The Persian Always Meows Twice

by Eileen Watkins

  After about half an hour the trio took a short break. Mark and I ordered coffee, eager to stay and hear the second set. Meanwhile, maybe my colorful sweater had raised my visibility, because Danielle suddenly appeared at my side.

  “Cassie, what a pleasant surprise!” she hailed me. Call me paranoid, but that warning bell in the back of my brain sounded again.

  “Hi! I saw the three of you come in.” I introduced her to Mark and vice versa; I didn’t feel the need to point out Schroeder and his companion. “Are you enjoying the music?”

  “Very much. I didn’t expect to find such a fun little place here in Chadwick, but Chuck and his wife knew about it. They came here once or twice with George.”

  I nodded, glad to hear that DeLeuw had not been a total hermit, after all.

  Tonight Danielle wore another long, knit dress—taupe-gray this time, instead of mourning black—with more makeup than at the funeral home. Uninvited, she perched on the end of my booth seat and tapped me on the arm with one French-manicured finger. “Actually, you’re just the person I wanted to talk to, and maybe while there’s a break, we have time. I understand that you’re keeping George’s cat at your shop until everything is cleared up.”

  Here we go. There had to be an explanation for the sudden friendliness.

  “I know at the viewing I said I wouldn’t be able to take him because of my busy schedule,” Danielle went on. “I assumed that someone else in George’s circle would step up, though, and I gather no one else has. So rather than keep the poor darling in a cage any longer than necessary, I’m willing to take charge of him. I’m flying back to California at the end of the week, and I can make arrangements to bring him with me.”

  If she had told me this at the funeral home, I probably would have agreed with no argument. But her sudden change of heart, coming right after Marjorie’s, made me suspicious. “You said, though, that you’re hardly ever home to take care of a pet.”

  “I do travel a lot; it’s true. But I have a housekeeper who comes in while I’m away. Besides, you can hire sitters for pets, can’t you? My house isn’t as large as George’s, but it’s in a lovely location up in the hills above San Jose. I know George didn’t let his cat out around here, probably because of the busy roads. At my place, though, little Harpo could roam to his heart’s content!”

  I saw a flicker of alarm cross Mark’s face, which probably mirrored my own. “Er . . . that might not be the best thing for him. You may not be close to roads, but in a place like that it sounds like there could still be stray dogs, or even wild animals, that could attack him.” Jeez, even around Chadwick we saw the occasional coyote.

  This insight made Danielle pause for a second. “I hadn’t thought of that. Well, okay, maybe I won’t let him out, but I can still give him a good home. And really”—she leaned closer—“I am George’s nearest relative. So if he left the cat to anyone, most likely it would be to me.”

  You’d think that these people begrudged me what little money might be trickling out of DeLeuw’s estate to cover Harpo’s board. It had to be more than that, though. Maybe they really did think George had designated a large part of his inheritance to whoever was willing to take the cat. Maybe he’d even mentioned that to someone along the way, and now word had gotten around. At any rate, I sensed Danielle would not be much more conscientious than Marjorie about caring for Harpo. Especially not if she was just doing it for the money.

  “To be honest, you’re not the first person to approach me about taking him,” I told her, “but for now his lawyer has said the cat should remain at my shop. I think it’s better if we all wait and see if George made any special request. For example, there’s no point in your taking the cat to California if it turns out he left Harpo to someone here on the East Coast. It’s very stressful for an animal to fly cross-country once, never mind twice.”

  Danielle must not have heard that I’d already disappointed Marjorie, because she was just as astonished to be turned down. The news that someone else had put in a bid for Harpo seemed to make her even more anxious. “But if he is left to me, I’ll have to fly all the way back here to get him! And who knows how much longer it’s going to take for them to probate the will?”

  I shrugged. “They tell me that even under normal circumstances, in New Jersey the process can drag on for months. And this does involve a murder investigation.”

  That set her back like a spray of cold water to a misbehaving cat. With a frown, she glanced from me to Mark and back again. “Well. Sorry to interrupt your evening.”

