Hiding in Plain Sight (3 page)

“I don't know, not for sure,” I admitted. “Probably a few weeks or so.”

“And then he'll be back home and able to take care of his cat by himself?”

“Yes.”

Mom sighed. She looked at Ernie again, a bit longer. She frowned some more. I was barely breathing.

“I suppose,” she said at last, “that if it's only going to be a few weeks, we could put up with the inconvenience.”

I opened my mouth, all overjoyed and everything, to tell her thanks. Before I could get so much as a syllable out, she held her hand up and went on.

“However,” she said, “this is
entirely
your responsibility, Shelby. Feeding, brushing, cleaning the litter box, extra vacuuming to keep the house from being overrun with floating black hair. All of it. You do it, and I mean
without
being told, or the cat goes.”

“I will,” I promised. Even though she was trying to sound kind of mean, I threw my arms around her.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw my dad kind of nod and smile the way you do when you have a secret. I
suddenly realized that he'd set the whole thing up. I also knew that if I ever brought it up to him, he'd act like he didn't know what I was talking about. My folks have this rule about always backing each other up when it comes to making parenting decisions. It's a real pain sometimes.

But that didn't matter at the moment. Ernie was staying, even if it was only for a few weeks. I could hardly wait to let him out of the carrier.

On this particular subject, I wasn't the only eager one. The second I began to free him, Ernie flew from the dreadful trap. Leaving captivity behind, he formed a black streak that disappeared from the room before I even had the carrier's door fully open.

“He's probably shy,” I said, forcing a smile. Mom seemed far from pleased.

“You'd better find him,” she said sternly. “I don't want him doing goodness knows what goodness knows where.”

I thought of the mad chase he'd taken me on in the apartment earlier in the day, and that was in a place that had only a few small rooms. As I headed down the hallway calling his name, I began to wonder if he was worth all the bother he'd been already.

I found him over an hour later, hidden behind the ironing board in the laundry room. He was crouched there, looking a bit wild and scared. His blue eyes blinked in what seemed like confusion.

I reached a hand out to pat him and was rewarded with a swat, claws out, that made a tiny red path across a couple of my fingers. Nice.

Determined, I reached out again, but by the time my hand got there this time, he'd burst out of his hiding spot. I had no doubt that escape was uppermost in his furry little head, but I'd outsmarted him (for the first time) and closed the door when I'd entered the room, just in case.

Even so, it was a while before I succeeded in picking him up and carrying him to the spare room, which Mom had readied for his stay. Dishes with food and water were lined up along the wall, and a bed had been fashioned on the floor with a couple of old blankets.

I plunked the troublemaker down on the floor and closed the door before he could get away again.

It looked like it was going to be a long two weeks.

I
t seems there were a few things Mr. Stanley hadn't thought to mention about Ernie, one of them being he's not the best behaved cat ever, and the other that he's an enormous baby if he's left alone at night. Goodness only knows if any of the other tenants in Mr. Stanley's apartment building got any sleep the night before, when Ernie was there by himself. Maybe he behaved better in his own place where he was used to everything, I don't know.

I do know that he was not what you'd call a model guest at our place. Not by a long shot. He started up not long after Mom had nicely tucked him away with food and water, a fresh litter box, and a cut-down cardboard box lined with old blankets. All the comforts of home, which you'd think would be as much as most cats would expect.

Not Ernie. Maybe he fancies himself kind of high class or something, on account of his sleek and shiny fur, so black that it's almost blue in the light, and his eyes complementing his coat with an almost electric shade of blue if you happen to look at him from certain angles. Whatever his reasons, he sure made it clear he expected better treatment than he was getting, locked up like some kind of prisoner.

The first sign of trouble started with a kind of scraping noise, which I quickly recognized as Ernie clawing at the door. The spare room is close to mine, so I hurried down the hall, opened the door a crack and hissed at him to stop it.

