Marked Fur Murder (34 page)

I stared down at her in bafflement. “Tango, we saw them take the body out of the swimming pool. And if she wasn't dead
before
the autopsy, she sure as heck was afterward.”

“So Marbles wasn't murdered?”

“Just tell me what you found out.”

She flopped down on her side and looked up at me expectedly. I sighed, knelt down, and rubbed the point of her chin with my index finger
.
As she started to purr, I wondered how many other sleuths had to provide skritches in order to solve a case. Probably more than were willing to admit it.

bad
kitty.>

“Wait. Cat heaven is based on film noir?”

“Okay, tough guy. Continue.”

“Abyssinians are short-haired, not hairless. You're thinking of the Sphynx or maybe the Peterbald.”

She glared up at me.

“Sorry. Carry on.”

<“Haven't seen you around here before,” she said.

<“Aren't we all?”

<“I guess. But some of us stick around longer than others.”

<“Strictly freelance,” I told her.
Glorified security guard
was closer to the truth, but I didn't think her laughing in my face was a good way to start the conversation.

<“You seem to know a lot for someone who isn't a cop.”

<“I have friends. Seems like you do, too.”

<“Is that what you think happened?”

<“I don't know what happened. Why don't you tell me?”

<“Because of your friend. The one you stuck around for.”

<“Take it easy. I'm not here to make threats, just pass on a little good news.”

<“Yeah? Like what?”

<“Like a certain someone who once introduced you to a nasty individual by the name of B. Bat has now made the acquaintance of said individual himself. Numerous times.”

<“You're welcome. How about you return the favor and tell me a story.”

<“About Mr. Bat? I'd rather not.”

<“I'm more interested in what happened afterward.”

<“I died.”

<“Been there. Done that. Own the squeaky toy.”

<“How many times?”

<“Six and counting. How about you?” I already knew the answer, but I wanted to hear her say it.

<“This is my last turn at the scratching post. Eight down and one to go.”

<“Hope they were good ones.”

<“Oh, they were. Didn't like how some of them ended, but then, who does?”

<“How'd you do it?”

She knew exactly what I was asking, but she wasn't just going to come out and admit it. “Do what, exactly?”

<“A cat has nine lives for a reason. It lets us live places, experience things that otherwise we'd never get to do. But you found a way around that. Your very first life started right here …
and so did every other.”
>

“Wait,” I said. “Marbles didn't just spend her first life with Mary—she spent
all
of them?”

Tango rolled over and got to her feet.

I sat down on the grass and did so, and Tango jumped into it and made herself comfortable.

“There must have been consequences.”

I thought about that. Nine lives, stretching over as long as 180 years, spread out over the whole globe. And Marbles gave up most of that to spend her lives with one lonely, disadvantaged woman.

“So she's there now?” I said. My eyes were a little blurry for some reason, but I was smiling. “With Mary?”

I laughed as I dug in my pocket for a tissue. “Turns out the joke is on Klomm. Mary
didn't
lose her Marbles. She had them—one after another—the whole time.”

And then we just sat there in the sunshine, Tango purring in my lap, and I stroked my sweet kitty's head and thought about the fact that I would always—
always
—have her around, no matter where
around
might turn out to be.

Love, after all, beats Death.

Every time.

 

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

Now that my suspect pool had dwindled—probably—down to one, I decided the best course of action was to concentrate on Fimsby. If he
was
the Unktehila, maybe I could force his hand, trick him into revealing himself. The two most likely adjectives I could attach to this plan were
dangerous
and
difficult,
but at least it didn't require me picturing Teresa and Ben in a compromising position. Or positions, dammit—throw the ability to ignore gravity into the equation and everything gets so much worse.

Anyway.

Whiskey, Tango, and I were having a war council to discuss our options.

Tango said, and yawned.

Whiskey gave her a disapproving look. [That's a terrible idea. If he
is
the Unktehila, he'll retaliate with power we can't match. If he isn't, we'll have attacked an innocent man.]

I leaned back in my office chair and took a long sip of tea. “Tango, we are not mugging a guest. For one thing, do you have any idea how difficult it is to get a ski mask in your size? No, we're going to have to be sneakier than that.”

