Блейз Клемент - The Cat Sitter's Whiskers

I decided for the time being I’d just leave the Kellers alone and let them enjoy their vacation, at least until I knew for certain what had happened. Plus, I figured what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

I wish I could have said the same thing for myself.

17

Some folks make the mistake of assuming that because cats in the wild hunt alone, it necessarily follows that all cats are loners, that they couldn’t care less about people, and that the only reason they pretend to be even halfway interested in the human race is because of the warmth, comfort, and kibble we provide. Well, anybody who’s ever shacked up with a cat knows that’s a bunch of baloney. Cats may hunt alone, but in the wild they live in colonies with social hierarchies as complex and intricate as a daytime soap opera. They thrive on attention and love and companionship every bit as much as dogs … they’re just a little more discreet about it.

Fortunately for me, Lizette had been more than happy to hang out with Barney Feldman and serve him dinner. And even though I was in a complete soporific daze after talking to Ethan (in fact, I was lucky I hadn’t walked out of the house with the bedsheet still draped around me like a toga) I managed to move through my afternoon clients at record speed, with a promise to each and every one of them that I’d make it up next time with some special treats and an extra helping of TLC. I was back home and curled up under the covers not long after the sun went down.

When I woke the next morning, I let myself lie there for longer than I normally would and enjoyed a few blissful moments of stupid, watching the stars twinkle in the window. Gradually, though, as the stars faded with the morning light, everything that had happened the day before started trickling back into my consciousness.

I thought of Mona, and the strange look on her face right after she’d woken up outside Levi’s trailer. At first I’d thought it was a look of triumph, that flash in her eyes. It made me think of a panhandler who’s just discovered gold. Then, when she ran screaming across the yard toward the ambulance, I’d thought exactly what Sergeant Owens had later confirmed: That the poor thing was convinced I was responsible for Levi’s death and that she’d caught me red-handed.

But now, seeing her face floating above me, I wondered …

There was something more. It was a darkness, almost as if the pupils of her eyes were fully dilated even in the bright sunlight—two bottomless pits of black. It was a look I’d seen before, and I felt something shift in my chest, as if my sternum had collapsed slightly like a house sitting on a sinkhole, and for a split second a wave of unsteadiness washed over me, a kind of hopelessness I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Without another moment’s thought, I jumped out of bed and rushed into the bathroom. I splashed my face with water so cold it made my heart race. Then I ran into the closet and got dressed as quickly as possible. I wear the same outfit every day: khaki shorts and a white sleeveless tee. I’m thankful for my measly wardrobe on days like this, when I feel a little wonky. It just means getting dressed doesn’t involve a whole lot of thinking. The only decision to make is which shoes to wear, and even that’s completely streamlined.

Everybody who knows me knows I won’t tolerate ratty shoes, so I keep a rotating supply of at least seven identical pairs of white sneakers—all Keds. I’m on my feet all day long, and my shoes get a lot more mileage than most, so I don’t wear a single pair more than a couple of days before I throw them in the washer with a little bleach thrown in. Once they get even the slightest bit ragged around the edges they go straight in the “Old Shoes Bag,” a cleverly named canvas tote that I keep hanging on the doorknob inside the closet.

When it’s filled up, I take the whole thing over to the charity bin in the parking lot outside the post office and start all over with some brand-new ones.

The sun was just coming up over the treetops to the east, and the air was a good ten degrees cooler, which was a good thing, since it meant the drive to town would be more dappled shade than broiling heat wave. I put the windows down and left my sunglasses tucked in the sun visor over the passenger seat, and as I pulled out on Midnight Pass Road, I breathed a sigh of relief.

I felt like I’d just narrowly avoided lying in bed all day with the covers pulled over my head.

* * *

I always keep my hair tied back when I’m working, mainly because it’s cleaner for mucking out cat boxes or snapping leashes on tongue-wagging dogs, but also because I like to think it makes me look more professional. Usually I tie it up in a ponytail with a scrunchie—that is, if I haven’t used all my scrunchies for cat toys—but driving into town I realized I’d been in such a hurry to get out of the house that I’d forgotten. My hair was whipping around like one of those spinning mops in a drive-through car wash.

I didn’t care.

My eyes were fixed on the road, and with the cooler air I felt a little more clear-headed. In fact, I felt like Ella on the prowl—fully focused on something up ahead and just beyond my reach … something taunting me … teasing me.

I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence—that three weeks ago Levi’s father had committed suicide and now someone had murdered Levi. Even if Levi’s dad had been a penniless beach bum, the proximity of their deaths would have raised all sorts of questions and suspicions.

It gave me a sick, nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach to know that somewhere, maybe in the car passing me now, or in any one of these darkened houses with the curtains drawn, was the person who had killed Levi, the person who had decided that, for whatever reason, Levi’s life wasn’t worth a hill of beans …

And then it hit me: a terrible thought, one that might possibly have been subconsciously percolating in my mind all night long.

When I’d left for work the previous morning, if it had indeed been Levi parked outside my driveway, I wondered what would have happened if I’d gotten to him just a little bit earlier … if I’d been just a little quicker getting my bike out … if I’d caught up with him before he pulled away?

I’ve never been a big believer in the whole idea of fate or destiny. I like to think we all have control of our lives, that we’re more than just puppets, with our every move predetermined by some kind of cosmic string system and our futures all laid out in advance by the powers that be—but unfortunately, if that’s true, there’s a flip side.

It means every action, every thought, every single decision we make has the potential to utterly change the world. If I had caught up with Levi that morning, if we had talked even for just a minute, who knows what would have happened after? Would that have been enough to interrupt the momentum of his day, enough to break up the chain of events that was ahead, the chain of events that led to his death?

I shook my head, like trying to shake the last penny out of a piggy bank. I told myself there was no point dwelling on what had happened. Levi was gone, and nothing could change that. And now, with Ethan’s files and Levi’s father’s will as a guide, I knew it was only a matter of time before Detective McKenzie tracked down whoever was responsible for his death.

I gave myself a little nod in the rearview mirror. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to forget what I’d seen the day before … the image of Levi lying there, his face frozen in alarm like one of Mrs. Keller’s masks, but all I could do was keep my head down and forge ahead.

No problemo, I thought.

If there was an Olympic event for avoiding unpleasant memories I’d have a whole display case chock-full of gold medals.