Cat Me If You Can

by Miranda James

  I had never visited a house with an indoor pool, a gym, and a bowling alley in its basement, but after visiting Biltmore I could say that I had. I imagined that one could live a rather full life at Biltmore without the necessity of ever leaving the grounds of the estate. Unless, of course, you desired to travel, and Vanderbilt obviously had, because he had brought bits and pieces of Europe home from his trips and had them installed in his magnificent house.

  Before our visit I had only skimmed the history of Biltmore I found online. During the tour, I decided I would purchase a book in the gift shop. I was sure to find one that would tell me all I would ever want to know about the house, and I found exactly what I wanted. Once we finished the tour we had about an hour to visit the gift shops and food shops to refresh ourselves as needed before we reassembled at the meeting point to board the bus for our hotel. There were many items to tempt the souvenir shopper, and both Helen Louise and I succumbed to the lure of coffee mugs and T-shirts. I picked up a few things to take home for family members as well, and Helen Louise shopped for her staff at the bistro. We already had a small box in the trunk of the car with gifts from Gatlinburg and Cherokee. I have always had low resistance in souvenir shops, as my children could easily and willingly attest.

  Helen Louise and I weren’t the only members of the group laden with bags when we all met to board the bus back to our hotel. There were no stragglers, so the wait was brief. Once we were moving, Burdine said, “That was excellent. Gorgeous house, but I can’t imagine living in a place like that.”

  Zac laughed. “I can’t imagine being a servant in a place like that a hundred years ago. You’d spend most of your time walking from one task to another if you worked abovestairs.” He shook his head. “You’d have to be really fit to work there.”

  “I couldn’t get over how enormous it is, either,” Melba said. “I knew it was the largest house in the country, but even knowing that, you’re not really prepared for the sheer size and scale of it.”

  “If I’d been working there back then,” Johnny Ray said, “I’d have been working on the farm or down in the basement somewhere. I don’t expect they’d have black people working in the house.”

  “That’s a good question,” Helen Louise said. “I wish you’d asked the tour guide about it.”

  Johnny Ray shrugged. “Didn’t think much about it at the time. I think I might bring the family back later in the week to see the farm and all the rest of it. Junior would love to see the library, but the twins would drive us crazy, trying to take them through the house.”

  “I can see that younger children might not be that interested. Probably overwhelming to them,” Paul Bowen said. “The guide said it was wired for electricity from the beginning. Can you imagine what the electric bill would be for that place?”

  “At the time George Vanderbilt had the place built, he was pretty wealthy, though he didn’t have as much money as some of the other Vanderbilts,” Elmore said.

  “Doesn’t the family still own the house?” Celia asked.

  “Yes, two of his great-great-grandchildren now run the estate,” Miss An’gel said.

  “While we were walking through, I couldn’t help thinking about all the Golden Age English detective stories I’ve read,” Celia remarked. “I’ve never been to England to see any of the stately homes there, but now I feel like I have more of a sense of what they must be like. Or were like in the twenties and thirties when Agatha Christie and others set their books in such places.”

  “I kept expecting a butler or an upstairs maid to pop up along the way.” Burdine laughed. “Or someone running screaming down the hall claiming they’d found a body in one of the bedrooms.”

  “How about in the bowling alley?” Benjy grinned. “Or at the bottom of the swimming pool? Those would be great places for a corpse to turn up.”

  I couldn’t suppress a grin. Get a bunch of mystery readers together, and they’d spot all kinds of opportunities for disposing of a body. I wondered whether mystery writers did the same thing. I figured they probably did.

  “Or a body thrown to the ground from that beautiful loggia we saw,” Melba said. “Wasn’t that view of the Blue Ridge Mountains gorgeous? Imagine being able to sit out there and relax, enjoying the view, sipping a cocktail.” She laughed. “I could get used to that kind of lifestyle in a hot minute.”

  Paul Bowen regarded her with amusement. “You’d like to be one of the idle rich?”

