“Nice one,” Octo-Cat cheered behind me.
The woman cursed under her breath. The deep bags beneath her eyes implied she hadn’t slept well in nights, and the way she twisted her mouth into a frown told me I had her outwitted.
“No, he wouldn’t like that,” she mumbled, glancing behind her then back up toward me. “Look, I’m not taking anything. Just looking over Aunt Ethel’s things to make sure I don’t get taken when divvying up the inheritance. I’m on my way out, though, so no harm done.” She lifted her hands in surrender and waited for me to join her on the main floor.
“I suppose I don’t need to tell Mr. Fulton about this, but we had both better leave and lock up,” I said with far more courage than I felt.
“Yes, okay.” She backed away slowly, keeping her eyes on me the whole time, then bumbled for the doorknob and swung the front door open so forcefully it slammed against the wall. If I wasn’t suspicious before, then I definitely questioned her motives now.
“See you around, then,” the woman said, peering through the door one last time before scurrying down the steps.
I watched as she got into an old car and sat mumbling to herself behind the wheel. Even though she was on her way now, it didn’t mean that she—or others—wouldn’t be back soon. I had to get out of there, but first I needed to grab Octo-Cat’s things from the kitchen.
He followed me at a quick clip. “You did great,” he said. “I’m starting to think that maybe you’re up to this task after all.”
“Gee, thanks,” I told him as I packed my arms with the Evian and cat food cans as best I could. “Mind watching my back in case she tries to sneak up and stab me while I’m not looking?”
Octo-Cat jumped on the counter and widened his eyes. “Oh, she’s not the killer.”
“What makes you so sure?” I mumbled, struggling with my off balanced load. “Was she not there that night?”
“Oh, she was there, but she’s not smart enough to commit a murder, let alone conceal it. Believe me, that’s Ethel’s niece. She’s, hands down, the stupidest human I’ve ever met. She couldn’t have concocted this.”
“It almost sounds like you admire the killer,” I whispered while leaving the kitchen. I didn’t know whether the other visitor had left yet or whether she would return before I had a chance to make my getaway.
My companion hissed. “No, believe me, I’m mad as a human without its cell phone. I just know she doesn’t have it in her. That still leaves four other guests that could have done it, though.”
The front door still hung wide open, but the other woman’s car had disappeared from the drive. Thank goodness, because I wasn’t up for more small talk even if I could rest assured that it wouldn’t end with my own murder.
“But you don’t know who any of the other guests were? Earlier you said you didn’t know anyone, but you seemed to recognize Ethel’s niece right away.”
He sighed as if he were the one suffering a fool here. “It’s scent memory. Some details don’t click into place without it.”
“I’ve never heard of such a ridiculous thing.” I watched my feet as we picked our way across the uneven ground to the side of the house where I’d concealed my car near a copse of tall trees.
“Well, how many cats did you have deep conversations with before you met me?”
I had to admit, he had me there. “Point taken. But this little field trip accomplished nothing, so what are we supposed to do next?”
We reached my car and I set my load of cans and bottles on the ground so I could open the trunk and stash everything inside.
“It definitely was not nothing.” Octo-Cat jumped onto the hood of my car and looked down on me as if I were a peasant and he was king. “We got my food and Evian, didn’t we?”
I shook my head and chuckled as I slammed the trunk closed again. We’d come face to face with danger but were still nowhere near solving our murder mystery. At least we had Evian, though!
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning, I woke up to an ear-piercing cry in the wee hours. The room was still shrouded in darkness, so I groped for my phone to serve as a makeshift flashlight.
“Ack, right in my eye!” Octo-Cat shouted as he jumped from the bed to the floor to escape the path of the light.
I struggled to sit, my limbs still heavy with sleep. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
He turned to face me. His glinting eyes widened as they adjusted to my flashlight. “It’s time for breakfast,” he informed me.
A quick glance at my phone confirmed that it was only five o’clock, more than two full hours before I generally awoke on a work day.
“No way, not going to happen,” I moaned and pulled the covers over my head. “Go away.”
That same horrible banshee cry sounded again, sending shivers up my spine and digging straight into my brain.
“Is that you?” I hissed.
Octo-Cat hissed back but otherwise kept his voice slow and at its normal volume. “It’s breakfast time,” he repeated. “If I could open the can myself, I would, but I can’t. So get up and use those opposable thumbs the way God intended, darling.”
“Fine, but I hate you,” I whined as I threw my legs over the side of the bed. He had me up, but that didn’t mean I needed to hurry.
He ran ahead and turned several circles while waiting for me to catch up. “The feeling is mutual. At least until I’ve had my breakfast.”
“And me, my coffee,” I said, shuddering as I remembered yesterday’s run-in with the office coffeemaker. Perhaps I would switch to tea going forward.
In the kitchen I plunked his favorite congealed salmon pâté onto a plate and set it on the ground for my spoiled roommate. “Bon Appetit,” I mumbled, shuffling back toward my bedroom.
I didn’t even have a chance to lie back down before Octo-Cat took a swipe at my feet and growled. “No, you can’t go back to bed. It’s morning and I need to have my breakfast.”
“I just fed you. Go eat already and leave me alone.” I dropped into bed and turned on my side so that I wouldn’t have to look at his demanding kitty face.
“Why is this so hard to understand?” he said with a sigh, his whiskers twitching furiously. “I can’t eat unless you stand nearby and watch me. Maybe tell me what a good cat I am, too.”
“But you’re not a good cat,” I grumbled. Right now he was pretty much the worst cat in the world. After all, none of the others were rousing me from sleep at this unholy hour.
“Ethel always petted me and talked to me while I ate. Please, don’t you think…?” His words broke away and despite my better judgment I turned to look straight into his huge, pleading eyes.
“Fine!” I sputtered. “But tomorrow we wake up on my schedule.”
Octo-Cat didn’t say anything as he led the way back to my kitchen, his tail held high and hips swaying in a way that definitely looked put on for my benefit.
“Oh, great and mighty Octo-Cat, you are such a good kitty,” I said, rolling my eyes as he took his first tentative bite of that awful-smelling breakfast.
“Hey, what did I tell you about calling me ‘kitty?’” He grumbled between bites. “But I’ve gotta say, the other thing is growing on me.”
“What? Octo-Cat?” I regarded him suspiciously. This was a surprise given how he’d stubbornly insisted on his ridiculously long moniker until now.
“That’s the one,” he confirmed with a smack of his lips as he continued to gobble up Fancy Feast.
“It suits you.”
“And it makes me seem hip and modern, too.”
“Oh, yes, you’re one cool cat.” Maybe it was time to teach the poor guy some new slang. After all, he’d taken all his current lingo from a woman in her eighties.
When he finished his meal, I poured some Evian into a mug and set it before Octo-Cat. He lapped it up appreciatively and then began the first of his many daily grooming ministrations.