Book Read Free

1 A Paw-sible Theory

Page 3

by Anna Kern

“Right. What I didn’t tell you is that Alyx didn’t want to hear it. I told her that our customers and clients would follow us no matter where the store was located. She wouldn’t listen. I’ve never seen Alyx react that strongly to anything before, and I really didn’t know what to make of it. More than that, my own reaction scared me––how angry I got at Alyx for not allowing me to explain that I didn’t want to sell the building any more than she did, but that we should at least discuss it.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get the chance to clear it up once she comes out of her coma.”

  “I hope it’s soon, George. There’s a ton of work left to do and we just accepted two new clients a few days ago.”

  “Is there anything I can help you with? I want to see more of you and I don’t want to see you buried under with work.”

  “Thank you, George. You can help by taking me to breakfast tomorrow, but it has to be early.”

  “In that case, maybe I should come over and spend the night so we don’t waste any time.”

  For some reason beyond my knowledge of humans, Maggie turned red.

  “It doesn’t have to be that early, George.” She said that with a smile that lingered until she went back inside.

  “There are two means of refuge from the misery of life – music and cats.”

  ––Albert Schweitzer

  CHAPTER SEVEN: A Sleepless Night

  Ethan’s restlessness had kept me up all night. Still awake at three o’clock Sunday morning, I could barely keep my eyes open when Ethan rolled out of bed and powered on the computer.

  I crept up behind him and perched on the back of the desk chair. The pictures on the screen looked like the machines I had seen in Alyx’s room and I assumed he was looking up information that further explained what Dr. Casey had said about his mother’s condition.

  Ethan read aloud, “The wires attached to the scalp act like an antenna recording the brain’s electrical activity at different frequencies, called alpha, beta, theta and delta activity.”

  That was all my brain could process, so I jumped off the chair onto the floor. I stopped listening, but Ethan continued reading. When he finally shut down the computer, I curled up with Misty who had been sleeping blissfully at the foot of the bed.

  I didn’t fall asleep right away as I thought I would. I couldn’t stop thinking about the day’s events. Foremost in my mind was who had tried to kill Alyx––and why?

  I usually slept on Alyx’s bed, so I was slightly disoriented when I opened my eyes and didn’t see her there. Ethan was already up and, as was the routine when he lived at home, I jumped on the bathroom vanity for a drink of fresh water from the faucet before he stepped into the shower.

  I missed Ethan when he moved out, but I would have missed Misty and Alyx just as much if he hadn’t changed his mind about taking me along. Alyx had reluctantly agreed that he could take me with him when he moved out, but he a hard time finding a place that allowed pets. Actually, he told me in private that he’d found several places that allowed small pets; but he just couldn’t bring himself to take me away from Alyx, let alone Misty––a small gray cat with blue eyes and a quirky personality.

  Alyx had found Misty at a garage sale on one of her endless searches for unique items she planned to sell in the store later. I was elated when Alyx brought her home. I had often heard Ethan express his desire for a dog, and I was glad Alyx had always talked him out of it, telling him it wouldn’t be good for the animal to be indoors alone all day since she and Ethan were both frequently out of the house. I figured I could have gotten along with a dog if I had to, but I definitely preferred the company of my own kind.

  It was time for breakfast and I meandered to the food bowl in the kitchen where Misty was waiting for me. It seemed odd not to see Pooky sitting nearby. She always waited until everyone else had eaten before she approached the food bowl, her behavior that of a guest, careful not to overstep her bounds.

  Misty and I had long been aware of Pooky’s presence outside, waiting for Alyx to get the paper in the morning, and then again in the evening when she came home from the store. She was dirty and emaciated, her eyes––one green, and one gold––were glazed and unfocused, and what was left of her fur, matted, the few guard hairs around her neck sticking straight out. All in all, she looked pitiful. As Misty said, she looked like road-kill, and walked like a queen.

  Pooky flourished under Alyx’s care. Her black fur had grown long and glossy, her tail full and majestic and her eyes, still two different colors, once again bright.

  The thing that bothered me most about Pooky was the fact that she liked to cuddle. I felt some pressure there because I just wasn’t the type for all that mushy stuff and I thought she might make me look too aloof. Of course, my humans knew I cared for them. After all, didn’t I share some of the stray lizards I caught on the screened porch with them? Didn’t I, now and then, allow them the privilege of holding me for a minute or two? And didn’t I reward them with uncensored purring? Still, I was fully cognizant of the fact that humans liked their cats to cuddle with them and Pooky had that role down pat.

  There was no peace those first few months when Pooky came to live with us. Always called on to referee, I hated all that tail whipping, hissing, and spitting that went on with the two girls. They acted as if they were going to kill each other but never really did any damage; it was mostly noise and posturing. Unfortunately, things hadn’t changed all that much, they still antagonized each other.

  To my knowledge, no one had noticed that Pooky was missing, and obviously they weren’t going to notice that morning either. They probably thought she was just hiding somewhere. Cats did that––hid in places humans never suspected, and then reappeared out of nowhere, their hideaway remaining a secret. The craziest and most dangerous place that I can think of where one of us hid was when Misty decided to take a nap in the washing machine.

