Canapés for the Kitties (14 page)

“No hard feelings. Proves it, doesn't it?” Lily relaxed somewhat and looked Miss Petunia squarely in the eyes for the first time. “And what does your letter say?” she inquired innocently.

Miss Petunia closed her eyes and shuddered. Although she had taken only one quick look at that scurrilous letter, it seemed that every outrageous word was printed in letters of flame across her mind. She shrank from communicating it, but Lily and Marigold had confided in her – they had a right to know.

“It said that I was an evil, obnoxious, wicked, nosy, interfering old bitch, forever shoving her nose into things that were none of my business.”

“You're not old!” Marigold cried loyally.

“The idea!” Lily growled. “Look at all the crimes in St. Waldemar Boniface that would have gone unnoticed – and unpunished – if it hadn't been for you.”

“And,” Miss Petunia continued grimly, “that the world would be a better place without me.”

“That's right!” Marigold's eyes widened with recognition. “I forgot. Mine ended that way, too.”

“So did mine.” Lily was still growling. “Do you think it's a threat? Think we ought to call the police?”

“Oh, no!” Marigold protested, horrified. “We might have to show them the letters. I couldn't bear it!”

“You're right, dear,” Miss Petunia said. “We don't want to bring the police into this.”

“Handle it ourselves, then?” Lily's eyes gleamed. “Put our heads together and –”

Oh, the hell with it!
It was too beautiful a day to kill anyone – even Miss Petunia.

Lorinda pushed back her chair and filed the uncompleted chapter. The cats had disappeared ages ago, obviously out and about their own business. She didn't blame them. The day was bright and clear, the air crisp and invigorating. They were heading into winter and there might not be many more days like this. It would be a shame to waste it. She collected her wheeled wicker shopping basket and set out for the High Street.

Everyone seemed of the same opinion. The High Street was bustling. Before she had reached the greengrocer's, she had exchanged greetings with several villagers, waved to Freddie, who was across the street, standing in front of the bookshop watching Jennifer Lane assemble a new window display, and observed Plantagenet Sutton going into the wine merchant's.

Wheeling her basket out of the dark fragrant cavern of the greengrocer's, she nearly ran down Macho, who was too busy trying to control a struggling, protesting Roscoe to watch where he was going.

“
There
you are!” He greeted her as though she had just returned from the missing. “We've got to have a Council of War. I can't believe Rhylla wouldn't have warned us. It was the least she could do. She must be out of her mind.”

“
Mrreow-aaaoeh-rraarr ...
” Roscoe also decided she was the right person to register a complaint with. He struggled briefly again to escape Macho's tight clasp.

“Irresponsible!” Macho brooded.

“
Mrrrr-rrrrm-mmrrr ...
” Neither of them were happy.

“What is it?” Lorinda looked from one angry face to the other. “What's happened?”

“I didn't think you knew,” Macho said. “And you ought to. It's your problem, too. You're going to have to lock up Had-I and But-Known. I'm taking Roscoe home now to shut him in – and he isn't going to like it.”

“What's wrong?”

“Rhylla's monstrous grandchild. Have you seen her pet?”

“No.” It was a rhetorical question, but Lorinda answered it anyway, ghastly visions forming in her imagination. “What is it – a pit bull?”

“The police could deal with that.” Macho dismissed such a puerile worry. “It's worse, much worse.”

“For heaven's sake, tell me!” Sometimes she could shake him.

“
Rrrreeeoowww ...
” Obviously, Roscoe felt the same way.

“That revolting child has for a pet ...” Macho paused for dramatic effect. “A white rat!
And
she walks around with it perched on her shoulder.”

“Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes! Fortunately, I was doing some shopping when I saw Roscoe ... acting suspiciously ... trailing the child down the High Street. Then I saw why.”

Roscoe hunkered down in his master's arms and closed his eyes, absenting himself from the situation. He continued to emit a low rumbling sound that was not quite a growl, but definitely was not a purr.

“I caught him in mid-air as he sprang.” Macho shuddered. “If he had landed with all claws extended on that rat ... on that child's shoulder ...”

“Oh, dear!” The picture was clear and irresistible.

