Miles

by Melissa R. L. Simonin

  I listened, and there it was again, loud and echoing. It came from the alley, at the end of the narrow gap between the grocery store and the shop next to it.

  I held my pepper spray at the ready, and walked cautiously between the buildings, toward the back of the store. Not because I don’t like cats, I do, and I was concerned by the sound this one made, that it was in trouble. But there are certain people I don’t trust, and a girl’s got to be careful not to fall into a trap.

  Reaching the back of the store, I slowly looked around the corner. I didn’t see a cat, although I did hear one. What I did see though, was far more interesting.

  Alfred Sullivan.

  What is Mr. Creepy and his expensive suit doing in the alley?

  He held a phone to his ear.

  “I’m sure. No one survives a brain injury like that. What do you think, I’d botch it like you’ve done before? He may be in a coma, but he’ll never wake up.”

  I had my iPhone in my hand now, recording. Maybe not admissible as evidence, I don’t know, but I sure wasn’t going to inform him first.

  The cat wailed again.

  “Have you seen the cliff? I sent you a photo. That’s why I chose that particular spot. He’ll never wake up again. I don’t know why you’re so worried about it. His stupid grandmother will have to pull the plug, eventually. Or her plug will get pulled, that’s an option too.”

  I could not believe what I was hearing. I mean... I wondered if he was responsible for Second-Miles’ accident, but to hear him talking like this, and about Polly, too. It was so callous!

  “I’m done talking about this. I’ve no idea why you think this conversation can’t wait a few more minutes. If you want to argue, do it then.”

  Mr. Creepy finished his call and looked around, making me thankful the gap between buildings was narrow. He probably wouldn’t even fit. The alley was kind of a mess too, littered with boxes and cans, and a big dumpster helped to block me from view.

  Mr. Creepy headed down the alley toward the street and his car, which I now realized was parked there.

  Why not just call from the car? Oh. When he got in the passenger side and it sped off, I understood. Someone picked him up. Too bad the license plate wasn’t visible from my vantage point.

  I stopped the recording and took off for Mom’s car, when I heard the cat again. I needed to figure out what to do with the recording, but the cat sounded like it was in trouble, and probably stuck inside something. Either that, or it had a megaphone.

  “Kitty?” I called softly, as I stepped into the alley.

  Pitiful cries and frantic yowls echoed loudly, right beside me. The cat was definitely stuck somewhere, and if I had any doubt where, the scrambling and thrashing coming from inside the metal box of stench beside me, would have cleared that right up. No wonder the poor thing was frantic!

  I wasn’t exactly thrilled myself, but in the grand scheme of things, there was an easy fix for this problem. Dumpsters have doors. I made a face as I gingerly reached out to grab the handle on this one, reminding myself that Mom keeps sani-wipes in the car.

  Grasping the handle tightly, I proceeded to pull and strain until I was out of breath, and then pull and strain again, but it would not slide. It was completely stuck, and wouldn’t give an inch no matter how hard I tried. It might as well be welded shut, as impossible as it was to get it to budge. I gave it a roundhouse kick for good measure, hoping that would jolt something loose, but no, all it did was make the cat howl louder.

  It was either concede defeat, or spend the rest of my life standing in the alley fighting with that door and listening to the cat wail.

  The only way out for that cat was through the opening in the top, so I looked around, and considered my options. There weren’t many. There were cardboard boxes though, and that gave me an idea. I dragged several of them over to the dumpster, then stacked wooden pallets beside it. There weren’t enough. The alley did contain other assorted items, and that included some galvanized trash cans lined up against the back wall of the store. I borrowed several.

  I made a pile out of the pallets and other items, then turned a galvanized trash can upside down on top, so I could stand on it and look inside the dumpster.

  Inside, was a filthy orange striped cat, and it really wanted out. It was too small to jump out by itself, although it certainly tried. I had no clue how it ever managed to get inside in the first place. Or why it would. Did it have no sense of smell?

