The Cat Sitter's Nine Lives

Home > Other > The Cat Sitter's Nine Lives > Page 24
The Cat Sitter's Nine Lives Page 24

by Clement, Blaize, Clement, John


  “Mr. Silverthorn, I think I should tell you that I have a friend. He knows you. He knows you quite well, in fact, and I’ve told him everything I suspected. It won’t do you any good to kill me now. When he finds out, he’ll tell the police everything and they’ll arrest you. Your only hope is to turn yourself in.”

  “I believe you’re referring to my missing footman, Mr. Vladim?”

  “Yes, I am. And I know where he is.”

  He nodded. “I’m sure it’s a lie that you and Mr. Vladim have talked about me at all, but yes, I know where he is, too. And you may be surprised to know that your ‘friend’ was on his way to the bookstore to help me with Mr. Hoskins when he crashed into that landscaping truck.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t believe you. He may be a criminal, but he’s not a murderer.”

  He smiled. “He doesn’t want to go to jail for bank robbery; therefore he does what he’s told or I’ll report him and his wife to the police. I’m not a violent man, Miss Hemingway, all present appearances to the contrary. I would never have shot Mr. Hoskins if I’d had another option. My plan was to distract him while Vladim replaced those chocolates by his register with others to which I’d added a secret ingredient.”

  “A rosary pea.”

  “Oh! I see you’ve been reading your book. You’re quite remarkable, aren’t you? Yes, a rosary pea. I knew from my wife that Mr. Hoskins never left the store without finishing off the chocolates in that bowl, so my plan was perfect. However, Mr. Vladim seems to have had a change of heart at the last minute. He apparently decided he’d rather die in a car crash than take part in a murder, and I imagine he thought he had thwarted my plan—for a bank robber, quite an honorable act when you think about it. But he didn’t die in that crash, did he?”

  I just stared at him, dumbfounded.

  “Miss Hemingway, your attention to detail is impressive, so I’m rather surprised you don’t remember me. I was there when you saved Mr. Vladim. I was right in front of you … in a black Cadillac…?”

  As I stood there staring into his steel gray eyes, the barrel of the gun trembling in the space between us, a series of images played through my mind, like a montage in fast motion. The old woman in the Cadillac in front of me, her mannish jaw, her white gloves stretched over her hands, her perfectly coiffed hair like a wig, and that lavender scarf tied around her neck …

  Mr. Silverthorn seemed to be a man of more than a few disguises.

  He shifted the gun from one hand to the other, and even in the low light I could tell it was fitted with a small, cylindrical piece of metal … a silencer.

  He nodded at the bag of chocolates in my hand. “I assumed those chocolates were destroyed in the fire, but apparently he put them in your bag at some point. He’s a smart fellow. I should have known. He probably thought they could be used to incriminate me.”

  I shook my head and tried to concentrate. “Why drag him into it at all?”

  “Culpability, Miss Hemingway. Had everything gone as planned, I knew the police would scan the footage from that webcam across the street, and they would have seen Vladim entering the store. Once I’d turned him in, it would only have been a matter of time before they traced the poisoned chocolate to our kitchen, where Janet prepares our meals. Then they would have found the cash from Mr. Hoskins’s register, the cash that I had hidden somewhere in Vladim’s bedroom.”

  I closed my eyes and slowly shook my head. He had probably asked Janet to make the chocolates. Either she’d put the rosary peas in herself or he had added them later. Either way, the whole time Vladim and Janet had been working for Mr. Silverthorn, they’d been afraid he would turn them in to the police, and here he’d planned on doing exactly that, and framing them for the murder of Mr. Hoskins on top of it.

  I said, “You’ve forgotten one thing, Mr. Silverthorn.”

  “What is that?”

  “You have no power over Mr. Vladim now. The police have identified him. When he’s well enough he’ll go to trial, and I imagine they’ll be very happy to give him a lighter sentence in exchange for the story he’ll tell about you.”

  “Yes, I’ve considered that possibility already. I’ll be paying Mr. Vladim a visit as soon as I leave here.”

