Cats Can't Shoot: A Pru Marlowe Pet Noir #2 (Pru Marlowe Pet Mysteries)

by Clea Simon

  “Nancy? This is Pru. I wanted to touch base about Princess—Pickles.” I caught myself quickly, but I heard her chuckle.

  “Princess Pickles. I like that. And what a sweetheart you are!”

  I liked the cat. I did. That wasn’t why I was calling. “Would you like me to stop by? Sometimes, an injury or an accident can be traumatic for an animal.”

  Princess Achara had more poise than most people I knew. I wanted to talk to her.

  “Oh, we’re just fine. Thanks anyway.”

  “You’re fine?” I was stalling. It paid off.

  “Completely. It was the darnedest thing.” Nancy Pinkerton’s voice sounded more proud than confused. Knowing her cat, I could understand that. “I felt like she just had to get into the garage. Just had to go for a ride, and that was before she started playing with the ribbon, too. But it all worked out, didn’t it? We even got home before the storm, so don’t you worry about us. We’re all tucked in and cozy.”

  “Well, see you on Wednesday.” Her words had only confirmed my suspicion: the Siamese had been trying to tell me something. What that was, though, would have to wait.

  The car was toasty warm by then, the car’s oversize engine purring like Wallis. Driving this beast might be difficult, but it was certainly powerful. And the body, well, if anyone else tried to ram me, at least this baby had airbags.

  That’s when it hit me. I needed to retrace my steps. Go back to the accident site and look around. I shivered despite the warmth. Then, I thought, back to the county shelter. I’d been pretty panicked when I’d been looking around yesterday, and the crowd hadn’t helped. Maybe on a quiet Sunday, I’d be able to find out something new. Maybe the brush would turn up. Maybe the Persian would, too.

  As I cruised along the state highway, I had another thought. Perhaps I’d been looking at the wrong crime. Nobody would kill to cover up a catnapping, would they? No, this had to tie in with something bigger. Tom hadn’t told me all he knew. He’d been afraid to. And his buddy, Bill as he’d called himself? There was something going on with him.

  The big car lacked road feel, but it did eat up the pavement as I replayed our conversation. Lew. My questions. Tom. None of it seemed inflammatory. I hadn’t even had a chance to ask about Donal Franklin’s will. In his own way, Tom’s employer—that was the only way I could think of him—had almost seemed to like me. The image of his leering smile, his insinuating offer, came back, making me shudder. The feeling wasn’t mutual.

  I don’t like feeling intimidated. I like being sneered at even less, and, besides, this big car was eating up gas. I pulled over into a service station and before I filled up, I looked through the numbers that had called me recently. Only one had a New York area code: Tom.

  “Hey, Pru.” I’d caught him off guard. I could tell by the laugh. “What’s up?”

  “Your friend.” From the silence, I assumed he was with a woman. I didn’t care. “From the funeral? Bill?”

  “Oh, yeah, Bill.” He was stalling. It was too early for him to be drunk, and he wasn’t usually slow. “What about him?”

  “I need to speak with him. Now.”

  “Pru, that’s not a great idea.” I had his attention now. “You don’t know—

  “Tell him I’m a client. A potential client. He gives credit to ladies, didn’t he say that?”

  Silence. I had no patience for that trick today. “Tom.”

  A sigh and what sounded like a muffled curse. “I’ll call you back.”

  Nice thing about mobile phones, they’re mobile. So I filled my tank and set off down the road. Ten minutes later, I was cruising a stretch of highway, looking for something that might identify where I’d gone off the pavement. Trouble was, I couldn’t tell. Bare trees, still black with moisture. Patches of snow on dead leaves. I was slowing to check out one spot—something about that stand of birch seemed right—when the phone rang. If I’d been in a smaller car, I might have driven into the ditch again. Instead, I pulled over and reached for the phone, cursing under my breath.

  “Tom.” I wasn’t in the mood for any more delay tactics.

  “Sorry, honey.” Bill’s voice sounded obscenely close to my ear, the endearment as chilling as glass. “You got me instead.”

