When the Cat's Away

by Molly Fitz

  “How are you doing today?” I asked to break the ice a bit, then glanced at her nametag. Amy. “Bet it suddenly turned into an interesting day for you.”

  She chuckled. “Yeah. I didn’t know whether to call in reinforcements or tell everyone else to not come in for the day. We’re closed to everyone but you all.”

  “And there’s no telling how long we’re going to be here. They said soon, but I think their definition of the word is different than mine.” I looked in at the pastry case and grinned eagerly at the foods inside. “But maybe that will give me a shot to try multiple things while we’re here.”

  “What can I get you?” she asked, grabbing a pen and drawing my attention back to her.

  Lost in my thoughts over who could be a killer, I hadn’t even looked at the menu board. Whoops. After a quick glance, I said, “I’ll take a chicken, walnut, and swiss panini.”

  “Side?”

  “Let’s do a bag of chips.” I’d slip them in my bag for later. Depending on when we finally got back on the bus, they would make a good late-night snack.

  Amy wrote my order down on a slip as the other barista behind the counter pulled out two slices of their multigrain loaf and set it down on a section of butcher paper. “Drink?”

  That menu I had looked at. Working at my college’s coffee bar had turned me into an iced-coffee aficionado. Nearly everything I drank was iced. “How about an iced peanut butter coffee?”

  “You got it. Name?” I told her as she keyed my order into her cash register, and she grabbed a plastic cup to write my name on it. “Is there anything else I can get you? I see you eyeing that dessert case pretty hard.”

  I gave her a polite smile. “No. I should be good right now.”

  “Someone died on your vacation, and you saw the dead body. I can’t even imagine. Come on. My treat. What do you want?”

  I shook my head. “That’s so sweet, but I can’t let you do that. I wouldn’t want to take away from the cats. You talked me into it, though. I will take one of the mousse mice. But I’m paying for it.”

  Amy nodded and slid open the case next to her, then pulled out the ganache-covered mouse that I assumed had mousse inside it based on the name. She placed it on a tray at the same time as the other barista lifted the panini press open to reveal my sandwich, all warm and gooey. I couldn’t wait to try it all once I took a few photos for my travel blog. Might as well get a post out of this, and a café like this would hopefully bring some new views to my site. People loved cats.

  The back barista spun around, my sandwich on a plate, and put it on the tray. “Here,” she said, smiling as she lifted the tray toward me.

  “Thank you. I think it’s wonderful what you’re doing here.” I glanced at her tag. Gemma. I hated not knowing names. Having worked as a barista for four years, I’d appreciated when customers took the time to learn mine. “We don’t have anything like this in my town.”

  “Where are you all from, anyway?”

  “We’re from all over Blueberry Bay. Heading home.”

  Gemma nodded as Amy, who had moved on to making my drink, waved at me to follow her down the counter. I carried my tray the several feet, making room for Gemma to take the order of the person who’d been behind me.

  “Oh, so not far at all. Where were you heading home from?” Amy asked.

  “We went down to Saltair Shores. A lot of us hung out in the casino or walked through the town. I was there for the food.”

  “The food? I didn’t realize we had a ton of unique things out that way.” She chuckled, lifting a cooler lid in front of her. “Aside from Moxie, blueberries, and lobster rolls.”

  “Sure, we do. There are ployes, whoopie pies, fiddlehead ferns…” I didn’t finish the thought. Mr. Thumbs-up—I should probably learn his name so I could stop calling him that—had been eating a regional candy specialty right before he died.

  Amy used my pause to scoop ice into my cup.

  “I’m a travel blogger,” I continued when she was done, “so I’m always looking for that sort of stuff on trips.”

  “Oh really?” She closed the cooler lid, leaning on it a moment as the air whistled through the seal. “That’s wicked cool. I’ve only ever lived here.”

  I chuckled. “Where is here, anyway? I missed the exit sign.”

