The Tell-Tail Heart: A Cat Cozy (Cattarina Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page A

examined me with soft brown eyes,
not unlike Sissy's. Moonlight filtered through the branches and glowed along
the edges of his clean-shaven face, bouncing off the tip of his up-turned nose.
Though he was fully grown, his skin, teeth, and sun-touched hair still held the
assurance of youth. "Wait. Haven't I seen you before?" He pushed back
his cap to get a good look at me. "I declare! In the tavern! I would've said
hello—I like cats, you know—but that old man wouldn't let up. Kept
running his mouth about President Tyler. Gets into a fella's brain until he can
hardly think straight."
    I offered a feeble and helpless meow, hoping he'd
show me mercy.
    Brow furrowed with uncertainty, he looked through
the trees to the pale stone building across the street. After a brief rest, he started
back up the trail, traveling deeper into the park. I hadn't noticed in the
tavern, but he walked with a limp. Drag-step-drag-step . Despite not
knowing our destination, the warmth of his coat lulled me into complacency,
causing a purr to rise from my throat. Any man who used the term "kitty cat"
couldn't be that bad, I reasoned. Unsure of his true name, I gave him my own
for the duration: Mr. Limp.
    We soldiered on through the cold air until the canopy
of trees gave way to a man-made canopy of shop awnings. As we strolled, Mr.
Limp opined at length about digging and graves and diseases, giving me insight
into his occupation—gravedigger. His choice of employment would have
fascinated Eddie. My stomach lurched at the thought of my friend. Was he now,
this very instant, pacing the floor with worry? The smell of baking bread interrupted
this useless line of inquiry, and my purr grew louder. Now I understood where
we were headed. A half block later, my savior set me on the steps of Shakey
House—not home, but close enough. "There you go, kitty cat," he
said. "Safe as wet dynamite."
    I meowed in both gratitude and apology. In my
fervor to free myself, I'd smeared the collar of his coat with blood. That
tabby would pay for puncturing my neck. At least she hadn't struck a vein.
    Mr. Limp acknowledged my meow with a tip of his cap,
then left the way he'd come. As I watched him go, I wondered if he'd end up in
that building by the park. I licked my paw and cleaned my face. Strange that a
shabby, unkempt man lived in such a grand abode. Yet Eddie, the dandiest man I
knew, cohabitated with a family of cockroaches, a number of silverfish, and
three—correction—two mice. Human manner and human condition didn't
always coincide. The clank of pans inside the bakery reminded me of the time. I
wanted to be home before sunup lest Eddie send a search party for me.
    A leap ahead of the sun, I arrived at our home
on Coates, panting and wheezing from my run along the railroad tracks. What a
foolish cat I'd been. No eyeball was worth the risk of Claw or Mr. Abbott
ending me for good. I would have to find another way to lift Eddie's spirits.
Or he could darned-well lift his own. I pushed through the still-cracked door—no
one had shut it—and entered the hallway to a mournful wail.
    "No! No! No!" Eddie shouted. "It's
all wrong!"
    I trotted to the front room to find my companion
at his desk. He sat in much the same position as before, but he'd rolled up his
sleeves and kicked off his shoes. His hair stood on end from, I assumed, being
tugged by frantic hands, and his cravat lay on the floor like a dead snake. He'd
allowed the fire to burn out, letting an autumn chill into the room.
    "It was so easy with the Rue Morgue story,
Catters," he said to me. Judging by the occupied look on his face, he had
no idea I'd been missing for half the night. Perhaps it was better that way. "That
plot came to me as if in a dream. But this new story vexes me beyond
comprehension. It's not the who or the what , but the why ."
He stood and pulled the eyeball from his pocket. "And this trifle is doing
me no good. It's lost its magic." He crossed to the fireplace and set it near
the