  “Why not?” Melba said.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Paul responded, and Melba flushed slightly.

  I wondered how serious things were between Melba and this latest boyfriend. They hadn’t been going out all that long, as far as I knew. Perhaps Melba would confide in me at some point. We were close, more like brother and sister in many ways than simply good friends.

  Helen Louise broke the embarrassed silence after Paul’s teasing remark. “I can’t imagine that Vanderbilt had much of his inheritance left after Biltmore was finished.”

  “Not all of it was finished when he died in 1914,” Elmore said. “Didn’t the guide tell us the music room wasn’t finished until the 1970s?”

  “Yes, she did,” Miss Dickce said.

  We continued chatting about the wonders of Biltmore until we reached the hotel. As Helen Louise, Diesel, and I were waiting to get off the bus, I checked my watch. Ten thirty-two. An activity-packed few hours this morning, and we still had plenty of time to do other things like visit local bookstores, one of my favorite things to do whenever I traveled. Luckily for me, Helen Louise enjoyed bookstores also, so I didn’t have to go by myself or negotiate for time to do it on my own.

  We were now free until two this afternoon, when the group would reconvene to start with our more formal talks about our favorite Golden Age writers. I had offered to go first. I was used to doing talks with readers’ groups from my days as a public librarian in Houston. I occasionally worked with groups at the Athena Public Library, where I volunteered once a week. Zac was my partner for the session, and he would be talking about Phoebe Atwood Taylor, an American author from his home state of Massachusetts.

  We took our time getting off the bus, letting the rest of the group precede us into the hotel. When we stepped off, Miss An’gel stood waiting for us a few feet away.

  “Diesel was such a good boy today,” Miss An’gel said. “How on earth do you get him to behave so well?”

  We headed for the hotel, but I paused right inside the door, pulled out the bag with one remaining treat, and showed it to her. “He loves these and doesn’t get them often,” I explained. “He knows that if he’s a bad boy, he won’t get any. He’d rather have these than not, so if he knows I have them, he’s good as gold.”

  Miss An’gel laughed. “I wish that worked with humans.”

  “That reminds me,” I said in an undertone. “Have you spoken to Denis Kilbride yet?”

  “Not yet,” Miss An’gel said. “Since we had such an early departure, I thought it better to wait until we returned from our excursion. I’m going to see if he’s in and talk to him now.”

  I caught sight of Arthur as he bolted from behind the desk. He moved so quickly toward us I thought he would bowl Miss An’gel right over. Arthur stumbled to a halt a foot away from us. Now that he stood closer, I could see he was unnaturally pale and trembling.

  “Young man, whatever is the matter?” Miss An’gel said.

  “Oh, Miss Ducote, thank the Lord you’re back. I didn’t know who else to turn to,” he gasped. “The most terrible thing. Moments ago. It’s the first time.” He paused to gulp down a breath.

  “First time for what?” Miss An’gel asked tartly.

  Arthur turned even whiter as he forced out a response. “Finding a dead guest.”

  NINE

  “Who’s dead?” I asked, praying that none of Johnny Ray’s family had died unexpectedly. Then it hit me.
The only other guest was Denis Kilbride.

  “Mr. Kilbride,” Arthur said. “Cora found him dead in his bed only about three minutes ago.”

  “What have you done about it?” Miss An’gel asked sharply.

  “What should I do?” Arthur appeared to be on the point of collapse. “This has never happened to me before.”

  Helen Louise muttered something under her breath. I thought what she said was “about as useful as tits on a boar,” but I could have been mistaken. I understood her sentiment. Arthur was an even dimmer bulb than I had reckoned.

  “Go call 911 immediately,” Miss An’gel said. When Arthur hesitated, she pointed to the desk. “Now.”

  The fierceness with which that one word was uttered galvanized Arthur. He hurried back to the desk, where he scooped up the phone.

