Kittens Can Kill: A Pru Marlowe Pet Noir

by Clea Simon

  “Jill, please—” I reached over, put my free hand on her arm. “Privacy is—”

  I didn’t get to finish. “Squirrels, oh my.” The old lady exclaimed, her voice rising. “Can’t you use poison?”

  “What?” Jill whipped around—too fast for me to remind her that I still held a paw.

  “Mrowr!” Half-squeal, half-hiss, the cat drew back in protest.

  “Whoop!” Meryl threw up her hands in alarm, further startling Princess, who pulled her paw—claw still extended—through my hand as she jumped.

  “Pru!” Jill was by my side in a moment, a tissue in her hand. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” I took the tissue and pressed it into my palm. Princess was on the floor, glowering. “I must have touched the quick.”

  “My poor Princess!” Mrs. Sandburg was attempting to lower herself to her knees.

  “Mrs. Sandburg, please let me.” I stood, but Jill was ahead of me. With both arms around the old lady’s shoulders, she guided her back to her chair. “I’m sure Pru didn’t really hurt her.”

  “I’m sorry about that.” I smiled, making a fist. I didn’t need her to see how the tissue had already turned red with blood. “My bad.”

  She blinked at me, and for a moment I wondered if the excitement had been too much for her.

  “I wonder about you, Pru,” she said, at the same moment patting Jill’s hand. “Perhaps you’re getting a little, well, old for all of this?”

  “Nonsense.” I kept my smile on, as a tactical measure, until, down on the floor she could no longer see my face. “Princess?”

  There was nothing ambiguous about the hiss that answered me. But although the tubby Siamese was the one under the end table, I knew I was the one who’d been cornered. Under any other circumstance, the thing to do would be to leave. To let the animal calm down before proceeding. Right now, the way Meryl Sandburg was cozying up to Jill? I didn’t dare.

  Luckily, I do have an edge.

  “Princess—Princess Raja—I am so sorry.” Although animals don’t necessarily understand me, I trusted that my intent, and also my respect, would come through. “I am here to serve you. To groom.”

  I reached for the catnip, but we were beyond that. I tried to picture a cat with a kitten. Something calming and natural. Wallis with the kitten.

  Another hiss. Well, Wallis wasn’t the most maternal cat. And females do tend to be territorial rivals, much like—I thought with a flash of regret—our own species.

  “Why?” The cat was calming down. The question might be vague, but it was better than that spitting hiss.

  “She was startled.” I tried to re-create how Meryl Sandburg’s voice had sounded. How she had yelped. “They both were.” I didn’t know what else I could tell her. Wallis and I communicate easily, having had years of practice. Besides, as she likes to remind me, she is an exceptionally intelligent creature.

  “And I am not?” As I watched, Princess sat up from her angry crouch and eyed me.

  “You are regal and I wait to serve you.” In a gesture common to both our species, I lowered my eyes to the ground.

  “You may.” As calm as if nothing had ever happened, Princess stepped out from under the table, brushing against me as she passed. My offering had been accepted.

  “Let’s try that again, shall we?” With another smile, a little more natural this time, I pulled the hefty beast onto my lap. And although Meryl continued to fuss, I made sure to focus on the feline until all four paws were done. Jill, I couldn’t help but notice, was doing her best with the old lady, cooing and petting her as if she were the one with the claws.

  “Thank you.” With careful steps, the old woman saw us to the door. I had cleaned the litter box and refilled Princess’ food and water dishes by then, as the old lady clung to Jill’s arm. “I do hope you’ll come around again.” She was addressing Jill, I realized. “Some people simply understand how things ought to be done.”

  My mother, particularly toward the end, had railed against what she called “the good folk of Beauville.” I was beginning to understand why.

  “What happened back there?” I asked as we made our way back to the car.

