Kittens Can Kill: A Pru Marlowe Pet Noir

by Clea Simon

  “She’s a love bug.” Jill cradled her hand around Wallis’ soft body and lifted her in her arms. “She’s purring.”

  “Putty in my hands.” I couldn’t help a chuckle. Jill thought it was for her.

  “Is she not usually this friendly?”

  “She’s a very discerning animal.” There, nobody could take offense at that. Besides, it was true. Unlike me, Wallis was quite happy to use her looks and her affections to get what she wanted. Two could play at that game. “And you know how to read her.”

  Jill tried to hide her smile in Wallis’ fur, but I saw it. So did Wallis, I thought, as she twisted in Jill’s grip. “Oh, she wants to get down.”

  “Rule one,” I said as Jill released the tabby to jump to the floor. “Animals tell us what they want, if we let them.”

  “Well, that was pretty basic.” Jill accepted a mug, and we both followed Wallis over to the table. “What I want to know is how you establish a connection with an animal. From what Dr. Sharpe has been telling me, you’re really a genius at it.”

  “So you’ve been spending a lot of time at County.” I worked to keep my voice as soft as Wallis’ fur. “Thinking of picking up where your father left off?”

  “Oh, no.” She answered easily, as if her father hadn’t been the scourge of the veterinary hospital. “I’m not a watchdog type. Dr. Sharpe knows that.”

  “Mmm.” I tried to sound noncommittal. If Doc Sharpe was hoping to get some of the Canaday fortune, I wouldn’t sabotage him. “Well, it never hurts to be observant. Animals tell us what we need to know. Look at Wallis, for example.” My tabby was sitting, ears perked up, tail coiled loosely around her front feet. “What do you see?”

  “Besides a very pretty girl?” The flattery card seemed to come naturally to her. “I see that she’s alert—those ears of hers—but that she’s not scared or anxious. Is that what you mean?”

  I nodded. “Now, what would you expect if she was frightened?”

  Ten minutes later, we’d run through the basics of feline displays. Wallis had settled into her sleeping sphinx pose, but I was having trouble hiding my own frustration. Short of putting my ears back and hissing, I wasn’t sure how to get rid of this girl. Nor was I sure how to ask her what I wanted to know.

  “So, you drove down from—where do you go? UVM?” She nodded. We’d finished our coffee. Might as well cut to the chase. “You’re going back to finish?”

  “In the fall. I think.” That was an open answer, and I waited. “There’s so much to clear up with my father’s estate…”

  I was supposed to express empathy at this point. But I had my own agenda. “I am sorry, Jill. Can’t your sisters take care of things?” I paused to see if she’d pick up on my cue. She didn’t. “Your older sister was living with your father, wasn’t she?”

  A slow, sad nod. “Yeah, I think maybe it was too much for her.”

  “Your father had resources. She could have hired assistance.”

  “You clearly didn’t know my dad.” Jill was almost laughing. “No, he had definite expectations for his daughters.”

  “And yours was to go to college?” Another nod. “And Judith?”

  “She was always the rebel, from day one.”

  “Always?” I thought about Judith’s story. About being her father’s favorite. It was possible Jill was too young to remember those days. Anything was possible.

  “Yeah,” said Jill. “It’s funny, isn’t it? They usually say it’s the baby of the family who escapes. But Judith and my dad were always locking horns.”

  “So you must have been surprised when she came back for a visit.” I waited to see if she’d bring up the kitten. “Especially with a gift like that.”

  “Yeah, she couldn’t have known about the latest complications.” She saw my look. “He was on ACE inhibitors. For his heart?” I nodded, not knowing where this was leading. “Some people develop a cough from those, and Dad did. Sometimes it can develop into adult asthma.”

  “So maybe Jackie wasn’t that far off base.” I was trying out the idea.

  Jill looked at me, waiting.

  “That the kitten might have been intended to—ah—hurt your father?” I’m cool, but even I didn’t want to spell it out any clearer. A feline as an allergy trigger. An intentional asthma attack.

