Meow

by Skye MacKinnon

  The girl has returned to the shop and I can hear her talking to the kids, so nothing is stopping me from exploring. Did she mention something about not touching anything? No, I don't think so. It must have been deleted from my memory.

  The documents on the desk are boring. Electricity bills, train tickets, invoices for large amounts of sweets. Nothing unusual in the slightest. I make my way through the two drawers. They're stacked to the top with more sheets of paper. There's no order to it, no filing system at all. It's like he simply threw everything into a drawer and hoped that it would sort itself. In a way, I find that endearing, but it makes my job a lot harder.

  The bottom drawer is a very different beast. It only contains a small metal lockbox. The shop's earnings, perhaps? There's no key and sadly, the keyhole is too small for the key I found at Winston Kindler's home.

  I rattle the box. The sound of coins rattling against the metal confirms my suspicions. There's definitely money in there. Maybe the girl has the key.

  Disappointed by the lack of anything exciting or discriminating, I turn to the shelf behind me. I can't help but sigh. This is chaos. Folders of all shapes and sizes, a few tattered books and stacks of old papers. How is anyone supposed to find something in that mess?

  I randomly take a blue folder and leaf through its pages. Inventories from ten years ago. Seriously? Why would Mr Kindler need to know how many mints and how many caramel delights he had ten years ago? Maybe he never got around going through his files. Perhaps he was emotionally attached to the inventories. Who knows. I don't really care.

  The next few files I look at are just as dull. I think I better stick to killing people.

  The girl rescues me from boredom. When I hear her close the shop door, I quickly put the files back to where I found them. More or less. Nobody would notice in this chaos anyway.

  I cross my legs and try to appear innocent. She stops in front of the desk and gives me a suspicious look.

  "Did you touch anything?" she asks me with a frown.

  I hold up my hands. "You told me not to."

  "That's not what I asked," she sighs, but then lets herself fall onto the second chair in the room, her exhaustion evident. No wonder, she's been dealing with greedy children all day.

  "It must be hard, all by yourself," I say, pretending to be a nice person. I've heard that sometimes, that can have a better result than threatening. Let's see. I'm not quite convinced yet.

  She shrugs. "It will be over soon. Now that most of the sweets are gone, I'm going to try and get rid of the rest and then the shop will be sold. I'll have to look for a new job."

  She looks defeated, her earlier spunk gone.

  "Did he leave you nothing?" I ask gently. "Was it his wish for the shop to be sold?"

  She nods. "He'd planned to sell the shop next year anyway. He never told me why because business was going well. The kids loved him. Granted, that was mainly because of his low prices and not because he was particularly good with children, but still. They kept coming back and spent their pocket money in our shop." She quickly corrects herself. "In his shop."

  I pity the girl. I'd almost be tempted to offer her a job, but I don't think she's cut out to be in my line of work.

  "What's your name?" I ask her, realising that I never actually did. Yes, I know, my people skills suck.

  "Caitlin," she replies with a smile. "Caitlin Baumann. You never told me yours."

  I smile back and ignore the question. "Tell me about Mr Kindler. How was he as an employer?"

  She shrugs. "He always paid me on time. He never got angry or shouty. He expected me to do my job well, but he could be understanding if I needed a day off to help look after my little brothers."

  "Did he have any money trouble?"

  Caitlin shakes her head. "No, I don't think so. If he did, he never mentioned it. As I said, he always paid my salary, and I earned more here than in my previous jobs. I liked working for him."

  Boring. Boring. Boring. I have to remind me of the pay cheque that is waiting for me. Otherwise I'd run out screaming. I'm not made to be an investigator. I'm much better at killing. It doesn't involve actually having to talk to people and pretending to care about their answers.

  I sigh. "There must be something that would make people want to kill him."

  She shakes her head again. "I can't think of anything and believe me, I've tried finding a reason why he was murdered. He didn't talk about his personal life, but I always had the impression that he was quite a happy man without many worries. If he did, he hid them well."