  “And you didn’t see it all over the police officers’ uniforms or their cars?” she teased as she poured coffee over the ice.

  “Guilty as charged. I was too busy figuring out where I was going to eat.”

  “Well, we’re in Snowhaven, home of nothing much.” With a laugh, she grabbed a jar of peanut butter with a strange contraption on it. She grabbed the top of it, then spun it around three times before pulling the top off to reveal a small mixing paddle. “Some of the smaller towns call us ‘the city,’ but we’re a big town, nothing like what we call the city, which to us, is Bangor or Portland.” She plopped a large spoonful of soft natural peanut butter on top of my coffee. “So where’s the coolest place that you’ve been?”

  That was kind of a loaded question. I didn’t get to go to many fun places by people my age’s standards. Really wherever these group trips would take me. “I’m just starting out,” I admitted after she capped my coffee and shook it back and forth several times, “but just you wait. This trip is gonna give me several new posts that I think will do great.”

  She started to chuckle but stopped herself, taking on a more serious look as she grabbed a squeeze container of something labeled PB Syrup. “Well, when somebody dies on the trip, that’s sounds more murder mystery novel than blog post. You should write a book. True crime draws quite an audience.”

  She wasn’t wrong about that, but novels weren’t my writing style. “I’ll think about it. That’s if I’m even allowed to talk about whatever it is that’s going on.”

  Moments later, she put my drink down on the counter between us, topped in whipped cream and drizzled with PB Syrup.

  I placed the cup on my tray. “Thank you for this.”

  “You’re welcome. Whenever you’re done, just leave the plates on top of the trash bin.”

  “Am I allowed to take my food in with the cats?”

  She shook her head. “Once you’re finished eating, though, you’re free to bring a drink inside the catio. We just don’t want people feeding them anything they’re not supposed to have.”

  “I understand. So I’ll go sit next to them by the window while I eat.” I grabbed my tray off the counter, then walked toward the window. The silver tabby cat was still on its hind legs with its front paws against the glass. Had he been like this the entire time I was ordering?

  I plopped down in the seat closest to the tabby, and it came over toward me. This time, rather than putting its paws on the window, the cat just sat looking at me.

  I turned toward it. “This isn’t for you, sorry.” I brought the sandwich up to my mouth. “Not good for kitties.”

  The cat reached up as if trying to tap me.

  “I’ll come visit later. Let me eat.”

  As if the cat heard me through the window, it sat down and didn’t go anywhere. I couldn’t wait to see what would happen once I finally got in there.

  Chapter Five

  A second tray of food landed on the table, and I glanced up, forcing a smile. I would have preferred to continue to eat my sandwich alone with my kitty company, but when the mayor sits across from you, you don’t say no. Besides, I liked Mrs. Hopkins. She was my old babysitter’s mom, so my fake smile was quickly replaced with one that reached my eyes.

  “Oh, this is just awful,” Mrs. Hopkins, shaking her head. “That poor man. How horrible. What a terrible way to go while on vacation.”

  “I hope it was a good vacation for him up until that point,” I said, then took another bite of my sandwich.

  The tabby pawed at the window, and I waved, drawing the attention of some of the other cats inside.

  Wait, what was Mrs. Hopkins saying? He’d struck it big? “Where?�
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  “At the slots before we’d left. How did you miss that? He raved all about it.”

  “Can’t say that I was listening. I put my headphones in. Noise canceling.” I guessed the cheap things had worked even better than I’d thought.

  She nodded. “I may need to invest in a pair the next time we go on a bus trip. But it might be a while before I sign up for one, let alone sponsor and help organize it. All of this death business is much too much for me.”

  “But look how much fun everyone else is having. It’s not your fault someone died.” There was no way Mr. Hopkins was a killer, but if he’d been as loud about winning as she said he was, had someone else wanted his casino winnings enough to get rid of him? But who would have had the opportunity? The gentleman who checked on Mr. Thumbs-up was the only person near him, and I hadn’t seen him go through any of his belongings.

