Meow

by Skye MacKinnon

  "What did they do?" I ask her before my mind can drift off again.

  "Snooped around. Did the same things you did. Looked in the shed, walked through the house. They took less time than you and then left."

  "What did they look like? Were they police?"

  She sniffs at me. "Police?"

  It's as if it hurts her not to know something.

  "Were they wearing uniforms?" I try again. "Dark blue uniforms?"

  "We don't care about what furs human wear," she replies arrogantly. "But I can ask my sister who was there."

  This is becoming complicated. Too many cats, too many names.

  "Please do. Can some of you also keep an eye on the sweet shop? There's something suspicious about that place."

  "We want daily food deliveries," she demands. "Enough for twenty of us."

  I give her a cautionary growl, but she doesn't even flick her ears. "Twenty? Aren't cats supposed to be solitary creatures?"

  "Not since Ryker arrived. He's been bringing us all together, shown us that we can have a better life if we help each other out."

  Wow, I need to meet this Ryker. If he's managed to get a bunch of cats to act against their nature, he must be one special beast.

  "Food for ten cats, no more, until I know you're worth it." I meet her eyes, showing her that I mean it. There's no bargaining with a jaguar.

  It takes her thirty seconds of starting to realise that. Then, finally, she averts her eyes and meows. "Deal. We'll collect it here every morning until we can trust you with our location."

  Ouch, that hurt.

  Chapter Six

  “Kat! Come down! You've got visitors!"

  I almost fall off my hammock. It feels early, far too fucking early. I got to bed late and usually, the others respect my wish to sleep in. Not today, apparently.

  I join Lily in the kitchen, not bothering to change into something more professional than my pyjamas.

  "Hole," she says with a grin, pointing at my crotch. Damn, not again. How do I always manage to rip my clothes in indecent places?

  I need to stop sitting cross-legged everywhere. It's not good for my clothes bill. If I could sew... well, no, even then I wouldn't have the time nor patience to repair the hole in my pyjama bottoms.

  "What's up?" I ask with a yawn while pulling my shirt further down to hide the hole.

  "Five cats are waiting outside," she replies with a grin. "I assume that's your doing?"

  Ah. Yes. Should have probably told the others what I agreed with the local cat population.

  "Meet our latest employees."

  She chuckles. "You're actually paying them?"

  I shrug and get a mug from the cupboard, taking advantage of the hot water that is still in the kettle.

  "I pay them in cat food, they spy for me. I'm doing it as a test run for this case, but if it works, maybe they could become a permanent fixture for Meow. Neither our clients nor our marks would expect the local moggy to be spying for us."

  Lily grins wickedly. "Very true. You've told them that they can't expect brushing and massages though, right?"

  I don't deign that with a reply and instead pour me a cup of tea.

  "Because Ben is out there doing exactly that."

  "I thought he didn't like cats," I mutter and take my first sip of tea. Heavenly. It's so hot it burns my gums, but that also means I'm a little more awake now. Pain does that to your brain.

  "That's what he says," Lily says with a laugh. "After seeing him surrounded by cats, I no longer believe him. But you know what that also means, right?"

  I raise an eyebrow instead of asking what she means.

  "He might like you more than he admits, too. After all, you're kind of a cat."

  I almost spit out my tea. "You did not just say that."

  "That you're an overgrown cat or that he might have a crush on you?"

  "Both," I snap.

  She laughs again. "Would it be so bad if it was true? He's handsome in a boyish sort of way."

  I snort. "Exactly. He's far too young for me. He still needs to grow his adult whiskers."

  "We've resorted to cat metaphors now, have we?" she mocks, grinning widely. "That's usually a sign that you're lying."

  I take another sip of tea, loving the way the hot liquid runs down into my stomach. It makes me feel alive.

  "He's too young," I repeat. "Besides, I don't have time for stuff like that. I have a murder to solve and then, once this case is finally done, a murder to cause. Or two. I already miss that line of work. This detective thing really isn't for me."

