Burning September (18 page)

He reached out like I was some feral jungle cat with a thorn in the paw.  Hesitant and leery, fingers slightly curling into his palm, lest I bite them off. 

What the hell is he doing, I wondered, but I didn’t have to wonder for long, because the part of my brain that was Caroline said
he wants to hug you, dumbass
. 

It awkward at first, the semi-hug that turned into a real one, and when I’d started to get used to it, he’d broken away. 

“It’ll be okay.  I can walk around with you for a bit, help you look for him.  There’s a meeting I can’t miss, but when I’m done for the day, I can come back.”

“Do you think he’ll come home?”

He waffled with what to say, I could tell, I could read his face like newspaper.  He didn’t want to let me down, but he didn’t want to give false hope.  A typical lawyer.  No promises, no predictions.  Only a vague quote about odds and a four-hundred-dollar price tag. 

Was he charging Professor Rasmussen for all the times he saw me? 

His heavy hand squeezed my shoulder.  “I don’t know.  I hope so.  But he’s so cute, I don’t think he’ll be on the streets for long.  If he doesn’t come back, I’d bet some family took him in.  Strays hang out in the same places, they have their rounds to make, suckers to beg food from.  He’ll be fine.”

I knew he was sugarcoating, but I savored it like hard candy. 

***

Kyle came back at seven that evening, walked through my open front door like he owned the place, but I didn’t mind.  I like that he was comfortable enough around me to do so. 

He didn’t have to ask if Nicholas had graced me with his presence, the look on my face said it all.  He just settled in for a long stay, rolling up his sleeves next to me on the couch.

I bit into my thumbnail, staring at the blue veins on the insides of his elbows.  “Do you ever wear normal clothes?  T-shirts, jeans?”

“When I haven’t been working, yes.  Do you ever wear fancy clothes?”

“Never.”

“Never?  Not even at prom?”

“I didn’t go to prom.  Caroline told me it was lame anyway, but I think she only said that because nobody asked me.”  I chewed on the side of my tongue, jabbing my forehead with a finger to stave off the beginnings of a headache.  “We went to the beach instead, sat on a lifeguard tower so the cops wouldn’t see us and kick us out.  We saw a bunch of people, marine biologists I guess, doing something to a whale.  They had a boat, a ton of netting.  Looked like they were trying to help it back into deeper waters.  I felt so bad for him.  He didn’t know what the hell they were doing to him.”  The ship had been far off, but not so far that I couldn’t hear the whale’s bowel-shaking groans.  “I still wonder what happened to it sometimes.”

“They saved him, I bet.  He went off to sire a hundred more whales, eat barrels of shrimp.”

“Is that what whales eat?”

“I don’t know.  Just a guess.”

“Do you really care that much about Nicholas, or are you just trying to inflate your billable hours?”

“You think I’m on the clock right now?”

I shrugged, staring at that photo of me above the fireplace, wishing I knew what I’d been thinking when Caroline took the picture. 

“Well, I’m not.  I’ve never sent off a bill for spending time with you.”  He sounded so wounded, I peeled my gaze off Burning September.  “And I like Nicholas, want him found as much as you do.”

I pressed my lips together for a moment, avoiding his eyes.  “Thanks for coming.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“Well I’m thanking you anyway.”

We stayed like that for a while until he made a wildly transparent attempt to get my mind off my cat, coaxing me into a tarot lesson.  What do wands mean, what the hell is a pentacle, are trump cards like aces in a normal deck?  What’s your favorite card, which one do you hate, which one have you drawn most often?  Why do you do it, is it a real hobby, or is it just to pass time?  Has anything ever come true from your readings, why yes and no questions, do the people at the fair have to supply the question for you?

“When’s your birthday?” I asked, having covered all of his questions and then some.

“June 14
th
.”

My mind drifted back to that long-ago day when I first met him, when I’d drawn the King of Swords and he’d magically appeared.  If I were an old biddy at the fair, I may have been taken aback by the coincidence and lauded Caroline with praise and a huge tip.  “Gemini.  You’re a sword.  All air signs are swords.  I’m a Libra, so sword is my suit, too.”