  Now it's my turn to sigh. "So, you have no idea why this happened?"

  "No, I don't. It's as much a mystery to me as it is to you," she snaps. "But his death destroyed any chances of me having a stable job and income, so I'm not pleased about it. I certainly wouldn't have wanted him dead, if that's what you're going to ask next."

  I lean back in the uncomfortable office chair, desperately wishing I was somewhere else. Maybe I should ask my Meow employees to do the rest of the investigation. I can give them a raise if they find the murderer. That should be motivation enough. Urgh.

  "I find it strange though that he wanted me to give away all the sweets," she suddenly says into the silence. "I would have been able to sell them for a good price or give them to the new owner. Some of the sweet jars were newly refilled, and now they're empty. Those kids have eaten hundreds of darems today."

  It must be painful for her to think of that kind of money being given away. She'll be without a job soon, and Mr Kindler didn't leave her anything.

  I add it to my list of the strange behaviours of Winston Kindler. It's getting longer the more I find out about him.

  "Would you mind if one of my assistants comes here tomorrow to take a look at the files?" I ask her. "That would help you as well, getting some order into this mess."

  She looks around the office as if she's only now realising how chaotic everything is.

  "It wasn't always this messy," she says quietly. "He used to like everything clean and tidy. Then it all changed a few months ago. As if he no longer cared about the shop's finances. That's when he started talking about selling the shop as well. He'd never mentioned that before. I always thought he'd carry on running this place until he retired."

  "A few months ago? Can you remember when exactly?" I ask while making a quick note of what she just said. Finally, something that could qualify as a lead.

  She frowns. "It was winter, I remember there being snow. I was thinking how cold it would be if I didn't have this job. Our house is so hard to heat."

  Tell me about it. I love having my large house, but it's a pain to keep warm in winter. Wood is expensive to buy in the quantities we need to keep all our fireplaces running.

  "January, I think. Yes, it must have been in January."

  I smile at her. "Thank you, that really helps. Was there anything else that seemed strange back then?"

  Caitlin shakes her head. "No, that's why it was such a shock to hear that he was planning to sell the shop. There had been no indications before, absolutely nothing. It came out of the blue."

  I get up and almost groan as I realise how uncomfortable the chair really was. I'm going to need a stretch after this, or better, a run.

  "Let me know if you can think of anything else." I hand her another of my business cards, just in case she lost hers already. "And good luck with finding a new job."

  She grimaces. "Thanks. It's not as if this town has a lot of those."

  I'm almost out of the door when I turn. "Almost forgot, is there a safe somewhere? I found a key in Mr Kindler's house."

  Caitlin shakes her head. "No, we only have the shop, this office, a toilet and a storeroom. There's no space for something as fancy as a safe. He always took our day's earning to the bank in the evening to make sure there was nothing to steal."

  "Can I see the storeroom?"

  Her expression turns hostile. "No, you can't. Now I think it's better if you leave, you've taken up to
o much of my time already. I need to clean the shop, and it's late already."

  Interesting. I think I know where I'll go tonight. I do love a little breaking and entering.

  Chapter Five

  It's raining, but that doesn't stop me from enjoying the run over the rooftops. I could walk on the street like an average person would and then disappear into the shadows once I reach my destination, but that wouldn't be as much fun. I love the way I need to keep my balance, the way the tiles occasionally threaten to slip beneath my feet. It's good training in being silent but fast.

  The town looks different from up here. Cleaner, prettier. None of the grime covering the streets. None of the homeless sleeping in dark corners. There are more of those every year. I can't remember ever seeing anyone sleeping rough when I was a child, but now there are too many to count. Sometimes, one of them disappears and is never seen again, but who cares. Nobody but the other homeless, and even those might be glad that they can now take his place. It's a rough world out there. Even though I now have money and a warm home, I still don't feel like I belong. I'm not like the other people living in houses, going to work every day, having a family and a pet. I don't think I'll ever have that, not with the way I was brought up. I never chose to be a killer, but now it's what I am. It's what I'm good at. And I enjoy it. Immensely.

