The Tell-Tail Heart: A Cat Cozy (Cattarina Mysteries) (9 page)

A Considerable Mystery

"O
h
,
Jupiter!" Eddie
exclaimed. With a pallor matching the victim's, he staggered to the edge of the
retention pond and scattered the vultures. Pity. The birds had already made a
meal of her, pecking and ripping her face to sausage meat. What's more, the smell
of excrement permeated the area; the woman had given her daily due. Due to her
recent killing, she'd not begun to rot yet. Cats, on the whole, are not a
squeamish lot. This, I'm certain, applies to the rest of the animal kingdom—but
not to humans. Men hold death in great regard, always waxing about the waning
of life. But present them with a body, and they fall to pieces faster than a teacup
dashed against the hearth. For all his macabre interests, Eddie was no
exception to the rule. He knelt beside the woman, one trembling hand against
his mouth.

"Just awful," he said. "What's
become of this poor soul?"

Now that the carrion creatures had flown, I took
a closer look at the body. Grey hair, wrinkles, a thickness about the waist—these
marked a woman of advanced years. Her clothes, while wet with water from the reservoir,
were of the highest quality—tight stitching, smooth gabardine, silk
flowers at the bodice. If there's one thing I know, it's dresses. I doubt Snow
or Big Blue could differentiate between summer-weight and winter-weight wool or
crepe de chine and charmeuse. Having clawed countless examples in my time, I
excelled at such things. Visitors of all walks frequented the Poe house—a
testament to my friend's standing—and, like any good host, I greeted them
as they entered. No hem escaped my welcome.

Vultures had made a mess of her neck and face,
but the empty eye sockets told me what I needed to know. The right side was a
flowing cup of detritus, the left, a barren well. Even
I
possessed
enough knowledge of anatomy to know she'd lost one organ to bird claw and the
other to accident or disease. In all likelihood, she'd worn an artificial eye.
This also meant any doubt I had in Mr. Uppity's role—and there was
precious little—had disappeared. And while I hadn't caught the fiend in
the act, I'd at least involved Eddie in the mystery.

"Catters, we must do…something," he
said. "We must help."

I knew the definition of
help
, and she was
beyond its reach.

"Her windpipe looks as if it's been cut by
a knife, but that's not what interests me." He gestured with his pinky
finger. "Look there, at her face. One socket appears to have been
surgically altered in recent years. I can't prove it, but I'm sure she wore a
glass eye." Blood rushed his cheeks as he leaned over the body, his earlier
uneasiness gone. "The buzzards have eaten most of her other eye…but wait!
The tattered shreds of a pale blue iris. I knew it, Catters, I knew it!"
He jumped to his feet, fled to the staircase, and shouted to the people below. "Summon
a constable! A woman's been murdered!"

On his return, he snatched the eyeball I'd
dropped and stuck it in his pocket as sightseers flooded the plateau. At first,
they kept their distance. But when they crowded the body, Eddie commanded them
to leave "for the sake of the crime scene," he said. Some listened,
some did not. At last, two dour-looking gentlemen arrived and ran off the
remaining onlookers. The first and older of the two wore a dark overcoat and
carried a leather-bound notebook. The second I took for a night watchman,
judging by his heavy cloak, wide-brimmed hat, and long brass-tipped stick. I'd
befriended many over the seasons and always found them agreeable. They shifted
towards us, two greying apparitions in the twilight.

"I'm Constable Harkness, Spring Garden
District," the older man said. His large white mustache covered his mouth.
When he spoke, his bottom lip wiggled beneath the whiskers. "This is
Watchman Smythe. Are you the one who found the body?"

"Yes, at first candle-light," Eddie
said. "I was out, strolling with my cat—"

"Sorry, your cat?"

Sensing the need for my input, I meowed to clear
up whatever confusion had arisen.

Constable Harkness wrote something in his notebook
with a pencil stub he pulled from his vest pocket. He dotted the page with
sharp tap of the lead.

Watchman Smythe poked the woman's body with his
stick. "Cold as a wagon tire," he said.

These two simpletons did not impress me. What
was a "constable" any way? And why had Eddie involved one in our
private mystery? Surely we could've handled things on our own. At this stage, we
needed fewer
how dos you dos
and more hunting. But since humans are
impossible to herd, I sat idly by, waiting for them to catch the wave that had
already swept me into deep water.

The older gentleman continued, "Your name?"

"E. A. Poe," Eddie said.

"As in Edgar Allan Poe?" Watchman
Smythe rested the end of his nightstick on the ground and leaned on it. "Why
sure, I've read your stories." He turned to the older man. "You've
heard of him, haven't you, Constable? He writes the popular pieces for
Graham's
Magazine
."

"I don't read the
popular
pieces,"
he replied. From his sour face, "popular" must've been one pickle of
a word.

"'The Murders in the Rue Morgue' was all-out
sensational!" Watchman Smythe said. "You don't find 'em much smarter
than Detective Dupin."

"Balderdash." Another sour pickle face
from the constable.

The watchman tipped his hat at Eddie. "The
wife will have a conniption when she finds out I met you, Mr. Poe. She fancies
the way you kill people."

Constable Harkness raised an eyebrow.

