Блейз Клемент - The Cat Sitter And The Canary

There was a long pause, silent except for the sound of McKenzie’s slow breathing. I could feel her waiting over the phone, waiting for me to process what she was telling me.

I said, “Look, just because you caught that gunman doesn’t mean he wasn’t working alone, he…”

“Dixie, he’s confessed.”

“Who?”

“The man found hiding in your car. He confessed just a short while ago. I should have called you right away, but I was hoping I could get a flight out of New Orleans and talk to you in person before…” She paused, searching for the right words. “I just wanted you to hear it from me before anyone else. He’s confessed to the murders of Sara Potts and Edith Reed, and he’s admitted that you were next.”

Now, I shook my head again, this time in disbelief, hoping at any moment I’d wake up and this whole nightmare would be over.

“Who is he?”

She hesitated. “Dixie … it was Morton Cobb.”

I closed my eyes. “Oh, no…”

“Yes. Apparently, he never quite got over the scandal of being caught on that boat with Ms. Kramer. He’s been plotting against everyone involved ever since … including you.”

“You mean, because I wouldn’t confiscate those tourists’ cameras?”

“I’m sure you know it killed his career, and since then he’s been in and out of at least two mental institutions. In fact, we’ve had our eye on Morton Cobb for quite a while. We have his phone records from that day, the day on the boat, and we believe he immediately arranged to have Elba Kramer murdered to keep her quiet, but once the newspapers published those photos the next morning, he got afraid and called it off.”

I closed my eyes and whispered, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“And we don’t know for certain it’s related, but not long after the incident on the boat, Senator Cobb’s wife filed for divorce, which, as I’m sure you can imagine, was not amicable. Less than a year later, her divorce attorney disappeared. That was nearly seven years ago, and he’s still missing.”

I mumbled, “Elba told me he was crazy.”

“Yes. She told me Cobb never stopped harassing her, sending her rambling messages, accusing her of ruining his life, threatening revenge. In fact, she was worried he’d somehow figured out her husband’s past and was planning to use it against her. That’s partly why she decided to rat him out herself.”

I sat down on the couch and dropped my chin to my chest. “So basically, all this time, he’s been plotting his revenge.”

“I’m afraid so. And there’s one more thing. Elba Kramer was on Senator Cobb’s hit list as well. I’m more than certain that if we hadn’t arrested her, he’d have had her killed. In other words, Dixie, you saved her life.”

For once, I was speechless. The idea that I’d saved Elba Kramer’s life seemed beyond ridiculous, especially given the fact that she’d been so breezily willing to put my own life at risk.

McKenzie sighed. “The good news is that you won’t have to worry about Senator Cobb ever again. He’s in jail now, where I expect he’ll be for the rest of his life.”

* * *

After I rang off with McKenzie, as horrifying as the news about Senator Cobb had been, I immediately felt a sense of relief wash over me. There’d been something about Elba Kramer’s story that had left me feeling uneasy, and now I knew why. She was telling the truth about Edith Reed and Sara Potts—she’d known nothing about them.

I went over and sat on the edge of the coffee table next to Jane’s cage. She was in her water bowl, cheerfully splashing about and fluttering her wings, completely indifferent to the news of her former owner and not one bit shy that I’d interrupted her bath.

I said, “You know, if it hadn’t been for you, this whole thing wouldn’t have had such a happy ending. In fact, I’m not sure any of us would still be around to talk about it.”

She plunged her head underwater and back up again, stretching her neck and puffing her feathers out like an Elizabethan ruff, then she hopped up on the lip of her bowl and blinked at me a couple of times.

It made me smile. That look in her eyes … I recognized it. My mind flashed back to that little sparrow I’d rescued when I was a girl, how its tiny black eyes had seemed so wise and deep, as if they somehow held all the wisdom of the world—everything that had ever happened and everything that was to come, all the twists and turns that life had in store for me.

I could hear the ocean outside, the waves rolling in like hushed breathing, as a series of images flashed through my mind—like a slide show in fast motion or a movie montage with hundreds and hundreds of pictures—my grandmother’s kind eyes as she slid a plate of floppy bacon in front of me; my grandfather’s hands as he showed me how to tie a Windsor knot; my mother’s sewing scissors, her stern voice, her warm fingers on the back of my neck as she braided my hair; my brother’s sweet smile and his baseball hat collection; my father’s strong arms as he carried me up the stairs to bed—all the things I had ever loved. Ella and Billy Elliot and Charlie and Gigi and Michael and Paco and Ethan and Judy and Tanisha and Todd and Christy …

It’s good to be alive, I thought to myself.

Just then, there was a knock on the door and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I’d been so lost in thought I hadn’t heard anyone coming up the steps, and I’d forgotten to turn the porch light on so all I could see through the glass was a looming shape, large and utterly still in the blue moonlight.

I winked at Jane. “That’ll be Michael.”

He’d probably seen the lights and was wondering why I was up so late, worried about me as usual. Maybe, I thought, he’d brought me a mug of hot chocolate. I rubbed my hands together excitedly as I headed for the door, thanking the powers above that I have a brother who’s always looking out for me.

I turned the handle and pulled the door open.

It wasn’t Michael.

The man was tall, with broad shoulders, a beaky nose, and hints of silver in his dark hair, which was disheveled and wild. He wore a white tuxedo shirt, unbuttoned at the top and wrinkled, and there were the open ends of a black bow tie dangling unevenly from his neck. Dark circles framed his desperate eyes, which were red and swollen as if he’d been crying, but there was a light in the center of his black pupils that lit a fire in the depths of my soul … a fire that I thought had long ago been extinguished. When I finally spoke, my voice was barely a whisper.

“Guidry…”

His face softened as he gave me a halfhearted smile.

He said, “Surprise.”

ALSO BY BLAIZE AND JOHN CLEMENT

The Cat Sitter’s Whiskers

The Cat Sitter’s Nine Lives

The Cat Sitter’s Cradle

ALSO BY BLAIZE CLEMENT

The Cat Sitter’s Pajamas

Cat Sitter Among the Pigeons

Raining Cat Sitters and Dogs

Cat Sitter on a Hot Tin Roof

Even Cat Sitters Get the Blues

Duplicity Dogged the Dachshund

Curiosity Killed the Cat Sitter

About the Authors

JOHN CLEMENT is the son of BLAIZE CLEMENT (1932–2011), who originated the Dixie Hemingway mystery series and collaborated with her son on the plots and characters for forthcoming novels. The series includes Curiosity Killed the Cat Sitter, Duplicity Dogged the Dachshund, Even Cat Sitters Get the Blues, Cat Sitter on a Hot Tin Roof, Raining Cat Sitters and Dogs, Cat Sitter Among the Pigeons, The Cat Sitter’s Pajamas, The Cat Sitter’s Cradle, The Cat Sitter’s Nine Lives , and The Cat Sitter’s Whiskers . You can sign up for email updates on John Clement here.