A Very Catty Murder

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  "Because she's your ex-girlfriend?"

  "More than that, but yes."

  "What's the more part?" she wondered.

  "Well, I had a confrontation with her yesterday."

  "That wasn't a confrontation," Sonja argued, thinking back to the way the woman had come onto him.

  "Still, I basically told her to get lost, refusing to see her after all these years. That might not look good late on in the case if I'm the one investigating."

  "But you didn't threaten her or anything. How could they possibly suspect you?" she asked.

  He shrugged. "They have to look at every option, Sonja. I have to be careful in situations like this. I simply felt it was better, and more professional, to call in the state guys."

  Sonja looked down at her tennis shoes on the hot pavement, absentmindedly petting the cat on the head. "Are you trying to incriminate yourself?" she thought out loud, wondering if it had been such a good idea for him to admit all this to the state troopers.

  "Well, I didn't commit this murder, so I'm not worried about it."

  Sonja looked up at him with concerned eyes. "So, it was murder?"

  He looked back toward the crime scene. "That's my professional opinion on it, yes. She died of anaphylactic shock--an allergic reaction."

  That made Sonja think of another tricky case she and Frank had solved a year or more back. She couldn't quite remember.

  "Why murder, then?"

  Frank hesitated. "Well, she was always so completely careful when it came to things like that. She knew how allergic she was to peanuts and steered clear. I feel like someone must have intentionally given her peanuts of some sort without her knowing."

  "Maybe it was by accident?" she asked.

  He shook his head.

  "How can you be so sure?" she asked.

  He looked down at her, straight into her green eyes. "You may have the ability to see ghosts and have premonitions, but you're not the only one with hunches and gut feelings."

  Sonja crooked up one corner of her mouth into a smile. "Good point."

  Chapter 7

  "Excuse me, Sherriff?" the police officer who Sonja had seen talking to Frank earlier approached them. He was a short man with a stocky build, a round red face, a thin mustache, and a blonde comb-over.

  "Detective Lewis, how can I help you?" Frank asked, at the ready to give his aid if needed.

  "Just a question, my boy," he noted, holding up one sausage-shaped finger.

  Sonja tried not to cringe at the man's words. Saying, "my boy", came off as condescending, no matter how genial the detective acted. Surely, he wasn't that much older than Frank. Did ten or fifteen years really make much of a difference?

  "Was the door locked when you arrived?"

  Frank furrowed his brow. "You mean the garage's back door?" Frank asked, motioning to the garage.

  "No, we found that one bolted. I meant that garage door itself."

  "Oh, well the door opener has been busted for years, so I've always manually opened it. I guess I never thought to install a lock on it. I kept the door to the actual house latched up nice and tight, but I never much worried about the garage." He shrugged. "It's so loud when you open it, most people looking to steal something wouldn't attempt it for fear of drawing attention to themselves."

  "You weren't concerned?" the detective pushed.

  "No, most of the stuff in there is junk anyway. Things I've collected over the years."

  "I see," the detective groaned, scratching his chin. "So, anyone could have opened it and put the body inside?"

  "I suppose so."

  "But you didn't hear them opening the door?" he asked, returning Frank's theory back to him.

  "I should explain. I don't live here anymore. I rent this house out now. The current tenant agreed to let me store my things until I could have a garage sale to get rid of it all."

  The detective dug into his pocket and brought out a large cell phone with a big screen. Using a stylus, he started making notes. "Can you tell me the name of your tenant?"

  "Yes, it's Jameson Fenton."

  The detective scribbled it down. "Do you know of anyone else who may have access to the garage or home?"

  He shook his head. "No, not off the top of my head," he admitted.

  Detective Lewis slid his stylus back into the dock on the phone. "Thank you, Sheriff. I'll be in touch."

  "I'll count on it," Frank said, watching the officer walk back toward the crime scene.

  Somehow, Sonja had a knot in her stomach about all of this. Did the detective suspect Frank?

  *

  "Shoo, sweetie. Go home," Sonja urged the small animal, pushing it from behind to get it to leave. The black cat simply meowed distastefully in response, refusing to move.

  "You shouldn't have picked her up. Now she's taken a liking to you," Frank noted with a hint of humor in his voice.

  "She has not taken a liking to me. She's probably just hungry," she argued, getting defensive since she already felt bad for having picked up the animal in the first place. Chances were, the cat would stick to her like glue, and she didn't know if Frank would be okay having a cat move in with them.

  Worse yet, Sonja was beginning to become a little bit attached herself. She didn't know if it was just because her emotions were elevated from the stress of finding a body in her husband's garage, but the animal had proven somewhat of a comfort and distraction for her.

  "She does like you. Look," he motioned at the animal as it reared up on its hind legs, leaning in on Sonja where she stood.

  "Stop that. Shoo," Sonja ordered, giving it a gentle push to get it away from her. Her heart began to sink with the thought of leaving the creature there. In the end, it likely belonged to someone else.

  "Why not just bring it with us?" Frank asked.

  "Bring it with us? If we do that, we are basically committed to it," she warned him, surprised he even suggested it. Would he really be okay adopting a stray cat?

