How to Wash a Cat

by Rebecca M. Hale

  A delivery bike screeched up in front, and a slim, heavily tattooed man with bulging calves dismounted and clacked up the steps in his plastic biking shoes. I was still staring at the building when he returned moments later, whipped up his bike and pedaled off, iron leg muscles gaining momentum to pound him up the next hill.

  I held up the parchment, searching the map for the location of Leidesdorff’s warehouse. Another red trolley car rolled by, its wheels banging loudly against the rails, the fog-piercing sunshine glinting against its brass finishings. As the ringing of its bell disappeared up the hill, I saw it.

  On the bottom right-hand corner, an imprint had been pressed into the paper. I brought the map up close to my glasses, squinting at the mark.

  It was a three-petaled tulip. The same design as the handle to the gold key. The same design as the sketch on Oscar’s renovation drawings. The same design as the gold cufflinks Oscar had traced back to Leidesdorff.

  I wondered again about the gold, tulip-shaped cufflinks Gordon Bosco had worn at the board meeting the previous evening. The image of Oscar’s casket sinking into the deep, black earth flashed before me as the ubiquitous phrase echoed in my head—in case something happened to him.

  I pulled out my cell phone and called the police station. A switchboard operator picked up. “Hello? Can I help you?”

  “Yes, hello,” I replied, hesitating for a moment, intimidated by the spontaneity of my action. “I’m calling about an autopsy that was done on my uncle about a week ago.”

  “I’ll transfer you.”

  I waited as the line rang. The sound of plastic knocking on plastic banged in my ear as someone scooped up a receiver.

  “Yes,” came the answer. It was a man’s voice, flat and pickled, as if it had been soaked in formaldehyde.

  “Yes, hello, I had some questions about an autopsy that was done recently on my uncle,” I said and gave him Oscar’s details.

  Computer keys clicked in an otherwise silent void.

  “I don’t see any records of that here.” The voice was cold, sterile. “I’m sorry, you must be mistaken.”

  “But—someone called and told me that there’d been a preliminary autopsy. That my uncle had died from a stroke,” I insisted, growing frustrated.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Ma’am. We have no records of any autopsy being done.” He coughed uncomfortably. “As far as I know, we don’t do preliminary autopsies.”

  Chapter 15

  I WALKED PENSIVELY back to the Green Vase, my brain more fuddled than when I left, unsure of how to process the information from the police department. Someone had called to assure me that Oscar had died of a stroke. That diagnosis now seemed less and less likely. My head swam with grim possibilities as I turned the tulip key in the door and walked inside.

  Rupert was fast asleep on the cashier counter, soaking up the sun streaming in the window. A couple of stray pieces of litter had shaken out of his coat onto the counter. One paw hung lazily off the edge, swinging back and forth like the pendulum on a grandfather clock.

  “Glad you’re keeping an eye on the place,” I said sarcastically.

  A light snuffle was his only response.

  Isabella chirruped a warning from her perch on top of the bookcase. A half-second later, the floor creaked behind me. I turned to find that my curly-haired, omnipresent neighbor had followed me through the front door.

  “Afternoon, everyone,” Monty greeted us.

  The feathery tip of Rupert’s tail twitched slightly in response.

  “Hi, Monty,” I said, appreciating more and more the value of an underground tunnel that might allow me to come and go unnoticed by my nosy neighbor. “How’s it going?”

  “I’ve come to see you about an opportunity.” He smiled winningly. “Actually, I’ve already put you up for it, so you have to accept.”

  I cringed. “Um, you know, things are really busy right now,” I responded evasively. “I’ve got a lot of work to do here. . . .”

  “Oh, this will be great for your business! I’m sure you can fit it in.” He began to pace back and forth. His hands stretched above his head as his long fingers gripped at the air, gathering his thoughts.

  I could see that I was about to be treated to an in-depth presentation, so I began to look for a place to sit down. I glanced at the dental chair, but, remembering the episode with the recline lever, decided to aim for the stool behind the cashier counter instead.

