Essie headed back across town to my place to get my things. In the meantime, Antwan escorted me past the tennis court and through a courtyard garden to my new digs to settle in. I had a strange feeling that this was going to be one crazy ride. I was imagining what it would feel like to live like a king and to be accepted in society circles again when I spotted Lady Gladys peering at me through a third story window. I waved but she just glared. I guess to let me know she would be watching my every move. She was still watching when I tripped over a tennis ball on the brick walkway. I caught my balance on the freshly cut green grass. That’s when I realized my stay might not be so regal.

“Hey suga foot! tell your flat footed friend to stay off my lawn,” shouted a short, disagreeable, gray-haired man with a shovel. “You’re steppin’ all over where I’m gonna dig a grave for the old lady’s miserable sack of fur and fleas.” he growled.

Antwan rolled his eyes.

“Now don’t you mind him,” he said, cutting the old man an irritated look. “He acts like this with everyone.”

The grumpy old man was Lucius Pinkney. Antwan explained that Lucius was the gardener. He was in his 70s and had been working for Lady Gladys’ family since he was 10. He had been complaining about it for just as long. Lucius didn’t like anyone. Especially Gilbert Fanciworth. He spent his day digging around the garden and fussing about people lobbing tennis balls into his flower beds and walking on the grass. He always carried a pocket knife which he threatened to use on anyone who trampled his grass.

“Don’t make me pull out my pocket knife on you Antwan,” Lucius yelled.

Antwan just laughed and kept walking. When we reached the door to the carriage house, Antwan took a key out of his pocket and opened the door to a spacious room with a king size bed, a fully stocked bar, and a fancy mahogany wood wardrobe. It looked like a five-star hotel and I was more than happy to check in. I walked over to the bar and saw a bottle of my favorite brand of scotch with a note attached.

“Thanks for taking the case Rubie darlin’. Lady Gladys’ ain’t the nicest old bird, but she got some people around her that’s a whole lot worse. Find out who killed that cat and you gonna be able to buy yourself a whole lot more of this stuff. Cheers!,” the note said.

It was signed Essie.

I poured myself a tall glass of scotch and laid down on my comfy new bed. It was the first time in a long time the I wasn’t drinking straight out the bottle. I looked around the room at the fancy furniture and plush carpet and smiled. This was going to be nice. Real nice. I figured a few weeks playing Dick Tracy with a crazy rich lady and her dead cat was worth it. I hadn’t slept in a bed in months and drifted off to sleep almost immediately. I woke up to a banging sound. It was early morning. There were four gunny sacks full of my clothes neatly stacked against the wall and a tall, muscular young man was rifling through them. He would pause periodically to comb his dark hair and admire himself in the mirror.

“Hey!” I shouted. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The startled young man turned to see me clumsily jumping out of bed.

“Great,” he said. “I could use a little help. Why don’t you get up and help me find my new tennis racket?”

I was furious.

“Who do you think you are and what are you doing in my room,” I demanded.

The young man turned back to the mirror and checked his teeth for traces of breakfast.

“ I know exactly who I am- Owen Garrison Barnard,” he said condescendingly. “Soon to be master of this estate and I’m pretty sure this is my carriage house and not your room. Who are you?”

I hopped out of bed and tried to smooth things over with the brat before I got tossed out on my ear.

“Sorry mister,” I said trying to sound as contrite as possible. “Your mother asked me to stay here to look into the death of her cat. I had no idea I would be in your way.”

Own rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“You’ve got to be kidding. Are you taking her seriously or are you just taking her money? That cat was 100 years old,” he snapped.

“Your mother seems to think someone murdered her cat,” I said.

“It probably choked on a hairball or one of chef’s disgusting ham sandwiches,” he said. “Besides. Who cares. Find my tennis racket. I’ve got a lesson in an hour.”

I started searching through mink and sable coats in the closet while Owen sat down on the couch and finished off my bottle of scotch.

“That cat was a nuisance. Good riddance,” Owen said. “He peed all over my tennis balls. If I were going to kill it I would have done it years ago.”

