Murder of the Cat's Meow: A Scumble River Mystery (6 page)

Kyle O’Brien sat one table over from the ex-doctor. The photographer was dressed in nicely pressed khakis and a designer Kelly green polo shirt. Since he was long-waisted, his unusually short stature wasn’t noticeable when he was seated.

“See the women standing by the other door?” Frannie pointed to the left.

“Uh-huh.” Skye recognized Fawn, Alexis, and Lola among the group.

“At eight o’clock, the women will join the guys.” Frannie indicated the huge timer on the stage. “After ten minutes the deejay sounds the gong and the women get up and move to the next table.”

“Geesh!” Skye was astounded. “Ten minutes to decide if you like someone?”

“Yes.” Frannie nodded. “At the end of the event, each person ranks the men or women they’ve met from one to fifteen, with one being the guy or gal they would most like to have a real date with.”

“Putting couples together using that method sounds complicated.”

“Justin designed some computer program to match up the couples,” Frannie explained. “Which reminds me, he better remember he has to be in the bar at nine thirty to run the thing.”

“Do the matchees attend the bowler disco party together?”

“Yep.” Frannie nodded. “The only other people allowed in are the vendors and the judges.” Frannie winked. “Miss Bunny even hired a bouncer for the front door to keep out the local riffraff and any gate-crashers. She wanted the party to be exclusive.”

Skye rolled her eyes. Simon would have a fit when he found out his mother was excluding the regulars. Scumble Riverites didn’t forget slights like that, and there would be hell to pay for Bunny’s snubbing them.

A
lthough Skye was tired, she found herself lingering until the conclusion of the speed-dating event. She was curious to see who would end up with whom. Frannie had to stick around as well. Justin was her ride home, and the computer wizard couldn’t work his magic and come up with the final couples until the very end.

Everyone watched intently as Justin keyed the numbers from the rating sheets into his laptop. Bunny stood by his side keeping up a constant patter to entertain the audience while he worked. She had changed from her fairly modest daytime attire into a short black dress with a bodice made of buckles, straps, and grommets that looked a little like a sexy version of a straitjacket, minus the overlong restraining sleeves.

A few minutes later, the small printer attached to the computer spit out a single sheet of paper. Justin looked up from the monitor and announced in a dramatic voice, “The results are in.”

Bunny snatched the page from the tray, squinted, then hissed at Justin, “I told you to make the font bigger.”

“For crying out loud, it’s Arial sixteen,” Justin
protested. “If you can’t see that, you need to go to the eye doctor.”

Bunny’s scarlet fingernails pressed into Justin’s shoulder, but she addressed the spectators. “Everyone ready to find out their dream dates?”

Skye surveyed the crowd as they roared their consent to Bunny’s question. Most of their faces, including Kyle’s and Fawn’s, held a mixture of anticipation, trepidation, and hopefulness, but a few of the participants’ expressions were harder to gauge. Both Alexis and Lola were impassive, and Elijah stared at his cell phone with his brows drawn together and his eyes unfocused.

Bunny strutted over to the stage like the dancer she had once been, then ran up the three steps. Considering that the fifty-seven-year-old was wearing thigh-high black boots with four-inch spike heels, her swift ascent was nothing short of astounding. As were the red ribbons crisscrossing up the boots’ calves that fluttered saucily in the breeze.

DJ Wonka banged the gong, and once Bunny was sure she had everyone’s attention, she pulled a pair of rhinestone-encrusted glasses from her cleavage and started calling out names. As she slowly read from her list, pausing dramatically after each pair, there were screeches of excitement, groans of disappointment, and meaningful glances between the men and women.

Of the participants Skye could identify, Kyle was partnered with a cute little blonde, Lola got a dashing man who needed only a sword and eye patch to be a dead ringer for Hollywood’s version of a pirate, and Fawn and Elijah were put together—which actually made sense in a weird sort of way. The most astonishing combination was Alexis and a short, mousy guy wearing a cheap navy suit, thick glasses, and a really bad hairpiece. How had that happened?

