What God and Cats Know
I smelled the blood before I had a chance to look for it, the
tangy dense scent landing on the back of my tongue. Opening
the office door, I looked at the man sitting in the chair opposite
my desk. He was clean, dressed smartly in a white dress shirt
and dark blue pants. The plump fellow didn’t get up as I
approached the desk, walking around the chipped wooden
edges I had unsuccessfully tried to hide with walnut oil.
“Ms. Desjardin.” Harry Cloches nodded as I sat down in the old
oaken chair. “Sorry for being early, but I wanted to get the
information I requested as soon as possible.” He waved at the
door. “It was open when I arrived, so I thought I’d wait in here.”
Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. “I hope you don’t
mind.”
My nose twitched as I rocked back, urging a creak from the
worn old metal. A small box rested on the left side of the desk,
something that hadn’t been there when I had gone upstairs last
night after locking the doors and checking the windows, as per
my routine. The brown paper wrapper encased the palm-sized
box fully but moisture was already beginning to fight through the
paper.
Picking up the file folder from the top of the small pile to my
right I opened it up, spreading the black and white photographs
across the desk in a half-circle display. Cloches leaned forward,
his pink tongue darting out across dry lips as he squinted to see
the images.
“Your wife is not cheating on you. She’s actually working a
second job.”
His forehead furrowed. “A second job?”
“Your ten-year anniversary is coming up in a few months. She’s
saving up for a cruise.” I could smell the nervous sweat on him,
mixed with the scent of another woman, post-coitus. It took a
concentrated effort to stop my nose from twitching.
“Oh.” Reaching into one pocket he pulled out a handkerchief
and wiped his face dry, folding the fabric square up and tucking
it away. “I just thought...”
I sighed, trying not to show my disgust with the man. “She’s not
having an affair, Mr. Cloches. Your fears were unfounded and
your marriage secure.” At least on her end.
Pulling the typed invoice out from the bottom of the file, I
pushed it across the table at him. “This is my bill. Please send
the balance due within thirty days.”
The bald man mopped his face again, the damp fabric barely
able to contain the moisture now. It stank of fear. I spied a
small trace of lipstick just below his right ear. “It was... it looked
like...” He shook his head, trying to grasp the reality I had
tossed in his face.
Getting to my feet I motioned toward the door, urging the
overweight man out of his chair. He staggered to his feet,
staring at my bill as if I’d tossed a live cobra into his hands.
“She’s not having an affair, which is what you contracted me to
investigate and find out. If you wish to engage my services for
another matter we’ll have to discuss it later.” I glanced at my
watch. “I’m sorry, but I have another client due any minute.” My
cloying smile accompanied him out into the hallway toward the
front door. “You understand, privacy issues and all that.” I
moved closer, herding him out the door. “Good day to you.”
Sitting at my desk I put my fingertips together and leant forward
while I stared at the box. You don’t just rip a mysterious box
open without inspecting it, especially when there’s something
dead inside.
The brown paper covered the box with enough clear tape
securing it to cover the CN Tower and then some. It wasn’t
enough to stop a small leak in one corner, just beginning to
work through the tape and paper to spread across my desk.
The crimson stain had begun to work upward as well, edging
toward the top of the box. What wasn’t there was as important
as what was.
No return address. No stamps. So not only was it a nasty
mysterious package, the person dropping it off had managed to
carefully pick my front door lock, sneak in and drop it on my
desk, leaving before I arrived, which in itself was quite a feat,
considering I had been twenty feet away in my bedroom at the
top of the stairs.
Opening my desk drawer I pulled out my MacGyver knife—well,
technically it was a Swiss Army knife, but had enough gadgets
and things hanging off that I had renamed it after the first use.
The blade slipped easily under the paper and sliced clean
around the box as I peeled away the artificial skin. When it fell
away I stared at the cardboard box and the larger scarlet stain
by one corner. It wasn’t human blood. I knew that scent
intimately.
I flipped the lid up, holding my breath as the stagnant air
escaped into the room. It stung my nostrils, bringing back old
memories of early-morning hunts and of fresh-cut grass wet
with morning dew.
The rabbit’s foot lay on a bed of paper towels, the white fur
stained with fresh blood. This wasn’t your regular rabbit’s foot,
clean cut with a dainty little chain secured at one end with
nothing at all to remind you this once was a living creature.
This was a fresh kill. The nails were dirty with soil that smelt of
fresh grass and hay, the foot suddenly shattered by a hatchet
that cut through bone and sinew with a single blow. I sniffed the
foot instinctively, trying to place the rabbit. It wasn’t a wild one.
It had been born in a hutch and died in a barn. Also, I knew
exactly which barn.
The Farm. This was a call to come home.