  I didn’t see her jump in when Alyx left the laundry room to answer the phone, but I was there when she returned to finish loading the washer. Misty flew out and stomped away, clearly perturbed at being disturbed from her nap.

  Dressed in the change of clothes his mother had suggested he leave in the closet just in case, Ethan was looking at the collection of his pottery displayed on the upper kitchen cabinets, near the ceiling. I thought that he was probably trying to figure out where the one that had been used as a weapon might have been.

  I followed him back to the living room and out to the screened porch some called a lanai, which had originally been just a covered porch. Here was another of his larger pots, this time used in a corner display with plants and antique water cans––one of which, complete with paint spatters that Alyx had found in her parents’ garage and was at least one hundred years old.

  “How do you figure it, Murfy? Where did Mom have that pot? It could have been anywhere in the house; you know how she likes to move things around. Someone could have just grabbed the pot and waited for the right time to hit her with it.”

  Since nothing much ever escapes a cat’s notice, I had a pretty good idea about the pot’s most recent location, no matter how many times it might have been moved. Nevertheless, I made a mental note to ask the other felines about it.

  I padded back to the kitchen; Ethan followed and, thinking aloud, he came to the same conclusion I had, that someone could have come into the kitchen from three different areas––guestroom, hallway, or dining room.

  “If they came in from the guestroom or the hallway, Mom would have seen them, which means they must have come up behind her from the dining room, the question being, how did they get in without Mom hearing them, and with all the doors locked––that is, if they were locked? And why would someone want to hurt her?”

  Those were all good questions that I hoped Detective Smarts was investigating.

  “Cats are intended to teach us that not everything in nature has a function.”

  ––Garrison Keillor

  CHAPTER EIGHT: A Chilling Implication
<
br />   I looked out and saw that Ethan hadn’t left yet. His car was still in the driveway and he was sitting in it writing on a notepad. Mrs. Leary, the next-door neighbor, was trying to get his attention as she slowly shuffled her way towards the car, all the while her dog, Smooch, was pulling on his leash in another direction.

  Mrs. Leary, who had trouble outlining her lips with the red lipstick she always wore, was a genuine Florida native, and since she had lived and taught school here for most of her eighty years, she was a fountain of information about the area and its politics. She knew everyone and could tell you anything you wanted to know about what went on at City Hall, and often did.

  “Hi, handsome; I’m glad I caught you. How is your mom?” she said loud enough to be heard across the street.

  She didn’t wait for his answer but went on to tell him that all the neighbors were talking about what happened, the older neighbors concerned that someone had targeted the neighborhood for robbery and that they might be next. He gave her a brief update on his mother and told her that since the police didn’t know if this had been an attempted robbery or something else, they would be keeping an eye on the neighborhood for a while.

  “I had Eddie Smarts in my class two years in a row in high school, you know. Who’d ever have thought he would one day be a detective?”

  “Why is that a surprise?”

  She laughed. “He was the class clown, always in trouble about some silly thing or other egged on by his best friend, our new Commissioner, Jack Shultz.”

  I found it hard to believe that Detective Smarts even knew how to smile. I certainly hadn’t seen any evidence of it and the man’s behavior toward me bordered on rudeness.

  “As a matter of fact,” she continued, “this is Smart’s first case since his promotion after twenty years of service with the department.” She moved closer and lowered her voice a notch. “I hear there’s talk among the ranks that his promotion had more to do with his friendship with the Commissioner than it did with his investigative skills.”

  “Well, I sure hope he’s done clowning around and gets busy catching the one who put Mom in the hospital.”

  Before Ethan could politely leave, they chatted for a few more minutes about some other kids she’d taught who now held important positions, including Everett Bixby, the District Attorney.

  “I imagine Smarts is under pressure to prove himself and eager to put an end to the talk. I feel sorry for the poor soul he sets his sights on.”

  The implication was chilling.

  “Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea.”

  ––Unknown

  CHAPTER NINE: A Mumbled Apology

  The Westminster chime of the doorbell woke me up from a sound sleep. Ethan’s father, Bob, was standing there puffing on a cigarette. He rang the bell a second time and started to walk away, got as far as his car and turned back. He lit another cigarette with the one he’d finished and flicked the stub in the direction of the driveway, spotted the newspaper tossed in the yard that morning and sat down to read it. He scanned the front page, turned to the back page and a worried expression flitted across his face. He dialed a number on his cell phone.

  “Helen, it’s me. I’m going to be home a little later than I thought. Ethan isn’t back and I’m going to wait for him.”

  Of course, I didn’t hear what the other party said.

  “Yes, honey, I know I said I would go with you, but this is more serious than his message said. We’ll do it another time, okay?”

  Smoke billowed around his head. “Are you still planning on pot roast for dinner? Can we have cherry pie a la mode for dessert?” He took a long drag, filling his lungs and exhaled.

  “Fine, don’t stress. I’ll stop at the grocery store for the pie.”

