by Clea Simon
“Hang in there, kitty!” I opened the door to find the belt from my terrycloth robe had been dragged into the hall, where it joined the catnip butterfly and an eviscerated felt mouse. “Is all this for me?”
In response, Musetta butted her head into my shins and threw her weight against me. I scooped her up and hugged her, but she struggled until I put her down again. She loved me, but she wanted her freedom. Maybe we weren’t that different after all.
I fed her, first things being first, and then checked my messages. The first message was from Andy Pilchard.
“Where are you, Theda? Don’t you know that as your attorney I should be kept informed of your whereabouts at all times?” I gasped. “Just kidding! Got your message. I’m actually calling from Patti’s place. She wants you to come over and have dinner with us tonight. And bring your lovely friend, she says. Is that right, sweetie?” I heard Patti’s high singsong in the background. “About eight?” At least some folks were happy.
The second message wasn’t Bill either. “Uh, hey, Theda?” The voice—deep, male—was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “I got your number from Ralph. This is Lee Wellner, from the Weekly Wag.” Great. I was being sought out for interviews now. I could see the headline: When Critics Kill. I reached to hit erase. “Anyway, I thought it was worth giving you a call. I hear you’re not doing ‘Clubland’ anymore, and I was wondering if you would talk to me about throwing my own hat in for it.”
***
I wanted to run and hide, but there were too many things that needed doing. For starters, I really had to talk to Piers. If I was going to meet with my lawyer later, I wanted to have more to give him than theories. Speaking of which, I dialed Bill’s cell.
“Hey, it’s me.” Was he in the middle of one of his punishing workouts or screening his calls? “We’ve been invited over to Patti’s for dinner tonight. I know it’s Saturday.” I swallowed, this was not the night to ask a clubowner to play hooky. Not with a club this new. “But I figure it’s a command performance for me. Andy Pilchard is going to be there. I could use the moral support.” I tried to make it sound like a joke.
Next, I put a call into Violet. “Wuh?”
Damn, I’d forgotten that she’d played Providence last night. “Sorry, Vi. I’ll call you back later.”
“No, what time is it? I should get up.” In the background, I heard a sound. Not quite a scream.
“Violet! Are you okay? What’s going on?”
“Huh? Oh, nothing. That’s just Simon, the Siamese.” She put the phone down and I could hear water running. I hung on, knowing she’d be back as soon as she’d splashed her face. When she picked up again, she sounded more alert. “Pretty awful, isn’t it? I worry about placing him, but every now and then he goes off, and what can I do? He’s gotta express himself.”
I looked over at my own cat, now napping on the windowsill. Musetta was talkative, but not like that. Still, the Siamese’s howling had sparked a question. “Violet, you know the cat Francesca brought over to the Last Stand? He went for me last night, and I don’t know why. I didn’t know he was a ‘nipper.’”
“Ellis bit you? Is he up on his shots?” That had woken her up.
“Wouldn’t you know? He came from your shelter.”
Simon howled again, and Violet started laughing. “This is too much. But, no, that cat was one of Francesca’s projects and she can be weird, what with all her natural cures. I say, if a cat stays, it’s got to be vaccinated. Rabies, cause that’s the law. Distemper, too, and feline leukemia if we can. I mean, I’ve got the whole community here to think about. But this guy was in and out so fast, so I don’t know.”
“Well, I think I’ll live. He scratched me, no biting. But he’d been perfectly friendly before. I don’t understand it. It was Francesca who called him a ‘nipper,’ as in ‘not immediately pet ready.’”
She chuckled. “That’s good. I’ve got to remember that. But, hey, maybe she was trying to convert him to veganism.” The Siamese howled again, an unearthly sound. “Don’t laugh! She’s been trying it. Or it could just be the club. Poor beast’s got to be under a lot of stress. Noise, and jazz noise to boot.”
I wasn’t satisfied, but I had too many other concerns at the moment. Violet anticipated one of them. “So, did you find anything useful in my letters?”
