Блейз Клемент - The Cat Sitter And The Canary

To my utter surprise, I wasn’t a mess. In fact, I didn’t feel the slightest bit upset. More than anything, I was annoyed .

What a giant, colossal waste of department resources.

The fact that McKenzie had tagged me with a twenty-four-hour surveillance detail felt like a joke. Or, better yet, a slap in the face. Just because I was a material witness to a crime, she’d decided a uniformed doofus with a shiny brass badge on his chest was the answer to all my problems, as if I couldn’t possibly take care of myself. As if the existence of my name on that card meant I was in some kind of immediate mortal danger. As if there was some kind of homicidal lunatic with a grotesque sense of humor, roaming the streets and waiting to pounce on me.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head again, this time with an added sarcastic chuckle.

“ As if …”

13

Ethan had taken the news of our overnight security guard surprisingly well. I had expected him to be at least as dramatic as Michael had been, but I think he must have considered what it would have done to me if he’d shown more than cautious concern about it. Instead, he told me not to worry, that obviously the sheriff’s office was just doing their job—covering all their bases and so forth—and that he was 100-percent certain Detective McKenzie would soon have a logical explanation for everything that had happened.

He also canceled his appointments for the day and told me he’d work from home, “just in case.”

I didn’t argue. Especially since it meant he could babysit Gigi.

“Custom House. How may I help you?”

I was pulled over to the side of the road just past Sea Plume Way, and Deputy Morgan was idling in his cruiser about a hundred feet behind me. I squinted my eyes, trying to read the fine print on the calling card that Elba Kramer’s assistant had given me, but it wasn’t easy. My sunglasses were all smudged and covered in several years’ worth of scratches from rattling around in the glove compartment. I pulled them off and tossed them in the backseat.

I said, “I think I must have the wrong number. I was trying to reach Ms. Kramer…?”

“I am Rajinder, the house manager. Who may I say is calling please?”

“Oh. This is Dixie Hemingway. We met at Caroline’s house next door, I was supposed to—”

“Ah, yes. And how is Charlie?”

“Oh, Charlie’s fine. His folks are back home now, so I’m all on my own today.”

There was a short pause, and then he said, “That’s good news. Ms. Kramer has been eager to hear from you. Please hold.”

I glanced up in the rearview mirror. Morgan’s chin had dropped to his chest, so all I could see was the top of his deputy hat floating behind the steering wheel. I wondered if he’d gotten any more sleep than I had.

“This is Elba Kramer.”

She spoke in a smoky half-whisper, as thick as syrup but tinged with color, like the brassy high notes of a saxophone, mixed with just the slightest hint of a southern accent—exactly as I’d imagined the Scarlet Woman of Siesta Key would sound.

I said, “Oh, hi Ms. Kramer, this is Dixie Hemingway. We were scheduled to meet last night…?”

“I know. When I heard you scream, I called the police immediately. I didn’t realize they were already there until I saw everyone walking around. What a terrible, terrible thing! I can hardly believe it. I hope you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. I was just calling to explain why I never showed up, but I guess you already figured that out.”

She said, “No need to apologize. The detective told me everything. Oh, that poor girl. Did you know her? It must have been quite a shock. I can’t even imagine. After I talked to that detective, not the guy in the suit, but the other one—I forget her name. Very strange woman…”

I said, “That’s Detective McKenzie.”

“Yes. McKenzie. After she was done questioning me, I told her I’d come outside to find you. But she said it was a bad idea, and by that time all the reporters were hovering about, and … well, I don’t like reporters very much.”

For a split second, a series of images flashed in my mind like still frames from a movie montage: me, headed for the limo outside Todd and Christy’s funeral, surrounded by TV crews, a reporter sticking her microphone in my face: How does it feel to lose a husband and child in such a senseless way? My mouth twisting in rage as I lunged for her, wanting nothing less than to rip her from limb to limb, and then Michael and Paco pulling me off and holding me in a bear hug, as tight as a straitjacket …

I said, “Well, Ms. Kramer, I don’t blame you. I don’t much care for reporters either.”

She said, “Oh, honey, I think we’re gonna get along splendidly.”

Tell her, I heard a voice in my head say.

It seemed unnecessary, but still I wondered if I wasn’t being dishonest—not telling her our paths had crossed before. But, then again, I wondered if maybe she already knew and didn’t care. Maybe it would just be embarrassing to bring up the whole affair on the boat with Senator Cobb after all these years.

I could hear what sounded like the tinkling of ice being dropped in a glass in the background. She said, “Could you be here the day after tomorrow at five thirty? I realize with everything that’s happened you’re probably in shock…”

I said, “No. That’s totally fine, but I did have one question: Have you by any chance heard from Caroline?”

There was a short pause. “No, honey. And I don’t think I will.”

I said, “Oh.”

I heard a small laugh. “Miss Hemingway, I guess no one’s told you, but Caroline and me, we’re not exactly friends.”

I felt as if I’d walked right into a patch of quicksand. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. I just haven’t been able to get ahold of her, so I thought maybe…”

“Oh, please. How could you know? To be honest, I haven’t spoken to Caroline in years. Like most stories in which I’m involved, it’s a long and sordid one. When we’re best friends, I’ll tell you all about it.”

People tend to blurt out their deepest, darkest secrets to me, even perfect strangers, so I didn’t doubt her one bit. Just one week earlier, I’d been in line at the grocery store and picked up one of those gossip magazines off the rack to pass the time. The headline read: ANGELINA DEVASTATED! MY HUSBAND IS A LIAR! Underneath was a blurred picture, like a freeze-frame from a television show or a movie still, with Angelina Jolie looking distraught and close to tears.

As I put the paper back, the elderly woman in line behind me leaned over and whispered, “My husband’s been lying to me for thirty years. I’d cut his pecker off if I thought I could get away with it!”

I didn’t know what else to say, so I just tightened my lips into a smile and pushed my basket in a little closer to the checkout girl for good measure.

Elba had pulled the phone away from her ear and was cooing at her assistant. “Oh, grapefruit! Raji, how lovely. Take it out to the pool, I’ll be right there.” A high-pitched chirp sounded in the background. “That’s Jane. She says hello.”

I said, “Oh, Jane’s your bird?”

“Calamity Jane! Raji tells me you have experience with birds?”

“I do. One of my clients has an African grey parrot named Big Bubba that I’ve taken care of for years.”

“Wonderful. You’ll love Jane. She’s the most fabulous little thing—I never go anywhere without her. She’s the light of my life! Five thirty, then? It’s important you’re not late…”

I said, “Not a problem. I’m always on time.”

I rang off and glanced in the rearview mirror, half hoping Morgan wouldn’t be there, but of course he was.