  My heart stopped. “No. You’ll be caught. They’ll figure it out.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but they won’t. I wasn’t seen going in or leaving the bookstore, and I didn’t touch a thing without gloves on, so there are no fingerprints. And with no one left to testify otherwise, I’ll be quite fine.”

  His words were confident and assured, but I could see he was still trembling, and there was fear in his voice. I was certain he never thought it would come to this, and in spite of myself I felt a momentary pang of sorrow for him.

  I shook my head. “Mr. Silverthorn, is this really the story you want to be told about you?”

  His eyes softened. “My dear, the story ends here.”

  I saw the blast more than felt it. A small flash of light. I remember thinking of the brilliant shade of yellow the sun turns as it dips its hazy edge into the sea, and as my head hit the pavement, I thought of Cosmo. It’s funny how the mind works. I thought to myself, Now I’ll never catch him.

  I lay there on my back and listened to the clicking of Mr. Silverthorn’s footsteps receding in the distance, and then shortly thereafter the low rumble of a car starting up and speeding out of the alley.

  I waited.

  There wasn’t any pain, just a vague and distant ache in the back of my head where it hit the concrete, and then a strange feeling of pressure on my sternum. The pressure shifted slightly, and I opened my eyes. At that point, I was certain it was a dream. There, in the center of my chest, was a big fluffy orange cat, sitting primly and looking down on me with a slightly curious expression in his deep green eyes.

  I whispered, “Cosmo?”

  He purred gently and his eyes narrowed, as if to say, “Pleased to meet you.”

  A tiny smile played across my lips. “Likewise.”

  As slowly as possible, I inched my left hand down along the concrete and eased my cell phone out of my side pocket. When she didn’t answer at first, my heart started racing, but luckily, after the third ring, the line clicked and I heard McKenzie’s familiar voice. “Dixie?”

  I tried to keep myself as calm as possible, but my voice was shaky. I said, “Samantha?”

  There was a pause. “Dixie, what’s wrong?”

  I took a deep breath, “Mr. Silverthorn killed Mr. Hoskins. And he’s on his way to the hospital right now to kill Vladim, the bank robber I pulled out of that car crash.”

  I heard a sharp intake of breath. She said, “Where are you?”

  “I’m in the alley behind the bookstore. He just left me. If you go now you’ll get to the hospital before him. Sarasota Memorial Hospital. And I think he might be dressed up like an old woman.”

  “An old woman?”

  “Like the old woman in the video.”

  “Dixie, what—”

  I interrupted. “You have to trust me this time.”

  There was a pause. “I’m sending my men to the hospital now. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I said, “I’m sure,” and then I just clicked the phone off. I didn’t think there was much more to say.

  I lay there and watched the stars overhead pull in and out of focus. It was completely quiet, except I thought I could just make out the gentle hum of the ocean and the rhythmic song of its waves rolling in to shore, the song I’ve heard my whole life. In a little while I started to shiver slightly, and I could feel my hands and feet beginning to turn cold.

  As gently as possible, I eased myself up on my elbows and slowly turned my head over to my left shoulder. In the bunched black fabric of Ethan’s big hoodie were two burned, dime-sized holes, one where the bullet went in, and another where it went out.

  It had completely missed me.

  29

  For a long time, longer than I care to admit, I dreame
d about Christy every night. I’d dream I was tucking her in at bedtime, or cleaning her Popsicle-stained fingers with a warm washcloth … just little things, little moments that either did or didn’t actually happen. She was always giggling and happy. She’d tell me not to be sad, because even though she was gone, she was always with me. I’d wake up in the middle of the night and chase after the scattering remnants of those dreams, like dissolving vapor trails from a jet plane.

  Most mornings I’d have her clothes for the day neatly laid out on her bed, but she’d paw through all the closets like a wild animal and come downstairs in an outfit of her own making—one of my T-shirts over a sundress with baggy leggings and oversized sunglasses, or a fluffy pink tutu over faded jeans with one of Todd’s ties draped casually around her neck.

