The Witch of Rosemary Lane

Chapter 2

“Cats sneak around at night. Just because you don’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t around.”

“Have you had any problems with the cats damaging property or creating disturbances?”

“Look, I don’t know what the cats are doing at night and I don’t care. I want them gone and I expect you to do your job and get rid of them.”

Connor decided there was no point in trying to get more information out of her. It was obvious that she just had it in for the cats, regardless of whether they were creating a nuisance.

“Okay, I think I’ve got the picture. Will you allow me to come back next week and set up some humane traps around your yard?”

“Next week? You can’t wait until next week!”

“Monday is the soonest I can set them up. We’re required to check traps every twenty-four hours and the department isn’t open during the weekend.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“I imagine it’s a matter of budget constraints.”

“I am authorizing you to set up the traps now and leave them until Monday. You don’t need to check them until then.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can. It’s my property and I’m giving you authorization.”

“I’m afraid not, ma’am. I understand that you want this handled expeditiously, though, so I’d better speak to Miss Desilva and complete my investigation before I have to call it quits for the day. I’ll check with your other neighbors, too, to see if they’ve been having problems.”

“What neighbors? The only other houses out here are the crazy cat lady herself and the senile old coot at the end of the street, and he’s no use.”

“Could you tell me what his name is?”

“George Daniels, but you’re wasting your time talking to him. The old p*****t’s completely dopey over Felina. God only knows what she does to keep him wrapped around her little finger.”

Connor had the distinct impression that Carol Pettigrast spent entirely too much time imagining what Felina might be doing with Mr. Daniels. He tried to shift the conversation in another direction.

“No need to worry. I’ll also be checking out the property where the cats are and speaking to Miss Desilva.”

“Look, mister… what did you say your name was?”

“Connor Dawson.”

“Look, Connor. You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be. There’s no need to talk to Felina Desilva.” She gave him a plastic smile and reached out to put a hand on his arm. “I’m not trying to put you to all that trouble. Just come back Monday and set the traps.”

“There’s plenty of time to talk to her today. I need to look into the hoarding situation you mentioned, anyway.”

“Never mind the hoarding. Just set the traps.”

“Animal Services is obligated to investigate animal cruelty. We take reports of animal hoarding very seriously.”

Mrs. Pettigrast’s fingers tightened on his arm. He wondered if she could feel that the tips of her acrylic nails were digging into his skin.

“I’m not making a report about hoarding. There’s no need for you to investigate.”

“Is there a reason you don’t want me to speak with Miss Desilva?”

“Don’t take that tone with me. There’s no reason you need to talk to her, but if you do, for God’s sake, keep your pecker in your pants. That’s why the last guy never did anything about the cats. I’m not going to stand for city employees refusing to do their jobs. If you’re not back Monday with traps, I’m going to the mayor’s office.”

Connor shook her hand off his arm and walked back to his truck without saying another word. He pretended not to hear her when she shouted after him, “Are you going to go over there?”

After he closed the door of his truck, he realized he’d slammed it. He started the engine and backed out before Mrs. Pettigrast had an opportunity to follow him. The woman was beyond offensive. She was revolting. In a five-minute conversation, she had managed to showcase cruelty, pettiness, rudeness, arrogance, jealousy, and a vulgar preoccupation with other people’s s*x lives. It was nauseating to know that she was thinking about his ‘pecker’ and would no doubt be imagining him with Felina Desilva.

When he came to the last house on the street, he realized that he hadn’t thought about what to do next. He had just been driving away from Carol Pettigrast. If he let the foul-minded harpy get under his skin, he was going to spend the rest of the weekend thinking about her, and she wasn’t worth it. The best thing he could do was go on about his business, and he might as well start by talking to George Daniels.

Mr. Daniels’ house was a tidy little green and white clapboard cottage set back at the end of a long dirt drive. A yellow hound dog was laying in the sun in the middle of the driveway and didn’t look like it was inclined to move, so he parked partway up the drive and started across the grass to the front porch. The dog raised its head a couple of inches as he passed it, gave a desultory ‘woof,’ and returned to its nap.

An old red pickup was parked beside the house, but nobody came to the door when Connor knocked. He’d given up and was stepping off the porch when he heard the door open behind him. A white-haired, round-faced man peered out through the screen door. His faded blue eyes were magnified behind the wire-frame bifocals he was pushing up the bridge of his nose. When he had given Connor the once-over, he opened the screen door.

“Don’t be in such a rush to run off, son. I cain’t get to the door fast as I used to. Come on in.”

“Oh, that’s okay, sir. I won’t take up too much of your time. You’re George Daniels?”

“That’d be me. Now that we got that settled, who’re you?”

“Sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Connor Dawson. I’m with the Stanwick Department of Animal Services. I’m investigating a complaint about some cats in the neighborhood.”

