Organized for Homicide (Organized Mysteries Book 2) (27 page)

And he was. As Kate pulled into her driveway and hit the garage door opener, she saw the cat staked out in the front bow window. He opened his mouth, obviously meowing hello to her without realizing she couldn't hear.

She didn
't know what hurt worse, her head or the rest of her body. "Maybe I'm coming down with the flu."

Whatever the situation, she really needed the nap Meg prescribed earlier. Just trekking around Green Mountain Boards until she found someone to take the paperwork was enough to finish wiping out any energy she still possessed. She turned her head to watch and make sure there was nothing in the way of the door, but the movement made her feel nauseated. Instead, she headed inside the house.

"That's it. The world can fend for itself."

By the time she
'd moved through the utility room to the kitchen, the cat was at her feet. He opened his mouth once to meow but must have sensed her distress, because he closed it again without a sound.

Before she went upstairs, however, she made her way to her office. She didn
't know whether to be thrilled or repulsed, but the cat had completed his assigned mission for the day. A dead mouse lay peacefully in the middle of the floor.

Kate still held her keys and phone, so set them on
top of the built-in counter instead of walking them back to the kitchen basket. She hoped she would remember later where she left them.

In the closet, she found a small box and fitted lid and used one part of the container to push the mouse into the other. The box went into a small trash bag Kate tied securely
. Then she put the sealed bag into the trash can. The can was moved into the closet to wait until Keith and the girls could bury the rodent. She closed the closet door so the cat couldn't do any further investigation and made a pass through the bathroom to wash her hands.

The couch looked inviting, but Kate realized she could darken the bedroom much better than the living room. Besides, her migraine meds were upstairs.

"Come on, cat. Bed is calling us."

As she climbed higher, however, she decided it was mind over matter. The headache would only get worse if she fed into it. Lying down would simply make it easier for her to think about nothing but the headache.

"Except I'm only thinking about the headache," she said to the cat, who now sat at the end of the bed, watching as she pulled her prescription bottle from the nightstand. She shook a white pill into her hand, then moved to the bathroom for a cup of water.

She pulled closed the heavy draperies, planning to rest for ten minutes or so to give the medication a bit of a jump start.

"A short lie-down. And try to keep the throttle down on that outboard motor purr of yours. Okay?" she said to the cat. But when she turned back to the bed, the animal was nowhere to be seen. Puzzled, she turned to the open door. That's when she heard it coming from the staircase.

Part groan, part meow, and all frightened. What had the cat gotten into now?

Newsletter Tip: Recycle with Purpose

A favorite old plate or antique dish is a perfect place for loose change and small items that collect on dressers or nightstands. Once children get to school age, you can introduce them to this idea by giving them one of their baby plates or bowls to use in their own room to store small daily items. An old platter can be used atop a dresser or in the bathroom to display collectibles or small bottles like lotion or liquid soap.

* * *

When she got back to the stairs, the cat sat statue-straight halfway down, in what Kate quickly recognized as a nervous pose. His one eye was trained on the living room and environs.

"
What's the matter?" she asked the cat, speaking softly. He turned to look at her but didn't twitch a whisker otherwise.

She circled around the animal on the step and continued down the flight of stairs. The cat decided to match her pace but scrambled around the kitchen counter and hid on its short side when they got into the kitchen.

"Are you hungry? Your food is in the utility, silly." Kate walked to the utility room door but felt unnerved by the animal's behavior. When she turned back to call the cat, the feline crouched low to the floor, almost as if hiding and using the cabinets as a shield.

"
What's wrong, fella?" Kate retraced her steps and bent to stroke the soft head, aware of the stressed state of those pointed, orange ears. Alert to any sound.

At that moment, the utility door opened wider, and Timothy stood at the threshold. He had changed from his earlier khakis, now clad even more casually in a dark blue running suit. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet.

The cat was an orange and gold blur, streaking to hide between the chair legs under the kitchen table.

Timothy
's face held an intense look, like he had to hurry off to a more important engagement.

"
Hey, did you come in through the garage? I guess I didn't check for objects on the ground, and it bounced back open. Do you have some more questions? I have the beginnings of a migraine, so I might not be the best help in the world right now." The entire time Kate babbled, Timothy remained quiet, completely opposite of the way he'd acted at the Collier house. Her spidey sense was tingling, but she figured she needed to wait to see what was up. There was no way she could outrun him to the door.

That
's when it hit her. What she'd been trying to remember. When they were in the media room, she'd said Meg was texting from the master bedroom, and his gaze had shot up in that direction. But he'd told her he'd never been in the house before—no, said he'd never been invited. Knowing the master suite was in the opposite end of the house, however, meant he had been there before. The night he killed Lila.

She caught sight of the coffeepot in her peripheral vision. He obviously noticed how her gaze shifted because he stepped between her and the glass pot.

"I didn't know you were a runner." Kate tried to pretend everything was normal, despite the stress adding to her headache. "Is my street part of your regular route?"

He shook his head.
"I work out every day, then do five miles. Change my route all the time to keep things fresh." His hands were jammed deep in the front pockets of his running pants, and his eyes shifted back and forth across the room, taking in every nook and cranny. "People always take me for some wimpy secretary, but I'm not."

Okay. Now what?
Suddenly even more uneasy, she prodded, "Do you have some more questions about places you want to consider moving to? Or did your interview today go well?"