  She looks at me with a hint of sympathy. "Need any help?"

  "Actually, yes. The brother of the guy who died. Can you get close to him? Find out if there's anything he might not have told me? There are so many question marks surrounding the murder that I'm having trouble trusting anything I've been told."

  "Sure thing. Is he hot?"

  I sigh. "Are you sure you're not an incubus?"

  Lily laughs. "Those don't exist. I'm just a sexually liberated woman who knows what to do with her womanly wiles."

  This time, I really do snort into my mug. "Womanly wiles? Are you for real?"

  "Real as it gets. And what's most important, my boobs are real too. Men like that. Anyway, give me the guy's address, and I'll do some investigating." She gives me a saucy wink. "Now go and talk to the cats. Or Ben. Or both."

  She shoos me out of the kitchen - my kitchen - and I find myself face to face with our thief. He's covered in cat hair and has something of a crazy grin on his face.

  "There are cats outside," he tells me as if that isn't obvious by now.

  "I know. Did you feed them yet?"

  He blushes. "I did. Wasn't I supposed to?"

  I laugh. "No, that was exactly what you were supposed to do. Tell you what, from now on, you're responsible for feeding the cats every morning. It's going to be ten of them, so you better order some more cat food. Clear?"

  He groans but then nods. "Aye aye. Now I need a shower though. I can't do my job if I smell of cat."

  I laugh as he walks away, muttering to himself.

  I found him pretty early on in my business venture. He tried to steal my bag and failed, obviously. He was also on the run from the Pack, just like I was. Except that he was alone on the streets while I had a house, money and an anonymous benefactor. I made him prove that he was good at picking pockets, then I took him on as an employee. It's worked out well for both of us, but what I told Lily was right. He's too young for me. Two years younger than me at the very least and I'm not into that. I prefer men over boys. Men who know where to stick it and don't have to fumble around helplessly.

  Meow!

  One of the cats sticks his head through the open door, glaring at me. Did I do something wrong?

  "Good morning," I tell him and follow him outside. There are eight other cats spread out across the stone steps leading up to the door, all of them busy either eating or licking their fur. My skin begins to itch at that sight. I love doing that myself when I'm shifted. Lying in the sun, grooming myself, snoozing the day away... cats have the perfect life. Sadly, I'm only partly like them. I rarely have the time to relax. There is always work to do. Even now, I can't stay to watch them play.

  "Do I need to shift?" I ask the male cat who's still staring at me. "Is there something I need to know?"

  He meows and I hear the negation in his voice. Good, saves me from using up energy on shifting.

  "Then eat something and don't bother me," I tell him, realising that I never got to finish my tea. I've not had breakfast yet, either. Mornings are cruel.

  The cat gives me a glare and then struts away with a swagger, not sparing me a second glance. I wonder if this is Ryker.

  Reassured that the cats have all they need and demand, I change clothes and make myself a sandwich, intending to eat it on the way. Before I leave, I make sure that both Lily and Benjamin know what they're doing today, then I head off towards the market.

&nb
sp; Of course, I had to pick market day. The entire square is full of stalls and people, battering against my senses. I tone down my panther abilities as much as possible. The stink of the town would be unbearable otherwise. I never buy from the market, not when I can smell the first signs of decay on the meat, the scent of mould on vegetables. Nothing here is good quality, and yet people buy it because it makes them feel better than going to the shops. The market is just a front for some of the town's shadier dealings, but of course, most people don't know that. They think they're supporting their local businesses, while in fact, they're giving money to drug dealers and smugglers. They don't know that sometimes, their fruit smell like dead bodies and that the apple they eat may have been in contact with a victim of violence. It's a strange place, this market.

  Number 17 is a tall, imposing building at the edge of the market square; far enough not to get the smells and the noise but close enough to see what may be going on. There are multiple names on the sign outside, none of which ring any bells. I write them all down just in case, maybe one of them will make sense later. I try the door and surprisingly, it's open. Taking a quick look around to see if anyone's watching me, I step inside.

