Six Cats A Slayin'

SEVENTEEN

After a restless night, during which bad dreams fractured my sleep, I woke with a dull headache and a stiff neck. I rubbed a pain-relieving lotion onto my neck and took a couple of aspirin for the headache. Diesel watched me attending to my neck, and his nose twitched. I didn’t think he cared for the aromatic scent of the lotion.

Downstairs, I poured a cup of coffee, added cream and sugar, and slowly began to sip at it. I was doing my best not to think about the disastrous party and the death—perhaps murder—of the hostess. It had dawned on me belatedly last night that, if Gerry had been poisoned, Helen Louise might have risked being poisoned herself by performing CPR. I supposed it depended on the type of poison used, whether there would be any residue on Gerry’s lips that could affect anyone else.

I had texted Helen Louise after that alarming thought had occurred to me and waited anxiously for an answer. I’d been on the point of calling her when I received her reply. She was fine and felt no ill effects. That had relieved me, but it hadn’t stopped my subconscious from fretting over it during the night, hence the bad dreams.

After a few more sips of coffee, I felt up to checking on the kittens. They would be ready for breakfast, I had no doubt. Diesel was already in the living room, sitting next to the cage and watching them. Upon seeing me they all crowded against the wall of the cage, meowing and batting at the wire mesh.

“Good morning, boys and girls,” I said. “Never fear, you’re not going to starve. I’m going to feed you, I promise.” I had to watch them carefully when I opened the door to slip inside and out again. Ramses wasn’t the only talented escape artist among them.

Somehow I managed to get in and out with the empty food dishes. When I returned with the food, they were too interested in eating to try to escape from the cage. They stayed engrossed in their breakfast long enough for me to freshen their water. When that was done I cleaned the two litter boxes, and then I stood outside and watched the kittens for several minutes. Their mischievous innocence provided the tonic I needed. I could so easily get used to having them around, I knew.

At least, my heart knew that, but my head knew that six cats in the house, even one as large as this, were five too many. Or maybe only four too many. Diesel might like to have a little companion.

Stop that, I told myself sternly. It would be time to think about that only once I found out where the kittens came from and whether they were truly in danger if they went back there.

Diesel came with me when I left the living room. I retrieved the paper from the walk, and I noticed that the Christmas display at Gerry’s house was no longer lit. Then I went back inside. The longer I stared at the house, the more my thoughts would turn to the events of last night. This was one unexplained death in which I did not want to be involved, other than as a witness. I knew Kanesha would come back with more questions before long, but once I answered them, I wouldn’t do anything more.

Right, the little voice in my head said sarcastically, but I banished it and went into the kitchen to drink coffee and read the paper. Diesel went to the utility room to eat his own breakfast. Azalea would arrive momentarily, and mine would soon be ready, too.

Later, after I dressed for my day at work, Diesel announced his intention to accompany me by standing at the door to the garage and meowing. After bidding good-bye to Azalea, I led Diesel to the car, and we headed for the library administration building, which was located in an antebellum house that had belonged to the college for nearly a century.

Melba hailed us right after we entered the building, and Diesel and I went into her office to wish her good morning. “How are you?” I asked. “Were you able to sleep last night?”

Melba, busy petting and cooing over Diesel, didn’t respond right away. Finally, she said, “I slept okay. Doesn’t look like you did, though. Bad dreams?”

I nodded. “Bad, and strange. I was restless most of the night. Gerry’s death really bothered me.”

“You got to leave before I did, though,” Melba said without rancor. “Must have been another hour before Kanesha was finally through asking me questions. When I was done, I halfway expected that Jared would have gone, and I’d have to ask the police to take me home. Or come and wake you up to do it.”

“Did he wait for you?” I asked.

“He did,” Melba said, not sounding altogether pleased by that fact. “He drove me home, but he whined about it. Not so much about seeing me home but having to hang around that house until I was able to leave. Gerry’s death really bothered him, too. I didn’t think he knew her well enough to be grief-stricken over her.”

“I don’t imagine he did,” I said. “I think you’re forgetting that it hasn’t been all that long since his wife died. When someone that close to you dies, you become more sensitive to death. I know I did. The worst of it goes away eventually. I imagine Gerry’s death brought back painful memories.”

Melba sighed. “You’re right. I should have thought of that myself. I was a little frosty to him last night, so I guess I probably should call him and apologize. I was too tired last night to think much about it.”

Diesel meowed, as if in sympathy, and Melba chuckled. “That’s right, sweet boy. I was so tired, I think I fell asleep the second my head hit the pillow.”

“I wish I could fall asleep like that,” I said. “Did Kanesha learn anything interesting from what you had to tell her?”

“Who can tell with her? That poker face she’s got.” Melba shook her head. “She wanted to know about when and where I had seen Gerry at the party and if I noticed anyone behaving oddly.” She paused to think. “Oh, and she asked about a brandy snifter and whether I had seen Gerry with it. And if she put it down anywhere.”

