I was in my room getting ready to slip into a pair of imported pajamas that had once belonged to Lady Glady’s fourth husband, an east coast shipping magnate. Lady Gladys had warmed up to me during our daily updates and I was starting to think she wasn’t so crazy after all. I told her about the shed full of broken glass and poison and how the only thing her kids seemed to hate more than the cat, was the thought of the cat cashing in on all that money. I told her about the basement workshop, Emma claiming to be scared for her life, Owen’s plans for a pool and Jerome’s scheme to con his way into her heart. It was the first time in a long time that being honest paid off. In addition to my $50 a day, she would give me her late husbands’ old hats and handkerchiefs. I was building up my bank account and my wardrobe. Lady Gladys didn’t seem attached to any of that stuff. She didn’t even really seem surprised or worried that her children were stealing from her.

“Going after money is human nature,” she said philosophically. “I can’t blame them for that. But killing Mr. Gilbert Fanciworth – the one thing that truly cared about me and the one thing I cared about – well that’s just downright evil. Whoever killed Mr. Gilbert Fanciworth wasn’t just trying to get at my money. They wanted to hurt me. To sent me a message. To steal my happiness and rob me of peace of mind, comfort and joy. That’s more than greed. That’s revenge.”

Lady Gladys explained how she spent her life chasing rich husbands. She said acknowledged that she wasn’t a warm and loving mother and said she stepped on the toes of a lot of very pricey shoes on her way up the social ladder.

“But for the life of me,” Lady Gladys said. “I can’t think of anyone who would want to kill my cat over it. Me maybe. But not my cat.”

Lady Gladys wanted proof that her cat was murdered and she wanted the culprit to pay. I was working harder that I ever thought I’d work to solve a cat murder. But despite all of my digging I still didn’t have one shred of evidence linking her kids to the dead cat. In fact, I didn’t even have any proof the cat had been killed. I was still waiting on Pinkney to bring the dead cat and the autopsy report back from the hospital. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out how the Lady Gladys’ kids could have gotten anywhere near the cat or his food under the suspicious eye of Lady Gladys and the servants. I decided the best thing to do was curl up in my comfortable king sized bed and sleep on it. But before I could slip into my high class hand me down bed clothes I heard the sound of gun shots and screams coming from the house. For such a high end neighborhood there was an awful lot of screaming and noise going on around here.

I darted across the courtyard half expecting to see Emma going after Antwan again. I looked up and noticed that there was no light on in Lady Gladys’ room and for the first time ever she wasn’t staring down at me. The commotion had come from the wood paneled drawing room where I first meet Lady Gladys and got there as fast as I could. What I found this time was far worse than an unfortunate cat. It was Lady Gladys and she was dead.

Lady Gladys was lying on the floor. Her white evening gown was soaked in blood and a tiny pearl handled revolver had been tossed beside her body. It looked just like the one Emma had given me to hide. I knelt down and held Lady Gladys’ limp hand. She had been shot three times in the stomach. Her mouth was moving as if she was trying to say something. I leaned in close, but she gasped and let out her last breath before I could make out what she was trying to say. Her ice blue eyes stared up at the ceiling and I felt sick to my stomach. I wanted to cry but my heart was racing so fast I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe.

The eerie silence was broken by another loud gasp, this one was coming from behind me. I looked up to see Emma, Jerome and Owen staring down at their lifeless mother with looks of horror on their faces. Essie, Atwan, Pinkney and Bozier were one step behind them. Everyone was perfectly silent and still until Emma started to hyperventilate. She screamed, “Dear my I believe I’ve caught the vapors.” Her heavily painted eyes began to blink and roll back in her head and she swayed back and forth as she began to faint. Everyone else was frozen in shock and when Emma finally lost consciousness she hit the floor hard.

Essie slowly made her way to the phone and called the police while the rest of us stared in silence. Just as the police arrived Emma came to. She sat up and screamed hysterically.

”He did this to my poor little ol’ mamma! He had the gun! That good for nothing detective had been taking advantage of her grief and mooching off her money for weeks! Mamma finally got mad and was about to throw him out so he killed her! He killed her with her own gun,” she shouted before passing out and crashing to the floor again.

Jerome and Owen simultaneously pointed accusing fingers at me.

“I caught him going through mother’s mink coats,” Owen said. “And look. He’s weary daddy’s silk neck tie.”

Jerome added, “ He asked me to fake a veterinarian’s report so he could swindle her out cash and favors.”

The police officers didn’t say a word but I knew what they were thinking when they reached for their cuffs. I could see exactly where this was going. Those three brats had set me up. I was the perfect patsy. I spent the last two weeks living off the old lady and I had a suitcase full of her late husbands’ hand-me-downs to prove it. Emma had given me the murder weapon and Jerome had probably picked it out of my pocket when he bumped me and dropped the claw hammer in the hallway. I tried to explain the dead cat and the daily reports and the will to the police investigators. But the story sounded so incredibly ridiculous I barely believed it myself. I begged them to talk to Antwan about the will in the cat toy drawer or to go out to the shed with Pinkney to see the poison. But there was no way the police were going to take the word of the hired help over Lady Gladys’ children. Even their basement workshop would sound like a complete lie coming from the guy decked out in clothes and jewelry from the dead lady’s last five husbands. I had to do the one thing I had gotten good at since falling on hard times – run.