What God and Cats Know

by Sheryl Nantus

  “What do you have?” Dennis’s voice was low and soft. A small line of sweat formed on his forehead. This didn’t look good.

  “I know that Janey Winters was killed by a Felis, one with a white streak running down one side of his nose.” I drew my finger down my own face just in case they didn’t get the picture. “I know that because the asshole attacked me last night in my own house, in my own bed!” My voice sounded both tired and angry to my ears. “So I want to know which of your bastards have that streak!”

  Hammersmythe stared at me. “You don’t come here and make demands, Reb.”

  I glared at her, ignoring the rules, again. “You told me to find who killed her. I have. So now you know.”

  “We don’t really ‘know’.” Sommalier cleared his throat. “You’re making an assumption on what you’ve collected so far.”

  My hand went to the egg-sized lump at the back of my head. “Sure felt like I ‘collected’ enough when the bastard flipped me down the steps!” Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, trying to centre myself, use some meditation technique I’d read about once. I lowered my voice to a more dignified, calm tone. “What I need now is access to the records to find whoever has the distinguishing mark and either eliminate them as a suspect or continue further investigation.”

  “And the man downstairs?” Jess’s voice was cutting. “What does he have to do with this?”

  “He’s the reporter who received the original picture.” The eyes of both Board members went wide. “I believe he didn’t do it, but the murderer dropped off the picture with him in order to expose the Pride. Now he’s seeking the rest of the story.”

  “So he must be removed.” A note of sadness crept into Dennis’s words. He glanced sideways at Jess, who nodded her agreement. “Which is why you brought him here, of course. A wise move on your part.”

  Chapter 10

  The throbbing behind my eyes returned with a vengeance. I’d forgotten the first rule of the Pride, secrecy at all costs. I’d handed them Bran’s bare throat on a platter.

  “No, you’re not going to ‘remove’ anyone.” Standing up, I leant forward, putting my palms down on the table. “He’s not one of your misfits. He’s a human being.” Seeing no change in their expressions, I played my trump card. “While the cops might have slid Janey’s case into the cold case file, the murder of the reporter who first got the picture would probably provoke them to reopen it. With much, much more curiosity.”

  The side of Jess’s cheek twitched, the waves rolling up the scar and back down again. “This isn’t really an area in which you can advise us.”

  “I beg to differ.” I rapped the varnished wood with my knuckles. “If Brandon Hanover ‘disappears’ then it’s going to start a domino reaction that you won’t be able to control. As long as I keep him with me I control what he does and what he knows. I won’t let him report what would be damaging to the Family.”

  Jess’s eyes flashed to my hands, specifically the small scabs between my knuckles. The throbbing behind my eyes pounded loudly in my ears for a few seconds when I realised she noticed them and what that would mean.

  “So you’re prepared to deal with this man, if need be?” She chose each word carefully, jamming them into my face.

  “If need be.” A sudden snowball of nausea lodged in my belly.

  Hammersmythe sat back in the chair, dismissing me with a wave of her hand. “Keep in touch and give us updates as your investigation progresses.”

  “And the files?” I remained standing.

  Dennis frowned. “We’re going to allow you limited access. An envelope has been filled with the information you requested. It’ll be available downstairs for you to read before you leave.”

  “I can’t take it with me.” I rolled my eyes. “Because, you know, that would make my job easier.”

  “Don’t get all worked up.” Jess got to her feet, signalling the end of the discussion. “There’s only a handful of Felis who meet your description. I think you’ll be surprised.” Her eyes flashed again to my hands. “As are we, I think.”

  I opened my mouth to respond then closed it. There wasn’t anything I could do right now that wouldn’t make things worse, and probably get Bran killed. Turning on my heel, I made my way to the stairs.

  Ruth’s voice travelled through the entire house as she led Bran on a rambling tour of the huge first floor, detailing every nook and cranny. Considering the house had been in her family for more than two hundred years I wasn’t surprised at all. Maybe Bran could get an article out of it. On my way through to the kitchen I noted that the nursery had been discreetly removed, the cribs tucked away in a closet somewhere.

