Ник Сайнт - Purrfectly Hidden. Purrfect Kill. Purrfect Boy Toy

“Um, Molly?” said Harriet.

Molly’s head reappeared, her nose twitching as she sniffed the air. “Yah?”

“Um… not to put too fine a point on it, but we’re too big to fit in there.”

“Nonsense,” said Molly. “You’ll fit just fine. Just make yourself small.”

“But…” said Harriet. “I’m not sure if…”

“Oh, don’t be such a pussy,” said Molly. “You know what they say, if your head fits, the rest of your body does, too. So just follow me, and you’ll be out of here in no time.”

“Oh, all right,” said Harriet finally, and proceeded to stuff her head into the tiny hole.

And then she was stuck.

She couldn’t move forward, in spite of the theory about the fitting head Molly had expounded, and she couldn’t move back either, as her head was wedged in too tight.

“Um… Molly?” she said. “You’re not going to believe this, but I think I’m stuck.”

And then Molly appeared right in front of her nose. Harriet had to squint a little to get a clear view of the mouse, but she was right there, and much to Harriet’s surprise the cute little mouse, mother of no less than four hundred baby mice, was smirking at her.

“You stupid cat,” she said.

“Pardon me?” said Harriet, shocked by this sudden change in demeanor.

“I got you good, didn’t I? Did you really think I’d help you out of this basement? So you could hunt us all down and eat us whole? I know what you cats are like. All sweet talk and surface charm until you pounce on us and gobble us up without batting an eye.”

“But-but-but I thought we were friends,” said Harriet, shocked at this denouement. “I thought we were kindred spirits.”

“Kindred spirits my tush. I’m a mouse and you’re a cat, cat, and we will always be mortal enemies, no matter how you look at it.”

Just then, Molly was joined by a familiar figure. It was her husband Rupert, who’d slung an arm around his wife’s shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, darling,” he said. “You trapped the beast!”

“Of course I did. If I had to leave it all up to you she would still be roaming around, probably thinking up ways and means of feeding on my babies.”

“Good riddance,” Rupert agreed.

“Hey, you have to let me out,” said Harriet, getting a little nervous. “I don’t like small spaces!”

“Oh, shut up, you whiny pussy,” said Molly, nothing like the nice and sweet mouse she’d appeared before. She was a tough little creature, and gave Harriet the evil eye.

“Try to catch us now, cat,” said Rupert.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” said Molly.

“And now we bid you adieu.”

“Adieu. That’s French for ‘Goodbye and good riddance.’”

“Hey!” said Harriet. “You can’t leave me here!”

“Watch us,” said Molly, and then both she and her husband disappeared down the hole and all Harriet could hear was the laughter of what sounded like hundreds of mice.

Either it was the echo of Rupert and Molly, or that of their four hundred kids.

Whatever it was, the sound struck Harriet as very unpleasant, but what was even more unpleasant than the stinging ridicule or the fact that she’d gotten her head stuck in a mouse hole, was the sheer indignation of the situation. Now who was the fool?

Chapter 8

Vesta was still thinking about the end of the world, and when it might happen, when the outer office door swung open and Scarlett Canyon walked in from the street.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Vesta muttered, then sat up a little straighter. Scarlett might be her mortal enemy, but she was also an inveterate gossip, and if she found Vesta slumped at her desk, looking less than her best, word would be all over town that she’d been in a terrible state and had probably turned to liquor, just like her late husband had done.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“That’s no way to greet one of your patients,” said Scarlett, pursing her blowfish lips.

Scarlett probably spent her entire pension on the kind of treatments popularized by Gwyneth Paltrow or Jennifer Aniston, designed to make them stay young forever. At one time even Gran herself had been an avid fan of Goop, and had ordered several items that she’d hoped would clear up her skin and add to her eternal youth, like those bees Gwyneth was so crazy about, and that you needed to allow to sting you for some reason.

“You’re not a patient of mine,” said Vesta now.

“Thank God for that,” said Scarlett, then laughed a light laugh. “Imagine me, being a patient of yours. That simply wouldn’t do, would it?”

“Tell me you’re here for a lobotomy and I’ll gladly do the honors,” Vesta growled.

“I just wanted to make an appointment.”

“You could have called.”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“Still. Why bother a hard-working woman like me if you could have simply picked up the phone?”

“I thought I’d have a nice little chat with an old best friend.” She glanced around and heaved a wistful little sigh. “Do you remember when I used to work here? The waiting room overflowing with patients? The place buzzing with business?” She directed a pointed look at the empty waiting room.

“It’s one of our quiet moments,” said Vesta. “The lull before the storm.”

Scarlett rapped her knuckles on the counter. “I hear they found a skeleton in your basement? One of your old boyfriends? Couldn’t hack it anymore and decided to brick himself up inside your wall?”

“Ha ha. Very funny. If your jokes were any funnier I’d bust a gut. Besides, it wasn’t a body, it was a skeleton.”

“Isn’t a skeleton, like, an old body that lost its pep? Like a certain person we know?” She cocked an eyebrow at Vesta, who decided to ignore the slur.

“I’m sure that skeleton has been there forever. From what my daughter told me it’s probably been there from when the house was built, way back in the fifties.”

“Is that right?” said Scarlett, clearly not believing a word of this. “I’ll bet it’s that no-good husband of yours. Do you think the police are going to exhume his coffin now? To find out if it’s really Jack we buried, or a pile of bricks?”

Vesta directed her most fiery glare at the woman. “How dare you speak of my husband like that?”

“Well, he was my husband as much as he was yours, now, wasn’t he? At least in the biblical sense.”

She had half a mind to grab the woman’s blond hair and give it a good pull, to find out once and for all if it was a wig or her real hair, but restrained herself with a powerful effort. Tex had recently reminded her, after a similar altercation with Scarlett, that she was the public face of this office, and that if she misbehaved it reflected badly on him, and might even put him out of business. She’d argued that, if anything, a fight put bodies in seats, as everybody likes a good scuffle, and none more so than those cheapskate patients of his, who never enjoyed their entertainment more than when it was free of charge. So he should probably give her a pay raise each time she and Scarlett squared off.

Scarlet had casually taken a small black object from her purse and placed it on the counter. “Oh, look at the time,” she said. “I have to be going.” And then, before Vesta’s widening eyes, she folded the object open and the screen suddenly doubled in size.

It was a foldable smartphone—the holy grail of smartphones.

“Where did you get that?” she demanded heatedly.

“Oh, Dick Bernstein gave it to me,” said Scarlett.

“No way,” said Vesta. “Dick gave one to me.”

“I know! But you broke it, didn’t you?” She held up the nifty little gadget and tapped at the screen with her freakishly long fake nails. “So lucky for him he was fully insured, so he bought himself another one.”