Alibis and Amethysts (6 page)

Chapter 7

Jaye gasped, her mouth hanging open as if a scream were about to follow, but she was
too startled and bewildered to make a sound. Her eyes were locked on the creature
in front of her, who appeared every bit as surprised and frightened as she was. The
size of a house cat, it had pale golden fur and the requisite nose, whiskers and tail
for that species, but it was standing on its hind legs as if that was a normal posture
for it. Then Jaye noticed that its front paws, which were presently holding the leftover
chunk of Brie, weren’t paws at all but more like small, fur-covered hands with three
articulated fingers and an opposable thumb. Its perky little catlike ears were set
up higher on its head than those of any cat Jaye had ever seen, and they were swiveling
a full hundred and eighty degrees back and forth as if trolling for other sounds of
possible danger.

The “not-a-cat,” as Jaye’s brain instantly labeled the creature, seemed to be assessing
its situation, perhaps calculating the odds of making it past her without being caught.
Jaye was weighing her options as well. The animal hadn’t exhibited any signs of aggression
beyond a penchant for stealing. Maybe it wasn’t dangerous. Seriously? What was she
basing that conclusion on? The ninety seconds since their little standoff had started?
For all she knew, its mouth was filled with piranha-sharp teeth that injected a lethal
poison into its victim, instantly paralyzing or killing said victim. This was no time
to be making impulsive, Sierra-like decisions, or she could wind up following the
wedge of Brie for the not-a-cat’s dinner. She should call 911. If ever a situation
called for a speedy response time, this one did. But she’d have to leave the doorway
to get her cell phone, which was in the bedroom. The animal would escape. Hold on,
was that so terrible? By giving it the opportunity to flee, she stood a better chance
of surviving. But what if, instead of leaving, it hid out somewhere until it could
attack her in her sleep? And if the creature did leave, who would believe her when
she told them about it? Damn, without her cell phone she couldn’t even take a picture.

She was still caught up in this internal struggle when the not-a-cat took a wary step
toward her, allowing the refrigerator door to swing shut with a dull whoosh. The noise
made Jaye jump, leaving her nerves as electrified as if they were plugged directly
into an outlet.

The animal slowly extended its right hand to her, the Brie in its open palm. Jaye
warned herself this could be a ploy meant to lure her close enough to attack. Yet
it could also be a form of surrender. A white flag of cheese.

She looked into the animal’s dark eyes. The irises were large and shiny, with only
a thin margin of white around the edges—more like a dog’s eyes than a cat’s. And what
Jaye saw in those eyes was not only a mirror of her own fear and indecision, but what
she could swear was a silent plea for kindness.

Prepared to turn and run at a moment’s notice, she inched a bit closer. No fur-covered
fingers latched onto her arm. No razor-sharp teeth sank into her skin. Moving in slow
motion, she reached for the cheese and gently plucked it from the animal’s hand. “Thank
you,” she said softly. Then she held out her palm with the cheese. “It’s okay. You
can have it.”

The not-a-cat tilted its felinesque head as if it were trying to understand what was
expected of it.

Jaye smiled again. “It’s okay.”

Studying her warily, the animal took the cheese back, brought it up to its mouth and
took a tentative bite.

Jaye just kept smiling and nodding. The animal sat back on catlike haunches, which
Jaye could have sworn were nowhere in evidence when it was standing. The animal had
to have a joint system that was entirely different from a normal cat’s or dog’s in
order for its rear legs to mimic the straighter legs of a human when it stood and
the rounded configuration of a cat’s when it sat. The creature went on nibbling and
watching Jaye until the cheese was gone. Then it meticulously licked off each of its
fingers and produced a dainty burp. Reaching down its body into what appeared to be
a marsupial pouch, it withdrew a small nugget of amethyst and held the lavender stone
out to Jaye, its lips curled back from its teeth in what looked like an approximation
of a smile.

Jaye was relieved to see that the teeth, although pointy and probably sharp, were
no more threatening in appearance than those of any domesticated animal. She graciously
accepted the stone, even though she was pretty sure it had come from her own shop.
The not-a-cat appeared to live by a barter system, although it had some kinks to work
out with regard to the issues of ownership and value. In any case, Jaye now had a
pretty good idea how the wallet had wound up in her shop and the sock in her refrigerator.

