A Familiar Tail (19 page)

“Blessings upon this house and those here gathered,” said Julia. “Blessings upon our sister Annabelle Amelia Blessingsound Britton, whom we welcome to our circle. Blessings upon our sister Dorothy, who has begun her journey on the night side. May we all walk in the light, in truth and justice, kindness and mercy.”

“An' it harm none, so mote it be,” answered the women. Their voices formed a chorus, rising along with the sparks and the firelight. I lifted my eyes and saw the moon looking back down on us all.

I didn't feel awkward anymore. I felt whole. More. I felt like I had finally, truly come home.

29

I SLEPT SOUNDLY.
The Shaker-style bed was incredibly comfortable and the pillows smelled like warm lavender. I didn't dream. I didn't agonize. I didn't worry.

That is, until I felt the large warm weight on my chest and a cold nose against mine. Even then I didn't worry. I did shout, though.

“Gah!”

“Meow!” Alistair jumped sideways as I scrambled backward.

I shoved my hair out of my face and blinked. My room was dim, but the beams of morning sunshine that streamed through the closed curtains told me it was a lovely day outside. Despite this, Alistair paced restlessly across the foot of the bed.

“What is it? Is it an emergency?”

“Meow!” Alistair leapt down and ran out the door.

“Shoot!” I grabbed my old pink robe out of the suitcase. With all the cleaning and everything yesterday, I hadn't found time to unpack. I wrapped the soft flannel around
myself and hurried downstairs, my heart in my mouth. What was it this time? Should I have stopped for the wand, or the cell phone? Did I need to check the house Vibe? Maybe I should get Julia, or better yet, Kenisha, on speed dial or . . .

Alistair trotted into the kitchen and circled around a cracked china bowl somebody had put next to the stove.

“Meow!” he announced.

I stared at the empty bowl. I stared at the cat.

“OMG, Alistair. All that because you're
hungry
?”

“Meow!” Alistair pawed the bowl.

“Of course, of course. The cat's hungry. Clearly, this is a national emergency.” I stumped over to the refrigerator. I was grumpy from being woken up so suddenly, but also because I realized that with all the bustling around yesterday, I hadn't thought to buy cat food.

“Maybe there's some leftovers or something.” I yanked open the fridge.

There were leftovers, and they crowded the peanut butter and cheese I'd bought to one side. There were eggs and milk too, which I was pretty sure I hadn't bought, and lettuce and tomatoes in the crisper, another loaf of bread and some neatly wrapped packages of what might have been cold cuts.

I was going to be writing a lot of thank-you notes.

“Scrambled eggs okay again?”

“Mer-ow,” answered Alistair, his tone indicating some reservations about my culinary skill. Clearly, he'd been talking to Martine.

“Tough,” I told him.

I'll be the first to admit my cooking's nothing to alert the media about, but I can manage a decent scrambled egg. I whisked in the milk, added some salt, and dropped a pat of butter in the pan to melt. Alistair leapt up on the counter to watch the proceedings.

“Down, cat.”

He looked at me like I was nuts. I had a feeling I was going to have to get used to that. I'd add it to the list.

It was going to be a long list. The house—my house—was comfortable, but a little stark. The bedroom would benefit from a throw rug or three, and I'd need more towels for the bathroom. Some people are clotheshorses, but any of my old roommates will tell you I am a towel horse. And then . . .

“Whoa, girl, settle down,” I muttered to myself as I stirred the eggs in the pan. “You can't go loading up on stuff. You're only here for three months at most.”

I told myself this firmly, but I couldn't quite believe it. I portioned the eggs out onto Corelle plates (the kind with the green flowers) and set one down on the table for Alistair. I buttered some toast for me and brought it to the table along with my mug of coffee. I watched Alistair nibbling for a minute, and I realized that if I left town, I'd probably have to leave him too.

My throat tightened up for no readily apparent reason. I decided to change the mental subject.

“The question is,” I said as I dug into my own eggs, “if we're not redecorating, what are we doing today?”

Alistair didn't so much as look up from the eggs. Evidently, he'd decided my cooking was minimally acceptable.

“I really have to get some work done,” I went on. “If I don't bring in some fresh cash, we're both going to be in a really deep hole really soon. But, you know, I'm worried about what happened . . .”

“Knock, knock!” called a familiar voice.

I twisted around in time to see Val lean in through the kitchen door, which I'd evidently forgotten to lock last night. I waved her inside. I also straightened my robe over my sleep shirt and ran a hand over my hair. Val laughed at me.

“Good morning! Good morning, Alistair!” She scratched his ears. He cleaned a whisker at her and returned to what was left of his eggs.

“Good morning.” I pulled out a chair. “How're you doing? I'd offer you some coffee, but . . .”

“I know.” She patted her belly. “And I really can't stay anyhow.” Despite this, she did sit down. “I just wanted to stop by and see how you're doing, after last night and everything.”

“I'm good, really,” I told her, and I meant it. “It all feels . . . right. Weird, but right.”

“I'm so glad.” Val smiled, and she hesitated. “I don't want to bring up anything contentious, but, did you feel . . . anything last night? Maybe after we left?”

I eyed her over the rim of my coffee cup. “You mean did I get any new Vibes about Dorothy's death? No. Sorry.”

“Oh, well. We probably just have to give it time.”

