The Persian Always Meows Twice

by Eileen Watkins

  I introduced myself, but he remembered me from that traumatic afternoon when he, Anita, and I had discovered George’s body.

  “That was a rough day,” I commiserated. “I guess you got grilled by Detective Bonelli, too.”

  He frowned. “That first day, I got Officer Bassey, and his philosophy seemed to be ‘guilty until proven innocent.’ Bonelli called me down to the station later, and she seemed a little more reasonable.”

  I remembered her telling me that Louis had a juvenile record for shoplifting, and wondered if that had made her look at him more closely.

  He gestured to the photos on the board behind him. “At last year’s expo, I put a couple of shots of DeLeuw’s property up here, because I’m proud of the work I did for him. But this time . . . I figured maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. Pictures of his house have been in the paper, and I don’t need any more people connecting me with his murder. Bad enough I lost a good client, without having that kind of suspicion hanging over me.”

  Louis didn’t put it into words, but I wondered if he also felt that the more well-to-do white people in our suburban area didn’t need another reason to be wary of hiring a young black man to work around their homes. I remembered that Danielle was all too ready to point the finger at him for killing George to cover up some theft.

  “I know what you’re saying,” I told him. “I’m here trying to pick up new business too. And I was also worried that people might avoid me because I actually found the body. On cop shows, that always puts you high on the list of suspects.”

  He smiled widely for the first time. “Well, I don’t suspect you, Cassie, and neither does Anita.”

  “Thanks.” I leaned across his table and spoke quietly. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think the cops are that suspicious anymore of people like us, who were just doing jobs around the house. I think they’re looking at people George was connected with personally and professionally.”

  Louis nodded slowly, as if weighing how much he should reveal. “DeLeuw could’ve had some secrets. Years back I was in a bad situation, keeping the wrong company. But I pulled myself out and went legit. I sometimes got the feeling George was trying to do the same thing.” He shook his close-cropped head. “Not as easy as it sounds, though. Sometimes your old friends, they don’t like to let you go.”

  I was about to ask Louis what he meant when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something that made my heart freeze. Across the gym, a brown-haired man in jeans and a green argyle pullover lingered by my display, watching the video on my laptop. His face was half-turned away, but from the sweater, the set of his broad shoulders, and the way he stood with one hand in his pocket, I recognized Andy.

  “Excuse me.” I started away from Louis’s booth, then paused. Every instinct told me to escape. If Andy hadn’t seen me yet, I could dodge him easily. Run to the ladies’ room or some other corner of the big school. Even sneak out to the parking lot, get in my car, and split. I could phone Dawn from a gas station, explain the situation, and ask her to call me back when Andy was gone.

  “No contact.” That was the advice I’d often read for dealing with a stalker. And he must be stalking me. He works in Morristown—what other reason would he have to come, on a Sunday, to a local business expo in Chadwick? It scared me to realize how obsessed he must be, to have found out about this event and driven so far just to check it out.

  And to have homed in so quickly on my booth.

  But damn it, why should I skulk away as if I was the one who’d done something wrong?

  Dawn and Keith had never met Andy. Now he appeared to be asking them about my display and she seemed to be eagerly answering his questions. My skin twitched just to see him talking with my friends, but I stayed rooted near Louis’s booth.

  Chuckling at something Dawn had said, Andy reached for the stuffed cat. He seemed confused when he couldn’t pick it up, and gave it a sharp tug.

  I flashed back to the threat he’d made against my cats during one of our fights. The sleeping rage inside me woke with a roar, and I crossed the gymnasium toward him with long strides.

  “Sir, that’s not for sale,” I called out in a sharp tone. “It’s part of the display.”

  Dawn and Keith glanced up in surprise, but by the time Andy swung around, he wore the deceptively easygoing, confident smile that I’d once found so seductive. He might have had the face of an ogre, though, for all the appeal I found now in his handsome features.

  “Cassie! I thought I might run into you here. How’ve you been?”

