The Tell-Tail Heart: A Cat Cozy (Cattarina Mysteries) (8 page)

Josef climbed the steps to the porch and rang
the bell box. Almost immediately, the door opened, revealing another familiar
face from Shakey House Tavern: Mr. Uppity, the man who'd purchased Eddie's
newspaper. Josef faltered, his eyebrows lifted in surprise, then handed him Caroline's
note.

I hadn't bothered with Mr. Uppity's details
before other than to note his shoes and his weight, but his features intrigued
me: white side-whiskers, long, hooked nose, and a fetching pair of sky-blue
eyes. I wiped my face with my paw and looked again. Yes, they were the
exact
same color as the eyeball I'd found in the bar.
There are no coincidences,
only cats with impeccable timing.
This physical evidence convinced me more
than Josef's or Mr. Abbott's loose association.

My teeth chattered, longing to bite Mr. Uppity,
the real Thief of Rittenhouse. I had found my murdering eyeball stealer at
last.

Garden of the Dead

T
eatime had almost ended when I arrived
at the green-shuttered home on Coates. I tried to rush home to warn Eddie about
Mr. Uppity, truly I did. But after the day I'd had, running turned to
skittering, skittering turned to loping, and loping, well, let us say that my tender
paws surrendered before my spirit. To make matters worse, I found no cheese or
crackers waiting for me. I wandered through the unusually quiet first floor
until I came across Muddy in the front room. She sat alone by the fireplace
with a cup in her hands, sipping and rocking and gazing into the embers. I
longed to ask her Eddie's whereabouts, but she and I didn't share the required empathy.
A search of the second and third floors bore nothing, so I returned to the yard
and climbed an ancient hemlock for a kite's-eye view of Fairmount.

Between the needled boughs, I could see the Water
Works, the elbow bend of the Schuylkill, and further south, boat masts poking
above the docks. Dash it all. Too many humans populated these areas for my
aerial search to be of use, though it did turn up a wake of buzzards circling in
the distance. I looked north to the near-deserted landscape above the Water
Works and, to my surprise, discovered Eddie and Sissy frolicking in a graveyard.
Many old, forgotten burial grounds lay along the riverbank. I knew because I'd
explored them in my kittenhood, finding solitude among the tilting tombstones. But
why, for kitty's sake, were my companions visiting one now?

After a short walk—anything was short
compared to my trek from Rittenhouse—I squeezed through the wrought iron fence
surrounding the cemetery. Trees obscured the river, but the rush of water and honk
of geese served as a reminder. On my quietest paws, I snuck up to Eddie and
Sissy and hid behind a statue of a winged lady. With expressions ranging from
doleful to dreadful, these monuments were frightfully common in graveyards. But
if they marked the burial place of flying humans, why hadn't I seen them fluttering
about the streets of Philadelphia? I switched my tail.
Cattarina, have you
seen your companion today? Why yes, he's flapped to the market for a bag of
seed. Squawk!
Flying humans—what vulgar creatures.

In need of rest between escapades, I lay down on
the soft earth and watched the pair with rapt attention. A basket between them,
Eddie and Sissy dined on an old woolen blanket Muddy had sewn from cast-off coats.
Now
here
lay the banquet: a block of Swiss stuck through with a knife, a
gingerbread loaf, a jar of stewed apples, honey, and a pot of strong black tea.
My belly rumbled. Surely Mr. Uppity would keep long enough for me to take part
in the feast.

Eddie reclined on his side, head propped in one
hand, and ate a piece of the rich, brown cake. When he finished, he lay back
and stared at the sky. The setting sun lit the clouds, spinning them into gold.
"What a splendid idea, Sissy. Tea
al fresco
. We haven't dined
outside since…"

"Since I became sick. Yes, I know." She
poured herself a cup of tea and drizzled in a spoonful of honey. She'd changed
from her everyday dress to her town dress, a fawn-colored brocade gown with
slim sleeves and a nipped bodice. A matching knitted shawl—the one I napped
on whenever she left her wardrobe ajar—livened the costume. "But we
shouldn't dwell on the past. I'm feeling well today."

Eddie sat up, set her teacup aside, and took her
hand. "You give me hope, my wife. I've been so worried. You know I don't
do well when you're under the weather. I become utterly lost."

Sissy blushed.

"Ah, pink." He touched her face and
smiled. "Now that's a fine color for cheeks." The romantic interlude
passed when he turned to carving the cheese. He served her a piece from the
edge of the blade, then sliced one for himself. "I always fancy graveyards
as gardens of the dead." He chewed the Swiss thoughtfully. "You plant
the remnants of human frailty, wait for a time, and then a monument grows in
its place, declaring—in rhyme no less—the totality of a man's
worth. Some are flowers. Others are weeds."

Sissy gave him a sidelong glance.

"I assure you, I am quite genuine." He
tapped the headstone next to them. "Read it. Go on if you don't believe me."

Sissy brushed a cobweb from the chiseled letters.
"Here lies Jacob M. Weatherly. A man of great sin, he cheated his kin. Heaven
he'll never be." She burst out laughing. "A dandelion, indeed!"

Eddie gazed at her with affection, eyes alight. Pish
posh. I stepped through their feast, making spongy prints on the pancakes, and
meowed with gusto. Teatime was over; me time had arrived.

"Catters!" Eddie scooped me up. "I
turned around this morning, and you were gone. Mr. Coffin was beside himself.
He had a pocket full of jerky and no one to give it to."

The corner of Sissy's mouth lifted. "Mr.
Coffin ate it, naturally."