Eddie loosened his cravat with a finger. "They're
just stories, Mr. Smythe. Flights of imagination."

"Be that as it may, Mr. Poe, I still find
your presence here most…interesting," Constable Harkness said. "Do
you know this woman?"

 "No. I've never seen her." Eddie
tucked his fingers in his vest pockets. "But I'm not sure anyone could
recognize her in her current state. Buzzards. They got to her before I did, I'm
afraid."

 More scribbling in the notebook.

 "You seen anyone else up here?"
Watchman Smythe asked. "Comin' and goin', that is?" He wiped his nose
on his sleeve.

"Unfortunately, no," Eddie said.

"The Irish are a shifty lot," he
continued. "They can slip past anyone. Even the likes of me."

The older gave the younger a stern look and
said, "We shall keep an open mind, Smythe."

"Aren't you going to inspect the body?"
Eddie asked.

Constable Harkness harrumphed, then stooped over
the remains.

"Look closely at her face." Eddie
leaned over the man's shoulder and pointed at the woman's face. "I think
you'll find that one eye socket is smooth and hollow, as if she's had a
surgery." He then leapt into a discussion of glass eyes and murderers.
While he talked, I sniffed a clear puddle at the woman's feet. I'd thought it reservoir
water at first, but after a series of uproarious sneezes, I knew it to be the
same vile liquid I'd noted at Shakey House. Something about this bothered me.
If Mr. Uppity was guilty of the crimes, why had I smelled the medicine on Mr.
Abbott, or perhaps even Josef? My theory of the murder had more holes than a mole's
den.

Constable Harkness straightened and shook out
his overcoat. "It's too dark to see. Smythe, fetch a cart and collect the
body. Quick as you can, bring it to Dr. Anderson's." He stepped aside to
let the watchman pass, then turned to Eddie. "I can't be sure of anything
until I get Dr. Anderson's report, and I won't rush to judgment. But her death
is
a considerable mystery."

"I couldn't agree more," Eddie said. A
weak smile crossed his lips, as if he'd found some small amusement in the
situation.

The constable studied my friend through narrowed
lids. "Would you mind coming back to my house to discuss the matter?
Strictly a formality, of course."

Eddie eased his hand into his pocket. "I've
told you everything I know, sir." He withdrew the glass eye with care,
keeping it hidden from the constable. "I'm not sure what else I can add."
With slow, subtle movements, he tossed the object behind him, ridding himself
of it. Constable Harkness took no notice, but I did. "My wife and
mother-in-law will be beside themselves if I don't return before supper."

"From your…cat stroll."

"Precisely."

Surprised that Eddie would throw away our lone
clue, I leapt on the lopsided orb. He gave a little shriek and snatched me up
backwards before I could grasp it between my paws. How undignified, to be
tucked under a man's arm, my hindquarters flying like a flag. I waved my tail
beneath his nose to show my displeasure. He sneezed and brought me round the
right way to face Constable Harkness.

The man fixed Eddie with a gaze that chilled me.
"You know more than you're telling, Mr. Poe," he said. "And I
need answers."

"Why don't I give you my address?"
Eddie offered. "You can come by in the morning if you like. Around ten?"

 "Very well." Constable Harkness took
Eddie by the elbow and ushered him from the body. "I'll drop in after I
speak to—" He frowned. "Hello, what's this?" He bent and
retrieved the object that had plagued Eddie and me these last few days.

"I think it's an eye," Eddie said.

"I can see that," he said. "It
must be the victim's. That makes three so far. The murderer is obviously
amassing a collection and won't stop until he's completed it—whenever
that may be. But why would he leave this one and not the others?"

Eddie shrugged. "Carelessness?"

They talked a moment longer, then the constable
let us go. Eddie waited until we'd descended the steps to speak. He kept me
under his arm, but I didn't mind. After the day I'd had, I needed the break. "Don't
think me callous, Catters," he said. "It's perfectly dreadful that
another woman has died, but, oh, the fascination!" Keeping to the
manicured paths, Eddie walked around the central fountain and headed toward the
main entrance. "Constable Harkness thinks the murderer is collecting these
body parts, but I don't. I think he needed two of them. When he lost the one
you found, he had to kill again to make a pair, a pale blue pair. If the
culprit strikes again, I am wrong. If he doesn't, I am correct."

I meowed in agreement. While I didn't understand
the conversation, I found it amenable. Still, my friend had said nothing about
Mr. Uppity, meaning my work was far from done.

A
Visit from the Constable

E
ddie and I left the garden of
Fairmount Water Works, crossed the road, and veered into the field that led to
our neighborhood. Window lights speckled the landscape like fallen stars. When
we entered the Poe house, Sissy greeted us with a series of breathless
questions. Tired and dirty, I jumped to the floor and retreated to the kitchen.
There, I secured my spot behind the wood stove and groomed my paws before
dinner. Muddy whirled about the room with a wooden spoon, stirring and tasting,
and didn't notice me. I settled onto the warm floorboards and thought of Snow
and what she would have for dinner. I sniffed. For me, it would be broiled
shad, egg sauce, and stewed cucumbers, the latter of which they would put in my
bowl, but I would heartily ignore. Running the streets had been fun, but I
liked home.