  Sitting down at the small dinette table, I opened the small postal envelope and pulled out the single sheet of paper. Three names were typed in capital letters, double-spaced.

  Frank Langley. Jonathan Magee. Sven Hammerhold.

  Nothing else. No locations, no ages, nothing.

  I tore the page into small pieces, resisting the urge to shred it with my teeth. This was about as helpful as the Board was willing to get but at least I had a place to start. Now I’d have to rely on my investigative skills to fill in the blanks and determine which one of these three had charged in my window a few hours earlier and tried to kill me.

  Tossing the envelope and the small pieces of paper into the garbage, I walked outside onto the porch. The sun had just hit the high point in the sky and it was a clear, beautiful day in Northern Ontario. A breeze came in from the west across the fields, carrying the scent of the fresh corn and more than a few Felis wandering around.

  “How did you do it?” Jess appeared beside me. I didn’t jump but shuffled my feet back and forth, scuffing the runners against the rough wood.

  “You’re still too quiet.” I teased the older woman, brushing imaginary lint from my jeans.

  “You tried to Change. Did it work?” Her voice was low.

  I shook my head. “Not really. Claws, that’s all. Enough to keep me alive. Which is more than you’re giving me now.”

  Leaning on the wooden railing, Hammersmythe stared out at the dirt road leading to the house. Her denim work shirt had a few rips and tears in it, with her faded jeans. Still, she could have been a top model for any catalogue worth their snuff and gotten away with it. A light breeze ruffled her near-white hair.

  “I’m glad it wasn’t Dennis.” She picked at a loose splinter in the railing with thick fingers. “That would have been hard to deal with.” She glanced sideways at me. “Just remember that your loyalty is to us, first and foremost.”

  The pain behind my eyes flared up as I spun on her. “Loyalty? The same loyalty that tossed me out when I was sixteen?” I slammed my hand down on the railing a few inches from her own. “I’m loyal to the truth, wherever it leads me. And if that conflicts with your version of reality, well... I’ll just have to live with the consequences.”

  She turned toward me, her face calm. “You’ve done pretty well so far, Reb.”

  We stared at each other in silence for a minute before Ruth and Bran appeared, walking through the screen door. Bran had a piece of apple pie in his hand, wrapped in a napkin with a few bites already missing as was evident from the sauce spread over his mouth.

  “This is the best pie I’ve ever tasted!” He mumbled through the crumbs, a childishly wide smile on his face. Beside him Ruth smiled and handed me a small flat box.

  “I put the rest in here for you to take home. If it makes it there, of course.” She beamed as Bran’s eyes went wide, staring at the box. “We’ll see you again, I hope.”

  “We’ll have to see.” I looked over at Jess. “Depends on where the trail takes me.”

  “Best. Pie. Ever.” Bran took another bite as he made his way down the steps toward the Jeep. “Oh, we’ll be back.”

  I hugged Ruth goodbye and nodded to Jess before walking off the porch. The box was warm and the odour of apple and cinnamon filled my senses as I loaded it into the back seat.
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br />   “Your aunt’s a pretty nice woman. If that’s really what she is.” Bran locked his seat belt in place as I turned the key in the ignition. He waved at her, receiving a gentle smile and wave back. Jess was still watching us, her stare firmly focused on Bran.

  The wheels kicked up a cloud of dust that followed us back out to the main road and back to the highway. I kept a sharp eye on the rear-view mirror but wasn’t rewarded with another clandestine rendezvous.

  “So, what did you find out? Was that chick your contact? Another ‘aunt’?” Bran wiped his mouth with the napkin, tucking it into his pocket. “Damned fine pie.”

  “Ruth makes fantastic pie.” I turned my head to the side, looking for an opening in the traffic. “As far back as I remember she’s always been baking. Cookies, pies, soup and stews. Anything you can think of she can make. Or a delicious variation of.” A tractor-trailer roared by, leaving enough of an opening for me to slip the Jeep in. Pushing the gas pedal down, I watched the speedometer race to have us catch up with the rest of the traffic.

