The Tell-Tail Heart: A Cat Cozy (Cattarina Mysteries) Page 7

  More scribbling in the notebook.

  "You seen anyone else up here?" Watchman Smythe asked. "Comin' and goin', that is?" He wiped his nose on his sleeve.

  "Unfortunately, no," Eddie said.

  "The Irish are a shifty lot," he continued. "They can slip past anyone. Even the likes of me."

  The older gave the younger a stern look and said, "We shall keep an open mind, Smythe."

  "Aren't you going to inspect the body?" Eddie asked.

  Constable Harkness harrumphed, then stooped over the remains.

  "Look closely at her face." Eddie leaned over the man's shoulder and pointed at the woman's face. "I think you'll find that one eye socket is smooth and hollow, as if she's had a surgery." He then leapt into a discussion of glass eyes and murderers. While he talked, I sniffed a clear puddle at the woman's feet. I'd thought it reservoir water at first, but after a series of uproarious sneezes, I knew it to be the same vile liquid I'd noted at Shakey House. Something about this bothered me. If Mr. Uppity was guilty of the crimes, why had I smelled the medicine on Mr. Abbott, or perhaps even Josef? My theory of the murder had more holes than a mole's den.

  Constable Harkness straightened and shook out his overcoat. "It's too dark to see. Smythe, fetch a cart and collect the body. Quick as you can, bring it to Dr. Anderson's." He stepped aside to let the watchman pass, then turned to Eddie. "I can't be sure of anything until I get Dr. Anderson's report, and I won't rush to judgment. But her death is a considerable mystery."

  "I couldn't agree more," Eddie said. A weak smile crossed his lips, as if he'd found some small amusement in the situation.

  The constable studied my friend through narrowed lids. "Would you mind coming back to my house to discuss the matter? Strictly a formality, of course."

  Eddie eased his hand into his pocket. "I've told you everything I know, sir." He withdrew the glass eye with care, keeping it hidden from the constable. "I'm not sure what else I can add." With slow, subtle movements, he tossed the object behind him, ridding himself of it. Constable Harkness took no notice, but I did. "My wife and mother-in-law will be beside themselves if I don't return before supper."

  "From your…cat stroll."

  "Precisely."

  Surprised that Eddie would throw away our lone clue, I leapt on the lopsided orb. He gave a little shriek and snatched me up backwards before I could grasp it between my paws. How undignified, to be tucked under a man's arm, my hindquarters flying like a flag. I waved my tail beneath his nose to show my displeasure. He sneezed and brought me round the right way to face Constable Harkness.

  The man fixed Eddie with a gaze that chilled me. "You know more than you're telling, Mr. Poe," he said. "And I need answers."

  "Why don't I give you my address?" Eddie offered. "You can come by in the morning if you like. Around ten?"

  "Very well." Constable Harkness took Eddie by the elbow and ushered him from the body. "I'll drop in after I speak to—" He frowned. "Hello, what's this?" He bent and retrieved the object that had plagued Eddie and me these last few days.

  "I think it's an eye," Eddie said.

  "I can see that," he said. "It must be the victim's. That makes three so far. The murderer is obviously amassing a collection and won't stop until he's completed it—whenever that may be. But why would he leave this one and not the others?"

  Eddie shrugged. "Carelessness?"

  They talked a moment longer, then the constable let us go. Eddie waited until we'd descended the steps to speak. He kept me under his arm, but I didn't mind. After the day I'd had, I needed the break. "Don't think me callous, Catters," he said. "It's perfectly dreadful that another woman has died, but, oh, the fascination!" Keeping to the manicured paths, Eddie walked around the central fountain and headed toward the main entrance. "Constable Harkness thinks the murderer is collecting these body parts, but I don't. I think he needed two of them. When he lost the one you found, he had to kill again to make a pair, a pale blue pair. If the culprit strikes again, I am wrong. If he doesn't, I am correct."

  I meowed in agreement. While I didn't understand the conversation, I found it amenable. Still, my friend had said nothing about Mr. Uppity, meaning my work was far from done.