  Monty was just getting warmed up. “I’ve got this client who runs an auction house—her name’s Dilla. She’s a dear, you’ll love her. She dropped off a painting the other day that I think you’ll be interested in.” He waved his hand as if setting this thought aside on a mental shelf. “I’ll show it to you later.”

  Rupert yawned and joined Isabella on the floor in front of the pacing Monty. Monty nodded to him, acknowledging the added audience.

  “Dilla grew up in this big Victorian up on Nob Hill. It’s a bit run down now, but it must have been a beautiful house in its day.”

  I could see the corner of the metal stool behind the cashier counter. I began circling Monty, trying to get close enough to slide onto it.

  “Dilla’s a peach.” Monty gave me a knowing look. “She’s old San Francisco society.”

  I eased over towards the stool. A few more feet, I thought, and I could fake a fall and make up the rest of the distance.

  “So, Dilla’s liquidating this estate for a client, someone’s aunt or other who passed away. They were going through the goods and came across a box of costume jewelry. It’s made up to look like diamonds, emeralds, sapphires—very convincing imitations. The client has decided to donate the costume jewelry to charity to help defray some of the inheritance taxes.”

  Monty paused and looked pointedly at Rupert. “They’re donating the whole kit and kangarooto a cat rescue operation down on the peninsula.”

  Rupert began hopping up and down in a circle around the stuffed kangaroo. Monty watched, a jubilant expression on his face.

  “What have you done to my cat?” I demanded.

  “Just a little kangaroo joke between me and Rupert,” Monty said smugly. He paused, proudly watching Rupert’s antics.

  Muttering under my breath, I stalked around the counter and took a seat on the stool as Monty jumped back into his spiel.

  “Dilla’s going to hold the charity event in the ballroom at the Palace Hotel a week from Friday. They’re selling tickets, the whole nine yards. And, she’s going to get the Mayor to come. That will ensure a big turnout.”

  Our Mayor was young, dashing—and recently divorced. Any event that could advertise his participation was sure to be inundated with swooning females hoping to catch his eye.

  “That sounds exciting and all, but I don’t think . . . ”

  Isabella pounced on the bouncing Rupert, and the two of them began wrestling and rolling across the floor in a furry, white blur.

  “I haven’t got to the best part yet,” he interrupted. “The original owner of this jewelry must have been crazy about cats. This costume jewelry—it’s done up for cats! It’s cat jewelry!”

  Isabella looked up at Monty’s latest revelation, and Rupert decided to take advantage of her momentary distraction. He coiled up for a full body leap and launched himself through the air. Isabella stepped aside at the last second, and a sprawling Rupert went spinning across the hardwood floor. Isabella, smiling triumphantly, turned her focus back to Monty.

  “Dilla was going to use stuffed animals to display the cat gear, but I said, ‘Hang on there, I know just the cats for this job!’ Rupert and Isabella would be great for it. They’re comfortable around people, and they wouldn’t cause any fuss. I’ve never met such social cats. Their white coats are the perfect color for showing off baubles. It’ll be brilliant!”

  Rupert looked up at him adoringly; even Isabella started to preen. I could see that I was going to have a tough time vetoing this idea.

  “We’ll think about it,�
� I said, ushering Monty out the door.

  “Excellent. Dilla will be by this afternoon to meet Rupert and Isabella.”

  “Well, I might have to step out. . . .”

  He chose not to hear me. “Right then, I’ll see you later. This is going to be a great gig.”

  I sighed as Monty finally left us. Two furry heads stared up at me inquiringly.

  “This is a ridiculous idea,” I said, my hands on my hips. “Even by Monty’s standards.”

  I looked at Rupert. His eyes had glossed over, filled with visions of a glamorous photo shoot with himself playing the role of a fat, rock-star cat spread out in the middle of a gluttonous array of gourmet cat food.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” I said resignedly.

  I moved upstairs so that I could pretend not to be at the Green Vase when Monty’s cat-jewelry person arrived. I turned the tulip key in the lock in the front door, grabbed my backpack holding the parchment and guidebooks, and headed up the stairs.

  An hour later I was seated at the kitchen table, studying the history section of one of the guidebooks. Isabella sat on a chair watching me work while Rupert slept soundly, beached like a whale on the floor nearby. Isabella’s ears jumped at a sound downstairs.

