Deadly Diamond: A Murfy the Cat Mystery (9 page)

“Cats are connoisseurs of comfort
.”

––James Herriot,
James Herriot’s Cat Stories

CHAPTER TWENTY:
Who Is Harassing Alyx?

Alyx stomped into the workroom with a scowl on her face. Maggie raised her head, put her pencil down, and leaned back in her chair.

“What happened this time?”

“Let’s make a business decision right now to never accept a job based solely on the profit margin.”

“If I remember correctly, and I do; it was your decision to take her as a client,” Maggie countered.

Alyx set aside her design board and briefcase. “I need a cup of coffee. Want some?”

Maggie lifted her cup for a refill. Alyx topped it off and filled her mug with the rest, took a sip of the hot, dark liquid and sat at the worktable, stretching her legs out in front.

“She didn’t like anything we put together.”

“What …? We gave her exactly what she wanted.”

“You know what she said? We’re the designers; we shouldn’t have listened to her.”

Maggie––blonde hair, blue eyes, and the same age as Alyx––smiled broadly and between sips of coffee, said, “So, our plan worked.”

“I resent having to play these silly games, and today I let her disrespectful attitude get to me. You and I have accomplished a lot on our own. It’s difficult when a woman like her, someone who’s never worked a day in her life, someone who’s had everything handed to her and lives in a million-dollar home, someone with extremely bad taste…” and they burst into laughter.

They quieted down when George walked in, greeted Alyx and gave Maggie a quick kiss on the cheek. Then Alyx proceeded to tell him why they were laughing.

“Just so you don’t get it wrong, I don’t often do that, but in this case our reputation was at stake. Sometimes I really miss the days when it was all about the hunt, picking through old discarded things and finding that one item of value that would be sold in our store.”

“Sad to say, we don’t do much of that anymore,” added Maggie.

“You don’t have to do that anymore with so many people bringing their stuff to you,” he answered. “However, if you ladies want to get back to the real thing, take a look out the window at the treasures I found at a house they’re tearing down.”

“No doubt to make room for another condominium,” Maggie said.

“Right you are, sweetie,” he said, draping his arm around her shoulders, “and these start at only five hundred thousand.”

“Those cheap ones must be the ones facing the road rather than the ocean,” she answered, shaking her head in disbelief.

The three of them trooped to the front of the store. George grinned at their gleeful reaction to the truckload of architectural items, along with a bathtub and a pedestal sink in pristine condition.

“George, this is perfect for the house Ethan is buying,” said Alyx.

“Thank you, honey,” said Maggie.

“Of course, I intent to make a small profit on this,” he said, winking at Maggie.

“Fair enough, George,” replied Alyx. “Wait until I tell Ethan; I know he’ll be positively thrilled!”

“Do you think he’d be interested in some wood flooring? Most of it’s rotted away, but there’s probably just enough to salvage for a couple of rooms,” said George.

“I’m sure he’ll want it,” said Alyx.

“If he does want it, tell him we need to get it real soon. I’ll help, but we could use one more man.”

“Okay, George,” said Alyx, “I’ll have him call you, and––thank you for thinking of him.”

It was only seven o’clock when we left the store, but it was pitch-dark outside. Alyx closed all the blinds and checked all the locks on the doors again. When we got home, she prepared her tea, and while the tea steeped, she changed into an oversized t-shirt. In my opinion, it was too early to call it a night; conversely, it was not time to go out or start anything new.

Alyx called her brother Tom, told him about the items that George had picked up for Ethan, and how excited Ethan was to start the renovation process on his house.

“I’ve already told Ethan not to hesitate to call me for help if a job gets to be more than he can handle,” said Tom. “I know contractors who will quote him a fair price.”

“Thanks, Tom. I’ll see you and Susan for dinner on Wednesday.”

“Was there something else, Alyx?”

“Well …no, nothing that can’t wait. Good night, Tom.”

She disconnected without mentioning to her brother that someone had followed us home and had almost sideswiped her car when she turned in the driveway. At first, I thought maybe Alyx had made someone mad because she was driving too slowly. However, I started to doubt that that was the case when the phone rang three different times during the night, and there was no one talking on the other end.

Trying to sleep with the phone ringing at all hours of the night was an exercise in futility. I figured someone was obviously harassing Alyx. That sideswipe was a near miss. Who could be stalking Alyx? Was it Althea’s killer or was it someone else? I remembered Alyx’s conversation with David about his ex-wife and considered the probability that she was the culprit.

Someone wanted to scare Alyx––at least, this time. Maybe next time, it would be worse. Either way, Pooky and Misty needed to know. When I told them, they looked at each other in alarm and then back at me. Pooky hoped her presence wasn’t required at Antiques & Designs. I understood her reluctance to go. She’d learned that for superstitious reasons some humans don’t like black cats; some people visibly cringed when they saw her. There wasn’t much I could say about that. Malevolence wasn’t new to her; she’d had some experience with that before. She plopped down with obvious relief when I told her that Misty and I could handle things for the time being.

Pooky and Misty then joined Alyx in her bedroom, and I took a watchful position at the front door where the bare sidelights provided a good view of the front yard and street. I looked carefully up and down the street as far as I could see, and there were no parked cars, moving vehicles or criminals lurking in the bushes.

Misty hadn’t said a word to me since the last time she’d seen me leave the house; her quiet behavior reflected the deep disappointment she must have felt. She’d believed me when I told her I wasn’t going to join Simon. Now she apparently wasn’t sure. She would have been terrified had she known my inner conflict.

“Prowling his own quiet backyard or asleep by the fire, he is still only a whisker away from the wilds.”

