Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

“I understand,” Shelton said with a sad smile.

Tom pulled a business card from his shirt pocket. “Why don’t you call me when you think Miss Longworth is well enough to hear the news about Isis?”

She took the card and smiled. “Thank you for your concern. And again, forgive me for yesterday, Ms. Hart. Evie Preston was understandably upset when she saw you come upstairs and observe Ritaestelle at her worst. She called me right away, and I took off after you without thinking. Protecting our friends is important here in Woodcrest. Now, I have to get back to the station. But I do so appreciate your concern.”

After she was gone, Tom said, “Protecting their secrets is what she meant.”

“I—I—This is plain awful,” I said, shaking my head. “Not what I expected. But I’m glad we came. After listening all night to that cat screech, I was ready to bring Isis with me today and drop her off at the Longworth place. Now I’m glad I didn’t.”

“A little information can make all the difference. Let’s go.” Tom put his arm around my shoulder. “You look completely wrung out. If you want, come to my place for a nap before you go home. Dashiell and I will make sure you’re comfortable.”

Dashiell was Tom’s big, lovable cat. He purred as loud as a jet engine when he curled up in my lap. I leaned into Tom and we started walking.

He went on, saying, “By the way, the original Dashiell Hammett had a great quote that seems appropriate right now. He said, ‘You got to look on the bright side, even if there ain’t one.’ ”

I stopped and rested a hand on Tom’s cheek. “Thanks for coming, and for stepping in when I was too taken aback to even speak.”

“I’m glad I could help. You don’t have to go it alone, Jilly. People care about you—and I’m one of them.”

We hugged and I gave him a quick kiss. But as we continued on through the quiet little park to Tom’s car, I only wanted to go home. After what I’d heard, I needed to love on my own kitties. And maybe, just maybe, I could make friends with Isis.

On the ride back to Mercy, I’d checked my phone and the video feeds from my cat cam, but I didn’t see any of my three in the living room. Usually Merlot would be sleeping on the window seat about now, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Meanwhile, Tom got a call from a customer about a malfunction in a security camera he’d installed, and though he offered again to drop me off at his place for some peace and quiet, I refused. I arrived home about three o’clock, disengaged the alarm at the back door and walked into the kitchen. I heard the sounds of Animal Planet coming from the TV—Syrah especially enjoyed Animal Planet while I was gone—but when I called my three cats’ names in succession, none of them came to greet me.

Strange. And even stranger, I heard no yowling coming from Isis’s basement apartment. Suddenly I no longer felt tired. What went on while I was away?

I kept calling for my cats in a questioning tone as I descended the basement steps. The first thing I saw downstairs was the bedroom door ajar. A hint of panic tightened my gut. But when I reached the door, I saw scratch marks on the doorknob as well as all around the knob.

“Sy-rah?” I called, trying to keep the irritation I felt out of my voice. “What have you been up to, my friend?” This was his work, no doubt about it. Who knew cats could open doors? But he’d done it before, and now he’d done it again.

The bedroom was empty. No Isis, no other cats. Last autumn someone broke in and catnapped Syrah, so I still felt worried even though my home was now well-secured. That was how I’d met Tom, in fact. He’d set up the cameras and alarms and checked everything regularly. Since the alarm hadn’t gone off, surely there hadn’t been another break-in. But the question remained, where in this house were my cats and our less than friendly visitor, Isis? A quick look in the basement pantry, utility room and bathroom proved they were not down here.

I went back upstairs, and it didn’t take long to find them—or at least I saw Syrah, Chablis and Merlot. They were in my quilting room and had my sewing machine cabinet surrounded. The scene reminded me of three ships on the ocean ready to attack a pirate vessel. Isis could be considered a pirate in this house—trying to steal attention and upset the norm. She must be in my Koala cabinet—a lovely piece of equipment that expands to provide a cutting table and plenty of room for machine piecing—not to mention plenty of places to hide.

Chablis was the first to break her intense stare on that cabinet. She turned and offered me a tiny mew in greeting. But Syrah and Merlot didn’t take their eyes off the right-side cupboard. I didn’t feel the least bit of sympathy for Isis. In fact, I was willing to bet she hadn’t been grateful or sweet when Syrah opened that door downstairs and let her escape.

I walked over to the cabinet and squatted. Merlot was the next to acknowledge my presence. And when he looked at me, I saw his ear was bleeding a little at the tip. That would have to be thoroughly cleaned, and soon. But first, Isis needed to have another lesson as to who was boss in my house.

Syrah remained as still as a statue, his ears flat. He was one unhappy cat. I decided having three observers when I removed Isis from the cabinet might be a bad idea. I gathered up Merlot and Chablis, put them outside the room and shut them out. But I decided to allow Syrah to stay. He was top cat in the group, and I needed to help him maintain his status.

I got down on all fours, widened the cabinet door and peered inside the cabinet. Green slitted eyes stared back at me. Isis hissed when she saw my face. Syrah slowly moved in beside me and sat. He didn’t spit; he didn’t hiss; he just stared Isis down. She turned her head away briefly.

I quickly reached in and grabbed her by the scruff so she couldn’t bite me as I pulled her out. To my surprise, she didn’t try to scratch or bite. She allowed me to pick her up as Syrah watched intently.

I stood and looked down at Syrah. “Thanks, my friend. Good work.”

Isis began to purr, probably more from fear than from anything else. Syrah can indeed be intimidating in his own quiet way. I carried Isis out to the living room with my three felines following close behind. When I sat on the couch and Chablis jumped up beside us, Isis hissed at her. I tapped the goddess’s nose. She blinked and looked up at me. Bet that had never happened before. But she quit hissing, and soon all three of my cats were on the couch wanting a sniff of her. After about five minutes of this, Isis jumped down, her tail swishing. But a peace had been forged, and I was hoping against hope that I might actually get some sleep tonight.

I turned off Animal Planet, rested my head against the sofa cushions and the next thing I heard was my phone ringing. Seems I’d taken that nap after all. As I reached in my dress pocket for my phone, I realized that Isis had joined Chablis on the couch. Chablis likes it when I nap—she loves to snuggle close—and even though Isis was way at the other end of the sofa, I had to smile. My three cats had accomplished what I could never have done—tamed the entitled one.

The caller ID showed Candace’s name and number. I answered with a “Hey there.”

“How does iced coffee from Belle’s Beans and a couple of chili dogs from the Main Street Café sound? I need a break from Mom and her painting instructions.” I heard the strain in Candace’s voice. She loved her mom dearly but didn’t like to be “instructed” by anyone and certainly not by her mother.

“You’re doing pickup and delivery?” I said.

“Absolutely. See you soon.” She hung up.

I checked the clock on the DVR across the room. Past five o’clock. Wow. That was one nice snooze. But I needed to clean Merlot’s scratch, splash some water on my face and change my clothes. I am not a fan of anything besides capris, jeans, T-shirts and shorts. And the nap had taken a toll on this dress. It was a wrinkled mess.