Mr Bigelow Smells a Rat Read online

  MR. BIGELOW SMELLS A RAT

  A CURIOUS CAT MYSTERY

  by

  Leigh Selfman

  &

  Sylvia Selfman

  Copyright 2019 Leigh Selfman & Sylvia Selfman

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without permission from the publisher or writer, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  PENELOPE

  I’m sitting in my den – which is actually more of a closet than a den – going over my bills and it all seems pretty hopeless. I’m never going to be able to open my Bookstore Cafe at this rate. Not with my car in the shape it’s in and the power bill which skyrocketed last month thanks to an ancient refrigerator I can’t afford to replace.

  Oh well.

  I sigh as I get up and look out the window and take in the view of the brick wall across the alley. Somehow, things aren’t going exactly the way I planned.

  Taking a deep breath, I go back over to open the last envelope in the stack of day’s mail. Another bill probably. I glance at the return address on the envelope. It reads Hastings and Hastings, Attorneys at Law.

  Great. Now I’m probably being sued for something. My mind races as I try to think of any crimes I may have committed recently. Does jaywalking count?

  I hope not.

  Nothing else comes to mind except for that vintage jacket I wore to a party the-week-before-last, which my best pal, Sara, called a fashion crime. I figure this letter probably has something to do with my landlord raising my rent again. Which is not good news. For a tiny studio with an even tinier kitchen and bathroom, the rent he charges is the real crime.

  Steeling myself for bad news, I slit the envelope open with my fingernail.

  “Ouch!” I scream as the sharp end of the envelope cuts into my flesh. I put my finger in my mouth to ease the pain – and just then, the doorbell rings.

  “Honey, open up!” Jeremy, my boyfriend, calls out to me.

  I get up and open the door to see that Jeremy’s arms are laden down with brown packages containing delicious-smelling Chinese food from our favorite neighborhood takeout.

  The piquant smell of the orange chicken with the garlicky sweet and sour sauce makes my mouth water. I relieve him of the bags and carry them over to the painted-wood coffee table that sits in front of my fold-up sofa bed. (Did I say my studio is small? Yes. It is sofa-bed-small.)

  “Yum,” I say as I put the bag down on the coffee table and then run to grab some plates and utensils. “I’m starved.”

  I grab one of the eggrolls and take a warm crunchy bite. At the same time, I grab the brown paper bag that the Chinese food came in – which is now dark on the bottom with grease. I see that the lawyer’s letter has gotten stuck to the bottom of it. In my rush to taste the food, everything else has been completely erased from my mind – including my fear of a lawsuit.

  But now that I’ve had a few good bites of food, I’m able to face the letter with more aplomb. I open it up and read.

  Then I scream.

  “Honey, what is it?” Jeremy asks.

  Wordlessly, I hand him the letter. He takes it and reads aloud:

  “Dear Penelope Palmer. We regret to inform you that your Great-Aunt Agnes Summers Worthington has passed away. As per her wishes, you are the heir to her estate, including her house on Montclair Lane in the town of Bridgewater.”

  “Ahh!!” I scream again – unable to stop myself.

  Jeremy studies me. “Are you screaming due to sadness over your great-aunt’s passing? Or joy over inheriting her house? Or do you need me to Heimlich you?”

  “Maybe all of the above,” I say grabbing the letter again and scanning through it. “I do feel bad for poor old Aunt Agnes, even though I didn’t really know her. In fact…I’m not even sure that I ever met her.”

  “And you’re obviously not choking, so…you’re happy?”

  I nod in disbelief. “Yes. I mean, I’ve been living in a two-foot by two-foot apartment. And here, Great Aunt Agnes is leaving me her entire house. It has to be bigger than my studio, right? I mean, they wouldn’t really call a studio apartment an estate, would they?”

  “Unlikely,” Jeremy says. “So where is Bridgewater?”

  “No idea,” I say. “I have to call Messrs. Hastings, Hastings and Hastings to find out.”

