Блейз Клемент - The Cat Sitter And The Canary

No, thank you.

I shook my head again as I washed all the kitty bowls and put the supplies away. I shook my head some more as I led everybody out to the backyard, and then I shook my head at least two or three more times while I gave Lucy a good grooming. We sat in the grass next to the pond. I ran the brush through her coat, removing enough fur to stuff a small pillow, and we watched the goldfish patrol the water’s edge in languid circles while the other cats hunted around the fenced perimeter for crickets and butterflies.

When we were done, Lucy headed back to her spot on the windowsill in the bedroom. I told her I’d stop by again later, giving her a kiss on the nose as a little thank-you for cheering me up a bit. I left everybody else napping in a furry pile on the couch in the living room.

After that, I found myself driving aimlessly down Ocean Boulevard with one hand on the wheel and the other tucked inside my backpack on the passenger seat, absentmindedly massaging the scruff of Gigi’s neck. I realized I had absolutely no idea where I was headed.

I pulled over to the side of the road and sighed as Deputy Marshall pulled in behind me. If ever there was a possibility that my twenty-four-hour escort might have been relieved of his duties, I knew it had been completely eliminated the moment that poor woman’s body had been discovered in my driveway. Detective Carthage had been adamant—I wasn’t to be left alone for one second.

Marshall got out of his car and trotted up to my window. “You okay?”

I waved him away. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just needed to make a phone call.”

He took a couple of steps back. “Okay, sorry. Just checking.”

I pulled my phone out of the cup holder in the center console and flipped it open as he made his way back, but I didn’t need to make a phone call. I needed to get focused before I went on with my day.

I paged through the contacts on my phone, absentmindedly looking for something, anything, that might take my mind off things. Caroline’s name appeared. They still hadn’t gotten ahold of her, but Detective Carthage had insisted I not call her again until they had a chance to talk to her first. I was worried sick about her, but I tried not to think about it. I told myself she was fine and kept scrolling.

The name of my favorite haunt rolled by—the Village Diner, which for all intents and purposes is my home away from home—but the thought of stopping by for a cup of coffee made my heart sink. Judy, the diner’s only full-time waitress, is probably my closest friend, and Tanisha, the cook there, is like a sister. I knew I couldn’t face them without blabbing out everything that had happened … and I wasn’t sure I felt like reliving it just yet.

Then, Guidry’s name rolled by, summoning more questions about the wedding, which I was beginning to think everybody in this damn town was attending except me.

I looked at myself in the rearview mirror and muttered, “What in the world is wrong with you?”

Two women had lost their lives, and here I was fretting about an old flame getting married. What was it? Jealousy? First of all, what a dirty, low-down thing to do to Ethan, the man who loved me now, who accepted me for who I was, who didn’t go away. And second, it wasn’t like Guidry had run off with another woman. Our undoing had been just as much my decision as his.

Enough, I told myself. There were a lot more important things to worry about. At that, the image of poor Mrs. Reed’s face appeared, and then slowly fading into view was Sara Potts. I realized with a jolt that I had no idea if Sara’s family had been contacted yet. Would they want to meet me? Would they want to know the details of what I had witnessed? And would Mr. Reed want to talk to me too? I was, after all, the last person on earth to have seen both their loved ones alive.

And then I looked at myself in the rearview mirror and took a deep breath.

No .

I wasn’t the last person to see them alive …

That was someone else.

18

Detective Carthage had asked me to meet him at the Siesta Pavilion, a little covered courtyard at the edge of the beach where there’s a collection of long picnic tables, a tiny gift shop that sells beach toys and cheap souvenirs, and a snack bar. I knew it was no coincidence—it was the very same snack bar where Sara Potts had worked until two days ago.

The place was filled to the brim with kids in board shorts and bikinis, all running around in the sun, wet, barefoot, and chattering like wild monkeys. If it hadn’t been that Carthage was dressed in his regulation faded jeans and white oxford button-down, I might not have been able to tell him apart from all the other fresh-faced teenagers.

I spotted him on the far side closest to the beach. As I wound my way through the tables with the smell of fast food wafting up around me, I realized with a groan I’d barely eaten a thing all day long. I wondered what Detective Carthage would think if I grabbed a hot dog and a couple baskets of curly fries to wolf down during our meeting, but I managed to control myself.

As I slid into the bench opposite him, he pulled out two file folders from his briefcase and laid them on the table in front of me.

He said, “Hi, Mrs. Hemingway.”

“You can call me Dixie.”

There was an awkward pause, and for some stupid reason I felt compelled to keep on talking. “Being called Mrs. Hemingway just makes me feel like an old lady…”

I added a lighthearted laugh, but the noise that came out of me sounded more like the bleat of a guinea pig (or an old lady). I cleared my throat and told myself to shut the hell up. Why in the world I was so nervous in the presence of a kid almost young enough to be my own son was beyond me.

Just then, two teenage girls, one blond and one brunette, walked by in bikini bottoms and matching tie-dyed T-shirts. One was carrying a plastic tray from the snack bar, piled high with fries and onion rings, and the other had a giant candy-striped beach umbrella balanced on one shoulder.

“Matt?”

Both girls stopped in their tracks.

Detective Carthage looked up and immediately blushed. “Oh, hey.”

The blond said, “OMG Matthew Carthage? What are you doing here? Didn’t you move to Harvard or something?”

He nodded. “Princeton, yeah, but I’m back now.”

She glanced briefly at me and then frowned. “You dropped out?”

“Uh. No, I graduated already.”

She flashed him a goofy grin and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Wanna come hang out with us?”

Carthage turned to me and said, “Well, we’re kind of in the middle of something here…”

The brunette, the one with the umbrella, held up one hand and waved it at me, kind of like a beauty pageant princess on a parade float. “Hi. Sorry to interrupt. I’m Alison and this is Kerry. We went to high school with Matt, but for some reason they wouldn’t let us go to Harvard.”

The blond girl giggled. “Yeah, I can’t imagine why, but I guess we can’t all be geniuses. We’re juniors at Florida State.”

I said, “Oh, cool. Nice to meet you both.”

She said, “Yeah, must be nice to have Matt home for the summer, huh?”

I gulped. “Yeah, it sure is…”

She gave me a polite, pitying smile that teenagers reserve for their elders and then turned her attention back to Matthew.

“Well, we’ll be down by the volleyball courts if you change your mind and wanna come hang out with the dumb kids for a change.”

She wrinkled her nose and gave him a wink.

He stammered, “Okay, yeah, sure.”

As they made their way, the brunette twirled her umbrella at me. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Carthage!”

I gave her a thumbs-up and said, “You bet!”