  As I drove home through the darkened, moonlit streets of Siesta Key with all the windows open and the cool, salty air streaming through the Bronco, I thought about Baldy and Janet, driving across Texas and holding up banks to save their child. I couldn’t exactly condone what they’d done, but I certainly understood it. If I’d been given half a chance to save Christy, nothing could have stopped me.

  Nothing.

  So who was I to judge? When Christy was killed, I had dedicated my entire life to fighting on the side of the law, but I knew down to the soles of my feet that all it would have taken was just the tiniest slip of fate to throw me right to the other side of it. If I’d thought robbing banks would have helped her, I would have robbed banks.

  By the time I turned down the driveway, I’d made up my mind. When McKenzie called, I wouldn’t say a word about Janet unless she asked me point blank. I wasn’t exactly sure what my plan was, and I didn’t see how I’d ever get a chance to talk to Janet before the police did, but I was still holding on to the hope that somehow I could convince her not to run.

  Then there was Mrs. Silverthorn …

  When I got to the curve in the lane, I switched off the headlights and rolled the rest of the way down with nothing but the moonlight to guide me. Once inside the carport I cut the ignition and put my seat back. I had a feeling my phone would be ringing any minute, and I didn’t want the guys to hear. The thought of having to explain everything tonight made me shudder to the core. So instead I leaned my head against the window frame and stared at the darkened treetops, breathing in and out.

  I caught a glimpse of myself in the side mirror and thought, considering everything, I looked okay. I felt okay, too. In fact, except for the gnarly bump on the back of my head and the feeling I’d been whacked in the trunk with a Louisville Slugger, I felt pretty damn good.

  I looked over at the passenger seat, where Cosmo was sitting quietly inside his cat carrier and watching me carefully. I whispered, “Moses Cosmo Thornwall, considering everything, you look pretty damn good, too.”

  He squinted his eyes and said, “Mrow,” which I took to mean, “I love you too, but get me out of this stupid box, you foolish woman.”

  I figured I’d take Cosmo to Dr. Layton for a checkup in the morning. For now, he could stay with me and get a good night’s rest. I just hoped Ella Fitzgerald wouldn’t be too horrified to have him sleep over. Then, just as I predicted, the phone rang.

  McKenzie barely waited for me to say hello. “I just received a report that we had a call earlier tonight from the butcher. He said he heard a pop and then saw a car speed out of the alley. He wasn’t sure, but he thought it might have been a gunshot.”

  I said, “Yeah, that was Mr. Silverthorn.”

  There was a pause. “Dixie, would you care to expound on that statement?”

  “Oh, sorry. Yeah, he shot me … but it was dark and he was shaking. He missed.”

  “And you’re just telling me this now?”

  “I wanted you to get to Mr. Vladim before he did.”

  She sighed. “Well, you were right. We arrested Silverthorn in the lobby of the hospital in a white dress, a gray wig, and full makeup. He had a pistol hidden under his arm.”

  I said, “He was going to kill Mr. Vladim. He knew what Silverthorn had planned. And that nude drawing I found? It was Mrs. Silverthorn. I’m not sure if it’s true or not, but he took it to mean she’d had an affair with Mr. Hoskins.”

  There was a pause. “Dixie, I’m afraid I owe you an apology. You may have been wrong about poison being involved, but you were certainly right about a connection to the Silverthorns.”

  I said, “Yeah, well…” but I stopped myself. I knew if I told her I had four chocolate-covered rosary peas in my pocket she’d be banging on my front door in two seconds flat.

  She said, “So the old woman in the video, it was Mr. Silverthorn. He hid in the back and then killed Mr. Hoskins after you left.”

  I sighed. “No, the man in the store, the man who sold me the book … wasn’t Mr. Hoskins.”

  I could almost hear her mind shifting into gear over the phone. She said, “Dixie, I need you to come down to the station. Now.”

  I thought for a moment. I imagined myself walking into that station again after all these years. I imagined passing through its double glass doors, letting them close behind me with a whispered sweep, walking down the linoleum-floored hallway, the walls lined on either side with framed portraits, color photographs of the head brass and department heroes, and stopping at the front desk to check in … a walk of less than twenty feet, a walk that I’d made so many times before, and yet had seemed so impossible for so long.

