Cat's Paw

by Mollie Hunt

  I couldn’t think about anyone else’s pain; it was just too much to bear. I dropped out of society as easily as a bad penny disappears down the murky waters of a forsaken wishing well. I couldn’t face Facebook or answer the phone. Newspapers piled on my front porch, their pulp pages dripping with bad news that I was incapable of stomaching.

  The first few days, my friends let me slide, even encouraged the isolation which they perceived as rest since I hadn’t told them I was going crazy, and not the cat lady kind. Then they began to suspect. Carol was the first to come by and insist I open the door to her. How could I say no to my mother? Besides, I wanted to talk, I had merely forgotten how.

  Carol took one look at me and phoned Seleia and Frannie. Frannie called Special Agent Paris, who ran into Kelley and Mrs. Fox at the shelter. Someone called to see if Simon was out of the hospital and he was. Simon got hold of Nathan and before I knew it, I had a living room full of friends and family doing a combination comfort call and intervention.

  Frannie had made tea and Carol provided her ever-present box of Cupcake City cookies. To an outsider it would have looked like a party. I had to admit, it was doing me a world of good. I felt the shroud of gloom receding, a little at first, and then a little more until I caught myself chatting away almost like a normal person.

  We talked about cats, both mine and those at the shelter. We talked about my sprained wrist, now wrapped only in an ACE bandage and improving daily. We talked about other innocuous subjects. All was going along just fine until someone, out of the blue, brought up the murders.

  Rats! It was me.

  Simon had finished a sweet story about the cattery at Clover Island when I turned to him and said right out loud: “What happened at the Rainier house, Simon? Who was that dead man?”

  There was silence. All the chit chat ceased, clatter of cups and munching of cookies stopped mid-sip and -bite. Questioning eyes lit on me, then slowly swiveled to Simon, because of course, the question was one among the herd of elephants in the room, and I wasn’t the only person wondering.

  Simon took a deep breath. “Oh, Lynley. I wish you hadn’t gone there.”

  “But you called me.”

  “I know. I thought we were safe. I had no idea he would come.”

  “Who? The victim?”

  Simon sank into himself. “No, the killer. The guy who... passed away... was my cousin Manny.” He gave a snort that was nearly a sob. “Manny was helping me to discover who was doing this. I should have known my presence would put him in danger. Someone is targeting the people I care for, Lynley. Why don’t they just kill me and get it over with?” he moaned. “It would be kinder.”

  Before I realized, I had moved to my old friend’s side and put my arms around him. “I’m so sorry. This is horrible. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  A tear slipped from Simon’s eye; he wiped it away with the back of his hand. “Yes. Don’t get killed.” He was serious, but I smiled and then so did he.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  That’s when I knew it was time to get back in the game and end this once and for all.

  “What are the police doing about it?” asked Seleia, as if she could read my mind, which sometimes I think she can.

  Simon shrugged. “I’m not really sure. They debated whether I had murdered Manny and then knocked myself out, but apparently the forensics couldn’t make it stick. I don’t think they have anyone in mind yet.”

  “They don’t,” said Kelley. “At least that’s the word for now.”

  I knew Kelley had an in with the media, but I hadn’t realized it extended to police business. “Oh?” I led.

  “How do you know?” asked Carol. Leave it to Mum to be blunt as a spoon.

  Kelley faltered. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything, but it’s not really confidential. I have a close friend on the force. I asked him and he told me.”

  “Anything else your friend told you about what’s going on?” asked Denny. “Because I have a few friends on the force too, and they aren’t talking.”

  Kelley settled herself, her green eyes wide and unblinking as the cat who jumps on your chest at five in the morning, demanding full attention. She liked the spotlight and it showed. “You’re right. They are going on the premise it’s someone who has a grudge against Simon Bird.”

  “We’ve guessed that all along,” said Denny.

  “Yes, but a guess isn’t the same as a premise.”

  Denny shrugged off the dig. “So where does that put us?”

