Fool's Moon, page 4
Hearing her own tummy abruptly rumble, Ophelia trotted over to the register where the pit bull was already sitting, one paw raised. Ruby looked up from the piece of paper she was making marks on, glanced at the big round timepiece on the wall behind her, and then gave them both an indulgent smile.
“What, snack time already? Give me a minute to clear the space, and then I’ll see about your treats.”
While they waited, Ruby reached beneath the counter and pulled out a tall, skinny plastic bottle with a fancy label on it. She pressed something on top of the bottle that made it spray a cloud of scent. As the fine mist drifted down to her, Ophelia sneezed.
What is that? she had demanded the first time Ruby had spritzed the strange-smelling stuff about. It stinks worse than mice feet!
Zuki had explained that it was an old fashioned human perfume called Florida Water. Or, more accurately, Flower Water—agua de flores, she’d called it, giving those words a perfect Spanish accent. (Ophelia had learned her first day there that Zuki understood Spanish as well as English.) Then, being a typical canine and proud of her olfactory skills, Zuki had started naming ingredients the stinky flower water contained.
Water, alcohol, lavender, lemon, cloves, cinnamon …
Ophelia didn’t hear the whole recipe, for she’d padded off midway through the recitation. Later on, she’d heard Ruby say something about using the flower water for space clearing, though of course that made no sense to anyone but a human.
Now Ruby finished making the place smell like sour flowers and put the bottle back beneath the counter. Then she headed through a door behind the counter, returning with a pair of small-lidded crocks.
Knowing what was in the containers, Zuki gave a happy wriggle, her whip of a tail thumping against the tile floor.
“Who’s a good girl? Who’s a good girl?” Ruby demanded in the squeaky little voice humans normally reserved for their infant offspring.
Ophelia suppressed a snort. It was a silly question to ask, since all three of them knew that she meant Zuki. Just another pointless human ritual, like all the spritzing! Zuki didn’t seem to care, however. She happily crunched the tiny bone-shaped biscuits Ruby tossed her. Then Ruby reached into the second, much smaller container that rattled when she shook it.
“How about you, Ophelia? Does the pwitty kitty want a treat, too?”
“Ugh, really?” she mewed in reply.
Still, her velvety black nose wriggled reflexively at the thought of the tiny fishy squares the jar held. When Ruby gave the container another shake, she decided she could suffer with the silly talk if it meant a tasty snack. And so she bounded onto the counter and gave a sharp meow.
Ruby laughed in response. “Actually, you deserve a handful,” she exclaimed as she counted out the usual three little treats and then added a fourth. “You sure saved my butt on that reading, sticking your paw up there like that and knocking out the Three of Swords. I had no clue you knew how to read Tarot cards. I might have to hire you to help with the clients.”
Ophelia’s mouth was full as she crunched the treats, so her like I don’t have better things to do came out muffled. Zuki heard her, however, and snickered.
“Maybe we should put your name on the sign in the window, too,” the pit bull said as she snuffled up a few stray biscuit crumbs. “I bet humans would pay a lot of money to have a cat tell their fortune.”
“I’m sure I could do much better than Ruby,” was Ophelia’s lofty reply. “But I don’t want to. Besides, what would I do with money?”
“You could give it to Ruby. She’s going to school to get smarter, and it costs lots of money. I’ve heard her say that before.”
As if hearing what the pit bull had said, Ruby slid the treat containers aside and then pulled out a large book. She set it down with a thump beside the cash register. Scooting onto the tall stool behind the counter, she sighed loudly and flipped open the text.
Curious, Ophelia leaned closer to take a look. It was boring as far as books went, since it appeared to be all little black marks that she knew stood for words, and had not a single picture of a feline that she could see. No wonder looking at it made Ruby sigh.
She flicked a whisker. Perhaps she should consider helping Ruby with the Tarot card readings after all. Anything to make a human smarter was a good cause. Perhaps she’d consider it! But first, she had to figure out how she was going to track down her brother.