“Maybe.” I sighed. “I didn’t see anything we didn’t see before. But that’s actually sort of why I called.” She grunted and as I ran through my thoughts, I heard a loud purr start up. Violet probably pulled her old sweatshirt on and Sibley with it. The cow-spotted cat liked to drape himself around her neck. “But I’m kind of stuck until Pilchard can get copies of her letters,” I concluded. “So I’m thinking I could use the time to find out more about Rachel. Who was in her life, you know?”
“You’re not still thinking of putting it off on Piers, are you?” Musetta jumped up, alerted by something in the street below.
“What is it, girl?” I walked over. Down below, the street looked as it always had. But right outside, I saw the beginnings of buds on the trees.
“Theda?”
“Come on, Vi. I’m not even going to answer that. You know that was the lawyer. Not me. I just want to figure out what did happen.” Silence. “Vi, I’m the one who found her.” I shivered at the memory. “I’m the one who is going on trial.”
“I can’t believe this will all get that far.” I couldn’t respond. But I was saved by another howl. Either Simon was acting up, or someone had stepped on Sibley’s tail. “Look, I’ve got to feed this crew and make some calls about the benefit tomorrow. I’ll ask around about hate mail, too. A lot of my volunteers work with AIDS Action, and the neighborhood groups. Maybe someone knows something about our local creeps. Want to meet at the Mug Shot, say forty minutes?”
“Thanks, Vi. I’m buying.” It was automatic. She was helping me, after all. Only after we hung up did I remember that I no longer had a source of income, and that nobody was planning a benefit for me.
***
Since Musetta was awake, I spent a good ten minutes lunging her. Her latest toy, a bunch of ribbons attached to a wand, served to drive her mad and I had her jumping and circling to reach for the colorful streamers. I let her catch them a few times, too, just to keep her from getting frustrated and watched her lap and chew at the ribbons before she got tired. When she turned her back on me, preferring instead to clean a spotless white mitten, I tucked the ribbon wand into my desk. I’d heard too many horror stories about cats eating strings and streamers. This toy was not one I wanted her dragging around the apartment.
But the diversion did me as much good as it did my chubby cat. Pilchard was out of the office. I’d see him later, and there was no point in calling Piers until I had talked to Violet. My bills, however, were another matter. As I zipped my jacket, opting optimistically for a lighter coat than I’d worn the night before, I realized that I should get on it. I’d freelanced for other publications before. I could again. This afternoon, I really needed to work up some queries. If I could stay out of jail, maybe I could make my rent by writing about bathroom fixtures. Maybe if Lee got my old gig, I could get his.
“Musetta, do you have any idea what the Weekly Wag pays?” She stopped washing long enough to look at me. But whatever her thoughts, she kept them to herself.
***
By the time I got to the Mug Shot Violet had nabbed a corner table. Saturday, and the place was hopping. It was just my imagination, I told myself, that a silence had fallen as I walked in.
“Hey! How’re you doing!” Was Violet talking a little too loudly? I slid into my seat and dumped my coat. “You still buying?”
With a nod, I stood back up, knocking into a young woman. “Watch it!”
“Sorry!” This day wasn’t starting off well. But I managed to get two large, double-shot lattés,one with soy milk, and make my way back without any more mishaps.
“Sugar?” Violet looked up and saw my face. “Nevermind, I’
ll get.”
By the time she sat back down, my paranoia was ebbing. “Sorry, Vi. I just feel like everyone knows, like everyone’s looking at me funny.”
She snorted. “This crowd? All they care about is getting an outlet for their Powerbooks.”
“Maybe, but after last night, I don’t know.” I sipped my latté. Coffee milk by any other name, it tasted great. “Not just Ellis.” I’d seen her about to protest. “But things are still weird with Bill. People are talking about me, linking me with Piers. Who, I think, is avoiding me.”
“Well, let me see.” Violet wiped a soy milk mustache from her upper lip and began to count on her fingers. “He just lost the woman he’d been seeing. You’ve brought his name up to your attorney so he’s gonna be questioned. And if he was interested in you, well, as you say, you’re back with your boyfriend.”