  Nearer to him now, I dropped my voice to avoid startling any passersby. “A hell of a lot better since you’ve been out of my life.” My fear vanished now that I felt surrounded by friends and potentially helpful strangers. I was more afraid that I’d lose control and hit him.

  “What a thing to say!” Andy half joked. “Look, I know we didn’t part on the best of terms, but we can at least talk about it. I’m willing to let bygones be bygones if—”

  “Well, I’m not. Listen, Andy, we are over. Do not drop in at places because you think you might run into me. Do not come by my shop. Do not call me, text me, e-mail me, or write to me. Do not ask my mother about me.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Cassie. You make it awful hard for a guy to—”

  “I have friends on the Chadwick police force. If you keep stalking me like this, I’ll get a restraining order against you.”

  He made an incredulous face but did step away from me. “Jesus . . . you’re crazy, you know that?”

  “Sure, it’s always my fault.”

  Keith, slimmer but taller than Andy, stepped in between us and glared at my ex. Even with the goofy beret, he managed to look intimidating. “I think Cassie’s made herself clear. Are you leaving now, or are we calling a security guard?”

  Andy paused for just a second, still fuming. In a last tantrum, he gave the cat tree an irritable push and almost sent my laptop crashing to the floor. Good thing years of dealing with cats had sharpened my reflexes—I caught it just in time. Finally Andy paced toward the exit.

  Keith started to follow, but I caught his arm.

  “Not worth it,” I said. “But thanks for your help.”

  Dawn hugged me. “Are you all right? I had no idea that was . . . him.”

  “I know you didn’t. I’m glad you guys were here for backup, though. Otherwise, I might never have had the guts to yell at him like that.”

  Keith grinned. “You sure ripped into him. I don’t know how psycho that guy is, but if it were me, I’d never dare come near you again! But if he ever does, at least I’ve already done the police sketch.”

  He showed me his pad, where he’d dashed off a darn good likeness of a scowling Andy Wade. I had to smile, but waved the drawing away.

  Dawn pulled my chair over so I could sit. “I can’t make you tea, but how about some coconut water?”

  I wondered silently if the wine shop had a booth nearby, but meanwhile, I accepted the bottled drink. I was sipping it through a straw when I heard the muted strains of “Stray Cat Strut” from my pocket. Great—was Andy calling from the parking lot to curse me out?

  But Mark’s number showed on the screen.

  “Hi, Cassie,” he said. “Having a restful Sunday?”

  “Not so much, actually.” I wasn’t going to tell him about Andy, but I explained that I’d decided at the last minute to take part in the expo.

  “That’s cool,” he said. “I did that for the first couple of years after I opened the clinic, and it really helped make people aware of us.” He paused on the line. “Runs until about five o’clock, doesn’t it?”

  “That’s right.” Provocatively, I added, “Why do you ask?”

  He laughed. “Yes, I do have an ulterior motive. How do you feel about jazz?”

  “I like it. My dad was a serious buff, so I heard a lot of jazz growing up.”

  “Terrific! Look, I know this is last-minute, but how’d you like to go to the Firehouse tonight? Y’know, th
at club they made out of the old fire station? Usually it’s blues and rock, but I just found out they’ve got a jazz trio playing this eve. And it’s so hard to find any music like that around here!”

  That sounded good to me, too. I’d been to the Firehouse just once, with Dawn, but the rock band that night had been painfully loud for the intimate space. A jazz trio, though, should be just right.

  “I’m in,” I told Mark. “What time?”

  “The music starts at eight, but if you want to eat first we can get there early. They just have light food.”

  “I’m sure it’ll top whatever I’ve got defrosted.”

  “Pick you up about seven thirty, then? I’m really looking forward to this!”

  After he hung up, I wondered whether it was the prospect of hearing some jazz or of seeing me again that he was looking forward to, but decided not to split hairs.

  Dawn was smiling at me across her display table. “Dr. Dolittle?”

  I nodded. “How’s that for timing!”

  “You’re not kidding.” Her expression turned wary. “Probably a good thing we got rid of Andy before you took that call!”