  “Us?” spat Simon. “You mean me?”

  “Us,” I said definitively. “We’re in this together. Aren’t we?”

  I stared around the group in my living room. Carol, Seleia, Denny, Frannie, Kelley, Nathan, and Adrianna. They were tense: less of a party, more of a wake. Each looked back at me in various states of mind. Frannie, who didn’t know Simon except from a brief meeting at my sixtieth birthday party earlier in the year and who probably had the least invested, was the first to nod her head.

  “Yes, of course, Lynley. What can we do?”

  That was the sixty-four thousand dollar question, if anyone remembers that old game show from the fifties. What could we do? The answer was, pretty much nothing.

  “I think we should stick together. Keep tabs on each other. Don’t give this monster a chance to claim another life. Simon, you need to make a list of anyone you consider close and give it to the police.”

  “Already done. They had me writing down names all the way back to my grade school days.”

  “Okay, good,” I pondered. “That means they’re serious.”

  I turned to Denny. “You were going to look into my stalker. Did you have any luck?”

  “Stalker?” asked Seleia in alarm.

  I gave her a reassuring smile, kicking myself for using the buzz-word that had every young girl cringing these days. “It’s nothing, dear. Simon thought maybe someone had been following me.”

  “Oh, Grandmother,” she squeaked as she threw herself into my lap like a wayward kitten. “It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

  I hugged her reassuringly, then eased her onto the couch, displacing Tinkerbelle who had claimed the cushion beside me. She wasn’t displaced for long, however, as she pranced onto Seleia’s lap. In a matter of seconds she was curled in as if she had been there forever.

  Denny spoke up. “I got a line on a car that’s been seen, a gold Ford Fairlane, but it’s dirty as all get-out and the plates are obscured. I haven’t been able to run down the owner.” He turned to Kelley. “Maybe your police buddy could help.”

  “That’s a distinctive car. I’ll ask.”

  “Simon,” I broke in. “You never did say what was so urgent that I had to sneak off and meet you at that house? What was it all about?”

  “It was a stupid thing to do. Coming to Portland was a stupid thing to do.” He sighed. “It’s all because of the notes.”

  Chapter 29

  Many people don’t realize that declawing is a form of amputation. It would be like losing the first knuckle of your fingers. Declawing your cat can cause balance problems, litter box issues, self-defense biting, and arthritis.

  “Notes?” I asked, unsure if I’d heard him right.

  Simon nodded. “Each time there’s going to be a murder, I get a note. A piece of heavy purple bond paper, about three inches square. All it has written on it is a first name. I didn’t keep the one I received before Crystal died because I had no idea what it meant—‌or that it meant anything at all. Even Marissa’s didn’t click until you came up with the idea that her absence from Wolf Hall might be a bad sign.”

  “You had the note in your pocket!” I suddenly grasped. “I saw you look at it before you sent everyone out to search.”

  Simon nodded.

  “But why didn’t you say anything? It was obvious the notes and the murders were connected.”

  “No, it really wasn’t. I guess I don’t think along the lines of premeditated murder
. And purple paper? I thought it was something left over from a crafting session. It wasn’t until I got Paul’s that I knew something was wrong. I held on to Paul’s and Manny’s. Now I’ve given them to the police.”

  Carol narrowed her eyes. “There’s more, isn’t there, Mr. Bird?”

  “Yes,” he answered in a near whisper. “There is.”

  “Well, what is it?” Denny pushed when Simon hesitated.

  “There was a fifth note. It appeared the same time as Manny’s. I was at a coffee shop. I’d already ordered and was waiting at the service counter. The place was busy and crowded. Someone knocked into me and I dropped my wallet. When I went to pick it up, I saw a corner of purple sticking out. There was no mistaking the color—‌I knew instantly what it was.”

  Simon stood, hands in pockets, his mica eyes reflecting only darkness. His handsome frame was stooped as if his shoulders carried a tangible weight instead of a psychological one.

