The Cat Sitter's Whiskers (6 page)

With Sophie playing on her own and nothing but the crunching sound of my sneakers on the road to distract me, I had to allow for the fact that there'd been a nagging voice in the back of my head all morning. So far I'd done a pretty good job ignoring it, but now it was getting louder and louder. It was a jumble of questions and rambling thoughts and theories, but the overriding theme was:
Huh?

There was no point trying to re-create the whole scene of what had happened that morning, but I couldn't stop myself. And even though low blood sugar was probably the most logical explanation, I just couldn't accept the idea that I'd just fainted and dreamt the whole thing.

For a moment I even toyed with the idea of going back and seeing if I could get some answers out of Barney Feldman. He was my only bona fide witness, and I'm a firm believer in the notion that our animal friends are perfectly capable of communicating with us, even on a very sophisticated level. The only problem is that we haven't quite figured out how to listen yet. In my opinion, if we ever do, the world will be a vastly better place.

Sophie was chasing after a swallowtail butterfly she'd roused from a spindly spice bush growing on the side of the road, and as she raced by in hot pursuit I swooped her up in my arms and cradled her like a baby.

I said, “Hey, any chance you speak Maine Coon?”

She looked up with soulful brown eyes and blinked a couple of times, which I wasn't sure meant yes or no or
Can you please put me down I'm in the middle of something?

I said, “Listen, there's somebody I'd like you to talk to. Would you be up for that? He's the only one that can tell me what really happened.”

She perked her ears up and tilted her head to one side, trying her best to figure out what the hell I was talking about, but I knew I wasn't getting through to her. Without an interpreter, I didn't think I'd get much information out of Barney Feldman. But then again, there was one other option …

Contrary to what some people might tell you, I'm no dummy, at least most of the time. The moment I hopped on my bike and pedaled away from the Kellers' house, I knew my brain had gone into autopilot, and I could still feel it working quietly in the background, trying to connect the dots.

Maybe I'd been wrong this whole time. Maybe it hadn't been Levi parked outside my driveway at all. It certainly wouldn't take a genius to figure out that I have easy access to some of the island's swankiest homes, and the idea that I might have been followed to the Kellers' was starting to seem like a very real possibility, especially when I remembered hearing the sound of a car roll by in the street as I unlocked their front door.

I knew if Barney Feldman couldn't shed some light on what had happened, there was one person who could: Levi Radcliff. If there'd been another car in the neighborhood, like somebody lingering around waiting for me to leave so they could follow me, Levi would definitely have noticed it.

Sophie must have sensed I wasn't paying attention to her anymore because she squirmed out of my arms and scampered off in search of her butterfly, and by the time we got back home she had pretty much tuckered herself out. I gave her a couple of kisses on the nose and then conducted one more water bowl inspection while she headed upstairs for her midmorning nap, which at the time seemed like a capital idea. The only thing that kept me from joining her was the angry growling coming from my stomach.

I needed food. It seemed like days since I'd eaten, and for all I knew the thoughts coming out of my head were just the fevered ramblings of a malnourished brain. I figured before I made any decisions about what had happened that morning or what I should do next—if anything—I'd better get something to eat first.

What I needed was a good, home-cooked breakfast with a healthy serving of TLC on the side, and I knew exactly where to find it.

 

7

I'm a creature of habit. Seven days a week, rain or shine, hell or high water, dogfight or fur ball, my alarm clock goes off at five a.m. and I roll right out of bed. I stagger blurry-eyed into the bathroom, splash cold water on my face, and pull my hair into a ponytail. If I think about it I dab on a little lip gloss and maybe some mascara, and then I walk like a zombie into the closet and get dressed in the dark. The order is always the same: Underwear, bra, cargo shorts, sleeveless white tee, and a fresh pair of white sneakers.

