and hidden for that long, and I think this place is a lot more dangerous than hiding out at my house for a few hours.” She had a few concerns, but mostly she wanted to get off Cedar Street and away from the sense of doom that hung over the place.
She clicked on the small television. She’d missed the evening news, but there was a local station that carried a midnight cap of events in the city.
She instantly regretted her decision when the first image that flashed on the screen was a close-up of Wayman Bishop. He was looking down at something, and the camera pulled back to reveal a body covered by a sheet.
“My God.” Susie’s voice was terrified, and just before she collapsed, Lily grabbed her and settled her onto the bed. Both women stared at the television in fascination as the camera closed in on the reporter.
“Mayor Torrell’s advisor Wayman Bishop is on the scene. He’s checking out the murder firsthand and has a statement from the mayor,” the reporter said.
She held the microphone out to Wayman.
“Mayor Torrell abhors this senseless violence against women, and the mayor is going to make it his number-one priority to begin the systematic prosecution of men who prey on the women of this city.” He pointed to the discreetly covered corpse. “This woman is a victim, and she will be vindicated.”
Lily snapped off the television, but she knew the damage was done.
“What’s he up to?” Susie asked, her voice loaded with fear.
“It doesn’t matter,” Lily said, forcing her voice to sound strong and assured. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll be safe in England. That’s all you have to think about.”
Chapter Four
So, the daffodils are blooming, a sure sign that Jack Frost is on the run. Clotilde tells me that Rose was up at the crack of dawn and on the Internet ordering a special baby outfit for little David to wear to court Monday. Special delivery, since none of the shops were open Sunday morning. That baby is going to be spoiled rotten. But Clotilde has a point. What if Rose and Preston aren’t allowed to keep the little boy? Heartbreak won’t begin to describe what will happen to them.
It’s a sticky wicket, as a British kitty would say. But the Internet is a good idea—at least for checking out the maker of that basket.
I’ve been doing my research, and there’s a cute little boutique not far from the Smithsonian that specializes in exactly that kind of basket. Clotilde and I have a date this morning to go there and do a little snooping around. Of course the shop is closed, which is perfect for me. I don’t want to buy anything, I just want to look at the books.
I’m wondering how Clotilde is going to take to breaking and entering, sneaking rides on public transit, dodging humanoids who either want to adopt us or have the pound pick us up—all the myriad facts of my life as a P.I. which she’s been protected from.
I can’t explain it to Clotilde, but I’m having some trouble with this case. She wants me to find David’s mother and make sure that she’s not going to snatch little David back. I’m just not so sure I want to find this woman. I mean what kind of mother would toss her kid? Maybe it would be best if we just let her disappear.
See, Clotilde has led a charmed life. Her parents were owned and loved by a wonderful old couple in midtown. When she and her brothers and sisters were born, it was a blessed event. Every single little kitten was wanted. And the humanoids made sure that each kitty was given a loving home.
That’s not how it works for a lot of cats. Even now, after years of living with Peter and Eleanor, it’s still painful for me to think about my youth.
I never really knew my father. My mother was a beautiful calico. As most cat-lovers know, calico cats are always female. From the day she was born, her humanoids hated her. They didn’t want another female kitty. They didn’t want kittens, and they didn’t want to take the trouble to take her to the vet and get her spayed. So as soon as she was old enough to eat solid foot, they put her in a car and drove to a bad part of town and threw her out in an alley.
They never even named her, but she named herself. Tash. Short for Succotash, that Indian dish of mixed vegetables. She was like that—a mixture of black and white and orange—beautiful. Little and dainty. But life in an alley is hard, and pretty soon, she found herself in the family way.
When I was born, I had two sisters, but they didn’t live. There wasn’t enough food, and they weren’t as strong as I was. I don’t know how Mom managed to keep herself and me fed for those first few weeks. I was just getting old enough to hunt for food and forage in the garbage cans when Mom didn’t come home one night.
I found her the next day. She’d been run over. They didn’t even bother to move her out of the street.
That was the day I left the alley and decided to find a better part of town to live in. I’d been watching humanoids come and go. I followed a car with people dressed in expensive clothes and ended up in a neighborhood not too far from here. I must say, the quality of the garbage was definitely superior. But it was also harder to get to.
At first I thought someone would want me, but they didn’t. They’d throw rocks at me for getting in the garbage or trying to catch a bird. I guess because they had plenty to eat, they never considered that I was hungry.
Anyway, to make a long story short, I was nabbed to be an animal used for experiments. I thought that alley was hell until I discovered what humans could do to an animal in the name of science. That’s when the microfilm was implanted in me, and I became a pawn in a game I didn’t understand. I escaped and met Eleanor, and she met Peter, and as the old saying goes, the rest is history.
Well, enough about the past. Thinking about it doesn’t change the facts. I lucked out and found the best bipeds on the face of the earth to love me. And I have Clotilde. Now I have to do this thing that she’s asked of me. I only hope I can protect her from the facts of the real world for unwanted cats and dogs.
It’s time to head for that little shop, so I now have to go spring Clotilde from her house, which shouldn’t be all that hard since Rose and Preston are so absorbed with the baby. Something good has come of this—Clotilde will have a bit more freedom and a lot more time for amoré with yours truly.
MEL PACED the sidewalk in front of Annie’s Boutique, waiting for Annie Anlage to arrive and open the shop. He hadn’t been completely truthful to the shop owner—she’d bought his story of an abandoned baby hook, line and sinker. Only he hadn’t told her that he intended to prosecute the mother for abandonment. He’d led her to believe he was trying to find the mother to make sure she was okay.
He heard the clack of high heels and turned to meet the petite woman who breathlessly opened the door of the shop and ushered him inside.
Out of the corner of his eye, Mel caught sight of two cats slipping through the door, too. If they were her cats, he was surprised she let them out on the street. Traffic was generally heavy around this part of town and untended animals didn’t stand a chance of survival. He was about to mention the cats when Annie waved her hand around the shop.
“Which basket? Can you find one similar? Maybe I’ll remember who bought it. They’re all handmade and I generally remember my clients.”
Mel took a breath. He’d never imagined there could be so many different