Skye was surprised that Bunny hadn’t participated in
the activity, since the whole shebang had started as a way for her to find a date. But as Skye turned to leave, she noticed the redhead slide into a chair next to a vaguely familiar, handsome man in his sixties. He kissed her cheek and tipped his head to whisper in her ear. Bunny giggled; then they both stood and slipped quietly out of the bar.

Evidently the wily redhead had saved the best guy for herself. It reminded Skye of her mother’s practice of setting aside the piece of chocolate she wanted before offering the box to everyone else. But at least Bunny hadn’t poked holes in the other men to see what they were made of before making her selection, which is what May did with the candy.

There was a message from Wally on Skye’s answering machine when she got home. Although it was close to ten thirty, she immediately called him back, and it was clear from his voice that he had been asleep.

“I’m so sorry I woke you up,” Skye said. “We can talk in the morning.”

“No, I just went to bed a few minutes ago.” Wally cleared his throat. “I’m fine. Where have you been and why didn’t you answer your cell?”

“I forgot to charge the battery,” Skye explained, then went on to describe her day, ending with, “See, I can be spontaneous.”

“I never said you couldn’t.” Wally’s smooth baritone held a hint of amusement, but sobered when he asked, “How badly did Bunny injure you?”

“I have three scratches on my cheek”—Skye fingered the bandages as she spoke—“but at least I didn’t get the shiner Elijah predicted.”

“Elijah being the big guy who started out as a raving lunatic and then claimed to be a physician?” Wally’s tone was incredulous.

“Yeah.”

“I think you should go to a real doctor.” Wally’s voice was implacable.

“Why? I’m fine. Unless…”—Skye teased him, drawing out the word—“you’re afraid you might be marrying a scarred woman?”

“You know it’s not your outer beauty I care about.” Wally’s voice was sincere. “I just want to make sure your cuts don’t get infected.”

“That’s sweet of you.” Skye understood Wally’s concern, but he needed to understand that she had been taking care of herself for a long time without his help. “I’m perfectly okay. The scrapes are already healing.”

“I still think you should check with a doctor who graduated from a medical school located somewhere other than in his imagination,” Wally persisted. “This guy sounds messed up to me.”

“His name is Elijah, and he cleaned the scratches and told me to apply Neosporin twice a day for the next seventy-two hours,” Skye assured Wally. “He said as long as I’d had a recent tetanus shot, I’m good, but if the edges of the wound turn red, I need to have it looked at.”

“Someone should report him for practicing medicine without a license,” Wally muttered. “Maybe I’ll look into that when I get back.”

Shoot!
Skye sat straight up in bed and looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was quarter to seven. She had forgotten today was Sunday. How was she going to get Bingo’s picture taken, work the cat show, and still attend church?

Closing her eyes, she tried to remember the new worship schedule. Out of the blue, Father Burns had altered it a couple of months ago, and she was still getting
used to the change. Services were now at six, nine, and twelve. The first one was nearly over, and there was no way she could make the second, but noon was a possibility.

The cat show officially ended at two p.m., after the final round of judging and the awards brunch, so she would have to leave at quarter to twelve, then come back and help with the meal and the cleanup. Bunny wouldn’t be happy, and Skye hated to break her promise to work the entire event, but she wasn’t missing Mass.

Speaking of missing, where was Bingo? He wasn’t in his usual spot—perched on the pillow next to her head. She scanned the room, a little worried that he had read her mind and was hiding because he didn’t want to be photographed. But a few seconds later she spotted him sitting in the doorway looking down the hall, his tail flicking impatiently back and forth. Undoubtedly, since it was past his breakfast time, he was waiting for her to get her butt up and feed him.

She swung her legs to the floor and stood. “We’re in a hurry this morning.” Stepping around him on her way to the shower, she added, “You’ll have to wait for your food until I’m dressed.”