I might do a shot or two of OJ and then I'm out the door. All my pets get at least two visits a day, one in the morning and another in the afternoon—usually about half an hour each, or more if the client wants it. I'm usually done with my morning rounds by nine or ten. Then it's off to my home away from home.

The Village Diner is at the heart of the Key's “commercial” area, what we locals call the Village, thus the name. I've been eating breakfast there my whole life. Well, that's not exactly true. Before Todd and Christy left, I made breakfast at home. Pancakes were Todd's favorite. Christy was crazy for my avocado-and-mushroom omelets. You'd think it would have been the other way around, but Todd and Christy were full of surprises like that.

I almost feel like I work at the diner, I've spent so much time in one of its teal pleather booths. My reserved spot is at the very back on the right. As soon as I walk in the door, Tanisha gives me a wave and a wink from her little window in the kitchen to let me know she's already started on my order: Two eggs over easy with home fries and a biscuit.

I normally make a detour for the restroom to wash away the cat fur and the dog slobber I've accumulated, then I grab the newspaper and slide into my booth, where Judy's usually waiting for me with a pot of piping-hot coffee.

Judy is about my age and pretty much my best friend in the world, even though I never see her outside of the diner. She's smart-mouthed and long-limbed, with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and honey-brown eyes that look out at the world with a distant longing. She knows everything about me and all my tales of sorrow, and I know all hers, most of which have a man at the bottom of them. And even though she's not had the best of luck in the romance department, she's always cheerful because, as she puts it, “on the road of life, the grumpier you are, the more jackasses you meet.”

She was leaning against the table with one hand on her hip, holding a coffeepot out from her waist and sloshing it around in slow circles. Her lips were pursed to one side and she had a particular look on her face—what I call the “Judge Judy.” It usually means I'm in trouble.

I slid into the booth and pushed an empty coffee cup toward her. “What are you looking at?”

“Well, first of all I'm looking at that Fu Manchu mustache you've got going on.”

I brought one finger to my lip and pulled away a small white tuft of fur that was clinging to my upper lip. “Oh, dammit! That's probably been there all morning.”

Judy nodded as she poured my coffee. “Probably. And then I'm also looking at that pretty little bump on top of your head.”

I sighed. “Great. Is it that obvious?”

She grinned triumphantly. “No, but your friend Captain Morgan was in here a little while ago and told me all about it.”

“Are you kidding me? Isn't that like a breach of confidence or something? And he's a deputy, by the way, not a captain.”

She shrugged. “Deputy, captain, colonel. All I know is, I'm a sassy waitress in a small-town diner. If anybody's got local gossip, they're pretty much required to hand it over.”

I heard Tanisha ring her order bell as I took a sip of coffee. “So how much do you know?”

“Not much, I made the mistake of telling him he should be a little more professional, that people could be listening, but that was before I realized he was talking about you. If I'd known I would have kept my big mouth shut.”

“Well, what did he say?”

The order bell rang again, this time with a little more
oomph
to it, and Judy held up one finger. “Hold on, that's probably for you.”

She zigzagged down the aisle, picking up plates and topping off cups of coffee here and there, and then in the blink of an eye returned with my breakfast. Tanisha must have known I'd had a rough morning, too, because sitting next to my eggs were two biscuits instead of one. They were topped with twin pads of melting butter and dollops of Tanisha's homemade peach marmalade. One bite and my eyes rolled right up into the back of my head. I could barely hear Judy over the moans of sheer ecstasy coming out of me.

“He said he found you passed out on the floor in the Kellers' laundry room and that you had a nasty bump on your head, but other than that he wouldn't give me the details. Dixie, what the hell happened?”

I dabbed at the crumbs on my lips and took a sip of coffee for dramatic effect. “I don't know.”

She shifted her weight to one side and crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you mean, you don't know?”

“I mean, I don't know.”

“Dixie, I'm in no mood for games. I've been worried sick about you.”

“Seriously, I have no idea what happened. Believe me, I wish to hell I did.”

