The Cat Sitter’s Cradle (15 page)

It was a little after two o’clock when I headed out for my afternoon rounds. I called
Dr. Layton to let her know I’d be late picking up our feathered friend. I didn’t tell
her why. I was itching to talk to somebody about what had happened, but I knew I couldn’t,
especially since there hadn’t been an official announcement from the police yet and
I didn’t want to do anything that might compromise the investigation. Instead, I told
her I’d had a “client-related mishap” and left it to her imagination. She told me
not to worry, that René was doing fine. He was in his cage on Gia’s desk by the front
window, basking in all the love and attention he was getting from everybody in the
clinic.

I imagined that by now Mrs. Harwick was on her way back from Tampa, and somebody had
probably gotten hold of Becca and told her what had happened. Becca’s relationship
to her stepfather seemed complicated, but I knew it must have been devastating for
her, especially when she was already in such emotional turmoil. I hadn’t heard from
Detective McKenzie yet, but I knew it was only a matter of time before I’d get the
call to meet her at the station. I was dreading it. Being back at that station brings
up all kinds of memories that I long ago figured out how to suppress.

At the Suttons’ house, Sophie had knocked over a potted palm in the living room, which
wasn’t all that surprising. On the outside, Sophie looks like a sweet, domesticated
house cat, but inside she’s a tiger, and a very frisky tiger at that, so she’s always
on the prowl for mischief. There was so much dirt scattered around I think she must
have spent half the day engaged in a mighty battle with an imaginary mouse, or at
least I hoped it was imaginary. I righted the palm and vacuumed up the dirt while
Sophie watched me from the back of an armchair with a mildly disdainful look, as if
I was spoiling all the fun. But I didn’t feel too guilty. I had something else in
store for her.

I like to get all the grooming out of the way in the morning so afternoons are free
for playtime. Sophie must have known what was coming next, because after I put the
vacuum away and headed for the kitchen, she ran ahead and raced around the center
island a couple of times, slipping and sliding on the tile floor. That’s her warm-up.

I pulled a white Ping-Pong ball out of my pocket and held it out at arm’s length.
“Ready?”

She made a sound that was less like
meow
and more like
ackackack!
and twitched her whiskers with pure, unadulterated excitement.

I let the ball drop, and then both Sophie and the Ping-Pong ball went bopping and
bouncing all over the kitchen for a good five minutes. That gave me the opportunity
to check the house for any other mayhem she might have wreaked, and it gave her the
opportunity to unleash some of that boundless kitty power. She was still at it when
I came back, so I even had time to fill her bowl with fresh water and get her dinner
ready. If I ever come up with a way to harness the energy created by a cat and a Ping-Pong
ball, we won’t need to dig any more oil wells and us cat owners will all be billionaires.

I still had a couple more clients to check on, but first I wanted to stop by Dr. Layton’s
office. I knew Joyce and Corina were waiting to hear how René was doing, and I was
eager to get him back to Joyce’s so I could get the news on Corina’s appointment with
the doctor. I prayed her baby had gotten a good bill of health—things were already
hard enough as they were, and Corina didn’t need any more problems on her plate. Thinking
about Corina and her baby made the wings of my heart flutter a bit and the corners
of my mouth sneak up in a little smile. It made me feel good to know we’d at least
given Corina a safe place to stay while she got her bearings. That was one less thing
she needed to worry about.

I parked outside Dr. Layton’s office and grabbed René’s cage from the back. Before
I went in, I fished my cell phone out and dialed Kenny’s number again. It went straight
to his voice mail. If Ken knew what was good for him, he would’ve called me back by
now. I figured he probably didn’t like the idea that I was trying to track him down,
but he certainly wasn’t going to be any happier when he started getting calls from
the homicide department—and if he didn’t talk to me first there was a pretty good
chance he’d wind up at the top of the suspects list.

Inside, René was in a cage on Gia’s desk with a view of the waiting room, where there
were four or five people watching him with the attention normally reserved for a good
TV show, like he was their own personal nature channel. They all looked up at me when
I came in, waiting to see my reaction to such a rare and splendid thing. He was clearly
the star of the clinic.