“I'm glad you think it's so funny,” Macho said coldly. “Have a real laugh: your two are staking out Coffers Court right now, waiting for the child to return. If they catch her, it could be the start of our first village feud.”

That wiped the smile off Lorinda's face. “I'd better get over there,” she said.

“Yes, you really had.” Macho, having spread alarm and despondency, now seemed in a better mood. The same could not be said for Roscoe, who was still bemoaning lost opportunity. “Ring me when you've got them safely locked up. Someone is going to have to have a serious talk with Rhylla.”

Had-I and But-Known were perched in the window box outside Gemma Duquette's living room, whiling away the time by tormenting the maddened pug dogs inside.

“And just what do you think you're doing?” she asked sternly.

Had-I gave her an innocent look and flicked an insouciant tail, sending the pugs into fresh paroxysms of yapping. But-Known tugged a petal off one of the chrysanthemums and offered it to her placatingly.

“Well, you can stop that right now and come home.” But it was easier said than done. She could not carry two cats and pull the wheeled basket at the same time. It was no use putting them into the basket, they knew how to flip the lid back and escape. Jumping in and out of the basket was one of their favourite games on a wet afternoon and, if they were home when she returned from shopping trips, they always rushed to claw open the lid and inspect her purchases.

They eyed the basket now, with some interest, but not enough to deflect them from their original plans. They remained firmly rooted in the window box, Had-I squashing a few small asters beneath her rump.

“Home,” Lorinda repeated with more firmness than she felt. They knew she was in no position to enforce her command.

Inside, the yapping grew to a crescendo and the window was opened suddenly. Gemma leaned out to see what was disturbing her pets. She did not look well.

“Shoo! Scat!” She waved her hands at the cats before noticing Lorinda, then stopped guiltily. “Sorry,” she said, “but they're upsetting the dogs. Come in, why don't you, and have a cup of coffee?”

“Oh, I don't think –” But the cats had already accepted the invitation. They leaped through the open window and there were sounds of canine hysteria at this brazen invasion of their territory.

“Oh, God!” Gemma's head disappeared as she turned to join in the fray. “Conqueror! Lionheart! Stop it! Stop it this minute!”

Lorinda sighed and moved on to the imposing front door. It was locked. She pushed the doorbell for Gemma's flat, but the noise of skirmish could be heard out here; there was little chance that Gemma would hear the bell or remember that Lorinda was there until things quieted down.

“Allow me.” Plantagenet Sutton came up behind her silently and inserted his key in the lock. There was a clank of bottles from his basket as he swung open the door. “Visiting someone?”

“Gemma,” she replied. “I'm afraid my cats are already in there.” It was useless to pretend otherwise – the noises behind the other door were quite explicit.

“Those damned mutts!” He frowned. “This wouldn't be such a bad place if only it were quiet.” He lingered as Lorinda knocked loudly on Gemma's door.

“You'll never make her hear that way,” he remarked, always a critic. He took out a wine bottle and hammered on Gemma's door with it.

“All right! All right! I'm coming!” The door opened and Gemma stood there, distraught and harassed. “Oh, it's you. What do you want?” She glared at Plantagenet Sutton.

“A little peace and quiet,” he replied. Lorinda scuttled around him; the battle inside the flat promised to be more manageable.

“I'm sorry,” Gemma said, “but they're overexcited and –”

“That's all, very well, but they're always overexcited. You ought to have some consideration for your neighbours. If you can't control your animals, at least you might cut their vocal cords!”

“Well, really!” Gemma gasped in outrage. “If you weren't in the throes of a perpetual hangover, a little healthy noise wouldn't bother you!”

It was definitely safer inside; it even sounded quieter now. Lorinda parked her shopping basket in the tiny entrance hall while Gemma and Plantagenet continued to trade insults. The dogs advanced into the hallway to reinforce their mistress. Had-I and But-Known had sprawled in a corner of the sofa, well pleased with their bit of excitement.

“You're disgraceful,” Lorinda told them. “Absolutely disgraceful.”

The door slammed and Gemma marched back into the living room, quivering with indignation and flanked by Conqueror and Lionheart.

