Caught Dead Handed by Carol J. Perry Read Free Book Online Page B

station giveaways. He’s got a slew of ’em. Wait a sec.”
    She disappeared into the shadows for a moment and reappeared with a good-size canvas bag.
    â€œThis ought to do. It’s plenty sturdy. You can even fit that obsidian ball in it.”
    â€œNo,” I said, refusing quickly. “I won’t need it.”
    â€œObsidian,” said Aunt Ibby. “A most interesting material. It’s really glass, volcanic in nature, you know.”
    I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to look at the thing again. “Yes,” I agreed. “Interesting.”
    Marty chuckled. “Your niece here thought she was seeing pictures in it, until I explained that they were just reflections.”
    â€œIs that so, Maralee?” Aunt Ibby looked concerned. “Did you see pictures in it?”
    â€œNot really,” I said. “It was just a reflection from the TV monitor.” I gestured to the screen overhead. “But I admit it was . . .” I reached for a word. “Unsettling.”
    â€œYes, I imagine it might be. Are you sure you have everything you need?” She glanced around, looking at the things on the table and finally peering behind the couch. “Nothing back here except a bag of cat food. Guess it must belong to the yellow cat. By the way, what’s going to become of him now that Ariel’s gone?” Aunt Ibby frowned. “Did she take him home with her at night?”
    Marty shook her head. “No. He didn’t really belong to Ariel. He just showed up at the back door of the studio one day. Somebody let him in, and he’s just stayed here. Doesn’t really belong to anybody.”
    Aunt Ibby sighed. “Poor thing.”
    â€œI know.” Marty repeated her concern about the cat, who had refused to come inside the building. “Janice put a bowl of cat food out for him this morning, but he just sniffed at it and ran away.”
    â€œWhat’s the cat’s name, anyway?” I asked.
    â€œAriel called him Orion.”
    â€œO’Ryan?”
    â€œYes. Like the constellation.”
    â€œOh, I was thinking O’Ryan, like the Irish name.”
    â€œCute. That suits him better.” Marty smiled. “But I do worry about him. Cold weather’s coming, and if he refuses to come inside, I’m afraid he’ll freeze out there. Even worse, he could get run over. This is a busy street. I’d take him myself, but my apartment doesn’t allow pets.”
    Aunt Ibby looked thoughtful. “I wonder if the station manager would let us take him to our house. I’ve always been good with cats, and he’d be safe there.”
    She was right. I remembered a series of fat, happy tabby cats during my growing-up years on Winter Street. None of them had ever run away.
    â€œYou could ask Mr. Doan,” Marty said. “I’m pretty sure it’d be okay. He doesn’t like cats, anyway.”
    â€œBut a cat’s really useful for keeping the rat population in check,” I said.
    â€œNot if he won’t come inside,” Marty offered reasonably. “Want me to call Doan for you?”
    â€œWould you? I haven’t officially met him yet. Seems a little soon for me to be asking for favors.”
    â€œSure.” She pulled a cell phone from her pocket. “Rhonda? Marty. Ring Doan for me, will you?” She gave me a thumbs-up. “Mr. Doan? Marty McCarthy here. Yeah. Say, look. I’ve found a home for that old yellow cat. Okay with you? It is? Okay. Thanks.”
    She put the phone away. “Piece of cake.”
    â€œLovely!” Aunt Ibby said. “I saw the poor animal just sitting by himself under a tree. I’m going to try to coax him to come to me.”
    â€œHe may not want to leave,” I warned. “After all, he thinks this is his home.”
    â€œSee you outside.” Aunt Ibby waved my concern away and headed for the exit. I knew that determined walk. The