Nancy J. Bailey - Furry Murder 01 - My Best Cat

by Nancy J. Bailey

“And that was….?” He was sitting with his head in one hand, elbow on the table, unenthusiastically looking at his plate.

  “She told me very clearly which toy she wanted. It was so funny. I tried the peacock feather. She just sat there. I tried the sparkly toy. Ditto. I tried the feathers on a stick. She took one bat at that and then turned in a circle and sat down. She sat with her head like this,” I tipped my head way down to the side, and he looked up at me. “So I knew she wanted to play. So I tried the mouse on the springy cord, and bingo!”

  I broke off, laughing, and then continued. “You know, animals in some ways are so much better at communicating than we are. They understand us so much better, read us better than we read them. We make one move to the fridge, Hotsy is right there. We put our shoes on, she knows we are leaving. We’re thinking about other stuff, but animals spend the whole day reading us. And when they need something, sometimes we just don’t get it. Just think about the charades they have to go through to get their point across!”

  “I don’t have to do charades,” Dennis said. “Hotsy knows what I want.”

  I paused. “Dennis, have you even been listening? That’s what I just said.”

  He slumped, holding his fork, carefully moving little bits of food with it.

  “Don’t pick your beans,” I said.

  He used to smile at things like this, but now he didn’t even look up. His lower lip protruded in a pretty good rendition of an eight-year-old’s pout.

  I sighed. “Dennis, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m upset because you don’t trust me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh come on, Andrew. You know what I mean.”

  “That thing with Auntie? You’re still upset about that? I said I was sorry.”

  Dennis lay his fork down across his plate. He stretched his arms up behind his head. I admired the way his biceps bulged and his fingers twisted into the blonde hair, tugging at the locks in an unconscious manner.

  “I’m going to be honest here,” Dennis said. “I get it. I understand why it is that you are so suspicious.”

  “Well, for one thing, I’m not so suspicious, but – go on. Tell me why I am.”

  “You’re insecure, Andrew. That’s why you steal things. You thought I wasn’t watching, but I know you have the salt shaker in your pocket right now.”

  I pulled the salt shaker out of my pocket and put it back. “Okay, one point for you.”

  “You’re insecure, as anyone in your position would be.”

  “In my position?” I winked at him. “I’m not in any position just yet, but I promise you I will be. I’ll even let you choose.”

  “Be serious, please. I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you. If you can’t be serious for just two seconds then I’ll-“

  “Okay, okay! I’m sorry!”

  “Good.”

  “Now what are we being all serious about? It’s a beautiful night! The stars are shining! The music is low! Romance is in the air!”

  He shook his head, sat up, took his napkin and balled it up and threw it down on the table. He leaned toward me and whispered, “Did you kill your aunt?”

  For a second, I didn’t know what to say. “What?”

  “You heard me. Just tell me right now if you offed her. I want to know.”

  “You can’t seriously think I’d be capable –“

  “Don’t. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think so. Look.” He leaned in closer, paused as if to rethink his point, but then he continued. “I’ll be blunt here. Someone like you doesn’t normally hang on to someone like me, okay? Everywhere we go, I see people looking at us. I know what they’re thinking. ‘What’s he doing with that Dennis, the Queen of Anorexia?’”

  I was stunned. I sat there and I felt my eyes blinking and blinking, but I couldn’t seem to stop them. They just kept blinking.

  He let me digest this humble revelation for a moment, then he continued, “I can see why in this case it would be necessary to wipe out what you would consider to be the competition. But you don’t have to feel that way. I’m with you because I love you.”

  He leaned back in his chair then, so far that he tipped on the back legs of it. He knew I hated that. But I said nothing.

  “So, you see,” he added. “That’s why I’m upset. You don’t trust me enough to even let me in on something big like this. Even when I was the cause of it.”

  I shrugged. “Well, Dennis, I guess you’re right. Frankly, I don’t trust you that much.”

  He smiled. “I knew it!”

