Chapter 7
The three women hurried up the steps to the small apartment above Izzy's shop. Izzy fumbled in the pocket of her jeans for the ring of keys and pushed one into the lock.
Instantly, the tiny kitten flew off the windowsill and landed at their feet. Izzy scooped it up and cuddled the ball of fur to her chest. "Poor, sweet kitty. Where did you come from?"
Nell touched the kitten's soft coat with her fingertips and felt the tiny body purr beneath her touch. It was no bigger than a ball of angora yarn, with lovely red, black, and white markings. "What a beautiful kitten," Nell said. "A true calico. I didn't know Angie had a kitten."
"I didn't, either," Izzy said. "She told me she liked cats, but they made her sneeze, and . . ." Izzy paused, and then her face twisted into a frown as she absently scratched the tiny kitten's back.
"What's wrong, Izzy? You look puzzled."
Izzy lifted her cheek from the kitten's fur and looked at Nell. Concern creased her forehead. "This can't be Angie's kitten."
Cass frowned. "You're sure?"
"The police came up here after Angie died--routine, they said. They had to check for suicide notes, that sort of thing. I came up with them, and I'm sure the kitten wasn't in the apartment that day. I was with them the whole time, and unless the kitty was hiding somewhere, it wasn't here. It must have gotten in later . . . some other way."
Nell's brows pulled together as she looked around the apartment.
It was possible the kitten had been hiding,
she thought. The old cat that she and Ben had in Boston could disappear for days inside their brownstone home. Nell looked around the apartment. Did this sweet ball of fur live up here--without its owner--and no one knew it? And if not, how did it get inside a locked apartment?
Through the arched doorway leading to the sleeping area, Nell could see Angie's bed, made up neatly with colorful silk pillows lined up against the headboard. A book sat on the night table, and alongside it, a bottle of water, as if any minute, Angie would walk in from the bathroom, slip beneath the cool white sheets, and read herself to sleep. Beyond the bed, a closet door was slightly ajar, and Nell could see shoes lined up neatly on the floor and some outfits hanging side by side on the rack above them. Only the shelf above the clothes rack was in disarray, with boxes pulled out as if Angie had been in a hurry the last time she looked for a bag or a pair of shoes. The tops of several boxes had fallen to the floor and tissue paper cluttered the shelf.
There were certainly places for the kitten to hide--but it was so friendly, it seemed unlikely that the lure of people wouldn't have drawn it out from some secret spot. It hadn't been a bit timid when three women rushed in on it today.
"If Angie had a cat, there'd be food," Nell said abruptly, pushing aside the discomforting thoughts and walking into the kitchen. Angie having a kitten no one knew about was a far better option than finding another explanation for how the kitten got into the apartment.
The galley kitchen--with a small refrigerator, two-burner stove, and butcher-block counter--was built into the small alcove at the end of the sitting area. Nell opened the cupboard just above the sink, but it was nearly empty. A couple cans of soup, some granola bars, but nothing that would feed the kitten. The refrigerator held two cups of yogurt and an apple.
"Izzy, you're right," Nell said, a sense of unease taking root. "There's nothing that says a kitten has been hiding here. If this kitten had been alone since last Thursday, there'd certainly be tell-tale stains and odors."
"So someone has been up here since the police were here," Izzy said, putting words to Cass's and Nell's thoughts. She held the kitten close.
"And the kitten slipped in when someone opened the door," Cass said.
"Angie and I had the only keys," Izzy said.
"Would she have given a key to someone else?" Nell asked.
"I don't think Pete had one," Cass said. "And even if he did, why would he have come up here after she died?" Her tone was defensive.
Nell could think of lots of reasons why Pete might want to come up into Angie's apartment, not the least of which was to simply sit and breathe in the smell of the young woman who was lost to him. Aloud, she said, "I think Izzy is right--someone must have been up here in the past day or so, and the kitten slipped through the open door without being noticed. When that person left, she was left behind."
"Gideon?" Cass asked. "He may have felt it was his security-man duty to check it out. And I'm sure he knows a way to get past locked doors."