  I jump from roof to roof, loving the way it stretches my muscles. I've done too much sitting today. After speaking to Caitlin, I had to spend some time back home in my own office, updating the others and writing some notes. It's a pain in the arse, but I don't want to miss anything that might be glaringly obvious.

  Benjamin is going to go to the sweet shop tomorrow to take a look at the finances. He's the brain of Meow - and the best thief. Even if Caitlin is watching, he'll be able to take any folders that may be useful to us. I've told him not to take any money that might be hidden in the lockbox in the bottom drawer, but I know he will do it anyway. It's ingrained in his nature, and I'm really not the right person to judge him for that.

  At least it saves me from having to do it. Benjamin is excellent with numbers. If I could trust him not to take half of Meow's company money, he'd do all my finances too. Sadly, I don't trust him. That doesn't mean that he's not my friend.

  I come to a halt on the roof opposite the sweet shop and crouch low, scanning the narrow street down below. There's nobody around, not even a cat. I measure the distance. It should work. Climbing down would be so much effort - yeah, jumping it is.

  I walk back a few steps and stretch my legs before taking a deep breath. I can do this.

  I run and jump, flying through the air, the rain suddenly heavy on my skin as if it's trying to push me down. I just about get a hold of the shop's drain and heave myself up onto the roof. Close call but I made it. As I knew I would. Never doubt your own abilities, that's what I've learned from the very beginning. If you don't think you can kill your mark, you'll make mistakes. If you don't think you can steal something from a watchful person, you'll be caught. Doubting yourself is bad for business. And for your life.

  I walk to the edge of the roof where it leads down to a lower building that must have been added as an extension after the shop was built. It's an easy drop although I'm a little worried by the sound the metal roof does when I land on it. I hope it's not too rusty. To avoid any accident, I jump the final stretch, landing in a small backyard. Brick walls loom all around me, but I'm only interested in the iron door that must lead to the storeroom in the extension. The lock is an easy pick that almost disappoints me. I was looking forward to the challenge, but even a baby could do this. An assassin baby, granted, but still. Hopefully, there will be something interesting inside. Caitlin was far too abrupt when I asked to see the storage. There must be something here she doesn't want me to see.

  There are no windows, so I don't hesitate flipping the light switch. And stare. I was expecting stacks of boxes, wooden crates, stuff like that, but there's nothing. Nothing except for a thin foam mattress in the centre of the room.

  I slowly approach the mattress. It's old and stained and thinner than it would be comfortable. A smell of stale body odour fills the air around it. I rub my nose and start breathing through my mouth. It seems someone sleeps here regularly, someone who has a disregard for hygiene. It can't be Caitlin. While her clothes were simple, they were also spotless, just like her hair and everything else. So who did sleep here? Winston Kindler? He had his own house, but it didn't look lived in. But come on, who would rather sleep on a dirty mattress in a windowless storeroom than in a pretty little house?

  There's a thin grey blanket ruffled up into a ball at the other end of the mattress, but there are no other possessions of the mystery sleeper. No clothes, not even a water bottle. I lift the mattress and check underneath. Bingo. There's a stained envelope, slightly sticky to the touch.

  I walk back to the other end of the room where the light is brighter and open the envelope. There's only a small piece of paper in there as well as a black and white photograph. I read the note first.

  17 Market Place.

  7862

  She'll be waiting for you. Come alone.

  P.S. 100 children. Don't forget.

  I read the message several times. It doesn't make much sense. I better head to Market Place and check out house number 17 to find answers.

