1 The Big Kitty

by Claire Donally

  “Let’s say ‘more complicated’ instead of ‘worse.’” Sunny shrugged. “And I’m the one who insisted the death was suspicious in the first place.” She sighed. “I just wish I had some solid facts instead of rumor and conjecture and maybes.”

  “So you’re staying with it?”

  Sunny nodded. “I’m going to check on my dad, and then off to the Towles’.”

  She went into the house and stepped into the living room, stopping dead when she caught the scene on the sofa. Her father and Mrs. Martinson sat bolt upright, their hands stiffly at their sides. At least Sunny’s dad didn’t have powdered sugar all over his sweater. But Mrs. Martinson wasn’t her usual self.

  The normally imperturbable widow looked a little wild-eyed. Her hair was slightly mussed, her makeup smeared—

  Oh, God, Sunny thought, what have I walked into now?

  Whatever they’d been doing, Mike and his lady friend weren’t doing it anymore. They hadn’t even noticed Sunny entering the room, their gazes frozen on the floor, a bit to the left of the coffee table …

  Where Shadow sat, his hindquarters down but his forelegs straight, his ears erect, the picture of interested attention.

  Sunny couldn’t help it. “What’s going on, folks?”

  That broke the spell. Helena Martinson patted desperately at her hair, stumbling over her words. “We—I—when I looked over, I saw him watching us.”

  Mike, on the other hand, silently worked his way from astonishment to embarrassment to fury. Thanks to Shadow, whatever Mike had hoped would happen wasn’t going to. And that went double now that Sunny had turned up.

  The glare he directed at Shadow should have left a charred ring on the rug where the cat used to be.

  “Um. I’m just passing through. Only stopping off to get some stuff. Then I’ll be heading out for a while.” Sunny got out of there before she completely started babbling.

  Shadow came over to give Sunny’s shins a sniff, but he was obviously more interested in the couple on the couch.

  Sunny headed up to her room to get her notebook, stopping for a second to check out her reflection in the mirror. Maybe this isn’t the time to ask Mrs. Martinson about hairdressers, she decided.

  She hadn’t put her BU sweatshirt back on for cycling home, intending to change before going to the Towles’. Thanks to the lift from Will, she didn’t have to do that.

  “I’ll just walk over there, take a nice, leisurely stroll,” she told herself.

  Right now, the sooner she got out of the house, the better.

  *

  The Towle house was newer than the Coolidge family home and definitely more upscale—though not as luxurious as Veronica Yarborough’s mansion upgrade. Although the front lawn was open to the street, a head-high white fence—wood, not plastic—flanked the house and apparently ran the perimeter of the backyard. Sunny spotted a gate beside the garage.

  When she came up to the front door and rang the bell, she heard deep woofing from around in back.

  Probably the dog in question, she thought.

  The door opened, and Sunny found herself looking at Leah Towle—looking up at Leah Towle.

  At five feet, six inches, Sunny usually considered herself on the tall side for a woman. But Leah had to be up around six feet, easily. She had a face that was more pleasant than pretty, perhaps a little too broad—like her shoulders and her hips.

  Leah tried to smile politely, asking, “Sunny?” But her face showed signs of sleeplessness and strain. “Thank you for coming.” She led the way to a family room with a leather couch and armchairs. Good stuff, but not over-the-top.

  Leah headed for the hallway, as if to call her husband, but then Chuck Towle came into the room. Leah might be tall, but Chuck still topped her by several inches. He had the look of a college jock running to seed—a bit of stomach straining over his belt, extra flesh softening the line of his chin. Apparently he was losing his hair, because he kept his head shaved—not the best look for him. His incipient jowls made his face bottom-heavy, tapering up to a sort of bullet-headed dome.

  Chuck shook Sunny’s hand in one of his big paws as Leah did the introductions.

  “First of all, we both want to say how terrible it is that Mrs. Spruance died,” he said. “I can’t say we liked her—or her cats—but we certainly never wished her any harm.”

  “We can’t say the same about her and Festus,” Leah burst out.