  She looked around the room, as did I. The gentleman must have gone into Dawg Pound. I didn’t see him anywhere. Out of everyone else in the café, some were speaking in hushed tones, but others seemed to be taking the short detour in stride, loudly chatting away or laughing while they ate. A few were even playing board games from the café’s large collection. Was anyone here really bothered by the man’s death?

  A hesitant grin crept along her face. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s still so unfortunate for the gentleman, but perhaps when they realized everyone else was fine after a few minutes, they had nothing to worry about. Only a few of you saw it happen.” She reached out and touched my forearm. “How are you doing?”

  I shrugged. “Didn’t really see it. More heard the commotion after the fact. Besides, it’s not my first time around a dead body.”

  Patting my arm, her smile turning to one of empathy. She had known my grandma well. They were neighbors. After finding my grandmother had passed away while taking her afternoon nap on the couch, I’d run to Mrs. Hopkins’ house for help. That was back before she’d become the mayor, when she was a stay-at-home mom active in the school board, her first foray into the Wisteria Falls political scene.

  As we continued to eat, she asked me how my job at the bakery was going, about the number of visits I’d gotten on my travel blog, and how many followers I had on my social media accounts. I teased her about how savvy she’d become by learning to use the correct internet lingo since becoming mayor. Then we chatted a while longer about various things in town.

  Once she was done with her food, she dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin and then placed it on her plate. “Well, I really should go find out how the others are doing. I don’t see Robin or Ben here.”

  “He strikes me more as a hotdog and fries type of a guy than trendy café-goer.”

  She chuckled. “Oh, that might be true, but no, he didn’t want to come in here because of the cats.”

  “Allergies?”

  “Thank goodness for him, no. Robin’s a bit of a crazy cat lady. Didn’t you know?”

  “Really? I never would have pegged her as one.”

  “Oh, sure, sure.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “We might have a limit on the number of cats one household can have on the books, but hers are all well taken care of. I don’t mind if they have ten.”

  “Ten?”

  Mrs. Hopkins nodded slowly. “She’s loved cats ever since she was a little girl. Can’t say no to them. She’d try to take home this whole café. Ben’s a smart man directing her over to the other restaurant. He can’t say no to her.”

  I balled my napkin and then dropped it on my plate. “Well, I for one I’m looking forward to seeing those cats right now. After the strange day this has turned out to be, kitty company sounds good to me.”

  We stood, clearing away our trash, and said our goodbyes, at least for now. As she settled back into her seat, I grabbed the my coffee, then brought it with me into the cat room.

  Chapter Six

  Once I was inside the catio, the tabby barreled its way through a bunch of the other cats who had been at the window, having taken an interest in everyone sitting in the café. They all looked a bit ruffled, and the food bowls had been knocked around, kibble spread across the floor. The tabby, on the other hand, looked highly satisfied with itself as it sat at my feet.

  Like it did at the window, the cat stood on its hind legs and put its front paws against my leg.

  It was impossible not to smile at the round-faced cat staring up at me with wide eyes. “Hello there, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

  Gemma looked up from fiddling with the cat tree the silver tabby had knocked over in its earlier attempt to get to me. She wiped her hands on her thighs, then squinted at the cat before breaking out into a grin. “That one there is trouble.”

  “Aww, probably just excited, that’s all. You didn’t mean to knock down the cat tree, did you?” I squatted to pet the cat under its chin. The others immediately rushed over to me for their turn.

  Gemma shook her head. “That’s his name, and he certainly lives up to it. You think this was a onetime occurrence? Ha!”

  “Get a little bored cooped up in here, don’t you? Cause a little mischief to pass the time?” I sometimes felt cooped up back in Blueberry Bay. That was another reason why I always jumped at the chance to go on these group trips.

  “He keeps us all very entertained around here, but he’d definitely like a home of his own. I’d suggest they secure his cat tree to a wall.”

