Drizzled with Death(2)

The large eyes blinked and the big cat yawned. Four white teeth glowed in the moonlight. I blinked, too, sure I was not seeing what I was seeing. Bears are common here and moose have a pleasant habit of dropping by now and again. Deer cross the roads as often as people in some sections of town. But big cats, no way. Bobcats are a possibility even if they are a rarity, but this animal was far, far larger. I pulled my cell phone from the pocket of my jeans and dialed the number for the police station. I used to date a guy that worked there so the number stuck in my head like an advertising jingle and I wasn’t sure this qualified as a 911 call.

“Sugar Grove Police Department.” I recognized Myra Phelps’s raspy smoker’s voice filling my ear. “How can I help you?”

“It’s Dani Greene. Is Byron on duty tonight?” Byron is the part-time animal control officer hired by the department to deal with stray dogs, rabid skunks, and even deer that meet their maker in the middle of the highway.

“Sorry, Dani, he’s away at his in-laws’ for Thanksgiving. Is it important?”

“Has anyone ever reported a mountain lion?”

“Good Lord, yes, the darn fools.”

“One’s staring in my window right now.” The cat blinked again then turned away. I crept closer, holding my breath as I watched it move down the porch, its long tail twitching behind it. “No wait, now it’s sitting next to the stairs.”

“I know you’ve got a real sense of humor, Dani, but this could be considered wasting police time.”

“I know what I’m seeing. Isn’t there anyone else you can send out?”

“I’ve been told to direct any animal calls to the Fish and Game Department.”

“Well, would you do it? I’m here by myself and this thing looks big enough to swallow me.”

“My beagle’s big enough to swallow you.” Myra let out a snort that turned to a hacking cough.

“It is not.” My size is a bit of a joke in town. I like to tell people I am five feet tall, but the sad fact is that I’m barely four eleven. I weigh 103 pounds after making four trips through an all-you-can-eat buffet. Before you envy me, ask yourself how glamorous you’d feel buying all your clothes in the children’s department.

“Are you sure it isn’t a bobcat?”

“The tail’s too stumpy. And the head’s all wrong.”

“Have you tried blinking? That always helps when people are seeing things in cartoons.”

“It’s stretching out on the porch like it intends to stay for the night. My bladder’s full and there’s no bathroom here in the sugarhouse. Could you just call Fish and Game?”

“All right, but don’t be surprised when the guy laughs in your tiny freckled face.” Myra herself wheezed out a laugh as she disconnected. I slipped my cell phone back into my pocket and stood staring out the window at the cat, wondering how long it would take to rouse an official from Fish and Game and for him or her to arrive. I watched it scratch its ear with a well-aimed hind foot, lap its paw with a long pink tongue, and turn over on its back to scratch those hard-to-reach bits on the porch floor. Within half an hour headlights winked up the driveway. The cat must have seen them, too, because it sprang to its feet in a sleek single movement and streaked around the back of the building. I raced to the back windows and caught a glimpse of its tail as it slipped off through the trees. Relief and disappointment filled me as I heard a vehicle door slam shut. I cautiously pulled open the sugarhouse door and peeked my head out.

“Hello, over here,” I called to the man standing next to a state-issued truck. He strode toward me, lanky legs covering ground almost as quickly as the cat’s. Dressed for the outdoors in cargo pants and a canvas jacket, he looked like he’d stepped off the cover of an L.L.Bean catalog.

“I’m Graham Paterson, from Fish and Game. Are you the one who reported a mountain lion?”

“I am. But it’s gone. I think your truck scared it off.” I looked up at him, suddenly aware I had no proof of my claim.

“Uh-huh.” He looked down at me, his bottle blue eyes crinkling with skepticism.

“It was just here.” I walked across the creaking floorboards to where it had been and pointed at the spot. “It sat right here for half an hour.”

“Were you inside or outside when you spotted it?”

“Inside. Come on, I’ll show you.” I led the way into the sugarhouse and gestured toward the window.

“Are you sure it wasn’t a bobcat?” he asked. “People make that mistake all the time.”

“It wasn’t a bobcat. It had a long swishy tail.”