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

"What are you waiting for, Cattarina?"
Midnight nudged me. "Just give it a jump."

"I should say not." I thumped the end
of my tail. "The physics involved are staggering. One doesn't 'give it a
jump' and succeed with any poise. That is for rabbits. Besides, I'm waiting for
the right moment." And it had arrived. When the clerk turned to help a
woman load turnips into baskets, I sprang to the table, scaled the soap
pyramid, soared to the hook, caught the sausages between my teeth, and arced to
the ground where I landed—there should be no doubt—on all fours. Not
one bar of soap fell.
Not one
. The look of admiration on Midnight's face
was worthy of any aches and pains these acrobatics would earn me in the
morning.

"Well done, Cattarina!" Midnight
shouted. "Now run!"

The Thief of Rittenhouse

S
ausages in tow, I took
Midnight's advice and ran from the shop. Yet in my haste, the links caught in
the door's hinge, sending me catawampus and snapping my confidence back into
place. Midnight came to my aid, but not in time, for the clerk and woman turned
round and caught us at our little game. Upended baskets and rolling turnips and
high-pitched screams came next. My accomplice gnawed through the meat casing
near the hinge, allowing us to escape with our remaining plunder. The clerk,
nevertheless, gave chase. Our luck returned when I accidentally knocked over a
cluster of brooms by the front window. They clattered to the sidewalk, tripping
the young man and granting our freedom.

Behind the grocer's, we split the links and
feasted on the dry, waxy beef, commending each other between chews. Then, full
of meat and mischief, we stretched our limbs and groomed ourselves in the sun-bright
strip between buildings. I wiped my face with my paw. It still held floral
notes from the soap.

"You've never stolen anything before, have
you?" Midnight asked.

"No, never," I said. "But it's just
as thrilling as hunting. Maybe more so."

"I rid my home of mice long ago. But now I occupy
myself in other ways. I'll bet I'm the best thief in Rittenhouse. Maybe even the
city. Name anything, and I can take it." He puffed out his chest,
expanding the small white ruff around his neck.

"A whole chicken."

He offered a bored expression, lids half closed.

"A leg of lamb."

"Give me a hill, and I'll roll it home."

"A side of beef. Now you couldn't
possibly—"

"Oh, I'll steal it. One bite at a time if I
have to." He raised his face to the sun, looking more regal than the
embroidered lions on Eddie's slippers. Ah, the glorious Thief of Rittenhouse. Even
if he hadn't led me to Mr. Abbott, Midnight might still be able to give me insight
into the man's behavior.

"A good thing you're qualified, because I
need your opinion." I paused, considering the best way to phrase my
question. "What do you make of humans who steal body parts?"

"Arms? Legs?"

"No, no…eyes. And not real ones. Fake ones
made of glass."

"Would this have anything to do with Mr.
Abbott?" His ears twitched when I didn't answer. "Very well,
Cattarina. There are two types of pilferers—those who steal for necessity
and those who steal for pleasure. Get to know your man, and you'll know why he
does what he does."

I gazed upon Midnight's black fur, admiring its
luster in the full light. He'd stolen my admiration as easily as the wind
steals leaves from a tree. But he wasn't, as he stated, the
best. Eddie
held that title, having chastely taken my heart long ago. As a man of letters,
he cares about language, nay, the
proper use
of language more than any
other human I've ever met, which thrills me because for some time, I've fancied
myself
a cat of letters. No, not of written ones, but of ones passed
down in the oral tradition. To say that Eddie and I are sympathetic to one
another's needs is a grotesque understatement. For his sake and his alone, I ended
my Rittenhouse adventure. Besides, teatime was nigh, and I yearned for the
comfort and ritual of the Poe house. Muddy would be putting on a kettle, laying
out salted crackers and jam and, if I were lucky, cheese.

With reluctance, I called an end to our hunt and
asked Midnight if he would escort me part of the way home. Ever the gentlecat,
he took me as far as Logan Square, the uppermost reaches of his roaming ground.
I paused at the entrance of the park and examined the pale stone building
across the street. Yesterday, Mr. Limp had taken great interest in the
structure. "Do you know anything about that place?" I asked Midnight.

"I've never been inside, but I've heard
rumors. It's where they keep the broken humans," he said. "The ones
with shriveled legs or missing arms. The ones that bump into things."

The ones like Mr. Limp.

Our tails overlapping, I sat beside Midnight in
the waning afternoon. Clouds of clotted cream drifted over the Home for Broken Humans,
cushioning the white marble façade. Above it, a brilliant stretch of
sky—eyeball blue, to be exact. "It's been a lovely day," I
said. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. We didn't find your man."

"There is always tomorrow."

He stared at me with eyes as wide and pale as
the moon. "Will I see you again?" he asked.

"When I'm in need of a whole chicken or a
leg of lamb, I'll know whom to call upon."

We touched noses and parted—a sad but
necessary event. While I hoped to come across Midnight again, Eddie was my
world, and it would take more than the cleverest, handsomest thief in Rittenhouse
to change that. I waited until Midnight became a black smudge in the distance
before approaching the home. I climbed the stone steps, fearing the horrors inside.
Broken humans
. The very thought of it thickened my blood. Still, if Mr.
Limp lived here, it would be rude not call on him and thank him for saving my
life. To quote the ancient philosopher, Ariscatle, "Without propriety, we
are but dogs."

Tucking myself into a loaf, I balanced at the
edge of the small porch and waited for the door to swing open. I'd give it half
a catnap, nothing more. If no one appeared in that time, I would depart for the
Poe house and be home in time for tea.