Part of the problem was that the son had left them in a strange part of town, so that at first she’d had no idea of where she was in this human world. Zuki had helped her understand the situation one night by pulling down a book with a fancy picture of the area. A map, she’d called it, adding, Humans need these pictures to find their way around, because they don’t have a sense of direction built into them like a canine does.
Although Ophelia had known about the ocean that lay beyond their old house, she’d thought it was everywhere. But the picture showed something quite different. This is the Atlantic Ocean, the pit bull had explained, pointing at a big empty section of blue to the far side of the page. Moving her paw to the left, she pointed at a long skinny pale shape, like a fat worm. And this is Palm Beach, where the rich humans and their fancy canines—and felines—live. That’s where your old house is. This here—she pointed further left, at a big splotch that took up almost half of the page—is the city of West Palm Beach. That’s the not-so-fancy side where we live. And this—she indicated a snaky section of blue between the big splotch and the skinny worm—is the Intracoastal. It’s like a big river that separates the fancy from the not-fancy. If you want to go back to your old house, you have to walk over long bridges to get there.
The explanation had been enlightening … and more than a bit frightening. And realizing how big their world really was had been one reason she hadn’t yet gone searching for Brandon.
Making sure now that Ruby was paying attention to her book and not them, Ophelia lightly jumped from the counter. Zuki had finished her biscuits and was now sprawled on the wooden floor. Ophelia gave a casual stretch and a deliberately unconcerned lick of one paw. Much as it went against everything she’d learned since kittenhood, she was going to ask a canine’s help.
“Uh, Zuki,” she ventured, “you said I needed a better plan. I’m sure I can think up something on my own, of course, but sometimes it’s good to have another perspective. So, how do think I should go about trying to find Brandon?”
Zuki gave a little snuffle as she considered the question. “Well, I do know a few canines around town. I can talk to them. They know things.”
“Things? What sort of things?”
“Things like, what’s going on in the streets … what dogs are new in town … and has anyone seen a short-tailed black cat roaming around? I could put out the word and see if anyone bites.”
Then, when Ophelia reflexively bristled at that last word, she hastily added, “I don’t mean literally. And I’ll make sure they know that if anyone sees him, that he stays safe from any strays out there. And they should tell him where you are, so he can make his way here.”
“That might help. But I should do something, myself. I need to do something.”
That last ended in a yowl. At the sound, Ruby looked up from her book.
“Ophelia, are you all right?” she asked in concern, peering over her black-framed glasses. “Did Zuki accidentally step on you or something?”
When the pair blandly stared back at her, she shrugged and returned to her reading. Ophelia tried again.
“I appreciate your help, Zuki, but I need to do something myself to find Brandon. The problem is, I can’t think of what to do besides sneak out and go looking for him.”
“I do have another idea,” the dog replied, getting to her paws and giving herself a shake. “Let’s go to the courtyard and ask Philomena.”
“Philo-who?”
“Never mind, you’ll see. Come on.”
Collar tags jingling, Zuki padded her way behind the counter to the open doorway beyond. With an exasperated hiss, Ophelia scampered after her.
Her first day in the Botanica, Ophelia had been both confused and a little underwhelmed by her new digs. She was used to the old woman’s sprawling house that was filled with sofas and chairs and tables and beds, all of which made for excellent cat lounging. In contrast, Ruby’s house was no larger than the small cottage behind the old woman’s house where Luciana the housekeeper lived. It had taken Ophelia only a few minutes to slink through every room in the new place. She found it an odd amalgamation of spaces that, strangely, did not include a living room or a dining room.
Zuki had explained away some of the muddle.
The Botanica was actually what Zuki—who knew all sorts of interesting things—told her was called Mission Revival style. It had a yellow stucco exterior, arched windows, and terra-cotta tiles on the roof. The house dated from the 1920s … almost the beginning of time, Ophelia had thought in awe. A wall between what once had been the living room and small dining room had been taken down, and the space filled with shelves where the merchandise they sold was all arranged. This, and the small reading room which had once been a bedroom, made up Botanica Santa Rosa.