  Bran sat quietly for most of the way back, probably in a sugar coma. Suddenly he turned to me. “Which of them is the client?”

  “I can’t tell you that.” I kept looking straight ahead. The traffic was beginning to get a bit thicker and the last thing I needed was to crack up the Jeep because I was getting into semantic arguments.

  “You can tell me.” I caught his bright smile out of the corner of my right eye. “It’s not Ruth. That much is obvious. Jess? Someone else?”

  “None of your business.” It took a bit of restraint to point out that my “client” had been willing to kill him and dispose of the body. There were plenty of places on the Farm to hide a corpse and lots of machinery to make sure you never found a trace, despite what television would have you believe. Jimmy Hoffa may not have had Felis in the family, but the Family had some Felis in it.

  “Rebecca!” The shout brought me back out of my reverie into the reality that I was about to rear-end the SUV ahead of me.

  I stomped on the brake pedal, standing with my head hitting the ceiling of my own car, praying it would work. Beside me Bran grabbed the dashboard with both hands. I wanted to scream that he would end up with broken arms if he did that and the airbag deployed, but my mind was racing and my body tensed up for the inevitable crash.

  Somehow, someway, the truck ahead of me leapt ahead, accelerating away from us even as the brakes screamed and the wheels dragged on the asphalt. Yanking the wheel to one side, I pulled onto the shoulder as we slammed to a stop. My right hand yanked the transmission into “park”, gears grinding in opposition to my rough treatment. Beside us the cars continued to speed by, oblivious to the near-disaster I had almost caused.

  Bran let out a low whistle, peeling his hands from the dashboard. “God... are you okay?”

  “I’m not sure.” I lowered myself into the seat, tension shooting up and down my spine. A roaring filled my ears as I leant forward, resting my head on the steering wheel. My fingers screamed as I pulled them loose from the death grip on the wheel. “I think you should drive.”

  “You think?” He wheezed, slumping back against the cushions. “I think I just lost the pie.” Bran gave a low laugh, unbuckling his belt.

  Slipping across the seats, I took up residence on the passenger side, watching Bran manoeuvre his way around the front of the car into the driver’s seat.

  “Your place or mine?” The engine roared as he put it back into gear and pulled out into traffic.

  “Mine. I still have work to do.” I closed my eyes, letting my head fall back on the small cushion. “I think I’m just tired.”

  “I can believe that.” Bran’s voice came to me as if down a long tunnel. “I’ll buy that you don’t have a concussion, but I’m not buying that you’re okay. You’re running on very little sleep, a heck of a fall down those stairs and I don’t think that meeting went as well as you planned.”

  I wanted to point out that I had just saved his miserable life, but decided it would be better to just take it easy, rest and ignore the traffic with its blaring horns. The smell of freshly cooked pie was so darned good and it better not have smeared itself all over the inside of that box and...

  The car’s stopping jarred me out of my light sleep. I jolted upright and stared out the windshield at a grey wall that was definitely not my house’s narrow alleyway.

  Bran turned toward me, leaning in. “My underground garage. You’re going to sleep someplace safe.”

  I opened my mouth, a plethora of excuses, arguments and curses about to surge out but instead a loud yawn broke loose, forcing me to cover my mouth.

  Bran laughed when he opened my door, balancing the pie box in one hand and extending his other to me. “My point. At least get a few hours where we know no one’s going to break in and come after you. Or me.” He sniffed the box. “And we have pie.”

  Sliding my legs out from the car, I let him lead me through the cement structure to the elevator, slumping against the wall as we rose through the condominium complex to his floor and to his residence. In the back of my mind I heard my inner voice shouting a warning that I shouldn’t let myself fall asleep in his apartment and to get back to work on the case, but I didn’t listen. To be fair, I couldn’t listen. I was too busy trying to keep my eyes open. Between the migraine and the stress of the past few hours I was shutting down physically and it was only a number of minutes before my mind would close shop.

