The Persian Always Meows Twice

by Eileen Watkins

  I stretched out on the living room sofa, my head propped on a throw pillow at one end, and tried in vain to find something worth watching via my very economical cable TV subscription. Cole (full name Cat King Cole) stretched like a black mini-sphinx across the back of the sofa. The quietly affectionate Madame Matisse curled up against my bare feet, while Mango perched on the armrest behind my pillow to noisily chew on my hair. He would always be the joker in the pack.

  Was it weird of me to feel so contented, surrounded by my little feline family? Was I on the fast track to Crazy Cat Lady status? Most women my age would be out hitting the bars and clubs every night, desperately searching for Mr. Right.

  I knew, because I’d done enough of that myself when I lived in Morristown.

  And the one time I thought I’d found Mr. Right, he’d turned out to be Mr. Very Wrong.

  Probably that had soured me on the whole idea, even prompted me to move to Chadwick. Yes, I loved the old-fashioned charm of the town, but I couldn’t deny the lack of hot spots to meet other singles. Right now that didn’t bother me much, but would I feel differently a few years down the line? If someday I yearned for a more-than-feline family?

  The local TV news, though happily free of any more murders, bored me so much that I dozed off for a few minutes. In a mildly erotic dream, Mark Coccia, wearing his blue medical scrubs, gently massaged my scalp. Ahh, those skillful veterinarian hands . . .

  A sharp yank on my hair brought me back to reality. “Mango!”

  The tabby leaped off the arm of the sofa, and I could swear I heard snickering.

  Before I could relax again, the jazzy guitar intro of “Stray Cat Strut” beckoned me to check my cell phone. The call was from Dawn.

  “Cassie, you’ve got to help me!” she pleaded. “He’s driving me crazy.”

  I doubted that she was complaining about her laid-back boyfriend, Keith. “Okay, what’s Tigger the Terrible up to now?”

  “I turned my back for a second, and he got into the loose herbal tea that I keep behind the counter. . . .”

  “Was it mint?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Never mind. Anything else?”

  “Oh God, what didn’t he do? Chewed up a few bundles of sage. Made off with a thirty-dollar amethyst crystal on a silver chain—which later turned up in his water dish. Clawed the corner of my antique oak display cabinet. Kept batting at my ankles while I was trying to wait on customers . . .”

  Good thing Dawn couldn’t see my wide grin. “Is that all?”

  “No! The worst thing is, every time the front door opens, he bolts for it. I’ll think he’s safely across the room, but as soon as he hears the string of bells ring, he’s there in a flash. Today he actually got out once! Luckily, he was so confused about what to do next that I had a chance to scoop him up and bring him back inside.”

  “You could try taking the bells off the door,” I suggested.

  But Dawn was so frustrated, she hardly heard me. “I swear, if the little beast likes living on the street so much, maybe I should let him do it. I’d still feed him, but—”

  That kind of talk wiped the smirk from my face. “Now, now. Even if I were okay with letting him roam, you still have to wait until he’s neutered.” While stroking Cole’s satiny black head, I got an idea. “Maybe you can clicker-train him.”

  “Huh?” Dawn paused for a moment. “I think Keith did that with his dog once . . . but would it work on a cat?”

  “I got Cole to use a scratching post that way. Where are you, still at the store?”

  “Yeah.” She sighed. “Doing some inventory. And I guess I’m afraid to shut Tigger up in the supply room for the night, not knowing what he might get into.”

  “Hold on. I’ll be right over.”

  It took me only a few minutes to find the small blue plastic clicker that I’d used with Cole, plus a bag of cat treats and a fishing-pole toy. I put on my jacket and set out for the short walk to Nature’s Way.

  Even in the brief time since I’d purchased my shop, Chadwick had developed more of a nightlife. The galleries and other specialty shops occasionally stayed open until nine, and more little restaurants had opened up, catering to those who wanted something more elegant than the diner. They seemed to be doing a brisk business, too, because more people roamed the streets tonight than I remembered, even from last year.