  Bob had remarried shortly after he divorced Alyx, and with good reason Ethan didn’t like his new wife. He told his mother that she always complained to his father about the mess he made while visiting, and she did it in front of him, usually leading to an argument and Ethan going home early. Eventually, the father-son relationship turned into one of distant relatives; an occasional phone call, with dinner three or four times a year.

  Bob stood and took a step forward when he saw his son turn into the driveway. Ethan looked straight ahead, oblivious to everything around him as he followed the brick walkway to the front door.

  Ethan, tall and handsome, had the same deep blue eyes and black hair as his father; his father’s hair peppered with gray.

  “Hi, Dad, what are you doing here?”

  They shook hands, patting each other on the back in something resembling a hug.

  “Looking for you, son. I stopped by your apartment and when I didn’t find you there, I thought I might find you here before I checked at the hospital.”

  “Have you been waiting long?”

  “Traffic is bad. I got here about fifteen minutes ago. The official Beachside Visitor Information website boasts that approximately four million visitors a year enjoy the beach and I think half of those four million visitors decided to visit this week.”

  The city hosted several special events during the year that brought as many as three hundred thousand visitors, per event, to the area. Fueled by the local newspaper editorials and local radio station’s talk show hosts, these events were a source of on-going contention between the business community and the residents.

  According to Alyx, the residents felt they were the losers in the struggle. The crowds attending the big name concerts on the beach made it almost impossible to get around town, diverting law enforcement from residential areas and often delaying emergency service. On top of that, the city levied higher taxes to cover the cost of the events while the local businesses, including those in surrounding cities and itinerant businesses, enjoyed the profits.

  Spring Break was in full swing and the subject of daily articles in the newspaper concerning safety and the destruction of property wherever the college students stayed. Unfortunately, the safety issue came up more often than it should have––referring to several deaths that had occurred when drunken students tried to make their way from one balcony to another.

  “Yeah, right? I was stuck in the traffic congestion the new bridge was supposed to eliminate and it took me more than thirty minutes to get across.”

  There was an awkward moment of silence before Ethan picked up the conversation again.

  “Haven’t heard from you in a while, Dad.”

  “I’m sorry, but I lost you cell phone number when I changed phones.” The last part said with some embarrassment.

  “Yeah, I see how that can happen, especially when you don’t call the number much.”

  “You know how it is, son, time just seems to slip by.”

  Ethan had every right to feel as he did, but confronting his father on an emotional level was not his style and I wasn’t surprised he dropped the subject.

  “Yeah, Dad, I know how it is,” he said, looking off into the distance, his chin jutting out ever so slightly.

  He unlocked the door and invited his father in.

  To my knowledge, Bob had never been inside before and he looked around appreciatively.

  “Very nice. Your mother always had a knack for decorating. I’m glad she’s finally doing what she apparently loves.”

  They sat across from each other, Ethan in my favorite chair, while Bob chose the tan, camelback couch. I settled on the coffee table and Misty picked the floor.

  “Son, I’m sorry about your mom. The article in the Beachside Record doesn’t say much more than what your message said.”

  He turned to the back page and read the short article in The Police Scan column.

  “Saturday. Early this morning, Citrus County Hospital admitted local merchant Alyx Hille, part owner of Antiques & Designs. Her son, Ethan Hille, and business partner, Maggie Brock, found her unconscious and bleeding from head trauma.

  Beachside police are investigating the
incident. At this time, the police have no suspect or a motive for the attack. If you have any information, please call Detective Smarts at the Beachside Police Department.”

  “There’s really not much more to tell,” said Ethan, then filled him in on the few details not mentioned.

  “Dad, I know you and Mom don’t talk much, if at all, but do you have any idea who’d want to hurt her?”

  Bob started to say something then hesitated, shrugged his shoulders, and rubbed the palms of his hands on his knees. “Well, son, when you’re in business like your mom is, there’s always the chance that you’ve made some enemies somewhere along the line. Envy and greed are always a good motive for murder, and statistics show that it’s usually someone close to the victim who committed the crime.”

  Ethan looked puzzled. “What do you mean, Dad? You’re not suggesting that I had anything to do with it, are you?”

  “Of course I’m not suggesting you had anything to do with it. I’m merely answering your question.”

  “You think Maggie did it?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Silence followed.

  “We haven’t talked in a while, son. How are things going with you?”

  “How do you think they’re going? I’m worried about Mom.”

  “I meant with you personally before this happened.”

  “I guess, okay. Same as everyone else, not everything is perfect but I’m dealing with it.”

  Silence.

  I had to give Bob credit for effort in trying to act like a father, thinking how hard it must be for him, not having had much practice at it.

  “I know you’re worried about your mother, and I know there’s no sense in telling you not to worry, so I won’t, but she’s in good hands and I believe she’ll wake up sooner than anyone expects.”

  Ethan nodded without comment.

  “Okay. I’d better get going. I was wondering if you want to have dinner with Helen and me. She’s making one of your favorites––pot roast, and cherry pie a la mode for dessert.”

 

‹ Prev