Izzy shook her head. "We outlined his duties clearly, what he should and shouldn't do. And the apartment was off-limits, even from his flashlight. I didn't want him scaring Angie in the middle of the night."
Nell bit down on her bottom lip. Sea Harbor was a small town. And everyone knew the apartment belonged to Izzy. And everyone also knew that Angie lived there, and that she'd died.
Cass cupped the kitten's face in her hand. "This looks like one of the kittens Harry Garozzo had in his deli. He had a basketful that he was trying to give away. Maybe she wandered off."
"When was that, Cass?" Nell asked.
"Monday, Tuesday, maybe? It happens every spring and summer, Harry said. People leave them at his back door. I guess word has spread that the big, goofy Italian has a soft spot for finding kittens good homes. It could easily have strayed up here."
"But the more mysterious part is how it got inside." When Nell looked around the apartment again, she saw things she hadn't noticed at first--slight signs of disarray. A desk drawer open, magazines in disarray on the coffee table. A small television sat on the bookshelf. And on the desktop Nell spotted orange earphones and Angie's small iPod that she'd seen her with often--all easily absconded items if the visitor had been a thief. But if not a thief, then what was he--or she--looking for?
Nell looked up to see her niece watching her, reading her thoughts. Nell brushed them away. "Let's go downstairs and get this pretty little thing some food," she said.
"My thoughts, too." Izzy held the door open for Nell and Cass, the kitten a curled ball in the crook of her other arm.
Nell looked back over the apartment one more time, her gaze lingering on a tall narrow table that she and Izzy had found at an estate sale last winter. They thought it would be perfect against that wall--a good place for a vase of flowers or a small lamp, a place to drop your mail. It looked like that's how Angie had used it, too. A small wicker basket held several pieces of mail--advertising and flyers for the coming Fourth of July picnic. A pack of mints, rubber bands, and some loose change--just like the basket on her own kitchen counter. A flash of red in the puddle of change caught Nell's attention and when she lifted up the basket, a set of keys fell out.
"My apartment key!" Izzy said. She looked at the scarlet A on the knitted swatch. "These are the extra keys Angie returned last week."
"The night she died," Nell said, remembering Angie tossing the key ring on the table.
"I guess we know how someone got in," Izzy said. "But--"
"How did they get the keys?" Cass finished. "Where did you put them, Iz?"
Izzy was silent for a moment, rubbing the kitten's fur while she thought back over that night and stared at the keys, looped around her finger. Finally she looked up. "Nowhere. I never put the key ring away, just tossed it in one of the baskets on the table, along with measuring tapes and spare needles and a mess of knitting gadgets. I remember now because someone pulled it out during a beginners' class last Saturday and admired the way I'd used an old swatch-- and the scarlet A for apartment. Everyone laughed at that."
"So whoever came up here took it from your basket," Nell said.
"Next question--who?" Cass followed Nell outside.
"It could have been almost anyone," Izzy said. She cuddled the kitten close as they walked back into the shop. "Everyone from my UPS guy to a class of teenagers knitting sack purses has been in the back room this week," she said. "Even Angus and Pete stopped by. People seemed to want to hang around. Maybe it was a prank, some curious kids wanting to see what was inside. The teenagers loved Angie, thought she was glamorous. Maybe they were curious about where she lived. Whoever did it left the key, so clearly they didn't plan on going back in."
"I don't think so." Nell thought about the desk drawer left open and the disarray in the closet. "I think someone was looking for something up there."
Cass looked over at the big wicker basket in the middle of the table. "Izzy, I think Nell's right. Something was going on with Angie. And I hate it, because it's all tied up with our lives. I want these past few days back. I want our summer back. And that won't happen until we find out what happened."
Izzy walked over to the window seat and sat down, cuddling the kitten. "Well, one thing I know for sure," she said.
"What's that, Izzy?" Nell said.
"I'm going to keep her."
Nell and Cass looked over at her.
Izzy lifted the kitten to her chest and rubbed her cheek against the soft fur. "The kitten. I'm going to keep her. I think she's exactly what we need right now. This sweet little thing came to the Seaside Knitting Studio for a reason, and this is where she will live and be happy."