After putting on black jeans, a gray sweater set, and black loafers—a compromise between appropriate work and church attire—Skye ran down the stairs with Bingo following so closely he nearly tripped her in his eagerness to get to the kitchen and his food bowl.

Skye popped open a can of Fancy Feast and scooped a third of it into his dish. While Bingo ate, Skye had a quick cup of tea and an English muffin hot from the toaster. She usually tried to eat a healthier breakfast, but she was in a hurry. At least that was her excuse as she smeared the muffin with butter and marmalade.

As Bingo occupied himself in his litter box, she darted
into the sunroom, snatched his Pet Taxi, and hid it behind the table. As soon as the cat strolled back into the kitchen to see if perhaps more gushie food had appeared in his bowl while he was gone, Skye scooped him up and stuffed him into the canvas carrier.

He meowed sharply, then huddled on the bottom, chirping furiously.

Skye talked softly to him as she carried him to the car. “I’m sorry, Bingo.” She settled him on the passenger seat. “I know you hate to leave the house and I promise you’re not going to the vet.” Sliding in behind the wheel, she cajoled, “I want a professional photo of you to show everyone what a pretty boy you are.”

He hissed and turned so that his rear end was facing her. She patted him through the stiff fabric, then headed into town. Bingo was still muttering when they arrived at the bowling alley, and Skye wondered if this was a wasted trip. Could Kyle get the cat’s cooperation long enough to take a decent photograph?

When Skye approached the entrance, she noticed that the interior was dark. Looking at her watch, she saw that it was a couple of minutes to eight. “Crap!” she said to the cat’s hindquarters. “I forgot that the show’s hours are nine to two today.”

Bingo was silent.

“When I made the appointment for your picture, it didn’t even cross my mind that the building might not be open at eight.” Skye tipped her head. “Do you think Kyle forgot about that, too?”

Bingo’s tail twitched.

“I can’t see past the entryway, so maybe the lights are on in the other parts of the bowling alley.” Skye continued to address the cat’s rear end. “Kyle’s probably in his booth waiting for us.”

Bingo licked a paw.

“I hate being late for an appointment.” Frustrated,
she slapped the door, and to her surprise, it swung open. “See, Bingo.” She pumped her fist in the air. “I told you Kyle didn’t forget about us.”

Skye edged carefully past the benches and lockers. Although the lights were on in the vendor area, no one was around. She poked her head into the photography cubicle, but it, too, was empty.

Bingo was getting heavy. Skye didn’t want to leave him alone, so she cradled his crate in her arms and asked, “What should we do, boy?”

He had finally turned around and was staring at her with luminous green eyes.

“If Kyle was here, his equipment would be set up, or at least his cases would be in his space. And where’s Bunny? If the alley’s open, she should be here.” Skye cocked her head, listening. “Maybe she ran upstairs to her apartment for something.”

Bingo yawned.

“We’ll wait ten minutes for Kyle.” Skye looked around the vendor space for a seat. “If he doesn’t show up by then, I’ll take you home.”

Just as Skye located a folding chair, Bingo let out a howl and a horrible odor filled the air. She looked down and saw something brown oozing from the mesh at the back of the cat carrier. Bingo had expressed his opinion about the whole situation.

“Bad kitty!” Skye scolded. “Bad, bad kitty.” Holding the crate as far from her as possible, she tried to figure out what to do.

Before Skye could formulate a plan, Bunny materialized in front of her, squealing and holding her nose. “What is that god-awful stench?” The redhead’s clingy black tank top boasted a rhinestone black widow spider with a faux ruby hourglass shape on its back.

“Bingo had an accident.” Skye felt her face flame at her pet’s faux pas.

“So I see.” Bunny stepped daintily over a slime trail of poo.

“Uh!” Skye tried not to inhale. “Is there somewhere I can clean him up?”

“There’s a sink and a pile of rags in the basement utility closet.”

“Great.” Skye tried to take a step.

“Wait.” Bunny grabbed Skye’s arm. “I’ll get something you can use to stop the seepage.”