  “Gosh, Pru.” She looked over at me, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. I guess you spooked me, grabbing my arm like that. I thought that, you know, with the catnip and all…”

  “Catnip isn’t a sedative. Some cats barely respond to it.” I grumbled as I unlocked the car. My hand was throbbing and her affectation of wide-eyed innocence wasn’t making it feel any better. “And you can’t go talking about other clients that way. They trust us. They let us into their houses.”

  “Got it.” She climbed into the passenger seat. “I thought, maybe, because Mr. Wilkins is such a big deal in town, it would sound good. You know.”

  I looked over at her as the engine roared to life. “Meryl Sandburg is a long-standing client,” I said. “I don’t have to sell her.”

  Jill wisely didn’t respond to that, and as I drove away, I had to ask myself if what I’d said was true. Maybe the cat had acted on her own, responding to something I hadn’t caught. Or maybe it was me. The old lady seemed ready enough to believe the worst of me—and the best of my new young acolyte. I didn’t think that Wilkins’ name carried that much weight. Though clearly he meant a lot to Jill Canaday, enough to totally absorb her. Unless it was the mention of poison that had caused her to bear down—startling the cat and completely redirecting the conversation.

  Chapter Forty-five

  I had a few more calls to make, but Jill didn’t protest when I drove her back to her car. The silence had grown awkward by then, and I’d have taken twice the clawing Princess had given me to be able to go back and question the regal feline.

  Since I couldn’t, I was merely wasting my time. And by the time I started back home, I realized I still hadn’t called Dave, the carpenter. I wasn’t too worried about securing his services. Beauville wasn’t a hotbed of construction activity, not since the recession anyway. Still, if I had any hope of staying in Wilkins’ good graces, I should at least be able to report that a repair was on the way.

  I still hadn’t figured out what to do with Ernesto, either, but at least he seemed to be in good spirits. He’d made himself apparent immediately on my return home, nearly tripping me as I walked into the kitchen with two bags of groceries.

  “Watch it!” I’d stumbled sideways as the little furball scooted away.

  “Finally.” Wallis sauntered in soon after, watching with interest as I removed a dozen eggs and a package of bacon. “Cook much?”

  “I know, Wallis.” I’d never felt the call toward homemaking. But until my money situation improved, rotisserie chicken was too much of a luxury.

  “I can…” She brushed up against me, a solid warmth against my shin. “Contribute…” The thought ended in a purr, as I got a glimpse of spring fledglings, still soft with down.

  “Thanks, but we can manage.” I’m never sure how serious Wallis is about her hunting. She is, after all, a housecat. I know better than to offend her by expressing this out loud, however. “Look, I’ll make some eggs as soon as I reach this carpenter, okay?” She didn’t answer either.

  Trying not to take it personally, I fished out the scrap of paper Albert had given me. Randy’s. Well, it was a small town.

  “Hey, Pru.” I could picture the big man behind the counter. I pictured him with a smile. A greasy smile. “What’s up?”

  “This isn’t a social call.” I heard the acid in my tone and worked to counter it. “I’ve got a job for a buddy of yours. Dave Altschul.” I paused and waited. More silence. “He’s a carpenter, Albert says?”

  “Yeah, yeah, Dave does all kinds of stuff.” A slight noise—almost a hiss—and I realized he’d slid his hand over the receiver. “No, he’s not here now.”

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?
” I wanted to ask him about Jill, but not over the phone. I couldn’t tell who the man was talking to or who was in his shop. Better to stick with asking about the carpenter. There couldn’t be that many people offering paying work around here.

  “Not sure,” said Randy, after a brief pause. Another silence, while I considered driving over there. “You can probably find him at Happy’s though.”

  “Great.” I hung up. So much for Albert’s recommendation, although in truth most of Beauville did end up at Happy’s, the blue-collar Beauville, anyway. “Wallis?” I looked around for my cat. She had clearly heard all she needed and had disappeared.

  ***

  It wasn’t even dark by the time I got to Happy’s, not that it mattered much to the crew at the bar. Three men, all grizzled, were facing the wall as I walked in. Only one looked up.

  “Mack.” It was an acknowledgment, rather than a greeting, and he squinted up at me as the door swung closed.

