The Cat Sitter's Cradle

10

As soon as I hung up with Sergeant Owens, I dialed 911. I knew what I had to do, but I wanted somebody there while I did it. I punched the speaker button on my phone and laid it down by the edge of the pool.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“This is Dixie Hemingway. I’m at 57 Jungle Plum Road. There’s someone at the bottom of the pool.”

“Okay, are you able to get them out?”

Kicking off my shoes, I said, “I’m way ahead of you.”

I plunged headfirst into the water and swam down to the bottom of the pool. It was eerily quiet. I felt as if I’d entered a whole new world. The chlorine water stung my eyes, but I could see dark pants and a dark jacket, with a blurry mass of black hair waving gently in the water like seaweed. I grabbed on to the back of the jacket and pulled the body along the bottom of the pool toward the steps at the shallow end. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I pushed off the bottom as hard as I could, bringing the body with me. I gasped for air when my face broke the surface. Reaching out for the edge of the pool, I pulled the body up the steps and onto the deck as far as I could. The water was cold, but there was so much adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream I barely felt it. I heard the 911 operator calling out from my cell phone.

“Hello? Hello?”

I shouted, “I have the body out. I’m going to perform CPR.”

It’s standard procedure to attempt revival of any drowning victim no matter how long they’ve been underwater, because the human body is an amazing thing. We come equipped with a mind-boggling kit of tools designed to help us through all kinds of dangerous situations. Our faces have sensors in them that fire off a warning signal to our brain the instant they detect water less than seventy degrees. Instantly, the heart slows down and blood flow to the arms and legs starts to decrease, saving precious resources for our two most important organs: the heart and the brain. People have been revived after being unconscious for more than half an hour underwater.

I could hear the 911 operator talking on her radio to the emergency crew as I rolled the body over and pulled the wet hair away from its face. Staring up at me, his mouth hanging open in a silent scream, was Mr. Harwick.

Without thinking, I turned his head to the side, dug my palms into his abdomen, and pushed with all my might, sliding my hands up toward his chest. I had expected a gush of water to come up out of his mouth, but there wasn’t near as much as I’d thought there would be. I kept pushing until I was sure there wasn’t any more trapped in his lungs, and then I laced my hands together, placed them in the center of his chest, and started pressing down firmly, allowing his chest to rise back to normal each time. I counted each compression until I reached thirty, then I tilted his head back and pinched his nose. I took a deep breath and blew air into his lungs. His chest rose and fell. I tried again, but there was no response. His eyes were glassy and vacant, and his lips were cold. I started again, this time pressing a little harder. I felt a popping in his chest under the weight of my body, but I didn’t stop. Again I blew air into his lungs, repeating the whole procedure several more times, but there was nothing.

The 911 operator said, “Ma’am? What’s happening now?”

I sat back, exhausted, and tried to remember my training, anything that I was forgetting, anything else that could be done.

I said, “There’s no response. He’s gone.”

“An ambulance is on the way.”

I dragged myself up and walked across the lanai to the sliding doors where Charlotte was waiting inside. I slid the door open and felt the cold air-conditioning envelop my soaked body. I picked Charlotte up and walked through the house into the main foyer. I knew any minute now the whole place would be swarming with police officers, crime-scene units, and forensic experts. Taking Charlotte away from the scene of the crime was probably not the smartest thing in the world, but I wanted her out of there. Since the Harwicks had hired me to be her guardian while they were away, she was coming with me. I’d already handled her so much that if by chance there was some piece of evidence on her, I had probably already contaminated it. And anyway, there was no way I was waiting for the police by myself. She could damn well wait with me.

I hesitated at the base of the stairs leading up to the second floor and considered waking August up, but something told me it was best to leave that to the detectives. My heart started racing. Despite the gun and his tough-guy swagger, August was just a kid. He was in for quite a shock. On the other hand, how did I know what his involvement was? When he showed up in the driveway, was he just coming home? Or had he fled the scene earlier, waiting for me to show up so he could arrive and pretend he’d been out all night drinking?

I took Charlotte and walked out the front door and down the driveway to my car, which was still parked on the side of the road just by the entrance. I opened up the hatch and pulled out a couple of towels and one of the cardboard pet carriers I keep in the back. I tossed them on the passenger seat in the front and got in on the driver’s side. My eyes glazed over and I just sat there staring straight ahead, like I was in a movie. I didn’t even try to dry myself off yet; I just held Charlotte in my lap and waited.

My head was spinning. Mr. and Mrs. Harwick were supposed to be in Tampa, more than an hour away, so what was Mr. Harwick doing here? I thought of the gun that August had, and how he’d reacted so nonchalantly at the suggestion that there was possibly someone in the house, almost as if it were something that happened every day. I could hear Michael’s voice saying the Harwicks’ world was filled with cutthroats and thieves and Mr. Harwick was hated all over the world. Then, the thing that I had been avoiding the entire time, the thing that I could hardly even thing about, hit me like a brick to the side of the head.

