Track Of The Cat

When they'd all three been settled in front of the TV, Alison watching Cheers and the kittens curled together asleep on her lap, Christina made microwave popcorn and opened the Pinot Noir.

"My hair is so mousey!" she said with an implied snort of disgust. "I'm thinking of getting it permed or streaked or something. What do you think?"

Girl-talk. God! how A

They talked through two television shows, through putting Alison to bed, through the last of the wine. A

Cups of decaf in their hands, they had moved out onto the back porch and were sitting in darkness watching the heat lightning flicker on the horizon over Van Horn sixty miles to the south when she remembered.

Then she only wanted to forget it again, for all time, but she knew she couldn't. Rightly or wrongly, she felt she'd come to know Christina too well to creep around about it.

"I've been thinking a lot about Sheila's death," she said without preamble. "Some new things have come up that make me think she was murdered, then the murder was covered up by somebody wanting it to look like a lion killed her."

There was a long silence, deepened by the distant sound of thunder. A

"Oh my Lord. To kill her… That can't be right. It takes such hate. Watching the life go from someone… Forcing it out. No, A

All A

The wordless darkness began to feel empty, accusing.

"The pictures. You think I killed her." The words dropped into the silence like stones into deep water. Christina's voice was so devoid of emotion, A

"Not really," A

"Alibis! Oh for Heaven's sake!" Christina laughed but it was not a pleasant sound. "How could you possibly think so poorly of me? How could you sit here drinking coffee and watching the sky with me thinking I might be a murderess?"

A

"I'd better check on Alison," Christina said abruptly and A

The soft darkness seemed to harden, become menacing. "Damn," she whispered, lamenting the death of the camaraderie.

A pitiful mew sounded from the unlighted living room. Picturing Christina lurking Anthony Perkins-like behind the china cabinet or inside the hall closet, axe poised, A

Again the plaintive, unconvincing mewing. Nothing else: no lullabies, no footsteps in the hall, no "nighty-nights."

"Damn," A

A needle pricked into the back of her calf. Half swallowing a yelp, she jerked clear, slid to the floor and, pivoting on one knee, came to her feet, the chair she'd been sitting in held between her and her attacker.

The overhead light glared on. Momentarily, A

"Playing at lion tamer?" Christina stood in the sliding glass door that divided the porch from the house. Between her and A

Relief and absurdity rolled out on laughter. Fear, the ultimate magician, the perfect puppet-master, had made for her a monster. A

Christina still stood framed by the aluminum doorway.

"I have no intention of explaining that little scene, if that's what you're waiting for," A

Christina shrugged. She sat in the rocker she'd occupied before. The light was left on, harsh, throwing shadows, aging her face. "Alibis," she said. "That's 'where were you on the night of January twenty-fifth at seven p.m.' stuff, isn't it?"

A

"But you want Friday night the seventeenth of June, the night Sheila died, don't you?" Christina laughed, a bark of sound. "Oops. How did I know she died Friday night and not Saturday morning? UNLESS I KILLED HER!

"Drumroll there-or whatever it is they are using these days. Friday was a guess, that's all. For what it's worth, I was doing the inventory for the books and so forth at the McKittrick Canyon Visitors Center. I worked late. I was there by myself from five p.m. till nearly ten. Ma

"Did you return it to Paul that night?"

"No. The next day."

McKittrick Canyon access road ran four miles out from the canyon mouth to Highway 62/180. Every night at six somebody drove in, made sure all the visitors were out of the canyon, then padlocked the gate at the highway.

"Karl may have seen me. The Roads and Trails truck he drives was parked there when I arrived. He may have seen me through the window… No." She looked disappointed. "It was still there when I left. He wouldn't've seen me, I guess."

"Did you see anyone else? Was anyone else in the canyon that night?"

"No. Nobody."

"At least we know for sure Sheila didn't come in from this end. Ma

"Why so glum?" Christina asked.

A

Christina rubbed her fingertips on her eyelids. "It's getting late."

"Time I was going home." A

"You do that," Christina returned and, though she sounded more weary than angry, A

People tended to take it personally when they were accused of murdering their lovers.