Блейз Клемент - The Cat Sitter's Cradle

I raised an eyebrow. “Your digits?”

“Yeah, my phone number. We should hang out sometime.”

One of the many skills I acquired as a police officer is the ability to put an expression on my face that says “I’m tired of your bullshit, take it down a notch.” It’s useful in a variety of situations, like at the return desk at Marshalls or in a movie theater surrounded by rowdy teenagers on spring break. I put my hands on my hips and looked him squarely in the eye.

“Well, August, it was nice to meet you.”

His grin flattened, and he faked a yawn. “Yeah, well, I’m gonna go crash now—party all night, sleep all day. Catch ya later.”

He disappeared inside, and I rolled my eyes at his back. What kind of teenager carries around a business card? Charlotte stood up and rubbed her cheek into my ankle. I looked down and grinned. I knew she’d come around sooner or later—I can usually win over even the grumpiest customer. Humans are trickier. Of course, by now her breakfast was a little late, so it was possible she was just pretending to love up against me so I’d feed her. Either way, I had other pets to tend to, and it was already getting late. I went over to the glass-paneled door and slid it open.

“Come on, Queen B, let’s go get some breakfast.”

Charlotte swished her tail and strolled over to the edge of the pool. Now that she’d gotten my full attention, it was apparently time to play hard-to-get. I know from experience that the best way to get a cat’s attention is to pay no attention to it whatsoever, but I didn’t have time for Charlotte’s shenanigans.

“Let’s go, Your Highness. It’s now or never.”

She stretched an arm out over the pool and tapped nonchalantly at the water a couple of times with one paw, as if to let me know my powers were useless here. I stepped up behind her and was leaning over to pick her up when something registered in the corner of my eye. It was a dark shape at the bottom of the pool. At first glance it appeared to be a big black suitcase or one of those black plastic liners for garbage barrels. I knelt down next to Charlotte to get a closer look, and she nuzzled herself in between my legs and swished her tail a couple of times.

Now I swooped her up in my arms. She protested a bit as I rushed her across the lanai and back into the house. I put her down, slid the door closed, and walked back to the pool. I pulled out my phone and punched the REDIAL button.

Sergeant Owens picked up on the first ring. Smooth as butter, he said, “Well, hello, Miz Hemingway. Whatcha got for me now?”

I said, “I’ve got a goddamn body at the bottom of a pool.”

There was a pause. I imagined the smile slowly fading from his face, then came his reply: four short, businesslike words.

“I’m on my way.”

10

As soon as I hung up with Sergeant Owens, I dialed 911. I knew what I had to do, but I wanted somebody there while I did it. I punched the speaker button on my phone and laid it down by the edge of the pool.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“This is Dixie Hemingway. I’m at 57 Jungle Plum Road. There’s someone at the bottom of the pool.”

“Okay, are you able to get them out?”

Kicking off my shoes, I said, “I’m way ahead of you.”

I plunged headfirst into the water and swam down to the bottom of the pool. It was eerily quiet. I felt as if I’d entered a whole new world. The chlorine water stung my eyes, but I could see dark pants and a dark jacket, with a blurry mass of black hair waving gently in the water like seaweed. I grabbed on to the back of the jacket and pulled the body along the bottom of the pool toward the steps at the shallow end. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I pushed off the bottom as hard as I could, bringing the body with me. I gasped for air when my face broke the surface. Reaching out for the edge of the pool, I pulled the body up the steps and onto the deck as far as I could. The water was cold, but there was so much adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream I barely felt it. I heard the 911 operator calling out from my cell phone.

“Hello? Hello?”

I shouted, “I have the body out. I’m going to perform CPR.”

It’s standard procedure to attempt revival of any drowning victim no matter how long they’ve been underwater, because the human body is an amazing thing. We come equipped with a mind-boggling kit of tools designed to help us through all kinds of dangerous situations. Our faces have sensors in them that fire off a warning signal to our brain the instant they detect water less than seventy degrees. Instantly, the heart slows down and blood flow to the arms and legs starts to decrease, saving precious resources for our two most important organs: the heart and the brain. People have been revived after being unconscious for more than half an hour underwater.

I could hear the 911 operator talking on her radio to the emergency crew as I rolled the body over and pulled the wet hair away from its face. Staring up at me, his mouth hanging open in a silent scream, was Mr. Harwick.

Without thinking, I turned his head to the side, dug my palms into his abdomen, and pushed with all my might, sliding my hands up toward his chest. I had expected a gush of water to come up out of his mouth, but there wasn’t near as much as I’d thought there would be. I kept pushing until I was sure there wasn’t any more trapped in his lungs, and then I laced my hands together, placed them in the center of his chest, and started pressing down firmly, allowing his chest to rise back to normal each time. I counted each compression until I reached thirty, then I tilted his head back and pinched his nose. I took a deep breath and blew air into his lungs. His chest rose and fell. I tried again, but there was no response. His eyes were glassy and vacant, and his lips were cold. I started again, this time pressing a little harder. I felt a popping in his chest under the weight of my body, but I didn’t stop. Again I blew air into his lungs, repeating the whole procedure several more times, but there was nothing.

The 911 operator said, “Ma’am? What’s happening now?”

I sat back, exhausted, and tried to remember my training, anything that I was forgetting, anything else that could be done.

I said, “There’s no response. He’s gone.”

“An ambulance is on the way.”

I dragged myself up and walked across the lanai to the sliding doors where Charlotte was waiting inside. I slid the door open and felt the cold air-conditioning envelop my soaked body. I picked Charlotte up and walked through the house into the main foyer. I knew any minute now the whole place would be swarming with police officers, crime-scene units, and forensic experts. Taking Charlotte away from the scene of the crime was probably not the smartest thing in the world, but I wanted her out of there. Since the Harwicks had hired me to be her guardian while they were away, she was coming with me. I’d already handled her so much that if by chance there was some piece of evidence on her, I had probably already contaminated it. And anyway, there was no way I was waiting for the police by myself. She could damn well wait with me.

I hesitated at the base of the stairs leading up to the second floor and considered waking August up, but something told me it was best to leave that to the detectives. My heart started racing. Despite the gun and his tough-guy swagger, August was just a kid. He was in for quite a shock. On the other hand, how did I know what his involvement was? When he showed up in the driveway, was he just coming home? Or had he fled the scene earlier, waiting for me to show up so he could arrive and pretend he’d been out all night drinking?

I took Charlotte and walked out the front door and down the driveway to my car, which was still parked on the side of the road just by the entrance. I opened up the hatch and pulled out a couple of towels and one of the cardboard pet carriers I keep in the back. I tossed them on the passenger seat in the front and got in on the driver’s side. My eyes glazed over and I just sat there staring straight ahead, like I was in a movie. I didn’t even try to dry myself off yet; I just held Charlotte in my lap and waited.