Cat's Paw

by Mollie Hunt

The syringe pinwheel paused mid-spin. I needed to keep her talking. Time to go out on a limb.

  “It’s all about Simon, isn’t it?”

  Tulsa stared daggers at me. “Yes, of course it’s all about Simon. It’s always been about Simon.”

  “But why?” I had a sudden flash. “You’re not in love with him, are you?”

  She gave a little laugh. “And what if I was?”

  “Oh, Tulsa, please reconsider. I know he’s an attractive man but he’s over twice your age. I understand the fascination, but…”

  “No, I don’t think you do. And I’m not in love with him. This is a family matter.”

  “Family?”

  She hiccupped a tiny giggle. “Yeah, family. As in Mom and Dad.”

  I still wasn’t getting it.

  “You look confused, Lynley,” she toyed, keen as a cat with a spider.

  “Sorry, you lost me.”

  Tulsa smiled demurely, then said with a sigh, “Crystal and Simon Bird are my parents.”

  * * *

  The silence couldn’t have been more profound. Then Tulsa made a little happy face. “Surprise!”

  “Yeah, no kidding!” I stammered. “Simon never told me he had a child.”

  “He didn’t know. My mom, in all her drunken wisdom, never told him she was pregnant.”

  “Really? Not even when she saw you at the art retreat?”

  “She gave me away when I was born. When she met me at Cloverleaf, she had no idea I was her long lost offspring.”

  I shot a quick glance at Kelley whose face must have mirrored my own incredulity.

  “Is that why you killed her?” the journalist queried. “Because she didn’t recognize you?”

  “No, not at all! That ridiculous woman, staggering around the place tilting at windmills? I couldn’t care less about her.”

  “But you care about Simon,” I put in.

  She sighed, deep and long. “I do—‌I did. And I thought he would care about me too.”

  Tulsa was back to twirling the syringe. Her gaze swept the ceiling as if her past played out there. “I always knew I was adopted. My adoptive parents never kept it from me. Marjorie and Lloyd,” she ruminated. “Not Mom and Dad. Not even Mother and Father. Marjorie and Lloyd, about as warmhearted as a couple of salamanders.”

  Her gaze focused on the annoying light fixture. “Marjorie and Lloyd believed in total honesty, I’ll give them that. Brutal honesty as often as not. But the one thing they would never reveal was the identity of my biological parents. I had to wait for that little gem until they both died.”

  For a moment, she rested, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “Marjorie left a letter in her will and when I discovered Simon Bird was my father, I was ecstatic. I’d always felt like an imposter. That’s why I ran away at fifteen. That’s why I…” She caught herself, returning to her original thread. “Finally I understood. My real dad wasn’t a by-the-numbers businessman like Lloyd but this sensitive artist, famous and adored. I found him online, found out everything about him. Simon was so beautiful! Like a sun. I just wanted to crawl into his brightness and stay there for the rest of my life.

  “I set out to get a job at the shelter where I could be near him. I loved the island. It was perfect. So perfect I decided to become his personal assistant.”

  “How did you pull that off? I can’t imagine you have the qualifications.”

  She dropped her eyes. “I have brilliant computer skills. Once I got the old assistant removed by exposing her as a former cat hoarder—‌oh, of course she was nothing of the sort, but in the face of the overwhelming evidence I slipped into her online presence, she didn’t have much choice but to resign—‌it was easy enough for me to step in. Just a few credentials added to my own file and I became the indisputable choice.”

  She sighed, as if remembering. “We worked together. It was everything I’d ever wanted.” Then her face fell. “Until it wasn’t.”

  “You were with Simon for a long time.”

  “Over a year,” Tulsa confirmed.

  “And you never told him you were his daughter?”

  “I was going to, when the time was right, but then things began to fall apart. Nothing was what I thought. He’s not the kind and wonderful man everyone says he is.”

  What was left of the day was fading fast. The rain had begun; I could hear the swelling patter on the roof above.

  “You know that aura of love and serenity he goes around exuding?” she spat, her expression ugly and grim. “It’s all an act. He doesn’t care. About anyone, anything. He didn’t care about you either, Lynley. He never did.”

