The Cat Sitter's Nine Lives

21

The next morning I woke to the sound of monk parakeets chattering excitedly in the treetops, which could only mean one thing. I had overslept. I jumped up and scrambled for my watch, staring with bleary eyes as I tried to focus on its face, but it was only a little past six o’clock. Sometimes the parakeets conspire to wake me up early, especially if the morning is warmer than normal or there’s an early crowd of lovebugs and dragonfly nymphs to hunt, but a bank of fog was rolling in off the gulf, and the air had enough of a chill to it that I figured something must have startled them.

I stumbled into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, taking care not to look at myself in the mirror. I knew I looked like crap, and I didn’t want to see it, so I just stared at the sink while I ran a brush through my hair. Then I got dressed in a clean pair of shorts and T-shirt and slipped a light sweater on just in case the fog lingered around for a while. Then on my way out, I slipped Guidry’s letter into my back pocket.

I felt like I was in a daze all morning, as if the air were thick and syrupy and I had to push my way through it just to get around. I thought about Tanisha and how she always has a smile on her face, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t really do it. Plus, I could barely concentrate. I drove all the way over to Tom Hale’s condo and even had my key in the door before I remembered he’d taken Billy Elliot to Lake Okeechobee to visit his brother and wouldn’t be back for a week. Then, driving down to check on a couple of blue Abyssinians whose owners were away on a river cruise, I ran right through a four-way stop sign. Luckily it was early enough that the roads were still deserted, but I eased over to the side of the road to pull myself together.

Detective McKenzie was right. Seeing Mr. Hoskins’s body had apparently thrown me for a loop, and all I wanted to do was go home and crawl back in bed. I knew lack of sleep wasn’t the problem, though. What I needed was a good dose of old-fashioned TLC, and I knew exactly where to find it.

* * *

Judy put a hot cup of coffee in front of me as I slid into the back booth of the diner, and Tanisha threw me her customary wave and smile from the kitchen. Just seeing her face made me feel a little better. Judy plopped down into the booth opposite me and gave me her signature “WTF?” look. I knew right away the word was out.

“Dixie, was it you?”

I tried to look as innocent as possible and took a sip of my coffee.

“Was it me what?”

“Was it you that found him?”

I sighed and nodded. “Yes. The building’s owner hired me to find his cat. I was snooping around in there, and one thing led to another…”

“Oh, Dixie, I’m so sorry.”

I felt a jab in my side and sat up straight. “Why does everybody keep saying that to me?”

“Saying what?”

“That they’re sorry, like they need to treat me like I’m some sort of fragile flower. I didn’t know Hoskins from a hole in the ground! And I’ve seen a dead body before, by the way. If you’ll recall, I used to be a sheriff’s deputy. I’ve seen much worse than that.”

I knew I must have sounded like a mewling baby, but I couldn’t stop myself. The words rushed out of my throat as if they were fleeing a burning building. I could feel people turning toward me and staring.

Judy looked me straight in the eye. “Honey, nobody’s saying you’re a fragile flower. You found a dead guy. Believe it or not, that doesn’t happen every day around here, even to you. And it’s definitely not easy and it’s not good, no matter what you’ve seen or done. In my world, when something bad happens to somebody, like finding a dead body, for instance, we say ‘I’m sorry.’”

I sighed. She was right. I put my coffee down and cradled my head in my hands. “I know. I just don’t like people tiptoeing around me, thinking they have to treat me with kid gloves just because of whatever crap has gone down in the past, acting like I’m some kind of…” I trailed off. I couldn’t think of the right word.

Judy said, “Human being?”

I laughed. “Yeah, that’s it.”

She stood up and headed for the kitchen. “I’m gonna bring you some bacon.”

I brought my fist down on the table triumphantly. “That’s why I’m here!”

Just then, the door of the diner swung open and in walked Ethan, carrying a briefcase and dressed in a tailored suit the color of lightly creamed coffee with a pearlescent teal tie that was almost the exact same color as the booths in the diner.

As he made his way down the aisle, practically every female, not to mention a few non-females, stopped midsentence to watch him pass and then struggled to remember what they were just talking about. As he stopped at my table, a woman across the aisle looked him up and down, mentally trying him on for size as she sprinkled a packet of sugar on her scrambled eggs.

Judy slid my breakfast down on the table, along with a platter of extra-crispy bacon, just as Ethan slid into the booth opposite me. For a second I couldn’t decide which made me feel better, Ethan or the bacon.

Judy winked. “What can I get you, handsome?”

“Nothing for me. I just stopped by to say howdy.”