  The stairwell is pleasantly cool. The staircase winds around a single marble column that runs all the way up to the top floor. It reeks of money.

  All I have to go on is a string of numbers. 7862. Maybe there's a flat 7? I'm rather hoping of finding a door with a keypad, however. That would be much more fun.

  Inspecting each and every door, I slowly work my way up. On the third floor, I find a broom cupboard squeezed in between flats 5 and 6. Sadly, there's nothing inside except for a rather large spider who's turned the little room into a work of art.

  "Well done," I whisper and close the door behind me, leaving her to it.

  One floor up, I can't help but smile in excitement. There's not just a flat 7, but there's also a keypad. Two in one. Finally, something good happens.

  I press my ear against the wooden door, listening for any sounds on the other side. Nothing. I close my eyes and extend my senses as far as I can, searching for any signs of life. There is someone in flat 8 next door, but not in the one I'm about to enter.

  I open my eyes again and key in the number. 7862. A little green light blinks twice, and the lock opens with a click. I'm in.

  Before I enter, I scan the hallway in front of me. There could be traps, who knows. By now, with so many strange clues and contradictions, in this case, I'm prepared for anything and everything.

  Slowly, I make my way forward, keeping all my senses on high alert. I'm not in the mood for nasty surprises. The first room on the left is a kitchen. I give it a quick search. It's empty, no pots and pans, not even cutlery. The fridge isn't even on. What's strange though is that there is no dust. The place looks like nobody is using it, but it must have been cleaned recently. Maybe someone is going to sell it?

  Connected by an open doorframe is a small dining room. There are burn stains on the large dinner table, but the cabinets lying the walls are empty. I check the undersides of the chairs and table, behind the shelves, everywhere, but I don't find anything. No secret notes, no bundles of cash, no locked doors. My mind is telling me to relax, but I don't. Something about this place is giving me the creeps.

  The next room is completely empty. No furniture, just some discolouration of the walls where furniture must have stood at some point. There are traces of mould in one corner. There's a huge red rug in the centre of the room, but nothing underneath. Pity, I was kind of hoping for a trap door. Did I mention that I love trap doors? If my house didn't already have one, I would have installed one after moving in.

  The bathroom is just as uninteresting. The toilet looks disgusting and completely the opposite of the clean kitchen. Stains of body fluids are everywhere. There's a stench in the air that makes me want to puke. I hold my breath as I lift the lid with disgust scrunching my features. And almost puke when I see the glass jar sitting at the bottom of the toilet. Yuck. I wish I'd brought gloves. Well, I'm wearing leather gloves, but I'm not getting those dirty. They're my favourite pair.

  Luckily, I find some rubber gloves in the kitchen together with a bucket. Back in the bathroom, I switch on the fan, hoping that it will make the smell a little less intense. Ignoring the urge to throw up, I plunge my hand into the brown water and pull out the glass, immediately putting it in the sink to clean it of all the... things sticking to it. Whoever thought it would be a good idea to hide something in the toilet?

  I keep the tap switched on even after the jar looks clean. I don't want some nameless people's shit on my hands.

  Now that all the dirt has washed away, I can finally look inside. There's a rolled up paper, and inside of it, I can just about make out some bank notes. I gently shake the glass and it makes a clunky sound. There's something metal inside.

  Satisfied that it won't get any cleaner, I switch off the tap and open the lid of the glass jar, careful not to let any water drip on the paper. I decide it's time to leave the bathroom and return to the kitchen, grateful for its cleanliness. I've never been a clean freak, but there are certain minimum standards that I value. Like a toilet that isn't full of faeces and dried piss.

  After drying the glass with a tea towel I find at the bottom of one drawer, I get to work, carefully pouring the contents on the kitchen counter. Besides the paper and a large bunch of money, a key and two large coins fall out.

