Curiosity Thrilled the Cat Read Online Free PDF

Owen yowled, louder than the last time, again without even bothering to stop eating.
    Hercules looked over his shoulder at the other cat. Why did I have the feeling they were talking about me?
    Then suddenly Herc jumped, swiping his paw at the Gotta Dance magnet on the refrigerator door. The magnet went skittering across the tile in one direction and the scrap of paper it had been holding floated to the floor at my feet.
    “Hercules!” I shouted. “What did you do that for?” The paper had Oren’s address. I bent to pick it up.
    Oren. Of course.
    “Oren could get everything put together,” I said. I swear I saw the cats exchange a look. I’d started talking to them just to have someone to talk to, but pretty quickly I’d realized that they seemed to be listening. Not that I told anyone that. “He’s working on the stage setup at the Stratton. He’ll be there early in the morning. You know Oren.”
    Herc looked up at me. “Is that what you were trying to tell me?” I said. He had a dab of peanut butter on the end of his nose. I reached down to wipe it off. He batted my finger away with a paw.
    “That’s what I’ll do,” I said. “I’ll go see Oren first thing. And I think I’ll take him some of those banana muffins.”
    The toast was gone. Owen yawned and so did I. Hercules began to wash his face. Nine thirty on a Tuesday night and here I was, sitting with my cats, ready to go to bed. I definitely was the crazy cat lady.
    Owen woke me up at quarter to six the next morning, just before the alarm went off. He put one paw on the edge of the mattress and his face about an inch away from mine. He had a very bad case of morning breath. I wondered if Listerine made a version for cats.
    By six thirty I was on my way to the Stratton with four banana muffins in a brown paper bag. I didn’t see Oren’s truck in the staff parking lot at the back of the building. Maybe he was in the main lot on the other side. I tried the stage door. It was unlocked. I stepped inside and followed the hall to the side stage entrance. Something was spilled on the wooden floor. Paint, maybe?
    “Oren!” I called. “Are you here?” I pushed through the heavy red curtains and came out onto the stage proper. There was a tiny charm on the floor in front of me, a musical note hanging from a circle of silver. I picked it up and caught sight of someone at the piano, upstage. “Oren, are you all right?” I called again. “It’s Kathleen.”
    I crossed the stage to the piano. The person slumped over the keyboard wasn’t Oren. It was Gregor Easton. And he wasn’t okay.
    He was dead.

3
    Grasp Bird’s Tail
    I ’ve seen a lot of stage bodies. From a distance makeup and fake blood can be pretty convincing, but up close it’s impossible to hide the fact that Colonel Mustard, who was hit with a candlestick in the library, is really a living, breathing person.
    Gregor Easton wasn’t living or breathing. His skin had a waxy paleness and there was a gash on the side of his head, an ugly red-and-purple wound that stood out in stark relief almost as though it had been painted on by some makeup artist. But there was no blood. I touched his wrist to feel for a pulse and jerked my hand away. His arm was stiff and cool.
    My hands shook as I fumbled for my cell phone. Then it hit me that I was in an empty theater with a body at quarter to seven in the morning. I backed across the stage, felt for the opening in the curtain and all but ran down the corridor. Outside I sat on the step and called 911.
    The paramedics arrived first—a man and a woman. Him I didn’t know, but I’d seen her at the library. Jane. No, Jaime—Sandra Boynton board books, and several on potty training.
    “He’s at the piano onstage,” I told them. “Go down the hall and through the curtain.”
    A police car arrived next, lights flashing. The officer got out of the car and walked over to me. “Ms. Paulson?” he asked.
    “Yes.”
    “You reported finding a