Scratch the Surface

This shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes.”
    How had Loretta managed to call her a few hours ago and forget her name in the intervening time? “It’s very nice of you to have the meeting here, Lucille,” she said.
    “Who’s Lucille?”
    “Loretta. Sorry.“
    “I have to tell you,” Loretta said, “that we’ve been driven crazy by the police. Everyone’s been questioned, and our yards have been searched. But we’re not going to waste time going over that. We just have to settle the business about your cat and decide what to do about this nasty letter.”
    Felicity followed Loretta into the living room, which had off-white walls, off-white carpeting, and off-white furniture that provided ample seating. Ten or twelve people were gathered there. There was no food or drink in sight. The fireplace contained an oversized vase heavily decorated with gilded cherubim.
    “Hi. Sorry if I’m late,” said Felicity, who was exactly on time.
    Loretta left to answer the doorbell.
    Zora Wang smiled at Felicity and said, “Any more murder?”
    “What?”
    Zora laughed and repeated her question. “Any more murder? Joke! Any more murder?”
    “No, no more murders,” said Felicity.
    Loretta returned with Mr. and Mrs. Trotsky, Brooke and her husband, and a man named Omar. “Let’s get started,” she said. “This should take no time. Everyone should have a copy of the letter from the Norwood Hill Neighborhood Association. They’re on the table. Take one if you don’t have one already.”
    Felicity took a copy of the letter and seated herself next to Zora Wang, who had at least tried to act friendly. “Tom isn’t coming?”
    “Work. Work all the time,” Zora said.
    “Could we pay attention to business?” Mr. Trotsky said. “We have a no-pet clause. Cats are pets. No cats allowed.”
    “That clause is there in case anyone gets a dog that becomes a nuisance,” Brooke informed him. “So we could do something if a dog barked all the time. Or ran loose and bothered us.” Brooke looked even more silvery and showy than usual. Her platinum hair and fingernails matched.
    “No pets is no pets,” Trotsky responded.
    Careful to avoid revealing the presence of two cats and not just one in her house, Felicity said, “The way to make sure that cats live long, healthy lives is to keep them indoors. I would never let a cat roam the neighborhood. I cannot see how an indoor cat could be a problem.”
    “Enough said,” Loretta decreed. “All in favor of allowing Felicia to keep her cat, raise your hands.”
    “Felicity,” said Brooke. “Not Felicia. You apparently don’t know that Felicity Pride is a well-known author.”
    “Oh, what do you write?” asked a woman Felicity didn’t know.
    “Mysteries,” said Felicity.
    Brooke elaborated. “Mysteries about cats.”
    “Oh, I’ve read those!” a woman exclaimed. “Purrfectly Sleuthful was my favorite. I just love Olaf and Lambie Pie! But I didn’t know you wrote under a pen name. I thought Isabelle Hotchkiss was your real name.”
    Loretta cut short the discussion. “Could we vote, please? Raise your hand if you want her to be. able to keep the cat.” All hands except Mr. Trotsky’s popped up. Mrs. Trotsky lifted hers only briefly before her husband grabbed her wrist and lowered her arm. “My wife doesn’t speak English,” he explained.
    Mrs. Trotsky was a short, stout woman with unnaturally red-black hair. She wore a deep purple suit that somehow looked foreign as opposed to imported. “Speak English!” she cried. “Yes, cat!”
    “Well, it doesn’t matter one way or the other,” Loretta said. “The vote is overwhelmingly for the cat. Now, the letter. If you haven’t already read it, please do so now.”
    Felicity had read the offending letter and now simply glanced at it. It was on Norwood Hill Neighborhood Association letterhead. A logo depicted a tree that Felicity considered in need of pruning. The text read:
     
Until the erection of the Newton Park Estates development, the narrow streets of Norwood Hill carried almost no traffic. The recent influx of vehicles traveling at high speeds disturbs the tranquility of Norwood Hill and poses a threat to public safety. Thus the Norwood Hill Neighborhood Association respectfully requests that residents of the development, which is in Brighton, enter and exit through Brighton.
     
    “It’s no accident,” said Harry, Brooke’s husband, “that they’ve chosen this particular time to fire