I was about to slam down the receiver when McCracken answered, breathless and hopeful.
“Sorry to let you down, Sergeant,” I said, “but I think I’ll take you up on your offer of help.”
Fifteen minutes later he was sitting on the sofa, looking tense as a high wire.
“Sorry,” he said, “they just make me nervous.”
“You’d better be careful. You keep stiffening your neck like that, and you’ll be at the chiropractor’s tomorrow.”
“Can’t you do something with them?”
I looked at the five remaining cats. They didn’t appear to be grief-stricken. The black one was leaning against McCracken’s calf, I guess because the Persian had already captured his feet and seemed to be dozing on them. The ginger Tom was facing McCracken on the sofa, purring at him aggressively. As I watched, the white cat with the black paws made a leap for his lap. Meanwhile, on the back of the sofa, the little three-coloured one paraded back and forth, making sure the tip of her tail brushed the back of McCracken’s neck every time she turned around.
The rich sound of purring resonated in the room.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “nothing I can do. They’re out of control.”
“I think I’m about to go out of control myself,” said McCracken.
“Maybe if you had a drink?”
“Yeah,” he muttered, “that might help.”
McCracken had earned his drink. He’d already checked under my bed and in my closets and shower, where a murderer might hide. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d already checked for murderers. But I appreciated the attempt.
“So,” I said, after handing him a double dose of scotch.
I had one myself.
McCracken was sipping his scotch with a small smile on his face, showing no sign of wanting to pursue the required conversation.
“So,” I said. Firmly, this time.
McCracken looked up from the scotch and gave me his full attention.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “My guess is that you stirred up a certain amount of trouble when you started nosing around in the whole mess.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
“That’s not advice. The advice is, stop looking for trouble and let the police handle the investigation.”
“Well, I can’t do that, can I? Since the whole reason I’m investigating is to clear my friend’s name and the police seem determined to arrest her.”
He cleared his throat.
“We are pursuing other inquiries now. There’s a lot of forensic evidence from the crime scene that should soon be available. That’ll speed things up. Get some action.”
Neither one of us believed him. I would have felt a bit sorry for him if he hadn’t let Robin get dragged in to the station.
“We have some action,” I said, pointing to the small corpse covered with my plaid wool winter scarf. “We have a dead cat.
Now I know dead cats don’t make The National the way Mitzi did, but whoever did this thought he was delivering a powerful message.”
“Or she,” he said. “These are modern times.”
Or she?
I thought about this for a minute while McCracken polished off his scotch.
“Anyway,” he said, breaking into my thoughts, “we’ve disturbed a crime scene here. You’d better spend the night somewhere else, and I’ll get a team in here tomorrow.”
“I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to investigate the murder of a cat.”
“That’s why I’m not calling them out tonight. Still, it’s pretty obviously related to the Brochu murder, so we’ve got no choice.”
“I’ll stay here.”
“I think the scene’s been disturbed enough by both of us. It’s better if you don’t. Besides, you should get that door fixed. Do you want to sleep in an apartment where the front door’s been kicked in?”
Normally I would spend the night with Robin in an emergency, but I couldn’t face telling her about the cat. Edwina and Donalda would drive me crazy lecturing. That left Merv, who was as bad as Edwina and Donalda. And Alexa.
What the hell, I couldn’t keep them apart forever.
* * *
Half an hour later we pulled into the driveway at Alexa’s place. McCracken was still tense. Maybe it was because we were headed for Alexa’s. Maybe it was because there were five cats prowling and howling in his car.
“Well, we’re here,” I said unnecessarily, since we were stopped in Alexa’s driveway. “You’d better stay with them while I check that she’s ready for them.”
“Don’t be long,” he whispered.
“Who is it?” Alexa asked from behind her door.
“It’s your sister who called you and said she was coming right over. Remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” she hissed, as she opened the door. “And I’ll thank you to remember if you’re asking to spend the night at my house with your five cats, that you can at least be civil to me.”
“They’re not my cats. And I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m just tense and bitchy because a murder was committed in my home.”
Alexa gasped. “A murder!”
“Yes. The tabby. The reason I’m here.”
“Oh, the cat. Really, you scared me. I thought you were talking something serious. A person. Not a cat.” She pulled her silk housecoat a bit tighter.
“Well, it was serious to me. I found the cat murdered on my own pillow.”
“I’m sorry. But I didn’t even know this cat.”
I heard my voice go up an octave. “That’s not the point. The point is somebody killed the cat to give me a message. And the message was to stop investigating Mitzi Brochu’s murder.”
“Well, I hope you’re going to. Leave that to the police,” she said, peering down the driveway. “Who’s that in the car?”
“McCracken. Where do you plan to put the cats? Somewhere special or is it okay for them to make themselves at home on the furniture?”
“Conn McCracken? Here?” I hate to say it, but her hands flew to her face. “I don’t have any make-up on, and I’m in my bedclothes!”
“Well, it is bedtime. So where should he put the cats?”
“He can’t come up here. Not while I look like this. God, I haven’t seen him for twenty-five years. I want to be prepared.”
“Okay. But where will the cats go?”
“I don’t care where the cats go. You just make sure that he doesn’t come up here when I’m like this. Understand?”
Years of being a mom had given Alexa the training she needed to talk tough when necessary.
“Right,” I said.
Back at the car, I told McCracken, “Hand me those cats, two at a time please, and I’ll put them in the house.”
With some difficulty, he managed to pass the ginger Tom and the black one through the window. “Doesn’t she want to…” he said.
“I’ll be back in a tick,” I told him.
I