  “Pru.” He started to stand and appeared to think better of it. I’d bet he’d been here a while.

  I waved off Happy as he came over. “I’m looking for someone,” I said to the room in general. “Dave Altschul?” Nothing. “I’ve got a job for him?”

  Some low muttering could be heard in the back. Whether from surprise or relief, I couldn’t tell. I turned to my onetime beau. “Mack, do you know him?”

  “What’s this about, Pru?” He talked over the drinker between us as if he couldn’t hear. Maybe he couldn’t. “This have something to do with those Canaday girls?”

  “What’s it to you?” Seeing Mack, worn and legless with drink, was making me mean.

  “You know your business.” He turned back toward the bar. He’d heard it too. “It’s just…”

  The drinker between us got up. As he headed for the restroom, I came over. “What?” It was as close as I’d come to apologizing.

  He nodded. Non-apology accepted. “Those girls are bad news, Pru. I don’t think you knew them back in the day…”

  I shook my head. Judith had been a year or two behind me. Jackie was older. Jill not even a blip on my screen before I left town.

  “You looking for me?” I turned. A burly redhead, his face dusted with freckles, stood facing me. Behind him, the bearded stool warmer. “Something about a job?”

  “You’re Dave?” I wondered at his timing. Surely, my voice had carried to the back of the bar.

  He nodded. “You work with Albert?”

  “Sort of.” If that were how I’d pass muster, I’d take it. “So you’re available for a carpentry job.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He looked at me, taking in my worn jeans, the flannel shirt I’d donned once again as the spring afternoon grew cool. “What’s it pay?”

  “I’ll negotiate that with the client.” I kicked myself for not thinking of this earlier. “But it will pay top rate, if you can get to it immediately.”

  “I’ll see if I can clear my schedule.” He was smiling now. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

  I followed him over to the far side of the bar, where I filled him on the damage. I hadn’t told him who the client was, but he’d nodded at the address.

  “The Wilkins place,” he said. “I know it.”

  “You do the addition?” I didn’t want to say the work was shoddy.

  “Me? No.” He shook his head, laughing. “I’d have done a better job. At a better price, too.”

  I liked this guy, so far. “I gather some of his neighbors agree with that.”

  “Or they’re just stingy.” He looked up at me, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. He knew I was checking his credentials. “I did old man Canaday’s gutters a few years back. Man, he was on me about every nail.”

  “Well, I’ll be project-managing this job,” I said. “But we’ll start with some trust.”

  He nodded, accepting my terms. “How about I come around tomorrow, after work, and take a look at it?” he said, once I was done. “I could be there three, three-thirty.”

  “Sure.” I hadn’t realized he had other work. That also spoke well of him. “But do you have any other way I could get in touch with you?”

  He looked at me, confused.

  “Albert just gave me the number for Randy’s. Said you were staying there. And Randy, well, he sent me here.”

  “Albert.” The tone said it all as he held his hand out. I handed him my phone and he punched in a number. “Not that Randy’s any better.”

  “Speak of the devil.” As Dave had been speaking, the door had opened behind him, letting in the last of the summer twilight as well as the hefty smoke shop proprietor with Albert close behind him.

  “You found him.” Randy came up to us, beaming. “This little lady was looking for you all over, Dave.”

  I raised my eyebrows. That was warning enough for Albert, who took his friend’s arm. Randy, however, wasn’t to be stopped.

  “Said she had a job for you.” He emphasized the word with a leer.

  “We’ve talked.” I cut him off. “But come to think of it, I’ve got some questions for you, too.”

  “Oh?” The fat man threw one leg over a stool and tried to slide onto the seat. The move was supposed to look smooth. Instead, I was reminded of a dog trying to wipe its butt on the ground.

  “Yeah, about the Canaday girls.” Mack had settled back onto his stool by then. Now his head jerked up and just as quickly looked away.

  “You must have been catching up on old times this week, huh?” I watched Randy, watched the smile falter. “Big chance to provide some comfort, huh?”

