The Black Cats (15 page)

The
watchmen knocked their poles together, quieting the crowd.

Mr. Arnold
screwed himself up to his full height, still a tail-length shorter than Mr. Fitzgerald.
“Fitzgerald! Tell everyone how you came to my house last night with an axe.” He
wiped his mouth with his jacket sleeve.

Mr. Fitzgerald
laid his hands alongside his cheeks. “I’m afraid it’s true.”

“You
turned up last night to threaten me. Said if I didn’t let you leave with my
wife, you’d give me the blade.” He made a chopping motion against his scarred neck.
“You gave it to her instead.”

The
lady with the parasol gasped.

“No!”
Mr. Fitzgerald said. “You’re lying!”

I
yawned. Talk, talk, talk. We needed claws on the ground and tails in the air. And
why had no one thought to search the home? I hopped to the ground and wove my
way to the garden gate, avoiding the many feet. Something about this morning’s exploration
bothered me, though I could not say what. I thought back to my investigation, going
over each room in my mind. I remembered nothing of importance. I’d found the
house in perfect order and the cellar empty.

The
dispute continued behind me.

“Constable Harkness!” It was Mr. Cook’s turn.
“I saw the shopkeepers arguing a few weeks back, something about a tree. Mrs. Arnold
wanted to chop it down, and Mr. Fitzgerald didn’t. They came at each other,
hammer and tongs, I tell you. Then he finished the fight by saying he’d make
her pay if she touched the tree again.”

Mr. Fitzgerald
pinched the bridge of his nose.

Mr.
Pettigrew spoke next. “Mr. Fitzgerald had plenty of answers when I visited him
this morning. He knew Mrs. Arnold wouldn’t be around to open her store. It was
all very mysterioussss.” He drew out the last word.

“Whose
side are you on, Pettigrew?” Constable Harkness said.

“Fitz
is no murderer,” Eddy announced to the crowd. I so admired his speaking voice.
He saved it for recitation since it commanded full attention—as it did
now. All listeners turned to him. “Mrs. Poe and I are united in our support.”

“I
could not agree with my husband more,” Sissy said.

“Thank
you,” Mr. Fitzgerald said. “I am glad
someone
will vouch for me.”

I sat
on the walkway and swiveled my ears. Mr. Arnold had shut the front door, but I
had other means of entry. I reached the kitchen window to discover a rag
stuffed in the broken windowpane. Drat. I could not enter here. I retraced my
steps to catch Mr. Fitzgerald and Mr. Arnold on the brink of physical
confrontation. They faced each other, hands balled into fists.

“You
killed her, Arnold,” Mr. Fitzgerald said. “And are looking to blame me.”

“Not
true! Not true!” Mr. Arnold shouted to the listeners. “Mr. Fitzgerald did it.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, you can’t trust the Irish.”

Mr. Fitzgerald
charged Mr. Arnold and knocked him to the ground. The meaning of
Irish
eluded me, but it held power. The
two men grappled on the sidewalk, punching and flailing and kicking. One of the
watchmen inserted his pole between the men and pried them apart. This did not please
the shopkeepers, and the men rejoined to finish the battle. At Constable
Harkness’s signal, the full complement of watchmen intervened. I marveled at
the writhing pile of humans. Extinction indeed.

On my
second sweep, I detected an indistinct yelp, so faint I could not divine its
direction. Then I heard it again. It could’ve been my imagination. Or the wind.
Nonetheless, I trotted around the house to investigate, pausing before the
cellar doors. I had examined the earthen room this morning and found it empty. Empty?
Had I not seen the bag of cement and the tower of bricks? No, they’d been
missing. I’d found another clue! As before, I squeezed through the warped
opening and descended the street staircase into darkness. A respite from the
sun, the damp stone floor welcomed my paws. The sharp odor of quicklime
permeated the air, along with a weaker but no less nauseating smell. I sneezed.

“Help
me,” someone said.

I froze
near the kitchen staircase, frightened by the request.