Michael had said it was all over the papers that Mr. Harwick was giving a speech in Tampa. That made his house a pretty good target, especially if someone was in the market for some priceless artwork. If Mr. and Mrs. Harwick had come home unexpectedly and walked in on a burglary in progress, it was entirely possible that the intruder could have killed them. But where was Mrs. Harwick? Barely a minute passed by before I saw a pair of flashing red and blue emergency lights coming up Jungle Plum Road.

I opened the pet carrier and gently maneuvered Charlotte inside.

“Okay, Queen B, you have to wait in the car for a little while. I’ll be back to check on you.”

I got out of the car and toweled myself off as the police cruiser approached. It pulled up alongside me, and the window rolled down. The man at the wheel was wearing mirrored sunglasses that hid his eyes, but I recognized his short-cropped hair and sharp cheekbones. It was Deputy Jesse Morgan.

He nodded at the house. “This it?”

I said, “Yeah, the owners are away, and I’m taking care of—”

He held one hand up like a school guard stopping traffic and said, “Stay right there, please.”

Jesse Morgan is the Key’s only sworn deputy, which means he carries a gun. I didn’t know him when I was on the force, but I’ve gotten to know him over the years since. He’s about as fun as a root canal, but he’s an impressive figure: broad shoulders, buzzed military haircut, a chin so sharp it looks like you could peel an apple with it, and a diamond stud in one ear. I didn’t think he was all that surprised to see me. In fact, it hadn’t been that long ago that he’d been the first to arrive when I stumbled upon another crime involving a famous model and a pro football player, but that’s another story. My work puts me in a lot of people’s homes, so it makes sense that I might run into something fishy now and then, but I could tell Deputy Morgan was beginning to wonder what kind of hex I had that was always plopping me down in the center of a murder scene. I couldn’t blame him. I was beginning to wonder myself.

He pulled the cruiser up in front of my Bronco and got out, leaving the emergency lights flashing, and walked over. He didn’t seem one bit fazed that I was soaking wet. I knew the 911 dispatcher would have told him everything that had happened while she was on the phone with me.

He nodded. “Dixie.”

I smiled weakly. “Deputy Morgan.”

“You alright?”

For a moment, I thought I was going to burst into tears, but I stopped myself. I bit the inside of my cheek and looked away, waiting for the feeling to subside. Deputy Morgan had the grace not to notice. Instead he adjusted his belt, which was weighted down with all the tools of his trade: nightstick, handcuffs, flashlight and a 9 mm semiautomatic pistol, securely seated in a black leather harness.

When I had gathered myself back together, he turned and walked toward the front gate, pausing long enough for me to catch up. For a split second it felt like I was back on the force, and this was just another day on the beat. Two deputies checking out a crime scene. I had to remind myself that not only was I no longer on the force, I doubted seriously that Deputy Morgan was thinking anything along those lines. Not to mention the fact that I was as damp as a wrung-out mop from head to toe.

As we walked up the driveway he said, “So what’s the story?”

I told him all about how the Harwicks were out of town, and how they had hired me to take care of their cat and their aquarium, and how I had noticed that the alarm was off, even though it was super early, and how I couldn’t find Charlotte anywhere. I told him about the fish tank, and how one of the fish had been in a state of alarm, and how I’d gotten spooked and called Sergeant Owens.

We were almost to the front porch when he stopped abruptly.

“You called Owens before you found the body?”

“Yeah, I did.”

He nodded. “Go on.”

“So the Harwicks’ son came home, and he searched through the house and didn’t find anything out of the ordinary, and it turned out Charlotte was on the lanai. How she got out there I have no idea. But that’s when I noticed something at the bottom of the pool, when I went out to get Charlotte.”

“And where was the son?”

“He had gone upstairs. I think he was out all night.”

He nodded. “Mm-hmm. And where is he now?”

“He’s still up there. I didn’t wake him.”

“Why not?”

“I wasn’t sure if I should.”

He nodded again, silently acknowledging what I couldn’t say out loud—that I wasn’t completely sure August wasn’t involved somehow.

I could hear the low, distant wail of a siren, and from the direction of it I knew it wasn’t coming from the police station but from the north, which meant it was an ambulance dispatched from Sarasota Memorial Hospital. It had probably come over the bridge on Siesta Drive. I hoped Charlotte wasn’t too freaked out by the noise, and then I remembered I hadn’t yet fed her. It was too late to go into the kitchen and grab some of her food. The entire house was a crime scene now. Soon there’d be technicians covering every inch of the property, checking for signs of anything out of the ordinary, brushing every surface for fingerprints, looking for any clue that might shed some light on what had happened. A crime scene is a very delicate thing. A change to even the smallest, seemingly unimportant object can have catastrophic effects on the outcome of an investigation. I didn’t want to tamper with any more evidence than I already had, so Her Highness would just have to wait a bit longer for breakfast.

We had stopped at the front door, and I realized Morgan was waiting for the other units to arrive before we went inside.

Finally, after a few moments of awkward silence, he said, “So, how you been?”

