Read Online Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 14 - Murder in a Casbah of Cats by Kent Conwell - Free Book Online Page B

called Bob Ray Burris, an old friend who worked the evidence room at the downtown police station. We’d known each other for years, and on occasion he gave me a helping hand.
    “Hey, Tony. What’s up?”
    “Got a question. About fifteen years ago, a rich guy out in the historic district was murdered. A philanthropist. His name was Watkins. His killer never found. I need to know who worked the case. Can you do it for me?”
    “Something happen out there?”
    I laughed. “No. Just curious. I’m spending a few days at the place on a job. I heard about the murder and—well, you know how nosy I am. I just wanted to learn more. Who conducted the investigation?”
    “Oh. What are you doing out there, house-sitting?”
    “No, I’m not house-sitting,” I snapped.
    He picked up on the defensive tone in my voice. “Then what?”
    How do you tell an old friend you’re watching twenty cats, especially since he’s one of those bozos who likes to rub things in. “Nothing.”
    He remained silent a few moments; then, with a taunting edge to his words, said, “Sorry. Can’t help you.”
    I couldn’t have felt any more frustrated than if had I learned the psychiatrist I had been going to for ten years didn’t speak English. “All right, all right. Cats. I’m looking after cats, and before you ask, twenty of them. Now, will you help me?”
    He roared. “Jeez, you PIs will do anything for a buck, huh? That’s great, and yeah, I’ll find out for you. Hold on. Let me pull it up.”
    I could hear him snickering as he pulled up the information. My ears burned. Finally, he returned. “Here it is. Joseph Weiman. Old Dutch. Remember him?”
    “Yeah, yeah.”
    He managed to stifle his laughter. “Well, he’s retired, but I can give you his last number. Here it is.”
    I copied the number. “Thanks, Bob Ray.”
    “No problem.” He snickered again. “And hey, I just thought of a new slogan for your company. ‘Your cats are in safe hands with Blevins Security.’”
    I cursed him and added. “I hope Allstate sues your worthless tail off.”
    He roared again. “A regular casbah out there, huh? Wait till the guys hear.”
    Dutch Weiman answered on the first ring. He remembered the case and the frustration it caused him. “Can’t make it tonight. How about nine in the morning?”
    “Great. See you then.” I replaced the receiver and leaned back, anxious for the next morning. I rose and headed for the bathroom to freshen up before supper—I mean, dinner.
    Gently I bathed my knot, noting the skin around it had turned a charming purple—you know, the color that instantly elicits questions from the curious. After washing it clean, I doctored it and put on another Band-Aid.
    I headed downstairs, feeling pretty chipper.
    I might not have felt so chipper had I known what the night would bring.



CHAPTER TEN
    Frank Creek was right. In the middle of dinner, the sky grew dark and a gentle rain began to fall.
    Henry glanced out the window. “About time,” he said. “We can use a good soaking.”
    Gadrate snorted. “Maybe you think so. Me, all I see is the mess tracked into this big old house.”
    Edna snorted. “Don’t be so gloomy. The rain is God’s way of saying life goes on.”
    The slight maid rolled her eyes. “You say so. Not me.”
    I grinned to myself. That Gadrate sure had one positive outlook on life.
    After a delicious meal, I ambled back upstairs, dutifully counting the cats as I made my way to their rooms. At least by counting them, I felt as if I were doing something.
    I accounted for all twenty, and all of them were living and breathing.
    In my room, I flipped the channel to the local radar and saw a solid band of green over Austin. Some eighty miles or so to the south, a red and yellow amoeba-shaped patch of rain stretched from La Grange to Martindale, moving straight for us.
    I whistled softly. If it held together, we were in for one heck of a storm that would probably last until morning.
    Stepping out