  Chapter Forty One

  Ginny Robards

  Saturday Night

  I was starting to wonder if Liesl had a secret boyfriend, with the way she was sneaking out at night. It reminded me so much of the Liesl in, “The Sound of Music”, the way she had sneaked off with Rolfe. That was, of course, before he had turned traitor.

  Roxanne came to a show with a boyfriend several years before. He was enormously fat, and seemed to have trouble walking. He wheezed and wobbled as he went past our cage. I wondered what she was doing with him. She really wasn’t very nice to him, barking out orders as he attempted to scoop litter for her.

  “Not like that!” she said. “You’re wasting it!”

  I always tried to keep to myself if Roxanne showed up with a man at a cat show. It was none of my business. But this time, Liesl kept staring. Finally, she leaned over to me. “Mom,” she said. “It’s Jimmy!”

  I looked up and the man was sitting near Roxanne’s cage, eating a submarine sandwich. Pieces of lettuce were falling out and clinging to his shirt front. He was easily well over three hundred pounds, but I recognized him as my golden sweetheart from years prior. He still had all his hair, and it was beautiful, but he was a tragic figure indeed. His sides bulged out over the edges of the chair he was sitting on. His skin shone with perspiration.

  Liesl said nothing more. She didn’t suggest I go over to him. And I couldn’t. My heart was slamming inside my chest. But all I could do was sit there while happy memories of Jimmy, and how I had loved him, flooded my mind.

  Roxanne looked over at us and smiled.

  Chapter Forty Two

  Kim Norwich

  Sunday

  It was creepy how the spectators crowded into the show hall that way. I knew it was because the word had spread that there had been a murder. They weren’t all cat lovers.

  I made my way through the throng to Larry Cox’s ring, where Miss Preppy busied herself.

  “I want to talk to you,” I said.

  Tracy looked up from her steward’s catalog, and smiled. “Can it wait? We’re just about to start the judging and I have to go to the –“

  “No it can’t. Come with me. Please.”

  It wasn’t that I was concerned about privacy, I just wanted to get her out of the damn judging ring. She had too much authority there. I led her over by the vendor’s booth, near the litter boxes. She stood before me with her arms folded. She was wearing a red sweater that was pulled tightly across her ample chest. She’d been a cheerleader at some point, I just knew it.

  “When was your last conversation with Roxanne Moore?” I asked.

  She shifted her weight and looked around impatiently. “I’ve already been through this.”

  “Please just answer the question.”

  “I saw her yesterday after Larry’s ring. I congratulated her on her win. Period.”

  I tried not to be distracted by the unnerving way her eye kept gliding inward. I noticed, in this light, that her eyes were not blue, as I had thought before. They were green. They were quite a lovely color green, too. It was too bad about the one eye. But I didn’t like this girl. There was just something about her that bothered my gut.

  “And how did she behave?”

  “She was fine.”

  “Where did she get that ring that she always wore?” This was a long shot. I wasn’t sure that Roxanne even owned that ring. But Tracy nodded to one of the vendors down the a
isle. “Down there. Cat’s Cradle. She has the cat rings.”

  ”Uh huh, okay. Thanks.”

  I turned and walked toward the vendor. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of anything, in hopes that I could get more information out of her later. She had given me a straight answer, without even suspecting that I would wonder how she knew. She wasn’t as smart as she thought she was. In some ways, that could be very helpful.

  I went up to the vendor, a jolly-faced woman wearing an enormous hat with a faux fur brim. “Hi. Do you remember selling a cat ring with emerald eyes to Roxanne Moore? “

  “Yes I do,” she said. “That was a 14 carat gold Somali ring and Roxanne was going to bring it back to me to have the one eye reset. The tines had bent and the emerald turned in partway.” She held up another ring to show me. “But she came to me on Friday and said the ring was missing.”

  “Really? And it turned up later?”

  “Not that I know of. She told me to watch for it, because I would know that ring. It was very unique with those emeralds and the one eye bent. In fact, we had laughed about it, because it made the cat look cross eyed.”

