If a cat could frown, he was definitely doing it. “From our original list of ten names, I’ve crossed off several who were traveling. A bit of luck for us that the explosion happened shortly before the school year started up again. It seems everyone with a kid and two pennies to rub together takes a vacation about that time.”
“Oh. That is good news.” Before I could start to feel more charitably inclined, I reminded myself: hacking by proxy, credit card abuse. No need to hold a grudge, but I also couldn’t let him completely skate on his illegal activities. “That leaves how many people still on the list?”
“Oh, I’m not done. I analyzed the background information in combination with the phone records and credit usage to pinpoint Sylvie’s whereabouts over the three days prior to the blast.”
“Sylvie? Ah, I see. You’re thinking a bomber wouldn’t have placed the device while she was home. I wouldn’t exclude the possibility, but you’re likely right.”
He gave me a lopsided grin that showcased one fang. “Thanks, boss. There’s more. I looked at the neighbor’s dog’s schedule, and—”
“Wait, what?”
“Sylvie’s neighbors, the ones to her left when you face the house, they have a dog who barks at everything. That’s the same side of the house—”
“As the shed. Clever, Clarence.”
Was that a purr?
Clarence cleared his throat. “So the dog is inside all night long and during work hours, but outside when either one of them is home. The couple who live there have different schedules.”
“And this dog’s schedule is that predictable? When they’re home, he’s definitely outside.”
“I don’t think they like him. I mean, who does that? He’s allowed in the house, but only when they aren’t there. It’s really weird. But my newly acquired four-legged perspective might be clouding my judgment.”
“Maybe.” I started to do the math on the intertwining work schedules, then factored in sleeping. Wait. “Clarence, how certain are you of this schedule? Because you can’t get all of this from credit card and phone records.”
He started to whistle.
Did I even want to know? For Sylvie’s sake, I guess I had to ask. “How do you know the dog’s schedule, Clarence?”
I knew the answer was going to be cringe-worthy. I knew it, and yet when it came . . .
“There’s this Persian next door.” He coughed. “You know, I’m kind of a cat, when you consider all the factors, and I only see people—”
“Ugh. Clarence, there’s lecherous and there’s beyond the pale. I’m not sure I can evict those particular images from my memory. Thank you so very much.”
“Geoff, look, it’s like this: a guy gets confused when part of his parts are cat and part of his parts are man, but I’m not talking about getting action. That would be weird. Even I know that.” He paused, then added in a serious voice, “Cats are fun to watch, and not for the reasons you’re thinking. Being in this body has an effect on me. I don’t always know whether I’m being entirely myself or being influenced by subtle feline tendencies. String has never been so fascinating.” He shook his head. “Look, watching helps me figure out what’s what—what’s me, what’s cat, what’s cat-influenced me.”
He looked deadly serious. The speech he’d just given was probably the most serious I’d ever heard from him.
“Oh.” Guilt tapped me on the shoulder. Maybe best not to leap to conclusions when dealing with this and last century’s most anomalous ghostly possession. “So, you’ve been conducting something like an anthropological study?”
Clarence made an exasperated sound. “That makes me sound like you, but sure, like anthropology. If we’re talking hotties and sex, I’m all about humans—but I don’t have the requisite equipment. If we’re talking cats, I like to watch how they interact with people and each other, what their mannerisms are—but I have zero attraction for the four-legged furries.”
“I understand, and I apologize.”
“If you’re really sorry, you’ll give me some of the juicy details when you and Sylvie start getting busy.”
And he was back to being the disgusting perv I knew and didn’t quite love. “That will never happen. Was any part of you ever a gentleman, Clarence? Never mind, just give me the short list.”
Clarence grumbled, but he did. And it was short: three households were left. Granted, there was a backup list of people who were much less likely to have stashed the device for various reasons but couldn’t be completely ruled out. But three families—four people, assuming a toddler wasn’t capable—were a reasonable suspect list.
I ran my finger down the list. “I’ve got Mrs. Gonzalez and her nephew Nicky. Then, in the Eckhardt household, I’ve got Mrs. Cynthia Eckhardt, but we’re excluding the husband and the toddler. And then there’s Tamara Gilroy, the sole occupant in her house.”
“That one’s suspicious.”
“Oh, you know her?” A quick glance at the address showed her living right down the road, maybe six to eight houses away, on the same side of the street as Sylvie. “I don’t recall ever seeing her.”
“Exactly! And she lives alone. All by herself in that house.”
Not really odd, so far as I could tell, so I just shook my head.
Clarence leveled me with a green-eyed stare. “That’s weird, I’m telling you. Oh, and she has red hair.”
“Because red hair is relevant. Clarence, do you have any actual evidence—other than an inability to rule her out and some bizarre and very outdated notions about women—that points to her guilt?”
“Outdated? Everyone knows red-headed women are fiery!”
His indignation was misplaced and outright bizarre. He had some old attitudes. He was, I suspected, older than me—though my bosses hadn’t told me anything about his human life when he’d been assigned to me.
But regardless of his age, Clarence had managed to stay abreast of cultural changes much better than I had. His adeptness with a computer, for one. The “red-headed woman living alone” business was a throwback to an earlier era and unworthy of him—even being the lecherous geezer that he was.
“We’re going to say that
