Six Cats A Slayin'

“I’m heading to the hospital in a minute. They’ve had her sedated, but she’s supposed to be awake by the time I get there. She was obviously even more sleep-deprived than I’ve been. Resting and sleeping will help, plus getting the proper nutrition. I’ll call you after I’ve seen her and give you an update.”

“Give her my love and tell her I’ll come see her soon, if they’re allowing visitors.”

“Will do,” Sean said. “Thanks, Dad. I don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” I said. “Go see Alex.”

I ended the call, reflecting on the change in my relationship with my son. Since he’d suddenly appeared in Athena a couple of years ago, announcing that he had quit his job as a corporate lawyer in Houston and wanted to stay with me for a while, we had regained the closeness we’d had before his mother died. My son had shed the last vestiges of adolescence, and I had shaken off the isolation in which I had cocooned myself after my wife’s death.

My phone pinged—a sound I didn’t recall having heard it make before. Then I remembered Frank mentioned that he had set the video app to alert me whenever there was fresh footage to view.

I tapped the icon to open the app and stared at the screen, trying to remember what to do next. I tapped another icon, and a video opened. I saw a hand move in to rest on the sill. Then slowly a second hand joined it. In a jerky movement a head popped up quickly, but the head was covered by a black hood. All I could see was the hood. Evidently the child had it pulled close around her face, almost as if she knew she was being filmed.

The head remained in view for about twenty seconds before it withdrew. I waited to see if there was more, but the video stopped after another thirty seconds or so. I replayed the video, trying to discern any potential clues to the child’s identity. All I discovered was that the child was a fingernail-biter. Every nail that I could see had been chewed on to various degrees.

I put down my phone in frustration. Either the child had seen Frank installing the cameras and took pains to hide her face, or she was extremely bright and had suspected all along that there might be a video camera installed for security purposes. Either way, it looked like I might not get any satisfaction from Frank’s efforts.

Unless, I thought suddenly, I set a trap for her. I would give that some thought. I needed to find out where the kittens came from. They were old enough to be adopted out, if necessary, but if the child was able to take them home again, I wanted her to have that option.

The simplest trap I could set, I realized, was to leave another note on the door. I needed to place it so that the child might look into the camera on the door without realizing it. I closed my eyes and visualized the scene in my mind. I saw the child reaching for the note and snatching it from a crouching position.

No, that wouldn’t work. I had to get the child to stand taller in order to get her face as close as possible to the camera. I would have to place the note higher up. I also needed to estimate the child’s height. When I got home I could measure the height of the living room windows, watch the video again to get a reference point from the child’s actions, and go from there.

As I was about to pull out of my parking space, my cell phone announced a new text message. I glanced at it and saw that it was from the pharmacy. My high blood pressure medicine had been refilled and was ready for pickup. I sighed. I hated having to take this medicine, even though it was a low dose. If I could only follow my doctor’s advice and lose a bit of weight—and cut out some of the food I loved best—I probably wouldn’t have to take it. I hadn’t been on the medicine long, only for two months. I was due back in the doctor’s office in another month for a check on my blood pressure to determine whether the dose was effective.

I debated picking the prescription up tomorrow or the next day. I had at least two more pills, as I recalled, for the once-daily dose. I might as well pick it up today, I decided, in case I forgot and woke up on Christmas morning to find myself without any.

Instead of turning the car toward home, I had to drive in another direction, toward the town square. Milton Harville’s pharmacy occupied space across the square from Helen Louise’s bistro and the independent bookstore, the Athenaeum. After a short drive, I counted myself lucky to find an open parking space directly in front of the pharmacy. Unlike many other small towns around the country, Athena had a thriving downtown area, and parking was often at a premium at this hour.