I stood up, holding the rifle. My formerly fluffy white tail was soaking wet, and it dragged down the seat of my suit. I was willing to bet it wasn't white anymore, either.
"The spiders are gone," I said. "They probably weren't tarantulas, anyway."
He seemed happy to hear that, but he kept looking around anxiously until he noticed who was holding the rifle.
"You son of a bitch," he said. "You're going to let Larry get away."
"He probably won't leave without his cat," I said. "Let's see if we can find them."
It didn't take long. We found Larry at the base of a tall palm tree, trying to coax the cat down with a toy mouse. I didn't bother to ask where the mouse had come from. Larry probably carried it around in his pocket.
Rick and I stood quietly behind a banana tree until Larry had the cat safely in hand. Then, I took over.
o0o
We marched back to the house with Rick in front, Larry and his cat behind him, and me bringing up the rear. A guy wearing a bedraggled bunny costume and carrying a rifle. I felt like an escapee from an Abbott and Costello set.
To add to the fun, Rick and Larry yapped at each other all the way to the house.
"You'll regret this Berry," Rick said. "I'm going to get you and that cat if it's the last thing I do."
"Fat chance. As soon as I leave here, I'm calling my lawyer. I'm going to sue you for every cent you've got. You'll be living in a jungle, all right—a hobo jungle!"
Stuff like that. I didn't try to keep them quiet. I knew someone who could do that for me when we got to the house.
And he did. Four or five words from Gober, and they were sitting in a pair of leather-covered chairs, as quiet as a couple of rocks. Larry's cat was spread out all over his owner's lap, sleeping calmly.
"That's better," Gober said. Then he looked at me. "Damnit, Ferrel, you've got to settle this. I can't have two of my stars running around trying to kill each other."
"I didn't try to kill anyone," Larry said. "It was Rick. He—"
"Shut up!" Gober roared.
Larry shut up.
"Larry's no star!" Rick said. "I'm the star. I—"
"You too!" Gober thundered, and Rick was quiet.
Gober turned to me. "What about it, Ferrel? You're a fixer. Fix it."
One of my ears kept flopping over my eye. Probably got broken by one of those stupid vines. I pushed it out of my face and said, "Well, Mr. Gober, I think we can take care of things. The way I see it, there's been no crime committed here. Rick got a little excited, but that can happen. He didn't hurt anyone, after all. And I'm pretty sure Larry's cat isn't guilty of anything."
Rick jumped to his feet. "The hell he's not! He…he raped Felicia! He—"
"Shut up and siddown!" Gober shouted.
Rick shut up and sat.
"I can't swear that Larry's cat—by the way, what's his name?"
"Slim," Larry said with a straight face.
I didn't smile, either. "I can't swear that Slim didn't have his way with Felicia. But I'd be willing to bet my month's retainer from Gober Studios that he didn't get her pregnant."
Rick jumped up again. "That's a lie! He—"
This time Mr. Gober didn't say a word. He just looked at Rick, who sat back down. I wished I could look at people like that.
I went on as if I hadn't been interrupted. "I'd be willing to bet that Slim didn't get anyone pregnant because I don't think he's capable of it."
Larry was incredulous. "Not capable? Are you kidding? Look at the size of his b—"
Gober glared. Larry shut up.
"It's not the size that matters," I said. "The truth is, that cats with as many colors as Slim are usually females. And when they're male, they usually can't reproduce. They're sterile."
"Is that really true?" Larry asked. I guess he had a suspicious nature.
"Of course it's true," Gober said. "Ferrel knows his cats. Isn't that right, Ferrel?"
I didn't really know all that much about cats, but I nodded. I'd heard something like that once, and it might even have been true.
Rick looked as if he believed me. Or if not, he believed Gober.
"So, who knocked up Felicia, then?" he asked.
"I don't have any idea. But if you think a fence is going to keep male cats away when a female's in heat, you're crazy. You may have caught Slim with her, but you missed the others. And I'd bet there were plenty of them."
"I did hear some howling out in the back yard earlier," Rick admitted.
"So, there you are," I said. "If you want pedigreed kittens, you'll have to make the proper arrangements. And if you want no kittens at all, you'll have to keep Felicia up or get her spayed."
It took a little more persuasion, but Rick eventually admitted that everything was mostly his fault, not that he ever came right out and said so. He even apologized to Larry, sort of, for trying to kill him. And then, he asked him if his cat could stay for the party. With Felicia safely put away in the house, of course.
o0o
The party was a success. I looked pretty crummy, even for a fake Easter Bunny, but the kids didn't care. I'd hidden the eggs, and that was all they really wanted. They ran down the drive looking for eggs in the bougainvillea bushes, yelling happily every time they found one.
But the real hit of the party was Slim, who was billed by Rick as the Easter Cat, the Easter Bunny's special guest and helper. Slim had the coloring for it, all right, and he wasn't a nervous type. Even after all the excitement he'd had, he let the kids rub him and scratch behind his ears and under his chin. I could hear him purring from ten feet away.
When the party was over, I went back to the gatehouse. I took a couple of hardboiled eggs with me, a blue one and a pink one. I figured on having them for dinner. I might as well get something out of my day's work.
Ernie was awake, but still in his underwear. He was drinking coffee with the gatekeeper and looking right at home.
"Damn," Ernie said when he saw me. "What did you do to the bunny suit? It's rented, you know. You're going to have to pay for having it cleaned."
I gave him a look. It wasn't as good as one of Gober's, but it was a pretty good one.
"Ernie," I said, "I've never killed a man before. But I've never worn a bunny suit before, either. There's a first time for everything."
Ernie smiled weakly. "Oh. Yeah. Right. I see what you mean. I'll take care of the suit. Did you get my check?"
I reached inside the suit, pulled it out, and handed it to him.
He gave it the once over, started to stick it in his boxer shorts, then thought better of it and just held it in his hand.
"Great," he said. "Thanks, Ferrel. I mean it."
"Sure," I said, and I started peeling myself out of the bunny suit. "You're welcome."
"You know," he said, giving the gatekeeper the elbow, "you look pretty cute in that outfit, Ferrel. You ever think of getting into the movies yourself?"
They had a good laugh at that one, and while they were guffawing, I reached down and got the pink egg from the basket. It would have made a nice dinner with a little salt and pepper, but I had a better use for it now.
Holding the egg behind my back, I walked over to Ernie and said, "Open up and say 'Ah.'"
For some reason, he did it, and I shoved the egg into his mouth, slapping away his hands when he reached for it.
"M-m-m-m-m-m," he mumbled.
"Happy Easter, Ernie," I said.
About the Author—Bill Crider
BILL CRIDER won the Anthony Award for best first mystery novel in 1987 for Too Late to Die. His story “Cranked” from Damn Near Dead (Busted Flush Press) was nominated for the Edgar award. His latest novel is Between the Living and the Dead (St. Martin’s). Check out his homepage at www.billcrider.com or take a look at his peculiar blog at http://billcrider.blogspot.com.
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