  “Hang on, I’ll get you out of there,” I said, in what I hoped was an encouraging voice, as I gagged on the odor emanating from the box of refuse.

  I carefully dropped cardboard boxes inside, hoping they would stack so the cat could climb out, but I wasn’t up high enough to see or aim well, and was determined not to get close enough to actually touch the dumpster.

  The cat didn’t appreciate the boxes invading its personal space, especially the one that landed on it. The cat retaliated by using language I’d probably find offensive, if I understood it, and I was thankful I didn’t. Then, to prove how helpful it wanted to be in assisting in its own rescue, it tore around in circles, sabotaging my engineering efforts, and the boxes toppled, instead of creating the tower I was hoping for.

  I got off my trash can, about ready to give the cat as big a piece of my mind, as it was giving me. I looked around in frustration and wished that Miles had a cell phone, or email, or something! But he didn’t, and the only other people I knew here and whose numbers I had, were Mom and Jenny.

  Well Mom was certainly out, and when Jenny and I talked about getting together, it was to watch a movie, not fish cats out of dumpsters. They were no better equipped to deal with this than I was, anyway.

  So I thought some more while the cat yowled, bounced off the sides of the dumpster, and hurled epithets.

  If I had a hammer, I could pound on the handle of the door, and maybe then it would slide. I took off on a hunt for one, when it dawned on me. I can’t leave the cat. If the garbage truck comes before I get back, the cat will have no chance. What a horrible death, crushed under piles of garbage! I couldn’t possibly leave and risk that happening. I’d never be able to live with myself, if it did.

  I dialed Jenny’s number. She could surely bring me a hammer, or maybe she knew a cat lady that would go in after the cat, if that didn’t work.

  Jenny didn’t answer.

  I looked at my iPhone, and thought. Then I asked Siri, “how do you get a cat out of the dumpster,” and she gave me web links that told me how to rent a dumpster, how to coexist with raccoons… as if that helps!

  I sighed, and groaned, and kicked a box rather viciously.

  Then I took off my coat and lay it on a semi-clean box. It was bulky, and I didn’t want it touching the outside of the trash receptacle, which was almost as filthy as the inside. Shivering, I stacked more alley-finds to make my pile taller.

  Now I had a good view of the inside of the dumpster, and better aim. The cat looked up at me with big orange eyes. I looked back.

  “I’m trying to help you, alright?” I said.

  The cat wasn’t sure if it wanted to plead for help, say thank you, or chew me out, or what, the thing had a multiple personality disorder. Or maybe the stench was getting to the cat, it was sure getting to me. I gave up trying to befriend or reassure.

  I balanced carefully on my pile of pallets. Breathing a shallow sigh of relief and nearly gagging anyway, I congratulated myself on constructing such a stable edifice out of such sub-standard materials. Feeling quite proud of myself, I reached over, box in hand, as my sub-standard materials decided to overthrow my stable edifice, hurling me over the side of the dumpster, and landing me flat on my back.

  Oh I have never been so grossed out in my life. I fought to keep my lunch from joining all the rest of the decaying matter in the box of stench that surrounded me. My only consolation was that I wasn’t paralyzed, stuck here until the trash pick-up came, and put me out of my misery. The semi-clean boxes I tried to fre
e the cat with, broke my fall. I was however, covered in... I didn’t even want to know what, as piles of garbage toppled all over me when I made my unceremonious landing. Why don’t people bag their trash!

  As I struggled to stand, the cat proceeded to dig in, run right up my back, and leap to freedom.

  “You’re welcome!” I yelled after it.

  Ungrateful feline!

  I took stock of my situation. The getting out part of it, anyway. I was trying hard to block out the rest. I jumped, and was able to grab hold of the edge of the dumpster. The molded—not moldy, although there was that, too—metal sides of the dumpster and the track of the non-sliding doors served as slippery footholds. After several disgusting failures, I managed to get out.

  Note to self, before attempting any maneuver that could necessitate pulling oneself out of a hole, make sure Miles is around to help!

