Catnapped! (8 page)

“Does Lexie live near here?” Helen said.

“No, she’s an eastern regional Gold Cup judge, but this region covers most of the East Coast. Lexie lives in North Carolina. Cat shows often bring in judges from other parts of their region. That way they don’t socialize on a daily basis with the exhibitors and breeders.”

“So what was Lexie doing in Fort Lauderdale?” Helen asked.

“On vacation, probably. A pet store is a safe place to meet. But you can see why I thought it was funny.”

Wednesday

H
elen came home looking like something a cat dragged in—but not a Chatwood Champion.

Those pampered Persians wouldn’t touch anything as bedraggled as Helen. Her shorts were smeared with suspicious brown streaks. Her pink T-shirt was damp, wrinkled, and dotted with clumps of Red’s hair. Her body ached from lifting and bending, and her nose itched. She felt cat hair clinging to unseen, unreachable places.

She parked the Igloo in the Coronado lot, brushed more cat hair off the seat and saw Margery in the backyard on her knees, ripping out weeds and cussing.

“Come on, ya buzzard,” she said, yanking on a green, stringy plant with silver-dollar-sized leaves. Her purple gardening gloves were streaked with sandy mud.

Margery looked up, wiped the sweat off her face and asked, “Since when did you start accessorizing with cat hair?”

“Since you started giving yourself mud facials,” Helen said. “You’ve got dirt streaked on your face and forehead.” She handed
Margery a tissue from her purse. It felt good joking with her landlady after their last, dramatic encounter.

“Thanks, but I’ll finish pulling out this patch here and then clean up,” Margery said.

“What are you doing?” Helen asked, hoping she sounded casual.

“What’s it look like?” Margery said. “I’m not on my knees, praying for rain. Damned dollarweed thrives in wet lawns. This summer’s rains have turned my yard into a swamp.”

My yard, Helen thought. That’s encouraging. “But it hasn’t rained for four days,” she said.

“Too late,” Margery said. “The dollarweed moved in and put down roots. Now it’s nearly impossible to get rid of. It has seeds and runners—rhizomes, I think they’re called—that dig in and spread all over. Usually, I can pull weeds by hand, but I’ll have to use weed killer on this menace.”

“Poison?” Helen said hopefully. This was a good sign.

“Something nice and lethal,” Margery said. She grinned. “I want to watch it die, slowly and painfully.”

“But why do you care?” Helen asked. Please, please give me the reason I want for your weed whacking.

“What do you mean?” Margery reached for her Marlboro, balanced on the sidewalk by a puddle. The cigarette was nearly lost in her muddy purple gloves, but she managed a puff.

“If you’re selling the Coronado to a developer, why are you pulling weeds?” Helen asked.

“I changed my mind,” Margery said, and blew out a blue cloud of smoke.

“You did?” Relief flooded through Helen. She wanted to sit down, stand up, shout, sing, find Phil and celebrate. Their home was safe!

“I’m getting the rebar work done on the Coronado,” Margery said.

“Why? How? Where’d you get the money?”

“I’m cashing in a CD,” Margery said. “I told myself I was saving it for my old age. Well, I looked in the mirror. It’s here. When I started cleaning out more than fifty years’ of junk in my apartment, I knew I didn’t want to move. Where would I go? Assisted living? The work starts tomorrow.”

“That’s wonderful! Let’s drink to that. I’ll tell Phil.”

“He’s upstairs in his office,” Margery said. “I’ve got no business criticizing your clothes when I’ve been rooting in the mud, but you may want to change. How’s the cat house?”

“Cattery,” Helen said. “Full of spoiled cats. They’re better groomed than an actress on Oscar night. I’m going to reward Thumbs for being an easy-care cat.”

“Tell him to shut up,” Margery said. “He’s been howling since Phil went upstairs to his office.”

Thumbs is kind of loud, Helen thought, as she unlocked Phil’s door. “Hi, bud,” she said. “Did you miss me?”

He shut up and bumped her hand. Helen gave Thumbs a serious scratch while he sniffed her thoroughly.

“I know,” she said. “I smell like foreign cats. Will Greenies help you forget I was unfaithful?”

The big-eyed cat chomped three Greenies, then groomed his fur. “As a self-cleaning cat, you deserve an extra treat,” Helen said. She found a pound of shrimp in Phil’s freezer, defrosted two shrimp for Thumbs, then poured his dry food.

“Time to groom me,” she told the cat. Half an hour later, Helen had showered and washed and dried her hair. It’s almost as glossy as Chocolate’s, she decided. And I’m comparing myself to a cat. How pathetic is that?