  A few windows had letter-sized posters for the Small Business Sunday event that Dawn had told me about. It was taking place in the high school gym that coming weekend. With so much on my mind lately, I hadn’t had time to give it much thought. Or maybe I’d put it out of my mind because, since I stayed open half a day on Saturdays, Sunday really was my only day to rest. Marketing my business was still work.

  I also passed a couple of Dawn’s handbills, taped in the window of a shoe-repair shop and to the post of one vintage-style streetlamp. As I’d advised, she kept the message ultra simple: Did you lose a kitten? Contact Dawn at Nature’s Way.

  I approached Kin Khao, the Thai place that she and I kept meaning to try, just as a well-dressed couple came out the front door and strolled down the block ahead of me. The woman, in heels, was maybe an inch taller than the man. Something about them seemed familiar, but not until they reached their car and he helped her into the passenger side did I recognize Marjorie DeLeuw and Jerry Ross. That was part of what threw me—I wouldn’t have expected to see them together!

  What’s going on there? I wondered as they drove away. First of all, why are they still hanging around town? The police only asked that I not leave the state. I wasn’t sure where Ross lived—close enough, I supposed, to meet regularly with DeLeuw when he was alive. But Marjorie supposedly had an apartment in Manhattan, and I thought she’d have been allowed to return there by now.

  She’d talked so negatively about DeLeuw being “all business,” and even implied he might have been killed because he “got his hands dirty” in the Wall Street game. Now that I thought about it, she’d even thrown a shrewd look in the direction of Schroeder and Ross, who’d been talking together, when she’d said that.

  Could it all have been an act? Could DeLeuw’s hated ex have been involved with his trusted assistant?

  Bonelli said everyone at the funeral home probably lied to me about something. Maybe she knew what she was talking about!

  “Okay, Dawn, now you try it.”

  Looking unsure, my friend pointed to the braided rug in front of her wood-burning stove, which fortunately burned nothing at the moment. “Tigger, rug! Rug!”

  The kitten chirruped and bounded sideways, tail puffed and back arched. He just wanted to play.

  Dawn sighed, with a droop of her slim shoulders. I’d never seen my friend look so beaten down. Still, I couldn’t help smiling.

  “It’s okay. Keep at it,” I said. “And show him the treat.”

  “Rug.” She pointed with the tidbit this time. “Rug!”

  Wide eyes focused on the food, Tigger approached until he was standing on the rug.

  “Good,” I said. “Now bring the treat down just above his head until he sits.”

  Naturally, he tried to stand on his hind legs and snatch the tidbit from her. Dawn said, “Nah-ah-ah!” and hid it in her fist. Finally the kitten sat.

  “Now click,” I directed her. “Wait a second, and then give it to him.”

  She followed my instructions and finally opened her palm. Tigger gobbled the food.

  “The clicker gets his attention and tells him he’s done something right,” I explained.

  “Okay.” She smiled wearily. “But how is that going to keep him from running out the door?”

  I leaned against her antique oak sales counter. “Practice this routine whenever you have free time during the day. It’ll take some repetition, because he’s a kitten, so he has no attention span. Eventually you should be able to say, ‘Rug,’ and he’ll go to the rug and wait for his treat. Then, when someone comes to the door and you see him about to sprint, you
can tell him to go to the rug instead.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. . . . I guess it’s worth a try. I sometimes forget, you actually went to school for this stuff.”

  “Strange as it may seem, I did.” I scooped the kitten up in a hug and then looked him straight in the eye. “You listen to Dawn, okay? And no more stealing jewelry or getting high on her mint tea!”

  “Was he really?”

  “Probably not, but it is a little like catnip.”

  “Eeeep!” Tigger agreed.

  My friend sank down in one of her throw-covered easy chairs. “I’m bushed. Running after a baby all day really wears you out.”

  “I brought you something for that, too.” I grabbed the plastic fishing rod with a bunch of colorful feathers on the end from her sales counter. Tigger was instantly riveted, and leaped a foot in the air to catch this elusive “prey.” I showed Dawn how to make it move stealthily along the floor, “climb” the counter, and dart through the air like a real mouse or bird so he couldn’t resist chasing it.

