Raining Cats & Dogs (A Melanie Travis Mystery) by Laurien Berenson Page B

medical examiner. I gather that’s standard when things like this happen. I thought it was just a formality. But when I called a few minutes ago to make arrangements for the funeral home to come and pick her up, I was told that the body wasn’t being released. Apparently, there’s a suspicion of foul play.”
    I gasped softly and couldn’t think of a single thing to say. In silence, I waited for Paul to continue.
    After what seemed like a long time, he did. “I guess I might as well just come right out and say it. The paper will probably be running a story in a day or two. The tests they do are so sophisticated now…it’s more than a suspicion. The M.E. knows how Aunt Mary died. She didn’t have a heart attack. She was murdered.”
    “Murdered?” I repeated. My voice sounded hollow. I was truly shocked by the news.
    Let’s be clear on this, okay? It’s not as though I haven’t had the misfortune to run across the occasional murder victim. In fact, it’s happened often enough that you might think I’d almost be used to it by now. But somehow that hasn’t happened. Actually, the reverse is true. Each one seems to hit me harder than the time before.
    Not only that, but none of the victims I’d known in the past had seemed as unlikely a candidate for murder as Paul’s Aunt Mary. And I could hardly come up with a more surprising setting than the Winston Pumpernill facility. No wonder Paul’s grief was overlaid with shock and dismay.
    “Do they know what happened?” I asked.
    “She suffocated. It seems likely that she was smothered with her pillow. My aunt was quite sturdy for her age, but she wasn’t a large woman. I suppose it wouldn’t have been difficult for someone to overpower her….” His voice broke, then trailed away.
    “I’m so very sorry,” I said again. The words felt totally inadequate. “If there’s anything at all I can do, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”
    “Thank you, I appreciate that. I guess I’d better get back to making my other calls. I have to break the news to the rest of the family before they get a chance to read about it in the newspaper.”
    I clicked off the phone and sat at my desk, staring off into space. After a minute, a cold, wet nose pressed itself into my hand. A paw came up and laid gently across my knee. Faith pressed her body close to mine, offering what warmth and comfort she could.
    I’m not a particularly mystical person, but at times it’s hard not to wonder how much dogs understand. Faith had met Mary the day before, too. Did she know what had happened? Or had she merely sensed my melancholy mood and responded to it?
    I wasn’t sure it mattered. I gathered the big Poodle up into my arms, buried my face in her hair, and felt enormously grateful for the solace she had to offer.
     
    “I’m beginning to think,” I said, “that cats are the bane of my existence.”
    It was six hours later, and I was sitting in my backyard enjoying a fine April evening. At least I would have been if fluffy Felix and his sleek black friend hadn’t been so determined to breach the five-foot cedar fence that surrounded my small plot of land.
    The fence had been intended to keep my Poodles in. It was a barrier meant to simplify my life. Winter mornings, I could race downstairs barefoot and open the back door without fear of my dogs escaping. Late at night, I didn’t have to go outside and take them for a walk. The fence had been in place for three years, ever since Faith was a puppy, and the system had always worked beautifully.
    Mostly, I was now realizing, because nobody had ever tried to break in before.
    Every time the cats from next door showed their furry little faces over the top of the fence, the Poodles began to leap and bark, sounding their version of an intruder alert. Each time, I had to get up and quiet them down. No sooner would I get the pack settled then the cats would reappear.
    I’d tried reasoning with the Poodles, but it wasn’t working. The