  Miss An’gel, Helen Louise, and I exchanged glances. Diesel meowed loudly, obviously aware of the sudden tension around him. Luckily the rest of our group, including Miss Dickce and Benjy, had made it upstairs before Arthur made his announcement to Miss An’gel. We didn’t need more people downstairs milling around when the emergency response team arrived.

  A thought struck me. “What about Cora? Where is she?”

  “Certainly not here,” Miss An’gel said, “unless she’s fallen asleep in the office behind the reception desk.”

  I heard Helen Louise attempt to stifle a gurgle of laughter, and I understood how she felt. The thought of Cora, who had already frightened several guests who thought she was a corpse, had a certain black humor. Miss An’gel cast a swift glance at Helen Louise, and I would have sworn later that I’d seen the corners of Miss An’gel’s mouth quirk.

  Miss An’gel approached the desk and questioned Arthur further. Had he or Cora locked the door of Kilbride’s room? Yes, he had. Where was Cora? In the office, as Miss An’gel had posited.

  Now we could hear sirens approaching. Helen Louise and I, without speaking, made the same decision. We headed for the stairs. “We’ll be in our room,” I called over my shoulder to Miss An’gel, and she waved us on our way.

  I felt a bit cowardly at leaving Miss An’gel downstairs to deal with Arthur and the emergency team, but I knew Miss An’gel wasn’t fazed by this the way an ordinary mortal would have been. Where was the hotel manager? I wondered suddenly. Or the owner? Had Arthur even thought to alert his boss about the situation?

  Probably not, I decided as we reached our room. Helen Louise unlocked it, and we shut the door behind us. I immediately released Diesel from his harness, and he trotted off to take care of business.

  “I’m glad you wanted to get out of the way.” Helen Louise dropped onto the sofa. “I was ready to drag you out of there if I had to.” She grimaced.

  “We haven’t heard anything to suggest that Denis Kilbride was murdered,” I responded, a bit on the defensive. “I’m not like an ambulance-chasing lawyer.”

  Helen Louise patted the spot next to her. “I know, love. I didn’t mean to sound accusatory. Come sit down.” She grinned suddenly. “It’s only that when someone discovers a dead body and you’re anywhere in the vicinity, some conclusions are difficult not to leap to.”

  “I’ll ignore your tortured syntax and focus on what you mean.” I smiled to remove any sting from my words. “Yes, I know. My first reaction was to think ‘Oh no, not again.’ Hopefully we’ll find out it was a natural death. I bet he had a bad ticker.”

  “I’m pretty sure he smoked,” Helen Louise said, “but I don’t know how heavily. Whenever he came in the bistro, he usually ordered food that was guaranteed to clog his arteries.”

  “Sounds like he liked the same things I do,” I said, somewhat morosely. Kilbride was about my age.

  “True,” Helen Louise said, easily reading my mood, “but you don’t smoke. Never have, as far as I know.”

  “There were a few rebellious cigarettes back in junior high,” I said, “but that was it. Decided pretty quickly it wasn’t for me.”

  “Good for you,” Helen Louise said. “My mother caught me sneaking a cigarette once when I was about fourteen, and she convinced me that was a mistake. I didn’t do it again.”

  I knew that Annabelle Brady had been a tough disciplinarian, and I suspected that her method of convincing her daughter not to smoke involved corporal punishment and frequent verbal reminders. The latter probably went on for years, too.

  I said nothing of this, however. My parents had been pretty strict also, but I rarely got spanked by either of them. I hadn’t spanked my children, either, though there had been times when Sean tempted me during his teenage years.

  Diesel returned from his business and spread himself over our laps on the sofa, his back legs and tail hanging over a bit. He stretched luxuriantly while Helen Louise stroked his belly.

  “How about we pick a restaurant for lunch?” I said. “We’ll have to leave His Majesty here, though, unless we can find a restaurant with outside seating that allows pets.”

  “There are probably several,” Helen Louise said, “but you’ll find that they allow dogs, not cats.”

  I pulled out my phone and did a quick search, and I found a total of nine. I looked them over. “You’re right. Dogs are okay, but cats aren’t mentioned. A few mention pets but I think that they mean dogs.”