Mr. Daniels rolled his eyes. “Oh, Lord, not another ‘un. Lemme guess, son. Ya been talkin’ to that Pettigrast woman.”

“I’m not at liberty to say who made the complaint—”

“Ya ain’t gotta say. Ain’t nobody else’d call the law on a bunch of cats what’s mindin’ their own dang business. That blasted woman wouldn’ even know they’s there if she weren’t always creepin’ around and peepin’ through the bushes.”

Connor didn’t have a hard time imagining Mrs. Pettigrast peeping through the bushes.

“But you seem to know about the cats, Mr. Daniels.”

“Course I know bout ‘em, but it ain’t by sneakin’ around in the shrubs if that’s whatchyer implyin.’” Mr. Daniels stuck his chin out defiantly. “I have lunch with Miss Desilva at her place every Wednesday. By invitation.”

“I see.” Connor was surprised by the fleeting jealousy he felt toward a man who was probably old enough to be his grandfather.

Mr. Daniels continued. “Them cats is the nicest-behaved bunch of animals I ever hope to see. Got better manners than folks what go round snoopin’ on their neighbors, that’s fer dang sure.”

Connor caught himself nodding in agreement. A flock of vultures fighting over a carcass would have better manners than Mrs. Pettigrast.

“I understand what you’re saying. I’m an animal person myself. I’m just doing my job to follow up on the complaint. So, uh, just to be clear, could I get your permission to place a few humane traps on your property?”

“No, ya ain’t gettin’ my permission! For cryin’ out loud, son, ain’tcha heard a word I said?”

“Yes, sir, and I’m not trying to change your mind. I just had to ask the question. It’s part of the procedure I have to follow. I appreciate your time. You have a good evening.”

“Alright, you take care now. But don’t lemme catchya puttin’ no traps on my property.”

“Yes, sir. Got it. No traps.”

“And don’t you go hasslin’ Miss Desilva, neither. She’s a nice lady.”

“I’ll give her every courtesy, Mr. Daniels.”

Mr. Daniels nodded solemnly and stepped back into the house. The screen door squeaked shut as Connor walked back to his truck, but when he glanced back, the old man was still watching through the screen. Mr. Daniels raised a hand in farewell and Connor waved back. The dog didn’t bother to raise its head, not even when Connor started the truck.

Connor glanced at his watch. It was only a little after four o’clock. He would have preferred to take a little time to clear his head before he talked to Felina again, but he couldn’t justify delaying the conversation just because her loathsome neighbor had rattled him.

When Connor returned to Felina’s house, he found her sitting on the steps of her porch with her big, black cat—Janus, she’d said his name was—sitting on the step beside her. She rose as he neared the porch. He felt a smile forming and realized that he was pleased that the magnetism he felt from her was unsullied by Mrs. Pettigrast’s nasty innuendos.

“Hello again, Miss Desilva. I—”

She held up a hand to interrupt him. “Please, Connor, we agreed on ‘Felina.’”

“Of course, Miss—of course, Felina. I’m sorry about that. I guess I’m a little distracted right now.”

“No apologies are needed. I suppose you’ve spoken to Carol? You seem to have held up rather well, all things considered. May I offer you a drink?”

One corner of Felina’s lips quirked up just enough to suggest that the offer of a drink was meant both as a courtesy and as a subtle comment on her neighbor’s incivility.

“No, thank you, but I do appreciate the offer.”

“Well, I suppose you’d like to talk to me now.” She sat down on the steps again.

“Well, I did speak to the complainant and I’m afraid your cats are the subject of the complaint. The basis of the complaint is that you have more cats than are allowed under the municipal code. There’s a limit of three cats per household.”

“Janus is only one cat.”

“The complainant claims that you have dozens of cats. I don’t know about that, but I did see more than three cats when I was here earlier.”

She nodded. “There were more than three cats here, but that doesn’t mean that they are my cats. They like to visit.”

“Do you know whose cats they are?”

“Some belong to people on the other side of the park. Others belong to themselves.”

“The ones that belong to people on the other side of the park, do they have ID tags?”

“One of them does. Not the others.”

“Then how do you know where they live?”

“I just do.”

“You must have some specific reason for saying so.”

She shrugged. “Didn’t Carol tell you that I’m a crazy cat lady?”

It wasn’t an answer, but Connor decided to let it pass for the time being. “You said the others belong to themselves. Do you mean that they’re strays?”

“No, if they were strays, I would take them to the humane society so they could find homes.”

“I don’t think I’m following you. They don’t belong to the people on the other side of the park, but they’re not strays?”

She looked at him as though he were becoming tiresome. He hated to see her looking at him that way, but he had the welfare of the cats to consider.

“They don’t belong to the people on the other side of the park because that’s not where they live. They’re not strays because they aren’t looking for someone to live with. They want to live independently.”

“It’s not safe for them to be roaming around like that. They could be hit by a car. I nearly hit the cat that ran out in front of me earlier.”