  “That’s not true!” I exclaimed before I could stop myself.

  She paused, tight as a watch spring. “Well, maybe not, but he certainly never cared about me. He’d never wanted me,” she added in a near-whisper.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just what I said. He never wanted me… children, a daughter. Even if the lush had told him he was a father, it wouldn’t have changed anything. He didn’t give a rat’s patootie.”

  “Oh, I can’t believe that, Tulsa. Simon is kind…”

  “Simon is cruel! He’s heartless. He wouldn’t have given me a job if he’d known the truth. He told me so, told me to my face.”

  “That’s bull…” Kelley began, but I intervened.

  “You liked him at first. What made you change your mind?”

  Tulsa seemed to shrink into herself. I could almost see her become smaller, the little girl who so wanted a father’s love.

  “Simon and I spent a lot of time together. We’d sit by the fireplace at Wolf Hall,” she went on, “after the others had gone home. We talked about everything—‌the future, the universe, our deepest darkest thoughts. One night we were discussing our families. I mentioned I was adopted—‌I think I was leading up to telling him he was my dad. But before I could get the words out, he dropped the big one! He said how glad he was that he hadn’t had kids. How relieved! He went on and on. After that, there was no way I could come clean. He would have probably thrown me off the island, or worse. That horrid evil jerk!”

  “Now wait a minute,” Kelley began.

  Tulsa’s face twisted into a mask of hate, then she kicked out at the woman, grazing her cheekbone with her leather sole. Kelley cried out and fell back on the futon. Blood trickled down her cheek, reddish-black in the fluorescent green light.

  “Evil!” Tulsa cried out, poising herself for another kick. Kelley cowered, clenching for a second blow.

  “He didn’t mean it,” I cried out.

  Tulsa turned and stared. For a moment I thought she was going to kick me next.

  “He can’t have known he was speaking to his own child.” I continued quickly. “If you didn’t tell him who you were, how could he have realized the hurtfulness of what he was saying?”

  Tulsa went rigid, then she caught herself, impassive once more. “He knew alright. I could see the arrogance in his eyes. That was when I decided.”

  “Decided what?”

  “To take away everyone Simon loved.”

  Chapter 34

  Cats don’t like change. Even a healthy cat can exhibit symptoms of illness including litter box problems, vomiting, and a decreased appetite when there is a change in their routines.

  “That’s crazy.”

  Tulsa whipped around to face me. In the artificial light, her countenance was a gaunt semblance of loathing.

  “Enough!” she shouted. “I’ve explained it to you. Simon Bird rejected me. He is a bad man, cruel and hurtful. And now I must finish what I started. I saved you for last, Lynley Cannon, so you could go through his losses with him. Now he will lose you too. My work will be complete.”

  She burst across the room and hulked over me. I tried kicking out at her but she stepped easily out of reach. The move nearly cost me my balance; as I teetered on the straight-backed chair, I gazed up into her gray eyes. In this light, they glittered like mica. So much like Simon’
s, I should have seen it before.

  “You are a vile thing,” she said, uncapping the syringe. “I won’t be the least bit sad at your passing.”

  She held the instrument up to eye level. With that deliberate and deadly action, I froze.

  The whole thing happened in slow motion: her finger flicking against the plastic to dislodge the bubbles; the push of the plunger to expend the excess air; the droplet of glistening liquid appearing atop the needle, then slipping like an iridescent pearl down the side of the glimmering steel.

  Kelley screamed once, then went quiet. As Tulsa leaned forward, extending her hand toward my neck, the silence was complete.

  Suddenly Tulsa shrieked and pulled back as if she’d been shocked. I looked around wildly for the cause, and there on the floor behind her crouched Tinkerbelle. Tink’s little pink tongue poked out from her mouth as she fastidiously licked at Tulsa’s lean calf.

  “Horrid cat!” Tulsa cried, violently kicking her off. Tinkerbelle ran but not before giving a quick nip to the back of Tulsa’s ankle.

