by Anna Kern
I wasn’t surprised to hear that.
“Ms. Hille, as far as I’m concerned, this case is now a priority, and if anything else happens … call nine-one-one, then call me immediately.” He pulled a business card from his pocket, “My cell phone number is on there.”
We left the station. I was feeling assured and I hope Alyx was too. When we arrived at the shop, Maggie got up from the couch when we walked into the workroom, and stepped forward to unhook my leash. “It’s about time you got back. I’ve been sitting here waiting and worrying,” she scolded.
“I thought you had plans outside the store today,” said Alyx.
“I did and I do. I expected you back sooner. What happened in Umatilla?”
Alyx closed the workroom door. “You were right to worry this time; someone tried to run me over at the train station. Actually, I think he was just trying to scare me,” she began and she ended with the visit to the police station.
“You did the right thing talking to Detective Smarts. I think you should stay at my place or I can stay with you, if you’d rather not leave the cats alone.”
“It’s okay, Maggie. If the guy in the car had really wanted to kill me, he wouldn’t have swerved to avoid me.”
“What about the nitro case you found?”
“Smarts said Carole’s husband takes nitroglycerine for angina, but there’s no proof the case I found belonged to him. I know you’re concerned, and it worried me too, but now that Smart knows everything, I think it will be okay.”
Maggie gave her a hug. “Promise you won’t go to Umatilla again.”
“I can definitely promise you that I will not make the trip again.”
“If you yell at a cat, you’re the one who making a fool of yourself.”
––Unknown
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: An Apology of Sorts
Jim Husen, an antiques dealer whom Alyx had met a couple of years earlier at a Miles-Long-Garage-Sale event on A1A, stopped in to see her. He said he had a customer who collected globes, and he wondered if she happened to have any or knew anyone who did.
“As a matter of fact, I do have a globe,” she said, and directed him to the side of the store, near the staircase.
“It’s been here since we opened. I don’t know much about it, other than it’s from the 1930s, produced by the George F. Cram Company in Indianapolis.”
The globe she’d referred to was very decorative with Atlas holding up the globe between two columns.
“You know,” said Jim, “some of these can go for real good money. I heard about a tiny 1790s pocket globe that sold for fifteen-thousand dollars.”
I was impressed. Alyx’s globe probably wasn’t that valuable, but it still might draw nice sum. Of course, not all deals went that smoothly. Some dealers were greedier than others; they weren’t satisfied with just making a profit. They wanted to squeeze every last penny they could out of the deal. I knew that as far as Alyx was concerned, that took the fun out of it. Somehow, Antiques & Designs managed to prosper without gouging anyone in the process.
Alyx had another item sitting nearby that had not attracted any attention. It was a duck decoy. She asked Jim if he was interested, and told him all she knew about it.
“This and that globe were the first two items I purchased with the intent of selling them in my store someday,” she told him. “Anyway, the Mason Decoy Company in Detroit, Michigan––my home state––produced three grades of decoys––premium, challenge, and standard. The standard typically featured glass eyes, and a hand-painted solid body. This is a standard decoy, made around 1910. The last time I’d checked, it was valued at fifteen hundred dollars. I’ll negotiate if you find a buyer, and you’ll get the ten percent dealer discount.”
Jim picked up the decoy, turning it over in his hands to inspect it closer.
Suddenly, I felt her presence before I saw her. An elegantly dressed woman in a classic-style blue suit stood scrutinizing Alyx from top to bottom. She quickly looked away when Alyx turned in her direction.
“It looks like it’s in excellent condition,” said Jim about the decoy, “You should get full value for it. I’ll mention it to some people.”
“Great. Are you and Louise planning to go to the Williamsburg Antiques Forum in February?” Alyx asked him.
“We talked about it and think we might go. The theme this year is “The Arts of the American South” and that’s right up my alley. My wife is looking forward to helping prepare an authentic eighteen-century dinner, and I’m looking forward to eating it. What about you?”
“Maggie and I talked about it, but at the time she wasn’t interested. I love the place and its history and I don’t need a reason to go.”
“Well, if you decide to go, you’re welcome to come with Brenda and me. You know our RV is big enough to handle more than the two of us.”
She knew that to be true, as she and Maggie had gone on a trip with the Husens once before.
“Thanks, Jim. I’ll keep it in mind. Tell Brenda I found that recipe she asked me for, and I’ll give her a call soon.”
Alyx completed the transaction, Jim left, and she turned her attention to the woman who introduced herself as David Hunter’s ex-wife, Joann.
“David said I should apologize.”
“You’re here because David told you to? What are you making him do for this apology?”
“Nothing he doesn’t want to do,” she replied slyly.
“We’ll see about that,” Alyx said defiantly.
Joann’s pale blue eyes flashed to her face, her full lips stretched thin. “You’re not very gracious, are you? You’re nothing but a garbage picker.”