  The photo's edges are bent and discoloured as if someone's been holding it a lot. It shows a young woman, maybe my age, with a gentle smile and kind eyes. With her old-fashioned clothes and the fact that the photograph is in black and white, it must be quite old. A few decades at the very least. I run a finger over her bright blonde hair, wondering who she might be. By now she must be an old woman. Her hair will have turned grey, there will be wrinkles on her face. If she's still alive, that is.

  I put the photograph and the note back in the envelope and pocket it. I take another quick look around the empty room, but there's nothing here to explore. I'm going to have to return to Caitlin tomorrow and ask her what the hell is going on. Right now, I'm pissed off that she didn't tell me someone was living here. She could have saved me some valuable time. Tomorrow, I'm going to be less friendly to her.

  Back home, a cat is waiting for me on the front doorstep. I don't think I've seen her before. She's a beautiful dark ginger with fluffy fur that is slightly matted in places.

  "You need a good brush," I mutter and bend down to pet her. She purrs and presses against my legs, pushing against my hand when I rub her head. She looks up at me with bright green eyes that convey an intelligence that has me smile. She's no ordinary cat. "Got something for me?" I ask her and she meows.

  "Let's get you some food and I might even brush your fur. After you've told me what you know."

  She meows her approval and I let her into the house. She heads straight to the kitchen, as if she's been there before. The other cat must have told her what to expect. It seems my spy network is beginning to work. Not that I've had any information from her yet. Maybe she's bluffing. I chuckle to myself. That's exactly what a cat would do.

  I put an empty food bowl in front of her, then kneel on the ground until I'm almost at her level.

  "I'm going to shift," I warn her. "Don't be scared. I'll be a little bigger than you, but I won't harm you. I just need to be able to talk to you."

  She just stares at me. Oh, the arrogance of cats. How dare I imply that she may be scared. Of course, she won't be. She's a cat, a predator, a feline killing machine.

  I grin and reach for my panther. She stretches and with a growl, jumps to the surface. I can't suppress a whimper as my body changes. It's a painful but quick shift, its intrinsic magic somehow keeping it without the blood and torn clothes that you'd technically expect when imagining a human turning into a giant black cat. Not that anyone'd really believe that unless they've had contacts with shifters.

  When I open my eyes, blinking heavily to adjust to my new, different vision, I'm not surprised to see the ginger cat in exactly the spot she was be
fore I shifted. She looks at me with an almost bored expression. What a poker face.

  "What's your name?" I ask, knowing that to any humans that might enter the kitchen, it will sound like a strange mix of growls, chirps and purrs. All cats understand each other, even though there are a variety of dialects.

  "Pan," she replies in a melodic but lofty voice. "I was promised food."

  I grin. Such confidence. Most humans would be scared of me right now with my sharp claws and my muscular body that screams deadly predator. "You will get it. What do you have for me?"

  "The house you went to," she starts, but I interrupt her.

  "What house? How do you know that?"

  She gives me a blink that equals a human shrug. "Some of us were following you. It's always good to have some intelligence on an employer."

  I'm a little stunned by her words. "Wait, you've done this before? You've worked for other people in the past?"

  "No, but it's what Ryker said."

  "Ryker?"

  She sighs. "Pumpkin's father. He was the one who told us that you have jobs going. You gave Pumpkin food this morning, and he vetted you. He said you smelled trustworthy."

  "What an honour," I say, sarcasm dripping from my growled words. I've now been labelled trustworthy by a kitten. How lovely.

  I lick my paw, remembering how good that feels. I've not spent much time as a jaguar recently. I should really do it more often. Back when my collar was opened, I stayed in my shifted form for two weeks straight. It took that long to familiarise myself with that other 'me' again. I'd been wearing a collar for fifteen years, long enough to almost forget what it was like to explore the world from a non-human perspective.

  "After you left, some human men came to the house," Pan says, interrupting my thoughts. Better that way. I don't like being reminded of those dark days. Days that turned into years, into my childhood, my adolescence.