Having negotiated this first encounter so far without incident, she wondered what
to do next. The animal had to be a rare specimen, given that she’d never seen anything
like it in any of the zoos she’d visited or on any of the nature shows she’d watched.
For all she knew, someone had found it in the Amazon jungle and smuggled it home.
There were always stories in the news about people who kept exotic pets regardless
of what the law allowed or what was best for the animals. Although it didn’t appear
that the creature was dangerous, she couldn’t be absolutely sure what would happen
if it were provoked or felt its life was threatened. The responsible thing to do would
be to call the police and animal control.

“Stay here; I’ll be right back,” she said, as if her furry guest understood English.
She hurried off to the bedroom and scooped up the cell phone she’d left on her nightstand.
On her way back to the kitchen she heard slurping noises and found the not-a-cat drinking
from the bowl of water she’d set down earlier for Frosty. She punched in 911, but
ended the call before it connected. If the not-a-cat was actually an unknown species,
getting the authorities involved meant getting the media involved, and that could
prove disastrous. A disturbingly high percentage of her human brethren wouldn’t win
any awards for the way they treated ordinary animals, let alone ones that had the
potential to bring them fame or fortune.

She paced from the living room to the kitchen, back and forth, back and forth, trying
to arrive at some decision. The not-a-cat lay down on the floor halfway out of the
kitchen, where it kept an eye on her movements. It looked substantially less strange
now that it was no longer standing upright or using its hands. Somewhere around lap
fourteen, Jaye noticed that the animal’s eyelids were lowering as if it were too exhausted
to cheat sleep a moment longer. She fought an urge to bend down and stroke its body
to let it know it was safe. Baby steps, she told herself, baby steps until she knew
more about this creature.

As she watched the not-a-cat surrender to sleep, Jay’s eyelids also became impossibly
heavy. She’d had a long day on very little sleep, and the adrenalin that had fueled
her through the past half hour was draining away. The love seats beckoned with the
promise of soft cushions and delicious rest. If she lay down for five minutes—five
minutes, tops—it might take the edge off her fatigue and allow her to make a sensible
decision. She set the alarm on her phone to wake her. As she curled up on the love
seat facing the not-a-cat, it occurred to her that she ought to have a weapon at hand
just in case. But before she could talk herself into getting up to find one, she fell
sound asleep.

***

Jaye bolted upright on the love seat. She’d awakened to find herself peering into
the darkly luminous eyes of the not-a-cat, who was sitting less than a foot away.
There was a moment’s panic before her foggy brain recalled all the night’s events.
A quick nap never left her so disoriented; she must have slept longer than she’d intended.
She looked at her watch. Unless the animal had been playing with it while she slept,
three hours had passed. For confirmation, she reached for her phone, which was lying
beside her on the couch. Three hours. Even the alarm had failed to rouse her.

One glance around the room made it clear that the not-a-cat hadn’t slept for as long
as she had. Her handbag, which she always left on a small table in the entryway, was
lying on the floor, its contents strewn around it. The photo album she kept on the
coffee table was also on the floor, the pictures pulled from their sleeves and scattered
everywhere. Her heart skipped a beat before she realized that they were all still
intact. These weren’t just any photographs; they were the only ones she had of her
family. There was also a trail of Cheerios, pretzels, and tortilla chips leading from
the kitchen pantry into the living room. Someone had apparently gotten the munchies.

The not-a-cat started making a soft trilling noise, but Jaye had no idea what it was
trying to tell her. Then it occurred to her that the animal might need to go outside
to relieve itself, which reminded her of another issue she’d been too tired to pursue
last night—namely, how the animal had gotten inside to begin with.

She grabbed her robe from the bedroom and pulled it on as she went downstairs to the
shop with the not-a-cat shadowing her. From what Jaye had seen so far, although the
animal could walk upright, it seemed to prefer padding around on all fours, especially
when more than a few steps were required.

Jaye turned off the security alarm and opened the front door. Fortunately, the sun
hadn’t yet risen, and there was no one about to see the animal as she let it outside.
Only after it scampered off did it occur to Jaye that it might not come back. And
she still didn’t have a photo of it. But what had her options been? She didn’t happen
to keep a collar and leash lying around in case a dog wandered by one day and adopted
her. Besides, if the not-a-cat was a wild animal, it might take exception to having
a noose around its neck and its freedom abridged.