It seemed like he meant to obey, because right away he plunked his behind down on the carpet and started purring really loud. It threw me off guard for a few seconds, considering his performance earlier in the day. I decided he'd realized I was on his side and had made up his mind to treat me better.

“What a
good
cat,” I complimented him, reaching a hand in and giving him a quick pat. He rubbed his face up against my fingers and purred louder.

“That's right, you're
such
a good kitty,” I repeated. “Well, I guess I'll see you in the morning then.” I told him goodnight, stepped back, and shut the door. I almost made it to my room before the scratching started again.

“That cat had better not be clawing at the wood-work,” Mom called out from down the hall.

I was back at Ernie's door by then, having another heart-to-heart with him about appropriate behaviour when you're in someone else's home. Judging by the tilt of his head, you'd think he was listening attentively, but you'd be wrong.

By the time Ernie had listened to four lectures and I'd made as many trips back and forth from my room to his, I'd realized the current arrangement wasn't going to work.

“You're not such a good cat after all, are you?” I whispered as I carried him to my room. Then I had to go back and get everything else Mom had fixed up for him. By the time I got it all set up in my room, he was nicely curled up in the middle of my bed.

“
This
is your bed,” I explained, plopping him onto the blankets Mom had stuffed into the cardboard box. He purred his thanks and then leapt back onto mine the second my back was turned. I put him back in the box. He jumped back onto my bed and settled down with a huge yawn.

I could see that Ernie hadn't had much in the way of discipline growing up. Probably none, in fact. If tonight was any example, I was willing to bet that Mr. Stanley had spoiled him at every turn.

“Tomorrow,” I warned him as he was drifting off to sleep, “you are going to have to learn some of the rules.”

I'd intended to sleep in a bit the next morning, seeing as everyone was away and there wasn't much to do. Ernie had other ideas, though. He woke me bright and early with a combination of loud purring and a noisy face wash. You wouldn't think it could be all that loud, a cat licking its paws and rubbing its face, but Ernie managed to do it at maximum volume, slurping and rasping and just generally making disgusting noises.

“Quiet down,” I mumbled, stuffing my head under the pillow.

The next thing I knew something was bumping up against me. I peeked out and saw Ernie, the top of his head rammed against my leg, like he'd been giving me a head butt and got stuck.

“You're weird,” I informed him. He purred even louder, like I'd just paid him a lovely compliment.

By then, of course, I was wide awake. I decided to get organized and go see Mr. Stanley early, just to put his mind at ease that Ernie was settled in okay.

First, though, his things had to be put wherever they were going to be while he was with us. I sat his dishes in a corner in the kitchen and put the litter box downstairs in the laundry room. I left the bed Mom had made up for him in my room, not that it was likely he'd suddenly start co-operating and use it. Then I
showed him where everything was a few times, but he didn't seem to be paying much attention.

“Don't worry about that,” Mom told me a bit later. “He's a cat. He'll explore and have the lay of the place in no time. We'll just have to make sure the laundry room door stays open. Otherwise, my big house plants won't be safe.”

I headed off to the hospital then, deliberately taking the street that goes past Broderick's Gas Bar where Greg works. It made me miss him even more than I already was, which was a lot.

He and his dad don't really have a firm schedule for how long they're going to stay away, so I can't even count the days left on their vacation.

Betts's boyfriend, Derek, is filling in for Greg while he's away, but it couldn't have been his shift because it was Old Man Broderick who was there when I went by. His thin arm came up in a kind of half-wave as I walked past, and his face broke out into a wide smile. He's a nice old guy and Greg likes working for him.

That reminded me that I should probably start job hunting again pretty soon, but then school will be starting in just a few weeks and I'm not sure I want to have a job during the school year. I'm going into Grade 11 and I know my marks this year are going to count toward university. I'm not sure where I want to go, since I haven't really decided what I want to do — not
for sure, anyway. When I do make up my mind, though, I don't want bad grades to keep me from being accepted into the university I pick.

