Блейз Клемент - Cat Sitter On A Hot Tin Roof

“Because of you, I have been questioned about a crime for which I haven’t a scintilla of involvement. You have besmirched my reputation, ruined my good name.”

His breath made low nose-whistles like the distant cooing of mourning doves.

With an effort, I found my voice. “You were involved. You were at Laura’s house. You were stalking her.”

His smile couldn’t have been any more condescending if he’d been giving lessons.

“Oh, the pretensions of those who provide services to others. You know nothing of Laura’s life or of my involvement with her. You’re a pet sitter. You were not her friend.”

My face went hot with anger and embarrassment. Somehow the man had an oily ability to make me feel small and insignificant.

“You were in Ms. Grayberg’s room at the nursing unit too. I just want to know why—”

“One of the indices of an inferior intellect is the obsession with the why of things.”

My back teeth made grinding movements, as if they had their own obsession of what they’d like to do to this condescending prick.

He said, “Your kind maintains the illusion that life is sacred, that the mere fact of having a breathing body with a beating heart somehow confers the right to continue one’s inane existence. That ridiculous worship of oxygenated flesh is an obsession to which I have never fallen prey.”

“So you killed Laura because you didn’t believe her life was important.”

“Why, Ms. Hemingway, you surprise me! You actually understood what I said. Nevertheless, I had nothing to do with Laura Halston’s murder, and if you continue to stalk me I shall have you arrested.”

“ Stalk you?” As the words came out of my mouth, I knew he could make a good case for me stalking him. I had asked questions about him at Bayfront and at the nursing unit.

His gaze was diamond hard. “Please don’t make it necessary for me to speak to you again, Ms. Hemingway.”

With surprising agility for a man his size, he spun away from me and walked rapidly to a minivan that bore evidence of a multitude of minor scrapes and collisions. Either Guidry had been wrong about his driving ability or he’d been reduced to driving an old clunker formerly owned by a mother who did lots of stop-and-go driving.

I pulled Billy Elliot onto the asphalt track and followed him as he did his morning gallop, but my mind was on Frederick Vaught. Something wasn’t right about that man, something more than his obnoxious personality and his history of mistreating elderly patients. Whatever it was, it made my skin quiver.

After three mad laps around the track, Billy Elliot slowed to a pace that other dogs would consider a frenzied dash and allowed me to lead him back in the building. I was wheezing and wondering if it’s possible for lungs to collapse from running with a speed-obsessed greyhound. Billy was prancing and happily swishing his tail.

Upstairs, lights were on in the kitchen and I could hear a coffeemaker gurgling. I didn’t hang around, though. If I had, I might have told Tom about Frederick Vaught accosting me, and he might have felt guilty that he hadn’t been downstairs guarding me with big manly muscles. I gave Billy Elliot a quick hug and left him grinning to himself.

I wasn’t grinning. I was thinking about Frederick Vaught. I thought about him for the rest of the morning, trying to define what it was that made him so repulsive. I was at a rabbit’s house vacuuming up pellets of bunny poop when I realized what it was.

His hands were too clean! With their long thin fingers, his hands looked as if they’d been boiled until all the color had leached out. His fingernails were too pale too, and too well-defined, like an alien’s tentacles with little suckers on their tips. Ugh! The thought of being touched by those long bloodless fingers made my spine run cold.

It was near nine o’clock when I cleaned the last litter box of the morning, and I was seriously considering raiding client refrigerators. The tomato pie I’d had for dinner had been too little and too early, and I needed food. But first I popped in the Kitty Haven for a quick hello to Leo.

Marge brought him from his private room and knelt with me to gentle him on the floor. He didn’t exactly seem overjoyed to see me, but he did rub his cheek against my hand to mark it with his scent.

Marge said, “He’s such a sweetheart. What’s going to happen to him?”

I didn’t want to tell her that Laura’s sister didn’t want him. It made him seem like a reject, and I knew there were lots of people who’d love to have him. Besides, it seemed rude to say it in front of Leo.

Instead, I said, “The owner’s sister is in town. She’s at the Ritz. It will all work out okay.”

Marge may have heard the evasiveness in my voice because she didn’t ask anything else. I spent a little more time petting Leo and then kissed the top of his head.

I murmured, “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re with somebody as sweet as you are.”

When I left the Kitty Haven, I was torn between rushing to walk Mazie and then having breakfast, or eating first and then going to see Mazie. When I’d had that decision the day before, I’d ended up practically crawling from weakness by the time I got food. I knew Pete would have already fed Mazie and taken her outside to potty. He had probably brushed her too, because he and Mazie had come to enjoy him doing that. The only reason for me to go there was to run with her. I decided I would break my own rule and take time for breakfast before I went to Fish Hawk Lagoon, with no harm done.

Besides, I dreaded seeing Mazie’s sad face. I dreaded seeing Pete’s sad face too.

Before I went in the diner, I called Pete to tell him I’d be a little late. He sounded dispirited.

“I don’t think the drops are helping, Dixie. I don’t think they’re helping at all.”

I ended the call feeling as down as Pete sounded. Mazie’s depression was like an anvil sitting on all of us.

At the Village Diner, Tanisha waved at me as I headed toward the ladies’ room. I ducked into a stall and from the next door cubicle heard a woman with a voice like an ax splitting wood.

She said, “I was married to a man who couldn’t get it up unless you twisted his nipples. He would have liked it if I’d attached snapping turtles to them. He left me for a woman who was a snapping turtle, so I guess they’re happy together.”

Another woman laughed, and they both flushed and went to the sinks. When I joined them, they went silent and we avoided one another’s eyes in the mirror. I washed my hands, checked to make sure I didn’t have cat hair on my shoulders, and left them to continue their observations about love. I swear, if men knew half the things women say about them, they’d probably give up romance altogether.

Judy had already poured a mug of coffee for me, and by the time I was ready for a refill she brought my breakfast.

She said, “You okay?”

I thought, I’m not okay at all. A three-year-old child has just had brain surgery, and I don’t know if it was successful. His seizure-assistance dog is in deep depression, and I can’t make her happier. A woman I liked a lot has been murdered and her face was mutilated, and the killer is still out there. The truth is I’m scared for myself and for you and for every other woman.

I said, “I’m fine.”

She heard the dryness in my voice and did a double-take. But before she could say anything, Guidry slid into the seat opposite me.

He said, “I’ll have what she’s having, with a side of bacon, extra crisp.”

Judy said, “I’d better bring you a double. Dixie steals bacon, especially if it’s crisp.”

She gave me a quick look that said You’re gonna tell me all about this meeting when he leaves and swished away to get him a coffee mug, leaving us looking bare-eyed at each other.