  He opened the front door and led me to the kitchen first, one hand around my waist while he slid the pie box onto the marble counter. Through my fuzziness I registered that he had been holding onto me since we had exited the car and I hadn’t really objected.

  “Now, to bed with you,” Bran said, walking me across the open floor to the bedroom. We stepped around the divider to a huge double bed, covered with a dark green fluffy and inviting comforter that called to me.

  Releasing my grip on his arm, I fell face-first onto the bed, letting out a rather raunchy moan as I curled up into the softness, wrapping it around me. Part of me noted Bran pulling off my running shoes and placing them at the bottom of the bed, but I didn’t care. I was in a soft, dark place where the pillows were cool and the quilt was warm and that was all I wanted right now.

  The delicious smell of Ruth’s apple pie woke me, the deep rich scent of cinnamon, spices and sweet apples almost overpowering my mind when I sat up quickly. I was still in the bed, bundled up in the comforter, but a fast glance to the windows showed darkness outside and the city lights sending crazy shadows across the floor.

  “About time you got up.” Bran sat in the kitchen, crouched over a huge piece of pie. “I was going to come get you in a few minutes anyway.” He grinned. “And this pie reheats beautifully.”

  Muscles stretched and joints popped as I walked across the floor in my socks to join him. He slid a piece, possibly half of the original pie, across to me. “Need to build up your strength.”

  Taking the offered fork, I dug in, trying to clear the cobwebs from my mind. The nap had done me a world of good, least of which allowing the information to marinate in my mind. The brown sugary mess I shovelled into my mouth was really helping me think.

  “Tea? Coffee? Soda?” Bran grinned as he watched me devour the slice. “I was thinking about ordering in Chinese, since we’ve already had dessert.”

  “Soda. Whatever you have that’s diet.” I mumbled between mouthfuls. “And General Tso’s Chicken. And sesame noodles. And wonton soup.” A piece of crust got stuck on my lip. “And plenty of rice.”

  “Good to hear you’ve got an appetite. I’m tired of women chewing on a single lettuce leaf and telling me that they’re full.” Picking up a portable phone, he hit one of the buttons. “Local place is on speed-dial and they know me pretty well.”

  I watched him run off an order, half in English and half in Chinese. Wonderful. He could be ordering us a whole roasted suckling pig and I wouldn’t know it.

  “Be less th
an an hour.” Spinning around, he picked up the box on the counter. “And I think Ruth makes great pie, but her garnishes are good too.” Opening the cardboard box he pushed it toward me.

  A series of folders sat atop the empty aluminium pie plate, bent and folded to fit the box. Snatching them up I flipped them open, one at a time. Three files, each displayed one of the names I had been handed.

  “Yep, she makes good pie.” Bran leant in, way inside my personal space again. “You’ve got a bit of apple just... here.” His index finger touched the right side of my mouth, scooping it up. Retreating to his stool, he popped the morsel into his mouth.

  I ignored him, staring down at the pictures, at three men, none of whom looked like the one who had attacked me less than twenty-four hours ago. Spreading the files out across the island, I pushed the forgotten pie plate back toward Bran.

  “So, why did she have to smuggle these files out to you in a pie box?” Tossing the plate into the sink, Bran left the stool and walked around to stand behind me, peering at the papers. “I mean, if you’re working for them...”

  Ignoring the pointed question, I studied the three pictures again, grateful that the Pride’s photos hadn’t been taken during a member’s Change. That would have made things even more complicated than they were now. And it seemed that it was getting more so with each hour, thanks to having Bran around.

  The papers included didn’t have much more than the addresses and basic information about each man, which wasn’t very helpful. Two of them were in British Columbia, which was on the other side of the country and the last had moved to North Bay, hardly within commuting distance for a murderer. Still, they had the same visual marking that my attacker had and that was a starting point.

  “So, again, what’s the big secret here?” Bran reached around me, putting his lips too close to my ear for comfort. “You go to talk to your client and he gives you nothing. Your aunt sends you these files secretly because...” He rolled the last word into a question.