She put on her slim white pants, turquoise silk blouse, heels and lipstick. There. She was ready for Phil. She skimmed upstairs to the Coronado Investigations office.

Phil whistled when he saw her. “You are a mirage in the desert,” he said, and kissed her.

She kissed him back. “Is that a gun in your pocket?” She giggled. It seemed right to say that under his framed poster of Sam Spade.

“No,” he said. “I’m really happy to see you. We never finished what we started this morning.”

“Why are we waiting when there’s a perfectly good couch?” she said.

Phil picked her up and carried her over, while Helen sighed. “My hero.”

He unbuttoned her blouse, she helped tear off his shirt and the rest was a hot frenzy of lovemaking. Much later she was resting in his arms, the tension from her long, cat-hairy day gone.

“I didn’t tell you the good news,” Helen said. “Margery’s going to fix the Coronado. We’ll still have our home. We’re supposed to celebrate with her.”

“Let’s go,” Phil said, buttoning his shirt. While they dressed, Helen told him about Lexie, the cat-show judge.

“No calls from the catnapper,” Phil said, “and the time-zone differences in England are making it hard for me to track down the cat-show people. I’m supposed to get a call from the organizer about seven tonight. Let’s go enjoy this sunset salute.”

Out by the pool, Margery looked fresh and relaxed in purple clam diggers and a pale lavender off-the-shoulder blouse. Her silvery gray hair had a springy swing.

“Well, I see you two started celebrating early,” she said.

Helen blushed and looked down at her shirt. “Everything’s buttoned,” Margery said and smiled wickedly. “You two have that glow.”

“Where’s Peggy?” Helen asked, awkwardly changing the subject. “I know she’ll want to hear the good news.”

“Daniel’s picking her up after work,” Margery said. “Wine?”

They toasted Margery, the Coronado, even the contractor, and were starting on a second glass and another round of toasts when
Margery’s friend Elsie toddled through the gate. Helen hadn’t seen Elsie for months. The Coronado’s honorary aunt seemed older than Margery, possibly because of Elsie’s slightly dotty manner.

Elsie, who was pushing eighty—and it was pushing back hard—had a festive attitude toward fashion. Today’s outfit came straight from the pages of
Seventeen
. Helen was sure she’d seen that same style on a magazine model who looked like preppie Cher Horowitz in the old Valley Girl classic
Clueless
, except Elsie’s short, fluffy hair was Jell-O pink.

Elsie’s plaid miniskirt, white blouse, navy blazer, and Mary Jane platforms looked creepy. School uniforms do not mix with cellulite and varicose veins, Helen thought.

“Am I interrupting?” Elsie asked in her soft, quavery voice.

“You’re always welcome, Elsie,” Margery said. “Interesting outfit.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she said. “I promised my son I’d dress more conservatively.”

“He can’t argue with a navy blazer,” Margery said. “Join us for wine?”

“I was hoping I could invite you to dinner. My treat. I know it’s short notice, but I have reservations at Beachie’s.”

“The restaurant on the water in Fort Lauderdale?” Phil said.

“You and Helen will join us,” Elsie said. “Please?”

“Love to,” Helen said.

“I’m supposed to get a phone call shortly,” Phil said. “Can we meet you there?”

“I have a table on the water,” Elsie said.

Phil’s phone rang as Margery’s white Lincoln Town Car was backing out of the driveway.

“Is this Mrs. Jinny Gender, director of the Coventry All Breed Cat Show?” Phil asked. “Oh, her secretary. How long will she be gone? I see. Did you attend the show? You like dogs. I see. Is there someone else I could speak to?” Silence. Then, “I understand.
Volunteers do move on. Well, I’ll wait until she returns. Thank you for getting in touch with me.”

Phil hung up. “Gotta wait till Monday for more information on the medallion,” he said. “Let’s go see Margery and Elsie.”

“I’ll drive. It’s too hot in your un-air-conditioned Jeep,” Helen said. “Wonder why Elsie is inviting us all to dinner?”

“It’s Wednesday? She got a check? Elsie never needs an excuse. But I sure could use a dozen Beachie’s oysters.”

“Keep up your strength,” Helen said, and winked at him.

“Any complaints about my prowess?” he said.

“Absolutely none,” she said. “I want you to maintain the same high standard.”

Beachie’s was an old fish shack that kept expanding. After thirty years, it was a jumble of additions, painted white, green, pink and turquoise, sprawled along the Intracoastal Waterway. The coveted seats were on the screened-in porch.

Helen found a parking space. She and Phil sidestepped a colony of fat cats that hung around the fish-house Dumpster. At the entrance, they ran into a wall of sound and a line that wrapped around the building. Inside, the dark restaurant was lit by glowing beer signs.

