The Cat Vanishes Page 7

  “Gerry.” Doug’s voice, calling from the living room, sounded serious. “You better come in here.”

  “Oh, what’s he done? If he’s shredded any of Cathy’s upholstery, it hardly matters, it’s so —” She looked where Doug was pointing.

  The fireplace contained sizeable chunks of charred wood. A few bits of twig and bark marred the otherwise clean floor and carpet. Gerry gaped. “Someone’s had a fire?”

  “It’s still warm,” he said quietly. “Someone’s been here. May still be here.”

  Gerry tried a laugh. It failed. “Probably just kids looking for a place to party.”

  “Yeah, probably.” He was trying to sound reassuring, but to Gerry he sounded more wary than anything. He continued, “Maybe we should —”

  “Leave?” Gerry’s voice cracked on the word. She took a breath. “Well, we know there’s no one upstairs. And no one on the main floor.” She looked at Doug, who completed her train of thought.

  “Which leaves the basement. I’ll go. You wait in the kitchen so if there is a problem, you can go for help.”

  “And leave you to get beaten up? Don’t think of it! I’m coming too. After all —” She grabbed a weapon. “What are pokers for?”

  He grinned, but only slightly, as they moved quietly to the basement door. She switched to a whisper. “You really think they’re down there?”

  He flung open the door and answered in a loud voice. “Yes, I do. You call the police. I’m going down.”

  They waited. Gerry rather wildly said, “All right, dear,” and stomped heavily in stocking feet to the phone. “I’m pretending we’re married,” she hissed in answer to Doug’s bemused stare.

  “Yeah, that’ll scare them,” the once-divorced man replied in a quiet voice. He went down a couple of steps.

  “Here! Here!” She brandished the poker at him. “Take it!”

  He retraced his steps and took it from her. “If I don’t come back —” he began in a sad voice.

  She clucked her tongue in annoyance and pushed him towards the basement door. He snorted. “Oh, now you want me to go.” And down he went.

  His voice floated up the stairs. “I guess you were right. About kids.”

  She edged over to peer down where he stood at the bottom of the stairs. “What’s all that stuff?”

  “Broken wine bottles. The rack’s tipped over. No, don’t come down, but can you find a garbage bag and maybe a dustpan and brush? I’ll sweep it up.”

  She rummaged in Cathy’s kitchen, muttering, “House-sitting? Never again. Broom cupboard? Under the sink? Where I’d keep them.” She went into the hall, found another cupboard under the stairs where Cathy’s vacuum cleaner and other housecleaning tools were stored. She added a pair of rubber gloves and Doug’s boots to her armload and went downstairs.

  “There’s no one here now,” he said as she joined him. “Oh, thanks.” He sat on the stairs and laced up his boots. Gerry sat and watched him right the tipped-over rack and clean the mess.

  “Really, I should be doing that,” she commented.

  “You might wreck your nice dress.”

  She preened a bit. He concentrated on his brushing. They spoke at the same time.

  “Doug —”

  “Gerry —”

  “You go first,” she said.

  “All right. What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “What everyone else will be doing: phoning my insurance company. Why?”

  “Well, your insurance company won’t be open in the evening. Would you like to go curling?”

  “Curling? I’ve never tried. Oh! The brushing reminded you.” She paused, then asked suspiciously, “Are you very good?”

  “It’s not competitive. I mean, it is, but we’d be on the same team. If you like.”

  “Hmm. Sure! I’ll try it.”

  He’d finished his task and looked around the rest of the basement briefly. “It’s a bit damp.”

  Gerry, now in a hurry to leave, said hastily, “Oh, it’s always damp. Especially around the edges. Come on. I’ve had enough.”

  They put the wine-soaked brush and pan in a sink full of soapy water and threw the broken glass-filled bag in the garbage can.

  As they walked back to Gerry’s, they nervously glanced around. Gerry took Doug’s arm. Then she drove him home. As he leaned over to kiss her cheek, she presented her mouth instead.