“Yes, that’s what I do, and I hope to do more of it,” replied Alyx. She made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t willing to give David up that easily.
After the door closed behind Joann Hunter, Alyx literally dropped into the nearest chair. Wanting to comfort her, I jumped on her lap and accidentally knocked over a small picture with a decorative inlaid top sitting on the side table. Both the table and the picture had come from Althea’s bedroom. Alyx had told Maggie that she kept the picture––a soft garden scene surrounded by a delicate gold frame––not so much for its value, but more because it reminded her of Althea.
The photo landed on its face, exposing a brown paper backing that had come unglued. Alyx picked it up and took it to the workroom, searched for glue to fix it. When she lifted the paper to re-glue it, something caught her eye––another photograph was behind the first––a smaller, black and white photograph of a young woman holding a baby.
Althea hadn’t forgotten her son.
About an hour later, Hunter walked through the door. His presence commanded our attention. Misty came to stand next to me and wanted to know what was going on. Hunter surveyed the room slowly, and quickened his step when Alyx came into view on the other side of the store.
“Alyx, I need to speak to you in private for a moment.”
“Did she come crying to you that I didn’t graciously accept her apology?” Alyx asked him.
He looked at her blankly. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, but you’ll want to hear what I have to tell you.”
“Joann,” said Alyx, “She came to apologize for harassing me. She said you told her she should.”
She turned and walked away. David followed, dodging furniture and cats in trying to keep up with her.
“I told her no such thing.”
Her dead stop caused a collision of cats, furniture, and humans.
He reached for her hand and she didn’t pull away. “I realized what she was doing after I spoke to you. I told her that she and I were finished, that I was ready to move on and I hoped she’d do the same.”
“Okay, then.”
A non-committal answer for sure, but apparently the only one he was going to get.
“Now can I speak to you in private?” he reiterated.
She nodded, “Let’s go to the workroom.”
�
��I know you’re seeing Jonathan Steele and there’s something you need to know about him.”
“How do you know that I’ve been seeing him?” she asked, rightfully suspicious. They sat at the table.
“How I know isn’t important. What’s important is what my source told me about him.”
She wasn’t listening anymore. “You’ve been following me?”
He didn’t answer. “Listen, Alyx. Jonathan Steele is Althea’s son.”
She leaned back in her chair, daring him to tell her something she didn’t know.
“I know that.”
“Did he tell you that he doesn’t have a penny to his name, and that he doesn’t actually own the store, that it’s owned by several people?”
Alyx was stunned. “The inventory is his, isn’t it?”
He shook his head. “Most of it’s on consignment from overseas distributors; very little is his.”
“So what do you think this has to do with me?”
He stood and leaned over her desk. “I heard your store was broken into, and that only Althea’s furniture was disturbed. Could he have been looking for another will––one that left everything to him? He could use the money, and I bet his cousin Carole Berth isn’t willing to share.”
“You think he killed Althea?”
“Alyx, I care about you. I wanted to warn you, to tell you to be careful; that’s all.”
“Thank you, David.”
He left, and she sat at her desk, cradling her head.
“There are many cat quotes: some are clever, some are funny, and some are true, but a true ailurophile knows that we are as unique as any human.”––Murfy
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: A Problem With the Security System
It was almost bedtime. The phone rang and at first, no one moved. Alyx answered on the second ring. “Sorry for the late call, Ms. Hille. I thought you’d want to know that there seems to be a problem with the alarm system at Antiques & Designs.”
Alyx sat up, and I scooted closer. “What kind of problem?”
“The alarm is malfunctioning at its location. Would you like to have someone take a look at it tonight or wait until tomorrow?”
She hesitated for an instant. “I think you’d better send someone tonight.”
“Alfred Simms is on call. He’ll be driving his own vehicle rather than a company car and will meet you there in about fifteen minutes.”
Alyx was still wearing the shorts and tee shirt she’d put on that morning. She slipped into a pair of sandals and quickly went out the door with me on her heels. We pulled up behind the shop and the second I saw the parked black sedan, I immediately recognized the heavy-set man waiting by the back door––the same man who’d tried to run her over at the train station.
Alyx parked in a lighted section of the parking lot. She opened the door, and I catapulted out of the truck. Hissing violently, I galloped ahead, and lunged at the man’s head. He raised his arms to protect himself and knocked me flat against the brick wall. Alyx quickly got the picture, but instead of running away, she started running towards me. He pulled out a gun that was tucked in his waistline, fired a shot and missed. Alyx ducked behind a cement light pole five feet in front of her.
“It’s your fault; you should have minded your own business. I tried to warn you but you ignored the note on the truck and you ignored what happened at the train station. Why didn’t you leave it alone? The old bitch never did anything for anybody.”
