Horse of a Different Killer by Laura Morrigan Page B

would get his ride and a break from kitty-sitting duty and I could swing back by the condo to drop him off and check on the kitten before I headed to R-n-R to talk to Boomer.
    I grabbed Moss’s leash and we headed out the door.
    Marsh Landing is a luxe country club neighborhood which, like most, had a guard posted at the gate. In order to gain entrance, you had to be on the list and know where you were going. The homes were expensive. Many of them, especially those along the water, were mini-mansions. Mrs. Hurwitz’s place was no exception.
    Leaving the windows partway down to catch the cool marsh breezes, I left Moss in Bluebell with some water and a kiss on the head. My client opened the door and ushered me into the living room.
    â€œThe vet said he was fine, but I can tell. Something just isn’t right with him.”
    I nodded and studied the “him” in question.
    Her cat, Sir Thomas T. Lipton III, or just Thomas for short, was a handsome orange tabby with bright, golden eyes and a long, triangular face. He gave me a cursory glance then closed his eyes to nap. When she’d made her appointment, Mrs. Hurwitz had explained that Thomas had started “acting crazy” a few weeks before. He’d destroyed a set of curtains and was meowing to be let outside—something he had never been allowed to do.
    â€œYou said he’s always been an inside cat. Has he escaped lately?” Sometimes a taste of the outside world inspired a rebellious streak.
    â€œNo. He hasn’t gotten out in years.”
    â€œCan we bring him to the window where he damaged the curtains? I’d like to observe his behavior.” And ask him what the problem was.
    Luckily, I could say things like “observe” and “watch for his reaction” to cover the fact that I was having a mental conversation with an animal.
    As soon as we made it to the window, Thomas became fixated on the thick, wooden plantation blinds, leaping up to claw at them with an obsessive intensity.
    â€œSee? He’s gone crazy,” Mrs. Hurwitz said.
    I opened the blinds and peeked outside. A squirrel chided me from a tree less than ten feet away, its tail waving as it called out a warning to its kits.
    Bingo.
    I glanced down at Thomas.
    Squirrel!
    I had to grin. Squirrel, indeed. A whole family of them.
    Hearing the chattering of the young squirrels as they raced around the tree had flipped the hunting switch in the typically lazy house cat. Interestingly enough, after speaking with him for a few minutes, he revealed what he really wanted was a way to watch the squirrels.
    I explained my “theory” to Mrs. Hurwitz and suggested Thomas’s cat tree be moved to the window and for the blinds in the upstairs bedroom to be kept open. I also invited her to call in a couple of days if he hadn’t calmed down.
    All in all, the session had taken only about thirty minutes, putting Moss and me back home in less than an hour.
    With slight trepidation, I scanned the condo for Voodoo, searching for any sign of destruction as I headed to where she slept in my bedroom.
    Apparently, the kitten hadn’t moved.
    She blinked squinty, sleepy eyes at me when I turned on the lights, spread her tiny mouth into a tiny yawn, and went back to sleep.
    Emma arrived just as I was pouring coffee into a to-go mug.
    â€œWhere have you been?” I asked, snapping the lid onto the cup.
    â€œRunning a few errands. Why, what’s wrong?”
    â€œI have three hundred things I need to talk to you about.”
    â€œReally? Three hundred?”
    â€œOkay, more like five, but that’s not the point.”
    â€œSorry,” she said with good-natured sarcasm. “I had to pick up a new iPad to use while the cops have my stuff.” She held up the slim, white box.
    â€œYou could’ve just used my laptop.”
    â€œWindows?” She made a face. “No, this Mac girl will stick with what she knows.”
    She