Free Cat on the Edge by Shirley Rousseau Murphy Page B

his checkbook. He had stuffed it under some papers, intending to hide it later.
    The attempted burglary, just after Beckwhite’s death, had disturbed him enough to make him load the .38 snub nose he kept for traveling, and slip it into his night table. He could not help equating the burglary in some way with Beckwhite’s murder.
    He’d known Samuel Beckwhite for six years; they were business associates though he did not work for Beckwhite. He rented the big repair shop portion of the agency in exchange for maintenance and repair on the agency’s foreign cars, and he serviced the vehicles belonging to the agency’s regular customers. A friend from his high school days, Jimmie Osborne, had brought him and Beckwhite together originally, suggesting the business arrangement. Jimmie was agency manager; he had worked for Beckwhite since a year after Jimmie and Kate were married.
    He never could figure out why Kate had married Jimmie. Golden-haired Kate Anderson had been some catch for sour, humorless Jimmie Osborne.
    Standing in the kitchen waiting for the coffee water to suck up into the machine, he finally realized he hadn’t turned on the coffeemaker. He flipped the switch, the red light came on, and the machine gasped a pneumatic wheeze. He yawned and adjusted his binding shorts. He hadn’t slept well. Every little noise had brought him up listening for the scrape of claws or the slap of the cat door.And of course the early phone call jerking him from sleep, and that rasping voice, hadn’t helped.
    I am your cat…It’s me, Joe Grey .
    Forget it. Get your mind off it .
    He removed the glass carafe and poured a cup of coffee, but the machine hadn’t quite finished. In insolent defiance at his meddling it dribbled coffee down onto the heating unit. The animals kept pushing at him, wanting breakfast.
    He wondered who would eventually take over at the shop, or if Beckwhite’s would be sold.
    Jimmie Osborne was next in command, though Sheril Beckwhite, of course, was the new owner. Since Beckwhite’s death, the office was chaotic. No one seemed able to carry on efficiently. There were endless glitches in the paperwork, unnecessary rewriting of sales contracts. And the relationship between Sheril and Jimmie didn’t add to agency morale. Who could have confidence in Jimmie’s managerial functions when they were conducted mostly in bed?
    Everyone knew about the affair. He’d wondered whether Beckwhite had known. He felt sure that Kate didn’t know. Kate wouldn’t dream that Jimmie would cheat on her.
    He wouldn’t have remained friends with Jimmie, except for Kate. He and Jimmie had had little in common, even in high school. But he enjoyed Kate, saw things in Kate that Jimmie didn’t see or didn’t care to see. She was wry and funny, and he liked her comfortable empathy for animals. She really loved his two old dogs and the cats, and she shared withhim a kind of warped, animal-centered humor that bored Jimmie. He and Kate always had a good time together, while Jimmie yawned.
    He would never overstep the bonds of friendship with the Osbornes, he had never touched Kate. But she was beautiful and fun to be with, and without Jimmie their relationship might have evolved into a good deal more.
    It surprised him sometimes that Jimmie put up with their evenings together, with their potluck barbecues and casual spaghetti dinners; and with the animals, particularly the cats. Jimmie said he was allergic to animals, but he never sneezed. The animals avoided him, though, all but Joe Cat.
    Joe always went straight to Osborne the minute they arrived, rubbing against his pant legs, methodically covering Jimmie’s freshly cleaned slacks with gray and white hairs. And Joe liked to sit on the couch beside Jimmie. He would remain close as Jimmie fidgeted. But before Jimmie got up the nerve to shove him off he would leap on the coffee table, deliberately spilling