  “Festus?” Sunny asked.

  “Our dog. He’s a good dog, Sunny, but that woman said she hoped the judge would order him p-put to sleep.” Leah’s eyes filled with tears and her voice grew hoarse.

  “Mrs. Spruance swore out a civil complaint that Festus was a dangerous dog,” Chuck explained. “She also wanted to sue us.”

  “Everyone said how horrible he was.” Anger crept into Leah’s voice. “But they never took our side of the story seriously.”

  “How did the—um—incident happen?” Sunny asked cautiously.

  Chuck nodded. “When we’re at work, we keep Festus in the backyard, on a lead. There’s shade from the trees if it gets too warm, and a doghouse for shelter.”

  “And we leave dry food and water for him,” Leah added. “But then those cats began coming over.”

  “Teasing him,” Chuck said.

  “Terrorizing him,” Leah corrected. “They’d hide until he was ready to do his business—then they’d pounce on him! I’ve actually seen them do it!” She quivered with indignation. “How would you react if someone kept jumping out at you every time you had to use the bathroom?”

  Sunny could only shake her head, remembering how Shadow tried to trip up Gordie, and the cat’s mania for knocking things over. All I can say is, cats have a pretty strange sense of humor, she thought.

  “Finally this one cat, Patachou, or whatever she called him, ran across our yard and jumped up on the gate,” Chuck said. “I guess poor Festus had had enough. He broke his leash and went right through the gate. I was just getting home and heard it all. I followed them as Festus chased the cat. Dunno how he managed to catch him, but he did, right outside the Spruance place.”

  His heavy shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I tried to get him off, but by then it was too late.”

  Leah blinked away more tears. “She let those cats go wandering around the neighborhood, getting into any dangerous things they pleased, but she blamed us! It’s just not fair!”

  Chuck tried to pat her shoulder, looking helpless. “We put up a bigger fence, and we’ve got special trainers coming to work with Festus. But he may end up muzzled, or confined to the house”—he broke off for a moment—“or we may have to give him away.”

  “He’s a good dog,” Leah insisted. “Let me show you.”

  She left the room, to return a few moments later with a large black and brown dog on a leash. He trotted in, spotted the new person, and approached.

  But when he was just a couple of yards away, he stopped, sniffed, and began to growl.

  Leah was mortified. “Bad Festus! What are you doing?”

  The dog’s tail went down and he looked around, whining.

  Sunny had an awful suspicion. She twisted on the couch so that the rays of the setting sun fell on the front of her sweater. Yes, there they were, shining in the light—fine strands of grayish fur against the blue fabric. She thought back to when she’d been getting ready for work that morning. Shadow had jumped up on her bed, examining the stuff she placed there, including her T-shirt and sweater. She’d left him alone while she got her bag out of the closet. He’d probably taken the opportunity to roll on the soft cotton.

  And Festus had caught a whiff of Shadow’s scent.

  That damned cat’s trying to get me killed, she thought.

  “I’m sorry, I think there must be something on this sweater,” Sunny said, carefully rising to her feet. “Maybe I’d better be going.”

  “But you understand this is a terrible accident? That Festus wouldn’t normally do anything like this?” Po
or Leah Towle looked as confused and upset as her dog.

  “I’ll try to explain things the way you explained them to me,” Sunny promised gently.

  She felt sorry for the Towles and their dog.

  But …

  Like Festus, both Chuck and Leah were large and strong—and their feelings obviously ran high.

  Either could have sent a little woman like Ada Spruance flying down the stairs … with one hand tied behind his or her back.

  10

  Shadow blinked awake in his hiding place under Sunny’s bed. He’d decided to get out of the way when she came and found the other female in the room. Among cats or two-legs, Shadow had noticed that when two females and one male were too close together, fighting often started.

  The other female had left quickly, while Sunny had gone upstairs. That definitely hadn’t pleased the Old One. Shadow had seen that as another reason to make himself scarce. From what he’d seen, two-leg males tended to take out their temper on furniture—and cats.

