On the Street Where Death Lives by Cate Lawley

Author:Cate Lawley [Lawley, Cate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, Paranormal, Mystery & Detective, Cozy, Cats & Dogs
ISBN: 9781393297215
Google: QkJVzgEACAAJ
Amazon: 1393297218
Publisher: Cate Lawley
Published: 2021-01-13T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

I woke the next morning to a crushing weight on my chest.

And foul feline breath.

I cracked my eyes open to find Clarence parked atop me. “Off.”

“Albert Altos is dead.”

That piece of information didn’t seem pressing enough to explain Clarence’s behavior. I could tell from the weak light filtering through the window that it was early, and Clarence wasn’t typically an early riser.

“That’s too bad.” I propped myself up on my elbows. “Off.”

“Someone killed him yesterday.” After delivering that much more relevant piece of bad news, Clarence launched himself from my chest to the floor.

While he didn’t exactly impale me with his claws, it wasn’t a pleasant experience given the fact I didn’t wear a nightshirt to bed.

As I inspected my chest for gaping wounds, the last haze of sleep slipped away. “Wait. Someone killed one of our suspects?”

But I was speaking to an empty room. He’d dropped that bomb and fled.

After an abbreviated version of my morning routine, I tracked him down in the kitchen staring at the fridge.

Since wildcats needed a specific ratio of organ and non-organ meats, bone, and vitamins, I’d picked up some food that was supposed to have the right balance and was planning to try it this morning. In other words, I was planning to try passing it off as regular food to Clarence this morning.

And I didn’t really want to cause a pouty silence with the change before Clarence had a chance to share what he’d learned.

Albert’s death could be splashed across the pages for me to easily find…or Clarence could have dug up his information from deep within the internet’s nooks and crannies.

“Altos?” I prompted.

“Food,” he replied.

“You know the drill. I’m making my coffee first, so why don’t you fill me in as I go.”

He stared at the fridge and then me. With a grumble, he said, “You don’t get it. I’m hungry all the time. It’s not like before.”

Which was the third time in two days he’d referenced his former life, an unprecedented occurrence. Maybe, just possibly, he was coming around to trusting me?

He made a distinctly feline noise, something between a sneeze and a huff of annoyance. “Fine. Albert Altos, Bertie to his friends, is dead. As a doornail. Killed yesterday in a burglary attempt on his house.”

I propped my hip against the kitchen counter and crossed my arms as I waited for the electric kettle to boil. “That can’t possibly be a coincidence.”

Clarence’s sad cat expression appeared, the one that actually looked more demented than sad, and I realized his nonchalance had been all for show.

“I shouldn’t have forgotten that message.” His eyebrows crinkled in a disturbingly human way. “I’m really sorry.”

He felt guilty.

About forgetting the message. But for Clarence forgetting that message, I would have received the article about Ginny months earlier.

“But you did lose the message,” I muttered as I walked my way through why that mattered. What that meant. Because the loss of a voicemail message meant something.

Clarence’s feline body drooped.

Which was when I realized I’d been an insensitive dolt.

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