"Naturally," Eddie said. He held me up
and stared into my eyes, trying to divine something from them. "Where have
you been, naughty girl?"

"I'll bet she has a beau," Sissy said
with a wink.

"If that is true, Catters," he said, "then
at least leave your heart with me for safekeeping." He broke off a piece
of cheese and fed it to me. My mouth watered at its sharpness.

"You spoil that cat too much," Sissy
said. She nibbled her own cheese like a mouse.

"Creatures provide such comfort." He scratched
behind my ears. "Besides which, she is my muse, and she earns her title
every day." He set me aside and took a piece of paper from his pocket. "Speaking
of which, would you like to hear from my new story?"

"Yes, please!" Sissy said.

Eddie requires an audience for his writing, and
I am often the one to grant it. So I lay down to listen, keeping one eye on the
buzzards circling the Water Works. The wake had grown rather large, and while
the birds' presence
seemed
innocuous, it hinted at something more sinister.

After a slight preamble, my man of letters began
the tale:

"Now
this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have
seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded—with what
caution—with what foresight—with what dissimulation I went to work!
I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed
him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened
it—oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my
head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, that no light shone out, and
then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I
thrust it in! I moved it slowly—very, very slowly, so that I might not
disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within
the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a
madman have been so wise as this, And then, when my head was well in the room,
I undid the lantern cautiously-oh, so cautiously—cautiously (for the
hinges creaked)—I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon
the vulture eye."

"Ghoulish, but still of literary merit,"
she said. "Rufus Griswold would be impressed."

"Rufus Griswold." He shoved the paper
into his pocket and took out the blue eyeball, turning it between his fingers. "To
quote old Weatherly, heaven he'll never be."

She patted his shoulder. "I have some news
you might find interesting. News about the eye."

My ears shot forward at the coveted word's
mention.

"I traveled into town this afternoon,"
she continued. "While Mother was napping, I—"

"You didn't walk, did you? You know
exertion isn't good for your lungs."

"No, no, Mr. Coffin took me and brought me
back in his coach." She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "I
spoke to an optician—a Mr. Ezekiel Lorbin—about your find."

Eddie's shoulders tensed.

"Don't worry," Sissy said. "I didn't
tell him
how
you found it." The breeze blew her earlocks along her
cheeks. She brushed them away. "He said that glass prostheses are a new
product from Germany. Not many places carry them, and they're quite expensive,
at least as far as the common man is concerned. Perhaps the murderer is selling
them for profit?"

"I can think of easier ways to make money,"
Eddie said. "I should know because I've chosen one of the hardest,"
he added with a chuckle.

I tired of the conversation. At this very instant,
Mr. Uppity could be hunting his next mouse, ahem, victim. I hopped onto Eddie's
lap, pressed my front paws into his chest, and stared at him with wood-boring
strength. But I could not break through. Unaware of the urgency, he pushed me
aside to study the orb again. To quote Genghis Cat, "Where empathy fails, force
prevails." Or was it Cattila the Hun? History be damned. I had to shake my
friend from his self-indulgent stupor. Human life depended on it. So I did the
unconscionable.

I bit him on the hand.

Eddie yowled like a rabid tom and dropped the eye,
just as I hoped. I picked it up and shot across the cemetery, pausing at the
gates to see if he'd follow. But he didn't. I paced as he spoke to Sissy, his
hands clasped round her shoulders, his face laden with concern. She waved him
on, her smile visible even at this distance, and began packing their tea things.
Then and only then did he give chase.

With Eddie behind me, I left the burial ground
with the eyeball still in my mouth and headed south into the landscaped gardens
of Fairmount Water Works—a fascinating complex of river locks,
reservoirs, and pump houses. In the glow of the setting sun, men and women strolled
its walkways, creating a circus of parasols and canes. Ziggety-zag, zigggety-zag,
we ran between them. "Excuse me!" Eddie shouted behind me. "Pardon
me!" Had I not been in such a hurry, I would've slowed to admire the
fountains and topiaries. As I clambered up the hillside staircase toward
Fairmount Basin at the top, I wondered what lunacy had taken me on this detour.
Cutting through our neighborhood would've been a far superior—and
level—route to the city. Perhaps it was the circling buzzards. Perhaps it
was madness. With the smell of raw flesh, however, my uncertainty vanished. The
humans around me didn't appear the least bit alarmed. They likely hadn't
detected the scent yet.

Dashing up the remaining steps, I reached the plateau
to find it emptied of humans. Well, live ones at any rate. Quite different from
the scenic grounds below, the reservoir had been built for function and
therefore attracted fewer tourists. At this late hour, the isolated hilltop—jutting
some ten to twelve stories into the air, higher, even, than the tallest
buildings of downtown—offered enough privacy for one to murder with
discretion. The act, however, hadn't escaped the notice of turkey vultures. A
great many flapped about the woman's body on the ground calling
scree!
scree!
Eddie and Sissy hadn't been the only ones to dine al fresco this
evening.

Behind me, Eddie gasped as he topped the
staircase. I, on the other hand, approached the scene with equanimity. When you've
lived on the streets as I have, you learn to take death for what it is—a
certainty. That, and I'd become too embroiled in this affair to let a little
thing like a carcass befuddle me. After setting my orb down, I approached the
body, keeping a respectable gap between the vultures and me. Even at a
distance, I knew this
had
to be Mr. Uppity's handiwork. I sat back,
dismayed at my inability to stop a killer, and stared at the woman's two empty
eye sockets.