Миранда Джеймс - Six Cats A Slayin'

Gerry Albritton had moved in a month earlier, and a week later, I decided to do the neighborly thing. Armed with a small basket of baked goods—some provided by Azalea and others from Helen Louise Brady’s French bistro—I walked across the street that morning to introduce myself. I told Diesel we were going to meet the new neighbor, and he chirped happily in response. He was always ready for fresh conquests. He soaked up admiration like a hairy, chirping sponge.

I rang the doorbell. Perhaps twenty seconds later the door opened, and I beheld Ms. Albritton for the first time. Until then I’d caught only brief glimpses of her out the front windows as she went in and out of the house. Up close she was shorter than I had reckoned, probably only about five four and petite with it. I felt far too large as I loomed over her.

Dressed as if she was heading out to a formal dinner party—high heels, pearls, diamond rings, and the ever-fashionable little black dress—Ms. Albritton had an air of sophistication about her. She smiled widely at the sight of me, and I smiled back a bit uncertainly. I wasn’t sure whether she actually noticed Diesel, as she appeared to be so focused on me.

Before I could introduce myself, Ms. Albritton spoke. “You have to be Charlie Harris, the handsome widower of Oak Drive.” She batted her eyelashes at me, tilted her head, and offered a coy smile. “Come right on in, I’ve been just about dying to meet you. You’re even better-looking close up.” She laughed, a light, tinkling sound. “I’ve only been able to peek at you from a distance before now. I just know we’re going to be friends, so you just call me Gerry and I’ll call you Charlie, okay?”

Rattled by her flirtatious manner and thoroughly taken aback, I stared at her and made no attempt to respond. She didn’t appear to notice, though. Her gaze shifted down from my face, over my chest and farther south. I resisted the urge to squirm.

Then she seemed to realize that Diesel was with me.

“And this is the famous Diesel . Oh, you are such a handsome boy. Like father like kitty, and both of you so tall and strong-looking.”

I glanced down at the cat. Diesel stared at Ms. Albritton as if mesmerized. Thus far he hadn’t made a sound, unusual for him. He looked up at me and offered what sounded like an interrogatory trill. He hadn’t met anyone quite like her before, not with that coquettish manner and tone, at least.

I found the dregs of my composure and responded to Ms. Albritton after Diesel’s appeal. “I am Charlie Harris, Ms. Albritton, and yes, this is Diesel.” I thrust the basket of pastries toward her. “We wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

She accepted the basket with another coy smile. Her hand brushed mine. “Aren’t you two the sweetest things?” Her Mississippi drawl drew the words out a few extra beats. “Y’all come on in. I’m afraid the house is still a wreck, but I know you’ll overlook it. A poor woman on her own moving into this wonderful neighborhood. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am this house came up for sale. All the time I was growing up here I wanted to live in this neighborhood, and when I moved back recently I couldn’t believe a house on this street was up for sale.” She turned and walked away.

At that point in our brief acquaintance, the last thing I wanted to do was enter this house, but I couldn’t be rude and simply walk away—or rather, run away, if I had my druthers. I didn’t feel up to fending off a lonesome widow this morning. I intended to tell Ms. Albritton that Diesel and I couldn’t stay, that we were expected somewhere even though it was my one day off during the week and I had nothing planned.

I followed her into the living room and discovered to my distaste that the furniture and decor consisted of what I privately called industrial horror. For a moment I thought I had wandered onto the set of a futuristic movie. Everything I saw was either stark white or deep black, except for dashes of color from photographs placed around the room and on the walls. There was not a book in sight—to me, always the sign of a person with whom I probably had little in common. Most of the rooms in my house had shelves full of books.

Gerry Albritton motioned me toward a leather sofa with tubular black legs. I took one corner, and Diesel huddled by my legs. I could tell that he found the atmosphere of the room as sterile and off-putting as I did. Our hostess set the gift basket on the coffee table, the top of which appeared to be made of some kind of white synthetic substance. Then, to my alarm, she seated herself so close to me that her knee brushed against mine.

My deeply ingrained manners precluded my being rude to her. But I decided to make an exception. I got to my feet quickly, before Gerry Albritton had a chance to speak.

“I do apologize,” I said, trying hard to sound sincere, “but I just this second remembered that my daughter is coming by any minute to drop off my grandson. It’s my day to babysit. I’m sure you’ll excuse me.”

“Now that’s just too bad.” My hostess sounded put out with me and wasn’t bothering to hide it. “I was really hoping for a chance to get to know you better.” Then she smiled, and her tone became friendly again. “But of course children and grandchildren come first.” She rose from the sofa. “It must be so nice to have family like that. I’m all on my own.” Her expression had suddenly turned forlorn.

“That’s too bad,” I murmured. Diesel and I followed her to the front door.

“You’ll have to come back when you can stay longer.” Gerry Albritton laid a hand on my arm and squeezed it. “I know we’re going to be good friends.”

“How kind,” I said. “We hope you’ll be happy here.” Diesel and I scooted out the door and headed home. I was never so glad to get away from someone in my life.

I suppressed another shudder as I tried to push the memory of that encounter away yet again. Since that time I had done my best to avoid Gerry Albritton and had been mostly successful. Diesel and I ran into her twice on walks, but on both occasions I got us away from her as quickly as I could. The woman made me uneasy. It was more than her aggressive friendliness, simply something I couldn’t define, that made me wary of her.

I still hadn’t told Helen Louise about Gerry’s blatant flirting with me. I wasn’t sure why I hesitated to share it with Helen Louise. Perhaps it was because I suspected so strongly that Gerry had an underhanded purpose in behaving like that. The more I was exposed to it, the more I began to think the flirtatiousness had a forced quality to it. Until I could figure out what lay behind it, I planned to keep it to myself.

Compounding the situation was the mystery surrounding Gerry Albritton herself. Right after that first meeting, I questioned Melba Gilley, my friend since childhood and my coworker at the Athena College Library, to discover what I could about my new neighbor.

Gerry claimed to have lived in Athena when the subject arose during my first encounter with her—yet Melba didn’t know Gerry Albritton, and Melba knew everyone who had lived in Athena over the decades.

“Only Albrittons I know don’t have a single Geraldine in the family,” Melba said, obviously puzzled. “I could be wrong, of course, but none of the Albritton boys our age married a Geraldine, either.”

“That’s the name she claims now,” I said. “Maybe she used to go by a name besides Geraldine.”

Melba frowned. “Maybe, but I don’t think so. If I got a good look at her, I could probably figure out who she is.”

“I asked her if she’s related to the city councilman, Billy Albritton,” I said. He did not represent my district, but I had seen him around town, and his picture turned up in the local weekly newspaper on a regular basis. He was around seventy, I thought.