  “I think it was just “Hasting and Hastings,” he says.

  I look at him. “But I mean, if I have to move, you’ll come with me, right?”

  He glances over at me and I detect hesitation. He bites into his eggroll and talks through a mouthful off food. “Of course. Sure thing,” he mumbles, as though by obscuring his words with cabbage and sprouts they won’t carry the same significance.

  Or maybe that’s not it at all. Maybe I’m just reading into things.

  PENELOPE

  (2 Months Later)

  I hear the doorbell ring just as I’m pulling my new dress over my head, but unfortunately, my earring catches on the silky fabric and I’m trapped. “Just a minute,” I call out, trying to untangle myself without ripping anything vital—like my earlobe or the dress I’d just spent a week’s salary on. “I’m coming!”

  I hurry down the echoing hall, struck again by the beauty of this gorgeous house that my great-aunt left to me in her will. I’m still baffled by the fact that she wanted me to have it. Especially as I’d never met her before. Especially since I wasn’t her only living relative – she had other, even closer relatives – like her sister’s daughter who really, really, REALLY wanted the place.

  In fact, she wanted it so much that she stormed into the lawyer’s office just as I was signing the papers and demanded it. She claimed she was the legal heir and that I’d obviously manipulated Great-Aunt Agnes into giving it to me.

  The fact that I’d never even met Great-Aunt Agnes didn’t seem to faze her whatsoever. But as I watched distant cousin-in-law Selena scream her beautiful head off, I realized just why Aunt Agnes might not have wanted her to have it. The girl really had a temper. And a definite mean streak, judging by all the nasty names she was calling me. Though of course it was unlikely she’d ever have shown that side to Aunt Agnes.

  But who knew? Maybe Aunt Agnes was as wise as she looked in her photos and could see through Selena’s façade.

  In any case, for some reason or other—I know not why – Great-Aunt Agnes had wanted me to have the house.

  I still hadn’t even gone through everything in the place— as unfortunately, Great-Aunt Agnes (or GAA as I’d taken to calling her for short) was a bit of a hoarder. She also had this cat—Mr. Bigelow – a black and white Pixie whose care and feeding was part of the package. I figured that was no big deal—not that I was much of a cat person. But how hard could it be to take care of one feline, right?

  Little did I know.

  Mr. Bigelow would appear at the strangest times and just watch me…with an almost human look on his face. A human look of disappointment, that is. I’d tell my best friend Sara about him on the phone—Sara being a total cat person. But she’d just tell me I was projecting or reading into his look. “Cats are mysterious, wise and fascinating, yes. But he is not disappointed in you,” she said. “Not yet anyway. After all, he barely knows you.”

  Hmm, thanks, I think.

  Sometimes I felt we might really be bonding and other times…well, I wasn’t so sure. Maybe he was just using me for food. I’d catch him watching me and wonder what was going on behind those hypnotic yellow eyes of his. It looked like he was thinking all sorts of complicated thoughts—but of course that was ridiculous. He was probably just thinking how much he’d like one of those squishy cat treat
s.

  In any case, I didn’t have time to wonder about it now. I had a date. It was my first date since moving to town and I just hoped I was ready for it after the breakup with my last boyfriend.

  That had been a bad one. My ex from my old town had planned on moving out here with me. He even flew out here the week after I moved in. But then at the last minute he changed his mind. He refused to actually make the move—even though he had his own advertising business and could live anywhere he pleased. But he chose the city over me. And I chose to live here without him.

  That had been a month ago and I thought I might need more time to heal from the whole miserable mess, but then I ran into this new guy, Rafe.

  I met him, by chance, at the pet store…and it turned out we had the same taste in music and food and movies…so, I figured I’d give it a shot. Plus, he was pretty cute and had a really nice, sweet smile. And he loved animals of all kinds, so how bad could he be?

  I run into the bathroom and take a last glance at myself in the mirror. Then I pick up GAA’s lovely silver and enamel brush and run it through my hair which looks nice and shiny and silky. Except for that one unruly cowlick. I brush it down and I’m good to go.

