The Tell-Tail Heart: A Cat Cozy (Cattarina Mysteries) (3 page)

"You've got to turn it in to the police,"
Muddy said.

"And cast suspicion on myself?" Eddie
said. "I think not."

"What are you two talking about?"
Sissy asked.

Eddie reached across and cupped Sissy's face. "We
mustn't talk of such things around your delicate ears, Sissy. Serve the soup,
won't you, Muddy?" He snatched the object from his wife's palm and stuck
it in his pocket.

At once, Muddy sat her daughter on stool near
the stove and began dishing stew into little china bowls painted with blue dragons.
Anticipating the feast to come, I riveted my gaze to the dragon bowl on the
floor, the one with the chipped rim. I longed for a big chunk of mutton, not
just broth and a cooked carrot that looked like a shriveled finger. How I hated
carrots. When Eddie scooped me up, it was clear the contents of my bowl would remain
a mystery a while longer. He carried me to the front room, a small, spare area that
served as parlor, keeping room, and office. Eddie may have liked his damned stories,
but they never amounted to a check-in-the-mail, something I suspected correlated
to the size of our home. Though I couldn't be sure since the inner workings of
human commerce were more confusing than a butterfly's drunken flight path.

Eddie set me on his desk, hooked his thumbs in
the pockets of his vest, and gave me a long look. The dying embers of the
fireplace glowed behind him. "It's clear to whom the eye belongs…rather, belonged
to, Catters. Anyone with a copy of the
Gazette
could deduce that. But where
did you find your treasure? Along Coates? Near the razed tannery?" He took
my toy from his pocket and tossed it in the air, catching it. "And, most
importantly, did you see the fiend who dropped it? So many questions, so many murders."

There it was again,
murder
. It looked as
if he wanted me to talk about my discovery. While eager to tell him everything
I knew, I couldn't find the words.

* * *

My eyeball became Eddie's eyeball following our
little chat. He set it on the mantel before we left for dinner and shut the
door, sealing the room from further investigation. Throughout the meal, I plotted
how to recover the lost item, deciding at last on a midnight caper. Once the
Poe family fell asleep, I would trip the latch on the door and take back my
property. Easy as mouse pie. After we feasted—they on stew and bread, me
on a chunk of mutton and crust soaked in broth—we retired to our separate
chambers.

While I longed to sleep at the foot of Eddie's
bed, my place was with Sissy. I assigned myself that duty after she fell ill
one winter's afternoon in our old house. We'd gathered in the parlor to listen
to her sing when, in the middle of a high-note, she caught her breath, looked
at Eddie with surprise, and coughed blood onto her gown. Ghastly. I'd smelled sickness
on her that fall but had been unable to alert the household due to my verbal
shortcomings. As penance, I provided the one comfort I could: warmth. Since
then, we'd moved again and again. But try as Eddie might, he could not outrun
her illness.

The eyeball still pressing my thoughts, I
accompanied Sissy to the bedroom she shared with Muddy and waited for them to peel
away layers of dresses, slips, and corsets down to their chemises. I snoozed on
the dresser between the tortoiseshell comb set and the hair cozy, eyes half-closed,
for their routine. In my opinion, humans attached a distasteful amount of
pageantry to covering their skin. Still, I pitied their lack of fur.

Sissy slipped into her bed. "What were you
and Eddie talking about in the kitchen, Mother? Before dinner? You spoke of a woman
named Eudora."

Muddy took her own bed against the opposite wall
and pulled the quilt to her chin.

"Mother?"

"Don't trouble yourself, dear."

"I know I'm ill, but I—"

"Virginia," Muddy snapped, "you
are
not
ill. You are under the weather."

Sissy gritted her teeth. I heard it across the
room. "Yes, Mother." She blew out the candle and called to me. "Cattarina,
come."

I alighted from the dresser and took my place on
her chest, curling myself into a ball. As it did each night, her body trembled
beneath me, shuddering and seizing with each little cough as it relaxed into a
fitful sleep. I longed to heal her but didn't know how. Yes, I loved Sissy, but
I loved Eddie even more, and losing her would cast a shadow over his heart that
nothing, not even a litter of suns, would banish. That's why I hated to leave
her.

But the eye had possessed me.

I tiptoed downstairs in the dark, moving like mist
over the floorboards. I'd taught myself how to open the front door latch,
letting myself in and out of the house at will. However, the office latch was
nearly impenetrable. I knew because I'd tried it before. With no nearby
bookshelf from which to launch myself, obtaining the proper trajectory and
momentum had proved difficult in the past. Still, I had to—

Scratch, scrape, scratch
,
scrape
.