  She was right, I realized. My ex was volatile enough already. I didn’t want to imagine his reaction if he’d overheard me making a date with another man.

  Chapter 15

  In hopes of kicking things up a notch from my diner date with Mark, I paired my nicest jeans with a red-orange V-neck sweater, took a little time to style my hair with a curling iron, and put on boots with three-inch heels, the highest I’d go. I topped it all off with my well-worn brown leather jacket, and by quarter to seven felt I looked appropriately jazzy.

  Suddenly I remembered my wobbly railing. I hadn’t warned Mark about that—if he came to the back door, he might get a rude surprise. The evening was mild and clear, so I decided to wait for him out front.

  At first I didn’t feel too conspicuous standing in my shop doorway. Cassie’s Comfy Cats was on a side street, after all, not the main drag. A block down, everything turned pretty residential. At seven twenty-five, it was still fairly light out, though too overcast to see the moon. Commuters arrived home from work; a teen girl on a bicycle whizzed by; an older man walked a small, fuzzy terrier.

  It took me a minute to notice a shiny, dark sedan parked across the street and a little ways down, its headlights on. I was just thinking that the owner might end up with a dead battery when they snapped off. A nearby streetlamp showed the driver still in the car, in silhouette. Most likely a man—judging from the height, wide shoulders, and short hair—but in the twilight that was all I could make out. It was too far off for me to read the license plate, either.

  I waited for the driver to step out of the car and go into one of the houses. He never did.

  As the minutes dragged on, I glanced again and again toward Center Street, willing Mark to show up. Was I just imagining things, or was the parked driver watching me?

  Had Mom done as I’d said and told Andy I was dating someone? Maybe he’d decided to spy on me to see if it was true. Damn, I thought that would discourage him—it hadn’t occurred to me that it might make him jealous and even more dangerous! That sedan didn’t look like Andy’s car, but I’d changed vehicles since we’d broken up; no reason why he might not have done the same.

  I sure as heck wasn’t going over to check, though. If it was Andy, I just hoped he wouldn’t get out and try to pick a fight when Mark arrived.

  I checked my watch. Seven thirty-five now. Mark wasn’t really late, though, at least not by my standards. His clinic was only a couple of blocks over, but he’d probably gone home to change, and I didn’t know how far away he lived. Maybe, in the meantime I should wait around back, where I’d be less—

  A cobalt-blue RAV4 turned in at the corner and slowed as it approached my shop. I exhaled, though I still kept one eye on the sedan. Mark cruised to a stop and started to get out—probably to open the door for me, like a gentleman—but I’d already hopped in the passenger side. When he paused in confusion, I laughed as if we’d just gotten our signals crossed.

  “Guess you must be hungry!” He smiled and slid back in behind the wheel.

  “I just waited out here because of the railing on my back steps.” Sounding even to myself like a total ditz, I went into a long, tedious explanation. But meanwhile, my quick move helped get us safely under way before any confrontation with the guy in the parked car could take place.

  Of course, there would only have been a confrontation if the guy was Andy, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

  As we drove across town, I moved from the topic of my shaky railing to the news that my handyman had been arrested for DeLeuw’s murder, based on evidence as flimsy as a handkerchief. When I relayed Dion’s description of the piece of cloth, Mark wrinkled his elegantly arched Italian nose in suspicion.

  “He said the corner was torn off?”

  “Yes. Why? Does that mean something?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. But a good-quality handkerchief sometimes is monogrammed in one corner. Could be the killer was trying to hide his identity.”

  Because the monogram wouldn’t be Dion’s or Nick’s. Of course. “Mark, you’re a genius! I didn’t think of that. And I’m sure Dion didn’t either, because I doubt that he and his dad are the type to carry monogrammed handkerchiefs.”

  “There you go.” Mark drove on down Center Street. “All you need to do now is look for someone who is the type.”

  Mentally, I ran down the list of suspects. “I guess a woman could have a monogrammed handkerchief too.”