[Setting a trap, perhaps, with irresistible bait?]

“Only as a last option,” I said quickly. “No, we just need to prove he has supernatural abilities. Shape-shifting would be good. Whiskey, you're the expert—under what conditions would you be forced to take another form?”

[One rather obvious situation does come to mind: making myself smaller in order to fit into an available space.]

[That is unworthy of a reply.]

“Yeah, Tango, try and focus, okay? I think Whiskey's on to something.”

[You're simply envious, because canine procreation does not require the assistance of barbed genitalia.]

I thought about taking out my notebook to jot that one down, but realized I hadn't actually said it myself and decided not to. It's important to have standards.

[While an entertaining image, your metaphor is hardly accurate. It's more akin to a monkey attempting to grab a banana inside a jug with a narrow mouth, and discovering that his fist wrapped around the fruit is now too bulky to remove.]

[It's just a metaphor. The banana in question fulfills the same role as the giraffe in yours.]

“Valid point,” I said. “In the sense that
valid
means ‘completely loopy.'”

Ever seen a dog wince? I have.

“And that's enough of that,” I interrupted. “Getting back to the question at hand—can we put our alleged Unktehila in a situation where he's forced to get smaller? Present him with an opening he needs to get through, maybe, one that's too small for a human being?”

[That part should be simple. The question is, what can we put on the other side that he'll desperately want to acquire?]

And then I had an idea …

*   *   *

“I'm afraid Rustam won't be joining us for dinner tonight,” Oscar said, taking his usual place at the table. “He's been called away on urgent business. Promises to return as soon as possible, but isn't sure when. Kaci, of course, has gone with him.”

“We'll just have to manage without him,” ZZ said with a bright smile. I'd told her what I'd found out about Gorshkov, and she'd approved of how I handled the situation. “And at least we won't have wet paintings propped against every available surface. Though you must be feeling a bit cramped at the moment.”

Oscar took a long sip of his sherry. “Not at all,” he said, trying to sound chipper. “I hardly ever use my living room, anyway.”

Teresa Firstcharger, Efram Fimsby, and Keene were also in attendance. Keene was his usual ebullient self, while Teresa Firstcharger seemed on edge. Fimsby appeared to be enjoying himself, chatting with ZZ about a hurricane that had once trapped him in a coal mine. Me, I was keeping an eye on everyone while trying to look casual.

Ben had decided to signal his return with an epic feast; I was currently enjoying lobster in a lemon cream sauce, with a wild mushroom risotto on the side.

Whiskey and Tango were not present.

“So,” I said around a mouthful of heaven, “what exactly have you been doing, Keene? I haven't seen you around all that much.”

“Communing with my muse,” Keene said. “Me and old Jeepers have really hit a groove lately. Been spending a lot of time writing it down.”

“Can we expect a new album, then?” Teresa said. “Sometime soon?” The look on her face told me she was hoping for more than just music from him.

“Can't rush genius, love,” Keene replied. “It'll be done when it's done. Or when my producer pries it from my unconscious fingers, whichever comes first.”

“Speaking of communing,” I said, “I recently spent a little time at the lake, communing with nature.”

“Oh, is that what you did on your day off?” ZZ asked. “Because I was getting reports you were still here, even when you were off duty.”

I shook my head and tried to look embarrassed. “This was on my
last
day off, actually. Ben and I went together.”

“There are several lakes nearby,” said Oscar. “Which one did you go to?”

I laughed. “Believe it or not, I can't tell you.”

“Why on earth not?” Oscar said, sounding annoyed.

“Because I don't know. Ben took me there, and made me wear a blindfold on the drive. Said he knew this great little spot for a getaway, but wanted it to be a surprise. I thought he was being romantic, but then he spent the whole afternoon fishing. Apparently the lake is really, really deep, which supposedly guarantees really big fish. Not that he caught any while we were there, though we did see a lot of deer. Really
big
deer, too.”

“Maybe they thought they were fish,” said Keene.

“Well, they came right down to the water to drink. Amazing to see, though it made me kind of nervous.”

“Nature can do that,” said Teresa. She smiled at me innocently.