––
Jean Burden

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:
Do Civilized Cats Eat Rats?

Simon was late. It was two o’clock in the morning, and I paced across the screened porch, ears forward, alert to his approach. I caught a glimpse of Misty in my peripheral vision and pretended I didn’t see her.

When Simon finally appeared, I jumped through the slit in the screen and we were off, over the picket fence, across the front of the house and down the street to our meeting place. I knew Misty was following us at a discreet distance, ducking behind trees and shrubs. Every now and then, she stopped and looked around to get her bearings. Misty, an indoor cat her whole life had never expressed a desire to run free outside, yet there she was, trudging across manicured lawns, un-kept lawns, natural landscapes, and open areas. If it weren’t for Simon urging me on, I would have marched her back home to safety.

Misty was familiar with most of the nocturnal animals that lived in the area––owls, snapping and gopher turtles, mice, raccoons, armadillos and an occasional opossum––only from a distance. The opossum––on a collision course with her––didn’t “play dead” as I’d once told her they did, and I saw why. The mother opossum, carrying several babies on her back, bared all fifty of her teeth while making some very ugly sounds. Misty wisely gave her a wide berth with only a furtive sidelong glance.

Sounds and smells filled the night. I sensed more than saw something scurry in the tall grass in the open field. I was tempted to pounce on the rat, the primal urge stronger than I’d ever felt, and I wondered––eating a lizard was one thing––but a big rat? Do civilized cats eat rats? Truth is, there was a time when I couldn’t even eat a mouse.

The house where I was born had many cracks where tiny mice made their way inside, especially under the kitchen sink. Although, he had never found any, the man of the house was always concerned about the damage a large mouse could do. On the other hand, I saw the damage he did with his old-fashioned wood traps that tortured the adult mice to death, and the poison pellets that killed them slowly.

A week before I left this home, I was exploring my surroundings and wandered into the kitchen where I found two very small creatures huddled on the floor near the baseboard. I went to inspect and called attention to the weak and vulnerable tiny mice.

In one swoop, the woman of the house grabbed the stronger one first, then the weaker one who tried to make a pitiful getaway. She placed them in a shoebox with a washcloth for comfort, birdseed, and water. She hid the box in the furnace room out of harm’s way when she heard her husband come in. The tiny mice didn’t notice the food or didn’t know what it was, but they did seek warmth under the washcloth. I knew that they were still nursing and too young for solid food.

The woman came back later and tried to feed them milk, using her finger as a dropper. The weaker one didn’t respond. The other one turned on his back and took a drop, then went back under the washcloth. I understood there wasn’t anything I could do, other than let them know, they weren’t alone. The weaker mouse died during the night and the other one died the next day. The woman wrapped the mice together in a piece of cloth and buried them in the pet cemetery, under the bushes by the patio wall.

The way I saw it, the mother of the baby mice probably entered the house to give birth and she lost her life when she went looking for food; there’s no telling how long the babies had been there without food. I believe that when the time was right, she would have led her babies out of the house and taught them the skills they needed to survive and no one would have died.
                  

As a kitten, every creature I met was my friend, and the death of the little mice taught me that all life deserves respect. As an adult, I’m well fed and I have no need to hunt. However, nature being what it is, I have those urges, but unless it’s a matter of survival, it’s up to me to decide whether to act on them or not.

Now, the trail that Simon and I were following led to a clearing––an empty lot, actually. The only thing on the overgrown property was a decaying shed at the rear of the property. We slipped through an opening in the door and disappeared inside. Another two sleek Siamese cats came through the opening and––following them––an additional two cats.

I hoped Misty had found a good listening spot, and a few minutes later, I saw her half-hidden by a wild grapevine that covered most of the shed. Simon was aware of her presence and wanted to scare her into returning home. However, I assured him that she was no threat. Inside the shed, all the cats formed a circle. I sat next to Simon, and even though I felt uncomfortable, I made no move to leave.

Sometime later, I made my way back to the house with Simon’s last words firmly embedded in my brain.
“There are thousands of us roaming the country––the world, in fact. Join us and I will teach you things you never thought possible. Together, you and I can make a difference for the good of all humankind.”

The seduction was subtle, the lure of power intoxicating. As I ambled along, I mulled over the events of the night, my mind flirting with the idea of freely wandering wherever I wished, the possibilities endless. An owl hooted in the distance; a small mammal skittered nearby, filling the space around me with harmony and peace. What Simon proposed was enticing––roaming for the good of all humankind, deciding for ourselves what to do, whom to help. The question was did he mean it? Was he really interested in helping others? I told myself that if I joined him, I would make sure that’s what we did.

I caught up with Misty, who’d left a few minutes before I did, running as fast as her short legs would let her, any sign of clumsiness gone, quite at home in the dark overgrown jungle. I was glad that Misty had overheard our conversation, because it would make it easier on her if I decided to leave. I could only imagine what she was thinking when she realized I was considering it.

Although, Misty had shown a great deal of courage, her sudden, loud scream was alarming. My first thought was will she remember the self-defense maneuvers I’d taught her when I’d attacked her when we were playing? I’d never really hurt her … and I was worried. When I caught up with her, a young female cat with razor sharp claws and battle scars had her up against the fence in the rear of the yard. Misty, her fur puffed out, her pupils huge in her small furry face looked fierce, determined, and fearless as she loudly told the other cat to back off, or she’d be sorry. Pooky arrived at the same time I did, and when the young female saw us all take a stand next to Misty; she knew to look for an escape route. Cat protocol dictated that she back up slowly and, once at a safe distance, she ran, tail low.

Misty was one furious fur-ball as we trotted to the safety of home, all the while asserting that she could have taken care of herself.