  “When you’re ready to close at night, before you shut him up, give him a good workout with this thing,” I told her. “Then feed him, and he should sleep through the night. Maybe give him another play session in the morning before you open.”

  “I can manage that.” She looked a little more optimistic now; maybe it was the irresistible charm of watching a kitten at play. “Cassie, when he’s trying to get out . . . you don’t suppose he wants to go home?”

  I thought that over as I wrapped the cord around the pole and put it aside, much to Tigger’s disappointment. “Possibly, but it’s usually older cats that really have a sense of home. And he was already camping out in your storeroom, so he mustn’t have been that attached to any other place.” I sat in the other armchair. “Guess you haven’t had any responses to your posters.”

  “No one actually saying that they lost him. Of course, most people think he’s adorable—like I did, once.” She rolled her eyes to dramatize her agony. “They joke that they’ll take him if I don’t want him. So if things get too bad, I do have options.”

  “Well, be sure you still check the person out first. At any rate, since nobody’s claimed him, you’ve got an appointment in a week to have him neutered. Promise me you’ll at least keep him that long.”

  “I will.” She picked up the kitten and cupped her hands over his tiny ears. “Shhh! You’ll just give him more of a reason to run away.”

  “True—maybe he’s figured that out.”

  Dawn tried to mask a yawn, and I knew it was time for me to leave so all of us could get some sleep.

  “I really appreciate your coming over,” she said. “And for the clicker and the toy, and all your tips.”

  “No problem.” On my way to the door, I noticed the fresh marks on her oak cabinet. “I’ll bring you a scratching post tomorrow too. I’ve got a kitten-sized one that all my guys have outgrown.”

  “Jeez, I’m so selfish, I forgot to even ask you how your date with Dr. Dolittle went!”

  I smiled, not having the energy to get into that topic at the moment. “We’ll talk about that tomorrow. Good night, you two.”

  “Bye, Cassie.” This time Dawn took no chances and held on to the kitten until I’d left, waving his paw at me.

  My phone had rung during our practice session, so on the way back home, I checked for messages. I was happy to hear Nick’s voice sounding hale and hearty. He thanked me warmly for coming to the hospital and said he was sorry he hadn’t been in any shape for me to visit with him.

  “But I’m much better now,” he added. “They gave me new medicine and said I could go back to work as along as I don’t overdo. So I’m working on your post, and I should be able to bring it over by the end of the week. No charge, because you been such a good friend to me and to Dion.”

  I let out my breath in relief. I hoped Nick wasn’t rushing his recovery, but I was glad he felt well enough work again. And it would be good to finally have that back post secured, for nights like this when I came home late.

  When he came to install it, that would be the time to ask him about his lie of omission. Why he’d never told me that he went to DeLeuw’s house, and threatened him, the day before George was murdered.

  Chapter 13

  Saturday morning, when I opened the front of the shop to let Sarah in, she had a piece of paper in her hand. “This was under the door,” she said.

  I unfolded the good-quality notepaper. Felt a chill when I saw the heading for Morris Plaza in bold blue capital letters and recognized the handwriting.

  Your mom told me about your new shop, so I stopped by to see it. Sorry I missed you. So you’re still working with animals? I’ve got a new job too, guess she told you. The hours are regular and it pays more than up at the mall, so my head’s in a better place these days. We really need to talk, Cassie. Our breakup was a terrible mistake—maybe by now you realize that too. I don’t know if my calls or e-mails are getting through, but you know where to reach me. Or maybe the next time I stop by, I’ll get lucky.

  —Andy

  My hands began to perspire in spite of—or maybe because of—the breezy wording of the note. It must have been Andy, then, that Sarah had seen looking through the shop window. Now that he’d found the place, he could come back anytime . . . even after dark.

  Had he cased the building, and did he suspect that I lived upstairs? My CR-V had been in the parking lot . . . but I’d bought it since we’d broken up, so he might not realize it was mine. He might even think someone else rented the second floor.

