Блейз Клемент - The Cat Sitter's Cradle

“No … I guess I just assumed it was locked.”

She wrinkled her nose and flipped a page in her clipboard. “Tell me about Mr. Harwick. You’ve known him a while?”

“No, I never even heard of him before this week.”

She looked up at me and tilted her head. There were a couple of tangled strands of mousy brown hair falling across her face, and I resisted the urge to brush them aside.

“Miss Hemingway, that’s a little difficult to understand.”

“Huh?”

“I said, that’s a little difficult—”

I said, “Yes, I heard you, I’m just not sure what you mean. I know he’s famous in the business world, but I really don’t keep up on that kind of stuff.”

“Well, what I meant is, your boyfriend cleans the pool here, doesn’t he? I would assume you’d at least be familiar with the Harwicks through him.”

I sputtered, “Kenny? He isn’t my boyfriend! I don’t have a boyfriend. I know Kenny Newman because he hired me to check in on his cat a few times, and he sometimes works for me doing overnight dog sitting. But I didn’t even know he cleaned the pool here until Mr. Harwick told me himself.”

She pulled a pen out of her clipboard and circled something in her notes. “So, you did not know Mr. and Mrs. Harwick before two days ago?”

“No, I did not.”

“I apologize. Mrs. Harwick was under the impression that you and Kenny Newman were seeing each other.”

This woman was smart. I couldn’t be sure, but I had the distinct feeling she was testing me again. I considered the possibility that Becca had already spilled her guts to Detective McKenzie and told her everything: that she was secretly dating Kenny, that she was pregnant, that Kenny had left her when he found out. McKenzie probably also knew that Becca had told me everything that morning when I found her crying her eyes out in the master bathroom. McKenzie had laid out a little piece of bait, and now she was waiting to see if I would snatch it up. Would I tell her everything I knew about Becca and Kenny? Or would I keep some secrets to myself?

I said, “I don’t know where Mrs. Harwick got that impression, but I think you should probably talk to Becca about Kenny.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t feel right telling you things that Becca told me in confidence. If she hasn’t already told you, I think you should ask her what’s happening in her life right now. I’m not sure it has any bearing on the investigation, but it could.”

“What’s happening in her life right now?”

“Look. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to talk to Becca first.”

“Miss Hemingway—”

She stopped herself and took a deep breath. There was suddenly a very distant look in her eyes. She glanced down at the floor and then absentmindedly smoothed away one of the numerous wrinkles in her drab skirt, which was sprinkled here and there with short white cat hairs.

She looked up and leveled me with her gray eyes. “Dixie, Becca never came home last night, and she didn’t show up at her school this morning. At this point we have no idea where Becca is.”

I stared at her blankly.

“If for any reason you feel that Becca might have been involved in the death of her stepfather, I need you to tell me right now.”

I had no choice. I really didn’t think it was possible, but if Becca had anything to do with what happened to Mr. Harwick, I needed to tell everything I knew, even if it meant betraying Becca’s confidence.

I told McKenzie how I’d found Becca in a ball on the bathroom floor sobbing hysterically, how she was terrified about what her parents would do if they found out she was pregnant, and how Kenny seemed to have gotten cold feet and was leaving town ASAP. Detective McKenzie listened patiently, occasionally nodding and making notes on her clipboard. If she was disappointed that I hadn’t been completely up-front about Becca and Kenny from the beginning, she didn’t let on.

She said, “When was the last time you talked to Kenny Newman?”

“A couple of days ago. He was dog sitting for me on an overnight job, and he called because a neighbor wanted to walk the dog, and he wasn’t sure if they had permission.”

McKenzie nodded but didn’t say a word. She could tell there was more.

I said, “Okay. He left a message on my answering machine yesterday. I didn’t want to say anything because I wanted to talk to him first, but I’ve been calling him ever since and he won’t answer.”

“What was the message?”

I sighed. “He told me there was something that he was about to do, and that he was sorry, and that it was big.”

“He didn’t say what it was?”

“No, I assumed he was skipping town. He said by the time I heard the message he’d be gone.”

She nodded. “Had he ever mentioned any kind of tension with the Harwicks before? A dispute about money, perhaps, or anything else?”

She was doing it again. “No. Like I said, I didn’t know he worked for the Harwicks until two days ago.”

“Right. You did say that. Do you know where he lives?”

“Detective, there’s just no way he could be involved. I haven’t known him for very long, but I just can’t imagine he would do something like this.”

“I’m sure there’s nothing to be worried about. I just need to talk to him. Can you give me his address?”

I sighed again. “No. He doesn’t have one. He lives on a boat, and sometimes he sleeps in his car.”

She nodded as if that was the most normal thing in the world, but I knew exactly what she was thinking.

“Do you happen to know where he keeps this boat?”

“Down at the dock behind Hoppie’s Restaurant. They let him stay there in exchange for doing odd jobs.”

As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I knew deep down inside that I might have misjudged Kenny, and now I was beginning to see him from Detective McKenzie’s point of view. What I saw was not pretty. An itinerant worker, a drifter basically, who lived on a houseboat and slept in his car, who disappeared with his pregnant teenaged girlfriend after her domineering father was found fully clothed at the bottom of the family swimming pool.

McKenzie said, “Okay. You’ve been very helpful.”

I said, “I just need to feed the fish and then I’ll be out of your way. Do you know how long it’ll be before I can bring the Harwicks’ cat back home? I have her in a kennel now.”

“Mrs. Harwick is staying in a hotel for the time being. I’m not sure she’s going to be able to come home anytime soon.”

Her tone was unmistakable. The words spilled out of her mouth like dice on a game board, completely devoid of judgment or drama. I’ve grown to recognize that tone almost immediately. It’s like a secret code, or a song that only people who’ve lost someone they fiercely loved can hear. She didn’t need to tell me that Mrs. Harwick was distraught. More than likely she was in shock.

She murmured, “We’ve called a doctor in.”

I nodded. We both knew how unprofessional it was for her to include that little detail, but I understood her need to tell me. After Christy and Todd were killed, I couldn’t get out of bed. There was no doctor or sedative or antidepressant strong enough to bring me back to real life. I just needed time. I stayed wrapped in sheets for months, like a blithering lunatic in a cocoon. I barely ate or bathed.

And now here it was again, that crazy urge to pour my heart out to this woman, to tell her my whole tragic story. What in the world was happening to me? I had always been the silent, brave type, the one that held everything in, that did all the listening but none of the talking. Now all of a sudden I was chomping at the bit to open myself up to someone I barely knew, and all because she had lost her husband as well.