  A Visit from the Constable

  Eddie and I left the garden of Fairmount Water Works, crossed the road, and veered into the field that led to our neighborhood. Window lights speckled the landscape like fallen stars. When we entered the Poe house, Sissy greeted us with a series of breathless questions. Tired and dirty, I jumped to the floor and retreated to the kitchen. There, I secured my spot behind the wood stove and groomed my paws before dinner. Muddy whirled about the room with a wooden spoon, stirring and tasting, and didn't notice me. I settled onto the warm floorboards and thought of Snow and what she would have for dinner. I sniffed. For me, it would be broiled shad, egg sauce, and stewed cucumbers, the latter of which they would put in my bowl, but I would heartily ignore. Running the streets had been fun, but I liked home.

  Before long, the four of us huddled around the dinner table, my bowl near Eddie's feet, to talk of the day's events. Truth be known, they talked, not me. My mouth was too full of shad. I picked at the fish and listened to the murmurs above.

  "What do you think the killer is going to do with them?" Sissy asked.

  "What one usually does with two glass eyes," Eddie said.

  "And what would that be?" Muddy asked.

  "He's being purposely obtuse, Mother," Sissy said. "He has no more idea than we do."

  The clink of cutlery filled the room. My bowl cleaned of its contents, I lay on my side—legs spread in either direction—and rested my eyes.

  "He's building an automaton," Sissy said, breaking the quiet spell. "And needed a realistic touch for the face."

  Muddy snorted. "What man in Fairmount has the smarts to build such a thing? I think he's selling them for money. Not enough to go round these days."

  Eddie remained uncharacteristically silent, so I raised my head to check on him. His body remained, but his mind had gone to a faraway place, heralded by a familiar gaze that looked at nothing in particular. This empty stare almost always preceded fits of pen scribbling. A muse knows things a mere wife, even a fine wife, does not.

  "My dear?" Sissy touched his arm. "Are you well?"

  Eddie smirked, rousing from a dream that had obviously pleased him. He leaned forward and called them closer, speaking just above a whisper. "I will tell you what he's doing with the eyes. Prepare yourselves, ladies. He's making a doll of human cast-offs. What will he steal next? A wooden leg? False teeth? One can only hope!" When Muddy groaned, he tipped his head back and laughed.

  "Stop, Eddie," Sissy said. "My stomach is turning somersaults, and I need my appetite, thank you very much."

  "You needn't worry, my darling. Whatever project he's working on, I intend to uncover it. That much I do know." He set his fork and knife aside. "Now that the finger of suspicion has swung in my direction, I have no choice."

  "Then speak with the optician," Sissy said. "He may have your answers."

  "Optician?" Muddy asked.

  "An acquaintance of mine from…from West Point," Eddie said quickly. "Splendid idea, my wife. I'll pay him a visit tomorrow, provided Constable Harkness doesn't arrest me first."

  The evening passed in a dull march of drudgery: dishes and sweeping up and the like. Even Eddie forwent writing to help with chores. Once the Poe family moved camp upstairs, I curled into a ball at the foot of Sissy's bed, too exhausted to oversee their nightly endeavors, and let their sweet voices lull me into a relaxed state. But images of Mr. Uppity's wizened face and sharp blue eyes taunted me when I closed my eyes. As hunter extraordinaire, how could I have let him slip through my paws so many times? Had my skills lessened with age? No, I'd bested Killer—in the Spider, no less. I tucked my tail around my nose. Perhaps I'd met a quarry beyond my reach. Perhaps the man would never be caught, and Philadelphia would soon reek with the stench of his victims.

&
nbsp; I set aside this disquieting notion in favor of Midnight and the adventure we'd had. A sublime specimen, he possessed qualities I looked for in a mate: a handsome coat (black fur always made me swoon), intelligence, long whiskers, devilish charm, and a vocabulary that rivaled mine. In fact, he reminded me of Eddie, but with more fur and a tail. This unsettled me more than Mr. Uppity's tomfooleries, so I thought of Snow. She'd been so curious about human companionship; the longing in her voice had been unmistakable. Mr. Coffin's voice held it as well the odd times he spoke to me alone. An introduction between the fatted goose and the white cat was in order, provided I could arrange it. Satisfied that I'd solved at least one problem today, I drifted into a fitful slumber.

  * * *

  The next morning, a staccato rap-rap-rap on the front door startled Eddie and me. At the sound, he scratched a line of ink across the page, spoiling an otherwise well-penned sheet of paper. "Dash it all," he said, tossing the quill onto his desk.

