Six Cats A Slayin'

Two people waited in line ahead of me at the pharmacy counter, and the first of them, an elderly man, querulously demanded to know why the price of his medication had gone up. Jenny Harville, Milton’s daughter, patiently explained the reason for the change—a matter of seventy-five cents, from what I managed to overhear. Finally, the man paid and left. The person right in front of me made no objection about the price of her several prescriptions and paid quickly. I stood at the counter next.

“Mr. Harris, how are you?” Jenny smiled. “And how is that gorgeous kitty of yours?”

“I’m doing fine, Jenny,” I replied. “Diesel is doing fine, too, spoiled as ever.”

“As he should be,” Jenny said. “Why else do we exist, other than to serve our feline masters?” She laughed. Jenny, I knew, had a couple of cats of her own, both Siamese, and she doted on them.

“You have one to pick up,” Jenny said, and I nodded.

While she retrieved my prescription, I looked around for her father. He appeared from behind a shelf in the dispensing area, staring at a bottle in his hand. When he looked up, he happened to glance my way. He came toward the counter.

“Charlie, have you got a minute? I really need to talk to you.” Milton looked even more stressed than usual, and I wondered if Tammy had been in the store within the last hour. She always had this effect on him.

He obviously needed to talk, and though I was eager to get home, I knew I couldn’t put him off. “Sure,” I said. “Let me pay for my drugs, and we can talk.”

Jenny shot a glance filled with suspicion at her father as she returned to the counter. From this I guessed that she didn’t know what was worrying him. She rang me up, I paid, and then Milton motioned for me to come around the counter. He led me through the shelves to the small office he shared with Jenny at the back of the store.

As soon as we were in the room, I asked him what was going on. “I can tell you’re worried about something.”

Milton leaned against his desk and rubbed a hand across his eyes. He took a deep breath before he spoke. Then his words came out in a rush.

“I’m terrified, Charlie, so sick I don’t know what to do.”

“Why? What happened?”

He looked me in the eye, and I could see the fear.

“When we got home the other night after the party, I shut myself up in my den to try to cool off. Stayed in there a couple of hours before I felt like I could talk to Tammy without wringing her neck.” He paused for another deep breath. “I couldn’t find her anywhere in the house. I’m afraid she went back to the party and killed Gerry Albritton.”

TWENTY-THREE

I nearly dropped my bag, I was so shocked by Milton’s revelation. Could Tammy have come back into Gerry’s house without anyone seeing her? If she had, surely someone would have informed Gerry, if Gerry hadn’t seen Tammy for herself.

I had seen Milton often enough worried about, or angry with, his wife, but this was far more serious. He stared at me with such fear and agony in his expression, I wasn’t sure I could do or say anything to help him.

Taking him by the arm, I led him around the desk to his chair. “Sit,” I said gently, and he obeyed. He now seemed to be in a near-catatonic state as his gaze focused on the desk.

I perched on a corner of the desk after I pushed a wire inbox out of the way.

“Milton.” He looked up at me. “Did you ask Tammy where she went?”

He nodded. “She refused to tell me.”

“Do you have any idea when she left the house or how long she was gone?”

“Don’t know when she left,” he said. “Didn’t come back for about half an hour after I came out of the den.”

If Tammy had left immediately after Milton took refuge in his den, she could have been gone nearly two and a half hours.

“Why do you think she went back to Gerry’s house?” I asked. “Maybe she went for a drive or to a bar until she thought you had cooled off. Maybe to a friend’s house.”

Milton shook his head. “She doesn’t have that kind of friend. When she came back, she was wearing one of her wigs. Brown hair. And she’d changed her dress.”

Another shock. That sounded really bad. If Tammy had taken the time to disguise herself, she might have been intent on getting back into the house, hoping no one would recognize her.

“She refused to tell you where she’d been?” I said.

“Yes.”

“Did you ask her if she had gone back to the party?”

“Yes,” he replied. “She still wouldn’t answer. She just went to the bedroom and locked herself in. We haven’t talked since. The last I saw of her, she yelled at me to get the hell out of the house and stay out.”

“Does Jenny know any of this?” I asked.

Milton shook his head. “She knows I’m upset with her mother, but that’s nothing unusual. I don’t think she suspects how bad it is.”

Poor Jenny. I couldn’t imagine what it was like having to deal with her parents’ contentious relationship.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.