The remainder of the house—a kitchen and bathroom through
a door beyond the shop area, and two bedrooms and a bathroom
upstairs—was where Ruby actually lived. Not much room for running and exploring, particularly when Ruby did not allow her to play with the interesting books and statues and rocks that lined the store shelves and were good for a paw smack or two.
But the courtyard!
Ophelia purred now at the thought. It was almost as nice as the old woman’s walled backyard with its giant rectangular pond and rows of swaying palm trees. Of course, Ruby’s courtyard was much smaller; still, the paved square of ground did have a giant tree that she could climb, and a small pond where she could splash at the water. The pond was partway above the ground, its stone walls tall enough so that a human could sit comfortably on it like a bench … or a feline could lie in the broad shadow it threw. A few white water lilies floated on the pond’s surface, putting out a faint scent that reminded Ophelia of the spray that Ruby spritzed about.
To be sure, the courtyard’s stuccoed walls were rough and not good for scaling with cat paws, so she had yet to find an escape route from there. Still, the courtyard was an excellent place for one to lounge and watch lizards. There was even a concrete table and benches covered in bright multicolored tile in a starburst pattern that was cool for sleeping on.
But, best of all, in the far corner of the courtyard beneath a strangler fig tree was a stack of three wire cages, each one of which was home to a bright red rooster.
Of course, those chickens didn’t live full-time in the cages. Every morning, Ruby would come out to the courtyard to open their doors and give the trio fresh food and water. The roosters spent the day crowing and pecking about the place, and eating the bugs that, by rights, should have been Ophelia’s to play with. And at night, the human would herd them back into their cages to sleep. Boring, useless creatures! At least if she’d been allowed to chase them …
Ophelia sighed. The first time she’d seen them out in the courtyard, she had done what any respectable feline would do. She crouched low so that she was flat against the cool stone, wriggled her butt … and then pounced!
Unfortunately, Zuki had intercepted her leap, so that all she got was a single shiny black tail-feather as the roosters scattered in a flurry of squawking. Before she could prepare for another launch, the pit bull had warned her in stern tones that the roosters were Ruby’s pets and thus off-limits for hunting. Ophelia had sulked a bit but agreed to follow the rules, though she kept the feather as a trophy to bat about when she got bored.
But despite the “no hunting” directive, the courtyard was a very fine place, indeed. Getting to it, however, was a feat for any cat.
Ophelia trotted down the short hall, past the black-and-white-tiled kitchen and the pink-and-black bathroom where her litter box was located. At the end of that corridor was the door leading outside. Ruby had installed in one of its panels a dog door that let Zuki—and now Ophelia—wander in and out during the day.
The compact canine had no fear when it came to barreling through the flapping plastic that covered the opening. For Ophelia, however, finding a way around the evil flapping thing was always a trial. If she tried to squeeze past, its rough edges always yanked a bit of fur. If she barreled through like Zuki, that flapping plastic curtain always slapped her rump before she could clear it. And then, when she was ready to come back inside again, she faced the same dilemma.
Being outside in the courtyard, however, was worth the suffering.
Even so, when she reached the door, she halted and waited until the flapping plastic rectangle settled back into place. Pulled fur or a smack, which was worse?
Then she heard the sound of gravel crunching in the outside parking area. That meant a customer was coming in, which meant Ruby would be busy for a while. And depending on how long it took to talk with this Philo-whatever (cat? canine? bird?), it was probably best that Ruby be otherwise occupied.
Steeling herself for the smack of the plastic, she bounded through the flap and out to the courtyard where Zuki awaited her.
Four
Ruby heard the sound of dog tags jingling and looked up from her text book. Zuki had padded behind the counter and was trotting out toward her doggie door and the courtyard beyond. Ophelia, black tail waving like a silky serpent, was following after.
