Six Cats A Slayin'

Three or four minutes later I hurried down the walk and across the street. Gerry had a cell phone clamped to her ear and was speaking rapidly into it. I could see that a couple of neighbors must have heard the commotion and were in their yards, discreetly trying to see what was going on.

“. . . get here within the hour and fix this mess.” Gerry listened briefly. “I’ll give you a bonus if you have everything set up again by noon.” She listened again, then said “Fine” and ended the call.

Gerry wore a short, bright yellow, silken-looking robe that clung to her figure. She eyed me as if I were the enemy.

“Morning,” I said. “So sorry about all this. Do you have any idea who’s responsible?” My breath misted in the chill air.

“I can think of several candidates.” She scowled. “Did you hear or see anything last night?”

“No, not a thing. I was sound asleep by eleven, I think, and didn’t get up until about half an hour ago.”

Gerry shook her head. “I guess I ought to be grateful they didn’t actually destroy anything. All they did was let the air out of the inflatables and pull the lights down. It could have been much worse.”

I nodded. “Yes, but it’s a bit strange, don’t you think? Vandals usually are much more destructive.”

“Who knows?” she replied. “Maybe they got scared off before they could do any worse damage.”

“Possibly.” I suspected, though, that she had a good idea why the damage wasn’t more severe.

“Maybe it was an extreme kind of prank,” I said.

“Maybe. It’s not funny, to me anyway,” Gerry said. “It will soon be fixed, and I can concentrate on the party.”

“That’s good,” I said. “I gather that was the landscaping company you were talking to when I walked up.”

“Yes, they’re going to hustle and get it done by noon, if they know what’s good for them,” she said. “Look, why don’t you come in for some coffee? I haven’t even had my first cup yet.”

I started to reply that I couldn’t, that I had coffee waiting for me at home, but she had already turned away to go back inside—simply assuming that I wouldn’t refuse the invitation, I reckoned. I wasn’t thrilled to be going into her house this early, especially with neighbors watching, but I felt bad for her. She obviously wanted company. I followed her into the house, already considering how long it would be before everyone in the neighborhood thought we were having an affair.

Gerry walked down the hall to the back of the house and into her kitchen. I stopped in the doorway and gawked at the room. Everything was black, white, red, and chrome. The appliances were new, all maraschino-cherry red. The new floor sported a dizzying, swirling, asymmetrical pattern of black and white porcelain squares, and I found myself almost mesmerized by it. The kitchen table and chairs had a fifties-diner retro style, with the chair seats covered in fabric to match the appliances. A large island occupied a great deal of space, but the kitchen was big enough that it didn’t seem crowded by the island.

Gerry stood in front of a coffeemaker far more complicated-looking and expensive than mine. The rich scent of the coffee tantalized me, and I couldn’t wait to try it. Gerry poured a mug for me and then one for herself. “Cream, sugar, and sweeteners are on the table.” She opened a nearby drawer and withdrew a spoon.

“Thanks.” I accepted the spoon and followed her to the table.

She indicated the chair I should take, and once seated I helped myself to cream and sugar. She watched me intently as I took my first sip.

The coffee had much more of a bite to it than my usual brew, spicy and strong, though it wasn’t unpleasant. The cream softened it enough to make it palatable to me.

I could see she was waiting for my comment, and I obliged her. “Delicious.”

Gerry smiled. “Glad you like it. I like my coffee the way I like my men. Hot and strong.” She drank more coffee.

My face reddened. I felt it. Even I wasn’t dense enough to misunderstand her intent. I set my mug on the table and drew a breath while I tried to figure out how I was going to respond.

All at once it struck me as funny, and I started laughing. Gerry appeared startled, but after a moment she grinned and laughed along with me. When the laughter ceased, I said, “I beg your pardon.”

Gerry held up a hand to forestall what I planned to say next. “No need to apologize. That was truly cornball.” She snorted. “Hot and strong. What was I thinking?”

“Well, I am flattered,” I replied, “but I’m happily involved in a relationship. I would never do anything to harm it.”

“So I’ve heard,” Gerry said. “Who is it? Do I know her?”

“I think you do,” I replied. “Helen Louise Brady. She owns the French bistro on the square.”

Gerry nodded. “I’ve been in there several times. Great food. Looks like she does a lot of business. Tell me, does she own the building?”