Fat Cat Takes The Cake

“I probably shouldn’t be in the kitchen at all.” She ducked into the bathroom to bathe her hands in the antiseptic gel, then snatched a piece of cherry almond goodness. “Good choice for a winter day.” She held the amazing blend of cherries and almond flavoring on her tongue as long as she could before swallowing. “The cherries taste like summer.”

“That’s exactly what I thought,” said Inger, who had come into the kitchen for her lunch break while they were talking. “Are you feeling better?”

“Much. Anna made me her special chicken-soup cure.”

“You know what I do when I have a cold?” Inger said. “I put some Vicks under my nose when I go to bed.”

Chase nodded, but had no intention of trying that since she didn’t have any Vicks. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Can you cover for me while I eat? Mallory is swamped right now and I’m starving.”

Chase asked Anna, “Do you think I should?”

“You’re not coughing and your nose isn’t running. Make sure to sanitize your hands.”

“I just did, but I’ll do it again.”

Both Chase and Anna knew that hands should be cleaned often in the salesroom. Not only for cold germs. Handling money was about the dirtiest thing a person could do.

Being more active was good for her, Chase thought, after she had lazed around yesterday and this morning. She felt so good, she had thoughts of bottling Anna’s chicken soup and selling it in the shop as a cure for the common cold. She smiled at the thought as soon as it flitted through her mind.

“Who you laughing at?” said the customer in front of her.

Chase shook her head. “Sorry, I was thinking of something else. Are you ready to buy those?”

The woman looked familiar, but Chase couldn’t place her. She was short, but voluptuous. Even beneath her heavy coat Chase could clearly detect her curves.

“Yep. Richard says these are his faves.” She held out a box of Peanut Butter Fudge Bars and a twenty-dollar bill.

“Richard?” The woman sounded like Chase should know who that was.

“Richard. You talked to him yesterday.”

Richard. Right. Dickie Byrd. This was the mistress. “Oh yes, you’re . . . Richard’s friend.”

“I’m his squeeze. He’s been spending nights with me since his witch of a wife threw him out last Saturday.”

Chase took the money and counted out the change, scooping the coins first. “Last Saturday?” She felt like an echo machine. “Wasn’t that just a few days ago?”

“If you call a week and a half a few days.”

“So . . . Richard Byrd’s wife kicked him out the Saturday of the reunion?” Bad night for marriages.

“Yep, that’s the shindig that he was gonna take me to, then chickened out at the last minute and took her.”

“You mean Monique, right?”

“I call her Moaning Mona, but that’s the same person. He still doesn’t know what she did with all his clothes. Why couldn’t she dump ’em in the front yard like other wives do?”

This woman obviously had had some experience at breaking up marriages. She wondered if Monique and Mrs. Snelson attended the same class on getting rid of husbands, including their clothing. She wouldn’t suggest he look in the dump.

“Here you go.” Chase handed her the change. “Would you like another kind for yourself?” She felt something warm and fuzzy rub on her leg. She glanced down.

Quincy! She had forgotten to put him in the office. Maybe her head wasn’t as clear as she thought it was.

It was lucky for the cat that no one had remembered to close him into the office. Enjoying the full range of the Bar None shop, he kept out of sight and meandered through the kitchen, finding delectable crumbs along the way. When his main human went out to the salesroom, he slipped through the swinging doors behind her. Ever curious, he found a paper that had fallen to the floor and began to play with it, batting at it and extricating it from under the counter where it had lodged.

“What are you doing out here?” Chase said it more for effect than to ask a question. She knew full well that she hadn’t secured him in the office when she came downstairs. Spending the morning dozing had thrown her out of her routine. She bent to scoop him up and a paper clung to his claw.

“Oh, there’s Richard’s poster. Aren’t you supposed to have that in your window?”

“This is your Richard, isn’t it?” Chase knew it was, but had to tack this down. If he had spent the night of the reunion with this woman, he couldn’t have killed Ron North. Chase had been relying on him as a suspect.

“Of course.”