The Cat Sitter’s Cradle (11 page)

I was beginning to get a little concerned as I made my way down the short hall toward
the master bathroom. As grumpy as Charlotte was, it didn’t make sense that she would
hide—especially since cats are such inquisitive animals. She would have at least been
curious enough to find out who was in the house before she gave them the cold shoulder,
and it certainly wasn’t possible that anyone else had fed her this early in the morning.
I tried to form an image in my mind of where I might be if I was a snarky queen in
a sprawling mansion, and that turned out to be quite easy: that peach velvet bench
in the bathroom opposite the aquarium, next to the gold-plated telephone.

I flicked on the light switch by the doorway, and the overhead chandelier lit up to
reveal the bathroom in all its over-the-top glory, but no Charlotte. There was a damp
towel draped over the counter next to the sink, but otherwise everything looked normal.

I leaned into the little alcove and peered behind the velvet bench just in case Charlotte
was hiding there and thought,
This is getting serious.
I was out of ideas. I sat down on the bench and put my hand on the gold-plated phone,
wondering if it wasn’t time to call the Harwicks and ask them if there were any other
places she might be hiding. That’s when I had a feeling I was not alone.

I looked up at the aquarium, fully expecting to see the mermaid staring serenely back
at me, and instead locked eyes with a bloated hedgehog, floating motionless in the
middle of the tank. It took me a couple of seconds of shock to realize that it wasn’t
a hedgehog at all but a porcupine fish.

Porcupine fish are pretty cute in their natural state. They have gloppy, rounded bodies
with drooping eyes and a goofy smile, like drunken Pillsbury Doughboys with fins.
But when frightened, they fill their bodies up with water, pumping to twice their
normal size and extending their sharp, quill-like scales out in every direction. If
that’s not enough to scare off a would-be predator, a naturally occurring chemical
in their body that’s about a thousand times more poisonous than cyanide usually does
the trick.

While the porcupine fish and I stared blankly at each other, my mind did a little
wheelie inside its skull. The alarm was off. Charlotte was hiding. The porcupine fish
was in a full state of alarm. I glanced about the room looking for anything else out
of place. I could hear myself telling Michael and Paco how valuable the fish were,
and then I could see Mrs. Harwick pointing at the painted dragon eel and whispering,
“Priceless!” I looked back at the tank. Now there were two pairs of eyes on me: the
porcupine fish’s and the mermaid’s. She was staring directly into my eyes, like she
was trying to tell me something, and I suddenly thought,
A burglar is in this house and I’ve just interrupted him.

I was still sitting on the velvet bench. I tried to look as casual as possible. I
shrugged my shoulders.

“Well, Charlotte,” I said out loud, “you’re not hungry, and I don’t have time to look
for you all day.”

I walked out of the bathroom, flicking the light switch off with a trembling hand
as I passed, and steadily made my way downstairs to the front door, talking to myself
the entire way, certain I was about to be jumped by an intruder.

“Charlotte, you’ll just have to wait and have breakfast later, because I have other
things to do and I don’t have time to go looking around every nook and cranny whenever
it’s time to eat. You’ll just have to learn that if you want your breakfast, you have
to eat it when it’s served. So I’ll just be back after lunchtime, and maybe you’ll
decide you’re hungry by then.”

I pulled out my ring of keys and jangled them loudly so whoever was in the house,
if they were still there, would hear them and know I was leaving.

“See you later, Charlotte!” I yelled and pulled the front door closed behind me. I
walked down the winding driveway on rubbery legs, feeling like there was a target
on my back. As soon as I was in the Bronco, I put the key in the ignition with one
hand and pulled my cell phone out with the other. I rolled down to the front gate,
and by the time I’d pulled out onto the road I had already dialed the number. Not
911, as I probably should have, but the number of my old superior when I was a deputy,
that of Sergeant Woodrow Owens.

