Джанет Кантрелл - Fat Cat At Large

“I talked to Karla,” he said.

“Who’s that? Oh, your cleaning lady?”

“Yes. She calls her service Karla Kleening, both starting with the letter K.”

“Cute. Or should I say, kute with a K ?” Should she be worried about Karla with a K ? She tossed Quincy off her lap and began to pace.

“She is kind of cute,” he said. “She’s short and round and has more energy than a Dalmatian puppy.”

Maybe Mike liked round women. Chase wasn’t round, not all over anyway. “Did she tell you anything interesting about finding Torvald?”

“I’m not sure. When she found him, she didn’t touch anything, aside from trying to push the door open so she could get in. As soon as she realized he was probably dead, she backed up and called the police. She said she found a button in the corner, after the body was gone. Iversen’s landlord asked her to clean up so he could re-rent the place.”

“A button? I don’t see what difference that would make.”

“She said it matched a button she found about a week before that. She thinks it’s from a woman’s piece of clothing, probably a top. Too small and delicate for a man’s shirt, she said.”

“Is she taking it to the police?”

Mike hesitated. “Well, that’s a problem. She says she swept it up and threw it out. Later, she realized that, because it was so much like the other one, maybe she should have kept it. But she didn’t have the first one either.”

“None of this sounds like it’s going to help the police any.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Chase heard a beeping sound.

“That’s my front door. I think my next appointment is here,” Mike said. “I’ll call you later.”

Still fretting about Karla, Chase opened the office door to the kitchen. Then, remembering that they needed more paper bags in the front, she hoisted a box of them and set it on the kitchen counter.

After being shoved off the treat maker’s lap, the cat stalked the room with his tail twitching. A box of comfy paper products stood in the corner with its top open. The cat jumped into the space, just barely big enough to contain him, and took a snooze. The box was left on the kitchen counter. Soon, the cat awoke and peered over the edge of the box.

The box seemed extra-heavy. Chase would carry it up front later. She paced the kitchen. She decided that as soon as Vi returned and Anna was back in the kitchen, she was going to sound her out about Hilda Bjorn. Could the old woman be malicious? Mistaken? Senile? She hadn’t seemed senile. Maybe she could talk to the neighbor, Professor Fear, and find out more about her personality.

There was another thorn in her side at the moment, Karla the Kleener. She was growing more and more fond of Michael Ramos. But the thorn from Karla was a mere sliver compared to the stab that Hilda was delivering to her. How could the woman insist that Chase had run from Gabe’s with blood on her clothes? And how could Chase clear herself of the charges? She didn’t have any bloody clothing, but that didn’t prove anything. She could have thrown her clothes away. As for the timing, how could she prove she wasn’t there at 4:30?

She thought back to that day. She’d been so upset about Gabe coming into the shop and threatening her, and then even more upset about losing control and threatening him, she had taken a walk around the parking lot at about that very time, to cool off and calm herself down. It was a very short walk, not enough time to get to that condo and back. She would never mention that to Detective Olson. No one at the Bar None had said anything about that. Unless Anna had.

TWENTY-SEVEN

The kitchen closed in, stifling her. Maybe she would return to Hilda’s and see if she was home. She grabbed her sweater from the hook and opened the rear door. She hesitated. She should tell Anna she was leaving. Turning around, she saw Quincy leap from the box on the counter. He darted between her legs and was gone before she could completely recover her balance.

“Anna!” she called, hoping Anna could hear her. “Quincy’s out again. I’m going after him.” She hoped Anna had heard. She followed Quincy, hoping he would stop at the trash bin. He wasn’t there, but she spotted him rounding the building at the corner. Again.

He was heading the way he’d headed several other times, for the block of Gabe’s condo and Hilda Bjorn’s house.

Chase was tired of running after that cat. If he was so overweight, why could he run so fast? She knew where he was going, so she decided she wasn’t going to rush. On her ambling way, she mused that Chase was certainly an apt nickname for her, since chasing was one of her main occupations. If only Quincy weren’t so clever. She hadn’t seen him get out of the office, but he must have smuggled himself out in the box of paper bags.

As she approached Hilda’s place, Professor Fear rode to his own house from the other direction, pedaling his fat-tired blue bicycle. His hair was more windblown than the last time she’d seen him, most likely due to the bike. He didn’t notice her at first.

“Hi, Professor Fear,” she called. “Do you know if Ms. Bjorn is home?”

“She should be. I saw her this morning. She wasn’t feeling well and was going to stay home all day.” He carried his bike up his porch steps and chained it.

Chase called her thanks, but they were unacknowledged. The man merely straightened up from securing his bicycle and entered his home. Maybe she should bring Ms. Bjorn something. Tuna hot dish? Chicken soup? Would that help convince the woman that Chase was not a killer?

Quincy sat purring on Hilda Bjorn’s wicker rocker. It still swayed from his jump onto its seat. Chase picked him up, trying to determine whether or not he was lighter after his jaunt. She couldn’t tell.

She knocked on the front door, but didn’t hear any movement inside. Since she knew Hilda was there, and was ill, she tried the doorknob. It wasn’t locked. She pushed the door open a few inches and called, “Ms. Bjorn?” She repeated the name a few times, getting louder each time and nudging the door farther open with each repetition. She thought she heard a door close at the back the house.

She entered the living room, a small, snug room with afghans draped over the couch and both of the overstuffed chairs. One end of the room held a dining table and hutch. Ms. Bjorn must be in her bedroom, poor thing. Chase tried the first door leading off the hall that ran the length of the house. It was a bedroom, and probably Hilda’s, but no one was in the room. The bedclothes were smoothed, but the bed wasn’t made up. A coverlet and two pillow shams rested on an old-fashioned fainting couch under the window. Chase tried the bathroom off the bedroom, but it, too, was empty.

Reentering the hallway, she tried the next room, also a bedroom. The heavy red draperies were drawn and the room was dark. It was obviously the guest room and hadn’t been occupied recently, from the evidence of a layer of dust on the wooden floor.

She left the room. Quincy wriggled out of her arms and ran toward the rear of the house. Chase ran after him, stopping short when she got to the end of the hallway.

Hilda lay on her kitchen floor, a small puddle of blood beside her. It brought back the vision of Gabe so vividly, Chase started to feel faint.

Chase clutched the doorjamb and gave a loud gasp. Hilda’s eyes fluttered open.

“Oh my,” the woman breathed, barely audible.

Chase knelt and took Hilda’s hand. “It’s okay, I’m here,” she said. Hilda pulled her hand away and frowned.

Sitting back on her heels, Chase whipped her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed 911. Before the operator answered, Chase heard sirens. Puzzled, she completed the call anyway. The sirens probably weren’t coming here. The woman at the call center, after finding out where Chase was, told her to stay put.