Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 122, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 745 & 746, September/October 2003

I realize, then, what I’m doing, and I laugh. I laugh and laugh. Cat’s mine. Always has been, ever will be. I don’t know what Craig’s little game is, what he’s up to, maybe it’s his coke-addled brain getting it wrong again.

I’ll stop by the gallery tomorrow and talk to Richard. That’s all. I’ll ask him if he’s heard from Cat. Then I’ll know what it is with Craig.

I push the stained-glass door of the gallery open. I stowed my bag at the bus depot already, then sauntered the three blocks over. I take my time, play it cool. Why not?

Richard hears the buzzer and half turns from the client he’s showing addle-brained Craig’s grotesque work to, and his face turns purple. He puffs up like a toad, narrows his eyes, then strides toward me. “What are you doing here?”

I take my hands from my pockets and spread them in mock surrender. “I was wondering if you’d heard from Cat.”

“She’s not here.”

“Yeah, I know. She’s in Seattle—”

“No, I mean she isn’t here now. And I think it would be a good idea if you left, too.” He grabs my arm and drags me toward the door.

“You little—!” I wrench free of his grasp, the hot taste of bile in my throat. “What are you talking about!”

“Cat doesn’t want to see you anymore. She’s had enough of you. Freda and I think it best if you remove yourself and your things from her apartment. It’s her apartment, after all. Get out of her life, Mark, get out of town. It’s time.”

He’s crazy! They’re all crazy. Cat belongs to me. She’s mine.

Richard grabs my arm with the strength of the maniac he’s become and wrestles me out the door.

“If she’s not here,” I scream at him, “then where is she?”

“If you don’t know, I’ll be damned if I’ll tell you.” But his eyes dart nervously down the block, and a look of anguish twists his face. What the—?

Damn! It’s Thursday. I tear out of Richard’s grasp, ignore Richard’s shout. Every Thursday it was lunch at Luigi’s with Julie. I don’t know what their game is, but they’re all in it together. Richard, Freda, Craig, Julie. And Julie is their weakest link.

By the time I race over, Julie’s already on the sidewalk outside Luigi’s, buttoning the last button on her coat. Julie and all her petty problems she dumps on Cat once a week.

She looks up, sees me, and takes a step back. Julie, all-time loser and little wimp.

“Oh! Hi, Mark. You just missed Cat.”

Her words strike me like a blow.

“What do you mean?” What do you mean, you twit?

“You know her friend in Seattle? The one who was in the car accident? Like, it was a miracle. No one thought she would make it, then, a day ago, she came out of the coma, and now she’s coming along fine.”

I squeeze my eyes closed, clamp my jaws to keep from screaming. What’s Julie talking about?

Julie cranes her neck and looks across the street, the four lanes of afternoon traffic. “There she is,” she says brightly, waving a hand.

“There who is?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“Why, Cat, of course.” She waves again, wildly. “Cat! Cat?” she cries above the street noise. “Mark’s looking for you.”

The woman half in, half out of the passenger side of the red Toyota pauses. Cat? She lifts her head, the way Cat does, she pushes her hair back from her face with that familiar sweep of her hand. Cat’s long black hair, Cat’s hand, Cat’s gorgeous legs. She looks for a moment in our direction, dark glasses shading her eyes, then slips into the car, closes the door. The car drives off.

How can that be Cat? Cat’s mine.

“Gosh, Mark, are you all right? Have you and Cat had a falling out? I get so busy telling Cat my problems I forget to ask about hers.”

I turn on Julie, reach for her throat, ready to throttle the living daylights out of her because of her lies. Julie takes more than one step back this time.

“It’s not my fault, Mark! I didn’t do anything.”

I let my hands fall. Everyone on the street is watching, everyone in the restaurant has their eyes glued to the action outside the window.

“Maybe you should go back to the apartment, Mark. You look awful. Maybe Cat will phone you and explain. It’s probably just a misunderstanding, and the two of you will get back together again.”

“Yeah, right!” I bellow at Julie. “As if you knew anything!”

I need a drink. I need to get damn drunk! It’s like I’m inside a tornado, being spun round and round.

When I reach Cat’s apartment, after hitting a few bars, I’m not near as drunk as I’d like to be. I slide Cat’s key into the lock. And the key turns so easily, I know the lock’s already been released.