“Did you see her with it?”

“Once, I think,” Melba said. “I know I saw it on the sideboard in the dining room once. It was sitting beside one of those bizarre candlesticks she had. Did you see them?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t remember noticing the sideboard, actually.”

“The candlesticks were copper, pipes actually, fitted together in a crooked pattern.” She shrugged. “Not my taste. Anyway, I saw a snifter sitting next to one of them at some point. After you told me about Billy Albritton, I think.”

Hearing the councilman’s name brought back the memory of the moment I thought I saw him leaving Gerry’s house last night. It was only a fleeting glimpse, and I couldn’t be sure it was really him. I didn’t see him full-face, after all. Should I have told Kanesha about it?

“What is it?” Melba asked. “Looks like you just remembered something.”

I shrugged. “I caught a glimpse, a very brief glimpse, of a man last night leaving the house. I thought it might be Billy Albritton.”

“I wonder if anyone told Kanesha about the argument you saw him having with Gerry,” Melba said.

“I never thought about it last night,” I said. “Other neighbors might have seen it, too. Gerry and Billy were certainly loud enough. I suppose I should probably tell Kanesha, though. Surely Billy didn’t sneak into the house last night to kill Gerry.”

“I’ve never thought of him as that kind of man,” Melba said. “For a politician, he’s always been reasonably honest, but you never know what can drive someone to kill. How did she die, anyway? There must have been something suspicious about it, since Kanesha was asking all those questions.”

“Poison, I think,” I replied. “But that’s only a guess on my part. Kanesha wouldn’t say for sure that’s what she suspected. Only the usual line about waiting for the test results.”

Melba looked thoughtful. “That’s why she was so interested in the snifter. I didn’t see anyone else last night with one. Did you?”

“No, all I saw were champagne glasses, or flutes, as Helen Louise calls them.”

“I looked up snifter online this morning before I came to work,” Melba said. “I only had a vague idea what one looked like. They’re really different from the flutes, so there’s no mistaking one for the other.”

“If Gerry did leave the snifter unattended at some point, or at more than one point, anyone there last night could have added poison to the brandy,” I said.

“That means the person brought the poison to the party.” Melba shivered. “Talk about cold-blooded.”

“Yes,” I said. “Makes you a little sick to the stomach to think someone was roaming around last night with poison.”

“How could the killer be sure that only Gerry would get poisoned?” Melba asked suddenly. “Did he know that she wouldn’t drink champagne last night? Did she only ever have brandy?”

“Excellent point,” I said. “I hadn’t gotten that far yet, but you’re right. In a way it was lucky for the killer, if he didn’t know about it beforehand.”

“Otherwise he’d have had to take a chance on putting the poison in the right champagne glass,” Melba said. “I don’t like that. I’d prefer to think he knew about the brandy snifter.”

“I agree,” I said. “Simply goes to show you, though, how vulnerable you are in a crowd like that. He could easily have killed someone else by mistake.”

“Thinking about that is enough to give me nightmares,” Melba said. Diesel chirped and Melba stroked his head fondly. “Sweet boy.”

“This was premeditated,” I said, thinking about the implications. “The poisoner must have felt he—or she—had a problem to solve, and killing Gerry was the best, or only, solution to it.”

“Who was Gerry?” Melba said. “That’s what gets me. Who knew her before she moved in to your neighborhood? Seems to me she popped up out of nowhere, but she had a past. Somewhere.”

“Neither of us can say for absolute certain that she hadn’t always lived in Athena,” I said. “The fact that you didn’t know her is strange, I’ll admit, but even you don’t know everybody.”

Melba shrugged. “No, I know that, but given her age, you’d have thought we might have known her from school. She couldn’t have been that much older than us.”

I remembered what Betty Camden said last night and repeated it to Melba.

“She could be right,” Melba said. “I did think that, when I saw her up close last night and the other day, she’d had some work done on her face.”

“Really?” I said. “How could you tell?”

Melba rolled her eyes at me. “At your age, surely you’ve seen other women, and even men, who’ve had plastic surgery.”

“I probably have,” I said, “but it’s not something I give a lot of thought to. You really think Gerry’d had work done?”

“Yes, I do,” Melba replied. “The skin on her face looked pretty tight to me, and that’s not natural in a woman her age. She’s not like some women I’ve seen, who’ve had their faces lifted so many times they can barely open their mouths wide enough to eat.” She shook her head. “At that point it’s so obvious, and to me that would kind of defeat the purpose.”

“Gerry didn’t look like that,” I said.

“No, she didn’t,” Melba said. “But she’d had plastic surgery at some point, I’ll bet you. That nose of hers was a little too perfect, if you ask me.”

“People don’t have plastic surgery just to improve their appearance,” I said slowly, as a new thought struck me. “They also have it to alter their appearance and change their identity.”