Анна Керн - Deadly Diamond

DEADLY DIAMOND

(A Murfy the Cat Mystery)

Anna Kern

Dedicated to the memory of Pooky

January 1, 2015

I put down my book, The Meaning of Zen, and see the cat smiling into her fur as she delicately combs it with her rough pink tongue. “Cat, I would lend you this book to study but it appears you have already read it.” She looks up and gives me her full gaze. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she purrs, “I wrote it.”

––From Miao by Dily Laing

Beachside, Florida, December 15:

Friday morning, ten days before Christmas, shoppers crowded the sidewalks in downtown Beachside, a tourist town on the east coast of Florida still in the process of renovation, the physical location not beach side, as the name implies, but about two miles inland.

Christmas decorations were up––huge wreaths and banners hanging from the art-deco style streetlights, and tiny lights wrapped around palm trees planted at equal intervals on the brick sidewalk. Some of the storefronts of the mostly art-deco style buildings decked according to the owner’s personal taste were not at all in keeping with the classy image the city wanted to portray. Tourists and locals in shorts and sandals were in the holiday spirit even though the temperature was in the eighties––not bothered by the incongruity of the frosted glass windows and the hot sun scorching their skin.

A slight-built man of average looks lingered near the entrance of Hall’s Jewelry. His pale complexion and white legs pegged him as a tourist of an undetermined age. He took a quick look up and down the street, and wiped the palms of his hands on his gray, cargo shorts before he entered.

The store was busier than usual, and that was a plus. Nevertheless, he looked a little disconcerted when he walked in and saw the security guard as none of the merchants on Ocean Street had ever hired a security guard before. His upper lip twitched––the security guard was unexpected, but the guard was old and slow; he could outrun him if necessary. He squared his shoulders, meandered to the counter displaying diamond engagement rings and waited for the wide-eyed, sales associate behind the counter to finish up with her customer.

After looking at several rings and not liking any of them, he said, “My girl is amazing … I want the ring to be exceptional….” He gave her a half-smile. “Do you have some loose diamonds you could show me? I have an idea for the setting, and perhaps that would be the best way to go.”

Vainly running her fingers through a mop of copper red hair, and avoiding eye contact with the other customers waiting for her assistance, she put away the last two rings he’d asked to see.

“As you probably know, we deal mostly in estate jewelry, so we don’t really have a large selection of loose diamonds.”

“Yes, I know that,” he said, perhaps a bit too sharply. “What you do have will be unique, I’m sure,” he added with a disarming smile.

“Please step down to the end of the counter,” and to the other customers, she said, “I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

Although, there was nothing to be suspicious about, she located the security guard before she unlocked the bottom drawer of the glass case. She took out a tray and set it on the counter.

“We have a beautiful marquee cut, two-carat, retails at fifteen thousand,” she said as she handed him an eye loupe.

“Um…I think I’d like a traditional round stone,” and he returned the diamond to her. He selected another from the tray, pretended to drop it accidently, and replaced it with the glass one he had in his hand.

He made it a point of looking at his watch. “Hey, I didn’t realize it was so late. My girlfriend is in the shoe store down the street, and she’s going to come looking for me any minute if she doesn’t see me out there waiting for her,” he said, edging away from the counter.

“Do you live here or are you a visitor?”

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes darting about, “I live here. I’m going to have to come back another time, though. Thanks a lot for your help.”

The diamond safely in his hand, he hurried toward the exit, and paused long enough to look back and see the sales associate reach for the eye loupe.

“Since each of us is blessed with only one life, why not live it with a cat?”

––Robert Stearns

CHAPTER ONE: Misty’s Indignation

Friday morning, ten days before Christmas, Misty and I were on duty at Antiques & Designs. I was at my post on the checkout counter keeping a watchful eye on things while Misty, a smallish cat with a quirky personality, viewed the parade of humans passing by the display window.

Alyx Hille and her best friend Maggie Broeck are the owners of the store. Alyx, five feet two inches tall, brown hair cut in a shaggy sort of style, hazel eyes and a beautiful smile, generously shares her home with Misty, Pooky––who prefers the security of home––and me. My name is Murfy and I’m also a Felis catus. I look and behave like an ordinary cream tabby with green eyes, but I’m not––ordinary, that is. Alyx is my human, and my mission is to comfort and protect her, no matter what it takes.

Althea Burns, a frail, older woman, made her last payment on the late eighteenth-century George III, slant-front desk that Alyx had been holding for her, and asked what time to expect delivery.

“It will be sometime this afternoon for sure. I’ll give you a call later about the exact time. Okay?”

“All right, Alyx, I’ll wait to hear from you.”

As Althea walked past me, she said she wished she could find a playmate for her cat. She’d voiced that thought before. Fortunately, Alyx had never acted on Althea’s request and, I must admit, I was a little disappointed when she agreed today.

“How about I bring Murfy with me and introduce him to your cat when we deliver your desk?”

“That would be wonderful, Alyx! I’ll see you and Murfy later.”

As Althea walked out, a slight built man entered the store. He pulled his black baseball cap lower over his wrap-around sunglasses and in the process bumped into Althea, saying nothing in the way of an apology. He wiped his hands on his shorts, and quickly made his way directly to the slant-front desk scheduled for delivery that afternoon.

Sitting next to the store’s only concession to the season––red candles in an elaborate antique candelabrum surrounded by a Holly branch––Misty observed the man intently.

The commotion caused by a screaming child being dragged out of the store momentarily diverted my attention, and when I looked back, the man was running his hand over the inlaid work on the desk, keeping his eyes averted, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

A couple of minutes later, he turned to leave and tripped over Misty, her indignation heard all over the store. I bounced off the counter and ran to her aid ready to do battle if necessary.

Now, all eyes were on the man. Alyx started to say, “I’m so sorry …”

The man lowered his head, sidestepped over me, and ignored her as he hastened past.

Bernice, one of the store employees, came up to the counter and asked Alyx, “What was that all about?”

“That was the strangest thing––I don’t know what it was all about. I’d better go check on Misty, and make sure she’s all right.”

Misty, a gray cat with blue eyes, wasn’t used to rough treatment, and getting stepped on hurt her feelings––put her out of sorts, and she sought refuge under a highboy. No amount of cajoling could get her to come out, so Alyx let her be. I figured she’d have to come out eventually, so I sat nearby and offered moral support.