  “Oh.” He seemed a bit startled, then became confident. “That must be what you were going to say in the basement,” he said, and got out of the car as she lightly smacked his shoulder. Gerry smirked in the car’s rear-view mirror as she drove home. It was only when she got into bed and snuggled down that she remembered Bob.

  She sat upright. “Well,” she told the Honour Guard, “there’s no way I’m going back to Cathy’s house tonight. He’ll just have to sleep there.” It was some time before she could settle, picturing Bob roaming the big cold house, its walls echoing with his futile meows. And when she woke in the morning, it was to the sound of someone letting themself in to her house.

  She had a moment of panic before she heard, “Gerry? You up?” and relaxed at the familiar voice. Prudence was the only person Gerry allowed a spare key.

  “I’m up.” She sat up, yawning. “Come in.”

  Prudence stuck her head in the room. “I know you gave me the day off, but I’m going crazy stuck at the neighbours’. It’s a small house and they’re both deaf. Plus they’ve been married forty years so they sound angry all the time. Charlie — that’s the husband — was coming into town so he gave me a lift. Can I just spend the day here?”

  Once again, Gerry wondered about Prudence’s husband, about whom she never spoke. She had such a negative view of marriage. “You sure can. I’m sorry you’ve been suffering over there. And if you want to work, I could use some help. I think I forgot to do the cat boxes last night.”

  “I could tell, or, should I say, smell,” said Prudence, wrinkling her nose.

  “Oh no. And after I went to all that trouble giving them a full clean last week. Do you want to sleep over here instead of your neighbours’?”

  “I’ll think about it.” Prudence scanned the room. “Where’s Bob?”

  “Cripes! He’s at Cathy’s. He followed me and Doug over there last night. I’ll get him first, then have breakfast.”

  “All right. I’ll feed the beasts and get some more wood in.”

  “Did I already use what was on the porch?”

  “Nearly.” Prudence left, followed by the Honour Guard, who by now recognized the phrase “feed the beasts” or at least the word “feed.”

  Gerry dressed and then, remembering last night’s kiss, was having another smirk in her bedroom mirror when she heard Prudence call her name.

  Expecting some psychic manifestation or more bones, when Gerry met Prudence in the kitchen she was surprised to see her holding Bob, struggling to join his friends already eating. “Look what I found in the shed.”

  “He must be freezing!” said Gerry.

  Prudence let him go. “Not him. He popped up out of that hole in the floor.”

  “How did he get in there? I’m beginning to think the only ghost around here is that cat!”

  Prudence handed Gerry a coffee. “What’s been going on in the shed? You been having a tidy?”

  Gerry stared. “Oh my gosh. You don’t know about the bones.”

  Prudence slammed her cup down on the kitchen counter. Coffee slopped everywhere. “What?”

  “The police moved the furniture and wood. They wouldn’t let me in while they worked. Bob brought me a bone. And then I found the whole skeleton — I assume the whole skeleton — when I went for wood yesterday. I can’t believe it was only yesterday.”

  “There was a body under the floor in the shed? Right where I felt a tap on my shoulder? And when
I felt the pull on the tree rope, I was standing outside right near that end of the shed. Gerry. Someone’s been lying there for years.”

  Gerry felt the skin at the back of her neck move. “I’m afraid so. But the police said the bones have been there so long that it’s not going to be considered a suspicious death. Nobody living could have —”

  “Could have put the body there,” Prudence finished. “That almost makes it worse. That someone got away with — murder, I suppose — and lived their life out, perhaps lived in this house, knowing that right over there —” She shivered.

  Gerry asked anxiously, “Is this going to put you off coming here, Prudence?” She had a bright idea. “Maybe, now the bones are gone, the spirit — or whatever it is, was — has gone too.”

  Prudence didn’t look convinced. “I have to make some phone calls.”

  The day fell into its usual rhythm. Gerry washed the cats’ breakfast dishes, then worked in the living room for a change. She wanted a break from Mug the Bug, and left him in the dining room. At the living room table she began doodling cats, thinking about cat portraits she could try to sell.