  Jill shook it off. “He was more of a danger to himself. He had an inhaler, NSAIDs, a whole bunch of other things in his house that he shouldn’t have had.”

  I must have looked surprised, because she kept on talking. “Pre-vet’s pretty much the same as pre-med,” she explained. “But all those drugs? It just doesn’t seem like my father.”

  “He was a sick man,” I said. “Maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  “No, but Jackie was there.” Her soft mouth set hard. “She should have been.”

  Maybe, the thought struck me, she had. Jill was certainly pointing me in that direction, with her hints and her face clenched in anger. But I couldn’t ignore the obvious—Jackie wasn’t the only one who knew about the old man’s medications apparently.

  “I can see you going to vet school,” I said. I was trying to make it sound like a compliment. “You do have a way with animals. Wilkins’ sheltie really liked you.”

  “Oh, poor Biscuit.” Her face softened at the thought of the little dog, as I had hoped it would. “He doesn’t pay enough attention to her, so I try to, whenever I can.”

  I smiled to cover my own thoughts. For someone who was only in town every few months, Jill Canaday had built up quite a relationship with the dog she called Biscuit.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  I couldn’t totally discount what Jill was implying. David Canaday was, by all accounts, headstrong. Not the kind of man to listen to his daughter. And Jackie herself had brought up the possibility of a drug interaction—had blamed the doctors, Creighton had told me, for not informing the family.

  Still, it wouldn’t be a bad strategy—an accidental interaction that you could then pin on someone else. It was probably a safer bet than introducing an animal into a home and hoping for an allergic reaction. Especially if you already had some medical knowledge, and lived only a few hours away by car.

  “So, what’s up with the kitten?”

  Jill’s voice broke into my thoughts. I’d missed something. I looked down at Wallis, but she was deep in a dream.

  “I have him isolated and would like to continue observing him.” I did my best to cover. Wallis would fill me in later. “He’s been agitated and he was vomiting.”

  She nodded. “Maybe I should take him with me today then. I could bring him into County. Maybe Dr. Sharpe would let me assist with his checkup.”

  “Well, why don’t we wait until things settle down a bit.” I wasn’t about to confess to the purloined vaccine. Not to this girl. Not now.

  “At the very least, let me pay you back for what you spent on the kitten.”

  That I wasn’t averse to. I dug out the receipt. Forty-seven dollars, not including my services. Well, it was better than nothing. She dug out three twenties.

  “Do you have change?”

  I opened my wallet to find a scrap of paper, an old business card—and no cash. Damn, I’d forgotten Happy’s. How many rounds had I bought? Had Mack—? No, it didn’t make any sense to even wonder. If he was that low—and I wouldn’t be surprised—then I couldn’t really begrudge him the forty-odd bucks I’d had the other day.

  “Sorry.” Now it was my turn to feel stupid. “Look, you can get me next time.”

  “No, really.” She pressed the bill into my hand. “Let me pay you while I can.”

  “You’re expecting your situation to change?” That surprised me.

  A grim smile. “You don’t know my sisters, do you?”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  With one last longing look at Wallis, Jill took
off, leaving me with more questions—and sixty bucks in cash. I wondered how many rounds I’d bought last night. Or for how many people.

  That scrap of paper—it was cardboard, really, a square with a phone number scrawled on one side. I recalled one of Mack’s friends, a beefy guy, handing it to me. I’d been talking to him about something—someone—when he had to get going. I was about to toss it when I saw the other side—Randy’s, it said in block print, Smokes and Novelties. I didn’t know if Jill’s vapor device counted as the latter, but I couldn’t ignore the coincidence. Besides, I vaguely recalled the big guy saying something about Jackie—or, no, Judith. Maybe it was both.

  I called the number. “Randy’s Smoke Shop, hang on.”

  I hung up. I knew the shop. It sat on the same strip as Happy’s and was probably the same vintage. In my day, it had been a head shop, selling rolling papers and bongs. I’d bet it now had cigars and high-end humidors, trying to lure the tourists. But the lug I had spoken to was old school, however he made his money. And if he’d given me his number last night, he might be able to share a little more today.