By the time I'd reached the hospital I'd pretty well made up my mind to stick with casual jobs like babysitting for now, even though that's not my favourite way to make money.

Mr. Stanley brightened right up as soon as I entered his room. “How's Ernie?” he asked, leaning forward eagerly.

I told him Ernie was fine and filled him in on the adventures I'd had in getting him to my place and then settling him down for the night.

“He's a bit of a rascal all right,” Mr. Stanley said with a big grin. You'd think a person would be just a tiny bit embarrassed to learn of their cat's misbehaviour, but he was beaming with pride.

“Uh, what do you usually do to get him to, you know, behave?” I asked.

He looked puzzled for a few seconds and I was thinking of how I could rephrase the question when he answered.

“If by ‘behave' you mean how do I get him to obey,” he said, “the answer is, I don't. I'm afraid I may have indulged the little fellow.”

While it didn't exactly surprise me to hear him admit that Ernie had been spoiled, I must admit I was a little
dismayed. If Ernie had never learned to respond to the word
no
it would be impossible to stop him if he decided, for example, to sharpen his claws on the legs of our oak dining table. I didn't picture Mom taking that very well.

“It's not as if you can train a cat,” Mr. Stanley was saying. “Or didn't you know that?”

“I've never had a cat,” I said, “but I didn't think they were dumb.”

“They're
not
dumb,” he said, bristling a little. “In fact, they're too smart to take orders.”

I was thinking that Ernie might smart himself right out of a place to stay if he got too much out of line, but I didn't say that to Mr. Stanley. Instead, I changed the subject and hoped for the best.

By the time I'd been there for almost an hour I could see that Mr. Stanley was getting tired, even though he seemed to be enjoying our visit. I promised to stop by again soon and headed home.

I was walking back toward my house when a familiar car drove by. I recognized it right away, which made my mouth fall open and a strange feeling start up in the pit of my stomach.

It was the Thompsons' car, no doubt about it. Even if I hadn't been sure, the fact that Mrs. Thompson was driving it would have confirmed it for me. Only, Betts and her family were supposed to be on holidays for another two weeks!

My head was reeling with questions by the time I got home. There was something very odd going on, and I was going to find out what it was. I made up my mind to go over there right that minute and find out why they were back so far ahead of schedule, and more importantly, why Betts hadn't called to tell me she was home.

“
S
helby!”

It was Mrs. Thompson who answered the door when I got to Betts's place, so I guess she was on her way home when she drove past me. The car was nowhere in sight, though, so I guessed she'd parked in the garage, even though it was summer. Her surprised expression told me she hadn't been expecting to see me.

“Hi, Mrs. Thompson,” I said. “Is Betts home?”

“Oh, uh, Betts is, uh, well, I, uh…”

“For goodness' sake, Mom, she knows I'm here,” Betts said, appearing in the doorway. “Anyway, I told you, we can trust Shelby.”

Mrs. Thompson sighed and stepped back enough to let me in. She didn't look so hot, I noticed. Her face was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes.

“I'm telling her everything,” Betts said as she took my arm and pulled me toward the kitchen. Her voice was tired, like she'd had this argument a few times and didn't have the energy to do it again.

“Oh, go ahead,” Mrs. Thompson said, sounding just as weary. “It won't be long before all of Little River hears about it, anyway.”

My head was spinning by the time we plunked down at the table. Betts opened her mouth to speak a couple of times but couldn't seem to get started. Then, before she got a single word out, she started to cry.

“My mom,” she finally sobbed, “is going to jail.”

“
What
?” It was probably the last thing I might have guessed she was going to say. “Betts, that's the craziest thing I ever heard. What on earth happened?”

“They think she stole something from work.” With a little more control, Betts went on to explain that someone had apparently broken into the secure room at the software development office of NUTEC, where Mrs. Thompson was the manager.