  Tulsa cried out again, this time stumbling forward. As she went to steady herself, she lost her grip on the syringe, sending it flying into the air. Like a tiny caber, it rose, then plunged earthward. With mad gesticulations, Tulsa tried to catch it but she was too slow. I watched it fall, straight as a dart, point down, in the yellow-tighted dorsum of Tulsa’s foot.

  Without thought, I extended my zip-tied legs, spread my toes, and brought my insteps down onto the poised syringe with all the force I could muster. My reach wasn’t exact and the blow was skewed, but I was pretty sure I’d got it right.

  The move threw me from the chair, and I landed hard on the floor. My head did a bounce off the softwood and for a moment, I saw stars. I blinked fast and my vision cleared. From where I lay I had a cat’s-eye view of Tulsa’s feet but I didn’t need to see the needle jammed to the hilt or the plunger sunk to its expended position to know I had hit my mark.

  Tulsa Thorpe slowly crumpled down beside me. On her pallid countenance was a look of utter surprise.

  Chapter 35

  Think your cat is the cutest? There are more than forty animal talent agencies in the USA. Agents audition animals for films, theater, photo shoots, and television, but it’s not all glitz and glamour. Animal talent work tends to be low-paying and demand long hours. Only a few cats will tolerate the rigorous schedule of being a kitty star.

  It was Carol’s turn to host the family Thanksgiving celebration, and knowing my mum, I was ready for anything, from Chinese food to make-it-yourself tofu sandwiches. I didn’t care as long as everyone was there and I didn’t have to do the work. I was still spacy at times, a condition my therapist attributed to PTSD. Tulsa Thorpe had lived, so at least I didn’t have her death on my conscience, but the rest of the experience had left lasting scars.

  I can only remember flashes of our rescue, surreal and out-of-context visions:

  Kelley’s face, grotesquely disproportioned as she peered at me, blood dripping across her perfect journalist smile.

  Tinkerbelle, eyes wide as a wildcat’s, licking my forehead.

  Clatters, slams, someone falling down. A few choice swear words—‌that was Kelley—‌and then talking, a shouting plea for help. A voice I didn’t recognize spoke softly in my ear. “You’re safe now.”

  “Tinkerbelle,” I remember saying.

  “She’s safe too.”

  “And Tulsa?”

  “Emergency. The police know everything. She’ll be going away for life.”

  In the week that followed, I’d been contacted by just about everyone I knew: lots of friendly concern and just as much common curiosity. Then things settled down. I went back to volunteering at the shelter and so did Kelley; Nathan returned to Chicago pursuing a real job offer as opposed to Simon’s, which had been mainly an excuse to get the young man out west in case he needed backup. I was a little offended that Simon didn’t consider me fit to be his backup but I understood. The younger, stronger Nathan would be much more useful in hand-to-hand combat than a little old crazy cat lady.

  Before Nathan left, we had a chance to talk, really talk. Among other things, I asked him why he had been so scared of the police.

  “That was Simon’s doing,” he replied, candid now that everything was out in the open. “He’d made it very clear that under no circumstances did he want the police involved. It sounded so crucial I guess I got swept up in the drama. I never questioned.” He paused. “Why, what did you think? That I was sideways with the law? A criminal?”

  “Well, I couldn’t help but wonder. You must admit you were acting a little edgy.”

  “I’d just seen a dead body, for heaven’s sake. That was a new experience for me.”

  “Well, I’m glad you don’t have a felonious alter ego. I like to think I know the bad guys from the good.”

  We laughed, and it had seemed funny looking back, though not all that funny.

  Shaking off the ghost chill of anxiety, I forced myself back to the here-and-now, Thanksgiving dinner at my mother’s spacious condominium located in an upscale vintage building called the Terrace. From where I sat on the couch in front of the fire, Carol’s ancient Persian Priss installed on my lap like a furry throw pillow, I could see through the dining room to the kitchen door, now tantalizingly closed. Carol and her roommate Candy had been ensconced behind it since I arrived. I had been told to stay put and was happy to oblige but curious what mischief they might be making back there.

