by Clea Simon
Francesca was on a roll. “She called me, the night before. I thought she’d reconsidered. But she’d seen the notice from the crematorium. She knew I was going to pick up Shiva’s ashes and she was warning me. She told me not to try to come into the clinic. Not to try to see Piers again or to spread any more rumors about him. Not to apply for any job, anywhere in the city, where I’d be working with animals. But it’s a free world, right? She was in early, and it was easy enough to walk right in. She was in the treatment room, setting up. That’s when it came out. She got all up in my face. Told me it was my fault. Told me I’d not only killed Shiva but I’d endangered every other cat in the shelter by not vaccinating her for distemper. That I could have killed all Violet’s cats, too. Like I’d known she’d give it away. And then I saw it: the needle, the IV. She was about to do it, all over again. She’s already taken everything from me once.” She paused, breathless from her own retelling, and suddenly started. “Wait, that couldn’t be—”
I followed her gaze. Musetta was staring, hunched over, bottom beginning to wag. Francesca must have recognized the motion.
“Musetta, no!” I reached down as my cat pounced. Francesca jerked her foot back, Two thin lines of red showed on her ankle. But this wasn’t play for my cat, not this time. I didn’t know if it was the smell of the contaminated pet food, the volume of Francesca’s voice, or some subliminal signal from me, but Musetta reared up, hissing, and swiped again with claws unsheathed.
“Ow!” Francesca jumped back. I lunged for the bag, and as I pulled it toward me, Francesca fell against the counter. We both saw the knife at the same time, but she was too fast for me. I stumbled backward, into the living room. Not fast enough. I felt a burning and a wave of nausea and looked down. Already, the blood was spreading, the deep color soaking up my shirt.
The clatter of the knife hitting the floor startled me out of my stupor. Francesca threw up her hands and dived for Musetta. “Run,” I yelled, the effort cutting the pain fresh through me. Musetta dashed out of the room and I almost laughed with relief when Francesca turned toward me instead.
“No, of course not.” She seemed to see me for the first time. “Well, the cops already know you’re a dangerous criminal. If anyone questions me, I’ll say it was self defense.”
I staggered backward, the movement sending waves of sickness through me, and fell into my chair. The hand pressed against my belly felt hot, but I was shivering. The edge of my vision started to dim. With my last bit of strength I flung my messenger bag at her. Cans flew out, scattering everywhere. She smacked one away and laughed.
“You’ve just made my case stronger.” She stared at my midsection and smiled. I had nothing left to try. “Goodbye.”
She was gone, but I was too tired to call for help. As my eyes closed, I felt a thud. Musetta was in my lap, leaning against me, her body warm against the chill. She was purring, and that was all I knew.
Chapter Twenty-four
When I woke up, Bill and Violet were staring at me. I was in a bed.
“Francesca—”
“We know.” Violet looked at Bill and started talking. “I’d called Bill, too, and, when you didn’t show, he headed over. I had to pick up my van anyway, and I got there as Francesca was leaving. She was bloody, said Musetta had bitten her. But she couldn’t explain why she had that bag.”
“And I’ve never known Musetta to draw quite that much blood.” Bill was smiling. I didn’t think that was funny, but I didn’t have the energy to protest.
“I’d figured out something was wrong back at the shelter,” Violet continued. “After you took off. I stayed to follow up. I couldn’t figure out how the poisoned food could have gotten back into the cat ward. Some other cats had eaten it, too, but they hadn’t gotten as sick as Musetta. Ellis was one of them. That’s why they were being so adamant about the quarantine. Only, when I started asking questions it turned out that one of the volunteers, that new girl in the green top, recognized him. She was sure that he’d been dropped off Sunday night by someone looking just like Francesca. She said the woman complained that he was vicious. That he bit. That he’d—”
“Never be pet quality.” I was starting to wake up a bit. “I know, a ‘nipper.’”
“Yeah, exactly. Plus, Francesca had seemed a little hinky about wanting him back, you know?”
