Mew is for Murder

by Clea Simon

  “Ah, she lives!” I heard a voice from my bathroom and jumped. Tess stood in my doorway, one of my towels wrapped around her lean body.

  “I don’t know what you were into last night, girl, but I didn’t think you could drive home. I wasn’t going to leave you there, either, the way you were,” she said, wrapping another towel around her long wet curls. “I was worried about you, Theda. No offense, darling, but you looked bad and you were sounding crazy. I rushed over to that party as soon as I could. You couldn’t have been there for that long but already you were staggering into the walls, like a zombie. Looked like you’d fallen in something, too. I wanted to just bring you over to my place, but you were going on and on, something about cats, so I found your keys and drove you back here. Glad you woke up, though. I wanted to make sure you were okay, but I’ve got to get to work.”

  “Thanks, Tess.” I put my hand to my aching head. What had happened? “The last thing I remember was that loft party. I must’ve blacked out. But Tess, I wasn’t drinking.”

  “Nothing?” She looked at me with her thin brows raised in disbelief.

  “Nothing. I was too tired and I needed to think. I mean, I had a can of Coke.”

  “Did you leave it anywhere? I mean, once you’d started drinking it?”

  “Maybe, for a moment.” I remembered choking and putting the can down on the speaker, as Ralph patted my back. “Just for a second or two.”

  “That’s all it takes, girl. Someone slipped you a roufy or some other fun new date-rape drug. I’m glad I followed you. I knew something was up.”

  “Rohypnol? Wow, maybe. Unless it was fatigue or caffeine or something.” I couldn’t clear my head of that horrible trapped feeling. I remembered not being able to move, like I was frozen in my own body, but that was all. Why didn’t I remember anything? “You said I was going on about the cat?”

  “Cats—plural—though all I’ve seen is this little kitten here.” Musetta had been twining around her tanned ankles and now stopped to lick at a drop of water on her foot. “I don’t think I let any other cats out.”

  “No, she’s all there is.” It didn’t make sense. “Cats, you say?”

  “Cats. Look, I’ve got to run. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I need coffee, but I’m fine.” I hoped I would be. Who would do this to me? Could Ralph have been that desperate? Was there a real streak of meanness hidden beneath his buffoonery? I was trying to recount every interaction I’d ever had with him, drunk or sober, when Tess interrupted me.

  “You sure you’re fine, girl?” I nodded, and immediately regretted it. She was looking at me hard. “When I get home later, I want to hear this story from the beginning. The real story, Theda.” With one more stare, she walked past me into the living room and I could hear her slipping into her clothes. I wasn’t ready to stand yet but I looked up as she ducked back into the bedroom to say goodbye.

  “Your keys are by the door, and your car’s out front. Before you do anything else, you might want to check in with a doctor, too. Some of those designer drugs are nasty.”

  “Yeah, I promise. Uh, thanks, Tess. Thanks.”

  “No problem, babe. Paying into the karmic debt. You take care.”

  mmm

  The better part of me wanted nothing more than sleep, but I didn’t quite trust that urge, so slowly, slowly I stood up and made my way into the kitchen. Drinking from the tap, I must have inhaled a quart of cool water, and slowly my head returned to my shoulders and the floor stopped flopping around.

  “Mew.” I looked down at an upturned face.

  “Musetta, that was a perfect little mew!” In my sensitized state, I found this thrilling.

  “Mew,” she repeated, with a head butt for emphasis.

  “Ah, food. Of course.” When was the last time I’d fed her? Luckily cats don’t hold grudges. I opened a can and heard the purr start up in anticipation. What is more satisfying than feeding a cat? I leaned back against my refrigerator and watched her lap and chew.

  The cats! Of course, today was the last day to place Lillian’s cats, before they’d be euthanized. My mood came crashing down to earth, and then I remembered Violet. I’d said I’d meet her at Lillian’s and help her search for the will. Had she been there all night? Had she found anything? There was nothing for it but to go see. Her quest might be futile, but I owed it to her. It might not be quite as profound as rescuing a buddy who’d been slipped a mickey, but it was what I could offer. This is what friends did for each other.

  mmm

  I was still a bit shaky when I drove over to Lillian’s, but a couple of temporary No Parking signs out front forced me to walk a block. They were for the next day, but the walk did me some good. The back door to the old house was open when I got there.