  I watched her return to her booth, where I figured she’d vent her frustration to her companions. Did Schroeder and his wife have any skin in the game of Who Gets Harpo?

  “That was bizarre,” said Mark.

  “You don’t know the half of it.” The waiter had brought our coffees; while I added sweetener and milk to mine, I explained about the similar conversation I’d had with DeLeuw’s ex-wife. I added my theory that both women might think whoever took in the Persian would inherit a windfall.

  “I guess it’s possible,” Mark said. “DeLeuw doesn’t seem to have been on the greatest terms even with the mourners who came to his funeral. Lonely people who become very attached to a pet have been known to leave all their money to the animal. Which of course means, to its caretaker, whoever that might be.”

  I took a sip of the rich, fresh brew. “Call me morbid, but this whole thing has made me think I should have a will. Even besides my business, I’ve got three cats of my own. I know my mother won’t want them, and Dawn’s already got her hands full with Tigger. I do have some other cat-loving friends, but . . . this just shows that maybe I shouldn’t leave it up to chance.”

  “A lot of nice animals do end up in shelters just because their owners have died.” Mark reached across, covered my hand with his own, and smiled. “Still, I think you’ve got at least a few years before you have to worry about that.”

  Surprised and warmed by his gesture, I still couldn’t resist joking back. “Depends on how desperate these folks are to get Harpo . . . and if I’m the only thing standing in their way!”

  The second set by the jazz trio was as satisfying as the first. Though we didn’t hold hands the whole time, Mark did move over to my side of the booth, supposedly so he could see the stage better. A transparent excuse, but I wasn’t about to protest. By the time we left the Firehouse, I definitely felt things heating up between us. Still, as we walked back to his car, his arm loosely around my shoulders, I felt the need to do a status check.

  “The longtime relationship you mentioned before . . . what’s happening with that?”

  He sighed, which told me he had some regrets, but insisted, “That’s over. She’s seeing other people. She’d like to keep stringing me along, but I told her that doesn’t work for me. So I’m ready to move on.”

  I just nodded, not bringing up my own unresolved issues—such as the possibility that my ex-boyfriend might have been spying on us when we’d left for our date. At any rate, when Mark drove me back to my place and parked, the mysterious dark sedan was nowhere in sight.

  That was lucky. If it had been Andy, our lengthy goodnight kiss in the car might have driven him to a homicidal rage.

  “You know, I’ve never seen your shop,” Mark commented afterward. “I thought we’d have time when I picked you up, but you seemed to be in a hurry.”

  “Sorry about that.” Still conscious of the ex-girlfriend who was trying to hang on to him, I played it coy. “Maybe next time?”

  His frown was good-natured, as if he remembered being the one who had asked to take things slow. “Absolutely. Need me to watch until you get inside?”

  I opened the passenger door. “I think I’ll be okay, but thanks.”

  A glance around my small backyard revealed no one lurking there, so I gave Mark an all-clear wave that sent him on his way.

  Am I an idiot? I wondered. No, he had set the rules on our first date, and I was going to take them seriously. It w
asn’t as if we had to go far out of our way to see each other again.

  Anything good was worth waiting for, I thought. And tonight had been really good. Especially that kiss.

  I started up the back steps, triggering the motion-sensor light. Though tired and in a bit of a romantic daze, I was still conscious of the wobbly left banister and barely brushed it with my hand.

  To my shock, the whole thing toppled off and crashed to the ground.

  What the—

  Nick just shored up that post with a bracket!

  By the overhead light, I bent down to look at it more closely. Some of the screws had ripped completely out of their supports, splintering the old wood.

  As if while I was out, someone bigger and heavier climbed the steps, leaned on it for support . . . and it gave way.

  Chapter 16

  A call to the police did bring out one officer in a patrol car, I suspected only because he had nothing better to do. He checked the banister but explained the old wood wasn’t a good surface for lifting fingerprints; maybe he just didn’t want to be bothered. My parking lot was gravel, so it would have been useless to look for footprints.