“Oh,
won’t somebody help me.” The weak but familiar plea arose from the wall to my
right. My tail switched side to side. Someone had placed bricks over the recess
near the stairs, entombing my pal between the layers. Damnation. The new
masonry resembled the old, and in my haste this morning, I’d failed to notice
the damp mortar.

“Don’t
worry, Midnight!” I yowled. “I have found you!”

Midnight’s
Tale

“I WILL FREE YOU,” I said to
Midnight. “But for kitty’s sake, how did you become trapped behind this wall? Masonry
is not the swiftest of endeavors.”

“I had
no choice,” he said.

I moved
closer to hear him and caught another whiff of the stench. At least it was not
Midnight’s rotting flesh I smelled. “Speak louder,” I told him.

Midnight
raised his voice. “When you left last night, Mr. Arnold became enraged. He took
the anger he had for you and turned it on Tabitha. He tossed dishes, turned
over chairs. And then…and then he grabbed Tabitha by the neck again. I was
convinced he would kill her on the spot. Then someone knocked on the door and
interrupted him.”

“Mr. Fitzgerald.”

“Yes, how
did you know?”

“It
doesn’t matter,” I said. “Please continue.”

“Mr. Arnold
blew like the north wind when Mr. Fitzgerald arrived. As soon as he spied the
axe the other man had brought, though, he put on a good face and invited him
into the parlor. I couldn’t believe the civility! They talked about
trees
and
grudges
and
burying the
hatchet
. You’d have taken them for a couple of nannies strolling through Rittenhouse
Square! At the end of everything, Mr. Fitzgerald said
I’m sorry
and handed the axe to Mr. Arnold. I’m sure you can guess this
sealed our fate. Once the tall, bony gent left, Mr. Arnold turned to his wife
with a look I never want to see on another human being as long as I live, a
look of gleeful hatred. She fled through the kitchen and into the cellar, and
I, of course, followed. The lock did not catch in time. I still don’t know why
she chose to hide instead escaping to the street.”

“Humans
do not think when they are afraid,” I offered.

“Mr. Arnold
crashed through the door and down the steps. With a cruel laugh, he swung the
axe, catching Tabitha in the head.”

“Goodness
gracious. Another murder. This one should land him in the penitentiary.”

“Mr. Arnold
must have been planning it all the while.”

“Indeed,”
I said. “I found his masonry supplies at the start of our adventure, but I
could not have guessed their purpose.”

“The
fiend shoved her body in the alcove, and when he turned his back to prepare the
mortar, I crept in behind Tabitha. There I hid for the duration.”

“Whatever
for?”

“She is
my companion!” he wailed. “Would you leave your Eddy?”

“No.
Not even in death,” I said. “I will save you, Midnight. Let me return to my
humans, and—”

“Don’t abandon
me again, Cattarina!” he cried. “It’s very dark in here. And my perch is…uncertain.”

My
heart beat a little faster. “Do not be frightened,” I said. “Take comfort in
the words of Meowl
é
iere. ‘The greater the
obstacle, the more glory in overcoming it’.”

“Do not
quote at a time like this!” he screeched.

“Sorry,”
I said. “The burden of verbosity is heavy. There are moments when—”

“Cattarina
Poe!”

“Yes,
yes, of course.” I took a deep breath and let out a scathing caterwaul that
echoed throughout the chamber. I gave another and another until the doors at
the street opened.

A shaft
of sunlight filled the cellar. I dashed to the opening, expecting to find Eddy.
The misshapen face of Abner Arnold loomed above me.

ABNER ARNOLD REACHED FOR me and
missed. I longed to slip through the portal and into the crowd above, but he
blocked the entrance. So I repeated Mrs. Arnold’s mistake and looked for a
hiding place in the interior. Poor woman, had she been a cat, she might’ve
evaded her husband, for I found one straight away. I bounded up the kitchen
staircase, careened off the top step, and sprang to a wooden beam, coming to
rest in the space above the floor reserved for bats. Mr. Arnold had just entered
the cellar when Eddy charged down the street entrance steps, followed by Sissy,
Muddy, the constable, Mr. Fitzgerald, and the cadre of watchmen. The remainder must
have taken their leave in the interim, for they did not appear next.