She stayed by the window, keeping watch for the animal’s return. After forty minutes
passed without any sign of it, she finally talked herself into accepting that the
not-a-cat had gone off in search of greener pastures or a better-stocked fridge. Given
the slim pickings at her place, she could hardly blame it. In any case, it was probably
for the best. She already worked a seven-day week and needed to spend all of her free
time trying to figure out who killed Peggy. She didn’t have a spare minute for a conventional
pet, much less for this strange creature. She went back upstairs, trying to decide
if she could fall back asleep for another hour or if she should just give up and make
some strong coffee. She was leaning toward the sleep option until she walked into
her bedroom. There, flattening itself to squeeze under the partially open window,
was the not-a-cat. The animal must have climbed the fir tree at the side of the building
and then jumped from the tree to the narrow ledge outside the window before wriggling
its way inside. The space between the windowsill and the sash was four inches max,
yet the animal didn’t appear to be having any trouble negotiating it. Talk about a
unique set of joints!

Jaye knew she should probably be dismayed that the creature had returned. One less
problem to worry about wouldn’t have been a bad thing. Yet there was no sense denying
she was glad to see it again. In fact, she felt a bubbly bit of pride that the animal
liked and trusted her well enough to come back. A few seconds later that pride was
stomped to pieces by the cold, hard fact that she had absolutely no idea what to do
with the creature. She needed help.

Chapter 8

Sierra made it from her house to the crystal shop in record time. Jaye, who’d thrown
on slacks and a blouse, was waiting for her in the shop. She’d locked the upstairs
windows and the door between the apartment and the stairway to keep the not-a-cat
from disappearing before Sierra arrived. Her friend had enough on her mind without
having to worry that Jaye was headed for an early retirement in a padded cell.

Sierra turned off the engine, jumped out of the car and flew across the parking lot,
her curly hair billowing wildly around her.

“I called Daniel and asked him to come too,” she said as she swept inside and caught
Jaye up in a hug. “He’s lived all his life around here, so I thought he might be able
to help us figure out what kind of animal you found.”

“That found
me.
” The distinction was important to Jaye. She hadn’t brought more chaos into their
already crazy lives; it had been thrust upon her. “Where’s Frosty?” She’d been worried
about how he and the not-a-cat would hit it off.

“I dropped him at day care early, so I’ll be able to go straight to work from here.”

“Dee must have been thrilled.”

Sierra shrugged. “I told her it was an emergency and didn’t give her time to ask questions.”

“You’ll have to come up with some answers before you go back there tonight,” Jaye
pointed out.

“Give me a sec—okay, I’ve got it. We thought you had appendicitis, but it turned out
to be a bad case of gas.”

Jaye groaned. “What about something along the lines of a virus?”

Before Sierra could answer, another set of headlights swung into the parking lot,
signaling Daniel’s arrival. Jaye was nearly bowled over by the realization that she
had not one but two friends who would come running to her aid no matter why she needed
them or at what ungodly hour. Having spent so much of her childhood with only transient
friends, she hadn’t known such relationships could run as deep as blood.

Daniel burst through the door brandishing a baseball bat and looking wilder than Jaye
had ever seen him. Much like Sierra, he appeared to have leapt out of bed and into
his car without even taking the time to tie back his long hair.

“Where’s this beast?” Daniel demanded, scanning the interior of the shop.

Jaye started to laugh. “Sierra, what on earth did you tell him?”

“Just that some kind of weird animal got into your apartment.”

“I think she might have lured you here under false pretenses, Daniel. She left out
the part about the animal not being dangerous.”

Daniel shook his head. “Wild animals are unpredictable.”

“I don’t know,” Jaye said, leading the way upstairs. “This one seems about as wild
as Frosty.”

***

When they reached the top of the stairs, Daniel insisted on going in first, “just
in case,” as he put it, and Jaye didn’t think it was worth arguing the point. He opened
the door slowly, holding the bat as if he were at home plate ready to knock one into
the bleachers. But no ferocious animal launched itself at him. There wasn’t even a
small flurry of activity. From the doorway, the three of them had a good view of the
living room and kitchen, but the not-a-cat was nowhere in sight. Once they’d stepped
inside, Sierra spotted it first, curled up in a ball snoring peacefully on the love
seat that faced away from them. As Daniel lowered his bat, Jaye swore she saw a look
of disappointment cross his face.

“It’s cute,” Sierra whispered, as if she were in a hospital room trying not to disturb
the patient.

“You don’t have to whisper,” Jaye told her, heading to the love seat. “My little boarder
here needs to wake up so I can introduce you.”

The not-a-cat half opened its eyes in response to Jaye’s voice, but looked as if it
planned on going right back to sleep if nothing was amiss. When it saw the other people
with her, its eyes flashed wide open. Shaking off its drowsiness like a dog shaking
rain from its coat, the not-a-cat jumped onto the floor, where it sat clearly waiting
for the newcomers to make the next move.