  The late afternoon sun gave everything a golden glow as I drove back into town. Not even spring could brighten up Randy’s Smoke Shop, though. Separated from the rest of the small development by one empty storefront and another whose streaked window displayed dust-covered plumbing supplies, Randy’s represented old Beauville as much as Happy’s did. My past, what I had tried to run from. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence that Jill had a habit she was trying to kick. She was a part of this town, as much as Tracy Horlick. Or…

  In a flash of memory, I remembered just how the bell over the door would jingle. I’d first come here as a child. Taken here by my dad to buy loosies—single cigarettes—during one of those times my mother had cut him off. I’d been fascinated by the store then. Its rich, spicy smell, the pipes and cigar boxes. Randy’s didn’t have a wooden Indian. Beauville didn’t have the money for that kind of thing back then. But it was the place for serious smokers, with its jars of loose leaf and other paraphernalia that, by my teen years, would be replaced by bongs and black-light posters. In those days, it had been a man’s shop, no question. Probably still was, I thought as I sat in my car, looking through the window.

  Well, that could be an advantage. After all, someone in there had approached me last night just down the street at Happy’s. I got out of my car and glanced at the window. Whether by accident or by design, it was blocked—vintage posters and some that looked newer, advertising candy flavors in day-glo colors. Hand-written brags about lottery winners already fading, and a notice about a boat for sale that told those interested to ask for Randy, who I gathered was still the proprietor.

  That bell, a tiny jingle, brought me back. It also brought out the counter help—a big guy, more fat than muscle, with salt-and-pepper bangs that fell over his face in a style that suggested minimal maintenance. I remembered those bangs from last night. I had pushed those bangs back, I recalled, wincing at the memory.

  “Are you Randy?”

  As his smile dawned, I realized my mistake. He saw it, too. “Sorry, old joke,” he said, holding out his hand. “Randy Jr.—the only Randy now. How can I help you?”

  “I’m Pru.” We shook. “From Happy’s?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” He nodded, then tossed back those bangs. That gesture. He’d been talking about Judith—or was it Jackie? I used to be able to hold my liquor better.

  “We were talking about the Canaday girls?” I was fishing. He seemed to know it.

  “You were. You were going on about the old man, the one who croaked.” He turned and started arranging a display. Those candy-colored smokes came in a dozen flavors, maybe more. “You and Mack.”

  “I’m sorry.” I tried for sheepish. He didn’t turn. “I was pretty wasted last night, but yeah, I’m doing some work for the family.” Nothing. “And, well, with the old man dying, I’ve run into some issues. I’m trying to get a handle on what’s going on with them.”

  “Can’t help you.” He reached under the counter and pulled out another box, this one with a picture of an ice-cream sundae on the front. “I only knew them back in the day.”

  “I remember you said that.” I did, vaguely. I looked at the package, at the melting ice cream on the front. “People really smoke these things?”

  He nodded. “Some people. They’re the next big thing, supposedly. E-cigs.”

  “E-cigs.” I picked up the box and thought about Jill. I could see her going for a kiddie flavor like this. “One of his daughters smokes these.”

  “Huh.” It’s not good business to disparage customers. Randy didn’t seem to care. “Not Judy, I bet.”

  “No, I was thinking of Jill.” A memory tickled the edge of my mind. “You used to hang with Judith, right? I guess she was Judy back then?”

  A nod, as he turned back to me. “Yeah, we had some fun.”

  “So you must have met the old man.”

  Another nod, this time accompanied by a snort of laughter.

  “He must have been a hard ass.” I thought about my father. He’d been gone before I started going wild, not that he would have cared much.

  The big guy only shrugged. “He didn’t have no truck with me,” he said. “It was Judy’s next boyfriend that made him crazy.”

  “Who was that?”

  “I don’t know.” He went back to stacking cartons. “I’d gotten a new girl by then. I only heard about it when the old man came in here.”