  "What's wrong with that?" he shrugged.

  "And it could end up living with us permanently if we don't find the owner."

  "The owner could have abandoned it. Happens all the time up here in the mountains, you know?"

  Sonja's jaw dropped. "It does?"

  "With cats in particular. People drive up from the city and just dump their unwanted animals. I've had many a call where I went to pick up a stray that was begging at someone's back door or the like."

  Sonja looked down at the cat. "Are you abandoned?" she asked it.

  It meowed as if to answer yes. It was like it understood her. Those staring eyes looked right into Sonja's heart.

  "See? We should take it," he encouraged her.

  She looked at him with one eyebrow skeptically cocked up. Could it be that he was finding comfort in the cat as well? She knew how much Frank enjoyed a distraction when serious issues faced him head-on.

  Heck, he'd ignored and distracted himself from Sonja's supernatural ability for months before he accepted it was real.

  "What?" he inquired, seeing the look his wife was shooting his way.

  "You don't even like the cat we currently have living with us," she pointed out. She knew it was a silly thing to say, considering that Misty was a ghost. Frank was still slightly uncomfortable with the supernatural, but not nearly as much as he used to be. Still, he didn't care to have some spooky furball always running around, making strange noises around the house and knocking things over when she got too excited that her energy brushed against stuff.

  Frank's features scrunched up. "It's not that I dislike the cat we have. It's just hard to have around," he admitted.

  "Then why would you want this one?" Sonja asked, pointing at the black cat still standing by her feet.

  He smirked with one side of his mouth. "This one I can see." He jabbed a finger at the cat.

  Sonja rolled her eyes, letting out a long and defeated sigh. She should have known better. Of course, Frank didn't like a cat he couldn't see with his o
wn eyes. Opening her car door, she motioned to the cat. "Looks like you're coming along for now. At least until we find who you belong to."

  The animal meowed contentedly and leaped inside without reservation.

  "It's a trusting little thing, isn't it?" Sonja wondered out loud, getting in herself.

  Chapter 8

  Sonja had wanted to go out for brunch with Frank at a new little cafe on Main Street, seeing as their entire day had been derailed, but adding the cat to the mix meant that was off the table. They'd have to head home and make sure the animal was comfortable there.

  Thankfully, in all the chaos, she'd remembered to call her parents to let them know that the day's sale was off for the time being. She'd hate to have to explain to them later why she'd neglected to warn them off from stumbling into a police crime scene.

  After all, it wasn't like they'd even be able to move the garage sale somewhere else. All the stuff they were trying to sell was cordoned off with the body. She wondered when they'd be able to continue the garage sale. It might have to be postponed until the next week, if not farther out.

  Mostly, she just hoped that the blame didn't end up getting pointed at Frank. Of course, she had a hard time imagining Jameson committing the murder either. Besides, what possible reason could he have for killing this seemingly random woman?

  Could he have known her, or had some sort of negative run-in with her, back for the short period she was living in Haunted Falls to be close to Frank?

  It seemed like a stretch, but it was possible she supposed.

  Of course, it was also possible that at least a few other people in town knew her and had a history with her. Heck, even Sonja's own mother remembered her. However, who could have had a connection to her--enough of one that it warranted murder?

  More than anything, the most important fact was that Frank believed someone killed her. This allergic reaction, in his estimation, was no accident.

  Sonja fully trusted his gut feeling, just as she trusted him to put faith in her own supernatural inklings. Arriving at the Smith Estate and pulling up to the cottage, she shook the jumble of thoughts from her brain. Dwelling on them wouldn't help anyone, and she and Frank weren't investigating this case.

  There was no need to stress over it until the police contacted them again for information.

  Surely, if there truly was some form of foul play, the state detectives would figure it out and pin down the killer.

  "Welcome to your new home," Frank declared, letting the cat out of the car.

  Oh, no, Sonja thought. He was getting emotionally attached to the cat. If she didn't know any better, she would have sworn a thousand times up and down that her husband was a dog guy. Of course, being a dog person never stopped someone from also enjoying cats or vice versa.

  Still, there was something special about this feline. It was almost as if it knew them, had chosen them. She'd heard of animals adopting their owners, in a sense. In her experience, all that meant was that you had a special connection with the animal while you were shopping around for a new pet.

  She watched with a smile on her face as her husband unlocked the front door and allowed the cat in.

  Sonja was genuinely happy to see him enjoying himself. Maybe this was all a blessing in disguise. Things in life always had a way of working themselves out. Perhaps that the cat had shown up that morning for a reason, to help Frank out with a hard situation--the death, and potential murder, of an old girlfriend.

  If the cat could do that for him, even for a short while, she decided she'd welcome it into her life.

  Heading inside, she was determined to participate in the tour of the new home.

  *

  The sensation of a cat's paws pressing into her chest woke Sonja from her slumber. Blinking a few times, she looked up in the darkness of her and Frank's bedroom to witness two diamond shaped green eyes peering down at her.

  She almost let out a yelp of surprise before being fully awake and remembering they'd brought the wandering cat home with them that same day.