  The space under Sunny’s bed was dark but comfortable—no drafts because fabric hung down to the floor. It was clean, too, not like the space under the Dead One’s bed. That was so dusty that even the daintiest steps raised a sneeze-inducing cloud. Best of all, there was a faint trace of Sunny in the air. Shadow liked that. He’d hunkered down, sphinxlike, closed his eyes, and dozed.

  When he awoke, it was some time later. There was much less light. Shadow crouched, suddenly alert, when he realized what had roused him—footsteps, and they weren’t Sunny’s. He had to listen for a moment before he finally recognized them. The gait was different—quieter—but that was the Old One.

  Shadow waited until the feet were almost back out the door before he stuck his head out from under the bedspread. He saw the Old One’s back as the human stepped out into the hallway. But why was the two-leg moving with such exaggerated caution? Had he hurt himself? It didn’t seem likely, since he kept moving around, sticking his head into each room. Shadow followed behind him, investigating each room after the Old One left it. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary since the time Shadow had last explored them.

  He trailed behind as the Old One went down the stairs, placing his feet carefully to keep the treads from creaking as they usually did. Moving on the tips of his toes, the Old One went into the room with the picture box—but he didn’t turn it on. Instead, he peered around to the corner where Shadow’s bed lay.

  When he saw that, Shadow made a quick move for the dining room, climbing onto the seat on one of the chairs. From there, he could look out between the wooden spindles on the back of the chair without much danger of being spotted—the stripes in his gray fur blended into the shadows beneath the tabletop.

  As Shadow watched, the Old One came past, still moving in that weird attempt to step soundlessly; at least soundlessly for a two-leg’s hearing. It almost seemed like a very clumsy attempt—

  Shadow slipped down to the floor, fascinated. Could it be? Was the Old One trying to stalk like a cat? Shadow trailed along as the Old One headed toward the kitchen. Of all the two-leggity types he’d lived with, Shadow had never seen any of them play this game.

  But what was the human stalking? Had a mouse or squirrel raised his stupid head?

  The Old One reached the kitchen and peered in the dusk at the litter box and the food bowls.

  Shadow blinked in amazement. He’s stalking me!

  Almost unbidden, a meow came from his throat.

  The Old One jumped and spun around, one hand on his chest. Shadow streaked away. Although he was always careful to stay out of kicking range, sometimes the two-legs threw things. Shadow considered that extremely unfair.

  Before the Old One could get close again, Shadow darted into the living room and squeezed under the couch. It was a tight fit, but Shadow was reasonably sure a human like the Old One wouldn’t be in the mood to creep around on the floor looking for him.

  He was right. Springs above him compressed as the Old One sat down, mumbling annoyed sounds. Then the picture box went on.

  Not long afterward, Sunny returned. Shadow heard her steps coming from the door and felt a little surprised, not having caught the sound of her car coming up.

  Before he even thought about it, he found himself popping out of his hiding place and padding toward her. Shadow forced himself to slow down. After all, this was just a quick check for interesting scents—and maybe a little marking to let the neighborhood cats know that Sunny was taken.

  Then he stopped cold, his snout wrinkling. The stink she’d brought in the night before was bad enough. But now she reeked of Biscuit Eater. Shadow knew that for some unknown reason, many of the two-legs tolerated the mangy creatures—the large fawning ones or the little ones that scurried around yapping—all of them eager to slobber down their stupid biscuits. Not like a self-respecting cat.

  One more sniff confirmed his initial suspicion; he smelled the Biscuit Eater who had killed Patachou on Sunny. Shadow had always thought that teasing a creature with fangs large enough to crush the biggest cat’s skull was just looking for trouble. Patachou’s death showed exactly how dangerous a game it could be.

  But what could Sunny have to do with such a killer?

  He stalked away, offended, and refused to be tempted back, even when a can of tuna was opened.