“And I’m accused of killing his real girlfriend.” I finished the list. The caffeine wasn’t lifting me like it usually did. “Vi, the only people who aren’t avoiding me are Ralph and that creepy guy from the Wag, Lee Wellner.”
She shuddered. “Oh, now that’s scary.” Only when I was about to agree did I see that she was laughing. “Come on, Theda. He’s just a nerd. What is he, five-six? Maybe a hundred-twenty without those big glasses? Even I could take him. You’ve had a bad week. A really crappy week, but we’ll figure this out. Nobody can really believe that you killed Rachel. The rest of it’s just gossip. Piers is a pretty boy. He probably broke a ton of hearts when he settled down with Rachel, and now it looks like you’re next in line. Don’t sweat it. It’ll all blow over.”
I hadn’t had a chance to tell her. “Even if it does, I’m screwed. Just the fact that I’ve been arrested is enough for the Mail to have dropped me.”
“What?” Heads popped up to stare, and I shushed her. “That’s ridiculous. Whatever happened to your rights of due process? Innocent until proven guilty, and all that.”
“Violet, please.” I was whispering. “I’d rather everyone not know, not just yet.”
She glared, her green eyes full of righteous rage.
“It’s a newspaper, not a democracy.” I kept my voice low, hoping she’d follow suit. “Freedom of the press belongs to those who own the press.”
She nodded. Violet had been through enough not to need any more of an explanation. “Speaking of, nobody seems to know anything about any new weirdos. I mean, the Save Cambridgeport group has been getting nasty letters, but that’s been true for years.”
“Printed as well as handwritten?” She nodded, and my heart sank. “Damn, I really need to see Rachel’s letters, or at least to get to work on something.”
“Don’t worry, kiddo. We’re going to get you out of the doghouse, and give us both a sense of empowerment in this crazy city.” She pulled a legal pad and ballpoint from her old Army Surplus knapsack. “Once that’s done, I’ll deal with the Mail.”
***
At some point the caffeine must have finally kicked in. Either that or the camaraderie, but as I walked back home, I felt a spring in my step. The air was still nippy, but now it felt bracing. We had a plan.
For starters, I would call Piers. Trying to talk to him at work was foolish, and it was too easy to misread what was going on in a crowded bar. Then I’d do an Internet search for anything I could find about the city shelter. I could ask Bunny to rummage through the newspaper files as well, looking for problems or scandals. Then, tonight, I’d tell Pilchard about the letters. It was too early for him to have heard from the prosecution, or gotten that inventory, but from what Piers had said, Pilchard’s team was already gathering information and I wanted him to be on the lookout for the file from Rachel’s office. Tomorrow was the benefit, and everyone I knew would be tied up. But on Monday, when Violet escorted me and Musetta in to the shelter, she’d ask questions there, too.
Musetta was lying on her back when I came in, her belly exposed in the feline version of a pin-up pose. But I knew better than to touch that fluffy white fur.
“You’re trying to lure me, aren’t you?” I kneeled down to rub the base of her ears. “You want an excuse to bite me.” As she’d matured, I’d discovered, my cat had become increasingly sensitive to certain types of stimulation. While my last cat, James, had enjoyed having his belly rubbed, the same petting drove Musetta into a frenzy. She stretched in response, pushing her head further into my hand. I reached down to work on both ears at once and she opened her mouth, purring with pleasure. From this angle, I could see how some of her teeth had yellowed, the gums edged with an angry red.
“You need this cleaning, my dear.” As if in response, she reached up to grab my right hand with her paws. I pulled back, dragging her along the floor until she sprang up, ready to play.
Fifteen minutes later, she was sound asleep and I was washing two new scratches on the back of my hand. Bill always teased me about roughhousing with her, coining a rhyme that he repeated to all our friends: “Pet on the white, expect a bite. Pet on the black, less chance of attack!” But both my pet and I had needed the release.
Now I could get to work, and taking Violet’s cue, I looked for a pad to jot down some notes. What did I want to know? Well, as politely as I could, I needed to find out how things had stood between Piers and Rachel. I also wanted to know the history of their relationship, and if he was aware of any other men in the pretty vet’s life.
