When the Cat's Away

by Dane McCaslin

  We both saw him at the same time as he staggered across the parking lot and toward the car, both hands held up to his face. I frantically reached for the ignition, trying to turn the motor over while simultaneously attempting to lock my door.

  "Caro, what in God's name is going on here?" Merry moved my hands away from the keys and opened her car door. "And Joey, what the heck happened to you?"

  "Ask your crazy friend," he said, voice muffled by his hands. "She went berserko on me, kicked me in the gut and the face." He pulled one hand away, looking at it. "And I think she broke my nose."

  "I did not kick you in the face!" I'd gotten out of the car, feeling braver with the hunk of metal and glass between us. "And it's you who's the crazy one. Merry, he's absolutely insane!"

  Merry looked from one to the other of us, total astonishment written on her face. "Let me get this straight, Caro. Hang on a sec, Joey." She held up one hand as he started to protest. "You hit him in the stomach and the face? And why was this necessary?" She looked at Joey. "You didn't try to, ah, do something untoward to her, did you?"

  Joey snorted, then grabbed his nose. "Ow! No way, cuz! Not this chick, not anyone. You know me better than that." He shook his head in disgust. "The two of you are nuts. I'm leaving." He turned and began walking away. "Catch you later. Maybe."

  "Joey, wait! Tell me what's going on here." Merry started after him, looking at me over her shoulder. "And you—stay right there."

  I had just been attacked—or nearly, anyway—and now she was leaving me by myself? I got back into the car, slamming the door with a bit more force than was necessary. I'd be having a heart-to-heart chat with her. That was for certain. If she was hiding something from me, she'd better get ready to confess.

  Or she could bloody well get herself another inventory clerk. And I'd be getting myself a new friend.

  In just a few minutes Merry came back, this time with a wide grin on her face. She was still grinning when she slipped back into the driver's seat and started up the Mini Cooper's engine.

  "You did a number on Joey, that's for sure, Caro!" She reached over to give me a light punch on the shoulder. "You gotta show me those moves in case I need to fight off one of my admirers."

  "I just did something I saw in a movie," I admitted, rubbing my shoulder. "It was one where the main character is a tiny woman who fights crime after dark, wears a cape, that sort of thing."

  Merry laughed, shaking her head. "Well, you've sure got Joey shaking in his boots. And by the way," she added, "the thing he was fixing to tell you about was the time he was accused of a salmonella outbreak at a party he catered. Which, as it turned out, wasn't his fault at all. It just about ruined his reputation, though, so that's why he came here." She turned the car into our neighborhood and gave me a sideways glance. "What in the world did you think he was talking about?"

  I felt myself blushing. "Oh, nothing in particular. I just felt, ah, threatened at that moment and decided to, ah, make a quick exit."

  "I'll say you did," Merry replied. "He's still coming over, wants to give you a chance to apologize. In fact, that's probably him right behind us."

  I snorted. "Apologize? He's the one who…" I let the words die off, my cheeks flaming again.

  "I get it!" Merry began laughing. "You thought he was gonna make a pass at you, didn't you?" She gave my shoulder another friendly slap; if this kept up, I'd need to start wearing a protector on that arm.

  "No, I most certainly did not!" I managed to infuse my voice with indignation but Merry wasn't buying it.

  "Yes, you did. Listen, Caro: Joey's gay and proud of it. If he makes a pass at anyone, it'll be your husband, and I don't think you'll need to worry in that direction."

  And just what was that supposed to mean? I thought crossly. My hubby, who I firmly believed was the handsomest thing around, wasn't good enough for her cousin?

  Merry pulled into her driveway, shifting around in her seat to face me. "Listen, Caro. Joey never talks about his personal life so don't bring it up, okay?" Merry had turned serious, her eyes anxious as she looked at me.

  "As if I would!" I exclaimed. "What he does isn't my business. Besides, I'll be too busy keeping an eye on Gregory when he's around." When Merry didn't say anything, I added, "Oh, that was a joke, for goodness' sake, Merry!" I returned her shoulder punches with interest. "Now who's the stick-in-the-mud?"