Gia waved and said to René, “Here’s your mommy!”

I felt a little blush of pride, as if I’d hatched René myself. Sometimes I like to
stand out from the crowd. Having everyone think I was the lucky owner of such an exotic
bird made me feel a little special. Gia signaled for me to come on back while she
ran to fetch Dr. Layton, and René let out a high-pitched
cool!
as I came around to the side of his cage. He was swinging on one of the perches,
using his long tail feathers for balance. He looked at me with one eye and then the
other and then went back to pecking at a slice of fresh orange.

Dr. Layton said, “He’s very talkative today. He’s been entertaining everybody with
all kinds of whistles and calls.”

I wanted to say that I’d only heard one or two, but I didn’t want anyone in the waiting
room to know I was just the bird chauffeur, so I nodded dumbly.

“He’s still a little tired though, so I’d say it’s a good idea to let him rest as
much as possible over the next few days. Whatever he’s been through was pretty hard
on him, but his appetite has definitely picked up since yesterday. He’s probably already
gained a few ounces. I sent some blood samples over to the lab for testing, but in
the meantime, I don’t think there’s any reason to be concerned. He’s a very healthy
boy.”

I let out a sigh of relief. With everything that had happened today, getting some
good news felt like hitting the jackpot at a slot machine.

Dr. Layton looked me up and down. “On the other hand, you’re looking a little beat.
You okay?”

I nodded as I took out my checkbook. “It’s been a very long day.”

She wagged a finger at me. “First of all, go home and get some rest, and second, put
that checkbook away.”

“No, you have to let me pay you.”

“No ma’am, you saved that bird’s life, you don’t owe me a penny.”

I wagged my finger back at her. “What about the lab fees?”

“Oh no. Do not try to sass a sasser. That’s a fight you are definitely not going to
win. First of all, I always devote a portion of my work to charity, and if there was
ever an animal in need of a little charity, this is it. And secondly, he’s out of
his normal environment and he’s completely defenseless. If you and your friend hadn’t
taken him in he would’ve wound up somebody’s supper. So you don’t owe me a penny.
Of course, it’s a good thing you waited a bit before you stuck him in the freezer.”

I nodded in agreement as I set René’s antique cage on the desk. Gia helped me transfer
him from his state-of-the-art number. He didn’t look at all upset to be leaving his
fancy modern digs, probably because he was eager to get back to Joyce’s house—which
I guessed was now what he thought of as home. I wondered if Joyce had considered the
fact that she’d now taken in three boarders. She’d been living alone for so long,
I think she was probably grateful for the company.

I thanked Dr. Layton, and Gia gave me a list she’d written up of all the foods that
were safe for René. As I passed through the waiting room, everyone smiled and waved
good-bye to René like he was George Clooney leaving the Academy Awards, and René called
out a couple of
cools!
to let everyone know how honored he was to be there. He skipped and hopped around
in his cage all the way to the Bronco, as if he actually had won some sort of award.
I guess I’d be happy too if I found out I’d narrowly avoided being packed away in
somebody’s freezer. I loaded him into the back and wedged the towels around his cage
to keep it from toppling over. The towels were still damp from my morning swim. I
made a mental note to hang them up to dry when I got home.

Joyce’s house is only about a block from where we found Corina, so on the way I turned
down the side lane that runs along the the park where we found her. I slowed a bit
to see if the box she’d been living in was still there, but there was too much foliage
in the way to see from the street.

Corina and Joyce met me at the door, both wide-eyed with joy, and before you could
say
buenos días
they had whisked René away. They put his cage down in the middle of the coffee table
and huddled over it, cooing at René like two love-struck schoolgirls. Henry the VIII
scampered and hopped around the perimeter of the table, wagging his tail and panting
excitedly. I was beginning to get a little annoyed with all the attention René was
getting.

I said, “Would anyone like to tell me how the baby is doing?”

Joyce said, “Oh, the doctor said she’s in perfect health. What did you find out about
René?”