“Oh yeah, why is that?” I asked as I went behind the bar to continue my search.

“Because it was mean, and miserable and Mother spent more money on that stupid cat than she ever did on me,” he said.“

I found a racket lying beside a waste paper basket. The $8 price tag was still attached. That was more than most people around here made in a week.

“Is this your racket,” I held it up and asked.

“That’s not the one I wanted, but it will have to do for now,” Own said with disdain.

He got up, grabbed the racket and stormed out.

“And don’t spend up all my inheritance sniffing around that dead cat,” he shouted as he left. “I’m planning on putting in a swimming pool.”

Before I could shut the door all the way the dark-haired young man pushed his way back in.

“Did you come back for one last look in the mirror,” I asked.

“How dare you insult me like that. You’re confusing me with my idiot twin brother Owen the tennis pro in training,” the young man said extending his hand. “How do you do. I’m Jerome Oglethorpe Barnard, the underappreciated twin.”

He plopped down on the couch and stared me straight in the eye.

“Let’s get straight to the point,” Jerome said. “I know why you’re here and we can both benefit from that stupid cat’s demise. Put on your little detective act for the next three days then phony up a veterinarian’s bill. Tell my dim-witted mother that the official medical report says the cat choked on a chunk of ham sandwich or something. She’ll pay you what you’re owed. You’ll go away, and I can start sucking up to the old broad and take over as her favorite pampered pet.”

Jerome was as almost as cold as his handshake. With kids like hers, I was starting to see why Lady Gladys preferred the cat.

“And what do I get for helping you,” I asked suspiciously..

Jerome chuckled quietly and leaned in as if he was letting me in on a sneaky little secret.

“Once mother dear and I are all chummy I’ll persuade her to cut you a big fat bonus check and recommend you to all her wealthy friends,” he said. “Our new formed friendship is just what you need to get back into business on the right side of the tracks.

Jerome stared silently at me for a while trying to read my face for a reaction to his proposal. I was purposefully stoic. What a jerk.

All of a sudden the sound of a woman’s screams and breaking glass broke our uneasy silence.

“What in the world is that,” I asked Jerome, who didn’t seem at all shaken by the commotion.

Jerome rolled his eyes.

“Sounds like little sister is having one of her tantrums,” he said.

I ran across the courtyard. I could see Lady Gladys perched in her window watching me as I ran into the sunroom where a much younger and meaner version of Lady Gladys was throwing things at the butler. Antwan dodged a crystal glass and a tray full of toast and ran toward the kitchen.

“Stay away from momma you money grubbing swindler! A blind man can see what you’re up to,” she raged. “And if you think I’m gonna let you worm your way into my momma’s heart and get one dime of my inheritance you’re outta your well- manicured head.”

“Is everything ok in here miss,” I asked.

“No stupid! If you hear me yelling then …,” the young woman turned to see me in the doorway and changed her tone from screeching banshee to sugary sweet. “Oh, dear my! I thought you were one of those scheming inconsiderate servants.”

She approached me smiling with her pale hand outstretched. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to shake it or kiss it.

“I’m Miss Emma, Lady Gladys’ youngest,” she said. “You must be the detective those thieves brought over here. You have no idea how upsetting all of this foolishness is too poor little old me. That maid and her scheming partners are always doing something to turn mama against me. Now they’ve got her thinking we did something to that stinking cat. They’ve got her so upset she’s out for blood. I’m so distraught I’m shaking.”

Emma walked uncomfortably close to me and put her pale hand in mine as proof of her nervous condition. But I could see straight through her southern belle routine. There wasn’t much that could shake a girl like her.

“I’m scared for my little old life,” she said in a thick as molasses southern accent. Emma ran over to her mother’s desk and pulled a tiny pearl handled revolver out of the drawer. Cradling it like it could explode at any moment, she slipped it into my trench coat pocket. “Keep this with you. Keep it away from mama. I don’t want those scheming servants to whip her up into such a frenzy over this cat that she hurts somebody, or herself.”

Then Emma gave me a peck on the cheek and sauntered out the room.