Ruby smiled.
It was good to see the two of them getting along, rather than fighting like—well, cats and dogs. Not that she’d been worried about Zuki. Despite the fearsome reputation that clung to her breed, Zuki was one of the best-tempered dogs that Ruby had ever known. She never snapped or growled at any of the various furred and feathered creatures that had passed through the Botanica. Indeed, Zuki had been the one to find Ophelia trapped inside that box on the sidewalk. When the poor cat had collapsed from the heat, the pit bull had begun licking her motionless form, seemingly in an attempt to revive her.
And when Ruby had returned from the animal shelter and set down the pet carrier holding Ophelia, Zuki had pranced about in what Ruby could only describe as the canine version of the Happy Dance.
Of course, Ophelia had been harder to win over.
Ruby’s smile became rueful. The first few days with a new kitty in the place had consisted primarily of hiding and hissing on said kitty’s part, along with the occasional swat in Zuki’s direction. But the pit bull had gamely hung in there, and after about a week, the pair suddenly had been as tight as if they’d been raised together.
Unfortunately, Ruby was still working on being BFFs with the cat. Despite what she’d been sure was a connection between them there in the shelter, she and Ophelia were still nothing more than acquaintances. Ophelia deigned to be petted at meal time, but as yet there was no lap sitting, and no warm snuggly kitty on the foot of her bed.
“I’ll win you over yet, my pretty,” Ruby intoned in her best Wicked Witch voice as she watched the cat vanish out the pet door.
Still smiling, she returned her attention to her book. She was sitting atop a wooden stool at the glass-fronted counter there at the back of the shop—her usual spot when not otherwise occupied with stocking or customers. The counter stretched almost the width of the room, cash register in the center and flanked by two small baskets of impulse buy items (this week, two soy mini candles for the price of one). The counter’s shelves held rows of bright-colored prayer cards, as well as stones and crystals (natural and carved), along with a large variety of Tarot and oracle cards.
From her vantage point, she could look down every aisle and keep an eye on the front door as well. Even though her clientele supposedly were spiritually inclined, shoplifting was always a possibility. Though, surprisingly—or perhaps, not—she’d had little problem with theft in the store.
Ruby glanced at the wall behind her. Between two hand-lettered signs, one reading No Checks Accepted and the other All Sales FINAL, hung a life-sized oil portrait of Rosa. Seen from the waist up, she was dressed in her usual Santera white, her long black hair almost completely hidden beneath a white headwrap. Her strong, sharp features were set in an unflinching expression and always reminded Ruby of a Cuban Frida Kahlo. And even though she was a good two decades older than Ruby, no way did she appear anywhere near fifty years old.
Ruby shook her head. Despite the fact they shared the same mother, Ruby had yet to find any familial resemblance between her and her half sister, save for the same wide, full mouth. Definitely, the woman in the portrait projected a “don’t jack with me” vibe that Ruby had yet to cultivate. If Rosa’s reputation in the neighborhood wasn’t sufficient to keep sticky fingers in pockets, the way her painted eyes seemed to follow people about the room likely did the job.
She was just settling into her biography of Mary Wollstonecraft again when the front door gave a warning jangle. So much for studying before lunch. But in the next moment, she saw it wasn’t another customer after all.
“So, anyone up for food?”
The newcomer strode down the main aisle toward the rear counter where Ruby sat. The skirt of her brightly patterned Lilly Pulitzer halter sundress swung with every step. A bright yellow crossbody purse added to the outfit’s tropical vibe and allowed her to carry a large white paper bag. She raised the sack so Ruby could see it was stamped with the name of the local Chinese food emporium.
Ruby shut her book, slid her glasses back up her nose, and grinned. “Do you really have to ask? I’m always up for food. Seriously, I’ve put on five pounds since I’ve been stuck here in this shop,” she complained.
