“Oh, shit, everybody had a bad childhood.”
‘Well, I have to say nobody molested me, or locked me in the closet for a week at a time. While some of the cases we get—”
“All right, point taken. Mine wasn’t that bad, either. I used to say I had as miserable a childhood as the next braggart, but it was way short of being that kind of nightmare.”
“I just hope there aren’t any more dead animals. Because the good news is that we’re making real progress here.”
“Well, give the dead cats some credit.”
“What do you mean, John?”
“Ever since the first one turned up, she hasn’t been kicking up a fuss. Haven’t you noticed? Instead of putting up a fight every time somebody wants to throw out the 1972 World Almanac, she stays locked into her own private world and leaves the men alone. It makes a big difference.”
“Maybe she’s resigned herself to it.”
“And maybe she figured she knows where the county landfill is, and she can just drive down there and retrieve her treasures after we’re gone.”
“Oh, God, don’t even say that.”
“Plus who knows what other treasures she might find while she’s there, and — Arnie, what is it? And please don’t tell me dead cats come in threes.”
“No, John, I think it’s worse than that. Arnie, you’re white as a sheet. It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Arnie, what is it?”
“Eddie and that other fellow, I can’t think of his name right now—”
“Never mind his name.”
“I don’t know why I can’t think of it. But it don’t matter for now. The two of them, they was in the basement, which is no judgment calls involved, you know, because it’s all water-damaged and all gotta be thrown out, and they were in, I don’t know, the root cellar or the fruit cellar, or maybe it was the coal cellar back in the day.”
“And?”
“You just better come downstairs. You better come see for yourselves.”
One look and I knew who I was looking at. I recognized her right off. Her T-shirt was faded, it used to be yellow and now it’s more of a gray, but you can still make out Minnie Mouse’s picture on it, and that meant it was Little Debby. It was one of her favorite shirts, she plain loved Minnie Mouse.
But I’d have known anyway, because of the size. She was the youngest, and small for her age on top of that, so it for sure wasn’t Tricia or Maxine. Plus her red hair was a dead giveaway. Nobody else had hair that color. I guess she got it from her father, not that he was a redhead but his mother was. And nobody on my side of the family had red hair.
Not that I know just how that works in people. Cat genetics, there’s something I know a little about, but I think it’s more complicated in human beings.
I’ll tell you something, I think I knew it was Little Debby before I even set eyes on her. I just got this powerful feeling on the way down the cellar stairs. I couldn’t guess when was the last time I went anywhere near the cellar, but on the staircase, well, I had this feeling.
So I guess she didn’t run off after all. I guess it couldn’t have been so bad here at home, I guess she liked it well enough to stay.
A mother’s not supposed to play favorites, but she was my favorite, Little Debby. It’s funny, I don’t know how to explain this, but I have to say it: I’m sort of glad she’s here.
I wonder what else will turn up.