I paused in the hall, listening to a sound I
hadn't heard in days. I hastened to Eddie's office door and found it ajar,
firelight streaming through the opening—a welcome sight, as he'd left the
room unoccupied for days. I slipped inside to find my companion at his desk,
quill pen in hand, furiously scribbling upon the page. But what had lifted his
melancholy? When I leapt onto his desk, I found my answer. He'd set the eyeball
near the ink blotter where it watched him.

At once, jealousy struck me. Watching Eddie was
my
job. I batted the thing and knocked it to the floor, startling him. He looked
up, his hair mussed, his cravat askew.

"Catters? I didn't see you come in."

I meowed softly, so as not to wake the women.

Eddie set aside his pen, retrieved the eye, and
sat down again with it. "Imagine, the last person to touch this was a
murderer. Isn't it marvelous?"

Firelight glinted off the glass bauble, bringing
it to life between his ink-stained fingers. For an instant, I wondered if it
could see us. I dismissed the thought with a switch of my tail. Preposterous.
Though if Eddie hadn't taken such a liking to it, I might've carried it to the
garden and buried it—just in case.

"In any event, it's got me writing again,"
he said to me, "and I have you to thank for it." He scratched me
between the ears and gave me a rare smile. I liked his teeth, small and square
and not the least bit threatening. When he finished petting me, he set his new
muse on the desk and picked up his pen again. "If you'll excuse me, I'm
deep in the middle of outlining and can't go to bed until I'm done."

I paced the desktop and let him write. I'd gone
from liking the eyeball to hating it in the span of a good yawn. But if it gave
Eddie a reason to write, I'd fill the house with them. With this in mind, I
disappeared down the hall, jumped to the bookshelf by the door, and sprang the
front latch on the second try. If I hurried, I'd reach Shakey House Tavern
before it closed. Whoever dropped the eye might've dropped another one. And
Eddie would be very, very pleased to own it.

Trouble
by the Tail

B
y the time I'd backtracked
along Coates to Nixon, the roads had emptied of all beasts sensible enough to
shelter from the dipping temperatures. Ziggety-zagging south, I scampered along
a combination of alleys and main thoroughfares to reach Shakey House in about
the time it takes Muddy's dumplings to boil. While a more efficient route existed,
it would've taken me near the Eastern State Penitentiary. While most two-legged
citizens considered it a marvel of construction, I stayed clear of it. A large
tom named Big Blue lived behind the building, and I didn't know if he'd
appreciate an interloper crossing through his territory.

At Callowhill, I skittered around two salted
meat barrels and ran down the block toward my destination. The way Eddie had
bound
eyeball
and
murder
together, I deduced that one human had slain
another over the object. Which meant tonight, I tracked a killer. Whether or
not this put
me
in harm's way, I didn't know.

I reached Shakey House in time to catch the last
patron—Mr. Abbott—leaving. He ignored me and hurried down the empty
street, glancing left and right several times, as one might during daytime
traffic. As I neared the tavern steps, I caught that sharp odor again, the one
that had caused me to sneeze earlier in the evening. It reminded me of
medicine. Before I could ponder the association between the scent and Mr.
Abbott, I ran into Josef. I tried to slink past him into the bar, but he blocked
me from entering the darkened building. "Cattarina!" he said. "Are
you roaming without your master?"

The fur around my neck rose at
master
. We
never used such foul language in the Poe house. I ignored the transgression and
batted the door, hoping he'd let me in to search for another eye. But he shut
it, locking it with a key that swung from a large ring.

"If you are hunting for food," Josef
said to me, "I have the
leberkäse
. I was saving for the walk home,
but I share with you. Yes?" He reached into his coat pocket, crinkled a
wrapper, and broke off a small piece of meat that smelled of cow and pig.

I took the offering, gulped it down, and rubbed
my chin along his arm to deposit my scent. Before finding Eddie, I could have
been persuaded to take care of Josef. "Lucky you came now," he said
to me. "I should lock up twenty minutes ago, only Mr. Abbott lost his wallet.
Wouldn't leave until he searched the whole bar,
die Idioten.
But he
never found it." He took a piece of meat for himself and ate it. "I
know the cheat when I see one. Mr. Shakey will blame
me
"—he thumped
his chest—"when I tell him customer left without paying for drinks."
He stroked my back, releasing a crackle of static. "Good thing I have new
job at the hospital. If I lose one, I keep the other."

