Блейз Клемент - The Cat Sitter And The Canary

Everything was still.

I knew Michael wouldn’t be home—his shift at the firehouse had started that afternoon—but I couldn’t be so sure about Paco. His schedule is always a mystery, so there was no way of knowing if he was at work or not. I could see a single light glowing in the kitchen window of the main house, which was definitely a good sign, but I’d have to check the carport to know for sure.

After a few minutes, my eyes started to sting, and I realized I was scanning the darkness so intently I’d forgotten to blink. If anybody was there—hiding in the shadows and waiting for me to come home—they were doing a damn good job of it. I decided I’d just have to trust my gut, which was telling me there was no one here … yet.

I tiptoed around the edge of the deck and paused at the kitchen window. The only light came from the exhaust hood over the stove. Ella was curled up in one of the bar stools at the center island, sleeping soundly.

I let out a sigh of relief. That was the best proof I could hope for that no one else was here. I knew Ella would’ve run for cover if a stranger had showed up.

Thank God for small favors, I thought.

As I climbed the steps to my apartment, doing my best to avoid the squeaky spots, I shook my head. Here I was, sneaking around like a lunatic, convinced I was being followed by a serial killer and sensing danger at every turn. And yet, given the circumstances, what choice did I have?

When I opened the door, I silently thanked Ethan for locking it when he left for work. At least I didn’t have to worry about somebody jumping out from under my bed with a machine gun. Even so, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. There was something eerily unsettling about creeping through my living room in the middle of the night … like a burglar in my own home.

The hallway was darker, so dark in fact that I had to feel my away along the walls to the closet, where I slid my fingers across the desk until they bumped into the cold brass base of the lamp. I didn’t dare turn it on, but just next to it was a candle and a box of matches—a remnant of the time when our electricity could go out at the drop of a coconut. These days it’s a lot more dependable, but I still keep a candle in every room just in case.

As soon as I struck the match, the whole closet filled with ghoulish shadows, but I ignored them. I slid the door shut so the light wouldn’t show down the hall, and then I pulled out my suitcase and threw some clothes in, barely paying attention to what I was grabbing. The entire time, I had the weirdest feeling I was being watched, but I ignored that too.

When I was done, I went over to the desk and picked up the phone. I figured I couldn’t just run off without calling Michael. He’d never forgive me for not at least giving him a chance to talk me out of it.

As soon as I heard his voice, I knew he’d already talked to Ethan. He didn’t even say hello when he answered. His voice had that authoritative, older-brother edge to it.

“Dixie, what’s happening?”

“I’m fine. Just a little shaken up.”

“I’ve called your cell phone a hundred times.”

I said, “I know, but listen: I was at Elba Kramer’s tonight, and somebody shot the place up with an automatic rifle. They killed her husband.”

“I know. I talked to Ethan, and Detective Carthage called looking for you too. He said you just drove off…?”

“I didn’t know what else to do. I mean, that makes three people killed. And that note left on Edith Reed’s body said, ‘Third time’s a charm.’”

“Yeah?”

“So, don’t you see? Somebody knew I was there, and I think they just assumed we were in the front room because that’s where Elba keeps her bird. Michael, they meant to kill me. ”

“Dixie, I’m sure there’s an explanation for all of this…”

“Well, if there is, I’m not waiting around to find out. If somebody wants to murder me, they’re gonna have to find me first.”

Michael said, “Okay, listen. I asked Detective Carthage about that. He said they can keep you safe until this whole thing blows over.”

“Right. In a holding cell at the station. No, thank you. And anyway, I’m not putting anybody else in danger again. If whoever’s after me found out I was there, who’s to say they wouldn’t walk in with a machine gun and mow the whole sheriff’s office down?” There was a long pause. I said, “Look, Michael, I’ll be fine. I made sure nobody followed me.”

“Dixie, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you drive off in the middle of the night by yourself. First of all, where will you go?”

For a split second, I considered the possibility that the house phone might have been tapped, which was probably as good an indication as any that I’d turned into a complete, paranoid mess. But I wasn’t taking any chances.

I said, “I don’t know. I’m just gonna … drift.”

He said, “Okay, I’ve got an idea. Come to the firehouse. One of the guys here has a fishing cabin at Lake Parrish. I’m sure he’ll let us use it. Come get me and we’ll drive up there together. They can send a deputy to go with us. We can stay there until they catch whoever this maniac is.”

I thought for a second. A remote fishing cabin in the backwood swamps of Florida sounded exactly like the kind of place I’d want to be if I was being stalked by a crazed serial killer. I said, “Okay. But Michael, you have to promise me you’ll stay put until I get there.”

There was a pause. “Of course…”

I said, “I’m on my way,” and hung up.

As I passed the kitchen, I noticed the basket of mail on the counter, with Guidry’s wedding invitation inside. There was a shaft of moonlight falling across it from the kitchen window, which made it float in the surrounding darkness, like a piece of space garbage lost in the infinite, unknowable universe.

Well, I thought to myself. No time like the present!

I tore the envelope open and pulled the card out.

Jean Pierre Guidry and Monica Alice Diderot request the honor of your presence at the Saint Louis Cathedral, New Orleans, to witness their union in the sacrament of holy matrimony. In lieu of gifts, the bride and groom request that donations be sent to the Children’s Police Fund of New Orleans.

For a minute, I just stood there staring at the time and date. The wedding was tomorrow morning, which meant right now, while I was running around in the dark like a hunted animal, Guidry was probably sitting in a fancy restaurant or a chic, crowded bar, surrounded by friends and good cheer, drinking a toast to new beginnings, his buddies teasing him about his old ball-and-chain and saluting his last hours of freedom. I wondered what he would do if he knew what was happening to me …

Would he even care?

I shook my head. At that point, I think the lurking realization that I’d sent my cell phone, Todd’s cell phone, floating out into the ocean had somehow unleashed all sorts of feelings in me … feelings I hadn’t expected … feelings I had no idea what to do with. I dropped the invitation back in the basket and headed for the door.

Luckily, not a single car went by as I lugged my suitcase along the roadside back to the Bronco, but as soon as I got in behind the wheel, two deputy cruisers roared by at top speed, one right after the other. I knew Detective Carthage wouldn’t be too happy, considering I’d left the scene of a crime without letting him question me first, but I also knew he wouldn’t want me left alone for one more second. I just hoped Michael or Ethan would explain to him why I was running away. It was for everyone’s own good that I disappear … the problem was, where could I disappear to?