  “Now be nice, Mr. Bigelow. Okay?” I say as I open the door.

  Mr. Bigelow appears skeptical.

  “You look beautiful,” Rafe says, an appreciative grin on his handsome face.

  His blue eyes twinkle as he looks me over, then he steps inside, bringing the scent of Ralph Lauren Polo with him.

  MR. BIGELOW

  I really don’t know what’s wrong with her. Can’t she see he’s bad news? I look over at her. She’s watching him, a twinkle in her eyes. I know that look. It’s trouble. Especially with this one.

  Just to let him know that I’m not falling for his act, I hiss at him as soon as he steps inside.

  “Mr. Bigelow!” she says and scoops me into her arms. “C’mon, be nice to Rafe.”

  She snuggles me for a second, but I squirm out of her arms and jump onto the floor.

  Rafe? What kind of name is Rafe?

  “Heh, that’s okay,” Rafe says to her. “He’ll warm up to me when he gets to know me better. Animals love me.”

  Even she won’t believe that, I think as I look over at her. But…she’s smiling at him!

  She actually believes him. She never learns.

  I was so relieved when we finally got rid of that last one. It took her forever to realize that he was not for me. And ergo, not for her.

  When she finally did realize it, she was so unhappy that she attempted to snuggle with me every night – pouring her heart out to me. Holding me as she cried, night after night. It was miserable, but I allowed it to a degree – in the hopes that maybe she’d learn a lesson. After all, if she was the one who would be providing my food bowls whilst I protected my old human’s house and things, she needed to get her act together. And I thought maybe she had.

  She said it was going to be just us from now on. Men were awful. And stupid. They lied and couldn’t commit. Cats were so much better.

  True. So true.

  But now, not even 30 food bowls later, she’s already found a new one! And this one’s up to something. I can tell. I just don’t know what. Or why.

  Yet.

  “Yeah, animals love me. I have a dog of my own,” he laughs. “A great big brown and white bulldog. Elway’s his name.”

  Yechh.

  “How cute. I’d love to meet him,” she says.

  “Absolutely.” He looks at his watch. “We better go. Our res is at 8:00.”

  “Okay, bye, snookums” she says in that baby-waby voice she sometimes uses as she rubs my head and strokes behind my ears.

  I look up at her, trying to warn her. Trying to hypnotize her not to go. But she just stands there, leaning down, looking at me so I rub myself around her legs.

  “We really gotta go,” he says.

  She looks at me and pauses for a moment. And for a moment I think she’s going to get it. She’s going to see what I’m trying to tell her. For a moment, I think she’s going to let herself know what she knows.

  But the moment passes, and she stands up. He puts her shawl around her shoulders and they leave. And I sit by the door, thinking.

  This is what I think:

  First, he lied about having a dog. If he had a dog, especially a big smelly bulldog named Elway I would have smelled him. And I didn’t. I smelled no dog and especially no dog named Elway.

  But…and this was the most interesting thing: I did smell something on him. Something strange and vaguely familiar. It was a smell I’ve smelled before though I don’t know where. But I’m quite sure it bodes ill.

  I look at my bowl full of deliciously moist and smelly food and then I go over and lap up a bit. Part of me wants to finish it up right now, but part of me realizes that if I intend to find out just exactly what he’s up to, then I have to do it fast. Before they get back.

  So I take one more tongue-ful of goop, then I hop up on the window sill. I reach up with my paw and unlatch it. Then I push it open just enough and squeeze through.

  And I’m out.

  PENELOPE

  “I’m not sure why Mr. Bigelow is behaving so oddly,” I say to Rafe as we get into his car.

  “It’s okay. Maybe he doesn’t like me. Some cats are that way.”

  I smile but I know he’s not. Mr. Bigelow, though not always the friendliest cat, doesn’t usually hiss at people. I think back to my last boyfriend, Jeremy. When he came out here for a visit, Mr. Bigelow was never affectionate towards him - he never rubbed up against him or jumped on his lap - but he was never out-and-out rude, either.