I recovered enough to creep behind him and plan my attack while he blubbered on. He almost sounded sorry when he said, “You should have stayed out of it. I have no choice. Now I have to kill you.”
He took a step forward, and at that moment, I leaped up and sank my fangs deep into the fleshy part of his right leg, right above the ankle. He repeatedly tried to knock me off with his gun and missed for the most part, succeeding only in making me determined to hang on. The rest is a blur until Tim Schaumburg, a private investigator and a friend of David Hunter said, “Okay, Murfy, you can let go now; I have it.”
I hate the taste of human flesh, and so I promptly let go. Tim didn’t expect me to understand what he’d said, and, as it often happens, that look of amazement mixed with doubt appeared on his face. It was like catnip to me.
Alyx made a fuss over me while she checked for wounds, and held me gently, careful not to touch the tender spots.
“Thank you so much for your help, Tim. How did you happen to be here?”
“I’m not here by accident; David asked me to keep an eye on you.”
“David Hunter asked you to do that?”
He nodded once. “I was watching your house, intending to leave when you went to bed––hoping it would be soon. When you drove away instead, I knew it meant trouble, and so I followed you. I called the police on the way, and I called David who’s going to meet us at the police station.”
“If a cat does something, we call it instinct; if we do the same thing, for the same reason, we call it intelligence.”
––Will Cuppy
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: The Cat Genius
Alyx left with Hunter for a late breakfast. Trying to catch up on some of the sleep I’d missed, I lay flat on my back, feet up in the air in my favorite chair while my housemates paced the perimeter of the room, eager to discuss the events of the previous night. I reluctantly gave up my quest for sleep, stretched my sore body, and faced my inquisitors.
I explained that Carole Berth’s husband, Michael, had confessed to killing Althea, and also to trying to kill Alyx, who’d been on the right track from the beginning.
Michael was having financial problems worse than his wife knew. He and his son went to Althea to ask for help, but she refused because she thought he’d tried to talk Carole into declaring her incompetent and put her away in a nursing home and take control of her money. His frustration led to rage and he killed her.
At first, Carole didn’t know who killed Althea; the night of the murder, her husband and son were supposed to have gone to a basketball game. She became suspicious when Smarts questioned her about the pill case. Then, she questioned her son and he confessed that the pill case had broken off when his father was struggling with Althea. Carole and her son searched the condominium one last time before the estate sale. Her son was looking for the pill case, and Carole was looking for another will or codicil leaving the money to Althea’s son, Jonathan, intending to destroy it, if she found it.
Michael never wanted to kill Alyx, but when she showed up in Umatilla asking leading questions, he knew that it was only a matter of time before she figured everything out. He followed her to the train station to convince her of the danger she faced.
He was also the one who broke-into the store in an effort to throw suspicion on Jonathan Steele. Michael Berth sells and installs security systems, so getting into the store was no problem. He intended to push the theory that Steele believed Althea had made another will, leaving everything to him and he was looking for that will.
Misty didn’t consider that smart thinking on Michael’s part, and she had a good point. How would Jonathan Steele know what furniture was Althea’s anyway? The only answer I could give her was that desperate men don’t think smart, and consequently do desperate things. In this case, however, all of Althea’s things were marked ‘Burns Estate’ and mostly, all in one place, but no one knew that.
Pooky questioned how I knew that’s what happened. I could have said that according to my mother, I’m not an ordinary tabby and the M on my forehead is the proof. A simpler truth is that I’m pretty good at processing information. Misty wondered if that meant I was a genius cat.
I don’t know the answer to that question and that makes it an excellent question. I venture to say that all animals possess some level of intelligence––humans call it instinct. Some humans agree with my observation and they will probably one day design an IQ test that is not human-centric and appropriate for animals in scope and scale according to their species. Maybe then, the age-ol
d question of who’s more intelligent––a cat or a dog––now based on the number of words they recognize, will be forever settled.
In the small hours of the morning, I made my last trip to the abandoned shed. If Simon thought the group of about thirty cats would intimidate or persuade me to leave with them, he was wrong on both counts. I was right about his fake altruism––he was forming his own clowder, had heard about my tactical fighting prowess, and wanted me to help him conquer other clowders and territory.
I made it clear that I was living out my life with Alyx, to comfort her and protect her and those she loved, and, if possible, I intended to do it to the best of my ability.
Simon and I are bound to meet again someday, maybe under different circumstances. But that will probably be the last life for one of us.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ANNA KERN grew up in East Pointe, Michigan, and lives in St. Johns County, Florida. Retirement allows her to enjoy every minute of her free time doing what she loves to do best––write. DEADLY DIAMOND is her second novel in the Murfy the Cat Mystery series and she is working on a third. A PAWS-IBLE THEORY is Murfy’s first adventure. Visit Anna at https://www.facebook.com/anna.kern.author.
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