  She meant them to be close-ups, whimsical, telling a little about each cat’s personality, but found she was also doodling cats jumping, stretching in mid-air, twisting, landing. “Cats jumping,” she muttered. “Cats jumping over objects the way horses do. A cat jumping competition.” She drew a scene of two cats jumping simultaneously while an absurd collection of people and other cats watched from the sidelines. Like a track meet, she scrawled at the bottom of the page.

  Prudence vacuumed, washed cat towels, dusted. The women met for lunch in the living room. Gerry pushed aside the sheets she’d covered with sketches and bit into her favourite ham and cheese.

  Prudence, munching her favourite — a peanut butter and pickle sandwich with a small bag of potato chips — looked the sketches over. “What’s this?”

  “Oh. An idea for a book. Cats jumping or something. I’m not sure. To be continued. Or not.”

  “Looks like a children’s book. Pictures on top. Words beneath.”

  Gerry pulled a couple of pages over. “And then you switch the position to keep the eye engaged. I remember. We worked on illustration at art school.” She pushed the papers away again. “I’m bored with Mug. I’d like to do something completely different. I wonder how kids’ books pay? You make your calls?”

  Prudence ticked off numbers on her fingers. “Insurance first, of course, for the house. You should phone yours. Then a contractor, who says he’ll be over tomorrow morning. Hah! I called several but he was the only one picking up. People are still on holiday. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Then Mrs. Smith. She can see us tomorrow afternoon at 1:30. You still coming?”

  Gerry blinked. She’d agreed to accompany Prudence when it was just a case of a tap on the shoulder. Now there were bones. “Are you kidding? Of course I’m coming. Maybe she’ll have some answers.”

  In the patient voice of one who’d had to explain this many, many times, Prudence gently remonstrated. “It’s not her, Gerry. It’s the others. The dead. Mrs. Smith is just more sensitive to them than most of us.”

  Gerry nodded vaguely. She was out of her depth here. “And do we tell her about the bones, the tap, the rope?”

  Prudence shook her head. “Maybe after. She’ll have probably already heard about the bones. Gossip moves fast around here. No. We just wait and see what she can pick up from the other side.” She rose. “I better get to work upstairs. You want me to change the sheets?”

  “Yes, please, Prudence. I slept in Aunt Maggie’s bed again last night. I’d like to move back to my room. If you’re not staying. Are you?”

  “No. I better be on the spot if the contractor actually shows up. Pick me up around one tomorrow.”

  Gerry nodded and made her insurance calls before returning to work. More sketches followed: of cats jumping, cats sitting chatting with people, cats in a castle, in a field. She didn’t know where this was going, but it sure was fun.

  As Prudence drove them to her street that afternoon, Gerry mentioned that she was meeting Doug at the curling rink after supper.

  “That’s nice,” Prudence absently replied.

  Gerry continued, “And we kissed. I thought we might at Cathy’s house last night, but the moment passed when we found the wine rack tipped over in the basement and —”

  “You were over there at night?”

  “With Bob. He followed us, as he must have when we found him in the basement cupboard last week.”

  “And you’re sure he didn’t follow you home?” Prudence sounded thoughtful as she pulled up to a stop sign.

  “No, but, I didn’t see him. He must have. And then followed you into the shed this morning.” Gerry didn’t see where this was going.

  Prudence was temporarily silenced as she attempted to engage first. “We didn’t actually see him follow us over there the other day either,” she persisted, as the Mini jerked forward.

  “No. You’re right. But how else — ?”

  Prudence pulled into her own driveway and the women surveyed the damage. Gerry was again appalled at how her friend’s neat little cottage had been crushed all down one side. The women looked at each other. “Am I to understand,” Gerry began, “that you think there is some underground connection between my shed and Cathy’s basement?”

  Prudence shrugged and arched her eyebrows. “How else does Bob keep popping up in both places when we haven’t put him there?”