  "Last one in the house is a rotten egg!" And almost before she'd turned off the motor, Merry was out of the car and running for my house, feet flying across the dew-damp grass.

  I laughed, enjoying the renewed bond between us. It was clear I'd have to remind her who had the house key and who didn't.

  * * *

  "I didn't think you'd take it the wrong way, Caro," Joey had said with a sheepish grin. I'd smiled across the table, assuring him that I had not taken anything any way at all, that it was just a knee-jerk reaction to a particularly bad memory of mine. By the slight narrowing of her eyes, I could see that Merry would be asking about said memory; I'd need to invent something suitably frightening for her.

  I was finally tucked back in for the night, my book lying forgotten on the nightstand. If I wanted to get any sleep at all before Trixie would awake and demand her breakfast, I'd need to fall asleep quickly. The problem with that, I was finding to my immense irritation, that I was now more wide awake than ever. Trixie, never one to miss a moment to take over the bed, was snoring just to my right, her muzzle planted firmly near my ear. I sighed, feeling sorrier for myself than anything else; if it wasn't my husband breaking into my well-earned sleep with his nightly noises, it was my dog. How either one of them could sleep through the resulting cacophony was beyond me.

  Thinking about Greg brought to my mind the details of our latest conversation. Something he'd said in passing, something concerning Joey Holmes, was stirring around in my brain. He'd mentioned the oddity of Merry's cousin showing up just when a position was open at Candy's. Of course, it could simply mean that Merry had contacted him and told him about the job, but I thought she'd been as surprised as I was when he'd arrived.

  Easing myself cautiously out of the bed so as not to awaken the slumbering princess—who would think it was breakfast time and demand food in her bowl—I walked down the hall and into my office, careful to close the door before switching on the desk lamp.

  I sat quietly for a while, staring at my "murder wall," the multi-colored sticky notes creating a montage of suspects and motives. The answer was up there; I was sure of it. If only something miraculous would happen, causing the one pertinent square of paper to drift into my outstretched hands… I shook my head. I was getting real life confused with fantasy, anticipating a "goblet of fire, a la Harry Potter" response from a wall full of inanimate objects. I sighed, slowly getting to my feet. Perhaps if I slept on it, I'd come up with a lead of my own.

  A noise, muted but still audible, met my ears, and I froze with my hand on the lamp's switch. I made myself listen as hard as I could, straining to hear another sound. When nothing else happened, I turned off the light and walked over to the window. I had a clear view of Merry's house from this vantage point. The birding binoculars that I'd used to keep tabs—I refused to call it "spying"—on my late neighbor still lay on the windowsill. I hesitated, hands hovering over them, then grabbed them up and put them to my eyes.

  It was dark outside, the only light an almost useless street lamp at the end of our road. Since the HOA had decreed that energy-saving bulbs must be used instead of those that actually gave out light, the neighborhood had taken on a permanently orange sodium glow at night. It was perfect for prowlers since most of the houses were too far from the light to get much illumination. Lights on the outside of our houses were also subject to the same inane HOA statute, rending most of them useless as deterrents.

  There was a light on in the back bedroom at Merry's house, the one I knew she used as both a storage space and as a guest room; I could see the outline of someone standing there for a moment bef
ore it vanished from my line of sight. Maybe Joey had stayed over and was still awake. The light went out, and I let go the breath that I hadn't even realized I'd been holding.

  I stood there another moment, turning the binoculars on the front of Merry's property and around the yard that separated our two houses. When the noise came again, this time closer to my own home, I dropped below the window, my heart hammering and binocs dangling from one trembling hand. I reached for my mobile phone and then stopped in dismay, recalling that it was still on my nightstand. There was nothing for me to do but to crawl out of my study and down the hall.

  Once out in the hall I paused, realizing that I really didn't need to crawl since I was out of sight of the window. Standing up was no easy feat, however; I managed to catch one knee in the free-swinging hem of my nightie, tumbling back to the floor nose first.