Poor cat. Francesca must have wanted to make an example of him. Had she planned to rescue him all along, or would she have let him be killed? She must have known how Bill felt about the big, black cat. Maybe that’s why she showed up. Maybe she did have some feelings, after all. But Bill was talking.
“Anyway, after the ambulance came, we figured out what must have happened. I called some folks I know from across the river and they picked her up at her place.” I closed my eyes. “She had a set of pink scrubs with blood on them. The Boston DA’s office think maybe she was going to use it to frame somebody. You, or maybe Tess.”
Violet interrupted from very far away. “She’s asleep, Bill.” I wanted to protest, but it seemed like too much work.
***
The next thing I knew, everything hurt. Bill and Violet were still there, but something was different.
“What time is it?” The sun was too bright for me to have been napping long. I looked around at a white hospital room. An IV dripped something clear into my arm.
“About one.” Bill looked absurdly pleased. “Wednesday.”
“What?” I tried to sit up. Big mistake. But as the wave of pain and nausea passed, I realized Violet was explaining something.
“Best I can figure, she was trying to make Ellis into some kind of feline martyr. That big old guy’s a love bug now. She must have been taunting him or something to make him lash out. What a jerk.”
I nodded. Slowly. We’d reached the same conclusion. But something Bill had said stuck with me. “So, it’s Wednesday?”
“Yeah, babe.” He reached forward to brush my hair from my face, a stupid grin still plastered across his face. I had no idea what I looked like. I didn’t think I wanted to know. “You more awake now?”
“Yeah.” My mouth felt like a litterbox. I reached for the plastic cup of water on my night table and Bill jumped to hold it for me. “You told me about Francesca.”
He glanced back at Violet. “She said we ought to let you know right away. I wasn’t sure how much you were taking in.” He turned away from me to refill my cup. “We had a bad night.” There was a catch in his voice.
I drank some more. The room, everything that had happened, started to come in more clearly. “Francesca came over to get the bag.” I closed my eyes to think. “Musetta!” I started, sending off waves of pain.
“Don’t worry.” Violet must have jumped up. She was leaning over me, almost holding my shoulders back against the bed. “She’s fine. Bill has your keys, remember? I went by and checked on her this morning, before visiting Tess’ cat. She’s eating and pooping like a proper cat.”
I nodded again, more easily. Whatever was in the IV must be good. “She wanted to ruin Rachel’s life, get revenge. Piers, the job, her cat.” The pain was moving farther away. “She fed that story to Wellner. Did she write those letters, too?”
“I don’t know, babe. I don’t know if we’ll ever know.”
“I bet she did.” Violet chimed in. “I knew there was something odd about the last one we got. Something familiar. I want to see the ones she sent Rachel. I’ve read her lyrics, maybe I can tell from the style.”
“Let me know.” Something else was nagging at me. “But there’s something else. Rachel had Musetta in the treatment room. Why did Francesca bring her back?”
“We’ve been trying to retrace her steps.” Bill had been talking to his colleagues. “Best we can figure, she’d grabbed the bag and was making for the back exit when she ducked into that room full of cages.” I looked at him, the question in my eyes. “We found a white coat in her apartment. A long lab coat. She probably used it to cover herself.”
“It’s possible. She would have been a mess.” He cleared his throat. I shut my eyes and saw Rachel once again. Yes, there would have been a lot of blood to cover up. “And don’t forget, the shelter was taking a delivery. Maybe somebody was coming up the hall.”
“And she didn’t want to be seen with the poisoned food, just in case anyone remembered the bag had been in Rachel’s office, so she stashed it. But why take Musetta? Why move her at all?” I remembered finding my cat behind the lab coats, slunk down in her carrier and covered with blood.
“Camouflage?” Bill shrugged. “Some misguided humane instinct? That might stay a mystery.” He spoke so gently. “I’m sorry, babe.”
“You guys don’t know, do you?” Violet looked at me and then at Bill. “Shiva, Francesca’s old cat, was also a tuxedo cat. A big black-and-white girl, with a fluffy white chest and the booties, just like Musetta. If it weren’t for that white splotch on her nose, Musetta could have been Shiva’s twin.”
