Six Cats A Slayin'

THIRTY-SIX

I woke on Christmas morning even more full of goodwill. Watching my family interact with one another last evening while we decorated the tree together, seeing the real love and affection among them all, gave me the joy I had always associated with the season. I had gone through a period of a few years after my wife died when I feared the holidays, because all I could think about during that time was my loss. Trapped in grief, I couldn’t find the joy in anything, not even in my children.

Time helped heal those wounds, and gradually I came to enjoy the holidays again. Having my family and friends around me made that possible. Whereas before there were only my children and me, I now had my children’s spouses, their own children, my beautiful Helen Louise, and dear friends Melba, Stewart, and Haskell. My cup did indeed run over.

Another blessing this Christmas morning was the memory of a smiling, happy Tommy Russum, hand in hand with his father when they came to collect the kittens. Dr. McGillivray once again thanked me as he watched Tommy interact with the kittens. He carried the box with the toys and the food, and Tommy carried the kittens carefully in their box out to the doctor’s car. McGillivray declined the cage. Tommy wanted to keep the kittens in his room, and his parents were not going to contest that.

I thought Diesel might try to follow the kittens and Tommy out of the house, but he remained by my side in the doorway while we watched father and son load the boxes in the car. Tommy ran back up the walk to hug me and thank me again. Then he hugged Diesel and thanked him, too. Diesel meowed as if to tell the boy he was welcome.

After I closed the door, Diesel and I wandered back into the living room. The empty cage would have to be taken down soon. I didn’t want to have a reminder that the kittens were no longer with us. I would miss them and their playfulness, and I would certainly miss the headstrong, mischievous Ramses. I had held him for a moment before he joined the others in the box. He squirmed the whole time, always wanting to be loose and free to roam.

We woke early that morning, Diesel and I—earlier than usual, because today’s service at Helen Louise’s church started at nine. I had a few more things I wanted to do before I needed to shower and dress for church. I wished I could take Diesel with me, but the church would be full to overflowing. He would be better here at home. This would be one of the few times he was left all by himself in the house. It would be for only a couple of hours; then everyone would gather here to open presents and have our Christmas luncheon. I had hoped for a text or a call from Kanesha yesterday or even this morning, but so far, I hadn’t heard from her. I wondered whether she had found the evidence she needed to make an arrest. Perhaps my hunch about the brandy snifter had been a dud. Though I still thought Deirdre Thompson wasn’t as strong a candidate for murderer as Betty Camden, I knew that my wanting her to be guilty was colored to some degree by my intense dislike for the woman.

When I picked Helen Louise up at eight forty for the drive to church, she surprised me by telling me that Kanesha had come to see her yesterday evening after she got home from the Christmas Eve festivities.

“That was pretty late for her to be going around talking to witnesses,” I said.

“It was barely nine o’clock,” Helen Louise said. “I hadn’t been home long, and I wasn’t quite ready for bed then.”

“What did she want?” I asked.

“She wanted me to tell her anything I could remember about the movements of Betty Camden and Deirdre Thompson.”

“Were you able to give her any helpful information?”

“I think so,” Helen Louise said slowly. “I told her that Betty and Deirdre were involved in what looked like a fairly intense conversation before I joined them. I don’t know what they were talking about, but neither of them appeared happy.”

I hadn’t yet had time to share with Helen Louise all that we had learned yesterday. The Christmas Eve gathering was not the time to talk about murder. By the time we pulled into the church parking lot, I had managed to share the salient points. Helen Louise looked bemused by my rapid summation.

“It will be interesting to see who’s in church this morning,” she said as we got out of the car. The Camdens and Deirdre Thompson were members of the congregation.

“Yes, it will be,” I said as I took her arm to escort her into the church. We found Sean inside with Laura, Frank, and baby Charlie. Sean explained that Cherelle had agreed to take care of Rosie until the church service ended. He would then run home to pick up Rosie and Alex and take Cherelle to her home so she could go with her family to church.

We found a pew near the middle of the nave where we could all sit together. Church members continued to arrive, and I watched with considerable curiosity as they began to settle in their accustomed spots. I saw Dr. and Mrs. McGillivray and nodded to them. Tommy was in the choir, and I hoped to hear him sing a solo this morning.

The church continued to fill at five minutes to nine. Thus far I hadn’t caught a glimpse of Deirdre Thompson or Chip and Betty Camden. Absence on their part didn’t automatically indicate an arrest on murder charges, but they wouldn’t lightly skip this service. They considered themselves pillars of the community.