  As I lay there, debating whether to laugh or curse, Trixie's moist nose touched my neck, startling me into a sitting position. She stood there, her liquid brown eyes observing her crazy mistress, and I could almost see the wheels spinning in her head as she turned her back on me and headed back up the hallway toward my bedroom.

  "Fine," I called after her wiggling body, "be that way. Just don't expect me to let you sleep on my pillow again!" And with that parting shot, I managed to stand up, one hand held to my still-smarting nose. At the rate things were going, it would be double its normal size by the time my husband returned.

  My mobile was safe and sound where I'd left it, and it didn't take me long to dial Merry's number. If I was going to be frightened out of my wits, I needed someone else alongside me.

  "This'd better be good," said the sleepy voice on the end of the line. "Why can't you be asleep like a normal person, Caro?"

  I debated a snarky comment but decided to save it for later. At the moment, I needed either reassurance that all was well or help if it wasn't.

  "Merry, is Joey there with you?"

  "Are you nuts, girlfriend?" I could hear her shifting around, the mobile crackling in my ear as she moved. "I sent his crazy butt back to the vacation cabin so I could get some rest. And please tell me that wasn't the entire reason you woke me up from what was a very deep, well-deserved sleep?" This last sentence was delivered in a half-screech, and I had to pull the phone away from my ear.

  "Look," I cut in quickly, "I keep hearing something outside, between my house and yours. And if Joey isn't there, then who's in your back bedroom with the light on?"

  The silence from her end told me all I needed to know. With my heart tripping at speeds a racecar driver would envy, I sat frozen, trying to determine what the next move should be. As much as I didn't want to, I knew it was time to call in the big guns, literally.

  "Merry," I whispered urgently, "can you get out of bed and lock your bedroom door?"

  "Yes," she whispered back. "Stay on the line while I do it, okay?"

  "Absolutely," I answered, crossing my fingers as I heard her slide out of bed. It was only a matter of seconds, but it felt much longer before she spoke again.

  "'K, it's locked. Now what'll I do?"

  "Go into your bathroom and lock that door, then call the police department. I'll do the same."

  "What'll I say?" Her voice was rising again, this time in terror.

  "Tell them that there's an intruder in your house and where you are." I paused, thinking. "Listen, as soon as I see blue lights, I'll be right over. And Merry," I added softly, "it'll be okay. I promise."

  With that, I hung up and dialed 9-1-1. I was beginning to feel like the Seneca Meadows Police Department's best customer.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "They say that yoga is a great stress reliever," said Officer Scott in a conversational tone. He was sitting at Merry's kitchen table across from her as I busied myself making tea for the three of us. "What with your recent, ah, adventures, I might suggest that you two consider doing something along those lines."

  The rest of the police officers and crime scene investigators were already gone, taking with them fingerprint evidence and our assurance that we would indeed be at the station later on to make a full statement. I shuddered when I thought about just what that statement would entail; we'd have to confess to a second foray—I refused to say "break in"—into Bea's store. It was enough to make me wish that Gregory would stay at Oxford for another week. Or three.

  A giggle burst from Merry. "Oh, sure! Can't you just imagine us all contorted, doing downward facing dog or whatever the heck they call it?" She took a steaming cup from my hands and gave me a wicked grin. "I don't even want to imagine what some of us would look like!"

  I stuck out my tongue, a childish but satisfying gesture. "And I can guarantee you'll never see me twisted up like a pretzel, thank you very much." I plopped down next to Officer Scott, sliding a cup of tea his way. "Are there any current leads on the Dragon La—I mean, on Lucia Scarantelli's murder?"

  Officer Scott took a cautious sip of the tea. "Nothing that I can share with you, Mrs. B." He reached for the bowl of sugar cubes that Merry kept on her table, neatly nipping up three of them with the tiny silver tongs. "Ah, that's better. You aren't making a connection between tonight and her death, are you?" His eyes were shrewd over the rim of his cup.

  I gave a shrug. "Perhaps. It just seems odd that someone might break in and turn over Merry's guest room. What were they hoping to find?"

  "Indeed." Officer Scott let the word fall into the conversational void. "Any ideas on that subject, Miss Merry?"