  We'd been at writing awhile.

  After breakfast, he'd announced his intention to work and called me into the front room, shutting the door and stoking the fire. There, I assumed my post—the corner of his desk—with unusual cheer. Even though Mr. Uppity was still free to kill, I'd shaken Eddie from his melancholy, and this had been my goal from the start. Success had, indeed, come from failure. Taking solace in this notion, I set aside my qualms over the botched hunting expedition and immersed myself in Eddie's genius, watching his feather dance to the complicated waltz in his head.

  Until the knock interrupted the music.

  Muddy greeted our guest—mumbled niceties in the hallway—and showed him into the front room. Constable Harkness entered, hat in hand, and eyed our meager surroundings. Eddie rose from his chair and dismissed Muddy with a shake of his head. To comfort my friend, for I could smell his anxiety from across the desk, I stepped over the scattered papers and nudged his hand. He stroked my head with fingers damp from worry.

  After the usual formalities, the constable stated his business. "Well, Mr. Poe, you are officially above the district's suspicion."

  "I am delighted," Eddie said. He relaxed his posture and leaned on the desk.

  "Doctor Anderson confirmed the woman died well before you discovered her, by several hours. Rigor mortis had just begun to set in when we carted her over. That's when the body—"

  "I am aware of rigor, sir."

  Constable Harkness fingered his watch chain.

  Eddie cleared his throat. "Who was she, and how was she killed?"

  "Her name is, or was Minerva Paulson, a socialite who'd recently moved to Rittenhouse. Dr. Anderson spoke to her family and confirmed she wore a prosthesis. Lost the original in a childhood accident." He rubbed his mouth. "And she was killed like the others. A knife to the throat."

  Eddie winked at me and whispered, "It was the Glass Eye Killer, Cattarina. Never wager against me."

  "There is no satisfaction in death, Mr. Poe, save for meeting one's maker," Constable Harkness donned his hat in the house, a sign of disrespect apparent to even me.

  "I agree it is a tragedy. I only meant—"

  "You spend too much time dwelling on the misery of others, Mr. Poe, and while you haven't committed any crimes—that I'm aware of—I find you altogether disagreeable. I bought a copy of The Gift this morning, read your 'Pit and the Pendulum,' and nearly lost my breakfast on the ride over. You should stick to poetry. Good day to you, sir."

  Eddie offered no reply. He waited for the front door to shut and then let out a sigh strong enough to stir a windstorm. "What a relief," he said.

  Muddy stuck her head in the room, her cap strings swaying. "Mrs. Busybody's been tongue wagging to all of Fairmount about the constable's visit." She lowered her voice. "Even the fatted goose knows about it."

  Mr. Coffin appeared over her shoulder, causing her to jump. "Hullo, Poe," he said. "Are you in a fix?" He'd arrived without benefit of jerky, but I forgave him since concern tempered his usual merriment. I heard it in his voice when he spoke to Eddie about the murder. I tried to leave and find Snow for an introduction, but someone had wrapped a piece of leather string around the latch, preventing my escape. The old widow, Mrs. Busybody, followed next with skirts so wide they dragged the doorframe and knocked Sissy's bric-a-brac from the side table. "It's too horrible for polite discussion!" she cried. "I feel a faint coming on. Who will catch me?" She fanned herself with chubby fingers, all the while smiling demurely at Mr. Coffin. Then came quiet Mister Balderdash, who listened more than he spoke, and Mr. Murray from Shakey House, and Dr. Mitchell, Sissy's doctor and long-time friend, and on and on until the front room bulged like a stuffed hen at Christmas.

  Shortly after Mrs. Busybody's arrival, I began to suspect I was the guest of honor, for when Eddie recited his tale—and he did so many, many times, to the delight of his audience—he spoke my name. Though I longed to vanish into the upper floors of the house, what could I do? With so many guests to entertain, I hopped on the mantel and provided a living, breathing illustration to Eddie's account. With each retelling, my friend grew more animated, flapping his arms in a sort of pantomime when he reached the part about the vultures. I hadn't seen him this happy since he'd gotten that slip of paper in the mail he called "the gift." Yet I took no pleasure in his stories. They reminded me of my own futile efforts and made my stomach go all gurgly. I had never—never!—failed at hunting. My claws ached at the very thought of it.