  I'm kind of expecting a love letter, an order to assassinate someone, or some other juicy content, but the letter is as boring as this entire case. It's an invoice. A bloody invoice. And it's all sweets. The list would make my mouth water if I hadn't just had my hand inside a toilet. Mint humbugs, acid drops, liquorice curls, sherbet lemons... This is any child's dream. I bet those are the same sweets Mr Kindler sold. It's definitely a link to the case, but I can't get my head around the fact that someone thought this invoice important enough to hide it. For me, it looks normal. The quantities aren't exciting, nor are the cost prices. I shrug and decide to let Benjamin take a look at it. Maybe he can spot something I don't.

  I won't show him the money though, or it would be gone immediately. It's at least a thousand darems. To be honest, this case is becoming slightly profitable on so many levels.

  The key is similar to the one I found in Winston's remote control. I rummage in my bag until I find that one and compare the two. No, they're not similar, they're identical, down to the smallest tooth.

  How very strange. Finally, I take a look at the two coins. They're the same. A bronze coin with a square in the centre that's cut through in the middle with a sharp vertical dash. No idea what that's supposed to mean. They don't look like they could be currency from abroad; there are no numbers on them to indicate their value. Besides, they almost look handmade judging from the slight differences in weight.

  I put everything in my bag and go through the flat one last time. Maybe I've missed something. I really hope so because otherwise, I'm back to square one.

  Four rooms. One of them empty, one of them clean, one of them dirty and the fourth somewhere in between. Something is missing. No bedroom. And now that I think about it, the layout of the flat doesn't make sense. There are more rooms on the left of the hallway than on the right. There must be a large empty space there that isn't being used. Please let it be a hidden room, please. That would make my day.

  Chapter Seven

  I hold my breath and go back into the bathroom, the only room to the right. There are only a toilet and a sink, no shower or bathtub. Again, that feels strange. How are people living in this flat supposed to wash? There is however a full-length mirror on the right wall. I inspect it from all sides, then push the edges. When I press my fingers on the wooden surrounding on the left, there’s a visible click. Like a lock springing open. I grip the wood with my fingernails and pull. Tada! There’s a door behind it. Success. Finally.

  Leaving the smelly bathroom behind, I step into a dark room. I switch on
my torch and can’t find a light switch, but there’s a window with the curtains drawn. I pull them open, letting light in. Wow. I did not expect this.

  Two metal tables are in the centre, strange appliances and tools strewn on top of them. My training kicks in and before I go and explore, I circle the room, looking for alarms, traps or anything else that could inconvenience me. Besides a narrow crate full of knives beneath a shelf – an assassin’s wet dream – there are no dangerous things in the room.

  I grin and head towards my prize, the tables in the centre of the room. There is a strange white powder everywhere. Sugar? Something more sinister?

  I take a tiny glass jar from my bag and brush some powder in there. I’m going to test it later on at home. I’m good with poisons, and I bet I’m going to find out what this is.

  I recognise some of the tools on the tables from my own kitchen, but others I don’t know. It looks a bit like a mixture of a bakery and a pharmacy. Vials with liquids of various colours, metal shapes that remind me of the ones you can use to make your own chocolates, bowls with whisks and scrapers and in the middle of it all, a cardboard box full of plastic bags. Which are filled with white powder. The same one that’s scattered all over the table, I bet. I pocket one of them, careful to wrap it in a second bag, just in case. If this is some kind of poison, I don’t want it contaminating everything in my bag.

  There are no gloves or protective gear anywhere in the room, which makes me think that it’s not a poison that acts through the skin. Maybe ingestion? Or mix it with water and inject it? I can’t wait to get back home to my lab and experiment.

  I spend the next two hours meticulously searching the room. I pocket some invoices and order forms for various ingredients – none of them suspicious but you never know – and take a few books from a shelf. Two of them are romance novels, and I bet the people who worked here weren’t into that kind of book. There must be something interesting in them, but I don’t want to linger here too long. The disadvantage with taking them is that whoever owns this place will know that I was here, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.