I told her the whole story, how everything seemed fine when I arrived at the Kellers, how I'd given Barney his breakfast and taken out the trash, and how Dick Cheney had been waiting for me with his red-toed, baldy she-Buddha. The whole time I was talking, her eyes got wider and wider until finally she interrupted me.

“Wait a minute, somebody broke in to the Kellers' house, put a mask on, and
attacked
you?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I'm gonna add another bump to that head of yours if you don't stop foolin' around and tell me what happened.”

“I'm telling you! Here's everything I know: I passed out, and at some point or other I woke up, the doors in the living room that lead out to the back garden were standing wide open, and there were two candles on the coffee table that weren't there before. And they were lit.”

She frowned. “You sure you weren't the one that was lit?”

“Hold on, it gets weirder. When the cops showed up, those doors were shut and locked, the candles were gone, and the mask was hanging right where it's supposed to be. So in other words, I may have fainted and dreamt the whole thing.”

She eyed me for a second and then sighed as she slid into the booth opposite me. “Hmm.”

“Yeah. Hmm is right. So I have no idea, and there was no sign of a break-in, either. Nothing missing.”

She put her elbows on the table and brought her hands together like she was about to say a prayer. “Now I know why Captain Morgan wouldn't give me the details.”

“And this is gonna sound crazy, but Judy, I halfway think somebody followed me there. Do you know Levi, the paper guy?”

She nodded and started to speak but I interrupted her. “Well, he was parked outside my driveway about five this morning, at least I thought it was him because that's what time the paper usually comes … only now I'm not so sure. Either way, I'm wondering if maybe he saw something suspicious. Or maybe he saw somebody lurking around outside the Kellers' house…”

Her eyes narrowed slightly and she looked down at the table for a brief moment. I could tell she wasn't convinced. “Honey, I think you better go see a doctor.”

“Now you sound like Morgan.”

“Well, Dixie, did you faint or not?”

I didn't know whether to nod, shake my head no, or shrug, so I did a combination of all three.

She put one hand on top of mine and sighed. “Maybe you just need some food in you and a little rest. Just stop thinking about it and maybe it'll all make sense tomorrow. You've just been working too hard, that's all.”

I felt my eyes start to well with tears, much to my surprise, but I rubbed my eyelids with my thumb and forefinger so Judy wouldn't notice. If she did, she pretended not to.

“And I know you don't want to, but you need to stop by Dr. Dunlop's office and let him take a look at that bump on your head. It looks like you're growing a little horn, and it's high time you got your head examined anyway.” She slid out of the booth and straightened her apron. “Now eat your breakfast and don't worry. I'm gonna fetch you a couple of slices of bacon. That'll get you feeling back to normal in no time.”

I nodded. “Okay. And bring me the newspaper, will you? Maybe that'll help distract me.”

She reached over and picked up my coffee cup. “Well, I would if I could. That's what I was gonna say before. The damn paper never came this morning.”

She turned and took two steps toward the kitchen, and froze.

As our eyes met she whispered, “Oh, Dixie, you don't think…”

*   *   *

I remember reading once about Carl Jung, the Swiss psychologist who blew everybody's minds in the 1920s when he came up with the whole idea of synchronicity. The way Jung saw it, anybody with a central nervous system was part of a collective unconscious, maybe even some kind of world soul, where the thoughts and actions of one being could touch, on some basic level, the thoughts and actions of every other being on earth. Of course, that just freaked everybody out because it meant that two seemingly unrelated events could actually have some kind of relationship with one another, even if you couldn't exactly draw a straight line between them.

I think on any other day, the fact that the diner hadn't received its morning newspaper wouldn't have registered as even the slightest blip on my radar, but the idea that I'd spent the whole morning with Levi hovering in the back of my mind made it stand out, and I knew Judy was thinking the exact same thing. She'd done a quick poll of her other tables, and the results made the hair on the back of my neck stand up: more than half of her customers hadn't received their morning papers, either.