I tapped my pen on the pad. This was going to be difficult, particularly if he suspected I might be involved. But if I could win him over, then he would want to tell me, wouldn’t he? Unless he was the real murderer. “Impossible.” The cat opened one eye to check on me. “Okay,” I modified myself. “Unlikely. Now, go back to sleep, Musetta.” She rearranged herself into a coil and did just that, as I reached for the phone.
“Piers, it’s Theda. Theda Krakow.” We’d become club buddies, but I’d never called him at home.
“Theda.” His voice was flat, either with grief or fatigue. It was after noon, could I have woken him? “What’s up?”
At least he didn’t hang up. “I need your help, Piers.” The more I’d thought about it, the more it seemed the direct approach would be best. “I know this is a sad time for you, a horrible time. But I’m in trouble.” Silence. “You do know that I didn’t do it, don’t you, Piers? I’d never hurt Rachel. She was my friend, too.”
The pause lasted so long I began to grow afraid. But finally it was broken, by a sigh and a yawn. “Yeah, I believe you. I couldn’t see you hurting her.”
The wave of relief made me so weak, I was glad to be sitting. “Thanks, Piers. That means a lot. But, you know, my lawyer says that the police aren’t going to investigate, now that they have me.” It felt so odd to say “my lawyer.” “I mean, now that I’ve been arrested.” That felt odd, too.
“You gotta be kidding.” He was more awake now. “They can’t give up.”
Good, I needed him to be angry. “I don’t know. I mean, I hope not. But that’s why he’s asking questions. That’s why his investigator called you.” Silence. “I’m sorry about that Piers. I really am.” More silence. Was I being a fool?
“Look, Piers.” I was taking a gamble, but it was the only way I knew to function. “I need your help on this. I want to look into her life, maybe find out who could have done this.”
“You think it was someone she knew?” I heard a window open and traffic. Vi had said he had one of those apartments on Commonwealth Avenue, and I could picture him at the window. I wondered if he was wearing a shirt. “Theda?”
“Sorry, again, I just don’t know. But if it was just random, why would her killer come into her office at her practice, you know? And it was, well, it was bloody.” I swallowed, the image of Piers replaced by something much more horrible. “Anyway, that’s why I’m calling. I need to know more about her life.”
“Sure.” The traffic faded, and I pictured him walking back into a room, maybe sitting down on a couch as ratty as mine. “But we hadn’t been together that
long.”
“When did you start seeing each other?
“Couple of months ago. Let me see, I brought Miss Tish in in December. She had an earmite problem, bad, and I really liked Rachel. I mean, to be honest, rats turn a lot of women off. Then I saw her at a show, something at the River Bank, and found out that she knew Violet. It’s funny, maybe because of Vi, I thought maybe she was gay, too. She was just different from a lot of the women I meet.”
I knew what he meant. Good-looking boys in bands had their pick of women, but the ones who clustered closest tended to be both younger and more frivolous.
“I mean, she was really pretty. I noticed her eyes right away, and her hair. But she was really strong, too. Tough, almost, and really straightforward.”
This was my cue. “Was she seeing anyone else? Or had she been?”
“Had she broken some hearts?” He sounded lighter. The memories were doing him good. “You’d think. But no, nobody recent. I guess she’d been serious with someone in college, but when they were both in grad school, the pressure split them up. Since then, there hadn’t really been anyone. I think he might’ve cheated on her, she was a real stickler about that.”
“Must have been a change for you.” I was fishing, but he just laughed.
“No kidding. I mean, I was seeing a couple of girls when she and I first hooked up, and that didn’t work for her at all.” I waited, my next question on the tip of my tongue. “But they were all casual, and she was special.”
“So, that was okay by you? Settling down like that? I mean, you come from different worlds, there weren’t any tensions?”
Piers laughed again, sounding totally relaxed. “Are you asking if we fought? Yeah, of course we did. That’s why I stopped seeing anyone else. And I started working at the Last Stand as a steady gig to fill in between contracting jobs. She loved my music, really, but she wasn’t comfortable with me living from hand to mouth. Get a job, be faithful. She was very clear. But, you know? She was worth it.”