Cass leaned over and tickled the kitten's chin. "You have a good life ahead of you, little calico--clam sauce fettuccine, grilled tuna, the list is endless."
Nell laughed. The kitten had worked magic, lightening the mood. She lifted the fluff of fur from Izzy's lap and cupped it in the palms of her hands, looking into the kitten's bright blue eyes. The kitten looked back at Nell, steady and calm, its gaze curious.
If only you could talk, little one.
Nell smiled into the kitten's unwavering look.
If only you'd share your secrets with me. Tell me how you got into Angie's apartment--and what you saw while visiting there.
Chapter 8
Birdie Favazza fell in love with the calico kitten the minute she laid eyes on her, but she was dismayed to hear that after twenty-four hours in residence, she still had no name.
"It isn't good for the sweet thing's psyche," she said, pulling a small waste ball of rose-colored yarn from her knitting bag and rolling it along the floor in the shop's back room. Birdie always brought a plethora of projects to the Thursday-night knitting group--she was never sure what the evening's mood and Nell's treats would move her to knit.
The kitten scampered after the yarn, its tiny paws barely touching the floor. In one brief day, she had purred herself into the hearts of Izzy's staff and the dozens of customers who had stopped to stroke and cuddle her.
"She loves it here," Izzy said, pouring Birdie a glass of the Pinot.
"Of course she does," Birdie said.
Nell stood at the sideboard, tossing together a salad of sauteed wild mushrooms, fresh greens, tomatoes, and thin slices of fresh tuna, seared on the grill and pink and juicy on the inside. Pine nuts, lightly browned, and chunks of fresh mozzarella cheese would top off the salad, and it would be perfectly complemented by Birdie's wine.
Beside her, Cass looked for opportunities to pluck out slices of tuna.
Birdie rummaged around in her bag and settled on a soft, nearly finished baby sweater she was knitting for her housekeeper's grandbaby. Birdie loved bright colors and was working up a sweater that boasted a kaleidoscope of hues--bright green raglan sleeves, a bold red border, cobalt blue for the back, and golden yellow and deep green front panels. "Angie's strange drowning and now this kitten showing up in a locked apartment," she said, "might make one think our town haunted."
"I don't think it's ghosts doing these things." Nell wrapped the forks inside four napkins and set them beside the wooden bowl. "I talked to Harry today about the kitten. He said the kitten must have wandered off from the others. He knew one was missing, but figured that some child whose mother had said no to a new kitten had simply slipped it beneath a beach towel and carried it home."
"Was he surprised where she ended up?" Izzy handed Nell a glass of wine and sat across from Birdie. She picked up her half-knit sweater. She was far enough along now that the cables had taken shape and given the sweater definition. Uncle Ben would love it, and it would keep him warm when he walked the beach in the middle of December. Between her and Nell, Ben Endicott would never be without the perfect sweater for any kind of Sea Harbor weather. The kitten jumped up on Izzy's lap and curled up beside her handiwork.
"He wasn't as surprised as I thought he'd be. He comes in early on Tuesday mornings--around four, he said--to bake his sourdough bread. His wife's been encouraging him to walk to work these days--it's good for his heart and the bulge around his middle, Maggie says. As he walked past the alleyway, he saw someone just a few feet from the apartment steps."
"Good grief," said Birdie, looking up and taking off her glasses.
"He said the person had black hair--he thought it was Gideon, even though his backpack was missing. He noticed that because he'd never seen him at work without it. But he was in a hurry, so he went on to the deli, fed the kittens some milk, and busied himself baking bread. He left the door open a crack because of the oven heat, and a kitten could easily have slipped out into the dark."
"Do you think it was Gideon?" Cass asked. "That gives me the creeps."
"Harry wasn't sure--he
assumed
it was Gideon, I guess you'd say. But he didn't actually see anyone go into the apartment."
"But someone did," Izzy said.
"Purl," Birdie declared from across the coffee table.
"Pearl?" said Nell, looking up from fixing her salad.
The kitten stopped in the middle of the floor and looked up at Nell, its head cocked to one side, as if to argue the point if necessary.