by Clea Simon
“I’ll ring Ms. Canaday.” She had already turned away, her hand on the receiver.
“No need.” I’d seen the room number—502—and headed toward the elevator.
“Miss!” Her voice, shrill and a little peeved, followed me. Not even the lobby fountain, replete with cherubs, could drown it out. Never mind. I kept walking. If she called security, I’d find out soon enough.
“Pru.” Judith met me at the door, alerted from the lobby no doubt. “I’m afraid we may have a problem.”
“Oh?” I followed her in to a room that looked like any hotel room anywhere. Any hotel room that had a glass-walled bathroom and a floor-to-ceiling window, that is. “What’s that?”
“The papers.” She picked up a jacket from the back of a chair. I’d already sat on the lipstick-colored loveseat. “I seem to have misplaced them.”
“Misplaced.” She was busy hanging the jacket. It seemed to need a lot of attention. So I decided to backtrack a bit. “Judith, would you tell me why you gave your father a kitten?”
“Why?” She was brushing invisible lint off the jacket’s lapel. “It seemed like a nice thing. You know, what do you give the man who has everything?”
“Your father had everything?” I couldn’t help it—my eyes darted from the glass brick to the bathrobe laid out on the bed.
She looked at me suddenly, her gray eyes sharp, and then turned away. “He was comfortable. And very self-sufficient.”
I nodded. That, at least, jibed with what I’d heard. “When was the last time you’d seen him?”
She shook her head and reached for another item that apparently needed brushing. “I don’t know. A year ago? Maybe more?”
“And you decided to visit now?” I wondered what the thread count was on those sheets.
“It was his birthday.” A shrug, that hair glistening blue-black. “A big one. Jackie was planning a party.”
“Somehow, I can’t see one of Jackie’s parties being high on your to-do list.” Maybe it was my tone. She turned for real then, and it looked like the air went out of her.
“No,” she agreed, sinking into the chair. “I’d heard that he wasn’t doing well. That maybe it was time…” She looked toward the window. I didn’t think she was seeing the view over the valley.
“Time?” I waited. If she’d hoped to ingratiate herself, she’d put it off too long. I wondered how big that annuity was—and how much she might need it.
“Time to make peace,” she said at last. “I left home rather impetuously. It was— we didn’t leave things on good terms.” She licked away the last of her lipstick. “He didn’t approve of California. Of my acting.”
“You’re an actress.” That was something to keep in mind.
“I’ve had some commercial work.” An edge, a little defensive. At least that was what she wanted me to hear.
“That’s a hard life.” I didn’t add anything about her age. She was closing in on thirty, maybe more. Close to my age, and in a very different profession. As an actress, her time to make it had come and gone.
“I get by.” That aristocratic chin had come up. She was defiant, I’d give her that. “I have friends.” Another shrug. “Had friends.”
That confirmed it. “But you needed money.” Another quick look, sharp and hard, before those thick lashes fluttered to soften it. “You wanted to make sure you were in your father’s will.”
“I wanted to visit my father.” She enunciated every word carefully.
“Whom your older sister had moved in with.” I could have laughed. This was an old story. Usually it doesn’t end in death. “Your kid sister was the baby, still in school.”
She shot me a look. I waited. “Jill was smart. Smarter than me,” Judith admitted. It seemed to cost her. “I can’t blame her for that.”
“But you had a role too,” I said. “You could be the prodigal daughter, coming home to be celebrated.”
“If that’s how you see us.” Her voice was suddenly weary. “You didn’t know my father. He wasn’t the sort to celebrate.”
“Oh?”
“It wasn’t just that he was strict.” Her mouth was set in a tight line. Without the lipstick it had begun to look hard. “He was …unforgiving. You either toed the line or…”
“And you were out?” I didn’t want to give her anything. Not after what I’d heard. But I understood. She hadn’t come home in time. I had.
She sniffed suddenly and reached for a tissue. “Sorry.”
“Not a problem,” I found myself sympathizing. “He might have forgiven you, you know.”
“Not with Jackie around.” She shook off the suggestion. Tried to shake off the tears. “She wasn’t going to let that happen. Maybe that’s why she…” She left her sentence unfinished, but her glance said it all.
“Do you think your sister did something?” I chose my words with care. I was remembering that day—when David Canaday had died. Judith had shown up and almost immediately ducked into the bathroom. Had she found more than aspirin? Had she known something else would be there? “Are you saying she had something to do with his death?”
“I’m not saying anything.” Her voice had taken on a singsong quality. “After all, I wasn’t around.”
“I haven’t heard that there was any evidence,” I paused. That was a cop word. At the funeral, Judith had talked about her father’s “meds.” About reading “the damned labels.” “That there was any sign of anything other than natural causes?” I was pushing. “Your father did have a bad heart, right?”
Another shrug. How strange, I thought, that before the reading of the will, Judith had laughed off the idea that there was anything amiss. Dismissed it as part of Jackie’s neuroses. What was it old Horlick had said? Money really did change everything. Money—along with the continued interest of the medical examiner.
“You know, Jackie was saying the same thing about you. That you brought him a kitten to provoke an allergic reaction.” I was playing with fire, and the spark in her eyes confirmed it. I expected her to lash out. To reveal something about her sister—or her own dark motives.