  I said, “Detective, it’s late, and I’ve had a long day. I was in the middle of something important when Silverthorn called me tonight. I’d like to get back to that.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Alright. Where would you like to meet?”

  I said, “How’s nine o’clock at your office?”

  There was a pause, and then she said, “Excellent. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. Thanks.”

  “Dixie, I believe it’s me who should be saying thanks.”

  I felt my cheeks turn warm. Whenever I talked to McKenzie, I always had this nagging suspicion that she wondered how in the world I’d managed to become a sheriff’s deputy in the first place—that I was just some silly blonde with an overactive imagination. It felt good to know that maybe, just maybe, I was a silly blonde with an overactive imagination that she respected. I pictured a press conference where she thanked me for solving the case, and then the mayor stepped in to present me with the key to the city …

  She interrupted, “But Dixie, there’s one more thing. I’m afraid you may have to testify on this one. Mr. Silverthorn seems to have known what he was doing. There’s no sign of him in the bookstore, and without hard evidence that places him at the scene of the crime, I’m afraid it will be your word against his.”

  I nodded quietly to myself, and then the image of Mr. Hoskins appeared in my head, or, I should say, the man I thought was Mr. Hoskins—that sweet, bumbling old man I had instantly liked, the man who had reminded me so much of Mr. Beezy, my old childhood friend, when life was simple and the world was such an innocent place.

  I could see Mr. Hoskins’s red beret, his funny yellow suspenders and red shirt, and I remembered pointing to his chest and saying, “You forgot a couple of buttons.”

  McKenzie said, “Dixie, are you there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Was there something else?”

  I said, “Yeah. Those brass buttons on Mr. Hoskins’s shirt? You should check them for fingerprints. I think you’ll find they match Mr. Silverthorn’s.”

  * * *

  After we hung up, I tiptoed across the yard and up the steps, carrying Cosmo with me and preparing the story I’d tell Ethan when I got inside, but he wasn’t there. I took a couple of bowls down out of the cabinet and filled one of them with some of Ella’s kibble—I didn’t think she’d mind too much—and then I filled the other bowl with fresh water from the tap. Cosmo didn’t seem too interested, though. He was already thoroughly exploring every inch of the apartment, so
I left him to get acquainted with his temporary lodgings and went back downstairs.

  Michael and Paco were still wrapped in each other’s arms and sound asleep in one of the chaise lounges. Sprawled out in the next lounge over was Ethan, perfectly still, his dark, curly hair falling partly across his face and the top button of his pants undone—something he does when he’s eaten too much.

  I smiled. There was an empty plate on the deck under his chair with some crumbs of key lime pie, and he was holding one arm over his chest, his fingers splayed delicately across his throat, as if to say, “Why, I do declare!”

  Luckily for everyone, there were still a couple of slices of pie left on the table. I took one and sat down quietly next to Ethan. I took a bite. It felt like pure, unadulterated joy on my tongue. Like God was petting me.

  Ethan stirred and looked up at me with squinted eyes. “Hey, babe. How’d it go?”

  I whispered, “Fine. We found Cosmo. He’s gonna spend the night with us.”

  He said, “Nice job,” and then ran his hand up and caressed the back of my head. I felt a jab of pain from the bump there and pulled away.

  “Watch the hair! It took me half an hour to get it to look this gorgeous.”

  He curled tighter around me and smiled sleepily as he laid his head in my lap. “Wow. You are such a girl.”

  I gazed down at the ocean and watched the moonlight bounce and glitter on the waves as they rolled silently up on the beach. I should probably have been sleepy, too—my body felt like it had been hit by a runaway train, and the bump on the back of my head was pounding away as if it had its own pulse, but I didn’t feel the least bit tired. I was wide-awake.

  “And also … we found out who murdered Mr. Hoskins.”

  I looked down so I could watch Ethan’s reaction, but his eyes were closed and his lips were slightly parted. I could hear his breathing, slow and steady, and every once in a while his eyelids flickered slightly. Michael and Paco were still fast asleep; with their legs and arms all intertwined, it was impossible to tell whose was whose.

 

‹ Prev