Book One, Page Five. Warm Up, Fall Down.
Mrs. Lancaster couldn't get her daughter on the phone at Jerry's office. But Jerry didn't want to let the lady get away without establishing some means of contact. When he emerged from the recesses of the clinic with Mrs. Lancaster's dead cat--it was inside a plastic garbage bag, inside a specially-printed, cardboard cat coffin--he asked whether she had any way of digging a hole to bury the cat. She looked a little frail to be doing such things.
"I'm not too busy," Jerry said. "I'd be happy to help."
"Oh, I dig in my garden all the time," she said. "I know just where I'll put her, right between some irises. The ground is real soft there. I'll have no problem."
"Well. Please ask your daughter if it's all right for me to call her about the new restaurant," Jerry said. "Or she can call me." He handed the box to Mrs. Lancaster, then reached for one of his cards to slip under her hand.
"My goodness!" Mrs. Lancaster said. "It feels as if Pinky is still warm! She wouldn't be warm if she died yesterday, would she? Are you sure that she's dead?"
Jerry hadn't thought about that. Yes, the cat was warm, from the microwaved thaw Jerry had to perform so he could arrange the legs of the cat into a position of repose. "It must just be where I was holding it, Mrs. Lancaster," he said. "I wish I could say Pinky was alive, but I assure you that she has passed on. She must have been a nice cat for you to love her so much."
"Not really," said Mrs. Lancaster. "I'm just worried about Winifred. It was her cat. Well, I'll sure ask her to call." Jerry held the door open and Mrs. Lancaster left. He stood thee for a minute after she drove away. Wasn't she tearful and emotional when she brought the cat over? Now she was acting as if the cat were no more of a loss to her than a bag of garbage.
Jerry returned to his desk and looked over his list. First item was to call the real estate agent handling the old Roquette's Drugstore building. He picked up the phone and dialed.
At her home, Mrs. Lancaster got out her old shovel and began to dig. She first removed a few bulbs, then went through the planting soil in her flower beds, then into the harder clay beneath it. It was much harder than she thought to dig a hole deep enough for Pinky and her little cardboard coffin. She paused, wiped the perspiration from her brow, and put the shovel into the ground again. It went in deep. She levered out a hefty load of clay. She tried to lift it, and found it heavier than she thought.
She paused, took a deep breath, and gave the shovel another jerk. The big wad of clay came out of the hole about four inches, then sagged. She strained against the shovel with all her might.
Then Mrs. Lancaster dropped the shovel, and fell, face forward, on top of the cardboard box with the dead cat inside.
