Лори Касс - Wrong Side Of The Paw

“Minnie, you . . . you . . .” Leese’s voice caught. “You’re the best.”

“Can I pass that on to my new boss?” I asked, laughing. “Because I’m not sure she knows.”

After making tentative plans, I hung up and looked at Eddie, who was sitting next to his mostly full bowl of food and staring at me with fierce concentration.

“She’s worried about her law practice,” I said. “She’s not going to come out and say so, but she’s worried. We have to figure out who killed her father and we have to do it fast.”

“Mrr.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” Not that I had any idea what he was saying, but it was always easier to agree with him than to start arguing. Then, as I poured my first coffee of the day, I got the nagging feeling that I was missing something about Dale’s murder, that I wasn’t anywhere close to figuring out who killed him, and that I was going to fail completely to help my friend.

“Mrr!” Eddie said.

“Absolutely,” I told my cat. I opened the cupboard door and shook a couple of cat treats onto the floor. “All yours.”

Eddie gave the treats a harsh glare, gave me a harsh glare, and stalked off.

“Love you, too,” I called after him.

“Mrr.”

I shook my head. Some days there was no understanding cats.

Three hours later, Otto Bingham opened his front door. “Frances is in the kitchen,” he said, ushering me inside. “She sent me out here with orders that we leave her alone to cook for the next fifteen minutes.”

I grinned as we sat on upholstered chairs in what Otto called the front room and I called a parlor. It was a small and elegant space occupied by a few chairs, a bookshelf, a few original paintings, and a fireplace. If this couldn’t be called a parlor, I didn’t know what could be.

After offering coffee from a side table, which I gratefully accepted since the Bingham coffee was outstanding, Otto poured and asked, “So what is the inestimable Eddie doing today?”

I reached down to scratch the chin of his small gray kitty. She and Eddie had met once and it hadn’t turned out well. “Mr. Ed has become one with his slothfulness.”

“It’s good to recognize your strengths,” Otto said, nodding.

Smiling, I said, “If sloth was a marketable cat skill, neither one of us would have to work again a day in our lives.”

The small gray kitty, who up until that point had been lovingly accepting my scratches, had suddenly had enough. “Moww,” she said loudly, and stalked off.

“What was that about?” I asked.

Otto smiled. “Isn’t it obvious? You were doing it wrong. Yes, you may disagree, since you’d been scratching her the same way for the last few minutes, but what she wanted was something different starting six seconds ago. You did not respond appropriately, so she was compelled to voice her objections.”

“My aunt,” I said, “is marrying a man who understands cats. Does she know how lucky she is?”

He smiled. “I’m the lucky one. Surely you know that.”

The lucky part was that they’d found each other. Though it had taken a little Minnie intervention to get the then-shy Otto to approach my aunt, things had turned out well for both parties.

“Speaking of strengths,” I said. “How do you feel about giving a senior citizen–oriented talk at the library?”

His eyebrows rose. “About anything in particular, or would I get to ramble for an hour on whatever topic I choose?”

I laughed. “I’m sure you could give an interesting talk on the history of the phone book, but I was thinking about putting together a lecture series aimed at seniors. I thought you could give them tips on managing their finances.” Though Otto’s career as an accountant had been spent in the downstate corporate world, he’d also done pro bono work at his church and area high schools.

After considering the question for all of two seconds, he said, “I’m in. When do you want me?”

“Well, I only got the idea this morning. I need to get Jennifer’s okay, but I’ll get back to you.”

He nodded. “Just let me know. Glad to help.”

I looked at him. “You really are, aren’t you? I mean, you’re not just saying that.”

“Honesty is far easier,” he said. “Keeps you from having to keep track of different lies told to different people, and then what happens if the people get together?” He shook his head sorrowfully. “Much easier just to be honest in the first place.”

“So tell me honestly,” I said. “How do you really feel about the boardinghouse?”

A long and increasingly uncomfortable silence followed my somewhat abrupt question. Finally, Otto sipped the last of his coffee, set the cup back on the table, and faced me directly.

“I know it’s a decades-old tradition, I know it’s important to Frances, and I know that many people find comfort in its continued existence. I understand all that, but on a personal basis, I don’t want to have anything to do with running it.”

“Oh,” I said blankly.

“If Frances has her heart set on continuing to run it,” he went on, “of course I’ll support her and do what I can to continue its success. And who knows?” He half smiled. “Maybe I’ll come to love it.” The slope of his shoulders, however, indicated that he was dreading the prospect.

But even as I noted that steep angle, he straightened and lifted his chin. “Enough about that. I shouldn’t have burdened you with this knowledge, Minnie, and I apologize. Can you please forget I said anything?”

Though I murmured agreement, I knew—we both knew—that forgetting would be impossible.

• • •

I walked home from Otto’s house with a tummy full of marinated pork tenderloin, steamed vegetables, redskin potatoes, cornbread, and more coffee served with a lemon square dusted with powdered sugar and topped with a dollop of whipped cream.

“It’s possible I ate a little too much,” I told Eddie as I put my container of leftovers into the fridge.

“Mrr.” He jumped up onto the back of the dining table’s bench seating and settled down to stare at me, all four paws in a short white row.

“How do you do that without falling over?” I patted the top of his head, which made it go up and down like a fur-covered bobble head. “No offense, pal, but you’re not the most graceful cat who ever walked the face of the earth.”

He adjusted himself slightly and continued to stare at me.

“Well, you’re not.” I slid into the seat across from him and stared back. “You have other strengths. Lots of them. It’s okay to admit that you’ll never be a candidate for the first feline gymnastics team to enter the Olympics.”

Eddie’s sides went in and out in a visible sigh.

“Don’t worry,” I told him consolingly. “You can always apply to be a coach. I’m sure they’d appreciate your advice.”

“Mrr!”

“You’re right, you’re an excellent life coach for me and I don’t appreciate your guidance as I should. I’ll work on that.”

Eddie slid down from his sitting stance into a lying down position. This relieved me, because I hadn’t been certain his four-in-a-row was stable enough for the back of a bench seat. “Tell you what,” I said. “Next time you give me advice I vow to take it seriously.”

“Mrr,” he said quietly.

“Good. That’s settled, then.” I turned and unzipped my backpack, which I’d tossed onto the far end of the bench the day before. “Right now there’s some work to do. If you help, we’ll get it done in half the time and then we can do whatever you’d like.”

Eddie’s yawn was wide. And contagious.

“None of that.” I pointed my pencil at him. “There’s work to be done. I promised Aunt Frances I’d make a list for moving up to the boardinghouse and I’m going to do it right now so I don’t forget.”