  In fact the only person Mr. Bigelow ever tolerates—besides myself—is the neighbor to our left. Ben. A guy with curly brown hair and caramel-colored eyes. He always wears a baseball cap and has a big, chocolate lab named Choxie.

  As soon as I think about him, as if by magic, Ben appears. I look over and there he is, walking with Choxie down his driveway.

  I smile and wave. He stops and waves back, then watches me as we drive off.

  For a moment I wonder if Mr. Bigelow knows something I don’t. Then I tell myself not to read too much into things. The cat is just a cat who doesn’t know or care about anything except cat things.

  I look back and for a moment I could swear I see Mr. Bigelow, heading down the street. But I know that’s impossible. He’s locked safely inside the house where I left him.

  MR. BIGELOW

  I watch from behind a bush as they drive off, then I head out, waiting for Ben and Choxie to pass. The night is beautiful. There’s a gentle breeze but it’s quiet. I hear ducks honking in the distance, I look over—there’s a lizard crawling up a tree-- but otherwise there’s just the soft whisper of the wind.

  I breathe in the scents of the night as I prowl the jungle like a king. The Turners are cooking chili. The Radfords are doing laundry with lavender dryer sheets.

  I stop and lift my head. It smells like rain is coming. I’d better hurry.

  I’m not exactly sure where this Rafe person lives but I know it’s near the seedy side of town. I smelled the black tarry smell on his shoes that I recognize from my jaunts down there a few nights ago. So I head down the hill to the waterfront area, passing right by an overflowing dumpster. It’s ripe with a fantastic smell that’s calling my name – so I decide to take a quick detour.

  Gracefully, I leap to the top of the dumpster. And just as I thought. Hot dog!

  A whole hot dog that some human just tossed away. Maybe they dropped it and refused to eat it after that – I know humans are funny that way. But their loss is my gain. It’d be a crime to let something like that go to waste—plus I need the energy for what lies ahead. So I leap into the big garbage bin and land right on top of a cardboard box which enables me to get a better angle on the hotdog without falling in. But just as I lean my head down to nibble it up – I hear a hissing sound that makes me freeze in place.


  I look around. A skinny cat is sitting on the edge of the dumpster, staring at me. He leaps onto a cardboard box right across from me and hisses again. As if to tell me that this is his territory. His hot dog.

  I hiss back and stare at him – I can take him. He’s old and skinny and I can tell he’s a little shaky on his feet. He may have been tough in his day but not anymore.

  I look down at the hotdog. I’m about to start tearing into it – but I see him staring at it so desperately, that I do something unheard of. For me anyway. I back off.

  I wouldn’t normally give in this way – it’s a matter of pride after all. But this guy – his coat is missing patches of fur and one of his eyes has something wrong with it. And he’s really, really skinny.

  I, on the other hand, have a bowl of stinky food just waiting for me at home.

  I make a show of backing away – like I’m afraid of him. As soon as I do, he pounces on the hot dog gobbling it up as if I’m not even there. Poor guy.

  Just as I’m about to walk away, I smell something familiar. It was the same thing I smelled on Rafe so I know I’m close. I follow it down the street.

  It’s a harsh smell. I can tell it’s coming from one pale green building – or at least the street leading up to it – which is all black and smooth like they’d just paved it with that smelly stuff.

  Yup, this is definitely the building – now I just have to get inside. I look at the balconies on the front. There’s no way I can jump that high. Maybe if I jump onto the high wall and go from there to the lowest balcony, I could make it. But I’m not sure I can. Still, I’m about to attempt it, when I notice someone walking out. Before the metal door closes all the way, I race up the front steps and slip through.

  Whew. Close call on the tail.

  But I’m all in one piece as I sashay down the hall, sniffing at each door.

  Not this floor.

  I head up the stairs. I walk down the hall on the second floor, my nose alert. Not this floor.