The Unknown Beloved(14)

As he opened the back door on his last trip, the box of files in his arms, an orange cat shot past him and ran into the house. It startled him, and he danced sideways to avoid it, stepping on its tail. The cat shrieked in pain and raced into Malone’s new quarters, disappearing under the bed to lick his wounds.

“Is that you, Charlie?” Malone asked, putting the files on the desk. He crouched down beside the bed and lifted up the spread to peer underneath it. A rumbling death rattle sounded from the feline form. Oh yeah. It was Charlie.

“You don’t remember me, but I remember you,” Malone muttered. “If it weren’t for me, you’d still be living in Chicago and not hiding under this nice bed.”

The cat hissed, staring back at Malone with odd-eyed outrage, and the memory of their first encounter surfaced like it was yesterday and not fifteen years ago.

The day after the Flanagan murders and two hours before his shift started, Malone went to O’Brien’s Books, a mere block from the Flanagan residence and right next door to Schofield’s Flower Shop. He and everyone else knew the flower shop was owned by the notorious Dean O’Banion, leader of the Irish gang that ran the whole area. But Malone didn’t go to ask questions or pursue leads. He went to fetch the kitten Dani had talked about.

Connor O’Brien, the owner of the bookstore, had heard about the Flanagans, and when Malone told him who the cat was for, the man gave him an old birdcage Dani could transport him in.

“It’ll do to get her wherever she’s going,” O’Brien said when the cat was settled. “I hear Aneta has family who will take the girl.”

The little orange cat with his furry face and mismatched gaze would not fit in the birdcage for long, and he stared through the thin bars, unamused.

“George didn’t kill her, did he?” O’Brien asked Malone as he turned to go. “They’re saying he did. But I don’t believe it. George Flanagan was a rascal, but he wasn’t a killer. He worshipped the ground Aneta walked on. And right he should. She was too good for him by half. I just don’t believe it.”

Malone only nodded and thanked the man again. He didn’t know George Flanagan, but he didn’t need to. The whole thing was a rotting, stinking shame.

O’Brien clamped his lips shut like he’d said too much, but he had one more question. “What will happen to little Dani?”

“I don’t know,” Malone said, but it was her birthday, and he was going to make sure she had her cat.

He brought it to Mrs. Thurston’s house and knocked on the door, dreading a slew of questions from the woman, but it was Dani who answered, almost like she’d seen him coming. She didn’t look like she’d slept, poor thing. Her eyes were ringed with purple and the shocked glaze had not abated. When the glaze left, the grief would set in.

Her hair had not been tended to, and it was a riotous mass of reddish-gold curls that bounced around her shoulders. He hadn’t noticed her hair the night before. She’d worn a stocking cap pulled low on her head, the curls barely peeping out here and there to frame her face.

“Your hair is almost the same color as Charlie’s fur,” he said by way of greeting. She’d taken one look at the cage and the little cat inside, and her face crumpled. He’d almost cried too.

“Is he mine now?” she asked, trying to control her tears.

“Yes. He’s yours.”

The cat, now ten pounds heavier and fifteen years older, spat at Malone again, bringing him back to present day.

“Don’t give me your attitude, Charles. We have history. And yes, I will call you Charles. You’ve outgrown Charlie.”

The cat didn’t budge, and Malone left it alone while he went into the bathroom to wash and shave, hoping it would leave while the coast was clear.

He dealt with his two suitcases, one that held his clothing and another filled with the odds and ends of disguise. He didn’t know yet what he would need, but he always traveled with some basics. When he opened the wardrobe, the scent of roses wafted around him, and he hung his suits and dress shirts on the rack and put his undershorts and pajamas in the fragrant drawers. He wondered who had inhabited the room before him. Clearly not a man. He tried to remember the details of young Dani’s family situation and could not. He would find out soon enough.

He exchanged one white shirt for another. He doubted dinner would require it, but he wore a tie with his suspenders just to be safe, though he left his suitcoat in his room. As he climbed the stairs, Charlie swished by him, tail high, as if he hadn’t just sulked beneath the bed for the last hour.

Malone followed the cat as well as the sound and smells of food and found three women—Dani, Zuzana, and one he’d not yet met—already seated in the small dining room off the kitchen. A place had been set for him at the end of the table, but Charlie beat him to it, hopping up onto the chair and eyeing Malone with disdain. Dani rose and scooped the indignant creature off the chair and took him into the kitchen where he heard her scolding him like a mother.

“Be nice, Charlie. You are not the guest.”

Zuzana introduced her sister, Lenka, a shorter, plumper version of herself, but where Zuzana was prickly and dour, Lenka was all smiles and soft glances. They were both a million years old, with bright blue eyes and thick white hair, and they both stared at him throughout the entire meal, which was hot and filling but not worth enduring their attention or his own aggravation.