Read Online Cat on a Cold Tin Roof by Mike Resnick - Free Book Online Page B

Sorrentino is still around too?”
    I nodded. “We’ve formed a kind of partnership.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œIf we find the collar, we turn it in for the reward.”
    â€œ Is there one?” asked Simmons. “I haven’t heard anything about it.”
    â€œIf it’s insured, we’ll collect from the insurance company. And whether it is or not, Velma will offer a hefty reward for it. Probably under a phony name so anyone who’s watching her to see if she can recover it doesn’t dope it out. I figure if she gets it, the first few thousand go to a facelift and a new name, the next few for plane fare, and good luck ever finding her again.”
    â€œSo did she do it, maybe?”
    â€œDoesn’t seem likely, though of course you’ll check her bridge alibi. She had access to that cat day in and day out. Why the hell let it run off in a snowstorm with the collar still on?”
    â€œIt sneaked out?” Simmons suggested, but even he didn’t look like he believed it.
    â€œAll she had to do was take the collar off before she shot him, Jim,” I said. “Then let the cat go or stay, and who would know or care?”
    â€œOkay,” he said. “So Palanto was killed by Velma or three mysterious Bolivian shooters of which we have no record—there aren’t any international flights to Cincinnati from anywhere except France and Canada. Or maybe it was your pal Sorrentino.” He paused. “Or servants?” he suggested unenthusiastically.
    I shook my head. “If they knew about the collar, why not just take it and run? Why commit murder?”
    He nodded his agreement. “You got a point.” He smiled. “I just hate it when you got a point.” He checked his watch. “Any other possibilities?”
    â€œYeah,” I said. “The guy who turned the cat in to the shelter without its collar.”
    He looked interested. “You know who it was?”
    I shook my head. “Not yet.”
    â€œSurely they have a record.”
    â€œHe didn’t give his name.”
    Simmons grimaced. “So that’s it?”
    â€œSo far,” I replied “I’ll keep you informed of anything I learn.”
    â€œAnd I’ll let you know if the collar turns up.” He finished his drink and stood up. “I hate to kiss and run, but I have to see what we have on any recent arrivals from—” he shook his head in wonderment
“—Bolivia.” He began putting on his heavy winter overcoat. “And you got quite a few leads to follow up: Bolivians, widows, mob enforcers . . .”
    I smiled. “Not me , Jim. Murder is your business. I’m just looking for a cat collar. And since I suspect my partner isn’t as interested in turning it in for the reward as I am, my only problem is finding it before he does.”
    But of course I was wrong.

7.
    I drove home, checking the rearview mirror every few seconds to see if I was being followed, but there were so damned many cars on the road it was impossible to tell. When I got to my street I went once around the block, just to make sure. Then I parked, entered the building, and climbed up the stairs to my apartment.
    Mrs. Cominsky was waiting for me.
    â€œWhere the hell have you been?” she half-asked and half-demanded.
    â€œOut,” I said. “And if you ask what did I do, the answer is nothing. But it’s nice to know you care.”
    â€œI care about all my tenants,” she said. Then: “You had a visitor. Well, a caller, I suppose you’d say. Hard to be a visitor if no one is there to let you in.”
    I wanted to say, “Electric or phone?” but on the off-chance it wasn’t a bill collector I waited for her to tell me.
    â€œSpoke with a real accent,” she continued.
    â€œBolivian?” I asked.
    â€œBolivian?” she repeated. “Isn’t that the wristwatch?”
    â€œDid he say who he