  I checked the back door and found it still locked, and there was no sign of a break-in. But after I explained about the abusive ex-boyfriend, and the driver sitting in his car by the curb while I waited for my date, tall, crew-cut Officer Bassey walked through the whole place with me to make sure no one was lurking.

  My car had been parked in back, but as far as I could tell, no one had messed with that. The tires looked okay, and when I turned the ignition key, it started up promptly.

  On his way out again, Officer Bassey commented that I ought to get a dead bolt for the back door. “A single lock, with this old wood—somebody strong could push right in.”

  I swallowed hard at that image. “When my handyman comes to fix the railing, I’ll ask him to install one.”

  The whirling lights of the squad car alerted Mrs. Kryznansky, the plump gray-haired woman who lived over the insurance office next door. In a full-length winter coat that probably covered her nightgown, she stepped out into her yard to tell us she’d heard some kind of crash and then a man cursing.

  “I turned on my light and came out there to see what was going on.” She pointed to her second-floor rear porch. “Guess that scared the guy, ’cause he took off down the street.”

  “Can you describe him?” Bassey asked.

  She shook her head of tight gray curls. “I mainly saw him from the back. Medium height, dark hair, dark sweatshirt, and jeans.”

  That could have been Andy, I thought . . . or maybe one-third of the male population of New Jersey. Mrs. Kryznansky went back home then, having done her good-neighborly deed. Bassey told me he was on duty all night and would cruise by a couple of times to make sure everything looked okay.

  Knowing that did help me sleep better.

  * * *

  The next morning, Monday, Sarah brought freshly baked brownies to work—she’d made extra for an event at her church the day before. Just the way I liked them, not overly sweet and with a nice, earthy tang of cocoa. As I took a few minutes to enjoy one, I filled her in on the latest incident, just in case there might be another Andy sighting.

  “Poor thing, you can’t even enjoy a night out,” she commiserated. “Not only does this guy seem to be lurking around and spying on you, but that Danielle woman interrupts your date. How rude!”

  “I know. Mark was a good sport about it, but it was nervy of her.”

  When we fed the boarders, I realized I had only one can left of Harpo’s special food. I’d never discussed with Jerry Ross how to get more of the stuff, and I hadn’t seen it in any of the nearby pet stores. Better give him a call.

  I reached Ross without a problem, and he offered to get a case for me. “I know a place on the highway that carries it,” he said. “I used to pick it up for DeLeuw all the time.”

  So much for the glamour of an executive assistant’s job, I thought. “That would be great, if you don’t mind.” It would also solve the problem of whether I’d be reimbursed, because the stuff was probably more expensive than what I usually bought.

  “No problem. I’ll bring it by later this afternoon.” With a chuckle, he added, “I’ll take an antihistamine first.”

  I’d forgotten about his cat allergy. “Yeah, you might want to. Though the front of the shop may not be as bad for you as the grooming and boarding areas.”

  For the next hour, Sarah and I worked on the new boarder, Bear, the Maine Coon. Fortunately, he seemed to have some show experience and did not use his considerable brawn against us, so we had him shaped up pretty quickly. As a reward for his good behavior, we then turned him loose in the playroom to explore for a while.

  “I hate to leave you alone again,” I told Sarah, “but I need to talk to Detective Bonelli at the police station.”

  “Good idea. You really should tell her about this guy stalking you.”

  “I will.”

  Among other things, I thought.

  * * *

  The detective actually invited me into her glass-walled office this time. It had few prestigious trappings, just a simple Formica-topped, L-shaped computer desk and a black multiline phone with a cord. The only personal touch was a framed picture of a sturdy, middle-aged man and two preteen boys, the right ages to be Bonelli’s husband and sons.

  Maybe because I’d bought her a Starbucks the last time we’d talked, she offered me a hazelnut coffee courtesy of the neat little burgundy-colored Keurig unit on her console table. A Mother’s Day gift, she said.