I suddenly felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Thankful that I had remembered to silence it before leaving for church, I pulled it out to see that there was a text message from Kanesha. My heart suddenly beat faster. Had she arrested someone?

I read the message, then read it again, unsure that I had grasped its full import.

Arrest attempted. Subject found dead. Suspected suicide by cyanide from vial found near body. Betty Camden.

Mutely I passed the phone to Helen Louise as the choir filed in. She shook her head as if she couldn’t believe what she was reading. I supposed that the humiliation Betty thought she would face once the truth was known about Gerry Albritton was too much for her. Not to mention the disgrace of being on trial for murder, with her husband a prominent attorney from an old family.

I found out later from Kanesha that after the search warrants had been obtained, and the evening bags and clothing had been collected, they found the residue of broken glass in Betty Camden’s bag. My hunch had paid off after all. Billy Albritton confessed to destroying the Christmas decorations at Gerry’s house. He wanted to frighten her, but evidently Gerry hadn’t been intimidated in the least.

Off and on during the church service that morning, I found myself, as I often did, thinking of families. My own family, now strong and united, stood in contrast to the Albrittons, with their legacy of a sibling taken from them and the eventual devastating consequences. I wondered what had motivated Gerry to return to Athena. Had she sought revenge against her adoptive sister? Against her blood relatives, Billy and Betty? I wondered if Billy would tell his father what had become of his youngest son. Somehow, I expected not.

Kanesha also told me that, as suspected, Jincy Bruce was the embezzler. Terrified that she might be charged with Gerry Albritton’s murder, she had gone to Kanesha and confessed. Though she promised to return the money, Jared Carter was still considering whether to press charges. I hoped he would be merciful. It was Christmas, after all.

Jared had also settled the question of why he had been willing to finance Gerry Albritton’s real estate wheeling and dealing. He and Ronnie Halbert had been best friends in junior high and high school. They had stayed in touch, at least intermittently, after Ronnie disappeared from Athena. Jared had been the only friend that Gerry had trusted with the true story of her journey from Jerry to Ronnie to Geraldine.

I settled in to listen to the choir. As the familiar notes of “Silent Night” issued from the organ, I smiled. Tommy Russum stepped forward to sing. His voice rose sweetly, seemingly effortlessly, over the organ and the choir as he sang the familiar words. I listened, deeply moved, as the notes poured forth from him, pure and true. By the time the hymn ended, I knew that mine were not the only eyes wet with tears. The sheer beauty of the young boy’s voice surely had reached even the most hardened heart that morning. Nothing could have projected the spirit of Christmas more perfectly.

Later that day, after the exchange of gifts, when my family and I were in the dining room enjoying our Christmas feast, I occasionally fancied that I heard Tommy singing over the hubbub of conversation. As usual, I felt a welter of emotions, but what I primarily felt was joy. I saw it in every face I observed from my place at the head of the table, and I hoped that, in the coming months, we could all remember this day and these feelings when we needed lifting up.

I also thought with sympathy about Chip Camden and Billy Albritton and the sorrows they faced, as well as the sad, painful legacy of Gerry Albritton. Now that I knew the truth about her, I wished I could tell her how much I admired her strength and courage in overcoming such a horrible childhood. I felt pity for Jack Albritton, now an old man in a nursing home, who many years ago had traded his child for money. It was not my place to judge him. He might have no memory whatsoever of what he had done. He had been desperately poor at the time and trying to take care of his family. I was profoundly thankful that I had never been faced with such a dilemma.

I turned my gaze toward Diesel, who sat by the bassinets on the side of the table. The bassinets that held my priceless, precious grandchildren. He stayed by them and watched them anxiously lest either one woke and turned fretful. He would remain their devoted servant as they grew, and I hoped they would love him in return.

I felt the prick of claws on my thigh. Sighing, I looked down to see Ramses starting to climb my leg. I thought I had left him safely in the utility room with his own version of Christmas lunch and plenty of water. But the little escape artist had somehow managed to get out. I must not have closed the door tightly. I plucked the kitten from my leg and put him in my lap. When Tommy Russum had showed up at the front door two hours ago with Ramses in a basket with a large bow on it, I didn’t have the heart to turn down his gift. I wasn’t sure I could handle a rambunctious handful like Ramses, but as he climbed up my torso to rub his head against my chin, I decided he would probably be worth the effort. He was one of the most memorable Christmas presents I ever received.