As Mr. Abbott grew smaller in the distance, my
mind wandered to the scent I'd smelled upon arrival, the same one on the eye. As
the feline philosopher Jean-Paul Catre once said, "There are no
coincidences, only cats with impeccable timing." If that were true, then
my eyeball snatcher was getting away. Correction, my
murderer
was
getting away.

Forgetting my manners, I dashed down the street
without saying goodbye to Josef and chased after Mr. Abbott. Another prize
might fall from his pocket at any moment, and I would be there to catch it on
Eddie's behalf—a kittenish notion, but one that filled me with hope. He
hadn't journeyed more than a half block from the tavern when I caught up with him.
I followed the man with ease, dipping in and out of lamplight as it suited me. Not
long ago, I'd been a common gutter cat, and I still knew how to act the part—tail
in neutral, eyes downcast, ears on swivel. No one would think me a kept feline
who ate from a china bowl and slept in a bed and played with ribbons.

Mr. Abbott stopped at the corner to fill and
light his pipe. Behind him, a rusty awning sign swung back and forth, squeaking
with each pass of the wind. Sensing an opportunity, I emerged from the shadows
and perched on a large planter of dead roses to study him. His fingers shook as
he lit the match. It was entirely possible he'd killed a woman tonight. He took
a long draw from his pipe, releasing the scent of burning leaves into the air,
and shifted his gaze to the planter.

"Well, if it's not Poe's cat," he
said. "I've had enough of you
and
your owner." He stomped his
foot and drove me back into the shadows.

But he did not drive me from my task.

Once, I stalked a mouse for an entire afternoon,
from midday church bell to dinnertime until I caught the vermin beneath the
couch. A grave miscalculation on his part; my paw did, in fact, extend several
inches farther when I flopped on my side. Now I needed Mr. Abbott to make a
similar miscalculation. If he led me to his home, I could sneak in and steal as
many eyes as I, rather, Eddie wanted—enough to keep my friend's pen
moving for weeks—provided a collection existed in the first place. The man
would soon learn we tortoiseshells are tireless pursuers.

Mr. Abbott waddled across the street and slipped
into a darkened alley that smelled of manure. I followed him at top speed, no
longer caring if he saw me. I had already bungled that part of the hunt. Once
inside the brick enclosure, I skidded to a halt, avoiding a two-wheeled gig harnessed
to a dappled mare. But this overcorrection sent me sideways into a wooden
crate. The box clattered against the cobblestones, drawing Mr. Abbott's
attention.

He turned, reins in hand. Our gaze met.

In a flash, he assumed the driver's seat and
cracked his whip, sending the mare into a gallop—straight in my direction.
"H'ya!" he shouted to the horse. "H'ya!"

The scoundrel intended to kill me.

Unable to flee, I crouched, quivering in terror
at the chop of horseshoes and rattle of wheels. The mare's hooves struck the
ground around me, avoiding my limbs and body. My tail, however, did not have
the same luck. The wheel nicked the tip of it, torturing my nerves. But I dared
not flinch. When the gig glided over me, it brought a rush of air that nearly
froze my heart. A whisker length to the left or right, and I would've been dog meat.
When the rumble of horse and cart faded, I rose and checked myself for injury. Thank
the Great Cat Above, only my tail had been harmed. I smoothed it with my
tongue, detecting a sprain, then dashed from the alley to catch my would-be
murderer.

To my relief, he slowed the horse to a trot
after a few blocks. But after ziggety-zagging through half of
Philadelphia—the
unfamiliar
half, I might add—my lungs grew
tired. Blasted paunch. I'd retained the instincts of a gutter cat, but not the
physique. I sat back on my haunches and panted as my blue-eyed mouse escaped farther
south. Tonight's errand had been a foolish one. Instead of keeping Sissy warm,
I'd been gallivanting about, trying to get myself killed. And what made me
think Mr. Abbott had more than one glass eye in the first place? Desperation, I
supposed. It thrilled me to see Eddie writing again, and this fervor had led to
my own miscalculations.