  “What was that?” I asked as Isabella headed for the stairs, quick and quiet, stalking the sound. Rupert wheezed out a snore as I jumped over him.

  I nearly squashed Isabella as I rounded the bottom of the steps. She was in hunting mode, flattened against the ground. Her sharp, blue eyes were locked on what looked like a giant peacock in the middle of the showroom, bent over a display of assorted gold trinkets.

  Isabella licked her lips and prepared to leap as I called out, “Can I help you?”

  The creature turned around revealing an elderly woman wearing an outfit comprising every possible form of feather-related accoutrement. Her light blue suit was trimmed with feathers around the hems of the skirt and jacket. A feather boa circled the loose folds of her neck and dangled down to her bulging midsection. Still more feathers poked out of her hat, front suit pocket, and purse.

  Isabella backed off of her hunting posture, but her eyes retained a wistful, hungry expression.

  “Ah, there you are. Such a cute little shop! I’ve always thought so. Of course, I haven’t been in here in quite some time. I was so sorry to hear about your uncle. The place seems altogether different without him in it.” Her eyes wandered around the room. I had the strange sensation that she was looking for something.

  “Monty sent me,” she continued. “He said I should just knock and come in—that you were probably upstairs. I’m Dilla Eckles. I’m running the auction for the cat jewelry.”

  I fought off a strong urge to sneeze as the plumed woman walked towards me.

  “A pleasure to meet you,” I said, introducing myself as I shook the hand that shot out at me from the feathers. I glanced at the front door, now wide open. The tulip key rested on the cashier counter.

  “That’s a lovely door, dear. That’s new, isn’t it?” Her voice twittered like the bird her clothes were impersonating.

  How had this woman managed to get inside the store, I wondered, perplexed.

  “Yes, the old one was broken. . . .” I scratched my head, still staring at the open door.

  Isabella stepped out from behind me and sat down in front of our strangely dressed visitor.

  “Oh, what a beauty!” Dilla trilled. “Monty said they would be perfect for the job. He’s got wonderful taste that man.”

  Rupert staggered into the room, still half asleep. Our voices had woken him. Afraid he might miss something, he had hurled himself down the stairs. He wasn’t prepared for the whirlwind of feathers that suddenly swooped him up. I heard him gulp as Dilla grabbed him around the belly.

  “Oh, and here’s the other one. Soooo cute! The color is just right—wait ’til you see them in the costumes!”

  Rupert tried to manage a pleasant look. He was having a hard time breathing with the way she was holding him around the middle.

  “So,” I said, trying to figure out a way to rescue Rupert. “Monty mentioned you might need some cat models.” Rupert was starting to look a bit faint.

  “Yes, yes, dear. Monty said that they would be perfect for this, and I can see that he was right. They’re just the right color. The white fur will really highlight the stones.”

  Rupert’s panicked eyes pleaded SOS.

  “And that nice, young Mayor is going to come. Well, I’m sure he will once I catch hold of him.” She gave me a wink. “If I was just a few years younger. . . .”

  Isabella and I looked at each other. Maybe a bit more than a few years younger.

  Rupert gave a feeble cough.

  “Oh, I think he’s got a hair ball. Here dear, maybe you should help him.” She handed a nearly expired Rupert over to me. Relieved, he took a big, unobstructed gulp of air.

  “Now, we’ll need to do a fitting,” she said, wiping her hands across the front of her suit, trying to brush off the dirt and Rupert hair that had stuck to it. “How about tomorrow afternoon? I’ll serve lunch. I’m sure Monty can close up the gallery and join us.”

  Even Rupert looked like he was starting to have second thoughts. I was about to politely decline Dilla’s offer when Isabella started purring loudly and rubbing up against the peacock’s legs. Rupert looked down at her as if she’d lost her mind, but I had just caught on to what Isabella’s sharp eyes had seen, hidden beneath the flurry of feathers.

  The ploy worked and up sailed Isabella. She was more nimble than Rupert in positioning herself in Dilla’s arms and, thankfully, breathing freely. Ever so subtly, Isabella flicked aside the feather boa with her paw, revealing a silver and gold necklace.