  I worked my way back to the front of the store, really hoping no one would see me, or smell me, on my way to the car.

  Mom would not appreciate eau de parfum of dumpster all over her car, and this is no job for sani-wipe. Mom wouldn’t much appreciate me coming home like this either, but… she also wouldn’t appreciate it if I never came home, at all. I ruefully spread my coat out on the seat, to protect the vehicle.

  I had to do something about what I learned before I did anything else, though. I had no idea what to do with this recording, but Miles would.

  I raced back to the castle and tore into the driveway, parked, and jumped out. Miles was instantly beside me.

  “Where’s the fire?” he asked. “And what in the world happened to you?”

  “Big—major—fire. Come on.”

  Looking very confused, Miles followed me inside the castle.

  “Miles, what do I do with a video recording of a person admitting to murder?”

  “What?” he exclaimed. There was silence for a moment, as I waited, and he stared. “Anika… where have you been, and what have you done?”

  “I tried to save a cat stuck in a dumpster, okay, and I fell in, and you just be glad,” I said, pointing a soiled finger at him, “that one of your superpowers is not being able to smell!”

  “Good grief, you are a mess,” Miles said, continuing to look askance at me.

  Apparently I had something in my hair. Oh, eggshells. Well isn’t that nice.

  “So what are you more shocked at, someone confessing to murder, or my trip into the dumpster?”

  Miles hesitated.

  “I’m not sure. I’ll have to think about that, and get back to you. In the meantime, tell me what you know about a murder.”

  “Here, I’ll show you... after I wash my hands,” I said, not wanting to touch my iPhone until I did.

  “Molly is not going to be happy with you, when she gets here Thursday,” said Miles, as I walked away, leaving bits of refuse in my wake.

  Scrubbing my hands repeatedly at the nearest sink, I looked around, and wished I could take a shower. I was standing in a castle filled with bathrooms, but nothing other than garments from the 1800’s to replace what I really would love to not be wearing any more. I returned to the entryway, and took out my iPhone.

  “Watch this,” I said, holding it so Miles could see.

  For the most part, what Mr. Creepy said came through clearly, and the image was sharp. I had to be really cautious, I couldn’t just hold my iPhone out around the corner where he’d see it, but I was impressed with what I managed.

  Miles ran both hands through his hair.

  “We have to get this to the authorities,” he said. “I would really like to keep you out of it, though.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “This isn’t enough to put him away, and I don’t want him coming after you if he finds out about it,” Miles said, looking worried.

  “I don’t want that either,” I said, also looking worried.

  “Call Polly’s PI,” Miles said. “Get it to him. He’ll know what to do with it, and you can remain anonymous. He won’t reveal you as the source.”

  “Okay,” I said, my hands shaking, as I called Polly for the number.

  “Hi Polly,” I said when she answered.

  “Oh, hello Anika dear,” said Polly. She sounded worn down.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you, but do you happen to have the number for the PI you used to find your grandson?”

  “Why, yes, I’m sure I do. Is everything all right, dear?”

  Wow, how to answer that.

  I looked at Miles. He had no suggestions to make.

  “Um…”

  “Does this have something to do with the mystery, dear?” asked Polly.

  Well, a mystery…

  “Sort of.”

  “All right then, dear, just as long as you’re all right. Here’s the number…”

  I wrote it down quickly. We talked a few more seconds, just long enough to enquire about Second-Miles. There’d been no change since we spoke earlier in the morning.

  I immediately dialed the PI.

  “Hi, this is Anika Riley, I work for Polly Bannerman.”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “I overheard a conversation in which a person admitted to a murder. Or the attempted-murder, of Polly’s grandson. I managed to record most of it with my iPhone. I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t want to end up the next victim,” I said, as Miles ran his hands through his hair again and paced the entryway. “I also don’t want him getting away with it.”

  “Send it to me, and I’ll handle it,” he said, and Miles and I both breathed a sigh of relief. “Miles Bannerman’s accident has been suspicious from the start. I’ve kept up with the case since locating him. Text the video to the number you just called, and I’ll see that it gets to the detective handling the investigation.”