  “I guess.” A glint of humor in his eye, he added, “If she was the type.”

  Unfortunately, that didn’t narrow the field very much.

  “Anyway, I am not going to spend this evening discussing the DeLeuw murder case,” I promised. “There are too many other interesting things to talk about.”

  “I second that.” He threw me a crooked grin that made my heart leap like Mango springing after a catnip mouse.

  I loved the way many older buildings in Chadwick had been adapted for new uses, and the Firehouse was a prime example. The old brick two-story structure with limestone trim sprouted one corner turret, maybe where the firemen’s pole had come down. Three large front bays, originally for the hook-and-ladder trucks, now featured tall double doors with windows. These could be opened in summer; even closed, as they were tonight, they still let in lots of natural light and offered a view of the street.

  A chalkboard sign on the sidewalk in front advertised the Bobby Burke Trio with the welcome message, Sunday—No Cover.

  The front section of the pub offered high, round tables and bentwood stools near the bar, but we opted for a booth a little farther back and closer to the music. The ceilings throughout were the original pressed tin, dotted with industrial-style fans and pendant lights. One wall of exposed brick ran all the way through to the rear stage area. It was a little bit of sophisticated Morristown—or even lower Manhattan—right here in Chadwick. I enjoyed the idea that our town could be quaint and trendy at the same time.

  After Mark ordered a beer and I a white wine, we deliberately avoided any talk about either murder suspects or exes. Since he had drawn me out about myself on our first date, I determined this time to find out more about him. I learned that he’d grown up just outside Philadelphia and gotten his DVM degree at UPenn. He’d spent some time as part of a larger practice in South Jersey before deciding to start a clinic of his own in our small town.

  “I looked around for an area that didn’t seem to have that much in the way of veterinary services,” he said, “and when I visited Chadwick, it just appealed to me. It’s far enough into the country that I get to deal with some farm animals too, though they’re not a big part of my practice.”

  By the time our shared appetizer of chicken tenders arrived, I also knew Mark had played jazz on the guitar when he was younger, and still owned one, but was out of practice these days.

  “Any pets?” I
had to ask.

  “Growing up, I always had big dogs. In the condo complex where I live now, they only allow little ones.” He shrugged. “I might consider a cat instead.”

  I laughed. “I may know of a kitten that’s available—last time I visited Dawn, Tigger was driving her crazy. I gave her some tips on clicker-training him, but I haven’t heard how that’s going. You can ask her about it when she brings him in next week.”

  A curly-haired waiter brought Mark’s Firehouse Burger and my blackened chicken over Spanish rice. (No more flirty waitresses, anyway!) Meanwhile, I glimpsed a party of three being seated in a booth across and slightly in back of us. Something about them made me turn, discreetly, for a better look.

  It was Charles Schroeder, the stylish brunette who’d been with him at the funeral home, and Danielle DeLeuw.

  “Huh!” I said to myself, drawing Mark’s attention.

  “You know those folks?” he asked.

  I explained. “Chadwick really must be an up-and-coming hot spot. The beautiful people from Wall Street and the West Coast come here and never want to leave.”

  “Maybe they’re still wrapping up some aspect of DeLeuw’s business.”

  The Bobby Burke Trio started its first set then, and Mark and I concentrated on our meals and the music. The weathered brick walls and old spiral staircase of the firehouse formed a mellow backdrop for the guitarist, keyboard guy, and drummer as they played. Burke, the guitarist, sported a white beard and a battered fedora, and showed a dry sense of humor in his patter between numbers. They performed fresh versions of many songs I’d heard on my father’s LPs, including “ ’Round Midnight,” “Misty,” and the bossa nova “Insensatez.” Among these, they interspersed a few very listenable compositions of their own. They earned genuine applause for every number.

  Along with appreciating the music myself, I enjoyed watching its effect on Mark, who often nodded along with a blissful expression in his deep-blue eyes. Nothing about this date was fancy, I thought, but somehow it was perfect. Low-pressure, but still with a subtle touch of romance.