  “Was he a smoker?”

  “Yeah, like a chimney.” Out of habit, Randy turned around. I bet that he could’ve grabbed Canaday’s favorite carton without looking, but he stopped himself, putting both hands on the counter. “At least, back then. The first heart attack scared him, though. Scared him into quitting.”

  “How’d he quit?” I thought of Jill’s electronic “smoke.”

  “Cold turkey.” Randy’s voice spoke of a grudging respect. “Just—stopped.”

  “You think he could’ve been using one of those e-cigarettes?” I thought back to what I knew of the old man’s health. He hadn’t been ill that long.

  “Maybe,” a shrug. “But I doubt it. He was pretty hard core. One of those ‘I don’t need a crutch’ types.”

  “Huh.” I didn’t know what it meant, if anything. “Did Judith—Judy—smoke?”

  “Not her.” More respect. “Not Jackie either. Only their kid sister. She was always the daddy’s girl.”

  I looked at him, wondering if he knew about the will. Wondering if I’d said anything in my cups. “I guess the rivalry goes way back.” I was fishing again.

  “Oh, yeah.” He nodded energetically. “Jackie and Judy were always at each other’s throats. Like cats and dogs. Judy wouldn’t even stay at the old man’s place when she visited, not once Jackie moved in.”

  “Did she before?” I didn’t see Judith as the filial type. That seemed to be Jackie’s role.

  “I guess.” He shrugged, big shoulders heaving up and down. “Or, no, I don’t know. I don’t think she’s been back for at least a year. Maybe more.”

  That fit with everything I’d heard, and it made me wonder. What had I wanted to talk to this man about? Had I been that befuddled by the booze?

  “What about Jill?” I was thinking about rivalries. About how siblings play things out.

  He shrugged as he took the last box from me. “Jill was the baby.” He placed it on the display, ice cream facing front. “She was spoiled. If she didn’t get what she wanted, well, you know how girls can be. They’re like cats, sometimes. You think they’re all pretty and cute, but then they go for you.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Randy was right about one thing: Jill was determined to have her way. By the time I got home, she had left me a message.

  “I’m going to talk to Dr. Sharpe about the kitten, Pru
. It’s bad enough that my sister is fighting me about the will. I won’t have her fighting me about a kitten, too.”

  More power to her, I thought as I opened my fridge. As for me, my workday was done.

  “Good. You can spell me.” Wallis had come up behind me, as silently as a cat can. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Um, pizza?” I pulled the box out of the fridge, aware all the while of Wallis’ eyes on me.

  “I’d rather eat kibble.” She turned to stalk off, which reminded me. “Or something livelier…”

  “Wallis, where’s the kitten? Why didn’t you bring him out when Jill was here?” I turned around. She’d left. “Wallis?”

  I wasn’t worried, not really. Wallis may be short with me, but she’d never hurt an innocent kitten, would she?

  “Innocent?” I could almost hear her sneer at that. “And those chickens you eat…they’re guilty of what?”

  “Wallis.” I tore into the living room, where she lay sprawled on her side. Beside her, the kitten was trying to bathe.

  “You missed a spot.” Wallis murmured, eyes half-closed. In response, the kitten reached, straining, to lick the inside of his thigh, and fell over. Wallis raised her head ever so slightly, but she was looking at me. “Innocent, indeed.”

  “I get it.” I stomped back to the kitchen. She could hear me, I was sure. “I’m not the only one who cares about the kitten.” Wallis could have been talking about the kitten or about Jill. I couldn’t tell and now didn’t seem like the right time to debrief her. After all, Wallis would understand fighting for the lion’s share. Or the lioness’.

  What she wouldn’t understand, I thought as I slid the cold pizza from the box, was why I was discouraging Creighton. Wallis might be beyond romance—the shelter where I found her had taken care of that. She was always and ever a pragmatist, though. Creighton gave me pleasure. He also brought us food. She wouldn’t understand why I had to keep him at arm’s length.