Миранда Джеймс - No Cats Allowed

“Yes, Officer, thanks.” I shrugged. “Stanley must have driven off right after I pulled into the garage. I’m sorry for the false alarm, but at least we know he’s still in town.”

“You told the operator this guy is wanted in connection with the murder at the college,” the lanky one said. I peered at their nameplates but couldn’t decipher them. Did I need glasses? I wondered.

“Yes, that’s right,” I replied. From behind me came scratching and wailing noises. Diesel wasn’t happy that I’d left him inside.

“What’s that noise?” the first cop said.

“My cat.” I smiled. “He’s not happy that I’ve left him inside.”

“You’re the guy with that real big cat, aren’t you?” The second one grinned. “I’ve heard about you. I sure would like to see that big cat.”

“Sure.” I opened the door, and Diesel stepped out, still meowing. Both cops stepped back, and one of them whistled. Diesel stared at the cops, looking interested but unsure whether to approach them.

“That is a big cat,” the first officer said. “Looks more like a bobcat than a house cat.”

I explained about Diesel’s breed and stressed the fact that he was actually much larger than the average Maine Coon. “He’s quite gentle,” I said. “He might look ferocious because of his size, but he’s not.”

On cue, or so it seemed, Diesel warbled for them, and they both grinned. Then the first one nudged the second one and said, “Well, if everything’s okay, sir, we’ll be going. We’ll let the sheriff’s department know you spotted this guy. In the meantime, if he comes back, call 911 right away.”

“Thank you, Officers,” I said. Diesel chirped as they turned and headed back to their patrol car. “Come on, boy, back inside.”

I felt both foolish and relieved. The fact that Stanley was gone by the time they arrived might have led them to conclude he hadn’t been there at all. On reflection, I decided I was glad they hadn’t dismissed me as a crank.

Diesel went off to the utility room, and I went around the whole first floor of the house to check every door and window. Then I went up to the second floor to check those windows. Probably an overreaction, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

I was glad Azalea had gone for the day, because if Stanley did show up again, I didn’t want her to be at risk. The man frightened me, and the sooner Kanesha rounded him up, the better.

Diesel met me in the kitchen. I glanced at the clock. Too early yet for dinner, though for some reason I felt hungry. I checked Diesel’s food and added crunchies to his bowl. While he munched happily on the dry food, I went back to the kitchen and peeled a banana. I felt virtuous in having that, rather than a slice of Azalea’s freshly made lemon icebox pie that I spotted in the fridge.

Phone in one hand and banana in the other, I went back to the living room to check the street.

No sign of Porter Stanley. I pulled a chair near the window and got comfortable. I decided I would keep watch for the next hour or so. After that, I wasn’t sure what I’d do. I didn’t really want to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening staring out at the street, much less all night.

Diesel joined me a few minutes later and sprawled out on the floor beside my chair. He was soon asleep.

Finally, while I sat there watching, it occurred to me to ask myself, Why is Porter Stanley interested in me?

I had no answer to that.

Another question popped into my head: What, if anything, did Reilly tell Porter about me?

Again, I had no answer.

My phone rang, and it startled me so badly I dropped it on the floor. The phone missed the cat by a few inches, but Diesel was so frightened by the sound he scrambled up and shot out of the room like a sprinter in the hundred meters.

The phone didn’t appear to be broken, but it had stopped ringing. I checked the recent calls and recognized Melba’s number. I called her, and after a couple of rings, she answered.

“Saw you tried to call me,” I said. “I dropped the phone, and by the time I picked it up, it was too late.”

“I was leaving you a message,” Melba said. “Glad I don’t have to wait to talk to you.”

“How are you doing?”

Diesel came slinking back into the living room, alert for any more surprises.

“Okay, I guess. First thing I did when I got home was take a shower. Just felt like I had to.” Melba laughed. “Something about that jailhouse air. It seemed to me my clothes and my hair smelled funny.”

“I’m so sorry they put you through this,” I said. “I know you didn’t kill that man.”

“I sure as heck didn’t,” she said. “He wasn’t worth it, even though he was a sorry excuse for a human being. I’ll tell you another thing, I wouldn’t go down in that basement for love nor money. It’s too dang spooky down there.”

“I imagine at night it probably is. The lighting isn’t that good. We ought to look into that.” I’d have to write that down, otherwise I would forget by morning.

“What do you mean, we ought to look into it?” Melba said. “That’s a strange choice of words. I guess it means you’re not laid off, though, and I won’t be transferred.”

“No, you’ll be back at your desk in the morning, as long as you feel up to it. Do you?”

“Yes” was the prompt reply.

“I’m going to be there with you, but in the director’s office.” I waited for that to sink in.

“Charlie.” She practically shrieked my name. “You’re going to be the interim director? Ain’t that a hoot?” She laughed. “How did they wrangle you into it?”

“Forrest Wyatt made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” I said.

“Loyalty to your alma mater in its time of need. Right?”

I chuckled. “Got it in one.”

“He’s good, you got to give him that.”

“I do, believe me, I do.” I sighed. “I’m grateful you’ll be there with me so I don’t make a mess of things.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Melba retorted. “You wouldn’t make a mess of things. Although you’ll do better with me there.” She giggled.

“Look, there’s something I have to tell you. When I came home from Sean’s office a little while ago, Porter Stanley was sitting in his car, parked on the street near my house.”

Melba gasped. “What did you do?”

I gave her the rundown. “I’m sitting at the window right now, keeping watch. I think you should be on the alert, too. I have no idea why he’s interested in me, but he could be watching you, too.”

“He tries to break in on me,” Melba said, “he might get his fool head blown off. Don’t you worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“Good,” I said, “but be careful.”

“I’m surprised he’s still in town,” Melba said. “I figured he’d’ve hightailed it out of here the minute he killed Reilly. Him hanging around doesn’t make any sense.”

“If he did kill Reilly—and there are other suspects, which I’ll tell you about in a minute—then he must want something badly enough to hang around. I have no idea what it could be, though.”

“Me neither,” she replied. “What’s this about other suspects?”

After my quick summary of suspects and motives, Melba said, “Lord, that man caused a lot of hurt and trouble right off the bat. You have to wonder how he got hired, because you can bet he got up to the same kind of mess where he worked before.”

“He probably did, but maybe he was always really good at covering his tracks,” I said. “Plus employers can’t tell you any of the bad stuff because it makes them liable to a lawsuit.”

“True,” she said. “But there’s ways of not saying things to get your message across. Somebody needs to have a talk with Penny. Either she or one of her coworkers would have checked his references.”