“Unhand
my Cattarina, sir! Do not touch a single whisker!” Eddy said to Mr. Arnold. “Or
you will feel my fists upon your head!”

Fear prevented
me from leaping into Eddy’s arms. If I did, would the cobbler turn his fury on
my companion, as he had on his own wife? Midnight’s cautionary tale chilled me,
and I did not wish a similar version to play out here and now. My
haunting
performance had rendered Mr. Arnold
insane. If the memory fog lifted and he recognized me as the same apparition
from before, unpleasant would not begin to describe the outcome.

I
walked along the joist and sat above the group. I convinced myself the
situation called for strategy and patience, two things a huntress like me had
in great supply. Moreover, now that
Eddy and Sissy—two of the most capable humans in existence—had
arrived, the wall puzzle would soon be solved, Midnight would be freed, and
Constable Harkness would apprehend Mr. Arnold. I likened these machinations to
the guts of Muddy’s mantle clock, and they must not be disturbed. Or eaten. I
wondered sometimes how the old woman tolerated me. Slowly, very slowly, I
lifted my tail and withdrew it from sight, laying it next to me on the wooden beam.

“Your
cat?” Mr. Arnold said. “She’s Satan’s cat. And she’s here somewhere. I’ll find
her yet.”

Eddy grabbed
the man’s lapels, but Mr. Fitzgerald intervened, wresting my companion away. “Let
the law handle him, Poe,” he said. “He’s finished.”

Sissy coughed
into her handkerchief. “What is that smell?”

“It’s
quicklime,” Mr. Fitzgerald said. “I’d know it anywhere. Mr. Arnold bought a bag
from me a week ago.”

“More
lies,” Mr. Arnold said. He wiped sweat from the back of his enflamed neck.

A large
cloth sack wedged between the joists by the stairs drew my attention. With perfect
balance, I walked toward the item along the narrow beam. The bag contained the
dry, gritty material I’d seen the masons mix at the new home site on Green
Street. I glanced at Mr. Arnold’s head below. The tufts of burned hair formed a
forest of stumps on his scalp.

“Enough
talk,” Constable Harkness said. “Abner Arnold, now that we are in your house,
do I have your permission to search it?”

“Go
right ahead,” he said. The cobbler ascended the steps and flung open the kitchen
door. “You will find nothing.” I shifted into shadow, certain he’d see me from this
height. To my relief, he resumed his spot without incident.

Constable
Harkness dispatched all but a single watchman to the ground floor of the
cottage, commanding the enforcers to
inspect
every room for Mrs. Arnold
. Human olfactory senses did not rival a cat’s or
everyone in the room would have realized the woman lay beyond the brickwork and
not upstairs. The constable posted his remaining man, a fellow he called Johnson,
at the staircase near the street and stayed to converse in topics of which I
had no interest.

Dust
settled through the cracks, sifting us with debris as the Watchmen pounded
above. Mr. Arnold withdrew and sat on the stairs, his head between his hands. Meanwhile,
Eddy searched for me in the damp, dark corners, calling, “Catters…here,
Catters.” As I expected, he paused at the newly bricked recess and studied the
mortar. He tugged the top of his hair, lost in thought. I settled onto my perch
and tried to influence him from a distance. Eddy did his best thinking under my
gaze.

Sissy wiped
the sediment from her hair and clothes. “Cattarina!” she said. “Are you here? You
can come out now. It’s quite safe, I assure you.”

“She
will turn up, Mrs. Poe,” Mr. Fitzgerald assured her. “Cats are rather genius.”

“Mr. Fitzgerald,”
Sissy said, “what is quicklime used for? Mother uses
lime
to preserve her eggs, but is that different—”

A
watchman leaned through the kitchen door and said, “We’ve searched the entire house,
what little there is. Mrs. Arnold isn’t here.”