  During the initial stages of revelry, Sissy crept into the room. She sat at Eddie's elbow, commenting when she could, and took coins in exchange for his poetry pamphlets. Muddy, meanwhile, scurried between the front room and the kitchen, exclaiming, "What's a visit without tea? Guests must have tea!" Yet with but one jar of leaves on the shelf, each brew grew lighter and lighter until she finally served something she called "an invisible blend grown in the mountains of the Orient." Fiddlesticks. I knew plain water when I smelled it.

  Alas, all this excitement was not without price.

  Naturally, I sensed Sissy's downturn first. But from the first cough, Eddie stood and asked everyone to leave. "You must excuse us now," he said to the visitors. "Mrs. Poe has grown tired and must rest. I know you understand." By the time we reclaimed the house, midday sun streamed through the windows.

  "To bed, my girl," Muddy said.

  "To bed, my wife," Eddie said.

  Sissy did not object.

  Once she disappeared up the stairs, I paced the hallway with scant awareness of Eddie and Muddy's quarrel in the kitchen. Everywhere I looked, the color blue: the cornflower shawl hanging on the coatrack, the deep twilight covers of Eddie's leather-bound books, the tufted blueberry pillows on the couch…the hue taunted me from every crevice of the house until it drove me partially mad. How could I give up catching Mr. Uppity now?

  When Muddy gave us permission, Eddie and I climbed the stairs to pay Sissy a visit. The old woman met us at the landing and spoke in hushed tones about "keeping her daughter quiet and calm." After this solemn warning, she left to gather the guest dishes, a conclusion I drew from the careless clink of china below. Sensing Eddie's need for privacy, I let him enter alone but kept watch through a crack in the door. He spoke to the dear girl and stroked her forehead with a tenderness he usually reserved for me. Uncommonly possessive of my friend, I made the odd exception for Sissy. I batted the door and opened it a little wider.

  "I will stay here," Eddie said. His back was to me, shoulders stooped. "I want to, my darling."

  "No, please, go to Mr. Lorbin's office," she said. Her complexion had gone the way of the tea, turning paler with each shallow breath.

  "But Constable Harkness says I'm no longer a suspect."

  She clutched the bedcovers and restrained a cough that could've been much deeper had she allowed it. "You want to solve a mystery like Detective Dupin. Admit it."

  Eddie grew quiet. I couldn't see his face, but I knew the conflict that must've been written upon it because the damnable feeling had alread
y waylaid me in the hallway. Despite a rational desire to set aside the hunt for Mr. Uppity, my pride would not allow it. But with this change in Sissy's health, I wondered if I should leave the house. My tail swished back and forth as I contemplated the dilemma. I had grown to love the girl almost as much as I loved Eddie.

  "Go," she said. "I insist."

  He kissed her on the cheek. "I do not deserve a wife as fair-minded as you, sweet Virginia."

  She smiled wanly. "I will agree with you, but only because I am too tired to argue."

  Whatever she said must have convinced him to go, for we made straightaway for the city, leaving behind the last of my uncertainty.

  Two Makes a Pair

  Two majestic townhomes sandwiched Mr. Lorbin's spectacle shop in the neighborhood of Logan Square, a fact confirming all roads did, indeed, lead to the blue-eyed bandit. Eddie and I stepped from our hired coach and approached the building with mutual urgency. This time, however, I minded my step. At the start of our journey, I'd neglected to match Eddie's stride and accidentally tripped him as we left the neighborhood. He admonished me for following him—he looked genuinely surprised that I had—but I overcame these protestations with a gentle trill, and we were on our way.

  Once we reached busy Coates Street, Eddie hired a public carriage and told the driver to "seek out Ezekiel Lorbin's office, full chisel." We bounced through the cobblestone streets, my bones rattling like a sack of Mr. Coffin's nails. For my own amusement, I sharpened my claws on the tufted velvet cushion and sniffed the horsehair that spilled from the rips. Paradise on four wheels! From now on, I would stop running about like a madcat and use human transportation for all my future endeavors. Eddie ignored me and stared out the window, his brow furrowed. So I followed suit, observing the city from the back window of the closed coach. The faster we flew, the blurrier the people grew until I became almost dizzy.