  At that moment it was like a bell was ringing inside my head. I murmured a thank you to the woman and then turned away. I had to find Reynolds. I crossed the show hall at a rapid walk, looking this way and that. Finally I spotted him near the main entrance. He was going outside to have a smoke. I followed him as the door swung shut. He stood out in the parking lot, back turned to the wind, lighting a cigarette. I went up to him.

  “I know who killed her,” I said.

  “Who do you think it is?”

  I turned. “It’s the little cross-eyed ring clerk. Tracy Pringle.”

  He shook his head as if he didn’t agree. The cocky bastard!

  “What’s your evidence?” he said.

  I felt my shoulders slump involuntarily under the leather jacket. “Okay, there’s no evidence, all right? It’s just a gut feeling. Roxanne was teasing her about that ring. The ring with the crooked eye. It looks like her eyes! They’re even green!”

  He did that squint, only this time at me. “What?”

  I felt my face heating up. “She has too many motives. The competition. The cheating husband. Everything points to her. And she just smells to high heaven. She stinks like a rat.”

  He shook his head again. His expression was one of bemused tolerance. It made me want to slug him.

  “Look, you’re just going to have to trust my instincts on this,” I said.

  “I have no doubt that your instincts bear consideration. But this is a murder investigation. We can’t arrest somebody on an eye color hunch. We need hard evidence. I’m sorry.”

  It was the first time he had ever said anything remotely condescending to me. I felt more than a professional frustration. I couldn’t believe the crushing weight of disappointment that swept over me. I thought he respected me more than this. I stood there looking at him, feeling like an idiot. What was it about this guy that made me let my guard down? That made me so vulnerable? Now he stood there smoking, gazing across the parking lot and it was obvious that his mind was a million miles away. I might as well not even be there.

  Then he turned, batted his eyes and looked at me, and smiled that disarming grin. “Thanks for putting so much thought into this, Norwich. It’s good to have the help.”

  That pissed me off. I thought it was overly condescending. I was insulted, but more importantly, I needed to get back to the fact that someone had died, and I knew who had done it. My gut knew. My gut was never wrong.

  “Don’t dismiss this, dammit!” I snapped. “That girl is sick. She needs to be watched. If you don’t take this seriously than I’ll watch her myself. I’ll be her goddamn stalker until I get proof -”

  Just then, an exhibitor came rushing out of the show hall. She was a slightly obese woman, clearly not used to running. She was flushed, breathing heavily. She rushed up to us and bent over gasping for air.

  Reynolds put his hand on her arm. “Whoa, just calm down there. Breathe. Relax. What’s the matter?”

  She straightened, her head tipped back and eyes closed. Her lips trembled. “There’s been another killing.”

  “Show me where.”

  She turned and Reynolds followed her. “It’s in the restroom.”

  “Again?” he said. “Who is it? Anyone we know?’

  “Tracy Pringle.”

  Chapter Forty Three

  Cecilia Fox

  Sunday Morning

  Admittedly, I was having the time of my life. Kenya was showing great. I wasn’t sure what to do about Zephyr. He didn’t get along with Kenya, so I decided to leave him in the show hall. That security guard lady in the tennis shoes had said she would look after him. I still felt bad. I thought about shutting him in the bathroom, or Kenya, but they howled all night when we did that. The people next door pounded on the walls. Roxanne had formerly solved the problem by leaving Zephyr in the car all night. But I didn’t want to do that.

  It was kind of funny how things worked out, how he was suddenly my responsibility. The ancient Egyptians believed that the cat was sacred. It carried its owner’s soul into the next world. When an aristocrat died, the cat was killed and buried with him or her. Mummies of these cats were dug up with the mummies of pharaohs.

  Abyssinian breeders claimed that their cats originated in ancient Egypt. With the Somali being the longhaired version of the same breed, the whole theory was hitting a little close to home. In a way it was kind of romantic, but I recoiled at the idea of euthanizing Zephyr now that Roxanne was dead. Granted, she could probably use all the help she could get.