She fanned herself with her notepad. “Well, thanks, Ethan, that’s so very sweet of you.”

As she sauntered off, Ethan’s smile fell away and he lowered his voice. “What did I tell you on the phone last night?”

I flashed him a face that was half grimace, half disarming cuteness, but he just sat there, waiting for an answer.

“Umm, you said if I found anything weird in the bookstore to call you right away.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I said. And did you find anything weird?”

“So … you heard.”

He was trying to keep his voice low, but I could tell he was upset. “Dixie, why didn’t you call me?”

“I know. I’m sorry. I should have called you right away. I just didn’t want you to worry about me, and it was late … and I don’t know, I just wanted to go home and go to bed. I should have called you, though. I barely slept all night.”

He put his hands on top of mine. “Dude, I am really sorry that happened to you.”

I looked into his eyes and decided I’d thank Judy later. “Thanks. And don’t call me dude.”

We sat like that for a bit, his hands resting on top of mine. I eyed the plate of steaming bacon not five inches from my fingers, but I didn’t want to ruin the moment.

I sighed. “I just can’t believe it. And I’m so sad for his daughter, too. I can’t even imagine what she must be going through right now.”

He slid my coffee over and took a sip. “Who in the world do you think could have done something like that?”

My mind flashed again to the image of the woman in white disappearing inside the bookstore, but I just shook my head. “No idea. That’s for the detectives to figure out, I guess.”

He turned his head to the window but watched me out of the corner of his eye. “Right.”

I took a deep breath. “Anyway, let’s change the subject. Are we still on for tonight?”

“I’m on if you’re on, but you’ve had a rough couple of days. Maybe it would be better if we stayed home tonight?”

It actually seemed like a good idea, but I didn’t want to be a party pooper.

I shook my head. “No, no, I’ll be fine. But Ethan, listen…”

He raised an eyebrow.

I said, “I have an admission to make. I didn’t open that letter yet. I know I said I would, but I was so beat when I got in last night. I didn’t even brush my teeth. I just went straight to bed.”

I started to pull it out of my back pocket, but he shook his head. “No, it’s not my place to say whether you should open that letter or not. That’s between you and Guidry. Believe me, I totally get it. All I want to do tonight is have dinner and hang out and stuff.”

“Stuff?”

He grinned. “Yeah, you know … fun stuff.”

As I looked into his dreamy brown eyes, I took a bite of Tanisha’s bacon. It really was a toss-up. The bacon was mighty tasty, but …

He looked around and then leaned closer to me. “Hey, I shouldn’t tell you this, but I was talking to a guy I know in the DA’s office. The cops ID’d your friend.”

“What friend?”

“That guy in the car accident.”

“Mr. Vladim?”

He shushed me. “Yeah. They took fingerprints and ran them through the national database. He’s a bank robber.”

I gasped. “A what!”

“Yep. A Russian bank robber. He and his wife have been on the run for more than a year. They came here a couple of years ago and then found out their kid had cancer. Apparently they didn’t have money or health insurance, so they went on a tear from one end of Florida to the other, holding up small-town banks to pay for the treatments.”

I shook my head. “That is truly, truly terrible.”

“I know. Can you imagine? Sick kid, no insurance, no money, no friends…”

“That poor man. So where’s his wife?”

“Nobody knows. And he’s not talking.”

I shook my head. “Who knew people still robbed banks? I thought that just happened in the movies.”

He reached for a piece of bacon, but I swatted his hand away. “It happens more than you’d think. Banks get robbed all the time. I think it’s mostly small stuff, but your friend and his wife racked up a ton of cash, which I guess they just handed right over to the doctors—they’re like the Russian Bonnie and Clyde. But look, don’t tell anybody. They’re keeping it under wraps until they find his wife. They figure she has to be somewhere nearby.”

I shook my head. “Ugh. I hope they never find her.”

“Yeah. You and me both. But hey, look on the bright side. You saved the guy’s life. And maybe you’ll get a big reward for catching him.” He picked up his briefcase and winked at me. “You’re … I mean, we’re rich.”

I rolled my eyes. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

He bent down and kissed my forehead. “I’ll work on it.”

As he strolled out, all the other women in the diner, Judy included, craned their necks and practically sighed out loud as he walked by. I probably would have done the same thing except that with what he’d just told me about Baldy, I felt like I’d been hit over the head with a rolling pin.

I looked down and thought, Really? A Russian bank robber?

There was a tiny crumb of bacon left on my plate, sitting all by itself. I picked it up between my thumb and forefinger, and right before I popped it in my mouth, I said, “Huh.”

