Джанет Кантрелл - Fat Cat Spreads Out

Since he was in full costume, Chase snapped his picture, then scooped him up. She laughed when he got a good whiff of her and drew his head back, his eyes narrowed and his ears flattened against his furry skull. He worked his nostrils in and out. It felt good to laugh.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mike walk into the arena. He took a seat in the front row of the bleachers and gave Chase a wink. Her heart fluttered a bit.

The owner of the Maine Coon, outfitted improbably as a ballerina, complete with sequined lavender tutu and four satin ballet slippers, was returning the cat to his oversize cage.

Inger caught Chase’s eye and waved from the bleachers. Chase held a hand out to her and pointed to their stand, asking if she wanted to join them. After all, she had designed the costume. But Inger shook her head. She pointed to Peter Aronoff and surprised Chase by making her way out of the bleachers to stand next to him and his father.

Patrice had shed her gauzy Madame Divine garments and wore blue jeans and a pink fluffy sweater. It very much matched the tutu Princess Puffball wore. The chubby cat also bore a cardboard tiara, covered with silver glitter, on her pretty head. From the nonchalant look in the cat’s blue eyes, it was obvious she already considered herself the winner, if not the queen.

Daisy spoke into the microphone at her stand. “And now, Quincy, owned by Charity Oliver.”

Quincy was fully dressed, thanks to Anna, little blue jacket snug on his round body, ox horns tied firmly, if lopsidedly, on his head.

“Do you want to take him?” Chase asked Anna, since she looked so ragged.

“No, he’s your cat. You do it.” Anna nudged the small of her back. “You don’t look that bad.”

Chase carried Quincy to the center of the semicircle formed by the contestants and put him on the judge’s carpeted stand.

There were three judges. Chase figured there had to be an odd number to avoid tied votes. A stern woman and two men, one old with a crew cut, and one younger bald and jolly man, stared at Quincy, assessing. The stern woman tilted her head to the left, then to the right. The older skinny man bent over and squinted at the horns. The jovial one leaned back and smiled, clasping his hands over his substantial belly. He was the only one to give Chase’s injuries a look.

Chase held her breath and kept her expression neutral, trying not to read anything into their faces or actions. The jolly man certainly looked pleased, but she couldn’t tell about the other two. The jolly man would be the one she would want to play poker against.

After a few moments, the stern woman, still frowning, nodded at Chase. She took that to mean she should return to their station, so she picked Quincy up and cuddled him, scratching behind his ears, as she walked back to their stand. His horns fell off and she stooped to scoop them up and stick them back on his head.

Peter and Ivan’s handsome black cat wore a slick black cape and a black hood with extra large pointy ears. He made an adorable Batkitty. Or maybe, since he was owned by a man, he really should be called Batcat.

Other cats were outfitted as ballet dancers in tutus (two of them, one being the Maine Coon), firecats (three), and one had on a mermaid outfit, complete with wrapped back legs. That cat, a sassy Siamese, yowled over and over and looked miserable. The other Siamese seemed to be Neptune, in similar blue-green colors with a trident fastened to its back. The cat was trying hard to bite it off.

There were five orange tabbies dressed as Puss in Boots. That made her smile. She was right not to have picked that for Quincy’s costume.

“Next,” Daisy announced, “Shadow, owned by Ivan and Peter Aronoff.”

What had Hardin muttered when she was clinging for all her life to his van? That foreigner has caused me enough trouble. How had she missed putting that together? The only person who sounded like he was clearly from someplace else was Ivan Aronoff. He was also cuckoo, as Hardin had pointed out. Chase frowned in thought. No, Hardin hadn’t killed Oake. But she knew who had.

Chase stared at Shadow’s stand. Both Peter and Ivan were still there. Peter picked up his cat and took him to the judges.

Shadow behaved admirably, and Peter returned to their stand and tucked Shadow into his carrier.

“That’s it,” Anna said. “Quince and Shadow were the last two. Now it’s time to hold our breath.”

Chase had been doing that a lot lately. She fidgeted, trying to decide what to do about what she had figured out.

One of the police officers from the parking lot strode a few steps into the arena, looked around, and beckoned Daisy over to him. She hurried to the doorway. They bent their heads together, the large man leaning down to Daisy’s level. After a few seconds, she jerked her head up and stared at him. He nodded grimly. After he said a few more words, she nodded, too, then came back to the contest.

The policeman looked behind him, into the corridor, then went to sit in the bleachers, on the first row, very close to the entrance. He should be able to catch Ivan if he made a run for it. But why would he run? No one here knew he was the killer except Chase. And what concrete evidence did she have? None. Just Hardin saying he saw someone who was probably Ivan leaving the building at the critical time. It didn’t seem that Hardin had told the police what he told her, or ever would.

Daisy climbed the stand to the microphone and tapped it. Every single cat and half their owners flinched. “I need to make a special announcement. After the contest, no one is to leave the building. This is by order of the police. There has been . . . an incident and they want to question everyone here.”

The huge space buzzed with startled exclamations and whispered words. It seemed that every single person stirred, either in their seats or where they were standing.

Daisy continued. “We’ll finish the judging and award the prize, then, everyone, please stay here.” She stepped down and nodded at the judges to continue.

The three judges put their heads together and conferred for the longest time. The crew cut man pulled a notebook from his inside jacket pocket and thumbed through a few pages. The woman consulted her phone. Chase assumed she had taken notes on it. The jolly man bobbed his head in agreement. Finally, the stern woman beckoned Daisy to the trio. She tripped across the floor, her frizzy hair bouncing, her eyebrows up expectantly. She was light on her feet, in spite of the heavy atmosphere. Daisy stood listening, gave two quick nods, then went back to the stand with the microphone. She refrained from tapping it this time.

“May I have your attention, please? The judges have reached a decision in the Fancy Cat Contest. Here are the results. In third place, Princess Puffball the ballerina, owned by Patrice Youngren.”

Patrice, with a huge smile on her face, held her pudgy ballerina up so everyone could admire the frilly pink costume. Ms. Sharp, the prickly Picky Puss rep, marched over and handed a ribbon to Patrice.

When the clapping started, it was so loud that Chase looked around for the first time at all the spectators, perched on risers to one side of the competition area. They filled every row, up to the top. She was surprised by the number of faces she saw. There were too many people there, she thought, for the crowd to be made up of just the friends and relatives of the contestants. It was clearly a popular contest. It was the last contest of the fair, and the contract for appearing on the cat food containers, plus a possible television ad, with royalties, were such high stakes—but would have been higher if the collar hadn’t disappeared.

After the applause died down, Daisy spoke again. “Ladies and gentlemen, in second place is Shadow, dressed as Batcat.” Shadow’s owner was announced. Peter grinned and displayed Shadow as Ms. Sharp went to their stand and gave a red ribbon to Ivan. Chase wasn’t sure how she felt about the show going on and a murderer winning a prize. If Peter was innocent of his father’s crimes, she felt happy for him. Ivan, however . . . She had no happiness for him. In fact, anger was building inside her.