“She wanted my cat.” I couldn’t keep my eyes open any more. Those were good drugs. “But she didn’t follow through.”
“Maybe she heard you coming?” Violet sounded far away.
“Maybe she had some sense left.” Bill’s voice seemed to be fading. “Musetta at her place would have been evidence.”
“Or she’d thought she’d already saved her. Saved Shiva.” I didn’t know if I was being clear, but nobody questioned me. I could barely form the words. “Everyone knows cats have nine lives.”
Epilogue
Whatever Musetta had witnessed, my cat didn’t have to testify. Pilchard came by the next day to tell me that papers had been filed and the charges would be dismissed. I was in considerable discomfort by then. Not pain exactly, the drugs were too good for that. But the doctors were weaning me off them and along with a clear head came a combination of aching and itching that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Still I was grateful for the news. If Bill lost his condo for me, he and I would never get back together.
Bill was there when Pilchard dropped in, and I was relieved to see that the two were on speaking terms. Maybe Pilchard had taken my case to get in with the cops. Maybe that would help patch things up with Patti. I was too busy trying to stand up without moving my belly to care.
“Okay, I think I’m good to go.” I’d managed to slip into sweats earlier. It felt good to be wearing clothes again. Now I gingerly set both feet onto the floor.
“Babe, are you sure?” Bill reached for me. Pilchard blanched and stepped back. I grabbed for the windowsill.
“I’m sure, Bill. When the doctor makes her rounds, she’s going to find me up and about.” I took a step and then a breath. Both worked. “I’ve got a cat to get back to.”
“She’s fine, Theda.” Violet walked in with Caro. “Though I’m sure she misses you, too.”
“Hi, guys!” I waved. That was too much and I didn’t complain as Bill helped me back into bed. “What’s shaking?”
Caro didn’t speak, just handed me a copy of the Mail. I grimaced, I’m sure, but it wasn’t reaching forward that got me. Today was Thursday, I knew that much. Last week, I’d had a column in this issue.
“Please, I don’t think I’ve had enough drugs for this.” I pushed it back.
“No, really, Theda. You need to see this.” Violet was being unusually insistent. Caro just smiled. I picked it up. There was probably a story on Rachel in here.
“No. Arts.” Violet took the paper from me and thumbed through it. “Here.”
“What?” There was nothing. A gallery review. Something at Symphony Hall. New DVD releases. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”
With an exaggerated sigh, Violet leaned over and pointed to the lower right corner of the page. Right where “Clubland” usually ran. I guess I’d avoided looking there, but now I saw a small box, enclosing one sentence.
Clubland will return from hiatus next week with in-depth coverage of the local rock and pop scene.
“So what?” I felt a bit of a glow, but I had to be realistic. “Maybe they’re just getting Lee up to speed. Or Ralph.”
“Nobody’s seen Wellner. And Ralph’s on leave.” Violet smiled. “Word is, maybe permanently.”
“Poor Ralph.” I hadn’t realized I pitied him till that moment. Maybe I even liked him. My friends looked astonished. “He’s just part of our world, you know?” I knew then I’d be working to get him reinstated.
“But think what this means for you.” Caro, ever practical, finally spoke up. “You can have your column back, and now there will be a music job open.”
“Assuming I even want it anymore.”
I couldn’t understand why they were laughing.
***
Three nights later, I was on my way to the Last Stand. I’d given in, as my friends knew I would. Tim had left a good dozen messages for me and I’d agreed to get him something for “Clubland” by Tuesday, in order to make his in-print announcement come true. He’d acted precipitously, so I used my bit of leverage for a $25 buck per column raise.
I also made it clear to Tim what I thought about Ralph. I couldn’t tell Ralph, though. The staff critic was still incommunicado. Word was, he’d gone off to visit family in Ohio. Tim wasn’t talking, so I couldn’t tell if Ralph had confessed or been ratted out. Lee Wellner’s byline disappeared, too, from every paper in town. I didn’t expect it back. Plagiarism is a sin, but blackmail is a crime.
