Cat in a hot pink Pursuit

school is you get all those nasty words like ‘lust’ and ‘adultery’ and ‘O-Nanism’ and stuff early. It’s all in the Bible.”
    “Right. Being reared a Unitarian, I was cheated of all that early lurid class content. Rats.”
    “What’s a Unitarian?”
    “Unitarian Universalist. We see God and the world as inclusive and tolerant.”
    “You mean you wouldn’t stone or smite anybody?”
    “Right. Ours not to judge.”
    “Somebody has to, or my mom wouldn’t have a job.”
    “That’s civil law. That’s different. Anyway, I don’t get why this old suit is still in her active files.”
    Mariah had pushed herself up to her knees to root in the file drawer again.
    “Look! Here’s a sheet of paper that caught in the fold-over part of the hanging file.”
    Piece was right. Just a tom-off triangle from one corner of a plain sheet of white paper. Not typed, written on. Just a date and a few scrawled words, the ends of three lines.
    Maybe somebody had removed a folder in a hurry and a page had caught in the cardboard seam and pulled off. Recently, or ages ago.
    Oops. Very recently.
    “Ah.” Temple sat back on her heels while her moving flashlight told a fascinating if somewhat staccato story. The date read February 14, 2005.
    This scrap was as timely as today. Only months old. Valentine’s Day. A favorite one for expression of sentiments sweet, and perhaps bittersweet, maybe even sour. Maybe even poisonous.
    “Is it a valentine?” Mariah sounded hopeful. “Lots of people keep them. We do valentines at school but everybody’s chicken and girls send friendship ones to girls and that’s all. Boys would rather die than send a valentine.”
    “Just wait.” Temple advised her. She frowned at the penmanship. Maybe her fake green contacts were coloring the ink, making it harder to read. She deciphered the few words ending each line:

I’ll never forget
...murderous bitch like you
...incompetent on national TV.

    “That’s it,” Temple said after murmuring the words to Mariah. “That’s the motive. We better get this to your mother.”
    Temple held up the scrap by her plastic gloves. “Thank God neither of our fingerprints are on it. Can you find the equivalent of a plastic baggie in this office... without leaving fingerprints?”
    “Easy.” Mariah hopped up. “Mrs. Klein handed out ‘healthful snacks’ in plastic baggies from the little fridge behind her desk. Sliced rutabaga, can you imagine? It is to gag.”
    Mariah was soon back with a baggie of sliced... Temple peered at the browning contents. Looked like shredded turnip greens and sliced medulla oblongata, or possibly liver. She dumped the mess into Mariah’s palms as she dried the inside of the baggie on her T-shirt hem and placed the paper remnant inside.
    “My mom’s going to wonder if you’re passing on evidence of a threatening note or a salad.”
    “Both.”
    Mariah dumped her sticky handful into a second plastic bag of unknown nibblies. “We’d better throw this mess out upstairs.”
    “Right. Now let’s hope we can make it back to headquarters without attracting any unwelcome attention.”
    Mariah giggled. “You’re so funny. The way you talk. I don’t get why my mom considers you such an awful pest.”
    “I haven’t a clue, Mariah. Sometimes moms are like that. Behind the times. Let’s blow this joint.”
    First, they collected all their napkins. Then Temple used the flashlight beam to lead their way out. She shut it off before she edged the door open. Silence greeted the motion. She pushed the door open farther and heard nothing. Prodding Mariah out, she followed and slowly, slowly shut the door, turning to duck under the crime scene tape...
    ... and spied a black cat sitting right there in the hall, like a welcoming committee of one, feet primly paired, ears perked, eyes inscrutable.
    For once it was not Louie. This cat was smaller, longer of coat, and gold of eye, not green.
    But its face wore the same superior smirk! I see you.
    “Oh.” Mariah reached out to pet the lovely thing but it darted away like a feral.
    “Forget the cat,” Temple whispered. “We need to get home without anyone noticing us.”
    In a house full of cameras this was always a problem. Which was why they headed first for the kitchen, then up to the room.
    If any camera did capture some part of their wanderings, they could always claim a raid on the refrigerator.



Recipe for Murder

    Temple called Mama Bear as soon as they returned