“Gather
the men and leave for my house,” Constable Harkness said. “Johnson and I will be
along shortly.” He glanced at his pocket watch and buttoned his coat,
indicating a departure.

The
cobbler jumped to his feet, his ailment forgotten. “Go! That’s it! Go! I told
you I was innocent.” He laughed and danced a little jig.

The
constable ignored him and approached Sissy and Mr. Fitzgerald. “Sir, you have
my leave. For now,” he said. “But I may have questions for you later.”

Mr. Fitzgerald
hopped to it. He waved to the Poes as he made for the street. “Goodbye all!
Goodbye!” He slapped Johnson’s shoulder on his way out. “Have a good
afternoon!”

I stood
and switched my tail. Eddy and Sissy had not solved the wall puzzle in time.
Fiddlesticks. If Constable Harkness left, Mr. Arnold would never pay for his
crimes. I contemplated which head I should pounce upon, Mr. Arnold’s or
Constable Harkness’s. I settled on the constable’s. In the interest of solving
the bigger crime, he would likely reserve punishment for my much smaller one.
Besides which, Mr. Arnold scared me furless.

“You
can’t,” Sissy said to the constable. She clasped her hands together. “Please.
We haven’t found our cat yet.”

Eddy
returned to his wife and held her close. “With or without Mr. Arnold’s
blessing, we will stay and look for Cattarina. Do not fret, my dear.”

I
crouched, calculating my angle.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Poe, but I must depart
for home. Matilda is waiting. If you wish, I can leave Johnson,” he said. The
man eyed a large crack in the brickwork near his feet. “I’m surprised the hovel
didn’t collapse during our visit.”

I
wiggled my rear, preparing for the jump.

“Hovel?” Mr. Arnold said. “I’ll have you
know, this is a very well-constructed house.” He rapped against the brick wall with
his knuckles.

“Meeeeoooowwwrrrrrr!”

Surprised
by the howl—it had not come from me—I almost slipped from the beam.
The room fell silent. The blood drained from Mr. Arnold’s face, turning him
chalky.

“Meeeeoooowwwrrrrrr!”
Midnight said again. The blow upon the bricks must have stirred him.

“That
sound, it’s…it’s inhuman,” Eddy said, “and it’s coming from behind the wall! I
knew the masonry looked recent.”

“Quicklime,”
Sissy said under her breath. “Of course.”

“Johnson!
Come here!” Constable Harkness clapped his hands. “Tear it down!”

“No!”
Mr. Arnold protested.

Yes! Demolish
the wall and reveal the evil deed! I leapt to another joist for a better view.

Eddy grabbed
the cobbler by the shoulder and held him back while Johnson broke through the
bricks with the watchman’s pole. As the mortar had not set, the structure fell with
ease, revealing the body of Tabitha Arnold. She lay crumpled against the
alcove’s interior and stared back at us with eyes much farther apart than nature
intended. She had her husband to thank for this new look, as he’d split her
skull nearly in half. The axe cleave ran from the top of her pate, along the bridge
of her nose, and down to her chin, parting the hemispheres of her head. Perched
on top of the woman’s corpse was Midnight. Infection had swollen his eye shut,
giving him a rather hellish appearance. His tail bristled, and he spit fire at the
man who’d killed his companion.

Sissy swooned. Constable Harkness caught
her in time. “Poe,” he said, “you’ve got a murderer in your hands. Hold him
tight.” He helped Sissy to her feet and lent her his arm.

“It’s
Pluto, b-back from the dead.” Mr. Arnold strained to reach Midnight. “I walled
the monster up within the tomb!” Eddy struggled to keep him still while
Watchman Johnson looked on, dazed by Tabitha Arnold’s bloody corpse.

“Johnson!
Drop your pole and help Mr. Poe,” the constable said. “Place Mr. Arnold under
arrest.”

Watchman
Johnson blinked.

“Never!
I will not go to jail for something I didn’t do!” Mr. Arnold said. He twisted
from Eddy’s grasp and pulled a knife from his pocket—the same pocketknife
I’d seen at his house on Green Street. Before Watchman Johnson or Constable
Harkness could stop him, Mr. Arnold unlocked the blade and dove for Eddy.

