Блейз Клемент - The Cat Sitter And The Canary

Dogs use their tails to communicate all kinds of things, but I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the particular signal Charlie was communicating was, “Hello, stranger.” I slowly turned and peered over my left shoulder. There, in the middle of Caroline’s front hall, surrounded by a sea of envelopes and flyers and plastic-wrapped catalogs, was a man.

His back was flat on the floor and his legs were laid out straight, but his left arm was at an odd angle, almost as if it didn’t belong to the rest of his body. He wore a light-blue, three-piece suit, with a green-and-yellow striped tie. There was a white silk scarf laid across his face, so I couldn’t see whether his eyes were open or not. As I leaned in closer, I realized the envelopes and mailers around his head and shoulders were soaked in blood.

I glanced down at Charlie. “Stay.”

I knelt down and touched my thumb and forefinger to the man’s narrow wrist, then, as calmly as possible, I pulled the door shut and locked it. I walked Charlie down to the Bronco, put him in on the passenger side, and then walked around the back, glancing across the street. Mr. Scotland had disappeared. I got behind the wheel and put my backpack down on the floorboard, and then I reached for the car keys in the cup holder between the seats. I started the car and backed about four feet down the driveway.

Where the hell are you going?

I shook my head as I cut the engine and sighed. I had no idea. All I knew was that I wanted to be as far away from there as possible. I got out and walked back up to the porch so Charlie wouldn’t hear, and then I pulled out my cell phone.

“911, what is your emergency?”

The operator’s voice seemed eerily close, almost as if he was standing right over my shoulder.

I said, “My name is Dixie Hemingway. I’m at Caroline Greaver’s house on Old Vineyard Lane.”

“Old Vineyard Lane?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what’s the problem?”

I took a deep breath.

The human body is an extraordinary machine, armed with all kinds of survival systems that automatically kick in when it senses danger. The moment there’s any kind of injury, every cell in the body jumps into action, flooding the bloodstream with hormones and pain relievers, stopping digestion, opening the lungs’ airways, narrowing vessels, conserving body temperature, and slowing blood flow to all the major muscle groups. It’s a finely tuned orchestration of events designed to preserve the body’s strength, giving it the best possible chance of survival.

But the man lying in Caroline’s front hall … there wasn’t a doubt in my mind. He was beyond resuscitation. I knew he’d been dead for at least twenty-four hours. It was the temperature of his skin. It was ice cold, and there was a stillness around him that seemed thick and impenetrable, as if some small invisible amount of energy had been permanently sucked out of the universe.

I said, “I’m the cat sitter. There’s been a murder.”

5

This may or may not come as a surprise to you, but I’ve encountered a dead body before—and we’re not talking about anything that happened during my career as an officer of the law. We’re talking about after. Being a pet sitter, I’m in and out of people’s houses all day long, every day of the week, and there’s barely a neighborhood on the Key that I don’t cross through at least once on my rounds. Not that there’s a lot of crime around here. But when there is, the chances are pretty good I’m nearby, which means I’ve stumbled upon more than my fair share of crime scenes.

Like, way more.

Immediately after I hung up with the emergency operator, I dialed Caroline’s cell phone. I knew it was only a matter of time before news of a murder on the Key got around, and I didn’t want her finding out where it had happened before I got a chance to talk to her. Also, I was hoping if I described the man’s clothing, she might know who he was.

The phone rang once, and as I was trying to figure out the most gentle way to tell her what had happened, a tiny shock rippled up my spine. At that point, I think my instincts must have kicked in and snuffed out any of the panic I was feeling, because suddenly there was room in my addled brain for what I should have been thinking all along …

Gigi!

I ended the call before the second ring and dropped the phone down in the side pocket of my cargo shorts. Charlie was sitting behind the wheel watching me, and as soon as I opened the back door, he hopped up between the seats and wagged his tail excitedly.

“Sorry, buddy,” I said as I rolled the back windows down a bit. “But not a chance. Trust me, I wish I could take you with me, but I just can’t. You’ll have to stay put and guard the premises.”

Immediately the thought popped into my head that whoever was responsible for what had happened to the man in the foyer could still be inside the house, but I told myself only a complete madman would murder somebody in cold blood and then hang around to find out what happened next. Of course, only a complete madman would murder somebody in the first place, but I decided to leave that out of the equation.

By now the sun had sunk down behind the trees. At this time of evening, there’d be hard-core sun-tanners coming in from a long day at the beach, fairer-skinned folks gathering to watch the sun sink into the ocean, and gaggles of teenagers tooling up and down the boulevard, in and out of souvenir huts and ice cream shops, veering around elderly couples walking hand in hand, out for a spell under the stars before an early dinner. For a brief guilty moment, I wished Charlie and I could be there with them, strolling along, completely unaware of what was happening here.

Instead, I shook my head and looked up at Caroline’s front door.

The only good thing about the whole situation was that I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Caroline’s cat would be safe. At the first sign of an intruder, I knew Franklin would’ve bolted straight to one of his hiding places. He was more than likely secreted away in the back of Caroline’s closet or under one of the beds in an upstairs guest room.

I pulled my chatelaine out with shaking hands and was just about to put the key in the door when I stopped myself.

I whispered, “This is insane.”

I knew I’d already compromised things enough by putting my hands all over the doorknob, not to mention disturbing the mail on the floor around the body when I pushed the door open. I knew it would only make gathering evidence that much worse if I went sneaking around inside the house now, so I just stood there, one foot firmly planted on the ground and the other just barely pointed in the direction of the Bronco. Every cell in my body was telling me to get in the car and drive around the block until the police arrived, but I just couldn’t.

Not without checking on Gigi first.

I went back to the car and got Charlie, which was probably not the smartest decision in the world, but I didn’t want to leave him alone where I couldn’t see him. I wrapped his leash several times around my wrist to shorten it, and then together we walked up the driveway. At the top, just before the turn to the front door, we headed to the right and slowly made our way along the side of the house.

As we passed the portico, the walkway narrowed to a pebbled path, hemmed in with a dense hedge of camellias so lush their glossy leaves brushed the side of the house, forming a darkened tunnel all the way back.

I could feel the blood pounding in my veins, and I think Charlie must have sensed it, because he stayed right at my side, quiet as a mouse. At the first window, the curtains were closed so I couldn’t see in, but I was pretty sure it was the master bedroom. We continued on to the next window, and this time the curtains were held open with tassels, so I had a view inside. It was another small bedroom, probably originally meant to be a nursery. There was a small bed with a baby-blue comforter and a collection of stuffed animals piled up on the pillows, and opposite that was an antique walnut dresser with a giant, gilt-framed mirror mounted on the wall above it.