Free The Black Cats by Monica Shaughnessy Page B

her sleeve. “It all
started with the tree in the courtyard. I’ve wanted to chop it down for ages.
No one can see my shop with all that greenery, and it’s hurting my business.
But he didn’t want to, the fool. Now he’s gone and hung Pluto from one of the
limbs to...to…” Her bottom lip trembled. “Warn me away!” She sobbed into
Sissy’s shoulder.
    Sissy
patted her back. “There, there. We gave Pluto a Christian burial.” She leaned around
the woman and glanced through the open door. “Where is Abner? Is he gone?”
    “Having
a Jolley good time, I’m sure.” She straightened and wiped her face.
    Sissy
sighed. “If I’ve caught your meaning, Mrs. Arnold, we have a similar problem.”
    “I’m
going to a meeting tomorrow—the Sons of Temperance. Why don’t you join
me?”
    The
women blathered on about teetotaling ,
a subject unfamiliar, leaving me to my work. I padded up the walkway and into
the house, thinking to flush out my quarry. One sniff of Mr. Arnold or his possessions,
and I would have the truth. I paused in the front hall to catch what scents I
could.
    Tiny
footsteps to my left.
    I crouched
and peered beneath the entryway bench. A pair of mice scurried near the baseboard.
Dash it all, I could not resist. I raked under the wooden seat, missing them by
a whisker. The mice slipped into the adjoining parlor with a squee, squee, squee! I gave chase, bounding
over an armchair and darting across the room to meet them at the kitchen
threshold. But the vermin had the advantage of familiarity. They headed for a
hole they’d gnawed in the wall and escaped to the other side. I sprinted into
the kitchen after them, ziggety-zagging around a pie cupboard, a wash pail and
mop, a dining chair. During my pursuit, I focused on the sights, sounds, and
smells of my prey, ignoring all else. I could not have guessed the trouble this
single-minded attention would soon cause.
    The
mice slipped through the cracked cellar door and disappeared into the dark. I charged
through the portal and dashed down the cellar steps—a mistake of gigantic
proportion, but one easily predicted by Sir Isaac Kitten. The door banged back on
its hinges and slammed shut, causing an equal and opposite reaction to my
action. A student of physics, I should have known better. I tried yowling for
Sissy, but her human hearing proved too meager.
    I was
trapped.
    Seeking
an open window or warped door, I traveled deep into the earthen chamber. My
history with cellars is a storied one, full of grisly exploits. This made it
all the more difficult to proceed. Yet I had no choice. When I reached the
bottom step, I paused and smelled for new, fresh air, thinking to follow it to
freedom. My stomach tightened at the sinister trace of lavender and citrus.

 

Judgment
Day
    THE COLOGNE DISSIPATED SOON
after its discovery. This meant I had stumbled upon the killer’s smell and not
the killer himself. This did little to assuage my fear, for the realization had
occurred in his blasted cellar. I lost track of time without the sun, so I marked
its passage with hunger pangs, abandoning this strategy when they struck with
maddening frequency. Somewhere between starvation and death—why, oh, why hadn’t
Muddy served something heartier for dinner?—footsteps marched overhead.
    From
the top stair, I peeked through a wide gap under the door that revealed the lowest
portion of the kitchen. Light filled the room, indicating Mrs. Arnold had fired
a lamp. I thought about meowing for help until a second pair of feet entered
the room. The culprit, I presumed. Until he left for either the bed or the tavern,
I was stuck.
    “I saw
Mrs. Poe in the street,” Mr. Arnold said. I recognized his voice at once. “It
wouldn’t surprise me if she passed away this Christmas.” He hiccupped and
laughed. “She looks positively used up.”
    “Abner!”
Mrs. Arnold said. “She may be married to a strange little man, but so am I. Now
I’ve taken a liking to Virginia Poe, and