  “I have no idea how they got there!” he railed, the bandage on his head making him look either regal or crazy. “The killer must be a magician as well. I forgot about my coffee and headed for Manny’s place, hoping I wasn’t too late. On the way, I called Lynley.”

  Arms wide, he turned to me. “There were two notes, you see. Two names.”

  “Go on,” Carol pressed. “Tell us the other name.”

  Simon gave me a remorseful look. “The second name was yours.”

  For a moment, I sat, stunned. “My name?”

  “I understand you’d want to call Lynley to warn her,” Denny broke in, “but for crying out loud, why did you tell her to come to your cousin’s? He was on the killer’s list, for Pete’s sake! Why would you put her in that danger? Why, in fact, didn’t you just call 911 and turn the whole thing over to the police?”

  Simon looked away, out the window into the rain, then down at his feet. “I haven’t handled things well,” he murmured. “Not well at all.”

  Carol sniffed derisively.

  Seleia piped up, “No, you haven’t, Mr. Bird.”

  Frannie was silent but I could see by the black look on her face that she agreed with my family.

  “Now hold on,” I said. “Let’s not get stuck in blame. People don’t always think straight in scary situations as I know all too well.” I gave Nathan a meaningful look. “But blame’s not going to help us now. We need a plan, something that will keep everyone safe and hopefully flush out this killer at the same time.”

  The tension broken, Denny snickered. “You don’t ask for much, do you Lynley?”

  “Can there be such a plan?” asked Seleia wistfully.

  “Let’s work on the first part—‌keeping Lynley safe—‌and put the part about exposing the killer on the back burner for now,” Frannie, ever pragmatic, announced. She caught my eye. “Okay?”

  I nodded, reminding myself I might not be ready for a manhunt since a mere hour ago, I was hiding under a blanket. “Yes, okay. But if anyone has thoughts on how to find Simon’s nemesis,” I added vehemently, “don’t keep them to yourself. The only way I’ll ever feel safe again is when this case is solved and the killer’s locked up for life.”

  Throughout the discussion, Nathan had been quiet, as had, surprisingly, Adrianna Fox. I eyed the two: “What about you? What do you think?”

  Nathan looked nervous but answered quickly, “You know I’ll do anything I can to help out. I just don’t see what that might be. I can stay with you if you’re scared someone might break in,” he smiled wanly.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” I laughed. “How about you, Adrianna? Got any ideas what the next step might be?”

  Adrianna Fox, in spite of coming directly from the shelter, was well-dressed in a beige pantsuit with a large gold cat pin on the lapel. She pulled herself up, straightened her glasses, and looked out over the group as if they were her audience.

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  The simple statement instantly got everyone’s attention and she soaked it up like kitty litter. When absolutely assured we were all on the edges of our seats, she demurred. “It’s nothing really.”

  We waited. “It must be something,” Denny finally insisted.

  “Well, just a little idea I was toying with while the rest of you were having your... parley. I like to think things through before putting them out there. I was always taught to think before I speak.”

  Again the dramatic pause.

  “And have you?” I asked, recalling some of my new best friend’s annoying habits from the retreat. “Thought it through?”

  “Yes, I have. And it is my opinion that we leave the whole kerfuffle to the professionals.

  “Yes,” she continued with a definitive nod. “Leave it to the police. Don’t get in their way. They have all the information, all the evidence. Anything we do would only interfere with their job.”

  “Are you saying we do nothing?” Carol exclaimed in disbelief. “Just let my daughter be stalked and traumatized?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. No offense, Mrs. Mackey, but what is it you think you can bring to the table that the police cannot?”

  “I will have you know,” Carol blustered, “Candy and I can solve any mystery on television before the hour’s halfway through. Books and movies too.”

  Adrianna raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  Realizing how silly that sounded, Carol settled herself and took a sip of her tea. “That doesn’t mean we pretend to be couch cops, of course, but it does tone the brain. Why just yesterday,” she began and then thought better of it. “I suppose what I’m saying is that it couldn’t hurt to keep an open mind. Maybe something will flow in.”

