Stray Fears - Gregory Ashe Page 0,92

course, the Irreconcilables, perched on bookshelves and the back of the sofa, crawling through their cat mansion, swishing past Tean with disdainful looks that said they would accept a display of affection, albeit unwillingly. Their numbers varied between twelve and eighteen; Tean no longer tried to keep track.

Setting down Senator Frank B. Bandegee, Tean made a quick tour of the apartment. He made the mistake of getting too close to Senator Poindexter, a vicious Siamese, and earned a nasty swipe at his ankle for his mistake. In what Mrs. Wish optimistically called the guest bedroom, which was a confection of pink, sateen, and spills of creamy lace—canopy bed included—he found the intruder. The closet doors were open, and Mrs. Wish had dragged one of her heavy dining chairs into place so she could reach the shelf at the top where the spider was hiding.

Tean climbed up onto the chair and examined the shelf: several folded blankets, a lacquered wood box, and a manila folder. On the tab of the folder, Mrs. Wish’s Palmer script read: Reagan – Shirtless. In smaller letters below, she had added, with quotation marks included, “The California Showboat.” Tean was reaching to open the folder when he heard the front door. He jerked his hand back.

“Oh, Dr. Leon,” Mrs. Wish said, wringing her hands from the guest bedroom’s doorway. “You really have to be careful.”

Tean shifted his attention to the intruder: a small black spider hanging from its web in the closet’s upper corner.

“He looks like a nasty customer,” Tean said.

“Well,” Mrs. Wish said, obviously at a loss for words. “Smash him!”

“I don’t think we need to do that.”

“Dr. Leon, I know a black widow spider when I see one. They can kill an adult. Think of what their poison could do to the children.”

“Venom,” Tean said absently. “Not poison. Do you have a pen? Never mind, I’ve got a Blackwing in my pocket.” He drew out the pencil, got the eraser as close to the web as he could, and tapped the wall. The spider scuttled along the web, following the vibrations. Tean withdrew the pencil, watching as the spider searched for its prey.

“Perhaps my bust of the lesser Roosevelt,” Mrs. Wish offered.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“Be honest, Dr. Leon. How much danger are the Irreconcilables in? I’ll book a hotel. I assume you’ll be available to help with their carriers. We can transport them in two trips—”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Tean said hastily.

“If something happened to one of the children, I’d die. I’d just die.”

“Well, we’re all going to die, Mrs. Wish. And they’re technically not children. They’re cats.”

That seemed to throw off the rhythm of Mrs. Wish’s performance. She put her hands on her hips, staring up at him, and said, “I hardly think a crisis is the time to wax philosophical.”

“I’m not being philosophical. I’m just pointing out that we’re nothing but complex molecular chains that will eventually dissolve and be recycled into something else. A plant, maybe.”

Mrs. Wish stared at him.

“Err. Like catnip. Some of the same basic building blocks that make up Mrs. Wish could one day be inside a cloth mouse, giving some lucky cat hours of entertainment. That’d be nice, right?”

For a moment, Mrs. Wish didn’t seem to know what to say. She settled for: “I should think not.”

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Tean said, “Right. Well, about the spider—”

“I’ll get the lesser Roosevelt.”

“Hold on, and then you can decide. First of all, it’s not Latrodectus hesperus—not a black widow, I mean.”

“I know what a black widow—”

“You can see for yourself.” Tean offered her the chair, but she shook her head. Pointing with the Blackwing, he said, “No hourglass marking on the ventral abdomen.”

“Perhaps you’re confused about which side the marking should be on.”

Tean tapped the wall again, and the spider scurried across its web, exposing its dorsal side, which was also dark and unmarked.

“Well,” Mrs. Wish said, tugging on her terrycloth sleeves. “What is it then?”

“I think it’s Steatoda grossa, what’s called a false black widow.”

“I still think a good smashing is in order.”

“If you like. But just so you know, Steatoda grossa preys on a variety of pests, including Latrodectus hesperus. Real black widows, I mean.”

Mrs. Wish thought about this. “It won’t harm the children.”

“No, it won’t bother you or the cats.”

“And it might even stop something from harming them.”

“That’s right. There’s almost always one thing higher on the food chain. Predators who prey on predators, you know? All the way up to