  Holding a Styrofoam cup filled with the aromatic brew, I sat in the steel-framed visitor’s chair and faced Bonelli across her desk. “Both DeLeuw’s sister and his ex-wife approached me over the weekend about taking the cat.”

  The detective leaned back in her padded vinyl chair. “And that isn’t good news?”

  “No, because neither one of them seems to know, or care, anything about cats. Marjorie put of one George’s other cats to sleep for what sounded like a simple hairball issue. Danielle travels a lot, and sounded ready to turn Harpo loose in the hills of San Jose to get picked off by a coyote.”

  “I understand your concern, Cassie, but that really isn’t your—”

  “Yes, I know. If George has left the cat to one of them, I have no say about it. But here’s the thing—why the sudden interest? Do they think Harpo comes attached with some big legacy, to keep him in the manner to which he’s become accustomed? They were both pretty mad at me when I said we should wait to see what’s in the will. Do they think I’m trying to cheat them out of big bucks?”

  “They might be under that impression.” The level way Bonelli said this gave me no insight as to whether she knew the actual terms of the will.

  “But it could be a motive, don’t you think? I doubt that George would leave anything to Marjorie otherwise, because he talked as if he hated her. You told me she was getting alimony when he was alive, but that will stop now. Maybe this is her way of making sure she gets what she thinks she deserves anyway.”

  “Could be. The most likely person to inherit, though, would be his sister. So why would Danielle need to manipulate you when all she has to do is sit back and wait?”

  I pondered this for a minute. “She might have to wait a long while, and you told me her business is in trouble. Besides, if there was a separate amount set aside for Harpo, she still could lose out on that.”

  Bonelli frowned as if unconvinced. “Well, you’ve told them everything’s on hold, so stick to that. In the meantime, let’s talk about something more pressing. You had a disturbance at your home last night?”

  I told her what had happened while I was on my date with Mark, and gave her the full background on Andy. “I almost had myself convinced the guy sitting in the parked car was just a coincidence, until I came home and found that railing pulled loose.” I also told her what my neighbor had heard and seen.

  “Could h
ave been a garden-variety burglar.” The detective turned toward her desktop PC. “What’s his full name? Your ex, I mean?”

  I hesitated, realizing I hadn’t spoken it out loud in a long time. “Andrew Wade.”

  Bonelli ran it through her computer, and after a minute her full lips curved into a faint smile. “Interesting. Looks like he was pulled over for a DUI last night around eleven, just outside of Morristown.”

  This evidence knocked the wind out of me. “Oh my God, so it really might have been him!” Andy wasn’t a major alcoholic, but it was usually when he’d had one drink too many that he lost his temper. A video ran in my head of him stumbling when the rail pulled loose, then panicking when the light came on next door and dashing out of the yard.

  “Well, even if it was, he shouldn’t be spying on you again anytime soon—at least, not from the refuge of his car. His license was suspended for three months. They could give him jail time, too, though maybe they won’t for a first offense.”

  I wondered how this would affect his new job as a security officer, then caught myself. “Now I’m actually feeling sorry for him. I’ve got to stop that.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  I liked Bonelli’s plainspoken style, and breathed a little easier. Andy probably would not be bothering me for at least a few months. And if he’d gotten a good scare, maybe never again.

  “Is that all?” The detective drummed her fingers on a closed manila file, obviously eager to move on to more pressing work.

  “Just one more thing. While I’m here, could I see Nick Janos?”

  “I’m afraid you can’t. He was released on bail this morning.”

  “Oh. He was able to raise—”

  “The judge didn’t set it very high, and apparently Nick has a lawyer cousin who came through for him. He has got a court date, though.”

  “You told me Nick threatened DeLeuw. What did he actually do? Go to George’s house and argue with him?”

  “DeLeuw wasn’t home, so he left a note in the mailbox. Unfortunately, it said, ‘Cheat my son and you’ll wish you were never born.’ ” Bonelli frowned. “Combined with the handkerchief we found, it doesn’t look good.”