  “Violet?” Even my voice felt stronger.

  “Up here.” I followed the sounds of thudding and grunts through the living room and up a set of creaky stairs. “What kept you?”

  The Violet who rose to greet me, wiping her hands on filthy jeans, looked like she hadn’t slept all night. Or bathed for a week, either, though I knew she’d been bright and fresh just the day before.

  “It’s complicated. I was looking for someone, and things happened.” I didn’t have the energy to explain.

  “Did you find him?”

  “No. And, I’m sorry.”

  I offered her one of the two travel mugs I’d brought as a peace offering, and she took a deep draught of the dark brew. “Wow, strong stuff,” she gasped. “Laurel’s brew, right?” I nodded and she settled into the desk’s rolling chair.

  The taste of my own Mug Shot house blend reminded me. “Did a guy named Ethan find you?” She looked blank. “Writer, curly hair, glasses?”

  “No. Did he come to the gig?”

  “I told him about it.” Strange. He seemed so eager.

  “Well, I got a lot done here.” Violet broke into my thoughts. “The will is definitely not in any of the boxes downstairs, and I’ve moved on to her bedroom. There’s an old desk that seems promising.” She pointed to a scarred, but classic rolltop, set against the wall. “And those of course.” More cardboard boxes, piled in towering columns, filled half the large room. “But I could use a break.”

  “Did you sleep at all?” I settled on the floor, still not entirely steady.

  “Yeah, for a few hours. I got here by eleven-thirty or so last night, worked for a while, but by four-ish my flashlight battery was going dead and I was beat. I curled up on Lillian’s bed over there.” She nodded toward a king-size bed, crowned by a carved oak headboard. It was almost dwarfed by the boxes. “Made me really feel her presence. I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

  We drank in silence for a few minutes and I felt my own coffee, liberally laced with milk and sugar, waking up my drugged body.

  “So what are we looking for? I mean, what should I be on the alert for?” I was ready to go to work.

  “Any sheet of paper with writing on it. I’m betting that it’s a holographic will, written out in her hand. That’s legal, as long as she got witnesses, and I’m sure she did. All we have to do is find it.” She paused and stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Which we will.” I suspected that last bit was added to cheer herself on, but I wouldn’t contradict it. In response, I pulled one of the big cardboard boxes toward me and opened it, removing first newspapers and then old issues of the New Yorker from the 1950s.

  “Was she still dancing in 1952?” I asked, just to make conversation.

  “I bet she was. Let’s see, how old is Dougie?” We both fell into our own calculations as I went through more memorabilia. Lillian had saved everything from her brilliant, if brief career.

  “Wait a minute.” I looked up at Violet, who had gotten to the bottom of one of the desk’s deep side drawers. “No, no, sorry. Camp inventory for one of Dougie’s summer outings.” We went back to work.

  An hour must have passed before we heard the door, followed by the tap-tap-tap of high
heels on stairs.

  “What are you doing here?” We looked up to see Patti Wright, the shocked look on her face set off by the bright peach-pink of her ensemble.

  “There’s a will, Patti.” I started to explain, but she was having none of it.

  “You’re trespassers, both of you. And that tatty cat.” I remembered the frayed-ear feline I’d fed days before. Was he still hanging around, or were there others? “I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, but it’s got to stop. In my book you’re no better than common thieves!” I suspected that I now looked as grimy as Violet, but this was too much.

  “Now, Patti, listen.” I reached for her arm, but she recoiled.

  “Don’t touch me. You’re filthy!” She backed toward the stairs. “I’m calling the cops. I’m warning you. And then I’m changing the locks. I’m the administrator here. I’m having this place cleaned out tomorrow, and I won’t have you trespassing. I’m getting rid of those feline vermin, too. I’ll give you fifteen minutes to get out.” She stormed back down the stairs and we heard the door slam as she left.

  “Can she do that? Clean the place out?” Absently putting down the pile of papers she’d just taken up, Violet looked at me, worried.

