Блейз Клемент - The Cat Sitter's Nine Lives

Nothing.

So who was I to judge? When Christy was killed, I had dedicated my entire life to fighting on the side of the law, but I knew down to the soles of my feet that all it would have taken was just the tiniest slip of fate to throw me right to the other side of it. If I’d thought robbing banks would have helped her, I would have robbed banks.

By the time I turned down the driveway, I’d made up my mind. When McKenzie called, I wouldn’t say a word about Janet unless she asked me point blank. I wasn’t exactly sure what my plan was, and I didn’t see how I’d ever get a chance to talk to Janet before the police did, but I was still holding on to the hope that somehow I could convince her not to run.

Then there was Mrs. Silverthorn …

When I got to the curve in the lane, I switched off the headlights and rolled the rest of the way down with nothing but the moonlight to guide me. Once inside the carport I cut the ignition and put my seat back. I had a feeling my phone would be ringing any minute, and I didn’t want the guys to hear. The thought of having to explain everything tonight made me shudder to the core. So instead I leaned my head against the window frame and stared at the darkened treetops, breathing in and out.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the side mirror and thought, considering everything, I looked okay. I felt okay, too. In fact, except for the gnarly bump on the back of my head and the feeling I’d been whacked in the trunk with a Louisville Slugger, I felt pretty damn good.

I looked over at the passenger seat, where Cosmo was sitting quietly inside his cat carrier and watching me carefully. I whispered, “Moses Cosmo Thornwall, considering everything, you look pretty damn good, too.”

He squinted his eyes and said, “Mrow,” which I took to mean, “I love you too, but get me out of this stupid box, you foolish woman.”

I figured I’d take Cosmo to Dr. Layton for a checkup in the morning. For now, he could stay with me and get a good night’s rest. I just hoped Ella Fitzgerald wouldn’t be too horrified to have him sleep over. Then, just as I predicted, the phone rang.

McKenzie barely waited for me to say hello. “I just received a report that we had a call earlier tonight from the butcher. He said he heard a pop and then saw a car speed out of the alley. He wasn’t sure, but he thought it might have been a gunshot.”

I said, “Yeah, that was Mr. Silverthorn.”

There was a pause. “Dixie, would you care to expound on that statement?”

“Oh, sorry. Yeah, he shot me … but it was dark and he was shaking. He missed.”

“And you’re just telling me this now?”

“I wanted you to get to Mr. Vladim before he did.”

She sighed. “Well, you were right. We arrested Silverthorn in the lobby of the hospital in a white dress, a gray wig, and full makeup. He had a pistol hidden under his arm.”

I said, “He was going to kill Mr. Vladim. He knew what Silverthorn had planned. And that nude drawing I found? It was Mrs. Silverthorn. I’m not sure if it’s true or not, but he took it to mean she’d had an affair with Mr. Hoskins.”

There was a pause. “Dixie, I’m afraid I owe you an apology. You may have been wrong about poison being involved, but you were certainly right about a connection to the Silverthorns.”

I said, “Yeah, well…” but I stopped myself. I knew if I told her I had four chocolate-covered rosary peas in my pocket she’d be banging on my front door in two seconds flat.

She said, “So the old woman in the video, it was Mr. Silverthorn. He hid in the back and then killed Mr. Hoskins after you left.”

I sighed. “No, the man in the store, the man who sold me the book … wasn’t Mr. Hoskins.”

I could almost hear her mind shifting into gear over the phone. She said, “Dixie, I need you to come down to the station. Now. ”

I thought for a moment. I imagined myself walking into that station again after all these years. I imagined passing through its double glass doors, letting them close behind me with a whispered sweep, walking down the linoleum-floored hallway, the walls lined on either side with framed portraits, color photographs of the head brass and department heroes, and stopping at the front desk to check in … a walk of less than twenty feet, a walk that I’d made so many times before, and yet had seemed so impossible for so long.

I said, “Detective, it’s late, and I’ve had a long day. I was in the middle of something important when Silverthorn called me tonight. I’d like to get back to that.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Alright. Where would you like to meet?”

I said, “How’s nine o’clock at your office?”

There was a pause, and then she said, “Excellent. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Dixie, I believe it’s me who should be saying thanks.”

I felt my cheeks turn warm. Whenever I talked to McKenzie, I always had this nagging suspicion that she wondered how in the world I’d managed to become a sheriff’s deputy in the first place—that I was just some silly blonde with an overactive imagination. It felt good to know that maybe, just maybe, I was a silly blonde with an overactive imagination that she respected. I pictured a press conference where she thanked me for solving the case, and then the mayor stepped in to present me with the key to the city …

She interrupted, “But Dixie, there’s one more thing. I’m afraid you may have to testify on this one. Mr. Silverthorn seems to have known what he was doing. There’s no sign of him in the bookstore, and without hard evidence that places him at the scene of the crime, I’m afraid it will be your word against his.”

I nodded quietly to myself, and then the image of Mr. Hoskins appeared in my head, or, I should say, the man I thought was Mr. Hoskins—that sweet, bumbling old man I had instantly liked, the man who had reminded me so much of Mr. Beezy, my old childhood friend, when life was simple and the world was such an innocent place.

I could see Mr. Hoskins’s red beret, his funny yellow suspenders and red shirt, and I remembered pointing to his chest and saying, “You forgot a couple of buttons.”

McKenzie said, “Dixie, are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“Was there something else?”

I said, “Yeah. Those brass buttons on Mr. Hoskins’s shirt? You should check them for fingerprints. I think you’ll find they match Mr. Silverthorn’s.”

* * *

After we hung up, I tiptoed across the yard and up the steps, carrying Cosmo with me and preparing the story I’d tell Ethan when I got inside, but he wasn’t there. I took a couple of bowls down out of the cabinet and filled one of them with some of Ella’s kibble—I didn’t think she’d mind too much—and then I filled the other bowl with fresh water from the tap. Cosmo didn’t seem too interested, though. He was already thoroughly exploring every inch of the apartment, so I left him to get acquainted with his temporary lodgings and went back downstairs.

Michael and Paco were still wrapped in each other’s arms and sound asleep in one of the chaise lounges. Sprawled out in the next lounge over was Ethan, perfectly still, his dark, curly hair falling partly across his face and the top button of his pants undone—something he does when he’s eaten too much.

I smiled. There was an empty plate on the deck under his chair with some crumbs of key lime pie, and he was holding one arm over his chest, his fingers splayed delicately across his throat, as if to say, “Why, I do declare!”

Luckily for everyone, there were still a couple of slices of pie left on the table. I took one and sat down quietly next to Ethan. I took a bite. It felt like pure, unadulterated joy on my tongue. Like God was petting me.