  As I reached for another cat to pet, this one a handsome tuxedo, Trouble jumped onto my back, then curled over my shoulder, nuzzling my head.

  “Aww, he really likes you. You want to take him home?”

  I sputtered a laugh. “Not sure how the others on the bus would feel with me bringing a cat on board for the next few hours. Whenever it is that we get back on the road.”

  “All right, Trubbs. How about you let me stand up and I can find a place to sit?”

  As if fully understanding me, Trouble stood on my shoulder and, after a shaky second to catch his balance, hopped off. He hit my hand on the way down to the floor, all two feet below him, nearly taking my entire iced coffee with him in the process.

  Gemma chuckled. “See? Trouble. But Trubbs is a cute nickname. Might have to remember that one.”

  What was I doing giving this cat a nickname? His future owner should be the one doing that, and I was leaving soon. I hoped. Using a push against the floor with my coffee cup to propel myself up, I straightened and then headed over to one of the wicker chairs at the side of the room.

  As I sat, I placed my iced coffee on the wooden cube table next to the chair. It was cute. The top provided café patrons with a place to put their drinks, but inside it was a cat bed. Trouble looked at my coffee like he was planning to jump up next to me.

  “Oh, no, you leave that cup alone.”

  He glanced away, disinterested, and instead rubbed against my legs before hopping into my lap. The other cats, after giving me a good sniff, lost interest in me now that I was taken. They settled into what looked to be their usual places or munched at the cat crunchies scattered across the floor or headed back to the window to watch everyone else in the café.

  There was a police officer in there now, making sure we were where we said we’d be from the looks of it. Or was he looking for one person in particular—the man’s murderer?

  I sat scratching Trouble’s ears for several moments before digging out my cell phone to scroll through the photos that had already been uploaded to the cloud. Although I used my phone’s camera for most of my photos, I still had a small point and shoot that provided me with a few more options depending on where I was and what setting I was in. Those photos I still had to load onto my laptop. I couldn’t afford one of the fancy cameras that hooked up to the Wi-Fi on its own.

  By the time I was done sorting the photos by blog post, I had finished my iced coffee. And it looked like we are no closer to getting back on the bus and leaving for Blueberry Bay. I glanced through the catio windows and out the caf
é to the sidewalk outside. A few police officers and some others I assumed were medical examiners or crime scene investigators were going in and out of the bus.

  “What happened to that man?” I mused aloud.

  Trouble looked up at me and yawned.

  “Yeah, I’m starting to feel the same way. Think I need to get another drink.”

  He slid down to the floor. Yawning once more, he stretched out his front legs, his bum up in the air. Then he stretched out his hind legs before trotting away to the food bowls.

  “I’ll be back,” I promised him as I grabbed my empty coffee cup. Then I quickly slipped outside the catio and into the café, making sure I hadn’t been followed.

  Chapter Seven

  “I’ll take the iced French toast Americano,” I told Gemma when I got up to the counter.

  “That one is my favorite,” she replied, keying it into the register. “It’s been my daily drink every day this week.”

  “Perk of the job?”

  She pulled a plastic cup off the stack and plopped it down in front of her to write my name. “You better believe it.”

  “That was the best part about working at my college’s coffee bar.”

  Amy grabbed a cup to prep my drink, giving Gemma the space to lean forward. “I think the cats are the best part, but don’t tell them that. It will go to their heads.”

  I threw my head back in laughter. “My lips are sealed. Not like they’d understand me anyway.”

  “More than you think,” she replied, her eyes wide as if trying to convince me. “They know thirty human words on average, but they can make about a hundred different sounds. So maybe it’s us who don’t understand all that much.”

  “That’s pretty neat trivia.” I glanced back at the catio, where Trouble sat in front of the glass door as if waiting for me to come back like I said I would. “How do you know that?”

  “Something I’ve picked up in my studies. I’m learning to be a veterinarian.”