How to Catch a Cat (11 page)

THE RULE BOOK

THE NEXT MORNING,
the niece and her cat-filled stroller set off on their regular trek to City Hall an hour early. She’d spent the previous afternoon sorting through the details for Monty’s upcoming America’s Cup event, but she’d made only a small dent in the related to-do list before heading home.

Monty’s constant pestering, questioning, and additions to the project hadn’t helped matters.

Navigating through the security line, she heaved out a weary sigh. She’d tossed and turned the night before thinking about the peculiar perfume that had infiltrated the mayor’s office suite.

She couldn’t stop wondering what had generated the odor, why it had suddenly disappeared, and if it would reoccur.

The most critical question, of course, was whether this signified the return of the Knitting Needle Ninja.

—

DESPITE THE NIECE’S
early arrival, she still found herself sharing an elevator with Wanda Williams.

I can’t catch a break
, she thought as the woman’s hand stopped the door at its half-closed position and forced it to reopen.

Wanda had something more on her mind than her regular beef about cats being brought into City Hall. Once inside the elevator car, the niece’s self-appointed rival didn’t even glance down at the stroller.

Rupert appeared not to notice that he was being ignored. While passing through the security scanners minutes earlier, the guard had repeated his tease about fried chicken donuts. The cat had a dreamy, faraway look in his eyes as he smacked his lips, trying to imagine the taste.

The niece smiled ruefully. One day, she would have to take on the difficult task of explaining to Rupert that this food item simply did not exist.

Alert in the carriage next to her distracted brother, Isabella sniffed her offense. It was poor form for Wanda to deprive the cat of the opportunity to win another staring contest.

The elevator door finally closed, sealing them all inside. Wanda shifted her weight, focusing her attention squarely on the niece, who squirmed before offering a forced greeting.

“Morning, Wanda.”

The niece sensed she’d walked into a premeditated ambush. Wanda must have been hanging out downstairs—for who knew how long—waiting to pounce.

Wanda cut to the point.

“Isn’t it time you hired an intern?”

“An intern?” the niece sputtered. She’d guessed Wanda had some sort of agenda that morning, but she hadn’t expected this. “Why would I hire an intern?”

Wanda blew out a dismissive
pfft
as if the answer was obvious. “Every mayor has at least one intern. It’s in the rule book, dear.”

Ah, the rule book
, the niece thought sourly.
Of course.

The oft-cited rule book was trotted out any time the niece did anything outside the norm or, more specifically, failed to follow Wanda’s interpretation of the established protocol. Despite making several requests, the niece had never actually seen the vaunted text. She suspected the rule book only existed in Wanda’s head.

In past conversations, the niece had struggled to counter Wanda’s rule book trump card. Being a newcomer to the ranks of City Hall’s administrative staff, she was at a distinct disadvantage in such debates.

But in this instance, the niece figured she had an irrefutable exception.

“Yes, well, uh, we’ve decided to put off getting an intern for now . . . you know, because of what happened to the last one.”

The elevator opened to the second floor, and the niece shoved the cat stroller out into the foyer.

Surely the specter of the last murdered intern would put a stop to Wanda’s meddling, at least on this issue.

Not wanting to extend the discussion, the niece sped to the front entrance of the mayor’s office suite. As she pulled out her key to unlock the door, she looked over her shoulder and gave the other woman a limp wave.

Wanda shot back a pout before stomping off toward the supervisor’s wing on the opposite end of the building.

—

THE NIECE WHEELED
the cat stroller into the reception area, unzipped the net cover, and got to work on the preparations for Monty’s event.

She assumed she’d successfully deflected Wanda on the intern issue—until Monty walked into the office an hour later.

He stopped to visit briefly with Rupert (who was asleep) and Isabella (who gave him an icy stare), before turning toward the niece’s desk. He twiddled his fingers in the air, as if searching for the appropriate words to convey his wishes.

It was then that the niece realized she had underestimated Wanda.

The other secretary had done an end run around her and targeted the mayor directly—through her own boss, the president of the board of supervisors.

Monty was nothing if not highly prone to suggestion.

He pumped his thin eyebrows and leaned across the desk.

“So . . . when are we going to hire an intern?”

CUTTHROAT COMPETITION

INFORMATION TRAVELED FAST
through City Hall’s marbled corridors. Spats between supervisors, the forging of secret political alliances, even the day’s selection of soups that would be available in the rotunda vendor cart—all of these details circulated efficiently among the inhabitants of the domed building.

Word of the mayoral intern opening disseminated at lightning speed.

By midafternoon, the niece had received a six-inch-high stack of résumés from interested applicants.

That the last person to hold the job had been brutally murdered had done little to dampen interest in the position. Short-term memory was apparently an innate survival instinct for those with political aspirations.

The niece flipped through the pages of carefully typed cover letters, marveling at the candidates’ qualifications. Even for such a minor, entry-level position, the competition was cutthroat.

For the first time, she began to appreciate how skillfully Mabel had sifted through her potential victims. She must have surveyed hundreds of intern applications to find individuals with just the right combination of personality and social circumstance so that his or her later disappearance might be easily explained away.

—

BEYOND THE GRUESOME
precedent of the murdered interns, there was another factor that might have deterred applicants from applying for the new position. The niece was surprised that so many intelligent and apparently well-respected people were putting themselves forward to work for Interim Mayor Carmichael.

Monty’s, ahem, eccentricities were known far and wide. He had been criticized in the local newspapers and on television news shows. Entire websites were devoted to Monty-related satire and mimicry. The Internet was littered with embarrassing photos and video clips.