  “I don’t have the faintest. But it doesn’t matter to us, does it? The cats at the shelter only have till the end of today.” I reached for another box, and thought about the one ragged feline I’d seen here, the one who’d found Lillian’s pendant. Were there others? Violet had mentioned some ferals. “And any cats that are still hanging around will be okay, probably. If they’ve survived this far, they’ll know how to stay clear of the wrong people. Plus, if she calls the cops, well, we are trespassing.”

  “She won’t do it,” said Violet, focusing once more on the papers. I didn’t know if she meant that Patti wouldn’t call Animal Control back or the cops; nor did I know which would make her more upset. “She’s all bark, that one. But I’m going to lock the door behind her, just to give us a heads-up in case she comes back to check.”

  I wasn’t so sure. But in for a penny, in for a pound. I opened the box before me and began lifting out what looked like photo albums. Violet scooted down the stairs and I heard her secure the door, shaking it to make sure the lock held. She joined me a moment later, and in silence we both went back to work.

  mmm

  Fifteen minutes passed and I relaxed. Another hour and we were chatting a bit, remarking on the finds Lillian had squirreled away. The work was slow; Violet had only finished one side of the desk, and piles of sagging cardboard boxes stacked almost to the ceiling remained by the window. But even as we lapsed again into silence we buoyed each others’ spirits. It was good to have company. If there was a will, we’d find it. Then, in the midst of our searching, we both stopped and turned toward each other. Down below the unmistakable click of a key in a lock was followed by the opening of a door.

  “It’s gotta be that woman, Patti,” hissed Violet.

  I wondered if she’d returned with the cops. Maybe she’d give us one more warning. “Let’s hide,” I said. “Maybe she’ll go away.”

  We ducked behind the two remaining towers of unopened boxes as we heard a tread upon the stairs. The steps sounded heavy for the bird-thin realtor, and I peeked my head out from behind my box.

  “Connor!” Despite everything, my heart leapt and I stepped out to greet him. After so many hours of fruitless searching, here he had found me.

  “You know this bastard?” Beside me, Violet had come forward too, but with arms slightly raised and fists clenched.

  “Violet, what’s going on?”

  “This is the guy who broke in and attacked me. He’s the creep!”

  “Connor?” Of all the crimes I’d considered him guilty of, this was a new one. I looked at my onetime suitor for an explanation. But the man who looked back no longer resembled the charming artist I had desired. The planes of his face, once so sculpted, now seemed machine-like, repellent. Those stunning blue eyes stared back hard. And in those long, sensitive artist’s fingers, he held a matting knife.

  “The two of you.” He was nodding, the knife resting loosely in his hand. “Well, that explains a lot. When I saw that kitten at your place, I should’ve known you were after the same thing I was.”

  “Connor, what are you talking about?” He wasn’t making sense.

  “The treasure, Theda. The old lady’s treasure. That’s why we’re all here.”

  “You’re crazy, Connor. There’s no treasure. That’s a kids’ tale.”

  “Don’t talk to me about crazy. Didn’t I spend long enough cleaning up after those psychos? Didn’t I count out pills and hold their hands long enough before I got a payoff? I’m an artist, Theda. I’m sick and tired of having stupid day jobs. I deserve better.”

  “But Connor….” I noticed Violet edging slightly away from me. I didn’t know what she was planning, but I had to keep his attention. “What treasure are you talking about?”

  “Don’t play dumb, darling. It’s not becoming.” He smiled, revealing that chipped front tooth, but the charm was gone. “You talked to that schizo Dougie, too. He must’ve told you. His mom was as loony as he is, but she was never locked up. She kept enough stuff here to survive another war, he said. Yeah, most of it’s junk—papers, books, those damned cats—but there’s gold here, too, somewhere. Gold, cash, who knows what else? I’d have had my prize and cleared out of this little city weeks ago, if it weren’t for all of you interfering. First this one.” He turned toward Violet and gestured with his knife. She froze, and he turned back to me. “And then that damned kitten. I’d have been in and out of this dump if that pesky cat hadn’t tripped me up. Yeah, I kicked it. I’d have had the treasure already if it weren’t for that mangy beast.”