  I wondered what would become of him. That morning he let me know he didn’t appreciate my decision. He scolded me severely when I showed up.

  “I’m sorry! Here! Have some cat food!” I peeled off the top of some Ocean Delight and scooped it into his bowl. Zephyr pranced back and forth in anticipation, squalling the whole time until finally I managed to get the door open and shove the food in there. He ate like he’d been starved for weeks. I could see why she had made him wear a bib.

  I sighed and opened Kenya’s crate. He marched out and without hesitation leaped up onto Zephyr’s grooming table. He smelled the food and reached a paw in through the bars. Zephyr growled a warning. Kenya hissed a retort just as I grabbed him.

  “None of that!” I popped him into his own cage. He smiled up at me and blinked. Again, he showed no resentment for being handled somewhat roughly. He was always just so happy to have any attention at all.

  It was so good to have my kitty back. I couldn’t help but beam at Andrew every time I saw him. He approached now, giving a customary little skip in his step, as if traveling horizontally just wasn’t using up enough steam.

  “It never rains but it pours!” He put his hands up on his cheeks just like that kid in the “Home Alone” movie. “Just when you think it’s safe to go back in the show hall, voila, there’s another murder!”

  “What? Who?”

  “Tracy Pringle, how appropriate! She’s in the can!”

  “What?”

  “They just found her in the restroom. The same restroom! She was strangled with a purple boa. It was a duplicate of my aunt’s killing. She’s dead. Period!” He put his hands up and mimed quotations with his fingers as he said the last word.

  “Oh my God! Surely they’re going to cancel the cat show.”

  “I would think so! One murder may be no big deal, but two? What’s the Statute of Limitations for Cat Show Murders, anyway?”

  I looked around.

  “I know,” he said. “Now this is starting to give me the creeps. At least whoever the killer is, they are showing good judgment in their choice of victims.”

  “Who makes these decisions?”

  “I dunno. Somebody with a lot of upper body strength. Either that or a serious case of P.M.S.”

  “No, silly, I mean about the show going on.”

  “Oh that. Um,
I believe that would be the show manager.”

  “Who is that?”

  “He’s over at the scene right now talking to the fuzz. You don’t want them to cancel the show, do you? Kenya’s doing a bang up job! It would be a pity.”

  “Well. I dunno. It just seems like the right thing to do.”

  “Oh pshaw! Right thing, wrong thing, what’s the diff. Life goes on. It’s short! Enjoy!” He turned and walked away, even whistling as he went.

  I sat down. He was right. Life was short. For some people, it was way shorter. I sat there and looked around at the exhibitors, clustered into small groups, murmuring together. The cats, exhausted by the long weekend, slept in their respective cages. Yes, it was true, life went on. I had no fondness for Tracy Pringle.

  I was, however, developing a fondness for Andrew. It was too bad he wasn’t straight. The way he was always so happy was kind of twisted, but infectious. The way he had returned my kitty was heroic. I must do something to reciprocate, in some way.

  I decided to go shop for some cat toys, thinking maybe I could get something special for Hotsy. They had a wonderful selection of furry mice at the Cat’s Cradle booth. I headed over that way. As I passed the jewelry, I stopped to look in the display case. There were rings like Roxanne’s, one with green emerald eyes just like hers. I always thought them extremely tacky. But I felt a pang of guilt. She was dead, and I was having fun.

  “Can I help you?” asked the vendor lady. Today she was wearing a huge purple turban, with a saucer-sized orange cat head pin glittering on the front wrap.

  “Could I see that ring?” I asked.

  “Surely.” She opened the case and pulled it out and handed it to me.

  I held it, admiring the way the emeralds shone in the dull show hall lights. I turned it over to look at the tag. $349.00, it said.

  “It’s on special,” the vendor said. “Because – well – you know. In memory. Nobody liked her but she was one of my best customers. She was always nice to deal with. She was here all the time, looking at new stuff.”

  “I see.”

  “If I can help you with anything else, just say so!” she said.