  I grinned, noting the beginnings of a blush at the mention of her name.

  "I might have an idea, yes," she answered. "Ah, Caro, this might be a good time to…" She let her words die an untimely death. I could feel my heart begin its familiar dance of nervous response, and I gave her foot a swift kick under cover of the table.

  "Yes, Mrs. B?" To my horror, Office Scott reached down and rubbed his ankle. "Do you have something you'd care to tell me?"

  I attempted to glare at Merry and smile at the police officer simultaneously, giving my face the twisted appearance of someone in pain. "What Merry means, officer, is that we…actually, Merry, I think you're the one better suited to telling this tale." I smiled sweetly at her. "After all, Beatrice Lemon is your friend, not mine." There, I thought with triumph. The ball had been neatly batted back across the conversational net and into Merry's unwilling hands.

  "What Caro is trying to say," said Merry with a scowl aimed in my direction, "is that we went back in to Bea's store."

  Officer Scott sat there silently, eyes focused on the teacup in his hands. I gave Merry a worried look which she returned with interest; had we just gotten ourselves into more trouble than we could handle? On second thought, I wanted Greg home now. His legal shoulders were broad and could handle whatever mess Merry and I had created. At least I hoped they could.

  "Am I to understand," he began, his tone clearly not as friendly as it had been just moments before, "that you two deliberately went back to Second Time's the Charm after I was called out?" He raised his head and turned a stern gaze on us, first at me and then at Merry. "And don't leave anything out this time, please and thank you very much."

  I glanced at Merry and shrugged. She nodded, settling back and sipping at tea that had to be going cold. "This entire thing began when Bea came by my house, officer," I began. "Actually, change that to 'broke into my house.'" I took a taste of my own tea and grimaced; as I'd suspected, it was bordering on undrinkable to my British palate. Merry grabbed the cup and stood to refresh it.

  Officer Scott looked at me steadily. "And how did she explain herself?"

  I flushed. "I suppose that I'd left the back door unlocked."

  He shook his head. "Mrs. B, it makes my job just that much tougher if you can't do a simple thing such as locking your doors."

  "And just how do you think we got back into Bea's store?" I shot back at him. "Her door was unlocked as well. And that was after, I might add, you'd already been 'called out.'" I gave the last wor
ds air quotes, a gesture that normally strikes me as gauche. I was building up quite a head of self-righteous steam, though, and proper behavior—my version of it, anyway—was rapidly leaping out of the nearest proverbial window.

  Officer Scott shifted in his chair. "Ah."

  The syllable hung suspended between us, its definition obscure. Was that "ah" as in "mea culpa" or perhaps "ah, I see," or was it… My thoughts were interrupted as Merry jumped in, attempting to diffuse the building tension.

  "We just made you forget to check things out, that's all," she said, reaching across the table to pat the officer's hand. I snorted. That was putting it mildly.

  To my amusement, Officer Scott's cheeks bloomed with color. He didn't, however, move his hand away from Merry's.

  "Yes, well, be that as it may," he said. "Still, Beatrice Lemon had no business being in your house, if I'm to understand you correctly."

  "That's right," I agreed, anxious to smooth over any ruffled feathers. One never knew when having a friendly contact among the boys—and girls—in blue might come in handy. "And to top it off, I think she was toasted, as they say." I shook my head, smiling at the memory. "By the time I got her home, she was completely out of it. I think she'd eaten some marijuana infused brownies that her neighbor had brought over."

  The expression on the officer's face was priceless. "And you know this how, Mrs. B?"

  Merry giggled again, and I scowled at her. "I only know because she told me where she'd gotten the brownies from and…"

  "Wait. Just stop." Officer Scott held up his hands. "You're saying that she ate some weed brownies? Really?"

  "Her neighbor has glaucoma or something and has one of those medical cards for medicinal pot," Merry added, clearly enjoying the direction this conversation was taking. "Bea told me once that she's always trying to share her bounty with the rest of the neighborhood." She grinned at us. "Just goes to show you who the real thugs are, right?"