I unlocked
my own and sprang from the joist.

I did
not believe in hell, but if it existed, Abner and I would go together. I
landed, claws first, and opened his scalp like a mouse belly. He dropped his
knife and tried to swat me from his head, but I persisted. Unable to see with
my back claws digging into his face, he staggered toward Eddy, and Eddy tripped
him. The cobbler stumbled to the floor and stayed there. At last I had felled
my quarry! I jumped to safety, settling near my companion’s feet without so
much as a bent whisker.

“Don’t
forget, Mr. Arnold,” Eddy said to him. “You can’t trust the Irish. Or their
cats.”

Mr.
Arnold stared at me, his eyes round and unblinking. “Release me from your
power, you demon!” he shrieked. His eyes flickered with recognition. His memory
had returned. “You are the cat in the fire!” he said to me. “You are the cat
that haunts me! You are the c-cat…” He rolled to his side and drew up his knees.
“It is coming back to me! It’s all coming back! The drink addled my brain. I
have blacked out before, but never…never…” He slapped the flagstone floor in
anger. “No, no, no!”

“What
is coming back?” Sissy asked.

“Speak,
man,” Eddy said.

“I
killed Tabitha! I am the villain!”

***

Eddy
wanted nothing more to do with Abner Arnold or his dreadful cellar. Despite his
wishes to the contrary, Sissy demanded to stay and
minister to the sick
. This involved feeding Midnight a saucer of
milk and wiping his ruined eye with a damp cloth. She completed these tasks in
the Arnold’s kitchen after giving her husband a kiss on the cheek and a promise
to return home
soonest
. At their
parting, I divined that Eddy knew Sissy had secrets, and Sissy knew Eddy had
secrets, and they each resolved to let the other keep them. My intuition aided
more than just the hunt.

Sissy set
Midnight on the kitchen table and examined him all over. “You poor thing,” she
said to him. “A hot meal and a warm bed are what you need. I know just the home
for you.”

I supervised
from the floor. The murmured voices of the watchmen floated up from the cellar
through the planks. They’d been with Mrs. Arnold for the duration and would probably
remain with her long after Sissy, Midnight, and I left. As for Mr. Arnold,
Constable Harkness put him in a wagon that I hoped was bound for Eastern State
Penitentiary.

“Your
mistress is kind,” Midnight said to me. “I like her.”

“She is
not my mistress,” I said. “That implies inequality. However, we can agree on
her kindness. You will not find a more caring human, besides my Eddy, of
course.”

Sissy
left us to wash her hands in the basin.

Midnight
looked at me with his one good eye. “We did it, Cattarina. We avenged Snip.
Though at the cost of a woman’s life.”

“Your
companion’s life.”

“Yes.
That pains me. Deeply.” He settled into a kitty loaf and tucked his front paws
under his chest. “Now that I know true companionship, Cattarina, I can’t go
back to Sarah.”

“Dear
me, that is a problem. I will think on it.” I joined him on the tabletop and
groomed his ears. We purred together, harmony and melody.

“Mrs. Arnold
may have a salve I can use on your eye,” Sissy said to Midnight. “It can’t hurt
to look.” She began a search of the kitchen cupboards, opening and closing the
drawers to the jingle of flatware. She unfastened the cabinet at eye level to
reveal rows and rows of canning jars filled with brown shavings. “Hello, what’s
this?” She took down a container and unlatched the metal catch, releasing a
spicy sweet smell that filled the room.

My
tongue paused, mid-lick.

“Sassafras
bark,” Sissy whispered. “And so much of it.”

The
odor drifted through my thoughts, a long forgotten ghost that haunted my memory.
I traveled to the edge of the table and studied the jar in her hand. Mrs. Arnold’s
tea, of course. The woman had served so many pots of it to her
husband—watering him as Constable Harkness did Matilda—that the
scent had etched itself into the story, the black cat’s story.