Блейз Клемент - The Cat Sitter's Cradle

Except …

It was hard not to compare McKenzie to her predecessor. Guidry had probably been the finest homicide detective Siesta Key would ever know. Everything about him was smooth and flawless, from the way his mind worked right down to his fine Italian shoes and imported linen slacks. Okay, I might or might not have been in love with him, but any fool could see that Samantha McKenzie was his polar opposite. She was obviously intelligent, but she was about as stylish as a sack of wet rats. I couldn’t imagine her wearing expensive Italian shoes any more than I could picture Guidry wearing a beige blouse with ruffles, although it made me giggle a bit to try.

I’d almost put the whole thing out of my mind. I had even started to swing a bit in the hammock, absentmindedly eating my grapefruit and imagining Guidry in a skirt and high heels, when it hit me.

I jumped off the hammock. Poor Ella scattered out from under me like it was a bomb raid. I raced inside to the answering machine and hit the PLAY button. There were no new messages, just the one Kenny had left me the day before:

“Dixie, it’s Kenny. Listen, I should have told you, but I couldn’t. Something’s about to go down and … it’s big. I can’t tell you what it is, and probably by the time you hear this I’ll be gone. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for not being honest with you from the start. I was scared, and now it’s too late. I hope you’ll understand that I didn’t have a choice.”

The machine beeped and clicked off. I sat down on the edge of my bed and cradled my head in my hands. This whole time I had assumed he was planning on telling Becca he couldn’t handle having a baby, that he was running away, moving on to another town and starting all over again. Was it possible he’d planned on something else? Detective McKenzie would need to hear about this, but before I could jump to any conclusions, I picked up the phone and started dialing.

I hadn’t even thought what I would say if he picked up, but I was relieved this time when I got Kenny’s voice mail. At least that meant he hadn’t canceled his phone service.

I said, “Kenny, this is Dixie. You need to call me. Right away. I don’t know what you’ve done, but I just need to talk to you before … before things get out of hand. I’m not mad at you, I just need you to call me the minute you get this, okay?”

I paused for a second, as if he might answer, and then hung up. I peeled off my clothes, tossed them on top of the washer, and stepped into the shower. I stood there for a few blissful moments and let the hot water stream down my body. When Becca had first poured her heart out to me, she had said she was completely afraid of telling her mother she was pregnant by the pool man. Could Becca have turned to her stepfather for help? Perhaps he’d snuck out and driven home in the middle of the night. Tampa is only a little more than an hour away by car. Maybe he’d come home to console Becca, only to find her in the house alone with Kenny … and then what? Had there been a fight?

I knew there were things in Kenny’s past that he wasn’t proud of. Michael and Paco were right, why else would he live on a boat and only work odd jobs for cash? Even so, I couldn’t imagine him hurting a flea. And yes, Becca was impetuous, immature, and an emotional disaster, and she didn’t seem too fond of her stepfather, either, but she couldn’t be a murderer. She just couldn’t. I started to feel a little knot at the center of my chest. It was just a small tightening of the muscles there.

I toweled myself off and put on a clean pair of shorts, a sleeveless white tee, and a fresh pair of Keds. I sat down at my desk, and Ella hopped up and curled into a purring ball in my lap. I ran my hand down the length of her spine and thought, If only she could talk to Charlotte in whatever secret language cats speak, then we’d have some answers. I shuddered at the thought that poor Charlotte must have witnessed everything that had happened.

Forget it. I opened some mail and paid a few bills, trying to think about anything else. I left a message for a prospective client, a woman with a Yorkshire terrier that lives out on South Coconut Bayou, and then I tried to balance my checkbook, but it was no use. I had given myself a good talking-to, but apparently my self hadn’t been listening. My mind kept flashing back to one particular moment. When I had pulled the body up on to the edge of the pool and moved the tangle of black hair away, I hadn’t for one second considered the possibility that it might be Mr. Harwick.

But I wasn’t surprised when I saw his face. I wasn’t surprised one bit.

13

Some afternoons on the Key can be as hot as blue blazes, especially in the summer when the sun reaches its highest point in the sky. The crickets and birds and frogs all take a break, finding cover in the shade and giving their voices a well-deserved rest. Afternoon clouds sneak in off the shore all demure and innocent, but before you know it they let loose with a torrent of rain and lightning bolts, sending golfers and beachcombers dashing for cover. Then, just as quickly as they rolled in, the clouds roll out. The sun shines through again, the leaves all sparkle, and the crickets, birds, and frogs start warming up for their evening performance, which usually begins about the same time the sun starts her slow descent into the Gulf.

It was a little after two o’clock when I headed out for my afternoon rounds. I called Dr. Layton to let her know I’d be late picking up our feathered friend. I didn’t tell her why. I was itching to talk to somebody about what had happened, but I knew I couldn’t, especially since there hadn’t been an official announcement from the police yet and I didn’t want to do anything that might compromise the investigation. Instead, I told her I’d had a “client-related mishap” and left it to her imagination. She told me not to worry, that René was doing fine. He was in his cage on Gia’s desk by the front window, basking in all the love and attention he was getting from everybody in the clinic.

I imagined that by now Mrs. Harwick was on her way back from Tampa, and somebody had probably gotten hold of Becca and told her what had happened. Becca’s relationship to her stepfather seemed complicated, but I knew it must have been devastating for her, especially when she was already in such emotional turmoil. I hadn’t heard from Detective McKenzie yet, but I knew it was only a matter of time before I’d get the call to meet her at the station. I was dreading it. Being back at that station brings up all kinds of memories that I long ago figured out how to suppress.

At the Suttons’ house, Sophie had knocked over a potted palm in the living room, which wasn’t all that surprising. On the outside, Sophie looks like a sweet, domesticated house cat, but inside she’s a tiger, and a very frisky tiger at that, so she’s always on the prowl for mischief. There was so much dirt scattered around I think she must have spent half the day engaged in a mighty battle with an imaginary mouse, or at least I hoped it was imaginary. I righted the palm and vacuumed up the dirt while Sophie watched me from the back of an armchair with a mildly disdainful look, as if I was spoiling all the fun. But I didn’t feel too guilty. I had something else in store for her.

I like to get all the grooming out of the way in the morning so afternoons are free for playtime. Sophie must have known what was coming next, because after I put the vacuum away and headed for the kitchen, she ran ahead and raced around the center island a couple of times, slipping and sliding on the tile floor. That’s her warm-up.

I pulled a white Ping-Pong ball out of my pocket and held it out at arm’s length. “Ready?”

She made a sound that was less like meow and more like ackackack! and twitched her whiskers with pure, unadulterated excitement.