Instead, I got tears.
“How dare she?” Face in her hands, Judith collapsed on the bed. “When she— when she knows!” She was sobbing now. “She must know. Jill must have told her.”
I waited. “Judith? What’s going on? Knows what? What would Jill have said?” I was beginning to have my suspicions. This hotel, her look. Her so-called profession—and Jill’s aspirations. “It’s the kitten, isn’t it? He’s not a pedigreed animal at all, is he?”
She shook her head. That glossy hair covered her face, but it couldn’t block the sound as she gasped. “I—it was silly.”
“Judith?” I almost reached out for her. She almost had me.
“Stupid.” She sat up and swiped at her face. Stood and walked to the window. “Not silly, stupid. I thought things would be different. The way they were before Jill grew up.”
I held my breath. Judith’s sorrow had turned cold so fast, it had sucked all the oxygen out of the room.
“I gather it was Jill, not Jackie?” I kept my voice as gentle as I could. “Jill who was your father’s favorite?”
“Our father? Ha!” Judith barked at the silent hillside. A minute passed, maybe more, before she turned toward me, a sad smile playing on those wide lips.
“He used to call me his kitten.”
Chapter Twenty
It didn’t mean anything, I thought, as I drove away with my mind more on the woman I had just left than on the road. Part of that was because I had left Judith without any resolution—and without any plans for the kitten.
“I can’t have him here.” She’d remained adamant, even as I’d pushed the point. “Those are Frette linens,” she’d said, as if I’d care. She must have seen something in my face. “Isn’t there a shelter in town?�
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“I’m not—” I caught myself. A woman who valued sheets over a life wasn’t going to understand. “I’ll figure something out.”
Even before I left, I’d begun running through the options. The shelter was not one. Cute as he was, Ernesto would be just one more kitten among dozens of others—and even if he were adopted, it would mean a lost opportunity, and possibly euthanasia, for another.
As I thought this through, I could hear the opposing argument in my head, sounded in the voice of my tough-minded tabby. Young animals die. That’s how nature works, and why adult cats keep producing litter after litter. Didn’t matter. Wallis might not care—might tell me she didn’t, anyway—but I did. No, this family had brought this kitten into my life. Somehow, I’d make them find a home for hm.
The question was how? None of the sisters seemed like a good bet, especially not the way they were fighting now. I couldn’t see the little puffball becoming a pawn in their battles. I had tried Judith then. “Maybe you could take him back with you?”
She gestured to the clothes she had just hung. “I don’t know when I’m going back, exactly.” She’d regained her poise. “I do have other business in town.”
I wondered what that business could be. She’d referred to friends, and I didn’t see her as any more sentimental than my cat. If she were looking up people from her past, I would put money on it that these were business contacts rather than old high school buddies. And while that might have nothing to do with me—or with Ernesto—I was realizing how much of an impact money was having on us both. The lack of it, specifically. What I didn’t know was how to find out more. Or if Judith Canaday was simply waiting around until the full autopsy report came back.
“Does this have to do with your father’s estate?” Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
“My father’s affairs are none of your business.” She pulled another blouse out of the closet. “And, really, Ms. Marlowe, now that you’ve gotten my dirty little secret out of me, I think you should leave.”
“Some secret,” I muttered as she turned from me. I didn’t know if she meant that the kitten was a rescue—or that she had cherished her father’s pet name for her. She’d clearly been the pretty one among the Canaday girls. Still was, if you counted all the props.
That was it. Her clothes. Hadn’t she said she’d barely had time to drop the kitten off?
“I see your luggage arrived after all.” I stood, but made no movement toward the door.
“Yes, the airline found it and had it delivered.” She turned on the full wattage of her smile. “And there I was, running around for no reason. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”
I’m not usually at a loss for words, but right then I was out of questions. I’d let her walk me to the door as a strategic retreat. I needed some answers, but I might have to get them elsewhere. After all, I had more sympathy for Ernesto the kitten than for this self-assured beauty. And the visit hadn’t been completely pointless. Judith Canaday had revealed herself to be a liar. And while she might still turn heads, I had the feeling she was very aware of the clock—and of how quickly overripe fruit can go bad.
As much as anyone, she should have had some feeling for a discarded pet. One that all too soon would no longer be considered cute.
Chapter Twenty-one
“So what kind of business could Judith Canaday have back here in Beauville?” I hadn’t found a satisfactory answer by that evening, so I tried bouncing it off my bedmate.
“Why do you care?” Creighton leaned back against the headboard, sheet pulled up to his waist. “She’s no threat to you. I can’t see that one working with animals,” he added, to make sure I got the point.
“That’s for sure.” I agreed, accepting the implied compliment. I was feeling good. Curious, sure, but he didn’t have to know why. Except that he was waiting, his blue eyes cool. “The sisters are fighting over the estate.” I threw him a tidbit. “It’s getting nasty.”
“And you know this how?” He was giving me the cop look now, face as impassive as those blue eyes.
“You could say a little bird told me.” I paused to see how Creighton would respond to that. “Why?”
