The Tell-Tail Heart: A Cat Cozy (Cattarina Mysteries) (15 page)

The officers were satisfied. My
manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I
answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt
myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing
in my ears: but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more
distinct: —It continued and became more distinct: I talked more freely to
get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definiteness –until,
at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears.

No doubt I now grew very pale; —but
I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased
--and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound –much such a sound
as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath –and yet
the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly --more vehemently; but the
noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and
with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they
not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to
fury by the observations of the men --but the noise steadily increased. Oh God!
what could I do? I foamed –I raved –I swore! I swung the chair upon
which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose
over all and continually increased. It grew louder –louder –louder!
And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard
not? Almighty God! –no, no! They heard! –they suspected! –they
knew! –they were making a mockery of my horror! –this I thought,
and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more
tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer!
I felt that I must scream or die! and now –again! –hark! louder!
louder! louder! louder!

"Villains!" I
shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! –tear up the planks!
here, here! –It is the beating of his hideous heart!"  

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Copyright © 2014 by
Monica Shaughnessy

All rights reserved.

Published in the United
States by
Jumping Jackalope Press

Shaughnessy, Monica

The Tell-Tail Heart /
Monica Shaughnessy

eISBN:
978-0-9885629-6-7

Jacket Design: Monica
Shaughnessy

Edited by Red Adept

If you enjoy cat mysteries, you
may want to check out
The Cat's Last Meow
by
Mandy Broughton
.

Book Description: A cat, a
miser, his accountant and lawyer, add three old ladies who travel in
style—conditions are ripe for murder.

The
Cat’s Last Meow

Chapter
One

            Never
much of a fantasy fan, I knew one thing for certain: Odell Greenry loved
Precious every bit as much as Gollum loved his “precious.” And while both
objects of obsession could be possessed, neither could be mastered.

            “Poisoned!”
He shoved the cat at me. 

“Poisoned?”
I re-entered the here-and-now. “Why poisoned?” The roomful of sycophants hung
on my every word, awaiting my judgment. Unlike Gollum, old Odell had
money—lots of it—which attracted hangers-on. And I, as the cat
expert, received sycophantism by proxy.

            “Is
the cat ill or not?” Another voice. Hmm—round face, flat nose. Mental
dredging produced a name—Raul—and occupation—accountant.

            I
knew the routine. Frowning, I laid Precious on the exam table that stood in for
her shrine to examine the hairless brute yet again. Of course she struggled, so
I took charge. Like a jackhammer to concrete, that was the approach she
understood.

            “Well?”
Raul, arms folded, tapped a manicured finger on the sleeve of his suit. Quite a
well-paid accountant, I surmised, judging by his attire, even if he reminded me
of a feral hog. Looked down his snout at me, too. Why would he ask about the
health of a cat he clearly hated?

I
stroked Precious. “She’s fine.”

Hearing
that, she swiped me twice with her blades. Oops, this was one critter I
shouldn’t pet.

            I
could feel the tension leave the room. When I glanced around, seeing that I
knew all the party-goers from my weekly feline ministrations brought a sick
thought. Did that make me a sycophant too?

            Nope,
not possible. I surveyed the crowd again. The old man’s lawyer stood over his
wheelchair like a gargoyle ready to pounce. Odell did love his money, so of
course he loved having the lawyer around who helped him keep it. The
accountant? Not so much. The accountant only counted beans. As for the
gargoyle, I didn't know its name. All I knew was that he was huge, so huge he
made me want to whisper when he was around.

            Then
there was Halyn with her rag, dusting the corner shelf. Could be the perfect
witch, Halyn. Attractive, black hair, long face, a spell-caster disguised as a
live-in housekeeper. Even her dusting resembled magic, casting the grime away.
Had to be how she survived working for the old miser, weaving her spells. What
kind of a name was it, Halyn? Made up, no doubt. Couldn’t be her true one.