  I swallowed. I hate starting off with a disadvantage. “Can we talk?”

  “Sure, how about lunch?” He named a restaurant near the shelter, and for a moment I had a creepy feeling he was watching me. “I know you do some work with the animal hospital near there.”

  The explanation didn’t help, but I agreed. I looked out at the cold and sodden woods. I wasn’t going to find anything here anyway. We picked a time, and he hung up, leaving me with more questions than before.

  “What if…” How could I forget? Although my senses were too dull to pick up anything, I wasn’t alone out here. Far from it. Parking on the verge, I got out and tried to acclimate myself. That turn, those birches. No, it was no use. So instead of looking for clues, I tried to clear my mind. I had been here—or somewhere near—only the night before. There had been violence, a disruption.

  “Flee! Flee!” The alarm call made me jump, and I spun around in time to see the shadow of a hawk. “Quick!”

  Something scurried under the leaves. I took a breath and tried to settle. Thought back to the storm, the snow—and the awful thudding route my car had taken down into the ditch.

  “Watch it, watch it, watch it. No!” I looked up, but no. Some other small tragedy had just occurred. Nature was taking care of its own. My misadventure was nothing to these creatures, last night an eternity ago. With that thought in mind, I got back into the big car and made my lumbering way toward lunch.

  At least, I thought as I waited for the hostess, I’d be early. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to ask Bill. I didn’t think he’d confess to anything, no matter how charmed he pretended to be. Watching him, though, that might be something.

  “Were you meeting a gentleman?” The hostess was looking at me expectantly. Sure enough, Bill was already there, rising to greet me, that big grin firmly in place.

  “Miss Marlowe. How lovely.” I nodded and took my seat, afraid for a moment that he would kiss my hand if I offered it. “Oh dear, you’ve had an accident.”

  The damned Ace bandage. Then again, that might be my in. “I wouldn’t necessarily call it an accident.” I wanted the acid in my voice to cut through the grease in his. “Someone tried to run me off the road last night.”

  He raised his eyebrows. He didn’t look surprised. “And you’d like my assistance with something?”

  This was an interesting development. “You do that kind of thing?”

  “I—” he waved his hand, as if the words were too unpleasant. “I can often provide services. Introduce people.”

  “You’re awfully candid.” I found myself smiling. It isn’t often that a gangster comes right out with a menu.

  “Tom said I could trust you.” The smile was back. “Not that I necessarily trust Tom.”

  I laughed. I was warming to the old guy. “Tom is Tom.”

  “He also said that you would say that.” At that point the waitress showed up and we ordered. A burger for me, a Cobb salad and a glass of burgundy for Bill. “Wine?”

  “No, thanks.” This was becoming one of the stranger meals I could remember.

  “So,” he linked long fingers together and leaned forward, over them and closer to me. “How may I help you, Miss Marlowe?”

  “It’s Pru.” His eyes were clear and grey. For a moment, I thought about that hawk. “I’m trying to find out what’s going on.” Lew, Donal. They both flashed through my mind, along with the missing Persian—and my own car crash. Leads on any of these would be interesting. And useful, and I realized that not choosing was the best strategy of all.

  He was watching me still. Then he nodded, just once, as if I had confirmed something he already knew. “Your gentleman friend.”

  I nodded.

  “So silly.” He sighed. I thought of
the wind in a graveyard. “It’s manners, really. You look like a young lady who understands manners.”

  I understood something about predators. My burger arrived, but I kept my eyes on him. “In my line, you understand, there is an emphasis on discretion.” He paused to look at his salad, then speared a piece of cheese and ate it. The burger smelled fantastic, but I didn’t want to miss anything. “Particularly when introductions have been made, when allowances have been made.”

  He gestured with his fork and looked over at my plate. “Is anything wrong with your burger?”

  “Not at all.” I picked it up and took a bite without tasting it. “What do you mean, ‘discretion’?”

  “Please, we’re all adults here.” He was eating with relish, but he paused to dismiss my question with another wave of his fork. “Would you like something else? A steak?”