“That’s all she said?”

“Well, the baby’s underweight. She said it was probably at least a month premature,
but they didn’t think it was anything to worry about. What did you find out about
René?”

I sighed. These two were more excited about the bird than anything else. “He’s totally
fine, but he’s supposed to rest up for a while, and he’s also a little underweight,
but otherwise she said he’s a healthy boy. They gave me a list of foods.”

Corina nodded expectantly. “So, the bird—he will not die?”

“No, not at all! She said he is very healthy.”

I pulled out Gia’s list of recommended foods and handed it to Corina. “He eats all
kinds of things, but fruit seems to be the favorite.” As I spoke, Corina looked down
at the list and nodded. I could see tears welling up in her big brown eyes.

Joyce put her hand on Corina’s shoulder. “Oh, Corina. It’s going to be okay.”

Corina started to cry softly. “The bird, she is okay. I am happy.”

Joyce caught my eye, and we shared a look. Corina wasn’t just crying because some
crazy-looking bird had gotten a clear bill of health from the vet. She was crying
because, at the heart of things, Corina and René had a lot in common. They were both
far from their own homes, in a foreign land where they weren’t completely understood,
where they had to depend on the goodwill of perfect strangers in order to survive.
They had both placed their trust in our hands. It was easy to understand how they
might immediately form a tight bond.

Now Joyce started dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her blouse.

“Oh no, not you too!”

Joyce laughed through her tears. “Well, Corina’s right. I’m happy the bird she is
okay, too!”

I rolled my eyes and left the two of them together, sniffling and hiccuping. The baby
was in the guest bedroom sound asleep in her bright pink car seat, which was situated
in the middle of the bed, surrounded with pillows. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and
her hands were balled into fists like two tiny cauliflower heads.

As I sat down on the bed, her eyes opened into narrow slits.

I whispered, “Hi, Dixie Joyce.”

She tilted her head back a bit and her eyes widened a little, trying to focus on me.
I laid my hand down over hers and softly kissed the top of her head.

“You know,” I said, “there’s a couple of crybabies in there.”

14

I pulled up to the Harwick house not knowing what to expect. Sometimes investigators
can take days to comb through the contents of a crime scene, and sometimes it can
be over in hours. It all depends on the crime. The first thing I noticed was that
the entire property was still cordoned off with yellow police tape, and now it was
stretched across the front gate. Partially blocking the entrance were two white news
vans with brightly colored logos splashed across their sides and big satellite dishes
perched on top, casting long shadows up the driveway. The ambulance was gone now,
but there was still a police cruiser next to August’s sports car, and behind that
was an unmarked sedan.

I parked behind one of the vans. There were a couple of reporters talking to some
neighbors, and across the street there was a balding man, in boating shorts the same
orange as Cheetos, pointing his phone at the scene. He was probably taking a video
that would be on the Internet as soon as he went back inside his house.

I knew one of the neighbors must have made a call to the local television stations,
because if Detective McKenzie had her way, word of Mr. Harwick’s death would have
been kept from the media until at least the initial investigation was over and all
the family members had been notified. But I guess it’s hard to keep things under wraps
when ambulances and police cars start surrounding the home of a major figure in one
of the biggest companies in the world. This little group of local reporters was just
the tip of the iceberg. Once word started spreading, the whole neighborhood would
be crawling with news teams and photographers from all over the place.

I took a deep breath. I don’t get along too well with reporters. Anyone who knows
me can vouch for that. So before I got out of the Bronco, I closed my eyes and started
slowly counting to ten. With each breath, I imagined myself taking one step toward
a gently babbling brook, with sparkling water softly gurgling over time-polished pebbles
and blue and yellow butterflies flitting all about. Growing up the lush banks of the
brook on both sides were cheery black-eyed Susans, sunning their yellow petals in
the dappled sunlight and swaying gently in the warm, nectar-scented breeze. Just when
I was at the fifth blissful step, I heard an obnoxiously loud rapping next to my head.
I nearly jumped out of my seat, and there was Deputy Morgan’s big face looming in
the window next to me.