perhaps you would be so good as to fetch some refreshment for Miss Furbelow."

Midnight Louise reacts in a predictable manner: She lofts her back like the St. Louis arch, and hisses like an irate Cardinals fan.

"I know you were not expecting company, Miss Louise, but I am sure that Miss Furbelow will appreciate whatever you can rustle up." I turn to my client. "My girl Friday, she is new at the job."

Miss Midnight Louise's private response to me is unprintable, but her golden eyes narrow as she takes in Miss Fanny Furbelow and I can see that she is curious. She may be a knot off the old snarl, after all. I grin and watch her slink off in no good grace, but without boiling over like a pot of unwatched water.

"Your office has a lovely view." Miss Fanny comments morosely.

I cast my eyes on the fancy fish cavorting in the pond. "Is Wilfrid much of a sportsman?"

"No." She sighs. "He is content with the domestic life. But he is no pushover, Mr. Midnight."

Her odd-colored eyes narrow. "Nor am l, I must find out what has happened to him."

"And so you shall, if I have anything Io say about it. Ah, would you care for a cup of broth?

Shrimp today, I think."

Miss Midnight Louise is back and grudgingly nosing the rice bowl filled with Chef Song's daily offering toward my guest.

"Oh! I have not been able to eat a bite since Wilfrid disappeared. But perhaps a little chicken noodle soup. . .

Miss Furbelow laps delicately while Midnight Louise squints fiercely at me over her head, "It is won ton." she mouths. "What a bubblehead."

"Miss Furbelow is distressed," I tell Louise, leading her a safe distance away.

"I suppose you believe everything that bleached blond has told you."

"Her coloring is perfectly natural."

"Yeah. sure!" Louise jeers. "If you call people selling your parents into enforced breeding

'natural.' Okay. I bet you believe everything that albino babe has told you."

"It seems pretty cut and dried. Her boyfriend is missing and his house is deserted. Certainly the case is worthy of investigation; he may have been left behind in an empty house. He may be starving to death even as we speak."

"You hope! I have seen you eyeing Miss Furbelow's furbelows.

And why are you so anxious to take anybody's 'case'? I thought you were retired."

"Nonsense. l was simply assisting Miss Temple Barr with her cases."

"Which are mostly under the covers now, l understand." Miss Midnight Louise notes with a leer.

For one whose romantic life has been surgically truncated she certainly feels empowered to comment on the habits of those not so restricted. I tell her so.

"You are just burned up," she sniffs, "because your precious roommate is rooming with a dude of her own species instead of you."

"How do you know this?"

"You are out of touch, Pare Louis. I am the one with my nose and ears to the ground nowadays. Which is why you will need me it you intend to actually investigate this missing purrson report."

"I see no need to involve you--"

"Do not worry. I will not interfere with your so-called romantic life. Though I doubt this dolly is about to take up with an out-of-practice gumshoe when the love of her life is missing, if you believe her story, that is."

Our discussion is interrupted by a plaintive "Mister Midnight?" from my distraught client.

I return to her side. "It is nothing, dear lady. Just a consultation with my gal Friday about office protocol," I whisper in her ear.

"Clerical workers take so much direction these days."

"I know," she says mournfully. "It is so hard to get good help."

"I will need your address."

"Nothing more?" Her limpid blue... gold... eyes... eye gaze into mine.

"Ah, a retainer fee will not be necessary. You are obviously good for it." I decide to stop while I am ahead, and while Midnight Louise is still out of hearing range. "Now, there is nothing to worry about. Midnight Louie is on the case."

A soft rake along my spine spurs me to add, "And Miss Louise will assist. Do not expect to hear from . . . er, us, for a day or two while we investigate."

"But Wilfrid--"

"He will be fine. I suspect his irresponsible employer has taken an unscheduled trip and neglected to inform her neighbors of the event. People can be so thoughtless. No doubt she never thought of you keeping vigil in your window."

"That is what I do now. I am a window widow."

"Tut-tut. No tears." I escort her out with an avuncular lick on the ear.

"Tears!" Louise is waiting by the canna lilies when I return.

"More like eye-stain! Those white hussies are prone to running mascara."

"It is possible there is something in it."

"It is always possible that there is villainy afoot," she concedes, "but you are too quick to believe every sob-sister with a sad story."

"Someone has to."