  I shook my head and tried again. “Well, tell me about the introduction, then.”

  “Your friend and I had some things in common.” He smiled, unaware of the lettuce that had stuck to his right front incisor. It didn’t make him look any less lethal. “We are both soft touches for beautiful ladies.”

  Will power kept me in my seat. Will power and curiosity. “Did Lew introduce you to Louise Franklin? Robin Gensler?”

  He shook his head slowly, as if reprimanding a child. “Please, Pru. I’m a gentleman. What message would that send to a lovely lady such as yourself?”

  “But you provided a service?” I was fishing.

  He knew it, shaking his head. “I am happy to do favors, particularly for friends and for”—his smile widened, showing more teeth—“beautiful ladies. But, please, I, too, am a man of honor.”

  Donal. I’d forgotten that he knew him, also. Not that it did any good. Forty minutes later, I’d given up. Bill had said all he intended, becoming the master of evasion when I pushed. At Donal’s name, he only shook his had, his smile turning a bit sad. When I asked how he knew Tom, he shrugged. His own business was dismissed as “a bit of this and that.” Even his home base was vague. “I’m partial to the city, of course. But this area has some lovely vistas.”

  Exhausted, finally, I dressed my burger properly and ate, letting him grill me about my life. I figured, he’d have been able to get it all from Tom anyway. To my surprise, he asked me several questions about my work with animals.

  “Most of it is pretty basic.” I was finishing the fries by then. “Simply try to put yourself in their place. See what they see, figure out what they want.”

  “Try to think like them, huh?” Those gray eyes sought mine.

  I swallowed hard. He had put me off my guard. “Something like that.”

  “Fascinating.” I held my breath, but he only turned to signal the waitress. “Allow me,” he said when she arrived with the check. “This has been a most wonderful lunch.”

  I was still reeling a little as he helped me on with my coat, but I had the foresight to excuse myself before he could see me out. Ducking into the ladies room, I watched him walk out the front door, and I quickly made my way to the foyer window. True to form, he paused once he descended the steps, turning first left and then right like a wild creature on the lookout for predators—or prey. Then he pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and walked into the parking lot. I strained to see. I still wouldn’t know why, but if he got into big black car, especially a car with a dented front grill, I would know who. I would know the enemy.

  I saw him duck down and cursed my luck. I’d have thought him too old for a Maserati, but the smile that spread across his face—much wider and more relaxed than any he’d shown me—made him look years younger as he got into the cherry-red sports car and drove away.

  Chapter Forty

  Unlike Albert, Doc Sharpe took his work to heart. His Sunday hours were shorter, and the county shelter quieter, but the door was unlocked when I arrived a little before three.

  “Doc?” It wasn’t that I was nervous. That lunch had been confusing, to say the least, but I’d gotten the distinct—strange, but distinct—impression that Bill had liked me. I’d also pretty much decided that he hadn’t been the one who had tried to drive me off the road. Still, I found myself breathing a little easier when the vet’s bespectacled face peered out from the office door.

  “Pru.” That one syllable told me I was still in the dog house, so to speak. I needed to get back some leeway.

  “Thought I’d drop by. See if you could use a hand.” I’d put on my brightest smile, but he was looking at my arm. “I still have one.”

  He made a noise somewhere between a bark and a grunt and retreated. I followed. I would work around to asking about the brush. First, I went into the cat room—to Tadeus’ cage. The little fellow had been hard at work; the wood shavings piled by the back had softened the hard contours, making it look almost cozy. There was something too still about it though, too silent.

  “Tadeus?” I kept my voice low, my thoughts on the brown and white bunny. Nothing.

  I unlatched the cage and reached in. The wood shavings were indeed soft, but they were cool and still. No living creature had been in here in quite a while.

  “He’s gone.” The voice behind me made me jump, and as I turned, I knew my horror must have shown clearly on my face. “The rabbit.”

  “Gone?” The soft, little bunny.

  “Oh, no. No.” Doc Sharpe had the grace to look abashed. “Adopted. The mother of the family came by earlier. He was box trained, and they know about the wiring issue. I don’t destroy healthy, well socialized animals.”

