Блейз Клемент - The Cat Sitter's Nine Lives

She said, “You should damn well grow up is what you should do.”

23

There had been another quick afternoon thunderstorm, which seemed to have cheered up the Caesar weed and spike sedge growing through the cracks in the redbrick drive at the Silverthorn Mansion. They looked a good foot taller than they’d been on my first visit, and the big marble fountain in the center of the courtyard was filled to the brim with fresh rainwater. As I walked by, a bright green frog pulled itself up onto the fountain’s rim and eyed me with unveiled contempt.

I looked at my watch. Perfect timing. Mrs. Silverthorn had asked, well, more demanded, that I arrive at four o’clock. I made my way up the cracked steps of the front entrance and was steeling myself for Janet’s down-in-the-dumps greeting when she opened the door and stepped out. She seemed genuinely startled to find me there, but before I could say anything, Mr. Silverthorn stepped out behind her.

I could swear they were both wearing the exact same clothes they’d worn on my first visit to the mansion. Standing there together, they looked like the couple in that American Gothic oil painting, except instead of a pitchfork, Mr. Silverthorn was holding an old, rusty flashlight with a handle almost as long as a French baguette. Unlike Janet, he seemed genuinely pleased to see me. “Ah! Miss Hemingway, fancy meeting you here.”

I shook his hand and glanced at Janet. There was something markedly different about her—dark circles under bloodshot eyes with lines of worry across her forehead. She was listing slightly to one side, as if it took every ounce of strength she had just to stay on her feet.

Mr. Silverthorn cleared his throat and said, “Janet, won’t you please let Mrs. Silverthorn know that her guest is waiting downstairs.”

Janet nodded sullenly and disappeared inside, leaving the door open behind her.

He leaned in and whispered, “I gather you’re here to file a report on Cosmo.”

I gulped. This whole time I’d been operating under the assumption that my search for Cosmo was strictly undercover. “Umm, I…”

He winked. “Not to worry. Mrs. Silverthorn can’t keep a secret to save her life. She spilled the beans after the detective was here yesterday afternoon. I understand you’ve had a very productive week.”

“Well, I think I may have some good news.”

His face brightened. “Oh? Did you find our fugitive feline?”

“No, unfortunately, but it’s possible someone else did. You know the butcher shop two doors down?”

“Yes, of course, that’s one of our buildings.”

“Oh, right. Well, the butcher told me someone found an orange cat in the alley a couple of days ago.”

“Oh, good news, indeed.”

“Yeah, except the problem is it might not have been Cosmo. The main reason I went in the bookstore yesterday was I thought I saw something move inside, and then I noticed a cat print…”

His face fell. “Yes, the detective told us all about it. How ghastly for you. Luckily I managed to persuade the detective to omit the more unsettling details when she spoke to my wife, and I’d prefer you do the same. It would only worry her more.”

I knew it wasn’t my place to ask, but I couldn’t stop myself. I said, “Mr. Silverthorn, when I talked to your wife on the phone earlier, she seemed really upset. Was she close to Mr. Hoskins?”

He nodded sadly. “I know. And yes, I’m afraid she was. My wife’s fondness for cats is equaled only by her love of books, as I’m sure you have already gathered by her rather monstrous collection in the ballroom, so she knew Mr. Hoskins quite well. She’s probably the best customer he ever had.”

I shook my head. “That’s terrible. He seemed like such a nice man—of course she’s upset.”

“Unfortunately they seemed to have had some sort of falling-out recently. She had been favoring a bookshop in Bradenton, and I think that may be weighing quite heavily on her. Probably something silly, the price of a book, or whatnot. You may be aware, Miss Hemingway, that my wife can be rather … impetuous .”

I tried to hide a smile, but he could tell I understood completely.

“Well, don’t let me keep you.” He held the rusty flashlight up. “If you’re wondering what this old thing is for, I’m afraid you’re not the only private investigator my wife has enlisted in this matter. My orders are to search every nook and cranny in the alley behind that bookstore.”

I said, “Oh, that’s good. The more people looking for him the better.”

“Yes. I’m afraid my indifference to cats is quite outweighed by my undying loyalty to my wife. I don’t like to see her worry, but also I can assure you that one doesn’t lightly cross paths with Mrs. Silverthorn. I’ve learned over the years that when she makes a request, if it has anything to do with cats, it’s always best to simply nod and obey.”

“Well, I admire a man who obeys.”

He smiled. “Yes, most women do.”

“I can tell you one thing, though. The detectives will still be there now that it’s a crime scene again, so I doubt they’ll let you inside the shop.”

“Yes, I thought as much.”

“But there’s an old air-conditioning system that’s not used anymore, and the detectives saw paw prints just outside one of the vents in the alley, so I think there’s a good chance he’s going in and out that vent.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “What a clever cat.”

“I left a bowl of kibble and some water for him in the back office, so he won’t have to worry about food, and there was a bowl of chocolates by the register, which is poisonous to cats, so I asked the detective in charge to remove it just in case.”

He nodded. “A wise decision. I’d hate to think what would have happened if he shared your weakness for chocolate.”

I nodded. “Well, I can tell you from personal experience, Mr. Silverthorn, it’s torture. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

He chuckled, but then his eyes softened and a blush spread across his face, “Miss Hemingway, I’m sorry to change the subject so abruptly, but … you know … there’s no money.”

I looked down and nodded. The cuffs of his pants were slightly worn, but he had polished his shoes to a glossy sheen. “Mr. Silverthorn, I was looking for Cosmo long before your wife called me. I couldn’t bear the thought that Mr. Hoskins’s cat might be roaming the streets alone and hungry, so there’s nothing to worry about. I’m more than happy to help.”

He smiled wistfully. “Thank you, Miss Hemingway. It’s a difficult subject. I appreciate your kindness. I’m afraid this whole mess may serve as more fodder for gossip and rumor—if nothing else we still have our good name to uphold, and it weighs heavily on my wife. If Mr. Hoskins’s cat can be found it will be one less thing for her to worry about.”

He reached down in his pocket and pulled out a set of car keys, and I noticed there was a silver medallion with a colorful coat of arms and a crown on top. “Ah, and here’s Janet.”

I turned to see Janet through the open doorway, standing motionless at the bottom of the stairs and waiting.

I said, “Mr. Silverthorn, please call me if you see anything back there. I’m pretty good at coaxing cats out of their hiding places.”

He bowed slightly and then headed down the portico toward the side of the house, where I assumed there was probably a beautiful old stone garage, covered in vines and falling in on itself, probably housing a collection of vintage Rolls Royces and Cadillacs in various states of disrepair.

As I watched him go, I suddenly felt a wave of … I wasn’t sure. Anxiety or confusion, or maybe sadness. I could tell it had taken every ounce of strength in his body to swallow his pride long enough to discuss the matter of money with me, and the sight of his polished dress shoes broke my heart. He was doing everything he could to keep up appearances. Of course, it was a little hard to feel sorry for a man who’d lived his entire life in the lap of luxury, but I wondered if losing it all might be harder than never having had it.