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

and gown followed. I
watched with fascination as she twisted her long, dark locks and secured them
to the back of her head with a comb. I never tired of that hairstyle. It
reminded me of a snail's shell.
    She continued, "Eddie and Mother think they're
keeping unpleasant things from me. But I read about them in the papers."
She turned from the mirror and whispered, "You know. The murders."
    I cocked my head, surprised by her knowledge of
the term. I welcomed any assistance, of course. Yet in her debilitated state, I
questioned how much she could offer. When Muddy called us to breakfast, we
padded downstairs, the temperature climbing as we neared the kitchen. Once the "good
mornings" had been dispensed with, Eddie, Sissy, Muddy, and I ate small
plates of fried leftover mutton and fried leftover porridge. Ash may have
belittled me yesterday, calling me someone's "property," but I was
also the one eating a nice warm bowl of food today. I knew from experience that
living feral meant living by the pangs of one's stomach.
    Once I'd cleaned the bowl, I licked away the last
bit of grease and groomed the dragon painted on the rim of the bowl. Then I
retreated to the corner near the woodstove for my morning spruce-up. I'd come
home filthy last night, but hadn't had the energy to give myself a bath before
retiring. I began with my forepaws, still sore from my jaunt, and listened to Eddie
drone on about this and that with a voice craggy from lack of sleep. He didn't
speak of the eyeball. I turned and worked on my hindquarters. In order to find
Mr. Abbott and learn if he really had committed the crimes I suspected
him of, I needed to visit—what had Claw called it?—the Logan Square
area and explore the uncharted south. I assumed the man lived in the direction
the gig had traveled. Except returning meant facing that horrid gang of demons.
    "What are your plans today, my dear?"
Eddie asked Sissy. He crossed his ankles under the table.
    "A little of this, a little of that,"
she said breezily. She lifted her coffee cup and let the steam rise to her lips.
"I may go out later if the weather stays fair."
    "Out?" Muddy frowned. "Do you think
that's a good idea? It may turn windy later."
    Sissy shot me a furtive look, though I knew not
why. "I'll be fine, Mother."
    "As long as you're feeling up to it, let's
take tea outside," Eddie said to Sissy. "We'll have a little picnic
along the river." He pushed his chair from the table, scraping its legs
along the floor. "Now if you'll excuse me. I saw Mr. Coffin poking around
this morning, and I want to talk to him about—"
    "The wobbly porch rail," Muddy said at
once. She stood and gathered the dishes. "And the cracked window in the
parlor."
    " Just what I had in mind," he
said.
    "And don't let that fatted goose convince
you we owe money. We're paid up until the end of October."
    Eddie drummed his fingers on the table. "Catters?"
    I looked up from a rather indelicate grooming
pose, one leg high above my head.
    "Let's visit Mr. Coffin," he said. "Shall
we?"
    The remainder of my bath could wait. I followed
Eddie outside, where we found Mr. Coffin hammering a board onto Ms. Busybody's broken
stoop next door. He looked up as we approached, a row of nails clenched between
his teeth. Though I hadn't known him long, Mr. Coffin had already secured a
spot on my "favored humans" list. A gentle soul with the temperament
of fresh, cold milk on a hot day, he'd never once raised his voice, not to
Eddie, not to Muddy or Sissy, and most of all, not to me. Besides which, I
rather liked fatted geese.
    Mr. Coffin stood with a grunt and removed the
nails from his mouth. He tossed them into his toolbox, along with the hammer. "Hullo,
Poe."
    "Good morning, Mr. Coffin," Eddie
said.
    "How is your dear wife? Any change?"
    "Virginia is well. Very well."
    I wove between Mr. Coffin's legs, gifting him
with fur. When a fresh breeze blew in from the Schuylkill, I lifted my nose,
reveling in the scent of fish. The pastureland we