Read Online Hare Today, Dead Tomorrow by Cynthia Baxter - Free Book Online Page B

badly needed cutting, and the black paint on the wooden shutters was peeling. The old car parked in the driveway fit right in. Its fenders and doors were bumped and bruised, and it was in dire need of a day of beauty at a local car wash.
    Still, the little house looked like it was loved. Pots of chrysanthemums, bright yellow and deep purple, stood on each wooden step, and a wreath made of dried flowers hung on the open front door. White lace curtains covered the large living-room window, and a row of ceramic figurines lined the windowsill.
    The afternoon had warmed up enough that whoever lived there had left the front door open. A television blared through the screen door. It sounded like it was tuned to one of those home-shopping channels, since an unusually seductive woman’s voice was insisting there were only three left and that $49.99 was the deal of a lifetime.
    I studied the porch, noticing that a wooden swing, one of those old-fashioned ones that hold two people, was hung at one end. I also spotted a tricycle, and a red plastic bowl was placed on the porch’s top step so a pet could easily drink from it.
    I peered through the screen, but all I could see was a small living room. Along the back wall was a large sagging couch decorated with four needlepoint throw pillows. Two matching upholstered chairs, covered with dark green chenille slipcovers, were draped with crocheted armrest covers the color of limes. A beige pole lamp was topped with a fringed lampshade that was still encased in clear plastic. Yet aside from the noise from the TV, there were no signs of life.
    At least, none that I could see. I raised my arm to knock on the screen door, then froze. Even though I was the one who was sneaking around, I couldn’t shake the sudden feeling that I was being watched. I turned and scanned the yard but didn’t see a soul.
    As I started walking toward Cassandra’s front door, trying to act as if I actually had a reason to be there, I heard a twig snap. This time I whirled around quickly, trying to catch whoever was spying on me. Yet I still didn’t see anyone.
    So I jumped high enough to qualify for the Olympics when I heard a high-pitched voice demand, “Are you looking for Cassie?”
    I turned around once more and saw that the person who’d been watching me was a little girl no more than four or five years old who had suddenly appeared in the front yard of the house next door. She had the angelic face of a cartoon character—one of the Rugrats, maybe—and was dressed in kelly-green corduroy pants, orange high-top sneakers, and a red shirt printed with a faded picture of Big Bird. Both her pants and shirt looked about two sizes too large. Wisps of dark brown hair curled around her face, which featured the biggest brown eyes I could remember having seen in a long time.
    “Uh, no,” I replied. “I don’t think she—”
    “ ’Cause Cassie’s not here anymore. Grammy says she’s not coming back, not ever. But we got her cat! He’s my kitty now!”
    Her last comment really caught my interest. After all, Cassandra Thorndike’s cat was the sole witness to her murder. Even though we couldn’t put him on the stand, the idea that the feline had probably watched the entire crime unfold intrigued me to no end.
    “I’ll show you my cat,” the little girl continued, as if my silence had been an indication of disbelief over her good fortune. Wandering around the side yard that separated her house from Cassandra’s, she called, “Come here, Beau. Beau, where are you? Nice kitty . . .”
    Just as I was beginning to doubt the little girl’s claim, a cat darted out from underneath some bushes that ran along the two backyards, edging the cliff. The sleek animal was completely black. In fact, with his wide green eyes, he could have posed for Halloween decorations.
    “Hey, pussycat,” I called in a soft voice.
    “Meow!” he yowled angrily, pausing only long enough to glare at me. Then he dashed toward the small