“Good. You?”

“Good.”

I nodded. That was about the longest personal conversation I’d ever had with Morgan.

We watched as the ambulance came slowly up the driveway and pulled up alongside August’s black sports car. A green-and-white sheriff’s van pulled in behind it, closely followed by two squad cars and finally an unmarked sedan. Sergeant Owens got out of the sedan and waited for the other deputies. There must have been at least eight of them. I wondered if Owens hadn’t called up every unit in the county, trying to make up for not taking me seriously on the phone before. They met in a group in the middle of the circular drive and then followed Sergeant Owens up to where Morgan and I were standing.

Owens took off his sergeant’s cap and said, “Well, Dixie, I suppose I owe you an apology.”

I could feel myself blushing. “No, it’s alright, sir. I probably wouldn’t have believed me either.”

“Well, then, I at least owe you a beer.”

I smiled. “I’ll take you up on that, sir.”

He turned to the congregation of men behind him and said, “Gentlemen, this is Dixie Hemingway.”

Just then, the front door opened to reveal August, bleary-eyed and shirtless in a pair of jeans. He looked around at all the deputies and the squad cars with their flashing emergency lights filling the driveway.

“What the hell?”

I said, “August—”

Sergeant Owens interrupted. “Sir, is this your house?”

August said, “I live here. It’s my parents’ house.”

“And your parents are away?”

“Yes, sir, they’re in Tampa.”

Owens nodded thoughtfully. “Alright. You have a number where they can be reached?”

August looked at me. “Where’s Becca?”

I said, “August, I called the police. I went out to get Charlotte and—”

Sergeant Owens stepped forward and said, “August, would you mind waiting out here while we have a look inside?”

August began to tremble slightly as he moved out on the porch. I wasn’t sure if it was the cool morning air or the all-night drinking, but suddenly all the color seemed to drain from his face. I felt a pang of guilt for not having woken him up earlier to warn him that something was wrong, even though I knew I’d done the right thing. Now, all his swagger had fallen away. He looked like a little boy, wide-eyed and lost in the woods.

Owens glanced over at one of the deputies and said, “Kendrick, would you please get this young man a blanket while we have a look inside?”

The deputy nodded and motioned for August to follow. They walked down to the squad van.

When they were out of range of hearing, Owens turned to me and said, “Who’s Becca?”

“She’s his sister, but I don’t think she’s here.”

He nodded. “Okay, where is it?”

I said, “By the pool. Go through the archway on your right and through the living room to the big sliding glass doors. I can show you.”

Owens pointed at another deputy. “Hanson, take Dixie down and wait by the cars, and keep an eye on the front. The rest of you lock down the grounds and let me know right away if anything looks out of place. Morgan, Lyle, you’re with me.”

He pulled out some blue rubber gloves and booties and passed them to Deputy Morgan and another officer. They all slipped them over their hands and feet. Rule number one at any crime scene is to ensure the safety of both the witnesses and the responding officers. I knew Owens was going in to search every single inch of the house, not just for evidence, but for anything else that might be hiding inside. Like another victim. Or a murderer.

I shuddered at the thought that there could still be someone lurking inside. Deputy Hanson motioned to me, and I followed him down to the squad van, where August was waiting with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. I looked back to see Owens, Morgan, and the other deputy moving slowly through the front door and into the house.

I turned to Deputy Hanson and said, “I have the cat in my car. Is it okay if I just check on her?”

Hanson had jet black hair cut close to his ears and a little bit of stubble on his chin. He couldn’t have been much older than August.

He said, “Where’s your car?”

“It’s on the street, just down by the gate.”

“Let’s walk down there.”

I walked down to the gate with August and Deputy Hanson close behind me. We went around to the passenger side of the Bronco, and I opened up the door. Charlotte hissed from inside her cardboard prison, just to make a statement, not with any real ferocity behind it.

Deputy Hanson turned to August. “This is your parents’ cat?”

“Yeah,” August said. “She always acts like that.”

I said, “I think she’s probably not too happy cooped up in this box.”

Hanson walked around the back of my car, and August turned to me. “Dixie, what the hell is happening?”

“August, I’m sorry, but I really think you should let the sergeant tell you.”

Hanson had noticed Joyce’s antique birdcage in the back of the Bronco. He raised one eyebrow. “You always travel with a birdcage?”

I said, “No, sir, I was walking with a friend yesterday morning and we found an exotic bird in the woods. I’m picking it up from the vet this morning.”

August stared at the birdcage without blinking, like he was studying it with every cell in his body, but I knew better. He wasn’t stupid. I was soaking wet, and there were cops and ambulances everywhere. He was bound to have figured out by now that something very bad had happened in the pool, and I knew he must have been thinking it had something to do with Becca.

Sergeant Owens came out on the front porch and called out to Deputy Hanson, who turned and motioned for us to follow him. I could tell he didn’t want to leave me alone with August. And then I realized: For all he knew it was August that needed protecting, not me.

Until it was ruled otherwise, August and I were not only witnesses. We were suspects.