Jaye sat down on the floor beside the animal to provide whatever comfort and support
her presence could bring and to show Daniel that weapons weren’t necessary. That was
enough for Sierra, who went right over and plunked herself down on the love seat the
animal had just vacated, her eyes glued to the golden-furred creature. Daniel joined
her on the couch with somewhat less enthusiasm, setting the bat on the floor so that
the handle was leaning against his knee. His reluctance to let his guard down made
Jaye wonder just how badly his other encounters with wildlife might have gone.

He studied the animal from this vantage point, the furrows in his brow digging in
deeper by the second. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said shaking his head.
“It looks like a crazy mutation of a cat and half a dozen other animals.”

“I think you should both stop calling her ‘it,’” Sierra said. “She has a pouch—you
know, like a female kangaroo.”

“I know,” Jaye said, “but everything else about this animal is so weird. I mean, if
male seahorses can gestate their young, who knows if the not-a-cat is male or female?
I haven’t been brave enough to do a thorough exam.”

“What was that you called it—I mean, her?” Daniel asked.

Jaye laughed. “A not-a-cat—that’s what I’ve been calling her in my head. At first
glance I thought she was a cat, but a second later I realized she wasn’t, so . . .
not-a-cat.”

“That works,” he agreed, “at least until we can figure out exactly what she is.”

“I love it,” Sierra chimed in, “but I think she deserves to have a real name, not
just a designation.”

Jaye knew she should have seen that coming. “I’m open to suggestions.”

Sierra leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, studying the animal.

“Did you do an Internet search to see if you could find any creature like her?” Daniel
asked, clearly not interested in the naming game.

“I haven’t had a chance, but my laptop’s in the bedroom if you want to give it a shot.”
Daniel was off to the bedroom before she finished the sentence.

“I’ve got it,” Sierra announced. “Since you’ve said she’s quite the little thief,
how about Raffles, after the fictional British cat burglar?”

It took Jaye a second to refocus on names. “Clever.”

“Let’s see how our not-a-cat burglar likes it.” Sierra stood up and walked to the
other end of the room. “Raffles,” she called, holding her arms out for encouragement.
“Raffles.”

Intent on grooming the fur on her left front leg, the not-a-cat didn’t even look up.
Sierra tried calling her again. No reaction. Sierra sighed when a third attempt failed
to interest her. “She’s not buying it. We need to come up with a different name.”

“Give her a chance to get used to it,” Jaye said.

While they were debating the issue, the not-a-cat made its way over to the door where
Sierra had dropped her purse. After regarding it quietly for a minute, the animal
grabbed the purse and took it into the corner, where she began rummaging through it.
Sierra started laughing.

“Drop it!” Jaye said sternly, getting to her feet. “Raffles, drop it!” She turned
to her friend. “And
you
stop laughing.” Neither of them paid her any attention. The not-a-cat kept pulling
things out of the purse, and Sierra kept right on laughing.

“Raffles here has to learn some rules if she’s going to live around people,” Jaye
protested, feeling like the mean parent who won’t let the kids have any fun.

The not-a-cat had found a hard candy in the depths of Sierra’s purse and was busy
unwrapping it. She popped it into her mouth, but a moment later her face contorted
in a comical grimace. She spat out the candy and raced off to the kitchen, where the
women could hear her noisily lapping water out of the bowl Jaye had refilled for her.
By then Sierra was doubled over with laughter. She collapsed onto the hardwood floor
as if her legs had turned to rubber. “Root beer,” she said, trying to catch her breath.
“I guess it’s an acquired taste.”

That was it. Between the not-a-cat’s reaction and Sierra’s words, Jaye also dissolved
into a fit of laughter. Raffles didn’t seem to take exception to being the butt of
their jokes. When she padded back into the room, she went straight to Sierra, reached
into her pouch and withdrew a piece of bubble wrap, which she held out to her.

“Thank you,” Sierra said, her laughter winding down to an occasional giggle. She looked
across at Jaye. “The barter system you told me about?”

Jaye nodded. It was another few seconds before she could stop sputtering and speak
properly. “Even though she didn’t like the candy, I guess she feels obligated to pay
you for it.”

“Which makes her more ethical than most people I know.”

Raffles looked from one of the women to the other and sighed loudly.

“Something’s bothering her,” Sierra said. “Do you think she’s hungry?”

“Maybe, but I don’t know if I have anything she’ll— Wait, I think there’s still one
can of the tuna I keep on hand for you.” Jaye went off to the kitchen. The not-a-cat
followed her as far as the kitchen doorway and sat down. From there she still had
both women in view.