“Interesting you should say that, Pru.” His voice was as cool as his body was hot, but I didn’t like the way he was looking at me. “Interesting phrase. Especially seeing as how you’re working for the family.”
“But I’m not.” I reached for the beers we’d left half-finished, handing him one. I needed to distract him. “At least, nobody’s paid me yet. Or even paid me back.”
“I’m sure they’ll each have enough to cover your costs.” Placing his bottle on the nightstand, he slipped out of bed and reached for his pants. “No matter what you think you know.”
“Anything you want to share?” I wasn’t going to beg him to stay. That’s never been my way. Didn’t mean I wasn’t the slightest bit put off by his getting dressed. “I was working on Laurence Wilkins’ house and I overheard some squabbling, okay? He’s got a squirrel problem.”
My beau paused, and I had the uncanny feeling he was waiting for more.
“What?” I clasped my hands behind my head. “You were the one telling me about the tests going to the state lab, about the medical examiner asking for more tests.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.” He shook his head as he buttoned his shirt.
“It was bothering you.” I took a swig and waited, but his lips remained set in a straight line as he pulled on a shoe. “At least you didn’t find out that he was intentionally poisoned.”
Shoe untied, he looked up, too fast for it to be a coincidence.
“What? He was?” Any chance of appearing uninterested went out the window, but I was too curious not to follow up. “I thought you said he had a bad heart. That he was on medication and that something…”
He smiled then, a thin smile. “Is this you trying to talk me out of going back to work?”
That was new information. “Jim, you serious?” It wasn’t late. We hadn’t even eaten the pizza he’d brought over.
He stood, tucking in his shirt. “Sorry, Pru. I stopped by because I said I would and then…” He looked around the shambles we’d made of the bedroom. “But I’ve got a ridiculous amount of paperwork.”
“That autopsy report.” I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around my knees and gave him my best come-hither look. “If you’ve got it in the car, you could bring it in here, you know. I’ll heat up the pizza while you read it over. I won’t bother you while you’re working.”
He laughed out loud. “Pru, you always put me in a good mood. Even when you don’t mean to.” And with that, he was gone.
“You expected something different?” Wallis met me by the bathroom door, as I emerged from the shower. Like all cats, she is fascinated by our bathroom habits, even as she distrusts large quantities of water. “You’re the expert on training.”
“Point taken, Wallis.” I toweled off and found my own clothes as my tabby watched. “So, where’s Ernesto?”
“I was waiting for you to notice.” Wallis sat up, wrapping her black-tipped tail around her forepaws. “You haven’t asked about him all day.”
“I’ve been busy, Wallis.” I pulled on my jeans. “Busy at least partly on his behalf. In case you haven’t noticed.”
“Just thought you might be interested in what he has to say.” Always nonchalant, she began to wash her face.
“What is it?” She kept washing, one black paw sliding over her ear. “You do that when you’re trying to hide something.”
“I do this to stay beautiful, without getting into…” Another swipe, bending her black-tipped ear forward. “Water.” The word dripped with disdain, and the taste of fur.
“Wallis?” Creighton’s desertion hadn’t left me in the best mood, even if—as Wallis was so quick to remind me—I had set the standard for our minimal re
lationship.
“Ask him yourself.” With a shrug, Wallis turned and, tail high, walked off.
It took me a good half-hour to find the kitten. My old house is full of nooks and closets, and after my romp and the rest of the beer, my strange sensitivity wasn’t working at its best. Sure, I could hear where Ernesto was, more or less. But hearing a tiny voice call out “mouse hole!” and following that voice to a fold in the living room rug is a different matter. As to whether we did have rodents in the living room, well, that I chose not to explore. Wallis and I might not have an exact division of labor, though each of us considered ourselves the more put-upon in the household. Rodents in the furnishings, however? That was clearly my tabby roommate’s area of expertise.
“Keeping ourselves busy, are we?” I was down on the floor when I found the kitten. As his overheard exclamation implied, he was half in what to him constituted a “mouse hole,” a rucked-up fold of the carpet. “Are we having fun?”
The round kitten butt wiggled as Ernesto attempted to turn around in the hole. I was tempted to extract the little creature, but life with Walllis has taught me that felines value their dignity, even small ones.
“I am on duty.” The tiny cat finally managed to back out and blinked up at me. “Looking for mice!”
As if aware, suddenly, of how he must look, he lifted one paw in a perfect copy of Wallis’ grooming motion. Only the kitten lacked the mature tabby’s poise, and ended up falling over onto the floor.
“Meant to do that!” He struggled back to his feet.
“Of course you did.” Behind me, I could sense the slightest ladylike snort. “Wallis?”
“Tell her, kid.” Wallis wasn’t joking now. “Tell her what you told me.”
I looked from the kitten to my tabby. She was focused on the kitten, but he seemed oblivious.
“Mouse!”
“What is it, Ernesto?” I made a point of using the small cat’s name. In my experience, most animals respond well when we respect their selfhood. Not that I thought the little fellow would have anything to tell me. Then again, I didn’t want to see Wallis discipline the poor thing. And before my tabby could pick up on that thought, I asked again. “What do you want to tell me?”