I swirled my coffee, and Alistair butted my elbow, making things slosh. “Okay, okay.” I scratched his ears. “Um, Val, I can't believe I'm about to ask this, but what was Dorothy's relationship with Brad Thompson?” I'd work my way around to my interrupted conversation with Julia later. After that, I'd tell her about
aka Dorothy Gale.
Maybe.

I expected a frown, but Val leaned forward eagerly. “You did pick up something! What was it? Does it have something to do with that argument you and Brad had in Raja Rani the other day?”

“You saw that? How did you see that?”

“Portsmouth is not a big town. I didn't have to see it. I heard about it.”

I considered my coffee and my new neighbor. Was I ready to tell Val about Brad's mysterious copies? She might decide to start tearing into the house to look for them, even though we'd been over the place from top to bottom yesterday. But that wasn't the real problem. The real problem was if I told Val, I'd have to explain to her why I hadn't told Julia, and that wasn't going to lead anywhere good.

I took a deep breath and punted. “Were Brad and Dorothy friends? Or business partners?”

“Not as far as I know, but you could ask Laurie Thompson.”

“Riiighht,” I drawled. “I could go to her house and say, ‘Hey, Laurie, I want to talk about your husband and the dead witch.'”

Val demonstrated her essential maturity and stuck her tongue out at me. “You could go over and talk about art. I mean, you said that painting of hers was really good, didn't you?”

I did, and it was. I drummed my fingers against the table. “They're in trouble, aren't they? The Thompsons? Is it money?”

Val nodded. “Brad was out of work for a long time before he got his job with Maitland and Associates. The debts piled up. You know how it goes.”

“Yeah, yeah, I do.” I drummed my fingers some more and glanced at Alistair. He licked his whiskers and strolled over to bump his head against my purse where it was hanging on the back of the chair. “Hang on,” I said to Val. I unearthed my phone and hit a number. It was too early for anybody to be in the office, but I got voice mail.

“Hey, Nadia, it's Anna Britton. Call me back when you get a chance. I've been looking at some work by a new artist out here, and I think they're somebody you're going to want to see. Bye.” I hung up. Val was staring. “A friend of mine runs a gallery down in the Hamptons. It's not huge, but if I can talk her into hanging one or two of Laurie's pieces, it could lead to something.”

“Seriously? That's wonderful!”

I shrugged. “I can't promise anything, and I'll need to
find out if Laurie's even interested.” I smiled. “So, I guess I'm going to have to talk with her after all.”

“That's fantastic! I knew you could do this! I'm just sorry I can't come with you.”

“You've got a business to run. I swear, I'll report back as soon as I'm home.”

Val gave me her number to add to my phone list and we said good-bye. I closed the door behind her but watched as she crossed the garden and let herself out through the gate. I realized I was smiling.

“I think I'm going to like this friends-and-neighbors thing,” I said to Alistair.

He responded with a grumpy rumble and nosed at his now-empty plate. “No more for you,” I informed him as I cleared the table and carried the dishes to the sink. “I've got places to go and people to meet. I can't spend all day feeding the cat.”

When I looked down to see Alistair's response, he wasn't there.

•   •   •

I SHOWERED AND
dried my hair. That is, I dried my hair after I unearthed my blow dryer from the depths of Thing Two. In honor of the fact that I intended to go visiting, I put on my batik-print skirt and a mostly unwrinkled sleeveless blue blouse. I was going to need an iron, or at least time to hang stuff up. There was a washing machine in the basement. It would mean going down into the cellar again, but I could handle it now. Probably.

As I headed to the foyer to grab my purse and keys, which I'd left on the table, I was startled by a low rumble from the doormat. Alistair was back. He was also flattened out in front of the door, growling.

“That's not about your dish being empty, is it?”

He grumbled a response. I walked gingerly up to the door, undid the dead bolt and peered out. The little porch
was empty; so were the yard and the street. The morning was already warm, and the air was full of the smell of roses.

But Alistair wasn't taking all this emptiness calmly. He stalked past me and started prowling the narrow front yard. I found myself automatically looking for that skinny yellow bird neither of us liked. What I found instead was a white envelope sticking out of the mailbox.

“What's this?” I asked as I pulled it out. Alistair showed no interest. He was busy patrolling the picket fence, shoving his face into the weeds and lashing his tail.

At first glance, the envelope looked normal enough, although it was a little thicker and heavier than the usual office supply store paper. Then I saw it had been addressed by hand, in the precise, slanted cursive you hardly ever saw anymore. There was even a seal on it, but no stamp. Somebody had put this into the box him – or herself.

“What the hey?” I broke the seal and pulled out a sheet of notepaper, which was a match for the envelope. The handwriting looked the same as for the address.

I read:

To Miss Annabelle Blessingsound Britton:

I am writing to invite you to have coffee with me Tuesday morning at eleven o'clock. I recognize you do not know me and have no objective reason to agree. However, if you will come, I promise I will be able to shed some light on certain events that have occurred in your proximity since you arrived in Portsmouth.

Sincerely,

Elizabeth Maitland

The address was over on Newcastle Island.

Alistair climbed back onto the porch, tail still lashing.

“Hey, Alistair.” I crouched down and held out the letter. “What do you think of this?”

Alistair sniffed the paper and shrank back with a growl.

“Yeah, me too. Should I go?”

Alistair growled again.

“Okay.” I tucked the note in my purse. “Change of plans. I can talk to Laurie Thompson later. Right now, I'm going to meet the bad witch.”