  While the two-legs ate, Shadow sulked in the kitchen. From the sound of it, he was just as glad to be out of the way. The Old One’s voice was low and grumbling, while Sunny’s voice was high and quick. It sounded like an argument—something else the two-legs spent so much time on. For Shadow, a show of claws and a sharp hiss was often much quicker and easier.

  Besides, arguments like this often led to Shadow losing his place to live. So he tried not to get too attached. That was why it was better to keep his distance from Sunny—especially since the Old One obviously didn’t want him around.

  Shadow made his way to the top of the box that kept food cold. That was another weird thing about the two-legs. They’d take food from a box that made it cold and put it in a box to make things hot. Shadow didn’t even try to figure that out. The cold box was good, though. It offered a good high spot where he could look down on the room and the hallway beyond. And sometimes there was a hum deep within the box—interesting and pleasant to feel.

  For a while, Shadow drowsed. He heard Sunny go up the stairs, and the Old One turned on the box of pictures. Sometimes the pictures were of interesting things, but the only smell the box ever gave off was of something burning, and it sent out an odd sensation that made his whiskers tingle.

  Still, he thought he might as well take a look.

  The picture showed a man and woman sitting behind a desk, talking. One of the more boring things that turned up on the box.

  As he turned away, though, Shadow caught the scent of tuna. He raised his head, taking a deeper breath. Yes, definitely tuna, floating on a wave of cool air. It must be coming from the open window. Usually when it got dark the glass was down. Shadow found glass fascinating, like hard air you could see through but rest a paw against. He’d never found tuna out there before. This was definitely worth investigating.

  The easiest way to get to the windowsill was from the couch.

  Shadow looked up at the Old One, who sat slumped, his eyes closed, his breathing regular. Three good bounds took him to the bottom of the sofa, then a careful leap to land as lightly as he could. The Old One was likely to shove if he was awakened.

  Padding softly to the arm of the couch, Shadow climbed up to the back of the seat. The scent of tuna was stronger, coming in on a cold breeze. Shadow crouched low. A piece of wood rested on the couch back, creating a bridge to the windowsill. And outside the open window in the darkness, yes, he could smell tuna.

  Shadow stepped onto the wood, placing his feet carefully, then with more confidence. He advanced on the tuna, licking his chops. But as soon as he was beyond the window, the wood beneath his feet suddenly shot forward. The cat found himself falling, barely
twisting in time to land on all fours.

  A noise above him caught his attention—the window going down.

  This male Old One is different from the female Old One, he thought. Full of tricks!

  The cold air began to make itself felt. Shadow shivered, rippling his fur. Then he began casting around for the morsel of tuna that had gotten him into this situation. It might be a while before he had an easy meal again.

  Once he’d found it and finished eating, Shadow set off on the next most important thing—watering the plants the Old One set such store by.

  After that, he searched for a place to sleep. Shadow had been outside on far colder nights than this. He needed a place that would be sheltered from the wind and hard for larger creatures like the Biscuit Eaters to get into.

  The low deck behind the garage offered a perfect space. Shadow had to crouch to get underneath the wooden slats. Some leaves had blown in, and he gathered them together, walked in a circle to trample them down, and then lay with his legs tight to his body and his tail curled around his feet.

  He was comfortable enough and not hungry. So he slept.

  In the dream, the world was dark, but Shadow was warm, pressed against a warm fur body, and there was milk, and the very good smell of belonging. It jarred him to wake up in a chilly den with the smell of decaying leaves.

  Had he ever really known the happy time that he lived in that dream? Shadow wasn’t sure—he certainly didn’t remember it.

  He strained his ears, probing for whatever strange noise had roused him. Then he heard the low, muttering sound of a car engine—a car that hadn’t been here before—and the scrape of shoes on the driveway.

  By the time Shadow came around the garage, he didn’t see any people. But a huge vehicle still stood on the drive, its engine rumbling.

  He took a few running steps and leaped for the top of the hood. No one sat behind the wheel.

  Some cats in the streets crawled up in the open spaces under cars for warmth. But doing that while the car acted alive could be dangerous. The metal pieces were hard, and hungry for cat tails, or even legs.