  “An underground passage,” Gerry mused. “I don’t know. It sounds far-fetched. Bob’s a cat, after all. A mysterious creature, able to slink silently and all that.”

  “A black cat invisible against snow? Are you telling me we missed that, and you and Doug missed it again last night?”

  “N-no. I just assumed Bob followed Doug and me home last night, wandered off and slept outside. He’s done it before. But you’re saying we forgot him in Cathy’s house and he took a tunnel under the road —” Gerry’s voice sounded incredulous in her own ears. “And that he came out in the woodshed in time to meet you this morning.”

  “That’s about it,” said Prudence. “And when we found him in the basement cupboard, he’d gotten locked in the woodshed, got bored with that, and went off to Cathy’s house to hunt for mice.”

  “I’m going to check that hole in my shed as soon as I get home!”

  “Not without me,” cautioned Prudence. “You’re going to eat supper, get changed and drive to the curling rink, right?” She let herself out of the car. “Goodnight, Gerry.”

  Gerry grumbled goodnight as she shifted over into the driver’s seat. She’s right, she admitted to herself. I’d probably fall in and meet the zombie apocalypse. She reversed the car and headed up to the highway. She was in the mood for fast food. After all, it was the holidays!

  Back at the house with her delicious repast steaming in front of her, Gerry sang, “Five golden onion rings,” and tried to remember the other lines of her absurd personal Christmas song.

  8

  Gerry showered carefully, shampooing her hair, not wanting to smell of her greasy supper. As she changed into stretchy pants and searched for a pair of clean running shoes, she thought about all the curling she’d watched on TV or, rather, not watched. How many Saturday afternoons had she spent peeking in her father’s little TV room to hear him say, “I’m still watching,” which was her cue to stomp off, feeling TV deprived?

  He’d explained. “You watch your kid shows in the morning. I watch sports in the afternoon. You’re welcome to watch with me. After all, I like watching Bugs Bunny with you. Maybe you’d like curling. Or football. Or hockey.” She’d stared at him, incredulous that he could think she’d ever like such dull viewing. Curling: slow. Football: brief periods of violence but basically, slow. Hockey? She couldn’t follow the puck, her father’s TV recep
tion was so fuzzy.

  And her mother in the background to all this, shopping, preparing their meals unobtrusively, happy to be at home with her family.

  And now I’m going to play curling, Gerry mused, scraping her car windows. Fun! I hope.

  As she walked into the little community centre that housed the rink, Gerry contrasted once again her old life in Toronto with her new life in Lovering.

  Toronto had streetcars and buses and a good subway. In Lovering she had a car. Toronto was full of cafés and ethnic restaurants, movie theatres and museums. Lovering had, to be fair, lots of eating establishments, but obviously not the other accoutrements of a big city.

  Lovering had fresh air and plenty of trees. Toronto — not so much. It was the city of her birth, where she’d grown up living with her parents. She’d always love it. But she was glad to be out of it.

  She went shyly into the curling rink lounge. Might have saved the bother of shampooing her hair. The air was redolent with the scent of hot dogs and french fries — snacks for the curlers.

  She’d been here before for craft fairs. The local art club exhibited here. She looked nervously through the big glass window that separated the lounge from the ice. She’d never been down there.

  She saw Doug and rapped on the glass. He pointed to one side of the rink. She changed her footwear and left her coat and boots behind as she went down some steps, found the door and cautiously stepped onto the rink’s slick surface.

  “Glad you could make it,” Doug said, handing her a broom. “A little sweeping first, I think, to see how you move. Just do what I tell you. This is Rick.”

  Rick waved a hand as Gerry and Doug took up positions facing each other. Gerry copied Doug’s stance, broom at the ready, feeling ridiculously excited. There were a few lanes, each with its own small group playing or practising, but all Gerry’s focus was on her own.

  Rick crouched and slid the rock forward, twisted and released it. Gerry stared down at it briefly but kept most of her attention on Doug. Rick started shouting, “Hard! Hard!” Doug scrubbed the ice in the rock’s path. Gerry did likewise and they bumped brooms.