Блейз Клемент - The Cat Sitter's Nine Lives

I was about to agree when I stopped cold.

Mr. Silverthorn had used that very phrase before, my “weakness for chocolate.” Now that I thought about it, he’d mentioned chocolate the very first time we met, when we spoke briefly on the steps of the mansion. I specifically remembered him saying that Mrs. Silverthorn and I would get along splendidly, because she “also” loved chocolate.

At the time I hadn’t thought much of it, but now, hearing him use that phrase again …

I pushed myself up off the concrete and stood there for a few moments with my back to him, trying to get my bearings. Then I turned and raised the light to his face. He looked completely and utterly confused.

“Miss Hemingway, are you alright? What’s the matter?”

I could feel my heart beating. I said, “Mr. Silverthorn, the first day we met, you told me your wife also liked chocolate. What did you mean by that?”

He frowned slightly and tilted his head to one side. “Pardon me?”

A tiny tremor began bubbling up in my throat, but I forced myself to keep going. “You said she also had a weakness for chocolate…”

He shook his head and shrugged slightly. “My apologies, Miss Hemingway. I certainly didn’t mean to offend you in any way.”

“No, it’s totally fine, I’m just … the thing is … how did you know?”

I could feel the chocolate getting soft in the palm of my hand, and I thought of the crumbling Silverthorn Mansion, struggling to hold on to its former glory, smothered in a thick web of rosary pea vine. Then I saw Baldy’s panic-stricken face as he turned to me in the hospital room and cried, I told you don’t eat!

The glow from the flashlight on Mr. Silverthorn’s face was dim and flickering now, like a dying candle. I tried shaking the flashlight to try to make it brighter, but that only made it go out completely, and now we were standing there in complete darkness.

He said, “Miss Hemingway, I’m afraid I don’t understand. How did I know … what?”

I said, “How did you…” but my words faded away, because I already knew the answer.

I remembered that first evening, after Baldy’s car crash, when I’d gone to Beezy’s Bookstore and met Mr. Hoskins. I was standing in front of the old cash register and the bowl of chocolates on the countertop, and Mr. Hoskins had just returned from the back office, where he’d wrapped my book up in paper and twine. He caught me eyeing the chocolates and offered me one, and I specifically remembered what I said to him.

I said, I have a weakness for chocolate.

It was completely quiet now except for a low droning drumbeat coming from somewhere far away, and then I realized the drumbeat was me. I could literally hear the blood pumping through my ears. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, Mr. Silverthorn gradually came into view, bathed in the pale blue light from the moon overhead. My mind flashed to the old woman in the video, making her way to the bookstore, and then I saw one of Mrs. Silverthorn’s gray wigs.

My voice trembling, I said, “Mr. Silverthorn … where were you the night Mr. Hoskins was murdered?”

There was a long pause. He was about ten feet away. He calmly put the cat carrier down on the ground and then reached into his jacket, and then I saw the gleam of something metal in the moonlight as he raised his arm and pointed a pistol directly at me.

He said, “This is a very unfortunate turn of events.”

A cold tremor crawled up my spine as I felt my breath catch in my throat. I said, “It was you. It was you in the video. You dressed up in your wife’s clothing, and then you put on one of her wigs. You hid somewhere in the store until I left, and then you killed Mr. Hoskins. You killed him for his money.”

His face was grim. “You’re very smart, aren’t you? And yes, you’re right about my disguise, but the rest of your theory is incorrect. Mr. Hoskins was already long dead by then.”

I shook my head. “You’re wrong. He was alive when I left the store.”

The vaguest hint of a smile brushed across his face. “Sometimes I wonder that I didn’t more seriously pursue a career on the stage.”

He held the gun steady as he reached up with his free hand and slowly pulled his long silvery hair forward so that it fell down both sides of his face. Then he hunched his body over and patted his pockets, shuffling toward me and muttering in a creaky voice, “I’m taking a trip very soon, my dear, but I do hope you’ll enjoy your book and your chocolate in equal measure.”

Then he raised himself back up and smiled wistfully.

It was all I could do to keep from fainting. The only things missing were the red beret and the dark wraparound glasses.

“I’ll admit I was nervous, as evidenced by my failure to lock the door. So very stupid. The fact that you’d never met Mr. Hoskins was a wonderful stroke of luck for me—and I might add, Miss Hemingway, for you as well. Otherwise, I would never have been able to let you leave the store that night, although in retrospect that might have been easier for everyone, easier than”—he waved his hand between us—“all this.”

My mind was swimming, but I managed to whisper, “And the woman in the drawing…”

“Oh, very good, now you’ve hit the nail square on the head. Imagine my surprise when Janet informed me you’d found something in that tree and put it in your pocket. What possessed you to poke around in that hole I’ll never know.”

“The woman in the drawing … is Janet.”

He frowned. “Oh, dear, no, why would you think that? No, I’m afraid the woman in the drawing is my wife, immortalized, as it were, in a very private moment.”

“Mr. Hoskins…”

He nodded. “Yes, he’s quite a fine artist, isn’t he? I found that drawing one day when I was going through the library, looking for books we might sell to pay off some of the bills. That’s somewhat embarrassing to admit to you now, but no matter. You can imagine my surprise. She must have hidden it in that book at some point and then forgotten.”

I could see his eyes, floating just above the barrel of the pistol. I said, “Mr. Silverthorn … why?”

“Oh, I think you know why, my dear. I’ll let no man take away my dignity. I have my good name to protect, after all.” His hands started to tremble slightly as his eyes narrowed. “And I’m not a fool, Miss Hemingway. I know very well what you and this entire town think of my family. My fortune may be lost, but when they tell the story of Oliver Silverthorn, it will not include the word ‘cuckold.’”

His entire body shuddered at the word, and I thought to myself, This cannot be the way it ends.

“Mr. Silverthorn, I think I should tell you that I have a friend. He knows you. He knows you quite well, in fact, and I’ve told him everything I suspected. It won’t do you any good to kill me now. When he finds out, he’ll tell the police everything and they’ll arrest you. Your only hope is to turn yourself in.”

“I believe you’re referring to my missing footman, Mr. Vladim?”

“Yes, I am. And I know where he is.”

He nodded. “I’m sure it’s a lie that you and Mr. Vladim have talked about me at all, but yes, I know where he is, too. And you may be surprised to know that your ‘friend’ was on his way to the bookstore to help me with Mr. Hoskins when he crashed into that landscaping truck.”

I shook my head. “I don’t believe you. He may be a criminal, but he’s not a murderer.”

He smiled. “He doesn’t want to go to jail for bank robbery; therefore he does what he’s told or I’ll report him and his wife to the police. I’m not a violent man, Miss Hemingway, all present appearances to the contrary. I would never have shot Mr. Hoskins if I’d had another option. My plan was to distract him while Vladim replaced those chocolates by his register with others to which I’d added a secret ingredient.”