“What does that mean?”

“Swords are analytical, intelligent.  They’re rational, rely more on logic than feelings.”

“But I’m a Gemini.  I’m two-faced.  Does that make me a paradox?”

“I think it just makes you a pain in the ass.”

***

It was nearing midnight when I finally locked my arms above my head, arching my back in a stretch, and let out something between a gasp of surprise and a shriek of terror. 

“Oh my God,” I said between my fingers, having clapped a hand to my mouth.  “He’s back!”

Nicholas sat in the foyer, velvet nose shining in the dimmed lights, jade eyes blinking in that bored way which was his custom.  He must have waltzed through the threshold of the door when I was busy explaining the tarot suits. 

“Jesus.”  Kyle laughed, getting to his feet.  “Hey, is that a collar?”

I took two long strides, scooped Nicholas into my arms.  It
was
a collar, the same black as he was, matte against glossy fur.  The only reason it was even noticeable was because of the yellow charm hanging from it.  A winky face emoticon, so cheerful and bright, but when I flipped it over, I felt anything but relief. 

31B, Canal Street
had been inscribed on the back.  My address.  

Kyle moved in closer to read it.  “Does anyone know you’ve got a cat?”

“No.”  I clutched Nicholas tighter to my chest.  “I don’t even really talk to the neighbors.  We’re not friendly.”

“Not friendly, like they’re enemies?”

“Not friendly, like, I would never ask them if I could borrow a cup of sugar.  But we’re not rude to each other, either.  We’ll say hello if we pass them on the sidewalk, but I don’t even know their names.”  Nicholas struggled in my arms, but I wouldn’t let him go.  “Someone picked him up, took off his collar, and had him long enough to put this new one on him.  I mean, right?  That’s what had to have happened?” 

He opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything for several seconds until finally, he shook his head.  “I don’t know.  I don’t have any idea what happened.”

I thrust Nicholas into his arms.  “Then you have to keep him.  He can’t stay here.  I can’t have him live here after this.”

He juggled the cat’s pedaling paws, shifting him over his shoulder.  “Don’t you think you might be overreacting—”

“No.  Can’t you please take him?  Just for a little while?”

“Aren’t you more worried about yourself, if you think someone bent on doing you harm knows where you live?”

I hadn’t considered that, but it didn’t make a difference.  I had deadbolts and chains, a schedule that kept me out of the house for long stretches, kitchen knives I could wield.  I stood a chance; a kitten didn’t. 

“I’m not worried about myself.  Look, I don’t have anyone else who could babysit him for me.  I wouldn’t ask you if I did.  It won’t be forever, he’s a good boy, he never sprays anywhere or ruins furniture.  I can give you his laser light, all the cat food, the litter—”

“I’m not saying no.”  He stroked Nicholas’s spine, earning himself a lick of approval.  “Of course I’ll take him.  But if it’s safety you’re concerned with, I think your own might top the list.”

Fuck that, I thought, eyes narrowing as I stared through the open window.  Fear wasn’t an honored visitor, I wouldn’t make up the guest bedroom, make sure it had clean towels and soft sheets.  I wouldn’t welcome it under my skin, give it a home in my brain, let it fester and feed off the panic in my blood.  Caroline wouldn’t.  Caroline would stay up late at night, wait in the dark for the doorknob to rattle with a knife in her hand and murderous intentions. 

***

I helped Kyle load the cat necessities into his car, giving a constant stream of instructions, the most important one being
don’t let Nicholas outside for any reason
.  He listened mutely, though I knew he had his own list of precautions. 

He shut the passenger’s side door, turning to look at me, nodding in the appropriate places, until I fell silent.

“Don’t open the door for anyone.”  He crossed his arms over his chest.  “Keep it locked, keep the windows locked, too.  Blinds drawn at all times.  Might not be a bad idea to keep the TV on at night, let people think you’re awake.  Call if you need anything, and if you see anything suspicious, you need to make a note of it.  Make sure you keep a log, and write down this cat business, too.  If anything more happens, we’ll need to notify the police.”