* * *

When I was done with my afternoon rounds, I pulled into the parking lot at Siesta Key Beach. I figured I had avoided calling Mrs. Silverthorn long enough and it was time to bite the bullet. I sat there with the engine idling quietly and watched the gulls play in the waves while I tried to figure out what to say to her.

I had decided that it wasn’t my responsibility to tell her about Mr. Hoskins. If she didn’t already know about it, I would keep that part to myself. Anyway, I knew Detective McKenzie was probably planning on talking to her. She was Mr. Hoskins’s landlord. It was entirely possible that she might know things about Mr. Hoskins that no one else did.

As for Cosmo, I decided I’d just tell her exactly what Butch the Butcher had told me, that someone had found an orange cat in the alley, and that I couldn’t be sure it was him yet. I’d promise her I’d keep asking around and let her know if I learned more.

I was half hoping she wouldn’t pick up and I could just leave a message, but by the tenth ring I realized she probably didn’t even have an answering machine. For a split second it put a tiny smile on my face. I’ve spent most of my adult life avoiding electronic gadgets like the plague, but Mrs. Silverthorn was clearly way more old-school than I.

I was just about to hang up when a woman answered with a breathless “Good afternoon. The Silverthorn residence.”

I said, “Oh … Mrs. Silverthorn?”

“No, this is Janet. Who may I say is calling?”

I knew it wasn’t Janet. I recognized Mrs. Silverthorn’s voice immediately, even though she seemed completely out of breath. I pictured her running from one end of the mansion to the other to get to the phone in time. Why she was pretending to be Janet I had no idea, but I figured I’d just play along.

I said, “Oh, hi, Janet, this is Dixie Hemingway.”

She said curtly, “Please hold,” and then there was a short pause and a shuffling sound, followed by a whispered “Dixie, I can’t talk to you right now.”

I said, “Oh, I was just calling about Cosmo.”

She said, “My—” and then stopped herself. It suddenly occurred to me that she wasn’t out of breath at all. She was crying.

I said, “Mrs. Silverthorn, are you okay?”

She said, “I’ve just been speaking with an unfortunately bland woman from the sheriff’s department.”

I said, “You mean Detective McKenzie?”

“Yes. Wretched woman. Horribly dull. And oh, my dear, how horrible for you. I just can’t imagine…” Her voice trailed away, and then there was a muffled sob.

“Mrs. Silverthorn, I’m so sorry. Were you close to Mr. Hoskins?”

She took a deep breath. “Oh, darling, it’s too late now. No use crying over spilt milk, as they say, but I’m afraid there’s still the matter of Moses Cosmo Thornwall and your payment. Come to the house this afternoon for tea—four o’clock. I’ll be better by then. And I’ll let Mr. Silverthorn know you’re coming so he can write a check for your efforts so far.”

“Mrs. Silverthorn, I—”

But she’d already hung up.

I sat staring out at the beach. There was a group of girls hitting a volleyball back and forth on one of the courts set up in the sand and a gaggle of boys in board shorts cheering them on. Just beyond the court was an elderly couple in big straw sunhats, pulling an ice chest behind them and making their way down to the water’s edge. I closed my eyes and shook my head.

Poor Mrs. Silverthorn. I hated hearing her cry. She seemed like such a strong woman, but I knew what she was thinking. The thought of Cosmo, scared and alone, guarding the body of his dead owner … it was enough to make me cry, too.

I tried not to think about it. If anything, it made me want to work harder to find Cosmo. I decided I wouldn’t give up no matter what. I’d keep searching the neighborhood and asking questions and putting up signs until I could either deliver him directly into Mrs. Silverthorn’s arms or assure her without a doubt that he had found a good home and was being taken care of.

For the rest of the afternoon, I did my best to stay positive. I thought about Tanisha again and forced myself to smile as I finished up my rounds for the day. It actually worked, at least until I opened the front door at Meg Kerry’s house on Oxford Drive. Sammy, her bluepoint Siamese, was waiting in the hall, paws spread and tail twitching. He took one look at me and hissed.

He wasn’t buying my fake smile for a second.

I didn’t take it personally, though. In fact, that’s one of the best things about cats. They don’t walk around pretending to be something they’re not—they just tell it like it is. A cat will never betray you. It might scratch you, it might bite you, it might pee in your suitcase, but it will never look you straight in the eye and lie to you.

That’s more than I can say for most humans—in fact, if you’ve got a friend as faithful as a cat, you should thank your lucky stars.