Jaye returned with the tuna on a small plate. She set it down beside the animal. After
one cautious sniff, one wary taste, Raffles used both hands to scoop the food into
her mouth. In a matter of seconds, the plate was empty, and she was diligently licking
the remnants off her hands and from around her mouth.

“Who’s eating tuna fish at this hour?” Daniel asked as he came out of the bedroom.
“It smells awful.”

“Raffles was hungry,” Sierra told him.

“Raffles?”

“We’re giving the name a trial run,” Jaye said, picking up the plate that was so clean
it shone. “Did you have any success on the Internet?”

He shook his head. “Not even close.”

Jaye sat down on the love seat and immediately had a furry body curling up in her
lap. “Okay, team, now what?”

“Why don’t we take a DNA sample and have it tested?” Sierra suggested.

Daniel shook his head. “I know a couple of vets I would trust to take care of a sick
pet, but this requires a whole other level of trust.”

“So, it looks like I have a houseguest until we figure out what she is and where she’s
from,” Jaye said, absently stroking the animal’s back as if they’d been together for
years.

Daniel grinned. “Hey, don’t they claim having a pet relieves stress and helps you
live longer?”

“Somehow I don’t think they meant a pet as strange as this one,” Jaye said wryly.

Sierra knelt on the floor, where Raffles had left her purse, and stuffed the contents
back inside. “Don’t worry. We’ll get this figured out.”

“I’ll see if I can get a line on someone we can trust to run her DNA and be discreet,”
Daniel said. “And I’ll take a trip up to Tuba City. My people have always been great
storytellers. Probably comes from not having a written language until World War II.
I’m sure if anyone ever saw Raffles or one of her kin, there would be a story about
it.”

Sierra slung the purse strap over her shoulder. “As much as I hate to break up this
party, I’m off to bake today’s goodies before a mob of sugar-starved tourists beats
down my door.”

“As long as everything’s under control here, I have to get going too,” Daniel said.

Jaye slid Raffles off her lap and onto the love seat cushion so she could walk her
friends downstairs. She felt considerably better than she had after first discovering
the not-a-cat. “Just be careful,” she said, holding the shop door open for them. “We
don’t want to find that strange little face plastered all over the Web.”

“Not to worry,” Sierra assured her as she stepped outside.

Before following her out, Daniel reached for Jaye’s hand and gave it a little squeeze.
“Promise you’ll call if you need me.”

Jaye assured him she would. Although the problem was far from solved, it was a huge
relief to know that she wasn’t facing it alone. She locked the shop after them and
went back upstairs. Dawn had finally started to seep up from the horizon, officially
ending what was arguably the longest night of her life. Unfortunately, sleep would
have to wait another eighteen hours or so.

Back in the apartment, she set the coffeemaker to brew a full carafe, which she’d
no doubt finish long before closing time. Now for something to eat. A quick perusal
of the cabinet she called “the carb closet” showed it to be as depleted as her refrigerator.
There were some Cheerios left over from the not-a-cat’s night raid, but no milk to
put on it, so Jaye settled for the last granola bar. No way to avoid it—during lunch
hour she’d have to make a grocery run. Of course if she did that, she’d have little
or no time to continue investigating Peggy’s death. Daniel was right. The only way
to hire some help for her shop was to stop talking about it and actually do it. She’d
put a sign in her window today and call the local paper to place an ad.

She carried her coffee and granola bar into the living room and turned on the TV to
catch up on the news. She found a local channel out of Flagstaff and made herself
comfortable on the unoccupied love seat, hoping Raffles wouldn’t wake up until she’d
finished her breakfast. The bright-eyed news anchors who filled the screen seemed
overly perky for that hour of the morning, but Jaye knew her sleep deprivation probably
made her biased on the matter.

After a series of reporters had delivered a rundown on the international and national
news, the anchors turned to local headlines. It came as no surprise to Jaye that the
first item was the death of Peggy Krueger. According to the male anchor, who’d dialed
down his smile and adopted a suitably solemn expression, the medical examiner had
just issued a statement with his preliminary findings. If Jaye could have put her
hand in the anchor’s mouth and pulled the words out faster, she would have.

“Dr. Gatwick,” he went on in his well-modulated, deliberate style, “has labeled Ms.
Krueger’s death a homicide, citing blunt force trauma to the back of the head as the
immediate cause of death. Although some tests are still pending, he is confident those
results will in no way . . .”