  “Oh, what a lovely necklace,” I said, dumping Rupert to the floor. He scooted a good five feet behind me to ensure he was safely beyond the feathery creature’s wing-span.

  Dilla smiled and set Isabella on the counter. “Thank you, dear.” She brushed back the plumage to show off more of her neck.

  It was, in fact, a lovely necklace, but my interest went beyond typical female whimsy. The necklace was made of gold and silver pieces interlocked to form the now familiar motif of three-petaled tulips.

  “It’s one of my favorite pieces of jewelry.” Dilla wagged a pudgy finger towards Isabella, who was studying the necklace closely from her vantage point on the counter. “It’s for humans, not kitty cats.” She sighed pleasantly and pointed at the key on the counter. “Strange how similar the tulip shapes are to the one on that key you’ve got.”

  Not for one second did I believe that this latest tulip sighting was a coincidence. “So, for the fitting session, then,” I said. “What time would work best for you?”

  “How about two, darling? It’ll be a late lunch. Monty has the address.” She looked at Rupert’s wide belly. “We can try on the costumes and make any adjustments we need to get them to fit.”

  I followed her swishing feathers to the door. She placed her hand on the handle and rubbed her thumb across the raised tulip embossed on its surface. Then, she turned back towards me, her voice dropping to a whisper as she nodded towards the middle of the room where Rupert sat on the floor looking warily up at us. “You might want to give him a bath before the big event.”

  I smiled in response, hoping that Rupert hadn’t heard her last comment. “Two it is. We’ll see you then.”

  She walked through the doorway and called out from the sidewalk. “Can you tell Monty? I’ve got an appointment downtown and don’t have time to stop at his place. He likes to talk, that man.”

  I nodded. “Maybe I’ll leave him a note.”

  I shut the door behind her and turned the tulip key in the lock. I stared at the tulip shape on the handle for a moment before climbing the stairs to the kitchen to fetch the padlock.

  Chapter 16

  MONTY SHOWED UP early the next afternoon, bursting with ideas about the auction. He peppered me with a constant stream of them
as I pulled out the cat carriers for our trip to Dilla’s.

  “Little cupcakes in the shape of a cat’s head. White, creamy frosting with tiny, sparkling candy around the neck.” Monty stood in the middle of the kitchen, lecturing to the microwave as I stuck some older towels in the bottom of the carriers.

  “No,” he turned now to the refrigerator. “No, no. Cookies. Then you can get the whole cat in.”

  Isabella sauntered into her crate. Rupert sat on the floor, giving Monty a disturbed look.

  “The whole cat shape, mate. No one’s going to cook any cats for this event, I assure you.”

  I bent down towards the floor trying to convince Rupert to climb into his crate as Monty resumed his list. “We’ll need champagne and strawberries . . .”

  Rupert was still sore around the ribs from yesterday’s encounter with Dilla, and he was not eager to repeat the experience. He finally backed into the cage, giving me a look that indicated he might not exit until the crate returned to the Green Vase.

  “. . . candles, in the shape of cats,” Monty prattled on.

  I stood up, grabbed a water bottle, and stuffed it into my shoulder bag. “Let’s go.”

  We headed out the door, each of us hefting a cat carrier. It had been Monty’s idea to take a cable car up to Dilla’s, since parking was difficult to find in her neighborhood. I had argued for a more practical taxi ride, but Monty insisted he—and his buddy Rupert—needed the fresh air of the cable car.

  As we walked the couple of blocks to the nearest trolley stop, we approached a colorful display that I suspected was Mr. Wang’s flower stall. It was a low-slung structure of exposed plywood and two-by-fours that looked as if the next strong gust of wind might do it in. Rolling racks of blooming vegetation had been pushed out onto the sidewalk to alleviate the cramped space within the stall.

  Mr. Wang greeted us as we approached. “You’ve come to buy more flowers?” he asked, his voice as thin and reedy as the previous day.

  “Sorry, not this time,” I replied. “We’re on our way to visit someone up in the city.”