  “Yes, I agree,” said Kelley. “The police are wonderful, but this isn’t their only case. It couldn’t hurt to gather a little intelligence on our own.”

  “But it could hurt,” said Adrianna. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” She rose from the easy chair she had occupied most of the afternoon and pulled her coat off the back. “We do not want to get in the way of a police investigation. There are actually laws against that.” She looked pointedly at Carol. “As you must have gleaned from your television shows.”

  Carol fumed but said nothing. Adrianna picked up her tote, slowly, deliberately, as if to prove her nonchalance. She came over to me and bent down to give me a kiss on the cheek.

  “Don’t worry, dear. This will all be over soon, I’m sure.” Then she whispered in my ear, “Walk me out, will you?”

  “Uh, of course.” I rose and ushered the daunting woman through to the front hall.

  She turned to me and smiled, then again the whisper, “You and I can solve this mess ourselves. We don’t want all those amateurs bungling it up, now do we?”

  “Well,” I began.

  Her face turned stony. “Look, Lynley.” She nodded toward the group in the living room who had fallen back into their own conversation. “I know they’re your friends, and certainly well-intentioned, but this is your life we’re talking about. You don’t want to take any chances.”

  “No but...”

  “Simon’s a mess, Lynley. You must see that. Maybe he’s the killer, maybe not, but I’m still not convinced there isn’t some involvement there. And Nathan Shore—‌what is he even doing here? What’s his connection with Portland?”

  “He said Simon offered him a job.”

  “He said. That doesn’t mean it’s true. You can’t tell me you aren’t the least bit suspicious?”

  I lowered my eyes, remembering his cop-phobia, not to mention the unusual roughness with which he’d handled me at the murder scene.

  “Your mother and granddaughter, though absolutely on your side, have little to offer and could actually be putting themselves in danger. I know you wouldn’t want that. Frannie and Kelley are wonderful as shelter volunteers but this is out of their league.”

  “Kelley’s got connections. She’s come up with several bits of useful information.”

  “And exa
ctly what are her connections?” Adrianna asked suspiciously.

  “I can’t say.” As promised, I didn’t reveal Kelley’s secret identity as a reporter.

  “Lynley,” she sighed, “Whether you like it or not, it’s extremely possible that a serial murderer is sitting in your living room right this very moment. Do not—‌and I repeat—‌do not trust any of them. Oh, I don’t mean your family or Frannie.”

  “Or Special Agent Paris,” I put in.

  She shrugged. “Who knows what link he might have to Simon Bird that we may not be privy to?”

  “It’s not Denny,” I said flatly.

  “Okay, if you say so, but he seems to be right there when trouble hits. He was first on the scene when your car exploded, remember? And also when you were at the hospital. Keeping track, one might think.”

  “That’s because he’s my friend. I’ve known Denny Paris for a long time and we’ve been through a lot together. It’s not him. No way.”

  “Alright, dear. Don’t upset yourself.” She put a hand on my arm and squeezed reassuringly. “Just be careful. I’ll talk to you soon and we can come up with a strategy.”

  “Do we really need a strategy?”

  She shrugged on her coat and opened the door. A blast of near-winter wind pushed in. As she walked, straight-backed, out into the twilight, she said, “Trust me. I’ll take care of you.”

  “Goodnight,” I said to her receding form. “Drive carefully.”

  I closed the door but watched through the window until she was safely to her car. As I turned back to the remainder of the group—‌my friends, my family—‌I felt the painful worm of Adrianna’s doubt begin to writhe.

  * * *

  It was only four o’clock, but the wisp of day had long fled, leaving a gloom as dark as the proverbial black cat at midnight. Rain had come; I heard the sloshing-seeping of it as my company left. They went one by one, each with the same concerned face, the same unhelpful but encouraging advice: “Don’t worry”; “Take care”; “Be careful; It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”