“I see our party out on the porch,” Phil said to the hostess. “The lady with the pink hair.”

“Elsie,” said the hostess said. “She’s so cute. Here are your menus.”

Helen and Phil threaded their way through the tables, dodging servers with loaded trays.

Margery and Elsie were drinking wine at a table for five. “Helen, dear, sit by me,” Elsie said, “and Phil, you sit near your honey.” That left the chair next to Margery empty, but there was a glass of white wine on the place mat.

Is someone else here? Helen wondered. Before she could ask, the server arrived. Her name tag read
PEG
.

“Can I get you two drinks?” Peg asked. She was fiftysomething with straight brown hair, a little overweight and comfortable-looking.

Phil ordered a beer and Helen wanted Chardonnay. “I’ll have another wine,” Margery said.

“Ready to order?” Peg asked.

“As soon as our other guest joins us,” Elsie said. “Why, here he is now. Hello, Zach.”

Margery’s dramatic-looking ex approached the table with an expansive wave, like a B-list celebrity. “Hi, everyone. I’ll have another white wine, sweetheart,” he said to Peg, and sat down next to Margery. She froze, like a child playing statue. Her hand stayed wrapped around her wineglass. Her smile was painted on.

Zach chugged his wine.

“What the hell are you doing, Elsie?” Margery asked, through gritted teeth.

Elsie began fluttering and flapping like a wounded bird. “Now, Margery, don’t get upset. You know we’ve been friends since we were girls. I was there when you first met Zach. You were crazy in love with him.”

“That. Was. A. Long. Time. Ago,” Margery said.

Elsie should have had frost on her pink hair, but she rushed on sweetly, recklessly, desperate to make her case. Margery looked ready to explode.

“At least hear Zach out,” Elsie said. “For my sake. I know you still love him.”

“You know nothing,” Margery said. “Nothing at all. About Zach or me or what happened.”

“I know you were terribly disappointed,” Elsie said. “I think when Zach showed up at your home recently, you were taken by surprise. You were in shock. Now that the shock is over, you need to listen to him. He’s sorry, Margery. And he’s changed. Completely.”

Zach had a smug grin, as if no woman could resist him. This time, Helen thought he wasn’t as handsome as he first appeared. Yes, his white hair was thick, but his eyes were slightly yellow, his nails were rough and coarse, and his skin was way too pale under his fake tan.

“Zach change for the better? I doubt it,” Margery said, her voice dangerously low. “But I’ll listen. You’ve got two minutes.”

“Margery, I did it all wrong when I came to our apartment house,” Zach said.

“My apartment house,” she said.

“I shouldn’t have surprised you,” he said. “I should have called you first, but I was afraid you wouldn’t speak to me.”

“You got that right,” Margery said. She took out a cigarette, then seemed to realize she couldn’t smoke in the restaurant. She kept rolling it back and forth between her fingers.

“I love you, Margery,” he said. “You’re the only woman for me.”

She crushed the cigarette flat. “What about Daisy?” Margery asked. “The woman you’ve been living with for thirty years.”

“She means nothing to me,” Zach said.

She ripped the crushed cigarette in two. “You spent a long time with someone you didn’t care about,” Margery said.

“Yes, I did,” Zach said. “That wasn’t fair to her or to you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about being fair to me,” Margery said. She stripped the paper off the cigarette and took the tobacco apart. “I got what I wanted—the apartments, the car and the divorce. I also thought I saw the last of your sorry ass, but now you’re back like a senior stalker.”

Margery was getting angrier as she talked. She crushed the torn-up cigarette in her hand. “We’re finished, Zach. I never want to see you again. Leave me alone.”

Peg was back with the wine. “Here you go,” the server said, handing Helen and Phil their glasses. She set one at Zach’s place and gave the last one to Margery.

“Anything else?” Peg asked.

“Yes,” Zach said. “I want you to be my witness.”

Peg stared while Zach slowly knelt in front of Margery on the sticky tile. Diners at nearby tables gaped. The noisy restaurant grew quiet. “Peg! Order’s up!” someone yelled in the kitchen.

She stayed rooted while Zach said, “Margery, I love you. Come back to me. I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”

“With any luck, that won’t be long. Get up, you grandstanding fool,” Margery said. She was shouting now, and the restaurant was ominously silent. “I don’t love you. I never have. Get out. Stay away.”

“But,” Zach said.

She picked up her wineglass and tossed the wine in Zach’s face.

“And in case that didn’t convince you, remember this.” She dumped Zach’s wine on his head. “Now go away and leave me alone.
Up! Out! Never let me see you again!”