            The
Senior Brigade twittered in another corner. Not social-media twittering,
either. All a-flutter over nothing. Couldn’t bother catching their names, I
simply thought of them as Red, White, and Blue. Hair color, of course. The only
other characteristic I knew was that one brought Odell food; one ate most of
it, and the last fluffed up his cushions. Why they visited the old man every
day escaped me, since he was as rude to them as he was to his other underlings.

            And
then there was old Moneybags's nephew—Kento. I knew him because Odell
constantly blamed him, by name, for all the world’s ills. Hard to spot, easy to
miss, Kento was generally forgotten until things went wrong. Like a mouse in a
cage with a python Kento cowered, holding something in a large picture frame
close. 

I
sighed. It was time for a diagnosis, which Odell wasn’t going to like. No point
delaying. “The cat’s perfectly fine.”

            “Poppycock!”
Odell shouted.

Used to
it by now, still I cringed. Heidi Knack, doctor of veterinary medicine and
concierge animal doc, I put up with a lot.

            I
tugged my ringing ear. “She's a healthy eighteen-year-old cat.” As I relocated
the ugly brute from the exam table to Odell's lap, my hand must have pressed
her belly, because she flinched.

            “See
there?” Odell screeched again. “If she was fine, she wouldn’t twitch like that.
She's ill, I tell you! Poisoned!” His face, usually gray, was flushed from
shouting.

            “Hold
everything, old man,” I said. “Bring your voice down to where it won’t deafen
the canines, and turn up your hearing aid.” Reluctantly, I put Precious back on
the exam table for a third time.

            Odell
glowered. “Don't need a new hearing aid, need a new vet.”

            “Didn't
say you needed a new aid. I said TURN IT UP.” I palpated the cat’s abdomen
again—no reaction.

When
Precious snarled, I resisted the urge, barely, to whack her. “No other vet in
Texas would come out weekly to attend this monster.”

            Odell
rapped on the arm of his chair and the gargoyle wheeled him close to the exam
table. “New vet, young lady,” Odell growled, “new vet.”

            “More
money, old miser, more money,” I growled back.

“Hmph!”
He blew his stale coffee breath my way.

            I
felt all around Precious's abdomen. She didn't exactly flinch, but she did
squirm, so I cradled her close trying not to get skewered. Didn’t work. Vampire
cat, I rubbed my bleeding hand.

            “Look,
she's fine,” I said. “What are you feeding her?”

            Odell
glared. “I’ve told you, she needs real food.”

            I
shook my head. “Nope. She's a cat. She needs cat food. She’s off her diet,
isn’t she?”

            The
old man smiled. “She eats what a warrior cat needs.”

            “Warrior
cat?” Why did I bother to ask?  “So, what does a warrior eat?”

            Halyn
spoke up. “Bacon. And squab.”

            I
planted my fists on my hips. “Squab? Bacon?” I should add an idiot surcharge to
my fees. “Are you really that ignorant?”

            “She’s
depressed,” Odell said. “She needs to hunt, and she feels bad when she can’t.”

            Hunt,
my foot. Mercy killing, that’s what she needed. I rubbed my head. Now a
headache to go with ringing ears and bleeding hand. “So that’s what’s been
happening to the birds in your backyard. I’m sure you know the neighbors have
complained.”

            “She
needs meat, I tell you.” Odell rapped on his chair again. The gargoyle pulled
it back to the room’s center. “Makes her feel strong.”

            “She
can’t take it, Odell. She needs cat food that’s gentle on her digestion. She’s
as far from a warrior cat as is felinely possible. She’s a retired Best in
Show, that’s all. She does not need to eat birds.”

Already
late for my next house call, I knew I should have skipped this stop. I must
love pain, that’s why I’m a vet.

            Kento
put in his two cents’ worth. “Great-Uncle Odell bought some baby pigeons.”

            I
raised my eyebrows at him, a silent question 

He
nodded, smiling. “Uh-huh, he lets them go and shoots them for Precious.” He was
rubbing his picture frame. Waiting for a genie to appear? “He says killing
birds makes her feel young again.”

            Ye
gods and little fishes.

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the rest of "The Cat's Last Meow" on Amazon