  “Oh, so there’s an investigation! I had no idea.”

  “Yes ma’am, there is.”

  We ended the call and I sent the video right away, then turned to Miles.

  “I wonder if Alfred is already a suspect?”

  “If he wasn’t before, he will be now,” said Miles. “I wonder who he was talking to? I hope the detectives investigating, will figure it out.”

  I looked in the entryway mirror. Oh, lovely. I picked more eggshells out of my hair.

  “Just a quick run to the grocery store, huh?” said Miles.

  “Yeah. I’ll never be able to say that again, without remembering how I got way more than I bargained for on this trip.”

  I held out my iPhone and looked down at my extremely disgusting attire.

  “I’m horrified you took the risk of being discovered when you recorded that, but glad the detective for the investigation now has it, to use however they can,” Miles said.

  “So you can’t decide if you’re pleased or upset with me, huh?”

  “Yeah, pretty much!”

  I laughed, he just looked so conflicted, and maybe the stress of the situation was getting to me.

  Miles rolled his eyes at me. Apparently I’ve taught him a few things too, over the course of our friendship. Then he smiled, and shook his head.

  “You are something else, Anika Riley,” he said. “And consider this, if you ever find a cat in a dumpster in the future. You have an iPhone. Call the humane society, and they’ll take care of it.”

  “Ug, now you tell me!” I said.

  I drove home, leaving my coat and shoes and as many layers as I decently could, outside the cabin door.

  “What in the world—” Mom said, when I walked in.

  I held up my hand, palm out, as I made my way to a very long shower, and said, “Do yourself a favor and don’t ask, Mom. You do NOT want to know!”

  ~***~

  Sarah awoke with a start, as she was flung headlong from her berth, and hit the floor and opposite wall of the tiny stateroom with a sickening thud. It was dark, the only light the pale glow of the moon, dimly filtering in through the closed curtains of her stateroom window. The steamboat no longer
moved through the water, but listed hard, instead.

  Heart pounding, Sarah struggled to her knees. She heard frantic cries, and the pounding of feet on the other side of the door. Using the doorknob to pull herself up, she opened it, and stumbled out of her room, and into pandemonium.

  Sarah was swept with the rushing tide of people out of the ladies’ cabin, and onto the promenade. So many voices screaming in the dark, bodies pushing, and the sharply tilted deck.

  “We hit a snag!” someone shouted over the heads of the panicked passengers. “Everyone, in an orderly fashion, get to the upper decks!”

  In as disorderly a fashion as seemed possible, the deck passengers below, scrambled and scrabbled to gain higher ground. Sarah clung to the wall behind her, struggling to remain on her feet. She was jostled and shoved first one way then the other, as terrified passengers fought for a place on the upper deck. The ship tilted sharply, and she lost her balance and fell. She felt a flash of pain as her head smashed against she knew not what, and she remembered no more.

  Chapter 17

  “Hopefully we won’t be too long,” Mom said, then hugged Tryon, and gave him a kiss goodbye. “You be good for your sister.”

  I was home with my brother once more, freeing Mom to take Doreen to her latest doctor appointment. I kept the little guy busy, and he was busy. Very busy. How does Mom do this all day, every day?

  I had an idea. Whether it was bright or not, remained to be seen. Taking Mr. Busy by the hand, I left Mom a note in case she got home before we did, whistled for Chip, and headed for the castle.

  Through the woods, over the bridge, and up the path we went. Tryon had a blast, he wasn’t used to getting out like this.

  Mom has to stay in with Doreen all day, and that means Mr. Busy has to stay in, too. I don’t know how Mom does it… how does Tryon?

  Mr. Busy might not be so busy, if he had the opportunity to get out and play every day, like he was doing right now. From now on, I’d make sure he had that chance.

  Tryon paused to examine everything, on the way to the front doors of the castle. Trixie bounded up and greeted him with a friendly lick.