  “Well socialized.” Did that take biting into account? But as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I felt the vet’s eyes on me. He still thought I’d taken the Persian. Asking about the grooming brush would only make him more suspicious. “Hey, want me to clean this up for you?” I nodded toward the cage. Pammy wouldn’t be in until tomorrow, and chores like this one tended to get put off as long as she dared. “It’s not exactly heavy lifting.”

  “If you think you can.” He eyed my wrapped arm. I smiled and nodded, and he left the room.

  In case he came back, I started with the cage. It felt wrong to dump all those shavings. Tadeus had arranged them so neatly, and as I scooped them into the garbage, I noticed how he had hidden a burrow in the corner, concealed by the food dish and another mound of shavings. The smell of cedar, warm and fresh, rose to greet me. He was a neat animal, and had piled his droppings in the far corner, behind his self-made nest. It made me think of a house, actually, with the trash placed around back.

  I was still thinking of that as I got the disinfectant—a bleach mixture—to finish the job. Something about the arrangement was sticking with me, like a reminder of something I’d forgotten. I was alone in the cat room: even the black-and-white had been taken home, so I didn’t think I was picking up on anything. No, it was a tickle in the back of my own mind. Something to do with bunnies, with burrows or cleanliness.

  The room was so quiet that I jumped a bit as my phone rang. And cursed after. I didn’t want to think that the crash—I couldn’t call it an accident—had shaken me that much.

  “Hello?” My voice was steady. I could do that.

  “Hey, darlin’.” Mack. I relaxed against the examining table and tried not to feel pleased. Last time I’d seen him, he’d been with another woman. I hadn’t been polite. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing much.” He might be regretting Saturday night; he might need money. I was on my guard.

  “Oh, don’t be so cold, Pru. You know you’re my girl.” There was no answer for that. “In fact, I’ve been thinking a lot about you. About us.”

  “Uh huh.” I put the phone on speaker and reached for the bleach bottle with my good hand. I was curious why he had called, but this wasn’t worth wasting my time.

  “It’s been a while, Pru. I mean, it’s not like you haven’t had other interests.”

  “Not a good tack, Mack.” I poured some of the liquid onto the floor of the cage and grabbed a handf
ul of paper towels. “Not right now.”

  “Oh yeah, right. Sorry. But, hey, maybe I can help cheer you up.”

  I waited for the inevitable: an invitation to Happy’s. In truth, I wasn’t sure what I’d say. Creighton was a little too close for comfort, and he was a little too much of a cop for me right now. Tom was, well, Tom was involved in something. Mack had the advantage of simplicity. I knew what I was getting with Mack.

  “Maybe.” Mack and his women sparked a thought. One of those women was Robin. “Hey, do you know a foreign guy, older, who’s been hanging around? Bill he calls himself.”

  “Doesn’t sound familiar.” I wasn’t surprised.

  “That—ah—might not be his name.” I described the short, tough-looking man. “Pointy chin. Smile like a shark. Big yellow teeth?”

  I could almost hear him gasp. “Him.”

  I waited.

  “You don’t want to be involved with him, Pru. Believe me.”

  “Oh, this sounds interesting.”

  “It’s not, Pru. Trust me. Look, I’m busy tonight, but tomorrow? We can talk. I mean, I could give you a lift to the garage, at least.”

  I could have choked on my unspoken words. Could have choked him, easily. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard my mother’s voice: something about lying down with dogs and getting up with fleas. Wallis would have sniggered at the phrasing. But before I could lash into him—or even follow up with more questions—he had hung up. The smell of bleach was strong, making my eyes tear. Whatever I’d been thinking before the phone rang was gone now, wiped as clean as any traces of Tadeus. But in addition to making my nose sting, the sharp tang was also waking me up. I’d been missing too much. Reacting instead of acting. What was Mack really up to, and what was Tom’s—hell, what was Robin’s—involvement in all of this?

  And how the hell, I asked the empty cage as I threw the wadded paper towels away, did Mack know that my car was in the shop?