Моника Шонесси - The Black Cats

“What has gotten into you, Virginia?”

“On days like this, when you are…” She cast her eyes downward. “…healthy, I think what a wonderful father you would make.”

“We’ve been through this before,” Eddy said. “It would be too taxing for you.”

She bit her lip then said, “Are you sad?”

“I am always sad, my wife. But you and you alone make me better. You are my queen in this kingdom by the sea.” He gave her a wink.

“That’s a lovely sentiment, Edgar. You must think about putting it to verse.” She laid her head on his shoulder and continued in silence.

Ziggety-zag, ziggety-zag, all the way to the cobblers’ home. Exhausting work, but I’d done it. I deposited them in front of Abner Arnold’s house and turned up the walkway. They did not follow. Running out of both patience and time, I yowled. And good.

“I think she means for us to join her,” Sissy said. She pulled Eddy to the door. “Who could live here, I wonder? Do we know anyone on Logan Street? What a gay adventure!”

“I am game for an escapade.” He rapped the door with his knuckles. His enthusiasm vanished when Abner Arnold answered the door.

Frightened, I dashed behind the folds of Sissy’s skirt. We would never gain access to the home, now that the cobbler was home. Midnight could be inside, in need of my help, and I could not give it. I peeked around the volume of silk and watched the exchange.

“What do you want?” Mr. Arnold said. His shirt had come untucked and hung about his waist like a short dressing gown. Even from behind Sissy’s skirt, I caught the scent of rum. He scratched the peeling scabs on his chin and neck.

Sissy regained her composure first. “We are looking for your wife, Tabitha,” she said. “Is she here?”

“No, and you can thank Mr. Fitzgerald for that,” he said. “She ran off with him last night. Can’t trust the Irish, can you?” He swayed, leaning against the doorframe for support. “If he tells you any different, he’s a liar the size of Pennsylvania.” He rubbed his stomach and winced.

“Your wife left you?” Eddy asked.

Mr. Arnold pushed the door open with his foot. “You see her inside? You see her at the shop?” He scowled. “Didn’t think so.”

“Did she give a reason?” Eddy asked. I could not see his face, but his voice held genuine concern.

“Women don’t need a reason, do they?” Mr. Arnold said, casting an eye at Sissy. “Don’t drink, Abner, it’s not good for you,” he said in a high timbre. “Don’t go to Jolley’s tonight, Abner, you’ll put us in the poor house.” He spat on the ground and lowered his pitch to normal. “Bah! Good riddance to her, and good riddance to you.” With that, he slammed the door in our face.

Eddy didn’t move. He looked at his shoes. Mr. Arnold had given him something to think about, though I knew not what.

Sissy took his hand. “Husband? Are you well?”

He lifted his gaze and searched her face, his eyes glassy and wet. “I am very well today, thank you, Mrs. Poe.”

***

Sissy waited until we’d reached North Seventh before speaking of the cobblers. “Husband, something is wrong. I do not trust Mr. Arnold’s story. Why would Mrs. Arnold run away with Mr. Fitzgerald? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I’ll say. I never pegged ol’ Fitz as a lover.” His mood had brightened since our chat with the cat killer.

“Eddy!” she said. “That is not what I mean! And lower your voice. I don’t want anyone hearing you say that word in public.”

“What? Fitz ?” Eddy said.

“Oh, how you tease.” Sissy slapped him on the arm with her fan.

I trailed several lengths behind them, disheartened by countless failures. If I didn’t find Midnight soon, I’d have start looking for his grave. What had I done? When I thought of George and Margaret, I trotted ahead, in line with my companion. Maybe the Quaker Cats had discovered Midnight this morning, alive and well.

“I think Tabitha Arnold could be in real trouble,” Sissy said. “Mr. Arnold gave me a queer feeling. He had an untamed look about him, like a hungry tiger.”

“A hungry tiger! What wild imaginings!” Eddy chuckled. “May I remind you, Mrs. Poe, that you wrongly suspected Mr. Fitzgerald of killing Pluto. Not everyone can rationalize like my Detective Dupin.” He steered them around a window-shopping couple before resuming their path on the sidewalk. I stepped onto the cobblestones to accommodate the detour. “Mind the street, Catters,” he said to me. “Mr. Arnold may drive his carriage down the street and kill the lot of us.” He waved his hand. “In one pass.”

“Make fun if you will,” Sissy said. Her earlocks bobbed as she spoke. “But Tabitha told me she’d be at the temperance meeting this morning. She would never close shop on a Saturday. And by the by, Mr. Fitzgerald’s not out of the stew pot yet. He and Tabitha have been arguing over that tree for months. What if he did something to her—”

“My dear! I have heard enough! We will speak to Mr. Fitzgerald and get the story from him.”

It didn’t take long to reach the shops of Franklin Street. We discovered Mr. Fitzgerald sitting in the shade of the sassafras tree, his back to the trunk, sipping a cool drink. I wasn’t sure we’d find Midnight here, but my ideas had run their course. After pleasantries about the weather—did they not understand the urgency?—Eddy and Sissy recounted much of what they said on the walk. It did not match word for word but contained many of the same themes, including Tabitha Arnold . This gave me courage, for if we found her, we’d probably find my pal.

“Abner Arnold is a right fibber,” Mr. Fitzgerald said. “It’s true. I paid them a visit last night. But I left alone, coming back to the store to tidy up. There’s been a run on buckets since the fire at their house, and I can’t keep the display in order.” He took another sip from the glass. I admired the bony apple bobbing along his neck.

“How lucrative,” Eddy said.

Sissy elbowed her husband. “Did Mrs. Arnold seem well, Mr. Fitzgerald?”

“Not at all. In fact, I think she and Mr. Arnold had been arguing. A real knock-about if you ask me. I’d bet anything the old man had just come from the grog shop.” He winked at me. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Cattarina? You’re a lady.”

I turned to show off my tail.

“Thank you, Mr. Fitzgerald. You’ve been most helpful,” Sissy said. She pulled her husband in front of the cobbler shop, and I joined them. “You see!” she whispered. “Mrs. Arnold is in trouble.”

Eddy frowned. “I think we should call Constable Harkness.”

I swiveled my ears, catching the name. Though I did not hold much stock in Constable Harkness’s rationation skills, he did serve on the side of justice. A shame he hadn’t been summoned for Snip’s killing. This could have all been avoided.

The Return of Constable Harkness

CONSTABLE HARKNESS LIVED ON Green Street, but much farther west than I could’ve traveled by paw—nearly half way to the Schuylkill River, by all accounts. For expediency’s sake, Eddy hailed a private car for us, an open carriage meant, I was certain, for bird watching. I so admired the acrobatics of the purple martin. Presently, the driver parked in front of a brownstone hung with potted ferns. Smoke filled the sky here, blanketing the firmament with the haze of burnt metal. This stench ruined an otherwise handsome neighborhood.

We strode the sidewalk, and Sissy coughed straightaway in the foul air. Eddy touched her shoulder with concern, but she proceeded to the constable’s stoop and rapped on the door. We waited. The constable shuffled inside, moving and shifting things around, as if our arrival had taken him from an important task. “I’ll be right back, Matilda,” he said from the interior. “Never fear.”