“Do you think that maybe—?”
“Angela,” my cat yowled, interrupting quite rudely. “Evian! A cat could die waiting, and we both know I’m already light on my remaining lives. I’d hate to lose one of the precious few I have left to dehydration.”
I groaned and threw up my hands.“Be right back. His royal pain in the butt needs me.”
“I heard that!” he mewled in protest.
“Good!” Sometimes it really felt as if I was the mother of the world’s most unruly teenager. At least when Charles and I had children one day, I’d be ready for their worst.
I stomped into the kitchen. Octo-Cat waited in cold silence as I hand-washed his favorite china teacup, fetched a fresh bottle of Evian from the pantry, and poured. Next time he’d be getting toilet water, the little scoundrel.
When I left the kitchen, I rejoined Nan, who had moved to the living room and was now sitting with a sniffling Paisley on top of her lap.
“I take it you overheard what happened to the new neighbor?” I asked the little dog with a curious glance.
She looked up at me with huge, glistening eyes.“Is she dead because of me?”
“No!” I answered emphatically. “Absolutely not.”
Paisley shook and whimpered.“Maybe she got scared to death when she saw me.”
“She got knocked out by a huge bag of feed, hit her head, and then bled to death,” I stated bluntly. We all liked to pretend that Paisley wasn’t a teeny-tiny thing, mostly because she saw herself as a big, scary dog—the way all chihuahuas do. But I couldn’t let her go so far as to blame herself for something that had absolutely nothing to do with her.
“Ouch. That doesn’t sound very nice,” Nan interjected. I’d shared the cause of death for Paisley’s benefit, but this was her first time hearing it too.
“I’m sure it wasn’t.” I shrugged, needing to be strong for the two of them even though inside I was still reeling.
“Mommy, what’s hell?” the pup asked in that sweet, singsong voice of hers.
Of course, Octo-Cat chose this precise moment to make his grand re-entrance on the scene.“It’s where that old—”
“Octo-Cat, shush!” I yelled before he could complete that thought aloud. Narrowing in on the frightened dog, I murmured softly, “Why are you asking about hell, Paisley?”
“The lady. She called me a hellhound. I know what hound means, but not hell. So what is it, Mommy?”
“Oh, dear.” Nan scratched Paisley’s head while wearing a worried expression. “I didn’t want to bother the animals with religion, but if they can talk, I guess they can also understand. Was this an oversight on my part? Is it time we took Octo-Cat and Paisley to church?”
“Touch me, and you’re dead,” Octo-Cat growled before running off.
“Mommy?” Paisley asked pointedly again. “Are you going to tell me about hell?”
Honestly I didn’t know which of my companions to address first. We had a possible murder on our hands, and the shock of it had worn on us all. Now hardly seemed like the proper time to ponder such existential questions as they pertained to our house pets.
I moved to sit beside Nan on the loveseat and placed one hand on her shoulder while using the other to scratch Paisley’s head. “We’ll talk about this some other time, okay?” I told them both, hoping that would be enough for now. I already worried about the state of my cat’s soul after the remarks he’d made, and I just didn’t have the energy to follow this particular train all the way to the station.
Not now. Probably not ever.
I hardly had the energy to consider what happened to old Ms. Miller, but maybe after a good night’s rest I’d be able to see things a bit more clearly.
9
My sleep came long and troubled that night. I was surprised when I awoke late in the morning the following day; normally the animals rousted me from my sleep hours earlier.
I tiptoed downstairs, finding only a quiet house to greet me. Nan and Paisley must have gone out somewhere, but where was my cat?
Feeling some minor hesitation, I unlocked the pet door. There was no sense in keeping the animals cooped up inside now that Ms. Miller was no longer around to issue complaints for every minor perceived infraction. Still, it felt weird, moving on so quickly. For the last two weeks, the neighbor’s complaints had dictated so much of our lives, and now they just didn’t matter anymore.
“Octavius?” I called into the seemingly empty lower level of our home.
When I was met only with silence, I moved to the kitchen to see what Nan had left for my breakfast.
There I found a note tucked under the edge of a blue ceramic plate—and on top of that plate, three fresh-baked vanilla bean scones. I grabbed a pasty hungrily, sweeping my eyes over the note as I chewed.
Flash mob in the park. Took Paisley.
Ah, that was right. Nan had started taking hip-hop dance lessons a few months back and had been over the moon when their class was invited to participate in a sneak dance number. It didn’t exactly seem like Paisley’s type of thing, but I imagined she’d be standing on the sidelines with Grant as they both lovingly watched Nan twerk and grind.
I glanced down at my baggy T-shirt and shorts with a snort. My grandmother was so much cooler than me. That probably should have bothered me, but it didn’t. Not when I had so much else on my mind.
I still hadn’t found my cat, so I decided to mount a search. I grabbed a bag of treats from the pantry and made the crinkling noise he adored, hoping it would draw him to me as I made my way through the house.
He wasn’t downstairs, nor was he in my bedroom or even curled up in his own. I finally found him in the office, tucked away under the desk where a dark shadow kept him mostly hidden from view.
“Those for me?” he mumbled and crept toward me on four shaky feet to demand sustenance.
I shook three out of the bag and placed them flat on the palm of my hand.“What are you doing in here?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he snuffled despite the fact he was still chewing—and the fact that he’d given me guff for doing the very same thing just last week. He must have been really out of it to do such a thing.
“Nightmares?” I offered with a supportive frown.
He shook his head.
“Regret?” I tried. My frown deepened as I recalled our conversation last night.
Octo-Cat stopped munching and met me with odd eyes.“Why would I ever feel regret? I’m a cat, remember?”
“Yes, I know you’re a cat, but you were also kind of a brat when you heard the news about that poor woman next door.”
He laughed bitterly, then began to choke, then coughed up a bit of food, then continued,“A brat? How dare you call me such a detestable name? And how dare you for even one second accuse me of being fallible? Besides, are you sure the old woman is even dead?”
“Of course I’m sure. I saw the body.” How could he even be questioning this? We’d both seen enough bodies in our day to recognize the strange waxiness of a dead person versus a living one.
“Not dead, pah. Then how do you explain the lights that were flashing over there late last night making it nigh impossible for me to catch any shut-eye?”
This caught me off guard.“Lights? It must have been the police.”
Octo-Cat snarled but knew better than to take a swipe at me while I was feeding him.“Do you think I’m a moron? I know what police lights look like, and these weren’t them. They were much smaller… More treats.”
“What do you say?” Sometimes I wished I could snarl, but the best I could settle for in response to his lack of decorum was a frustrated groan.
“Now.” His tail flicked and swished.
I groaned again and shook more of the tiny meat bites into my hand for him to nosh on.“You’re welcome,” I added pointedly.
A low growl rumbled in his throat.“Torches, I think they’re called,” my cat then offered before digging back in.
I blinked back my surprise, immediately picturing an angry mob wielding pitchforks and torches. But that didn’t make any sense, unless…