I watched in horror as my boss, the senior partner at our law firm, Mr. Richard Thompson, clambered out of his car and up the steps toward the house. Uncharacteristically, he came without the briefcase that was usually attached to him like a boxy extension of his left limb. He also appeared nervous as he loosened his tie and glanced around the estate to see if anyone else was nearby. The police had mostly cleared out by then—or at least taken their get-together elsewhere. And, thank goodness, he didn’t know to search for me on the other side of the forest.
I remained rooted to the spot as Officer Bouchard stepped out of the house and strode forward to greet Mr. Thompson. His badge reflected the sunshine like a polished nickel. “Richard, can I help you with something?”
I craned my neck to try to make out Mr. Thompson’s expression, but a low-hanging branch blocked my view.
“I heard the news,” Thompson said. His deep voice projected through the forest. “Thought I’d stop by to pay my respects.”
Officer Bouchard jogged down the steps and motioned for the other man to follow. “I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that this isn’t the appropriate time or place.”
“I know,” my boss agreed. He seemed unsure of what to do with his hands. “It was just so… so unexpected.”
The policeman sighed and raised one of his arms high to run a hand through his hair. “Yeah, we’re all pretty beat up about this one. It doesn’t change the rules, though.”
They exchanged a few quiet words that got lost before they reached my ears, and then Mr. Thompson climbed back into his car and left.
“What was that about?” Octo-Cat asked, choosing that exact moment to rub up against my leg and giving me the fright of my life.
“I have no idea,” I told him honestly, still very much suspicious as to how both me and my firm at large now became tangled up in every single murder around town. Granted, there weren’t any murders until Ethel Fulton earlier this year—or at least none that I knew about.
“I hope somebody without any pets moves in next,” he informed me with a bored yawn as we both stared vacantly through the trees.
This surprised me enough to risk a glance toward him. It’s not like anything was happening at Harlow Manor anymore. Even Officer Bouchard had disappeared from view now.
“Don’t you like other cats?” I asked him.
“In my territory?” He made a sarcastic psshaw noise. “I’d much rather not share, if given the choice. This is my land. These are my trees to climb, and in their branches? Those are my birds to devour… or at least deliver to the foot of your bed when you’ve been a good human.”
I shuddered at the memory of his most recent gift. “I guess I’ll make sure not to be a good human then.”
He nipped at the blades of grass in front of his paws, swallowed a few bites, and then snickered. “Just for that, now my puke will be green.”
“Um, okay,” I said with a shrug. Honestly, his punishments often weren’t much worse than his rewards, and this one seemed especially tame.
“It will throw off your whole day,” he explained with a smirk. His laughter became sinister, and I knew he’d gone full-on into evil genius mode. The only problem with that is our definitions of the word genius varied substantially.
When he stopped laughing, he took a deep breath and glanced up at me. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said with a frustrated groan that was also part growl.
I shook my head, just as Officer Bouchard popped into view outside of the Harlow place. Why was he there? What was he doing?
“You’ll have to clean up green puke,” my cat explained between laughs that seemed to be losing their steam. “Normally, you start your day by cleaning up brown puke. You see? It will make everything different right from the start of your day. You won’t be able to stand it!”
“You got me,” I said with a resigned sigh. It would be better for us both if he thought he’d found a new means of punishing me. He derived such great pleasure from trying out new training techniques, that I didn’t have the heart to correct his misunderstandings when it came to what did and didn’t work for disciplining humans.
“Got it out of your system now?” I asked, turning back to study him with a skeptical smile.
“For now,” he answered. “But just you wait until tomorrow morning!”
“Okay, great.” I glanced back toward Officer Bouchard’s immovable form and my curiosity continued to grow. Who would kill a four-term senator when she was so liked by her constituents? Why did the police find it necessary to guard the crime scene? And what, if anything, did her weird, hairless cats have to do with it all?
“Hey, are you busy right now?” I asked my cat when I realized he might be able to sneak through the woods for a closer look.
He just turned his nose up and said, “Yes,” then turned around with his tail also held high in the air, flashing me an unnecessary view of his kitty butt.
“Well, thanks for that,” I shouted after him.
With one more glance though the trees, I decided to give it a rest. At least for now. Maybe the cops had already identified the culprit and that’s why they were guarding the scene. Even if I had an official title now as part of Mom’s impromptu branding session this morning, I was still inexperienced and new at this.
The police were the experts, and I had to trust them to do their jobs right. Even as I thought those words, however, I knew it would only be a matter of time before I found myself creeping through those trees to investigate the scene of the murder firsthand.
Chapter Seven
Night was fast approaching by the time the movers left. They not only helped me move my meager belongings in, but they also stayed to help reorganize the existing furniture within the manor and to pack some of the unneeded pieces into their truck for a quick stop off to the local charity shop.
Okay, maybe not so quick, considering they ended up moving more out than they moved in. But I definitely wasn’t keeping the bed Ethel had died in, or any of her bedroom set for that matter. I didn’t care that Nan was just fine repurposing the furniture for her own use. It creeped me out and I refused to keep any part of it in my home. It was already bad enough that Octo-Cat absolutely refused to part with the formal dining room set that had hosted the poisonous dinner party. I did not need to top that off with my Nan sleeping in some other old lady’s death bed.
“I’m glad they’re finally gone,” Octo-Cat said, standing with his forepaws on the low window frame as he watched the moving truck pull away. “They smelled bad, like human body odor. Blech.”
I rolled my eyes, but luckily he was too distracted to notice. “That’s probably because they were moving heavy things for us the better part of the afternoon.”
“Still gross. I have a very delicate olfactory operation up here,” he said, twitching his nose demonstratively. Well, I couldn’t really argue with him on that point.
“Are you good?” I asked, hoping he would go easy on me, though I half expected him to make me move his belongings from one place to another all night long until he came up with the winning arrangement.
“I’m good,” he answered. His complacency gave me a wicked shock to the system. Would living here be like living with a different, less demanding cat? One could only hope.
“I’m ready for the funeral when you are,” he said, plopping his butt on the worn oriental rug and staring up at me with large, probing eyes.
The teacup—right. “Okay, I’ll go get the box,” I said, trying to remember if I’d left it in the car or tucked it away somewhere in the kitchen.
Octo-Cat raced ahead and blocked my path. “I said when you’re ready.”