Блейз Клемент - The Cat Sitter's Cradle

“See you later, Charlotte!” I yelled and pulled the front door closed behind me. I walked down the winding driveway on rubbery legs, feeling like there was a target on my back. As soon as I was in the Bronco, I put the key in the ignition with one hand and pulled my cell phone out with the other. I rolled down to the front gate, and by the time I’d pulled out onto the road I had already dialed the number. Not 911, as I probably should have, but the number of my old superior when I was a deputy, that of Sergeant Woodrow Owens.

As shaken as I was, I had to smile when he answered the phone. Sergeant Owens and I have a long history together. I served under him when I was a deputy with the sheriff’s department, I cried in his arms when Todd and Christy were killed, and when I laid down my gun and my badge, it was on Sergeant Owens’s desk. Since then I’d stumbled across more than my share of crime cases, and I was beginning to feel like an adjunct private investigator for the local law. Sergeant Owens had once told me I was too fucked up (his words) to carry on as a police officer, but I imagined he had an entirely different opinion of me now. Or at least, that’s what I hoped.

Even when he’s being his official police self, Owens can’t keep from sounding like he’s about to sit down to crisp catfish and hush puppies that his mama just fried up for him and thirty-nine of his closest kinfolk. Owens is six-three, slow and lanky to look at, but lightning fast when he thinks. He sets high standards for himself and his subordinates, and he’s quick to let you know when you’re being a dumb-butt. Believe me, I know.

I said, “Sergeant, it’s Dixie Hemingway. Sorry to bother you, but I’ve got a bit of a situation here, and I think you might want to send somebody over.”

His voice warmed as if he was smiling. “What you got, Dixie?”

I said, “I’m pet sitting for the Harwicks on Jungle Plum Road, and they have a huge saltwater aquarium full of fish in their bathroom. Valuable fish. When I arrived, the alarm wasn’t on, which is unusual, and the cat is missing, or hiding, I’m not sure which. I went into the bathroom where the aquarium is, and one of the fish is in a state of alarm. I’m not sure, but I think there’s been some kind of crime.”

After a pause Owens said, “A cat is hiding, and a fish is alarmed?”

“Yes.”

“And where are you now?”

“I’m parked on the side of the road a little ways down from their driveway.”

After a moment, Owens drawled, “Are any of the other fish alarmed?”

Okay, maybe he still thought I was a bit loopy. I sighed. “I know it sounds pretty flimsy.”

“Dixie, flimsy is not the word I was thinking.”

“I just don’t have a good feeling about it.”

“Well, could be that cat ate one of them fish, and now he’s trying to make a run for it. You want me to shut down all the roads out of the city?”

“Alright then, maybe I’m overreacting a little bit.”

“Could be. Give me a call if you got any more nervous critters.”

“Sorry to bother you.”

“Not a bother at all, Dixie.” I could feel him grinning over the phone. “Good to hear from you.”

Just as I hung up, a shiny black sports car pulled into the driveway. There was a young man behind the wheel, and I knew it had to be the Harwicks’ son, August. I jumped out of the car and flagged him down. He rolled down his window as I came jogging up alongside the car.

I said, “Hi, I’m the cat sitter. Are you August?”

He smiled, looking me up and down, and said, “I am. What’s up?”

“Look, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I was just in the house, and I think there may be someone in there. I can’t find Charlotte anywhere, and … well, one of the fish is alarmed.”

His smile faded a bit. “Is my sister in there?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t see her. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I just had a feeling something was wrong.”

He looked up at the house and said, “Okay.”

He shifted his car into park and turned off the ignition. I stepped back as he opened the door and got out. He was tall, at least six feet, with dark stubble and shaggy hair. He had the awkward swagger of a teenaged boy trying to come off like a man. I could smell liquor and cigarettes on his breath, and I wondered if he hadn’t been up all night partying and was just now getting home. No wonder the Harwicks needed me.

He said, “I’ll check it out. Maybe you better wait in your car.”

“I’m not sure you should go in there alone.”

“Look, I already got ripped off once this week. I’m not letting that happen again. You wait in your car and I’ll be back.”

As I turned to go back to my car, he leaned over and pulled something out of his glove compartment. At first I couldn’t quite make it out, but then I saw the familiar glint of black metal and realized it was a pistol. Why in the world this rich kid drove around with a pistol in his glove compartment was beyond me. Every bone in my body told me to get in my car, drive away, and never look back, but I wasn’t about to go anywhere until I knew Charlotte was safe.

I got in my car and locked the doors and hunkered down low in the seat, just in case there was about to be an all-out gun battle in the driveway. In the back of my head, I knew I was probably letting my imagination run away with me, but all I could see were those big mermaid eyes staring into mine and that porcupine fish’s engorged body covered in sharp needles. One thing you can say about animals: They never lie.

After what seemed like an eternity, August came sauntering out of the driveway and up to the car. I rolled down the window, and he leaned in, his cigarette and alcohol breath flowing over me.

“The coast is clear. Charlotte’s out by the pool.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “How did she get out there?”

He grinned and looked me up and down again, his eyes lingering on my breasts. “No idea.”

For a moment I considered punching him in the nuts, but I had to remind myself that the combination of alcohol and raging hormones never brings out the best in anybody, so I did my best to forgive his blatant leering, and since I was almost old enough to be his mother, I’m ashamed to admit I was kind of flattered by his lame, schoolboy flirting.

I followed him up the cobblestone driveway past his fancy black sports car. He looked the car up and down with about the same degree of smarminess he’d looked me up and down, and I could tell he was hoping I’d be impressed. I was, a little bit—it actually was a pretty cool-looking car—but I certainly wasn’t about to let him know I thought so.

“How do you like my new wheels?”

I shrugged and kept walking. “Cars aren’t really my thing.”

If it actually had been a gun that he pulled out of the glove compartment, he must have stashed it inside the house, because I didn’t see any sign of it in his pockets. I considered asking him about it—being alone in a rambling mansion with a gun and a half-drunken teenager is not exactly my idea of a good time—but I told myself if there had been some perverted fish burglar lurking around inside, a gun might have come in handy.

We went out to the lanai. I dropped my backpack by the door and walked over to Charlotte, who was busy cleaning her face using her paw as a napkin. She barely acknowledged my presence.

August propped himself up in the doorway. “You need anything else?”

“No, but thanks, it was nice meeting you. Thanks for finding Charlotte.”

“Yeah man, I totally came to your rescue, huh?”

“Well, I’m sorry I got a little spooked back there. I have a very active imagination.”

He flashed that stupid grin again. “I bet you do.” He pulled out an off-white business card and slipped it into one of the pockets of my backpack. “Here’s my digits.”