  “So, Lillian interrupted you and you killed her?” I looked at the knife, more of a razor blade, actually, and tried to think: there were two of us. It was a short blade. What was possible? I backed up and found myself hard against a stack of boxes.

  “I should have.” He stepped closer to me, his eyes menacing, and I scooted a few inches to my right. He was still between me and Violet and the door, but I felt the window sill against my leg and ventured a peek. Where was Patti? Where were the cops she’d threatened to call? Down on the street I saw the car, a tan Hyundai.

  “But you don’t have a car!” I could hear the hysteria in my own voice. He raised the knife.

  “What are you on about?” He grabbed a box from one of the low piles and slit it open, the sharp blade of the matting knife cutting through the cardboard easily. Violet and I exhaled in unison. “No, I didn’t kill the old lady. That kitten’s yowl woke her up, though, and I had to scram before she could set off that alarm thing she wore.”

  He dumped a box of papers on the floor and kicked through them. “Hey, hand me another one. You must’ve seen the parking permits out on the street—that neighbor’s getting a Dumpster delivered and cleaning everything out. This is my last chance to go through this mess. So, all in all darling, it doesn’t matter what you’re on about, I’m not leaving here till I find it.”

  “You’re not leaving here, period.” I looked up. Connor must have spun around, too, because I heard his quick intake of breath. “Drop the knife.” It was Ethan, standing in the doorway with a gun in one hand, a black backpack in the other.

  I gasped. “Ethan?”

  “I tried to keep you out of this, Theda. I thought you’d take the hint when I never called.” He put the pack on the floor and gestured with the gun. Connor stepped a little closer to Violet, who shuffled over toward me. “The knife, Connor? Or should I say Davey?” It made a dull thud as it hit the papers already on the floor.

  “Don’t remember me, do you Davey?” With the window at my back, I couldn’t see Ethan’s eyes behind his thick glasses. I remembered the odd flashes of light, the feeling that someone was watching me. The rage that he could barely keep in check. “You were the charmer, the one who seduced everyone at t
he home—and everyone here, too.” He was nodding toward me. “I knew you took that money, that you’d taken the drugs—some of them, anyway. Guys like you have no reason to notice guys like me, do you? But I was around long enough to fit the entire story together, Davey. And I could see where you could come in handy. I’m the reason there are no photos of you in the newspaper file, you know. You owe me.”

  “You know about the fire?” Connor’s voice had dropped to a husky whisper.

  “I know about everything, my friend. That’s why I grabbed the photos. I thought they might be useful to cover my own tracks. I knew you talked to Dougie, and I figured you for the missing funds. You always did go for the easy score, didn’t you?” He glanced at me for a moment, and I winced. “Foolish, really, because what did you get from the halfway house? A couple of grand? That just alerted the cops, and it wasn’t enough, was it? When I followed you here that night, I figured you were out for the same thing I was—the big prize. I was watching you. If I hadn’t been careful you would have heard me laugh. Scared off by a kitten! I knew then that my planning had paid off, that if anyone had to take the fall, well, you were a suspect in the embezzling and for the fire. I couldn’t have written it better! All I had to do was make sure those photos got to our reporter friend here. Turns out I didn’t need them, but I didn’t want to take the chance that she was so smitten that she couldn’t put two and two together.” He motioned toward me and smiled.

  I wished he hadn’t. With the sun reflecting off his glasses he looked like a giant insect, his grin the reflex before a bite. “You were both after the treasure?”

  “You don’t believe in it, do you? I do.” What he had said about crime, about how exposure to violence changes a person, came back to me. He’d felt cheated—angry at the world—and I’d thought maybe he had some reason. But had he ever been different? “I do my research, even if nobody else does. I spent enough time with Dougie to have a good sense of what was true and what was delusion, Davey. Did you? Dougie even told me about his mother’s little alarm system. You knew about that, didn’t you, Davey? Yes, I saw you that night. You were worried about that little kitten blowing your cover, afraid of that doo-dad hanging around the old bag’s neck.”