As shaken as I was, I had to smile when he answered the phone. Sergeant Owens and
I have a long history together. I served under him when I was a deputy with the sheriff’s
department, I cried in his arms when Todd and Christy were killed, and when I laid
down my gun and my badge, it was on Sergeant Owens’s desk. Since then I’d stumbled
across more than my share of crime cases, and I was beginning to feel like an adjunct
private investigator for the local law. Sergeant Owens had once told me I was too
fucked up (his words) to carry on as a police officer, but I imagined he had an entirely
different opinion of me now. Or at least, that’s what I hoped.

Even when he’s being his official police self, Owens can’t keep from sounding like
he’s about to sit down to crisp catfish and hush puppies that his mama just fried
up for him and thirty-nine of his closest kinfolk. Owens is six-three, slow and lanky
to look at, but lightning fast when he thinks. He sets high standards for himself
and his subordinates, and he’s quick to let you know when you’re being a dumb-butt.
Believe me, I know.

I said, “Sergeant, it’s Dixie Hemingway. Sorry to bother you, but I’ve got a bit of
a situation here, and I think you might want to send somebody over.”

His voice warmed as if he was smiling. “What you got, Dixie?”

I said, “I’m pet sitting for the Harwicks on Jungle Plum Road, and they have a huge
saltwater aquarium full of fish in their bathroom. Valuable fish. When I arrived,
the alarm wasn’t on, which is unusual, and the cat is missing, or hiding, I’m not
sure which. I went into the bathroom where the aquarium is, and one of the fish is
in a state of alarm. I’m not sure, but I think there’s been some kind of crime.”

After a pause Owens said, “A cat is hiding, and a fish is alarmed?”

“Yes.”

“And where are you now?”

“I’m parked on the side of the road a little ways down from their driveway.”

After a moment, Owens drawled, “Are any of the other fish alarmed?”

Okay, maybe he still thought I was a bit loopy. I sighed. “I know it sounds pretty
flimsy.”

“Dixie, flimsy is not the word I was thinking.”

“I just don’t have a good feeling about it.”

“Well, could be that cat ate one of them fish, and now he’s trying to make a run for
it. You want me to shut down all the roads out of the city?”

“Alright then, maybe I’m overreacting a little bit.”

“Could be. Give me a call if you got any more nervous critters.”

“Sorry to bother you.”

“Not a bother at all, Dixie.” I could feel him grinning over the phone. “Good to hear
from you.”

Just as I hung up, a shiny black sports car pulled into the driveway. There was a
young man behind the wheel, and I knew it had to be the Harwicks’ son, August. I jumped
out of the car and flagged him down. He rolled down his window as I came jogging up
alongside the car.

I said, “Hi, I’m the cat sitter. Are you August?”

He smiled, looking me up and down, and said, “I am. What’s up?”

“Look, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I was just in the house, and I think
there may be someone in there. I can’t find Charlotte anywhere, and … well, one of
the fish is alarmed.”

His smile faded a bit. “Is my sister in there?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t see her. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I just had a feeling
something was wrong.”

He looked up at the house and said, “Okay.”

He shifted his car into park and turned off the ignition. I stepped back as he opened
the door and got out. He was tall, at least six feet, with dark stubble and shaggy
hair. He had the awkward swagger of a teenaged boy trying to come off like a man.
I could smell liquor and cigarettes on his breath, and I wondered if he hadn’t been
up all night partying and was just now getting home. No wonder the Harwicks needed
me.

He said, “I’ll check it out. Maybe you better wait in your car.”

“I’m not sure you should go in there alone.”

“Look, I already got ripped off once this week. I’m not letting that happen again.
You wait in your car and I’ll be back.”

As I turned to go back to my car, he leaned over and pulled something out of his glove
compartment. At first I couldn’t quite make it out, but then I saw the familiar glint
of black metal and realized it was a pistol. Why in the world this rich kid drove
around with a pistol in his glove compartment was beyond me. Every bone in my body
told me to get in my car, drive away, and never look back, but I wasn’t about to go
anywhere until I knew Charlotte was safe.

I got in my car and locked the doors and hunkered down low in the seat, just in case
there was about to be an all-out gun battle in the driveway. In the back of my head,
I knew I was probably letting my imagination run away with me, but all I could see
were those big mermaid eyes staring into mine and that porcupine fish’s engorged body
covered in sharp needles. One thing you can say about animals: They never lie.