  Good. Let him go on thinking that.

  “Our breakup was a terrible mistake”? Like hell! My not telling the cops what he did to me was the terrible mistake.

  “Cassie?” Sarah had set down her bag and taken off her jacket, and now stared at me in concern.

  “My ex.” With shaking hands, I refolded the note. I wanted to tear it up, but maybe because I’d been thinking in terms of crimes and evidence lately, I decided not to. Instead I tucked it away in the shallow drawer below the counter.

  “Then the guy I saw scoping the place out was him?”

  I nodded. “Apparently he plans to keep dropping by until I relent and take him back.”

  Sarah’s pursed mouth slipped to one side. “Maybe you should carry that pepper spray.”

  Putting on my apron and gloves to empty the litter pans, I calmed a little. “At least if I run into him out in the street, I can make a fuss and probably get people to help me.”

  “You said he’s working as a security guard. Could he have a permit for a gun?”

  So much for calming down. “Jeez, I don’t know. He didn’t on his last job, but—”

  Sarah also suited up for litter detail. “What did the note say? Did he threaten you?”

  “No, nothing like that. He just sounded like he had no clue that I moved here to get away from him. But that’s what creeps me out—he’s got to know. It’s like he’s saying, ‘I found you now, and I can get to you anytime I want to.’ ”

  “You should tell the police,” Sarah insisted.

  Bonelli’s face floated into my mind, and for once its no-nonsense demeanor comforted me. “I just might do that. First, though, I’m going to have a talk with Mom.”

  We cleaned out all the litter pans and fed our boarders. After that we had no appointments right away, so I let Harpo out to romp on the cat trees for half an hour. Sarah had a great time dragging a toy over the wall shelves for him to chase, while I stole the chance to make a call.

  I caught my mother at a slow time at her job too and told her about Andy’s note. “He’s stalking me, Mom. If you see him at work, tell him to stop, or so help me, I’ll report him to the police.”

  “Honestly, Cassie, are you overreacting? If he’s gone so far out of his way to look you up, he probably still has feelings for you. Would it be so bad to just have coffee with him, and see—”

  Remembering Sarah’s wise advice gave me
to courage to finally come clean. “Mom, Andy and I didn’t just argue a lot. He was abusive. He twisted my wrist once and threatened to hurt my cats. I finally broke up with him because he shoved me into a steel bookcase and nearly broke my shoulder.”

  The silence on the line made me feel a bit guilty for shocking her. Finally she said, “Honey, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. . . .”

  “I know. I should have told you before, but you liked him so much that I figured you wouldn’t want to believe it.” The few brief times that they’d met, I remembered, Andy had turned on his considerable charm and Mom had fallen for it—the same way I had. “Then when I broke up with him and moved away, I thought that would be the end of it. But the way you kept on about how I should get back together with him, I figured you finally needed to know the truth.”

  “I never imagined . . . but you’re right, Cassie. I should have trusted your judgment.” I couldn’t believe she was finally acknowledging that. “It’s just that I worried about you being alone. When you father died, it was the worst time of my life. After you went back to college, being all by myself in that house . . . During the day I’d go to work and see friends, of course, but the nights were so lonely.”

  Seems like I had to learn to be sensitive to my mother’s feelings too. “I didn’t realize that, Mom. I knew you missed Dad, of course—I sure did too. But when I called from school, you always sounded upbeat and like you were keeping busy. I didn’t realize it affected you so badly.”

  “Maybe we’ve been shielding each other too much,” she commented with a sad little laugh. “Trying to be strong.”

  “I guess so.”

  A catnip mouse that Sarah had tossed for Harpo landed almost under my feet. While he dashed for it, she put a hand over her mouth in a mute apology. I smiled and bounced the toy in the other direction.

  “Anyway, I’m not isolated here,” I insisted. “I have my new assistant, Sarah; my friend Dawn; my handyman, Nick, and his son, Dion. . . .” Okay, including Dion among my best pals was a bit of a stretch. “And it might surprise you to know that I actually was on a date last week.”