  “Yeah, uh, well….” The leer was gone now, as Randy looked around at the other men. “That wouldn’t, uh, that wouldn’t have been right.”

  “Oh, come on,” I was pushing. “Not even good old Judy?”

  “What? No.” He said it a little fast. Shook his head like he was nervous.

  I thought of Albert, of the scene I had interrupted at his office. “‘Cause Albert here hasn’t been wasting any time.” I paused, trying the idea on for size. “He was hitting on Jackie, when she came in to talk to him about their dad’s cat.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” Albert doesn’t usually speak up for himself, so it was a surprise to hear his voice as he jumped between us. “I was helping her figure out what to do.”

  “Really?” My question was for Albert, but I was watching Randy. “‘Cause I was wondering about Jill, too. She must be the age Judy was when you were seeing her. Huh, Randy? And I hear she’s been coming into the store.”

  “What? No.” Randy shook his head. He was staring at Albert. Albert took a step back. “I mean, yeah, sure, I see her sometimes, but you can’t think.…She drops in when she’s in town.”

  “Does she?” The voice, at my shoulder, was soft. Still, I jumped.

  “Jim.” Even in the dim light of the bar, he looked a little brighter and certainly more clean than any of the other men. “I didn’t see you come in.” I’d have noticed if the front door had opened up again, I was sure.

  “Couldn’t help but overhear the conversation,” Creighton said, taking a hit off a beer bottle. So he had been here all along. “And when Dave came up to talk to you, I thought I’d join in.”

  “I had some questions.” I turned toward him, my back stiff. Every man there knew we were lovers. If they expected to see some kind of interplay—if they expected me to back down—they had another thing coming. “I happen to know that Jill Canaday smokes those e-cigarettes.”

  “They call them ‘vapes,’ Pru.” He took another drink, emptying the bottle. “And I know it, too. And to head off your next question, she didn’t see her dad the day he died.” He reached past me to put the bottle on the bar. “She got in just about the time they were calling him at the hospital.”

  So he was asking. Checking on Jill’s whereabouts. On her—the word sprang
into my mind—alibi. I wanted to know more, but not here. Not now. Not with a half-dozen hairy woodsmen staring at us as if we were the evening’s entertainment.

  “Well, if I’m going to work tomorrow, I’d better call it a night. I’ve got things to do,” said Dave, breaking into what was becoming an awkward silence. “See you tomorrow, Pru. Three-thirty at the latest.” Putting his own bottle on the bar, he sauntered out.

  “See you.” I kept my eyes on Creighton, gauging my next move.

  “You might want to call it a night as well.” He leaned in, softening his voice with a smile.

  “And you?” I heard the hoarse note in my voice and cursed silently. I hadn’t meant that, or not only. And I certainly didn’t need to stoke the salacious interests of the men around us. Sure, I wanted Creighton. I can’t stand that close to him and not, but I was more interested in what his plans were. Jim Creighton is not the kind of man to hang around at Happy’s. Not without a reason.

  “I think I’ll have another drink with Randy here.” He nodded to the bartender and another bottle appeared. “We’ve got some catching up to do.”

  I could have sworn I heard the big man swallow. “Be right back,” he hurriedly excused himself, leaving his own beer on the bar.

  I watched the shopkeeper as he trundled toward the back of the bar. Randy hadn’t been straight with me about his connection to the Canaday girls. Some of that might be bluster. But if Creighton wanted to question him that meant there was more going on. If my favorite cop came over afterward, and something in his smile suggested that this was likely, I’d do my best to get it out of him. By any means necessary.

  With as much dignity as I could muster, I nodded to the assembled crew and turned to go. I heard some rustling behind me as the men rearranged themselves around the bar—and around Creighton, who had suddenly become the center of gravity. What I didn’t hear were any calls for me to stay. This was men’s stuff—drinking and, in the case of my beau, talking. Largely, I suspected, about the women who had been, and maybe still were, so instrumental in their lives.