Great. As if my day hadn’t started off with enough bullshit.
tangy dense scent landing on the back of my tongue. Opening
the office door, I looked at the man sitting in the chair opposite
my desk. He was clean, dressed smartly in a white dress shirt
and dark blue pants. The plump fellow didn’t get up as I
approached the desk, walking around the chipped wooden
edges I had unsuccessfully tried to hide with walnut oil.
“Ms. Desjardin.” Harry Cloches nodded as I sat down in the old
oaken chair. “Sorry for being early, but I wanted to get the
information I requested as soon as possible.” He waved at the
door. “It was open when I arrived, so I thought I’d wait in here.”
Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. “I hope you don’t
mind.”
My nose twitched as I rocked back, urging a creak from the
worn old metal. A small box rested on the left side of the desk,
something that hadn’t been there when I had gone upstairs last
night after locking the doors and checking the windows, as per
my routine. The brown paper wrapper encased the palm-sized
box fully but moisture was already beginning to fight through the
paper.
Picking up the file folder from the top of the small pile to my
right I opened it up, spreading the black and white photographs
across the desk in a half-circle display. Cloches leaned forward,
his pink tongue darting out across dry lips as he squinted to see
the images.
“Your wife is not cheating on you. She’s actually working a
second job.”
His forehead furrowed. “A second job?”
“Your ten-year anniversary is coming up in a few months. She’s
saving up for a cruise.” I could smell the nervous sweat on him,
mixed with the scent of another woman, post-coitus. It took a
concentrated effort to stop my nose from twitching.
“Oh.” Reaching into one pocket he pulled out a handkerchief
and wiped his face dry, folding the fabric square up and tucking
it away. “I just thought...”
I sighed, trying not to show my disgust with the man. “She’s not
having an affair, Mr. Cloches. Your fears were unfounded and
your marriage secure.” At least on her end.
Pulling the typed invoice out from the bottom of the file, I
pushed it across the table at him. “This is my bill. Please send
the balance due within thirty days.”
The bald man mopped his face again, the damp fabric barely
able to contain the moisture now. It stank of fear. I spied a
small trace of lipstick just below his right ear. “It was... it looked
like...” He shook his head, trying to grasp the reality I had
tossed in his face.
Getting to my feet I motioned toward the door, urging the
overweight man out of his chair. He staggered to his feet,
staring at my bill as if I’d tossed a live cobra into his hands.
“She’s not having an affair, which is what you contracted me to
investigate and find out. If you wish to engage my services for
another matter we’ll have to discuss it later.” I glanced at my
watch. “I’m sorry, but I have another client due any minute.” My
cloying smile accompanied him out into the hallway toward the
front door. “You understand, privacy issues and all that.” I
moved closer, herding him out the door. “Good day to you.”
Sitting at my desk I put my fingertips together and leant forward
while I stared at the box. You don’t just rip a mysterious box
open without inspecting it, especially when there’s something
dead inside.
The brown paper covered the box with enough clear tape
securing it to cover the CN Tower and then some. It wasn’t
enough to stop a small leak in one corner, just beginning to
work through the tape and paper to spread across my desk.
The crimson stain had begun to work upward as well, edging
toward the top of the box. What wasn’t there was as important
as what was.
No return address. No stamps. So not only was it a nasty
mysterious package, the person dropping it off had managed to
carefully pick my front door lock, sneak in and drop it on my
desk, leaving before I arrived, which in itself was quite a feat,
considering I had been twenty feet away in my bedroom at the
top of the stairs.
Opening my desk drawer I pulled out my MacGyver knife—well,
technically it was a Swiss Army knife, but had enough gadgets
and things hanging off that I had renamed it after the first use.
The blade slipped easily under the paper and sliced clean
around the box as I peeled away the artificial skin. When it fell
away I stared at the cardboard box and the larger scarlet stain
by one corner. It wasn’t human blood. I knew that scent
intimately.
I flipped the lid up, holding my breath as the stagnant air
escaped into the room. It stung my nostrils, bringing back old
memories of early-morning hunts and of fresh-cut grass wet
with morning dew.
The rabbit’s foot lay on a bed of paper towels, the white fur
stained with fresh blood. This wasn’t your regular rabbit’s foot,
clean cut with a dainty little chain secured at one end with
nothing at all to remind you this once was a living creature.
This was a fresh kill. The nails were dirty with soil that smelt of
fresh grass and hay, the foot suddenly shattered by a hatchet
that cut through bone and sinew with a single blow. I sniffed the
foot instinctively, trying to place the rabbit. It wasn’t a wild one.
It had been born in a hutch and died in a barn. Also, I knew
exactly which barn.
The Farm. This was a call to come home.
Great. As if my day hadn’t started off with enough bullshit.
Excerpt One