“Look,” I said, trying to be as gentle as possible. “I think I can handle things from here. Why don’t you go see what else you can find out about the Harlow murder?”
She twisted her hands anxiously. “Are you sure?” Despite her hesitation, I could tell she was just as eager to go as I was to have her leave.
Did I feel guilty? Sure. I’d probably never stop feeling guilty when it came to my strained relationship with her and Dad.
Still, Mom and I had always gotten along best in brief bursts. I loved that we were becoming closer these last few weeks, but we needed more time to navigate our new relationship—and this really wasn’t the best day for us to put in the work, as calloused as that sounded even to my own ear.
It just couldn’t be a priority with all the other things I needed to do.
I side-stepped the broken teacup and gave my mom a tight hug. “I’m sure. I can tell you’re dying to get back on the case. I’ll be fine here.”
Mom sighed happily. “Mmm, you know me so well,” she said before quickly gathering her things and racing toward the door. “I’ll text with any updates. Bye!”
And just like that, she was gone again.
Octo-Cat resumed his agonized mewling. Even though we could understand each other, sometimes he still reverted to the classic cat sounds—usually in periods of intense emotion—like now.
“I’m sorry,” I told him, carefully stroking his head. I hoped it would offer comfort and also that the kindly gesture would not result in me getting bitten, but you kind of never knew with Octo-Cat.
“It’s like Ethel just died all over again,” he told me. His ears twitched then fell flat against his head. His tail swished back and forth like a metronome. His eyes grew so wide and dark that I was sure he would have cried, were such a trait in his biology.
“I’m really sorry,” I told him again, unsure of what else I could do.
He stared at the tiny fragments of Lenox that lay scattered across the kitchen floor. Whites, pinks, gold-trimmed, all nothing more than broken pieces of the life he’d once known. Great. Now I was tearing up, too.
“I’ll just go get the broom,” I mumbled, not wanting him to see how moved I now was on his behalf.
But before I could turn away, Octo-Cat shot out in front of me and screamed, “No!”
My heartbeat ratcheted up a few notches, thumping wildly as I wondered what crazy thing my cat might do next. “Whoa, what happened?”
“I’m just not ready yet,” he informed me. “I need some time with it first.”
“With the broken teacup?” I asked gently. He’d gotten better at detecting sarcasm and punished me whenever he heard it in my voice or saw it on my face. He was allowed to talk to me however he pleased, of course, but I had to maintain the utmost respect at all times.
Even times like this.
Octo-Cat sniffed and lifted his nose high as he did whenever he wanted to appear superior. “Yes,” he answered simply.
“Unfortunately, we don’t really have time.” I kept my face placid, understanding. “The movers will be here in an hour or so. And we can’t keep stepping around the mess. It’s dangerous. One of us could cut a foot on those sharp shards.”
He let out a mournful meow, then turned away. “Do as you must.”
I resumed my journey to get the broom and dustpan, feeling like the worst cat owner in the world. That made me the worst daughter and the worst cat owner all within the span of about ten minutes. My stock would not be rising anytime soon.
When I returned, Octo-Cat still stood frozen in that dramatic pose of his. Normally, his antics bugged me, but at that moment, I truly felt sorry for him and his loss.
“Would it help if we said a few words?” I suggested.
The morose tabby turned his head slightly and peered at me from the corners of his eyes. “Like a funeral?”
“Yeah,” I said with a shrug. “Like a funeral.”
He shifted the rest of the way out of his pose and faced me straight on. Already he looked better, like his heart had started to piece itself back together. “Where will we bury it?” he wanted to know.
“Oh. Umm.” I did not have time for this, but he also seemed sincere and in need of closure, so I suggested something I hoped would suit us both. “We should bury it tonight at Ethel’s.” That would buy me the time I needed to pack at least, and hopefully it would make him feel better about this whole episode, too.
“Great idea, Angela,” Octo-Cat said with one of his hard-earned smiles.
I glowed in the light of his rare and wonderful praise. He was a diva, sure, but it did feel good to make him happy, especially considering that most of the time every little thing I did disappointed him greatly.
“Tonight,” he shouted merrily. “That also gives me time to work on what I’ll say.” He then trotted off, leaving me to tidy the mess and prepare it for burial.
Ugh. As glad as I was that he felt better, I’d planned to talk to him about Lou Harlow’s murder and the strange cats she’d left behind.
Well, that would just have to wait.
Why was my to-do list only getting longer the harder I worked today?
Chapter Five
All of Octo-Cat’s previous sorrow evaporated the moment we pulled into the long, winding driveway of Fulton Manor.
“Home!” he yowled, even being so brave as to detach his claws from my thigh so he could prop himself up and look out the window. “Oh, it feels so good to be home!”
I parked and opened my driver’s side door, and he immediately jumped over me to get to the ground outside. “Home!” he continued to cry as he rolled back and forth in the grass like a crazy kitty.
I was just about to ask him to rein it in when he raced up the porch steps and through his specialty cat door, which slid open in response to a special signal his collar emitted. All this time I’d never replaced his collar and he’d never asked me to. He probably always knew we’d end up here someday. After all, he’d engineered the entire thing.
Octo-Cat had clearly found a way to keep himself occupied. Meanwhile, the movers were still packing things up at my old rental, which gave me a little bit of time alone with my new mansion now.
A mansion! And it belonged to me!
Ridiculous.
But, okay, also super cool.
My eyes moved up the three stories all the way to the turret rising up beyond the far side of the roof. I’d already decided to make my bedroom there in the tippity top tower just like some kind of weirdo modern-day princess. Nan had claimed the master bedroom, which had belonged to Ethel before she died. It was also where she had died, and I just felt icky about being in the same house, let alone the very same bedroom.
Nan simply laughed and said, “Oh, sweetie pie. Death is a part of life.” I figured at her advanced age, it must not bother her as much as it did me. Personally, I hoped I never reached the point in life where I was comfortable sleeping in the same spot a dead body had lain only months before.
It was eerie enough moving into a house that had served as the scene of a murder. In fact, I was still working on coming to terms with it. By now, I felt pretty sure my first electric bill would be many hundreds of dollars, seeing as I planned to sleep with every single light on until I no longer felt afraid of my own house.
Had it been my choice, I’d never have picked a dwelling so grand. But Octo-Cat had insisted upon it. Even Mr. Fulton—my former boss—seemed happy to be unloading the house quickly, even at a substantial loss to himself and the other heirs.