  After getting inside the cottage, Sonja had been unable to tear Frank away from playing with the animal and fawning over it like he was a little boy with his very first pet all over again. It was certainly a sight to see, and a warm escape from the murder case hanging over their heads.

  The detective only called once to verify some small piece of information about how long Jameson had been staying at the house. After that, he said he'd be in touch but didn't call back the rest of the day.

  Staying at home wasn't what Sonja had planned for her day off, but it had turned out nicely anyway. She'd prepared homemade Irish Beef Stew and used her ultra-thin waffle maker to whip up come savory parmesan cheese and chive crackers to go with it.

  They'd eaten, snuggled on the couch with the new cat, and watched old black and white western and war movies--Frank's favorite--on the classic movie streaming service they'd subscribed to that month. If anyone was going to get their money's worth out of the program, it was Frank and Sonja.

  But now, as she lay on her back in bed, she couldn't help but wonder exactly why the animal had decided to sit on her chest on not Frank's. Frank had been the one to give it so much attention all day long. On the other hand, Sonja had been the one to pick it up in the first place. She was the one who'd rescued it.

  Now, as the cat stared her down, she knew there would be no going back to sleep until she saw what it needed.

  "What is it, sweetie?" she whispered to the cat.

  The animal turned its head toward the door and leaped off Sonja, running out of the bedroom.

  Assuming the cat had gotten distracted by something, Sonja rolled over to fall back asleep. Just as her eyes were drifting shut, she felt something poke her in the back.

  "Ouch," she whispered. Turning to face the edge of the bed, she saw the cat there, its little claws extended. It appeared to be purposefully jabbing her.

  "Now, that's not very nice, is it?" she scolded the animal like a child. "What do you need?"

  Again, the cat looked at the door and then bolted out.

  Rolling her eyes, Sonja tried one more time to go to sleep, only to find the black animal standing next to her again a second later. It gave a tiny meow as if it knew Frank was asleep and didn't want to wake him.

  "Okay, sweetie. I'm getting up."

  Pulling back the covers, she felt a chill in the air. Perhaps she'd left the air conditioner unit running downstairs. The cat let out a quiet meow and Sonja dutifully followed her. "Show me what you need," she instructed the animal as she gently closed the bedroom door behind her. "You know where the bathroom is," she joked, motioning down the hall.

  In the afternoon, she'd run to the store while Frank watched the cat to pick up some cat litter and cat food.

  The cat responded to the joke by trotting down the stairs. "You probably want more food," Sonja deduced, heading down to the first-floor hallway. However, once she got there, much to her surprise, the cat hadn't wandered off toward the kitchen.

  Instead, the little ink spot of a creature was sitting patiently at the front door. "You want to go outside?" The low meow from its throat seemed like answer enough. Sonja shook her head. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but I can't let you out. Frank would be furious if I did. You might get lost."

  The cat's glowing eyes fell to a half-lidded state conveying annoyance.

  How well could this animal understand what she was saying? Sonja wondered.

  However, what happened next surprised her most of all.

  The agile cat leaped up into the air, caught onto the door handle, and pulled down releasing the automatic lock and opening the door.

  "Whoa, hold on a second," Sonja cried, jumping toward the feline. She wasn't fast enough. The black furball zoomed out into the darkness of the estate grounds. "Oh, no. Frank's going to be mad," she grumbled, dashing out the door after it.

  As she emerged from the building, she just managed to see a flash of black heading toward the main house. "Oh
, no you don't," she said, bemoaning the fact that she'd ever picked up the animal at all.

  Running across the cool summer grass in her bare feet, she was nearly on top of the cat and pounced to grab it--but ended up being just slightly off her mark. It jumped from between her arms and up onto a nearby stone window ledge of the manor house.

  "What are you doing up there? Come down," she ordered. She felt ridiculous talking to the animal. She didn't know why she was ordering it around because it probably couldn't understand her. Even if it did understand her, it clearly had no intention of obeying her commands.

  With a bob of its tail and a tilt of its head, it pushed up against the windowpane which creaked open slightly.

  Sonja's jaw dropped again. That was the one lock on the manor that hadn't ever latched since she took over as caretaker. Upon moving in, she'd been meticulous in keeping every door and window on the main floor locked. Even though the estate had a high fence, Sonja didn't want to chance burglars or squatters taking advantage of the empty manor house.

  The cat, however, seemed adept at getting around any and every obstacle that was put in its way. It was beginning to get on Sonja's nerves. Running back to the cottage, she grabbed her keys off the wall peg just inside the entryway and headed for the manor's back door.

  At this rate, the cat could be anywhere in the huge manor. Sonja hadn't even been into every room, seeing as the place was as large as it was. Not to mention that there were hidden passage ways and secret rooms even Belinda had never been able to find.

  She tried not to think of it. After all, her job was mainly to make sure the place didn't get vandalized or broken into, not to memorize its layout.

  Yet, she couldn't even keep a simple cat from getting in.

  Sonja felt her heart pounding as she stepped into the darkened hallway of the building. She paused for a second there with her bare feet on the cool tile floor, watching and listening for any sign of the tiny intruder. "Where are you cat?" she called out.

  Then the tinkle of its collar drew her attention.