After what seemed like an eternity, August came sauntering out of the driveway and
up to the car. I rolled down the window, and he leaned in, his cigarette and alcohol
breath flowing over me.

“The coast is clear. Charlotte’s out by the pool.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “How did she get out there?”

He grinned and looked me up and down again, his eyes lingering on my breasts. “No
idea.”

For a moment I considered punching him in the nuts, but I had to remind myself that
the combination of alcohol and raging hormones never brings out the best in anybody,
so I did my best to forgive his blatant leering, and since I was almost old enough
to be his mother, I’m ashamed to admit I was kind of flattered by his lame, schoolboy
flirting.

I followed him up the cobblestone driveway past his fancy black sports car. He looked
the car up and down with about the same degree of smarminess he’d looked me up and
down, and I could tell he was hoping I’d be impressed. I was, a little bit—it actually
was a pretty cool-looking car—but I certainly wasn’t about to let him know I thought
so.

“How do you like my new wheels?”

I shrugged and kept walking. “Cars aren’t really my thing.”

If it actually had been a gun that he pulled out of the glove compartment, he must
have stashed it inside the house, because I didn’t see any sign of it in his pockets.
I considered asking him about it—being alone in a rambling mansion with a gun and
a half-drunken teenager is not exactly my idea of a good time—but I told myself if
there had been some perverted fish burglar lurking around inside, a gun might have
come in handy.

We went out to the lanai. I dropped my backpack by the door and walked over to Charlotte,
who was busy cleaning her face using her paw as a napkin. She barely acknowledged
my presence.

August propped himself up in the doorway. “You need anything else?”

“No, but thanks, it was nice meeting you. Thanks for finding Charlotte.”

“Yeah man, I totally came to your rescue, huh?”

“Well, I’m sorry I got a little spooked back there. I have a very active imagination.”

He flashed that stupid grin again. “I bet you do.” He pulled out an off-white business
card and slipped it into one of the pockets of my backpack. “Here’s my digits.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Your digits?”

“Yeah, my phone number. We should hang out sometime.”

One of the many skills I acquired as a police officer is the ability to put an expression
on my face that says “I’m tired of your bullshit, take it down a notch.” It’s useful
in a variety of situations, like at the return desk at Marshalls or in a movie theater
surrounded by rowdy teenagers on spring break. I put my hands on my hips and looked
him squarely in the eye.

“Well, August, it was nice to meet you.”

His grin flattened, and he faked a yawn. “Yeah, well, I’m gonna go crash now—party
all night, sleep all day. Catch ya later.”

He disappeared inside, and I rolled my eyes at his back. What kind of teenager carries
around a business card? Charlotte stood up and rubbed her cheek into my ankle. I looked
down and grinned. I knew she’d come around sooner or later—I can usually win over
even the grumpiest customer. Humans are trickier. Of course, by now her breakfast
was a little late, so it was possible she was just pretending to love up against me
so I’d feed her. Either way, I had other pets to tend to, and it was already getting
late. I went over to the glass-paneled door and slid it open.

“Come on, Queen B, let’s go get some breakfast.”

Charlotte swished her tail and strolled over to the edge of the pool. Now that she’d
gotten my full attention, it was apparently time to play hard-to-get. I know from
experience that the best way to get a cat’s attention is to pay no attention to it
whatsoever, but I didn’t have time for Charlotte’s shenanigans.

“Let’s go, Your Highness. It’s now or never.”

She stretched an arm out over the pool and tapped nonchalantly at the water a couple
of times with one paw, as if to let me know my powers were useless here. I stepped
up behind her and was leaning over to pick her up when something registered in the
corner of my eye. It was a dark shape at the bottom of the pool. At first glance it
appeared to be a big black suitcase or one of those black plastic liners for garbage
barrels. I knelt down next to Charlotte to get a closer look, and she nuzzled herself
in between my legs and swished her tail a couple of times.

Now I swooped her up in my arms. She protested a bit as I rushed her across the lanai
and back into the house. I put her down, slid the door closed, and walked back to
the pool. I pulled out my phone and punched the
REDIAL
button.