Icing Ivy by Evan Marshall

think we should call him Crush. Get it? Orange Crush.”
    â€œLove it. And the other one?”
    â€œHe’s the smallest of the litter. He’s Pee Wee.”
    â€œVery good, Master Nick,” Florence said, and tossed back her head and laughed. “You still have to give some thought to the one that looks just like her mother.”
    â€œI will.” Nick frowned in puzzlement. “Why are they all different?”
    â€œGenetics,” Jane said. “Not that I can explain it, but nature dictates that a certain mother and father will produce certain types of kittens.”
    â€œYou know,” Florence said thoughtfully, watching Winky, “I have read that a litter of kittens can have more than one father.”
    Jane looked at Florence in shock.
    â€œIt’s true. While you were at the retreat, I thought about who the father might be—you know, tomcats in this neighborhood. And there are two I can think of who might be responsible for this bunch. I even called Dr. Singh, and she told me what this is called.” Florence glanced upward, thinking. “Yes, I know. Superfecundation.”
    â€œWow. You’re smart, Flo.”
    Florence patted Nick’s head. “No, just curious.”
    â€œLook what she’s doing now.”
    Winky moved around the box, rubbing heads with each of her kittens in turn. Then she walked to a corner of the box and flopped onto her back. Immediately the kittens made their way over to her and began to nurse.
    â€œYou’re a good mother, Miss Winky,” Florence called softly, and she and Jane and Nick filed quietly out of the room.
    â€œHey, Mom,” Nick said in the hallway. “Do you think Ivy would like to have one of the kittens?”
    Jane’s and Florence’s smiles disappeared. Jane opened her mouth but was at a loss for words. Finally she said, “Nicholas, honey, I have something to tell you about Ivy. During the retreat”—she glanced quickly at Florence—“she had an accident.”
    â€œAn accident? Is she all right?”
    Jane put her hand on the back of Nick’s head. “No, darling, she’s not. I’m afraid she died.”
    Nick’s face grew pale. “What happened?”
    â€œShe . . . fell on some ice and . . . hurt herself. I’m so sorry to have to tell you this news.”
    â€œDead,” Nick said hollowly, and caught his lower lip between his teeth, contemplating this idea. “And she was just here, having Christmas with us.”
    â€œYes,” Florence said, “that’s right. And we had a lovely Christmas, didn’t we? I’m sure Ivy left this world with happy thoughts in her head.”
    The two women watched Nick walk slowly down the hallway to the foyer and enter the family room; then they exchanged a sorrowful look. A tear rolled down Florence’s cheek and she wiped it away, forcing a little smile.
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    Early that afternoon, Stanley called before dropping by. Jane made hot cocoa and served it with some of Florence’s chocolate-chip cookies in her study off the living room.
    â€œAre you sure you’re all right?” he asked.
    â€œI’m fine, really. It’s just a terrible shock. She was my oldest friend.”
    â€œI know.” He placed his hand on top of hers. “I want you to know we’re working very hard on this, Jane. I’m sure we’ll have some answers soon.”
    â€œWhy do you say that? Have you got any leads?”
    He looked uncomfortable. “No, not exactly. There were no fingerprints of any use at the crime scene, as you would probably have guessed. The ME says Ivy didn’t put up a struggle. That means the killer sneaked up on her.”
    â€œNo, not necessarily,” Jane said impatiently. “She and the killer could have been chatting, and the killer could have whipped out that awful thing and stabbed her.”
    â€œI suppose,” Stanley said,