"
I planned it all out. I did everything right. I gave up trips and perks, and look where it got me. Body language gave me away. One little flick of the eyes—"

Kate took a step back and tried to divert his attention.
"Now where did that cat go to? I need to feed him. Vet's orders." She tried to laugh, but the effect sounded high and thin to her ears. The cat was nowhere to be seen.
Damn cat. Really picked a fine time to act truly feline. Get in here and trip this guy or something.
"I'm not sure how I can help…"

"
Can I get a glass of water? I'm feeling a little dehydrated."

"
Oh, sure." Kate crossed to the sink and reached into one of the small side cabinets for a glass. She sensed movement behind her. Startled, she turned just as an orange blur leapt like a furry lightning bolt. The cat landed right in the middle of Timothy's back, claws sunk deep into his skin, right through his shirt.

Kate took several steps back. Before she could turn and run, Timothy lunged for her and grabbed her arm, wrenching it as he twisted trying to unseat the cat. Kate
's feline protector, however, was on for the full ride, hisses punctuating the man's curses.

"
Let me go! Stop!" Kate finally got loose, but Timothy screamed. "I'll fillet this damned beast."

She heard a metallic snapping sound and whirled. He held a heavy hunting knife with a folding blade that had been hidden in one of his pockets. The final missing link clicked into place, and Kate realized this time the murderer brought his own weapon.

She raced down the hall, heading for her office with Timothy only a step behind. Her cell phone was in there. On the desk where she set it down to move the mouse. She got to the room first, and the cat raced in ahead of her. It wasn't a heavy door, but she tried to force it closed. Timothy pushed harder, and she believed him when he said he worked out each day. Bracing her body between the half-closed door and wall, she tried to use herself as a lever, but Timothy negated that effort by slipping in the opening and letting go. They were both trapped in the room.

The mighty scream seemed to come out of nowhere. The cat jumped onto the
countertop, then launched himself at Timothy's chest, using a front paw to slash down from left cheekbone to chin. Timothy raised the knife, the blade aimed for the feline's body.

Instinct took over. Kate grabbed the roll of plastic wrap ordered for reserve and left by the door. She swung at Timothy
's stomach.
Whoosh!
The action knocked out his wind and propelled him into the lower cabinets. The knife remained firmly gripped in his right hand. As the cat fell free, she swung again, striking the weapon and sending the blade ricocheting off the walls and furniture. It skidded to a stop near the front of the closet, and Kate scooped it into her left hand. He snatched up the cat and flung the heroic animal against the wall. The cat didn't move again.

Kate screamed.
"No!"

Timothy was again between her and the exit door, so she scurried toward the cell phone. He threw her laptop, sending the phone clattering behind one of the Rubber Maid drawer towers. Her lifeline was unreachable. He would get her first. Could she kill him? Hell yes, she could.

But the moment's hesitation cost her. He picked up the desk chair and heaved it at her head. When she ducked, he dove for her feet and pulled her to the ground. She twisted and bucked, trying to get away or hurt him with the weapon. But he pinned her knife hand with one leg. He straddled her chest and wrapped strong hands around her throat.

Kate swept her free hand in a wide semi-circle, desperately hoping to find something, anything, to use for attack—to stop this madman. She saw the cat drag himself to his feet, and she opened her mouth to scream again, to tell him to stay down, but
she couldn't produce more than a strangled gargle. Nothing, however, stopped the wailing war cry the cat made on its third flying attempt. From Kate's prone position she saw the cat land on their tormentor's back between his shoulder blades, digging claws into the skin at the back of his neck. Kate felt the thump when the cat hit Timothy, the energy thudding through the man's body and into her stomach, the impact shifting their bodies several inches on the wood floor. But looking into Timothy's fevered eyes, she knew he hadn't felt a thing. The killer was too pumped to let the pain get through to him. He kept up the maniacal grin and increased the stranglehold on her neck.

The pressure was steady on her windpipe, but she kept her free hand moving. She knew she wasn
't strong enough to push him off, especially one-handed. She had to find a weapon. Something. Anything.

A dark curtain slowly descended across her vision. As her sight faded, her hearing took on a muffled quality. All she could think about at that point was trying to get the cat to give it up, to hide and live. Protect himself. But voice was a thing of the past. Her vision was cloudy at best, and intermittent. She
'd never realized how long it took to strangle someone. But her hand kept moving. Her fingers kept searching. Suddenly she felt her fingertips connect with the lip of the plastic bag that lined the DIY litter box.

Kate pulled the trash bag. Inched the box closer. She willed herself to hang on just a second longer. Finally she felt litter. The big chunk at the side was clumped from cat urine. She grabbed the handful of pungent, coagulated clay and sand mixture and drove the ammonia-laced mess upward, into his eyes and plugging up his nose.

"What the hell!" He pulled back in surprise. That was all she needed. Jerking her other hand free, Kate slammed the knife blade into his abdomen, using both hands to drive it all the way to the hilt.

* * *

The ride to the hospital with the paramedics was fairly uneventful. She was just bruised, and Timothy left via another ambulance. Kate wasn't surprised when Constable Banks brought Keith and Meg into her emergency room cubical just as the checkup concluded.

"
I've already filled them in on all the details of what's happened," Banks said. "Thought you might want to save your voice for a while."

"
What little I have," Kate whispered. "Thank you."

"
Thank goodness you had that cat," Meg said. "He deserves double tuna every morning."

Kate nodded. Definitely true. Good thing no one listened to her when she said the McKenzie family didn
't need a pet.