Блейз Клемент - The Cat Sitter And The Canary

I had to admit, that sounded like an excellent idea. In fact, I was thinking I might go over and join them for the rest of my life, but then the bartender tapped me on the shoulder.

“What do you say?”

He was suntanned, with a nice smile and tousled blond hair that fell to his shoulders. His tortoiseshell glasses made him look a little older, but I could tell he wasn’t much more than twenty-five or so. He wore board shorts with a faded dive-shop T-shirt and a forest-green baseball cap with a yellow bill, tipped jauntily to one side.

I said, “Huh? Sorry, I wasn’t listening…”

He grinned. “I could tell. You seem pretty lost in thought. Wanna take another stab at it?”

“Another stab at what?”

He waved my empty margarita jar in the air. “At whatever it is you’re trying to forget.”

“Ha. I’d better not. That’s a good line though.”

He grinned. “Thanks. I speak fluent bartender.”

“Oh, did you study that in college?”

He shook his head. “Actually, no. I’m studying poetry.”

“You’re a poet?”

He winked. “No. I’m a bartender. Just the check then?”

I nodded as he dropped my glass down into a sink of soapy water and headed over to the women with a handful of menus. A little louder than necessary, he said, “Alright girls, I’m gonna need to see some IDs,” and they all giggled appreciatively.

There was a pink plastic caddy on the bar in front of me with various drink garnishes. I looked for something to give Gigi, who was sitting in a red plastic tortilla chip basket perched on the stool next to me, but celery sticks can be deadly for rabbits, and I didn’t think he’d care much for a marinated cherry. He was still munching halfheartedly on the carrot stick I’d given him earlier, but I could tell he was ready for something new. Just the sight of his little floppy ears and fuzzy button nose made my spirits lift a little.

I whispered, “Gigi, I continue to be impressed with how laid back you are, considering the circumstances. I’m not sure I’d be so happy riding around all day in somebody’s backpack.”

He took a bite and munched thoughtfully, holding his carrot stick like a cigar. I could tell he was probably wondering how much longer before he could go back home.

I said, “Soon … hopefully.”

A few minutes later the bartender handed me a slip of paper, and I caught a glimpse of dark red splotches on his fingernails. He withdrew his hand and blushed.

He said, “Nice, huh? Nail polish. I promise it’s not what you think. Like, I’m not a cross-dresser or anything.”

I held my hands up. “No judgments here.”

“It’s from a party the other night. My girlfriend thought it would be hilarious if I painted my nails too.” He scratched on his thumb nail with his right index finger. “It seemed like an awesome idea at the time, but I had no idea how hard it is to get this damn stuff off.”

I laughed. “Have you ever heard of a thing called nail-polish remover?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but my bar knife works just as good. I chip a little more off whenever I get a break.”

I winced as I handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “Well, you better be careful. You could hurt yourself.”

He handed my twenty back. “We’re all good.”

“Huh?”

“Already paid for. That’s the receipt.”

I shook my head. “No. I can’t let you do that.”

“I didn’t.”

He pointed over my shoulder at the group of ladies. They were making their way down to the edge of the water with their margaritas. The wind had picked up a bit, and they were all using their free hands to hold down their sequined caps.

The bartender grinned. “They said you looked like you could use some cheering up.”

I smiled to myself all the way across the parking lot. Sometimes, it’s the little things that make the world feel right again—at least momentarily. As I came around the front bumper of the Bronco, I averted my eyes from the sheriff’s cruiser parked next to me. I knew seeing Deputy Marshall’s blank face behind his mirrored sunglasses would bum me out again, so instead I kicked off my left sneaker and shook the sand out of it, balancing on one leg to keep my sock off the ground. Then I repeated the whole process on the other shoe.

Just as I was tightening my laces, I felt a presence behind me and then a shadow fell across the pavement. Before my brain could even register what was happening, I thought of Gigi in my backpack and wondered if I could safely set him down before …

Without another thought, I reared back and spun around, clenching my car keys between my knuckles like a hawk’s talons. Deputy Morgan was standing right behind me, frowning down at a spot on the hood of his cruiser.

“Damn tree sap.”

He looked up at me. My eyes were glaring and my right arm was poised over my head like a snake about to strike.

He said, “What the heck are you doing?”

As nonchalantly as possible, I scratched the top of my head with my car keys. “Nothing. What happened to Deputy Marshall?”

He eyed me warily as he opened the car door. “We had a shift change while you were over there gettin’ drunk. Where to now, boss? You done for the day?”

I noticed grains of sand clinging to the edges of his boots as he sat down in the driver’s seat, which meant he probably hadn’t been waiting in his car. He’d been lurking around the bar, watching me the entire time.

I said, “First of all, I was not getting drunk. I had one tiny margarita. And second of all, no, I’m not done for the day. In fact, I have a meeting with a new client.”

“You sure you’re okay to drive?”

I put my hands on my hips. “What do I look like? A lightweight?”

He shrugged, the corners of his mouth rising. “I don’t wanna pop your balloon, but yeah, a little bit.”

I was about to run through the battery of sobriety tests I’d conducted when I was a deputy myself—reciting the alphabet backward, standing on one foot and touching my nose—when a little lightbulb went off in my head.

My eyes widened. “Balloon!”

He frowned. “Huh?”

I held up one finger and said, “Hold that thought,” and then sprinted across the parking lot as fast as possible. By the time I reached the bar, Morgan had caught up with me.

Wheezing, he bent over and put his hands on his hips. “Dixie, you gotta work with me here! You can’t just go runnin’ off without warning me first.”

I said, “Sorry, I think I just thought of something.”

The bartender was straightening up the bar where the group of ladies had been. They were all still down at the water’s edge, kicking at the foamy waves and sipping their drinks. When he saw me approaching, he said, “Back for more?”

I shook my head. “I just wanted to ask you something. About that party you mentioned—what did you mean when you said your girlfriend convinced you to paint your fingernails … too ?”

He grinned. “Oh, it was a costume party. They do it every year.”

“They?”

“USF. University of Southern Florida. I’m in the English department. It’s kind of a tradition. Most people dress up in drag. You know, guys wear dresses and girls wear suits. They’ve been doing it so long nobody even remembers why, but it’s a total blast. You get to meet all the new students.”

I turned to Deputy Morgan as his eyes narrowed.

He said, “And when was this party?”

“Like, five nights ago, at a professor’s house. He lives right here on the Key.”

I could feel the hair slowly rising on the back of my neck. I said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name…?”

“Jason.”

I took a deep breath. “Jason, was the party on Old Vineyard Lane?”