Six Cats A Slayin'

ELEVEN

After the first shock of the mess in Gerry Albritton’s yard began to wear off, I began to see that the decorations weren’t wrecked so much as they were dismantled. The figures lay deflated on the dormant grass, and the lights hung drunkenly from a few spots on the façade.

No wonder I hadn’t heard anything, I mused. Nothing was smashed or destroyed, as far as I could tell. But why not? This was not the work of typical vandals.

Maybe the person behind this wanted to delay the party or cause Gerry to cancel it. I suspected that neither of these would happen, that the party would go ahead as planned tonight.

I wondered whether I should go over and knock on the door to inform Gerry of what had happened. I couldn’t see any signs that she or any other occupants of the house had stirred. The time couldn’t be more than about seven fifteen or seven twenty. I stood, indecisive, for about thirty seconds, and then it occurred to me that I really wasn’t dressed to go knocking on a woman’s door at this hour. Especially not the door of Gerry Albritton. She might well misinterpret my attire—bathrobe over the shorts and shirt I slept in—as something I did not in the least intend.

No, better to call. Safer to converse with Gerry from a distance. I turned and walked back into the house. I had barely shut the front door, however, when I heard a scream of what sounded like outrage from the direction of Gerry’s house. I moved into the living room to look out the front window. Sure enough, Gerry stood in the middle of her yard, surveying the damage.

I wouldn’t mind playing the good neighbor and going out to talk to her, but I wasn’t going to do it without being properly dressed. I hurried upstairs to change. Diesel seemed happy to be keeping an eye on the kittens, so I didn’t have to worry about him.

Three or four minutes later I hurried down the walk and across the street. Gerry had a cell phone clamped to her ear and was speaking rapidly into it. I could see that a couple of neighbors must have heard the commotion and were in their yards, discreetly trying to see what was going on.

“. . . get here within the hour and fix this mess.” Gerry listened briefly. “I’ll give you a bonus if you have everything set up again by noon.” She listened again, then said “Fine” and ended the call.

Gerry wore a short, bright yellow, silken-looking robe that clung to her figure. She eyed me as if I were the enemy.

“Morning,” I said. “So sorry about all this. Do you have any idea who’s responsible?” My breath misted in the chill air.

“I can think of several candidates.” She scowled. “Did you hear or see anything last night?”

“No, not a thing. I was sound asleep by eleven, I think, and didn’t get up until about half an hour ago.”

Gerry shook her head. “I guess I ought to be grateful they didn’t actually destroy anything. All they did was let the air out of the inflatables and pull the lights down. It could have been much worse.”

I nodded. “Yes, but it’s a bit strange, don’t you think? Vandals usually are much more destructive.”

“Who knows?” she replied. “Maybe they got scared off before they could do any worse damage.”

“Possibly.” I suspected, though, that she had a good idea why the damage wasn’t more severe.

“Maybe it was an extreme kind of prank,” I said.

“Maybe. It’s not funny, to me anyway,” Gerry said. “It will soon be fixed, and I can concentrate on the party.”

“That’s good,” I said. “I gather that was the landscaping company you were talking to when I walked up.”

“Yes, they’re going to hustle and get it done by noon, if they know what’s good for them,” she said. “Look, why don’t you come in for some coffee? I haven’t even had my first cup yet.”

I started to reply that I couldn’t, that I had coffee waiting for me at home, but she had already turned away to go back inside—simply assuming that I wouldn’t refuse the invitation, I reckoned. I wasn’t thrilled to be going into her house this early, especially with neighbors watching, but I felt bad for her. She obviously wanted company. I followed her into the house, already considering how long it would be before everyone in the neighborhood thought we were having an affair.

Gerry walked down the hall to the back of the house and into her kitchen. I stopped in the doorway and gawked at the room. Everything was black, white, red, and chrome. The appliances were new, all maraschino-cherry red. The new floor sported a dizzying, swirling, asymmetrical pattern of black and white porcelain squares, and I found myself almost mesmerized by it. The kitchen table and chairs had a fifties-diner retro style, with the chair seats covered in fabric to match the appliances. A large island occupied a great deal of space, but the kitchen was big enough that it didn’t seem crowded by the island.

