Six Cats A Slayin'

We watched them eat for a couple of minutes. “Okay, Diesel, your turn,” I said. He followed me back to the kitchen and into the utility room, watching closely, rubbing against my legs a few times, while I prepared his dinner and refreshed his water bowl. There were always stray hairs in the water when I refreshed it. I wished I could keep them out, but unless I changed the water every couple of hours, that was a useless wish.

Stewart entered through the back door from the garage and called out, “Hello, Charlie, where are you?”

“Right here.” I stepped out of the utility room. Diesel remained there to scarf down his dinner.

“Have you figured out who murdered Gerry Albritton yet?” Stewart opened the refrigerator and rummaged in it until he brought out a can of diet cola.

“Very funny,” I said. “I don’t even know for sure yet that she was murdered. It could have been natural causes.”

“Do you really believe that?” Stewart popped the top on his can and took a long draught of soda.

“Well, no,” I said. “I don’t think it was natural, but I’m trying not to let myself get too involved in it.”

“And how is that working for you?” Stewart cocked an eyebrow, and his lips twitched.

“Not well,” I admitted. “So you can let up on the ragging. I can’t help but be curious about what happened.” I glanced at the clock. Kanesha would be here in a few minutes. I shared that news with Stewart.

He grimaced. “Unless she specifically wants to talk to me, I’d just as soon stay out of her way. I’m not in the mood to feel like a butterfly pinned on a board tonight. I’d better get upstairs anyway and get Dante ready for his walk. See you later.”

He hurried out of the kitchen, and moments later I heard him running up the stairs. I looked down at Diesel, who had joined me in the kitchen. “Guess we’ll have to talk to Kanesha alone.” The cat warbled. He and Kanesha had warmed toward each other a little, but Kanesha still wasn’t a big fan. Neither was the cat, although he didn’t disdain her presence as he did with some people he didn’t like.

I poured myself a glass of sweet tea from the fridge and settled down in my usual spot at the table to await Kanesha’s arrival. The front doorbell rang about five minutes later, and Diesel accompanied me to let her in.

“Would you like something to drink?” I asked on the way back to the kitchen. “Sweet tea? Diet cola? Or I can make some coffee. Won’t take long.”

“No, thank you, I’m fine.” Kanesha took the chair to my right. Diesel trotted off to the living room, evidently preferring the kittens’ company.

“If you change your mind, let me know,” I said. “Now, I know you said you have questions for me, but I also have some information for you that could be potentially useful.” I watched her intently for signs of her reaction.

Other than a slight quirk of her left eyebrow, she gave no other overt sign of irritation. “What kind of information?” She pulled out her notebook and pen and flipped through the pages.

“Melba Gilley no doubt told you last night that she was suspicious from the get-go about Geraldine Albritton not being who she claimed. Melba knows the Albrittons, and she insists there isn’t a Geraldine among them.”

Kanesha nodded. “Yes, she told me. Go on.”

“Gerry put out flyers around the neighborhood, telling the owners that she was ready to buy their houses if they wanted to sell. I was curious about that. I was also curious to find out whether Geraldine Albritton was her real name.”

“Let me guess,” Kanesha said, a slight edge to her tone. “You searched the county property records and came across the name Ronni Halliburton.”

I nodded. “I figured you already had the information, but in case you hadn’t, I wanted to share it.”

“I appreciate your interest,” Kanesha replied, “but you don’t have to feel compelled to help, you know.”

“I know,” I said, “but I’m fascinated by the question of who Gerry really was. If Albritton wasn’t her name, was it Ronni Halliburton? I searched both names in a genealogical database and couldn’t come up with a match for either. At least not a match to the right age.”

“According to her driver’s license—in the Albritton name—she was fifty-nine back in April,” Kanesha said.

“If that’s the case, then none of the records I found would fit her,” I replied. “Who do you think she was?”

“For now I’m working on the assumption that she was Geraldine Albritton,” Kanesha said, “unless and until I find evidence that the name was an alias.”

“She told me she had lived in Athena all her life, but Melba is sure she was lying about that. I don’t remember her, either, from when I grew up here. She was about four to five years older, so she was probably out of high school before I got there.” Talking about high school gave me another idea. The public library had copies of the high school yearbook going back decades, certainly well before the time that Geraldine Albritton would have graduated. I would look through the appropriate years to see if I could find her under either name.