“This was such a nice place before
he
moved in!” She sank into one of the armchairs, leaned back and closed her eyes. Suddenly she looked drained, her brief spurt of energy exhausted. Her hair was dishevelled and she was still wearing her dressing gown.

“Are you all right?” Lorinda felt vaguely alarmed.

“It was something I ate yesterday, I think.” Gemma spoke without opening her eyes. “I'm better now, but I had a terrible night. I'd only just got to sleep when the dogs woke me.”

“I'm sorry.” Lorinda apologized for her cats.

The dogs settled themselves, one on each side of Gemma's chair and looked up at her. Conqueror whimpered anxiously.

“Are you sure you're all right? Did you call the doctor? Can I get you anything?” Lorinda's unease grew. Gemma did not look better, she seemed to be getting paler.

“No, no. Just let me rest for a minute. Plantagenet is so exhausting. Oh –” Gemma's eyes opened. “Actually, there
is
something you could do, if you wouldn't mind – ?”

“Yes? What?”

“Would you take Conqueror and Lionheart walkies? Poor dears, we've usually been out hours ago. Just down to the end of the High Street and back will do.”

“Of course.” Lorinda would have agreed to far more than that. “No, don't get up. Just tell me where you keep their leashes.”

“They're hanging on the hook underneath my raincoat. Thanks awfully.” Gemma smiled weakly. “I'll have that coffee I promised you ready when you get back.”

“Don't bother, it's all right. Why don't you go back to bed? You look as though you could do with some more rest.” Lorinda found the leads and attached them to the dogs' collars while Had-I and But-Known looked on with interest and a certain air of superiority.
They
didn't need to be tethered to a human before being allowed out of the house.

“Coming?” Lorinda asked them.

Had-I yawned and stretched out on the cushions. It was nap time. But-Known wavered, but yawns were catching; she gave one of her own and slumped down atop her sister.

“They're all right.” Gemma also yawned. “Let them stay.”

“They're just going to sleep now,” Lorinda agreed. “I'll collect them when I bring the dogs back.” The dogs were already prancing and pawing at the carpet, eager to be off. “Come on, you lot.”

Three lampposts along the High Street, Lorinda saw Freddie walking slowly toward them with a strange look on her face.

“You're not going by the old graveyard, are you?” she greeted Lorinda.

“I wouldn't dream of it.” It was a popular dog-walk with some villagers, but Lorinda felt it lacked respect. “Why? Is Clarice in there?”

“Clarice? What's she got to do with anything?” Freddie looked puzzled, then her face cleared. “Oh, is she one of those ghastly children who like to play tricks?” She seemed quite happy with the thought.

“Not that I know of. She has other alarming traits. Apparently, she has a white rat for a pet and likes to carry it around on her shoulder.” Lorinda reined in the pugs who were sniffing enthusiastically at Freddie's shoes.

“That's going to add some spice to life around here,” Freddie said. ‘ ‘What are you going to do about the cats?' '

“It won't be easy.” Lorinda sighed. “I just hope Clarice's parents settle down quickly in the States and send for her in very short order.”

“I wouldn't trust those dogs with a rat, either.” Freddie looked at them critically. “They may not be terriers, but they still have the hunting instinct. What are you doing with them, anyway?”

“Walking them for Gemma. She isn't well. Something she ate; she thinks.”

“People aren't careful enough about refrigeration in this country.” Freddie still seemed preoccupied by problems of her own, “I'm always seeing packets of frozen food abandoned on supermarket shelves by dimwits who've changed their minds. Then some even dimmer employee comes along and puts them back into the freezer without knowing how long they've been sitting there and whether they've defrosted or not. I'm only surprised there aren't mass outbreaks of food poisoning. They haven't a clue here.”

“I see what you mean.”

“
They
haven't a clue!” Freddie laughed mirthlessly. “I should talk. Neither have I. I'm stuck in Chapter Six and I don't know what that damned Wraith O'Reilly is going to do next – and neither does she. It's beginning to haunt me.” Freddie glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the old graveyard. “Sometimes I think
she's
beginning to haunt me.”