Gerry stood in front of a coffeemaker far more complicated-looking and expensive than mine. The rich scent of the coffee tantalized me, and I couldn’t wait to try it. Gerry poured a mug for me and then one for herself. “Cream, sugar, and sweeteners are on the table.” She opened a nearby drawer and withdrew a spoon.

“Thanks.” I accepted the spoon and followed her to the table.

She indicated the chair I should take, and once seated I helped myself to cream and sugar. She watched me intently as I took my first sip.

The coffee had much more of a bite to it than my usual brew, spicy and strong, though it wasn’t unpleasant. The cream softened it enough to make it palatable to me.

I could see she was waiting for my comment, and I obliged her. “Delicious.”

Gerry smiled. “Glad you like it. I like my coffee the way I like my men. Hot and strong.” She drank more coffee.

My face reddened. I felt it. Even I wasn’t dense enough to misunderstand her intent. I set my mug on the table and drew a breath while I tried to figure out how I was going to respond.

All at once it struck me as funny, and I started laughing. Gerry appeared startled, but after a moment she grinned and laughed along with me. When the laughter ceased, I said, “I beg your pardon.”

Gerry held up a hand to forestall what I planned to say next. “No need to apologize. That was truly cornball.” She snorted. “Hot and strong. What was I thinking?”

“Well, I am flattered,” I replied, “but I’m happily involved in a relationship. I would never do anything to harm it.”

“So I’ve heard,” Gerry said. “Who is it? Do I know her?”

“I think you do,” I replied. “Helen Louise Brady. She owns the French bistro on the square.”

Gerry nodded. “I’ve been in there several times. Great food. Looks like she does a lot of business. Tell me, does she own the building?”

I had a sip of coffee before I answered. Why did she want to know? I wondered. Standard operating procedure for a Realtor, maybe. “Yes, she does.” I could have told her that Helen Louise owned several of the buildings around the square. Her father had been a shrewd investor, buying up properties in high-demand areas, and he had left everything to Helen Louise, his only child.

“Good for her,” Gerry said. I expected more, but she lapsed into silence, staring at some point on the wall beyond my head.

I decided to venture a question. “How long have you been in real estate? I found your flyer, of course, and I’ve seen your sign up at several houses around here.”

“A few years,” she replied. “I don’t suppose you’re interested in selling your house, are you?”

“No. Not at all,” I replied with a little more heat than I intended.

Gerry didn’t seem to notice. “If you change your mind, let me know. What about your girlfriend? Will she be selling hers anytime soon?” She favored me with a slightly arch look.

“We’re not planning to set up house together in the near future,” I replied, taken aback by what I considered an intrusive question.

“Interesting,” she said, eyeing me over the rim of her mug as she sipped her coffee. Before I could frame a response to that ambiguous comment, she continued. “I hope you’re looking forward to tonight. I’m expecting a lot of people. I’m sure you’ll know most of them.”

“Probably,” I said. “Everyone will be curious to see what you’ve done with this house.”

Gerry’s lip curled. “No doubt. That ought to bring them here, if nothing else does.” She laughed. “They’re in for a surprise or two.”

Her tone had an edge to it, I thought, almost a combative one. What was she planning to do tonight?

“That should be interesting,” I replied, hoping that she would elaborate without my asking a more pointed question.

She didn’t. Instead, she laughed again. “We’ll see.” She glanced at her phone when it vibrated on the table. She picked it up. “Excuse me, a message I have to respond to.”

I watched her as, head down over the phone, she tapped on it with both thumbs the way I saw young people do. I had never mastered the trick, instead using one finger most of the time when I texted.

I drained my mug and set it on the table. Time for me to go home, I decided. When Gerry put her phone aside after a couple more rounds of texting, I said as much and stood to leave. To my relief she didn’t insist that I stay for more coffee. She seemed more than happy for me to go.

Gerry led me to the front door. “See you tonight,” she said.

I smiled and nodded. “Looking forward to it.” She shut the door behind me, and I headed down the walk and across the street. As I neared my front door, I realized that I actually was looking forward to the party tonight. Gerry had piqued my curiosity over whatever surprises she planned to spring. If nothing else, I thought, the party certainly wouldn’t be dull.