I looked across the street to a large cemetery.
If Sissy caught a fatal chill because I hadn't been home to keep her warm, I
would never forgive myself. I shivered, thinking it equally unwise for
me
to expire. So I fluffed my undercoat, trapping heat from my skin, and set off in
the direction of perceived west. The sun set over the Schuylkill River—an
immutable fact—and if I could find it, the water would lead me home
before dawn. But I grew disoriented by the structures towering above the
horizon, some eight or nine stories tall, and began to question my course. I'd
lived many places in the city: the waterfront, the old house on Schuylkill Seventh,
and the boardinghouse between moves. But each neighborhood could have been an
island, for I never strayed more than a few blocks from their center. I paused
to reflect. Somewhere in this labyrinth, I recalled a park and across from it,
a pale stone building surrounded by a wrought iron fence. Except I needed more
than an understanding of landmarks to guide me home; I needed Eddie.

For a time, I followed the wind, hoping it would
carry the scent of the bakery next to Shakey House or the stench of the prison.
But the local fishmonger and tobacconist shop obliterated all other smells. So
I tried to remember the turns I'd taken on my wild gig chase. Left, right,
right, left…and then? I trembled with the next gust of wind. If I didn't find
Coates Street soon, I'd be forced to take shelter or risk freezing to death, granting
Mr. Abbott his wish after all.

When I neared the corner, the park and stone
building I'd recalled loomed in the distance. What luck! With renewed
confidence, I forged on, passing another cluster of shops and homes until a menacing
growl froze me to the sidewalk. I glanced over my right shoulder. The sound had
come from a nearby basement entrance. Someone had forgotten to shut both doors,
giving passersby a glimpse into the unsettling abyss. For an instant, I
wondered if I'd stumbled onto the Dark One's lair.

Before I could escape, three gutter cats sprang—quick
as demons—from the underworld and onto the sidewalk. The largest of them,
a tom the color of fire, approached me with a slow and cautious gait. Scars
marked his face, the cruelest of which intersected his lower lip, permanently
exposing his left eyetooth. "You're trespassing, Tortie," he said,
referring to my markings. "And we kill trespassers for sport around Logan
Square."

"I'm not trespassing," I said. I lowered
my tail. The bones at the tip still throbbed, but I didn't dare show pain or
weakness. "I've misplaced my home, that's all."

"Misplaced your home?" he said. "Fancy
that. I misplaced mine the day I was born. But then, I ain't been looking too
hard for it."

The other two cats, a grey tabby and a mottled
Manx, yowled with laughter.

"Listen, please," I said. "I have
a home and a companion and—"

"Companion? You mean
owner
,"
the tabby said. The molly flicked the tip of her tail, clearly amused. "Hear
that, Claw?" she said to the lead tom. "Wretched little thing is
someone's property."

My claws scraped the sidewalk as they unsheathed.
"It's not like that. Eddie and I have an evolved and symbiotic
relationship that transcends—"

"Hah! Listen to the tortie talk," said
the Manx. No, not a Manx. His tail had been cut off three inches above the root.
My own appendage felt better already. "What a sharp tongue she has." He
nudged past the tabby and joined Claw. "Can't wait to rip it from her
mouth."

"Me, first, Stub," the tabby said to
him.

"You went first last time, Ash," Stub
said. "Remember the three-legged fella we took down near the tack shop?"

I flattened my ears and spat in warning. "If
you think my tongue is sharp, try my teeth and claws." When they didn't
back down, I struck the first blow, raking their leader across the side of the
face and catching the scar near his mouth. This upset his balance, but Ash and
Stub wasted no time in retaliating. The she-devil clamped down on my neck while
her assistant held me and snarled in my ear. I turned and wrestled from their
grip, but Claw clobbered me. He bowled me over with a strong jab that sent me
into the street.

The cobblestones battered my ribs as I bounced
along their surface. With my last remaining strength, I let out a screech and dashed
toward the park a block away. The three demons followed me into the landscaped
garden, matching my fence leaps and underbrush dives to the measure. My lungs
caught fire as I raced through the bare trees, scattering leaves in my wake,
but I could not outrun them. Swifter than wind, Claw outpaced me and flanked my
right, Stub, my left. A seasoned hunter myself, I knew if I didn't break away, Ash
would overtake me while the other two closed off my passage. And in my fatigued
state, the three of them would end me with little effort. Then I pictured Eddie's
face, sad and pale and ponderous, and wondered if he would weep for me the way
he soon would for Sissy.

No, I would not put him through that hell.

With a final surge, I shot a tail-length ahead
and ran into a pair of trousered tree trunks with a head-ringing crash. The
human—definitely not a tree—scooped me up and rescued me from my
pursuers. "What we got here?" I recognized him at once from Shakey
House.