  “You could call,” Helen Louise said.

  I shrugged. “As much as I’d like to take him with us, I think we’ll have to leave him here when we eat out. We won’t be gone that long. We have to be back here for our afternoon session anyway.”

  “True,” Helen Louise said as she continued to stroke the nearly blissed-out feline.

  “I think I’ll look for pet sitters after the afternoon session,” I said. “I’m sure we can find someone who will come and sit with him when we want to go out and explore Asheville.”

  “Excellent idea,” Helen Louise said. “I hope he appreciates all this trouble.”

  Something about her tone gave me the idea she wasn’t happy we had brought Diesel with us, even though we had discussed it thoroughly—or so I thought—before we decided to make this trip.

  “Second thoughts?” I said lightly.

  Helen Louise looked at me, her expression puzzled. The comprehension dawned. “About bringing Diesel with us? To be honest, maybe a few. Mostly because of feeling guilty.”

  “About what?”

  “Leaving him alone for any length of time,” she said. “He’s used to having a human around pretty much every hour of the day, every day of his life since you rescued him.”

  “I feel guilty, too, sometimes,” I said. “He came into my life when I needed a companion who didn’t fuss, didn’t judge, who accepted me the way I was. I can never forget that. He helped me enormously. He still does, whenever I’m worried about something.” I felt a bit choked up by the time I finished.

  Helen Louise laid a hand on my arm and gave it a squeeze. “I know, love. He was precisely the anodyne you needed at the time. I love him, too, and wouldn’t for the world want you to neglect him. He is always a comfort and such a sweet boy.”

  I nodded. “But sometimes it’s not always convenient to have him along. I understand. And I don’t know that it’s in his best interest to go out in public places where there can be a lot of strangers. It’s best that he stays here, where it’s quiet. We will leave the television on, and I think he’ll be content with that for now.”

  “And put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door when we leave,” Helen Louise said.

  “Yes, of all things, that,” I replied. “Now, where shall we eat lunch?”

  We found a suitable place only a few blocks from the hotel, thanks to the list prepared for us. We left Diesel with a promise to return soon. He meowed and turned his back to us, a sure sign of feline disapproval. I hated leaving him like that but I knew he would forgive, if not forget.

  Sign on the door, we h
eaded out. We decided to go down the stairs at the end of the corridor rather than down the main staircase. We didn’t want to walk into the middle of what might have been going on downstairs. I figured there hadn’t been sufficient time for the investigation to be completed, so we avoided that area of the hotel.

  On the way to the restaurant we talked about the sudden death of Denis Kilbride. I wanted to believe that it was natural, or accidental, and not the result of foul play, but I couldn’t help feeling that this death would turn out to be deliberate. Both Zac Ryan and Johnny Ray Floyd had experienced difficulties with Kilbride. Johnny Ray had always come across as a hardworking, good-natured man devoted to his family. Zac was still mostly an unknown quantity. He hadn’t revealed much personal information to the group, but he had been a member for only two months now.

  “I’m praying that this isn’t another murder,” Helen Louise said. “But if it turns out to be, I know we’ll be in the thick of it.”

  “Let’s keep hoping it was something simple like a heart attack and not murder,” I said.

  “We can hope that all we want,” Helen Louise replied, a trifle sharply, “but hoping won’t make it so.”

  We reached the restaurant. I opened the door for Helen Louise to enter, and I followed her. Pleasant ambience, I thought immediately, and there were delicious scents already in the air, though the lunch hour hadn’t officially begun.

  Over the tasty meal we talked about anything but the death of Denis Kilbride. We discussed potential wedding dates and venues. Helen Louise preferred a church wedding since this was her first. I had no problem with that. I didn’t see any need for a huge affair, although Helen Louise and I both had a wide acquaintance in town. I knew many people would expect to be invited, and I supposed I should resign myself to a large party. Basically, whatever Helen Louise wanted was fine with me. I wanted her to have the wedding she had always wanted.