Джанет Кантрелл - Fat Cat Spreads Out

Chase thanked them, left Anna to finish collecting their money, and ran to the main building.

She cautiously peeked into the cat food company’s exhibit room and there Quincy was, curled up on top of the glass case that displayed the cat food bags and photos of cute kitties eating Picky Puss from fancy bowls. His tail covered his nose and he looked so comfy she hated to disturb him.

Oh so carefully, she tiptoed to him and gathered him into her arms. The lights for the display made the top of the case nice and warm. She thought that might be what had attracted him to it. There didn’t seem to be food nearby.

“That cat likes the corn chips.”

She whirled to face the man she knew only as Papa—Peter’s father, the man with the accent. She looked back at the case. It was sprinkled with a few teensy crumbs, next to where Quincy’s head had been.

“You fed him corn chips?” Mike wasn’t going to like this one little bit.

“He seem like he is hungry.” His accent was heavy.

The younger man, the one she’d seen with him the day before in this room, came rushing up. “There you are,” he said, relief in his tone. “Where have you been?”

“I want to look where collar was.”

“Sorry if my father was bothering you.” The man shook hands with Chase. “I’m Peter Aronoff, Ivan’s son.”

“My good, brave only son,” Ivan said.

Peter took his father’s upper arm and tried to pull him away.

Ivan shook him off. “I not ready to go yet. Look, see what they wrote?” He pointed to the sign beside the empty cushion and laboriously read the whole thing. “DIAMOND CAT COLLAR” was in large letters. Beneath, in smaller print, it said “Designed and donated to the Bunyan County Fair by Picky Puss Cat Food. Pick the only food for your picky cat: Picky Puss.” He turned to Chase. “It says it was donated by the company.”

“I see that,” Chase said. The sign hadn’t changed, but she hadn’t noticed the parts in smaller print before.

“They are rich company. Too much money. They glory in donating such a thing.”

Chase squinted at the card in the glass case. “The print is very small. It doesn’t look like they glory in it to me.”

“Who are you, anyway?” Ivan said. He took a menacing step toward her.

Peter put his hand on his father’s arm and shook his head.

“It not right, Peter, and you know it,” Ivan snarled.

Peter mouthed the word sorry behind Ivan’s back. “Papa, let’s go. What the company does has nothing to do with me now. It’s perfectly fine. These people don’t want to hear about this.”

He was finally able to lead Ivan away. The older man was still muttering about diamond collars and fairness and glory.

A lot of people were concerned about that cat collar.

* * *

“Here he is,the rascal,” Chase said, settling Quincy back into the roomy cage in the vet clinic. “Now I guess I’m not the only one he’s escaped from.”

Mike gave a sheepish grin. “No, you’re not. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cat that clever. Somehow, he was able to get that latch open.”

“Maybe you didn’t shut it all the way.”

“Maybe.” Mike rattled the latch and the door, testing it and pondering with a frown.

The black cat in the neighboring cage flinched at the rattling, then settled down. She wondered if it was the same one she’d seen here before.

“That’s what happens at home and in the shop,” Chase said. “We leave a door the least little bit cracked, or the latch not quite seated, and away he goes. It’s too bad they’re not having an escape contest for cats. Quincy would win that one for sure.”

“Are you showing him in the Fancy Cat? Patrice is entering her butterball.”

“I thought the cat was Princess Puffball.”

Mike laughed. “That’s her name, but she is a butterball. Wait till you see her.”

“I hope to. If I can think of how to fancy up Quincy, we’ll be at the competition.”

Mike scratched his chin. “How about dressing him up as Quincy Jones?”

“The musician? He’s one of Anna’s favorites.”

Mike started to look excited. “He’ll need a mustache and a little suit. At least a shirt and a jacket.”

“A mustache? Really?”

“Well, maybe not that. But a little suit coat would be doable, don’t you think?”

Chase did not think so. “Let’s try some more ideas. A Cat-wich?”

“Like a sandwich or a witch-witch?”

“Not a witch, he’s a boy. That would be a warlock. Cat-lock?”

They both groaned.

“I got nothing else.” Mike turned up his palms in surrender.

“We’ll keep thinking about it. I’d better get back to the booth.” Since Halloween was coming soon, that might be a good theme to keep in mind. Bat, goblin, ghost, devil—maybe even a superhero, like so many of the little trick-or-treaters.

When she slid behind the table to help take money from the horde of customers, Anna gave her a grateful grin. “This just doesn’t stop.”

“We thought we had baked enough for the whole fair, but we hadn’t. Good thing you’ve been doing so much baking this week. Maybe it’s my turn tonight.”

During the next lull, Anna perched on the chair. “I don’t mind doing all the baking. Bill came over and kept me company after I got back from seeing Elsa at the hotel.”

“I think you’re seeing about as little of Bill as I’m seeing of Mike.” Chase grabbed a Lemon Bar and took a nibble.

“Quite a bit less. You’re seeing Dr. Ramos every day here.”

“I know, but that doesn’t count as seeing seeing. You had a late night, didn’t you?” Chase was still feeling guilty for leaving all the baking to Anna.

“No problem. Elsa said she would come over tonight and help out.”

“Elsa? The wife of the dead man?”

“Yes, that Elsa. The widow of the dead man. She’s in a terrible state. There’s nothing she can do until the killer is caught. She can’t even have a service for Larry until his body is released.”

“Is she that upset about his funeral?”

“Maybe not. She keeps saying it’s so terrible Larry is dead. But then she goes right ahead and starts cursing him for being a sneak and planning to leave her penniless.”

Chase took a seat on the other folding chair. It creaked as she plopped down. “Anna, she’s his widow, but she’s also a suspect for his murder.”

“She couldn’t possibly have done it, Charity.”

“Why not?”

“She walked in after he was dead.”

“Maybe she did that after she killed him. You just said he was planning on leaving her high and dry.”

Anna nodded. “More than just thinking. He rented a studio in Costa Rica.”

“Yikes! I thought she said Madison.”

“That’s what he told her, but he was lying. A bill for the rent came to their house. Her sister is taking in the mail and called her, so she just found that out. She wasn’t sad that he was leaving, since they hadn’t been getting along. But she was so mad she was seeing red that he hadn’t told her any of his plans. Elsa says she would have willingly given him a divorce.”

“You know that a lot of murders happen on the spur of the moment.”

“Yes, I know. Crimes of passion. But Elsa doesn’t seem like a person who would fly off the handle.”

“How long have you known her? Three days?”

“Four, I think.”

“Do you think you should hang out with her?”

A half-dozen customers wandered in. Chase quickly finished her Lemon Bar, dusted the powdered sugar off her fingers, and got busy working alongside Anna.

That evening, while Anna and Elsa were chatting and baking in the kitchen below Chase’s apartment, she tried to brainstorm some costumes for Quincy. She wasn’t coming up with much, so she went down to the kitchen. Three heads would be better than one. And if Anna could fraternize with a murder suspect, so could she. Besides, if Elsa was a murderer, it wasn’t good for Anna to be alone with her.