The Talking Cat's Deadly Secret

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2

I gripped the note tight.

Don't trust the cat.

Henry had known all along.

I tucked the note into the pocket against my chest and turned toward the living room.

My mother, Cara Henson, sat on the couch holding a cup of hot tea.

The moment she saw me, she set the cup down, her eyes going soft.

“Char, why do you look so pale?”

She came over and reached out to feel my forehead.

I tilted my head away.

Her hand froze, then withdrew, and she sighed.

“You poor thing, always so hard on yourself. Henry's gone, and it hurts. Mom knows.”

She pulled me down beside her and lowered her voice.

“Your mother-in-law was in there tearing into you just now, wasn't she? I heard it.”

“She wasn't.” I said.

“Don't cover for her.” Cara patted the back of my hand, aching for me.

“She's been mean her whole life. Henry had something wrong with him, and she knew for ages. She just hid it from you on purpose.”

My heart jumped.

Those words were exactly the same as the ones she'd used to work on me in my last life.

Last time, I listened to her, and that same night I threw my mother-in-law out.

The next day, they took her in for questioning.

“What was wrong with him?” I asked.

Cara's eyes flickered.

“His heart wasn't good. Your mother-in-law brewed him those bitter medicines every day and never let you see.”

I took the three receipts out of my pocket and laid them flat on the coffee table.

“Is this what you mean?”

Cara glanced at them.

“Yes, that's it. Look at the stuff she bought. Is that what you'd give a normal, healthy person to drink?”

“How do you know that's the kind of drink he was having?” I stared into her eyes.

Her smile froze.

“I came by the house that day and smelled it.”

“Which day was that?”

“It was……” She stalled.

“Aunt Sarah Henson told you, didn't she.” I finished the sentence for her.

Cara looked up, startled.

“Your Aunt Sarah cares about you too. She was afraid your mother-in-law was mistreating you, that's the only reason she told me.”

“Char, take your mom's advice. This house belongs to you and Henry. Your mother-in-law, the way she is now, she's going to bring real trouble down on you sooner or later.”

“Just put her out. Out of sight, out of mind.”

I put the receipts back in my pocket.

“All right. I understand.”

I stood up and walked toward the kitchen.

Aunt Sarah was washing cups.

Her back was to me.

I stepped in and walked right up behind her.

“Aunt Sarah.”

Her shoulders jerked and the cup nearly slipped from her hands.

She shut off the faucet fast and turned around.

“Char, how do you move so quietly? You startled me.”

Her hand was hidden behind her back.

I fixed my eyes on that hand.

“What are you washing?”

“Cups.” She shifted a step, awkward, trying to block the sink.

“These are the ones your mother-in-law just drank from. I was rinsing them while I was at it.”

“Is that so.”

I didn't reach for them.

I turned and called into the living room.

“Inkblot, come here.”

There was a rustle from under the couch.

The cat walked in, tail high.

It looked up at me, as if waiting for my next order.

“Smell them.” I pointed at the sink.

Aunt Sarah's face went white.

“Char, what are you doing? What could a cat possibly smell out?”

She tried to grab the cat, and I blocked her.

Inkblot jumped up onto the counter and leaned close to the two half-washed cups in the sink.

It sniffed carefully.

“This cup has a bitter taste. Henry drank from it.”

It leaned toward the other one.

“The other cup has a sweet taste. Genevieve drank from it.”

Aunt Sarah let out a clear breath of relief, and her smile came back.

“See, I told you it was the one your mother-in-law used. Look at you, suspecting everyone now.”

She reached for the cup with the bitter taste.

“Since Henry drank from it, I'll put it away for you. Something to remember him by.”

“Wait.”

I pressed my hand down over hers.

“Aunt Sarah, didn't you hear what Inkblot said?”

I looked into her eyes.

“It only said he drank from it. Not that he was the last one to drink from it.”

Aunt Sarah's hand froze.

“That night, what time did you leave?” I asked.

Her gaze wandered. “I left a little after eight. I stayed with you the whole time. I didn't go until you were asleep.”

“Is that so?”

I let go of her hand, slowly.

Last life, the night after my husband was buried, Aunt Sarah had held my hand and said,

“Char, don't grieve too hard. Before your husband died, he was out in the yard calling your name.”

Back then I thought she was comforting me.

Only now did I understand.

That night, I was upstairs in the bedroom, out cold.

If Aunt Sarah left a little after eight,

how could she know what Henry called out in the yard, before he went into the bathroom?

I looked at that gentle face of hers, and a chill ran all through me.

Night.

I lay in bed, wide awake.

Then, out of the dark, a voice came.

“She was right outside the door.”

I sat up.

Inkblot was crouched in front of Henry's funeral portrait, its eyes glowing a faint green in the moonlight.

In a low voice, it repeated the same words.

“She was right outside the door.”