“Do you really think they’d care?  Caroline isn’t their favorite person, and by extension, I’m probably not, either.”

“Maybe they won’t care, but I might know someone who will.”

I raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

“Karen Stone.  The fact she wants to cover this story proves she’s interested.  A nice follow-up story of police indifference would be ratings central.”  He circled his Audi, running a hand along the hood, and opened the driver’s side door.  “I’ll let you know how Nicholas is doing when I’m home, but I’m sure the car ride won’t endear me to him.”

“Remember to hide anything sparkly,” I said as he got inside the car.  “He’s like a fish, he’ll gnaw on anything sparkly—”

“Do I look like I’ve got anything sparkly at home?”  He shut the door and waved through the tinted window.

I watched him drive off until his taillights disappeared around the corner and headed back into my empty condo. 

***

Caroline’s email response to The Missing Cat debacle was the shortest one I’d ever received from her. 
Come see me tomorrow, 7 a.m.  I know it’s not visiting hours, but I gave my babysitters an excuse.  Act surprised when you get here.
  

Caroline had many stages of anger.  The tamest offense would cause nothing more sinister than her muttering filthy words I’d never heard before under her breath.  The middle ground sounded worse than it truly was, long cursing rants and frustrated grunts, but it typically came and went quickly.  The final stages could be hard to notice if you didn’t know her well, but then, nobody but me had that pleasure.  Everything turned clipped and stilted when she was furious, ready to breathe smoke: blank expression, curt words, gaze drifting off into space.  That look used to puzzle me when I was younger.  Now it just scared me.  She wore that look after the breakup with Brian, but of course I’d assumed then that it was depression.  It hadn’t been until she’d signed his death warrant that the spell had broken, when she’d painted on big smiles and feigned a change of heart.  She wasn’t happy, it was just the way she could buff-shine her hatred.  I didn’t know it was all an act until after she’d been arrested.  

It’s hard to get a good read on emotions in emails, but after reading her latest, I was leaning toward door number three.

***

She waited in the lobby for me, hidden behind an enormous bouquet of flowers that smelled fatally of lilies.  Her smile was small and forced, more for the receptionist’s benefit than anything, I figured, and she thrust the flowers into my arms as I sat beside her. 

“What’s the occasion?” I held the bouquet at arm’s length to keep the overpowering smell at bay. 

Her voice dipped so low I had to lean in close to hear.  “You made it into Jeff’s art magazine, and I couldn’t be prouder.  What the fuck, Kat?  Have you reported what happened to the police?”

“Kyle said it wouldn’t make much difference.”

“He’s probably right.”  Her knee jiggled restlessly until she crossed it over her other leg.  “Are you scared?”

If I was smarter I would have been scared.  “More like pissed.  Who the hell
does
something like that?”

She gave me a look as if to say I should have expected as much—after all, she had.  “Nothing else weird has happened?”

I shrugged one shoulder.  “Not yet, but give it some time.”

“I can’t believe I’m stuck in here while this is happening,” she said, eyeing the florescent light like it had done her a great personal wrong.  “I don’t suppose it’d be possible for you to go out and buy a gun.  The permits take too long to come through, and the last thing you need is to get arrested for carrying concealed without proper documentation.  I want you to do something, though.”

I laid the bouquet on the scarred coffee table.  “What?”

“Go to Staples.  Buy some carbon copy paper.  Put it beneath the mat by the front door and the longer one near the sliding glass.  Don’t step on either when you’re coming and going, and check the paper beneath both doors when you get home, before you go inside.  You should see footprints if someone has stepped on the mats.  I don’t think anyone would try breaking in through a window since all of them are directly above those prickly bushes.  Those things could do a lot damage to a leg; remember when you dropped your favorite pen behind them?  If you see any footprints at all, don’t go inside, just get the hell out of there and call someone immediately.  If it happens you’ll know it’s definitely not a “Good” Samaritan playing a stupid trick, and you’ll need to set up a hidden camera of some sort, because they’ll be back.  And you’ll need proof.”