“Since I became sick. Yes, I know.” She poured herself a cup of tea and drizzled in a spoonful of honey. She’d changed from her everyday dress to her town dress, a fawn-colored brocade gown with slim sleeves and a nipped bodice. A matching knitted shawl—the one I napped on whenever she left her wardrobe ajar—livened the costume. “But we shouldn’t dwell on the past. I’m feeling well today.”
Eddie sat up, set her teacup aside, and took her hand. “You give me hope, my wife. I’ve been so worried. You know I don’t do well when you’re under the weather. I become utterly lost.”
Sissy blushed.
“Ah, pink.” He touched her face and smiled. “Now that’s a fine color for cheeks.” The romantic interlude passed when he turned to carving the cheese. He served her a piece from the edge of the blade, then sliced one for himself. “I always fancy graveyards as gardens of the dead.” He chewed the Swiss thoughtfully. “You plant the remnants of human frailty, wait for a time, and then a monument grows in its place, declaring—in rhyme no less—the totality of a man’s worth. Some are flowers. Others are weeds.”
Sissy gave him a sidelong glance.
“I assure you, I am quite genuine.” He tapped the headstone next to them. “Read it. Go on if you don’t believe me.”
Sissy brushed a cobweb from the chiseled letters. “Here lies Jacob M. Weatherly. A man of great sin, he cheated his kin. Heaven he’ll never be.” She burst out laughing. “A dandelion, indeed!”
Eddie gazed at her with affection, eyes alight. Pish posh. I stepped through their feast, making spongy prints on the pancakes, and meowed with gusto. Teatime was over; me time had arrived.
“Catters!” Eddie scooped me up. “I turned around this morning, and you were gone. Mr. Coffin was beside himself. He had a pocket full of jerky and no one to give it to.”
The corner of Sissy’s mouth lifted. “Mr. Coffin ate it, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Eddie said. He held me up and stared into my eyes, trying to divine something from them. “Where have you been, naughty girl?”
“I’ll bet she has a beau,” Sissy said with a wink.
“If that is true, Catters,” he said, “then at least leave your heart with me for safekeeping.” He broke off a piece of cheese and fed it to me. My mouth watered at its sharpness.
“You spoil that cat too much,” Sissy said. She nibbled her own cheese like a mouse.
“Creatures provide such comfort.” He scratched behind my ears. “Besides which, she is my muse, and she earns her title every day.” He set me aside and took a piece of paper from his pocket. “Speaking of which, would you like to hear from my new story?”
“Yes, please!” Sissy said.
Eddie requires an audience for his writing, and I am often the one to grant it. So I lay down to listen, keeping one eye on the buzzards circling the Water Works. The wake had grown rather large, and while the birds’ presenceseemed innocuous, it hinted at something more sinister.
After a slight preamble, my man of letters began the tale:
“Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded—with what caution—with what foresight—with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it—oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly—very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man’s sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this, And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously-oh, so cautiously—cautiously (for the hinges creaked)—I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye.”
“Ghoulish, but still of literary merit,” she said. “Rufus Griswold would be impressed.”
“Rufus Griswold.” He shoved the paper into his pocket and took out the blue eyeball, turning it between his fingers. “To quote old Weatherly, heaven he’ll never be.”
She patted his shoulder. “I have some news you might find interesting. News about the eye.”
My ears shot forward at the coveted word’s mention.
“I traveled into town this afternoon,” she continued. “While Mother was napping, I—”
“You didn’t walk, did you? You know exertion isn’t good for your lungs.”
“No, no, Mr. Coffin took me and brought me back in his coach.” She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I spoke to an optician—a Mr. Ezekiel Lorbin—about your find.”
Eddie’s shoulders tensed.
“Don’t worry,” Sissy said. “I didn’t tell himhow you found it.” The breeze blew her earlocks along her cheeks. She brushed them away. “He said that glass prostheses are a new product from Germany. Not many places carry them, and they’re quite expensive, at least as far as the common man is concerned. Perhaps the murderer is selling them for profit?”
“I can think of easier ways to make money,” Eddie said. “I should know because I’ve chosen one of the hardest,” he added with a chuckle.
I tired of the conversation. At this very instant, Mr. Uppity could be hunting his next mouse, ahem, victim. I hopped onto Eddie’s lap, pressed my front paws into his chest, and stared at him with wood-boring strength. But I could not break through. Unaware of the urgency, he pushed me aside to study the orb again. To quote Genghis Cat, “Where empathy fails, force prevails.” Or was it Cattila the Hun? History be damned. I had to shake my friend from his self-indulgent stupor. Human life depended on it. So I did the unconscionable.
I bit him on the hand.
Eddie yowled like a rabid tom and dropped the eye, just as I hoped. I picked it up and shot across the cemetery, pausing at the gates to see if he’d follow. But he didn’t. I paced as he spoke to Sissy, his hands clasped round her shoulders, his face laden with concern. She waved him on, her smile visible even at this distance, and began packing their tea things. Then and only then did he give chase.
With Eddie behind me, I left the burial ground with the eyeball still in my mouth and headed south into the landscaped gardens of Fairmount Water Works—a fascinating complex of river locks, reservoirs, and pump houses. In the glow of the setting sun, men and women strolled its walkways, creating a circus of parasols and canes. Ziggety-zag, zigggety-zag, we ran between them. “Excuse me!” Eddie shouted behind me. “Pardon me!” Had I not been in such a hurry, I would’ve slowed to admire the fountains and topiaries. As I clambered up the hillside staircase toward Fairmount Basin at the top, I wondered what lunacy had taken me on this detour. Cutting through our neighborhood would’ve been a far superior—and level—route to the city. Perhaps it was the circling buzzards. Perhaps it was madness. With the smell of raw flesh, however, my uncertainty vanished. The humans around me didn’t appear the least bit alarmed. They likely hadn’t detected the scent yet.
Dashing up the remaining steps, I reached the plateau to find it emptied of humans. Well, live ones at any rate. Quite different from the scenic grounds below, the reservoir had been built for function and therefore attracted fewer tourists. At this late hour, the isolated hilltop—jutting some ten to twelve stories into the air, higher, even, than the tallest buildings of downtown—offered enough privacy for one to murder with discretion. The act, however, hadn’t escaped the notice of turkey vultures. A great many flapped about the woman’s body on the ground callingscree! scree! Eddie and Sissy hadn’t been the only ones to dine al fresco this evening.
Behind me, Eddie gasped as he topped the staircase. I, on the other hand, approached the scene with equanimity. When you’ve lived on the streets as I have, you learn to take death for what it is—a certainty. That, and I’d become too embroiled in this affair to let a little thing like a carcass befuddle me. After setting my orb down, I approached the body, keeping a respectable gap between the vultures and me. Even at a distance, I knew thishad to be Mr. Uppity’s handiwork. I sat back, dismayed at my inability to stop a killer, and stared at the woman’s two empty eye sockets.