No one—except the interim mayor himself—gave Monty any chance of success in the next election.

The niece puzzled over the résumé pile.

Surely, all of these applicants could find better things to do than spending the next couple of months working for Monty.

The niece grimaced at this last thought.

She certainly could.

—

“I DON’T KNOW,
Isabella,” the niece said as she plowed through the stack. She looked up at the filing cabinet. “We don’t even have a job description. What am I supposed to do with this intern once we hire him or her?”

Isabella had draped her body over the cabinet’s top edge so that she could peer down at the papers. In response to the niece’s question, she sat upright and looked pointedly toward the America’s Cup poster on the reception wall.

“Yeah, okay,” the niece replied, pondering the suggestion. “You might have something there.”

Isabella emitted a disgruntled warble at the implication that her idea might be anything less than extremely useful.

Issuing a series of sharp clicking sounds, Isabella hopped down to the desk to assist directly in the résumé review. She pawed through the papers, her pink nose sniffing the smells associated with each sheet as she spread them across the desk.

The niece threw her hands up, capitulating.

“Okay, I guess this is one way we could handle the selection process.”

After a lengthy sorting guided by Isabella’s expert analysis, the pile was narrowed down to three candidates who would be brought in for interviews.

The niece picked up the phone and began to dial the first number on the short list.

“Well, here goes nothing.”

THE LOTTERY WINNER

THE FIRST INTERN
candidate was camped outside the mayor’s office suite when the niece and the cats arrived the next morning—even though her interview wasn’t scheduled until later that afternoon.

The excited young woman raced up to the niece as soon as she exited the elevator. She had light brown skin, full lips, and thick black hair wound into a heavy braid that fell midway down her back. Her floor-length sari swished with each hurried step.

The niece wondered how she’d been recognized as the mayor’s administrative assistant—until she realized that she was likely the only person walking through City Hall pushing a cat-filled stroller.

Regardless, she was unprepared for the encounter.

“Well, hello,” the niece managed to get out before the eager woman began her pitch.

“Hi, my name’s Alberta. Alberta Conway—I’ve applied for the intern position. I’m a big fan of Mayor Carmichael. I’ve been following his career for years, all the way back to his life coaching days. He’s a wise man, a wise man indeed.”

The niece looked down at the stroller. She almost laughed out loud at the expression on Isabella’s face.

“Ah, hmm, yes, I suppose he is.”

Alberta didn’t seem to pick up on the sarcasm in the niece’s voice.

“I thought I might discuss the intern opening with you so that I’ll be prepared for my interview this afternoon.”

The niece shrugged her shoulders. “Uh, well, there’s not much to say . . .”

“How many other applicants are you considering for the post? How long will it be until you make your decision? I have seven references lined up. Do I need more?”

“Seven?” the niece repeated, eyes widening. She sensed Alberta Conway would not be easily dissuaded.

“Come on inside. We might as well do the full interview right now.”

—

ALBERTA GLANCED ONLY
briefly at the cat cage as Rupert waddled into the litter box and began his morning routine. The sounds of spastic digging soon filled the office, but nothing could disrupt the young woman’s intensity.

Alberta fell into lockstep behind the niece as she rolled the stroller to the side of the room. Turning, the niece almost ran into the intern candidate. The two performed an awkward dance, trying to avoid the collision.

“Sorry.”

“That’s all right.”

“So sorry.”

The niece pulled up a spare chair, positioned it in front of the desk, and then deliberately slid it a few extra feet toward the wall.

“Please, Miss Conway, take a seat,” she said, escaping to her chair on the opposite side of the desk.

Isabella hopped onto the filing cabinet. Her front paws curved over the edge as she scrutinized the applicant.

The niece shuffled through her papers and pulled out the woman’s résumé.

“So, uh, Alberta,” the niece said, scanning the information on the top sheet. She’d planned to spend the morning preparing questions for the afternoon interviews, but now she was forced to ad-lib. “That’s an interesting name. Are you from Canada?”

She had hoped to lighten the mood, but the comment had the opposite effect.

Alberta shot her a suspicious look. “Why would you say that?”

There was a long moment of silence. The intern candidate leaned toward the desk, staring intensely at the niece. The niece stared down at the woman’s résumé, trying to determine if she’d asked an offensive question.

Isabella lorded over them both, her blue eyes sharply interpreting the scene.

“Mao-wao.”

Looking up, the niece followed Isabella’s gaze across the room to the poster hanging from the reception wall. She latched on to the cat’s suggestion.

“What do you know about sailboats?”

Alberta straightened her shoulders. “I have a Coast Guard–approved captain’s license for small watercraft.”

“And, uh, how about experience in event planning?”

The applicant sat even straighter in her chair. “I was the lead organizer for my high school prom and three consecutive homecoming weekends for my sorority at Fresno State.”

The niece looked up at the filing cabinet to check for a final ruling. Isabella rotated her head, as if considering. Then she gave her person a solemn stare.

“I guess that’s a go, then.” The niece slid the résumé into a file. “When can you start?”

—

MOMENTS LATER, THE
niece escorted Alberta to the reception door and watched the woman bound toward the elevators, ecstatic. Isabella sat on the floor at the office suite entrance, her orange ears turned sideways. With a wide yawn, Rupert peeked around his person’s legs, curiously pondering the jubilant display.

With the elevator’s
ding
, the new intern threw her hands in the air, celebrating as if she’d won some sort of lottery.

She had no idea of the grim prize that awaited her.