A rattling harness stirred me from slumber as a closed
coach pulled alongside the curb and stopped. The horse team danced back and
forth, eager from the brisk air, but the driver set the brake and settled in to
wait. Unless I missed my guess, someone would eventually exit the building and
climb into the conveyance. I stood and stretched, readying my limbs. Just as I'd
surmised, the door opened, revealing a man with a wooden leg and a lady in a
long white apron and cap. I'd seen similarly dressed women before at the
hospital Sissy visited, so I concluded this building served a similar function.
Thankfully, this drained most of the terror from my visit. I waited for her to
help him down the steps, then darted inside without notice.

* * *

Even in the shade of late day, the white walls
and numerous windows lit the interior, giving it a cheery air, although further
inspection put me to rights. The architecture may have been breezy, but the
clientele was anything but. As I slunk along the corridors looking for Mr.
Limp, I found the broken humans of which Midnight had warned me. At the time, I
thought he meant their bodies. Now I knew he meant their spirits. A group of
these pour souls—more than I could count on my toes—lived together in
one long room that spanned the back portion of the building. Their beds lined
the walls on either side, leaving a walkway up the middle for more ladies in
white aprons. Nurses, I think they call them. Medicine bottles in hand, they tended
their charges, engaging in lighthearted chitchat as they worked. I stood in the
doorway and surveyed the room but did not see Mr. Limp. Then my eyes settled on
the stocky man sitting by the bed of a young woman. It was Josef Wertmüller. I
had never seen him this far from Shakey House before.

Using the beds as an on-again, off-again tunnel,
I crept closer to the barkeep and his lady friend. Though she lay with her back
to me, the young woman bore a passing resemblance to Sissy with her long dark mane
and pale hands, making her all the more appealing. But unlike Sissy, emaciation
had ruined the woman's body and thinned her hair. Her sparse locks spilled
along the pillow like rivulets of the Schuylkill. I hid under an adjacent cot
and listened for language I might recognize.

"Caroline," Josef said to her in a
soothing voice, "where were you last night?"

Caroline
. Now I knew what, or rather, who
had troubled him the previous evening.

"I was here, Josef. You saw me." She tugged
her blanket higher. "You emptied my bedpan, didn't you? Filled my water
glass?"

"
Nein
, miss. I work the mornings."

"Why do you ask?"

He rubbed his side-whiskers and squinted. "No
reason. No reason at all."

"You know I can't go anywhere in my…current
condition." Her voice trembled. "Please go. I consider your questions
rather unkind."

Josef stood. "
Ich bitte um Verzeihung
.
I leave now. Just don't tell Dr. Burton I was here."

"Wait." She stretched her hand and
took his arm. "Can you deliver a note to my friend? He usually visits in
the evenings, but it can't wait."

"Of course."

"Good. I will give you his address." Caroline
gestured to the stationery and pencil on the nightstand with one fragile hand.
"Can you write it for me?"

He shuffled his feet.

"I will help you spell," she added.

Josef picked up the implements and sat down again.

Caroline began the dictation. "Dearest
Owen…" I'd seen Sissy take down Eddie's words when his hand grew too tired
to write, just as Josef did now. He licked the end of the pencil and scratched
marks on the paper.

She continued, "I have missed you terribly.
Please do not come tonight as Uncle has promised to visit, too. You know how he
dislikes our courtship…"

Bless the girl. She'd given me time to think. Last
night, news of the murders shook Josef more than I would've expected, eliciting
great anxiety over this Caroline woman. But why? I ducked when the patient
above me jostled the mattress. At first, I'd thought Mr. Abbott guilty of the
crime. I had, after all, detected the same medicinal scent on him as on the
eye. But now I wondered if the smell had come from Josef instead. I wiggled my
whiskers. He
couldn't
be the killer. I fancied myself a skillful judge
of character, and he'd shown no signs of amoral behavior. And yet…

Josef folded the piece of stationery and rose to
leave. "I go, Caroline. Just as you said. To Rittenhouse."

I stiffened.
Rittenhouse
. That infernal
neighborhood lay at the center of the mystery. If I didn't follow Josef, I
would never put my suspicions to rest, and they had grown much, much stronger
these last few moments. Before he could leave, I backtracked through my bed
tunnel and waited behind a potted plant by the door. But he opened and shut the
portal with such force that I did not have time to dart through it. So I waited
for someone else to let me out. When no one came, I meowed.

I will say this: marble provides
splendid
acoustics.

A slack-chinned nurse escorted me out with more
vigor than I'd anticipated, yelling "Shoo! Shoo!" as I left. To emphasize
her point, she nudged me from the porch with said
shoe
, as if I needed
help understanding the word. I paid her no mind; I had a two-legged mouse to
catch. I sprinted outside and found Josef but made sure to stay several paces
behind him. Mr. Abbot may have caught me following him, but my new quarry would
not.

After a few blocks, Josef passed the same
grocer's that Midnight and I had visited this morning, an indication we'd
crossed into Rittenhouse. He turned the corner at the park, walked along the
sidewalk for a time, and then stopped at a three-story townhome built of ornate
limestone. While the structure impressed me, the landscaping did
not—leggy bushes grew this way and that like uncombed hair. I flattened
myself in the uncut grass. Eddie's Detective Dupin from
The Murders in the
Rue Morgue
was no match for me. I'd heard enough about the gentleman's
exploits to form this educated if somewhat biased, opinion.