  “Something smells good,” I called out .

  Carol stepped out where I could see her and grinned coyly, cute on an eighty-something. “You’ll never guess what we’re cooking, dear.”

  It sounded like a challenge.

  “You’re on,” I proclaimed.

  I inhaled the complex mixture of aromas: spices, legumes, and just a hint of cruciferous vegetable. Not turkey, that was for sure.

  “Cabbage rolls?”

  “Nope.” Carol ducked back into the kitchen with a giggle.

  “Can I get you anything, Lynley?” came a familiar voice from behind me. “A refill on your cider?”

  “No thank you, Simon. Still good here.” I looked up at the tall man who had been inspecting my mother’s extensive library. He had aged since our first re-meeting at my birthday party last May. The silver hair that had curled so rakishly was a little thinner, a little flatter. The rugged complexion had paled slightly, and there was a tinge of gray around the mica eyes. Was that a mere six months ago? It seemed far longer.

  Simon came and sat next to me on the couch. After the tragedy with Tulsa, he had stayed in Portland to make sure I was okay and tie up loose ends with the police. He’d been through a lot, finding out he had a daughter just to lose her again to a lifetime in prison.

  “I still want to get to know her, Lynley.”

  I looked at him in surprise. “Oh, Simon. Even after all she’s done?”

  “Especially after what she’s done. That was my fault, at least partly. She had come to Cloverleaf to bond with her father, and how did I greet her? By telling her I’d never wanted kids. I don’t remember that conversation, but it sounds like me, in one of my cynical moods.”

  “It certainly is not your fault! No sane person goes out and kills people just because they didn’t like what someone said. Unless you count wars.”

  He laughed. “You’re right, Lynley. Her problems must have begun long before that night. If only I’d known, though. If only I could have been there for her.”

  “You weren’t given the choice, Simon. Besides, regret is futile. You can’t change the past, just as you can’t predict the future. Now is the only moment we have to make a difference. And from what I’ve seen, you’re doing just fine with that.”

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re a rock?”

  “I’d rather be a rock star.”

  We both laughed, then he put his hand over mine. “I’ll miss you, Lyn,” he said wistfully. His plan was to leave after Than
ksgiving. I knew it was time, but it was hard to let go.

  “I’ll miss you too, but you can always come for a visit.”

  “Back at you. You’re welcome any time.”

  For a moment we stared at each other, both knowing how empty those promises were, that even if we did get together, say in a year or two, it would never be the same. The bond we had forged through our recent trial—‌the fear, the horror, the absurdity—‌would never go away but the experience itself had come to an end. I was overjoyed to be done with the turmoil Simon had unwittingly brought upon me but saddened to say farewell.

  There was a soft rap on the condo door followed by the scuffle of feet and the happy sounds of conversation. Shedding coat, scarf, and hat, my lovely granddaughter danced into the room, bee-lined to me and gave me a gentle hug.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Lynley. Hi, Simon,” she added to the man. “Mom and Dad are here.” She gave a wistful glance toward the foyer where I could hear the couple in deep discussion while they put away their outerwear.

  “That’s wonderful,” I said, assuring Seleia I was up for a visit with my daughter. I was looking forward to seeing Lisa in spite of the inevitable irritation factor that potentially accompanied our meetings.

  “Mother,” Lisa said, sweeping into the room. Her red couture dress seemed out of place in the casual surroundings, but I had to admit she wore it well. She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “How are you feeling?”

  “Hello, Lisa. I’m fine. Carol’s got me on a short rope, though. You know Carol. Loves to fuss.”

  Lisa smiled and rolled her eyes, then after brushing off the already-immaculate seat of an easy chair, settled herself like a queen. Her husband, Gene, sauntered in, hands in the pockets of his wool tweed vest, and stood behind her. Nodding, he said only, “Lynley. Simon.” Man of few words, probably because his wife required oh-so-many.

  Carol stepped out of the kitchen again, then came through the dining room wiping her hands on her apron when she saw the new arrivals. There were hugs all around.

  “What smells so good, Granna”?

  Carol gave me a sideways glance.