Блейз Клемент - The Cat Sitter And The Canary

Her immediate impulse was to say yes, but she told him she’d have to think about it. At that point they’d been on less than half a dozen dates, so she had called to get my opinion. Was it too soon? Was it insane to agree to a romantic getaway with a man she barely knew?

Given the fact that I don’t like boat rides any more than rabbits do, I told her of course it was insane, but the real question she needed to be asking herself was, “How much do you like him?”

I remembered her response exactly. She said, “Dixie, I think I love him.”

I closed my eyes and laid my hand on Charlie’s side. I could feel his chest rising and falling with each breath, and for a few desperate seconds I tried to think of nothing but the sensation of it.

“Well,” I said. “I guess we know why you were scratching at that door yesterday.”

He lifted his head and squinted at me for a moment or two, then laid his head back down between his paws with a sigh.

I nodded. “You’re right. I should have listened.”

Until then, I hadn’t allowed the thought to actually form in my mind. It was too terrible. But now I couldn’t avoid it. The words rose up inside me, almost as if I was whispering to myself: Dixie, is it Caroline’s body in that house?

It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.

First of all—the light-blue suit. In all the time I’d known her, I’d never seen Caroline wear a man’s suit. Ever. And anyway, if she hadn’t shown up for the boat trip, her new boyfriend would have thought something was wrong. He would have tried to call her. And when she didn’t pick up, he would have been worried. He would have gone to her house, and if there was no answer he’d have left a note on the door. And if that hadn’t worked he’d have gone to the police and reported her missing.

Right?

I grabbed my phone again and shook my head.

Normally, I get detailed contact information for every one of my clients. I write down where they’re going and who they’ll be staying with. I get hotel numbers, nearby relatives, neighbors, vet information—anything I can think of that might come in handy in the event of an emergency. I’m extremely diligent about it. I never make an exception.

Except with Caroline.

She wasn’t staying in a hotel, so it hadn’t even occurred to me to get another phone number or any other kind of contact information. All I had was her cell, and now I was dialing it for what felt like the hundredth time.

Her voice was bright and cheerful. “Hey there, I can’t talk right now because I’m doing something fabulous, either that or I’m too lazy to get my butt off the couch and pick up the phone, but if you’ll tell me something interesting, maybe I’ll call you back. Ciao for now!”

This time, I didn’t even wait for the beep. I just hung up. I’d already left at least five messages, each of them a variation of basically the same thing: Call me! I hadn’t been specific about why, just that it was important I speak to her as soon as possible. I knew if I told her what had happened she’d definitely think it warranted a call back, but I didn’t want to leave a voice mail, and—I shuddered at the thought—I was beginning to seriously wonder if she’d ever hear it anyway.

I shook my head again. There was no point panicking … yet .

Just in front of me, parked in front of Morgan’s cruiser, was an ambulance from Sarasota Memorial Hospital, which is only about a five-minute drive from here, and directly behind me was a walnut-brown Lincoln Continental with Florida State government license plates. Beyond that was a black, four-door SUV with a light dusting of pollen across its windshield.

Blocking the entire roadway to the right, its front grill parallel with the back door of the ambulance, was the Sarasota County mobile forensics unit, a big square van that, if you didn’t know better, you’d think was an ice cream truck. But I knew better. The side panels were open, and two forensics examiners, both in white lab coats, rubber booties, and latex gloves, were pulling out a couple of black nylon supply packs from a wall of shelves.

There were so many flashing lights in the street that when I closed my eyes I could almost imagine I was in a nightclub, so that’s exactly what I did. I pictured myself far, far away—maybe on an exotic Mediterranean island in an old seventies-style disco with a fog machine and an over-the-top light show. I imagined myself swaying in time to the mind-numbing dance music and sipping on some mind-numbing drink, like a mojito or a pisco margarita, or maybe just a bottle of vodka.

The only problem was that instead of pulsing music overhead, all I could hear was the incessant tick-ticking of the emergency lights on the rack mounted to the top of the squad car. Just then there was a tap on the window and I opened my eyes to find Deputy Morgan watching me through the half-open window.

He said, “I thought you might want to know we searched the house. There’s nobody in there but a rabbit and a very shy cat. They’re both fine.”

“Okay, thanks. And any word…”

My breath caught in my throat. Until now, I’d managed to present a relatively calm exterior, but I didn’t think I’d be able to say Caroline’s name without losing it.

I said, “Have they identified the body?”

Morgan shook his head. “You can wait outside now if you want.”

“That’s okay. I’ll stay here with Charlie. He’ll get too wound up if I let him out of the car now.”

“No problem. Just got a couple more things to finish up, and then the detective would like to speak to you.”

I said, “I’ve been trying to get ahold of Caroline, but she’s not answering.”

He paused for a moment.

“Don’t call her again.”

I watched as he went back over to the bottom of the driveway where there was a group of EMTs and deputies. In the middle was a tall woman with a nest of sorrel hair piled in a frizzy heap on top of her head. I could hear her talking quietly, but I couldn’t quite tell what she was saying. All the men and women gathered around were listening intently, including a lanky, awkward-looking boy in a red baseball cap. I figured he must have been a neighborhood kid that got past the police blockade, or maybe he’d been brought on scene by one of the deputies, maybe he’d seen something suspicious.

Suddenly, I remembered my meeting with Elba Kramer next door. I grabbed my phone to check the time and then fumbled around in my backpack for the business card her assistant had given me. I looked up just in time to see Deputy Morgan tip his chin in my direction, and the tall woman with red hair turned and looked at me. She gave a short nod to the group, and then they dispersed like a football team breaking out of a huddle. Two of the deputies began stringing up a roll of bright yellow tape with the words POLICE LINE—DO NOT CROSS written in ominous black letters, and another man started pulling out cameras and lenses from a green duffel bag on the hood of an unmarked car.

Deputy Morgan was headed straight for me.

I put my phone down and turned to Charlie. “Now listen, I don’t want you barking at anybody while I’m talking to these people, okay?”

He lifted his head and squinted, considering his options.

I said, “Good. It’s settled. You stay here and behave yourself, and then we’ll get you home.”

Morgan opened the door, and as I got out I kept an eye on Charlie to make sure he stayed put, but he was so pooped he barely moved. The tall redhead was waiting at the curb, and as we joined her, I noticed she was easily a good four inches taller than Morgan. Her skin was pale, threatening to freckle, and she wore a dun-colored blouse with a gray collar, a frayed beige scarf that hung past her waist, and a plain, knee-length skirt that with only a few minor alterations might easily have doubled as a potato sack.