At least I had an obvious “Clubland” for my first week back. Bill had booked that old soul act, Buzz Grammers, again. The septuagenarian lived up in Maine, but insisted on driving down for the interview. I was still hurting. I really hoped I’d be up to hearing his set come next week. But since I was off the Percodans, I’d decided to treat myself to a pre-interview beer.
“Hey there!” Piers was behind the bar. He looked up with a wistful smile when I raised my arm, very slowly, to wave.
“Theda. I was wondering when you’d get back. Blue Moon?”
I nodded and slid onto a stool. I’d almost mastered the trick of not moving my midsection too much. “How’re things?”
“They’re okay, I guess.” Piers pushed my beer over without meeting my eye.
“Piers?” He looked up. “I’m so sorry. Really. I miss her, too.”
He grabbed a glass and started wiping it. “Man, I think about her all the time. And I think about Francesca…” The glass was definitely dry. No matter what rumors Francesca had tried to spread, he had loved Rachel.
“You didn’t know, Piers. I mean, it could have been anyone.”
He gave a sad, little grin. “Yeah, but it wasn’t. It was me.” He put the glass down. “I mean, for so long, I just let everything roll. Then I go and get serious. Decide to commit, and what happens?”
“You didn’t kill her, Piers.” I wasn’t sure how much was public knowledge, or what Bill or Violet would have passed along. Just then Ellis appeared and nuzzled my shin. He’d become a regular darling since his rescue. I reached—very carefully—to rub his ears. “Francesca blamed Rachel for a lot of things, not getting that job and her cat’s death. I mean, she was crazy, she’d poisoned the cat food.”
Piers leaned on the bar and looked down at the big black feline. Maybe he’d needed to hear that, or hear it again. “Yeah, and I remember thinking just how smart Rachel was, giving that up.”
“Excuse me?” I hadn’t had a beer in ages. Maybe it was going to my head.
“It was when I was working on the storeroom, a load of that fancy brand came in.” He put the glass back on the rack. “You’d asked me, but I didn’t remember then. I think her ex, that other vet? He’d set up a fancy donation for her.” He snorted. “Like she cared. But we’d spent a couple hours moving everything when those bags came in. I stacked some of them, but there really was no more room. That�
�s when she said we should give them away. It was the pricier stuff, so she could get a better tax break on it. Like I said, she was so smart.”
I put down my beer. Finally, it all made sense. “Thank you, Piers.” Someday, I’d explain it to him. In the meantime, I had to trust in his essential optimism. He’d bounce back.
“No probs. You want another?” Maybe talking it out was all he’d needed.
“I’m good, Piers. And I’ve got to get ready for work.”
***
Three weeks later, I turned thirty-four. We’d mourned our friend with a big community service, and maybe I’d buried some of my own ghosts there as well. “So much for the Jesus year,” I announced as Bill and I walked into my place. We’d gone out for dinner, and I was in a mellow mood. “I survived it after all.”
“Survived and thrived,” said Bill. Musetta came bounding down the hall, but he grabbed her before she could attack. “Despite this chubby little killer here.”
“Watch who you’re calling chubby.” Whether it was age or the enforced inaction of healing, I’d begun to develop a certain softness around my waist. I reached for my cat and Bill poured her into my arms.
“Meh.” She squirmed, uncomfortable at being passed around.
“I know, Musetta. What a rude man.” I kissed the top of her head and set her down.
“So, you going to take the job?” Bill hung up his denim jacket. Spring had finally arrived in New England.
“I don’t know yet.” I handed him my sweater. “It is tempting.” Ralph had returned, only to announce that he was leaving the Mail to freelance back in Cleveland. We’d thrown him a party at the Last Stand and he’d gotten so weepy I was pretty sure the move wasn’t entirely voluntary. Since then, Tim had been wooing me to take on the staff critic role. The other job, for an arts writer, had disappeared, victim of a "temporary hiring freeze" nobody expected to end.
“’Cause I was thinking.” Bill leaned back on the wall. “If you want to stay freelance, I understand that. And, you know, I could cover you on my health insurance plan. If we get married.”