Canapés for the Kitties (28 page)

“So you gotta haircut,” Jack greeted him. “About time. And the beard is gone, too. Good. Hey, you
do
have a chin!”

“Yes.” Macho ground his teeth, chin jutted forward. “Gonna keep the old soup-strainer, are you?” No one could ever accuse Jack of being sensitive to the nuances of a situation. Lorinda became aware of another set of teeth grinding. They were Karla's.

“Do you have to be such an asshole?” she snarled at her husband.

Now that they were in the living room, Lorinda could trace the source of the sobbing. Rhylla clasped a shuddering, shaking Clarice to her bosom, rocking her, patting her back, murmuring soothing meaningless sounds.

“I'm afraid poor little Clarice discovered the body,” Professor Borley informed them in measured tones.

Betty Alvin was making no sound at all. She sat in a corner of the room, her back to the wall, her face whiter than the paint on the woodwork. A glass of dark-brown liquid was clasped in her hands, unnoticed, untouched. She appeared to be in deep shock.

“Perhaps you could talk to Betty,” Professor Borley said. “I just can't seem to get through to her.”

“What's the matter with her?” Freddie asked. “I thought it was Clarice who found the body.”

“Well, yes. But Betty was the last to see her alive.” He lowered his voice. “I'm afraid Betty blames herself.”

Betty Alvin seemed to make a habit of blaming herself, Lorinda thought in faint irritation. That was probably why Dorian liked having her around. Betty was one of life's martyrs, always ready to be put-upon, always ready to take any blame that was going around. And Dorian was very good at apportioning blame.

Outside, another siren sounded briefly, but was quickly silenced, as though acknowledging that there was no reason to hurry any more. Lorinda glanced out of the window in time to see a Fire Rescue van pull up in front of the building. A police car was immediately behind it.

Macho had been looking around the room like the teacher he once was, taking roll call. Now he turned to Gemma and asked, “Where's Ondine?”

The question brought a fresh paroxysm of tears from Clarice and a faint protesting moan from Betty. Rhylla hugged Clarice closer. Gemma bent to stroke the dogs at her feet. Professor Borley cleared his throat and looked thoughtful. No one seemed in any hurry to answer.

“Well, hell, they're gonna have to know,” Jack said. “Thing is, she's at the bottom of the elevator shaft.”

“Wha-at?”

“Lift, you idiot!” Karla snapped. “They don't say elevator. She's at the bottom of the lift shaft. Well, not exactly. The lift is at the bottom of the shaft, she fell on top of the lift.”

“Hey!” Ignoring her criticism, Jack had stalked over to the window. “There's a Fire Rescue truck out there.”

“Sure, there is,” Karla said. “It's going to take some doing to get her out of the lift shaft. The ambulance people can't do it all by themselves.”

“It's all my fault,” Betty Alvin moaned. “All my fault.”

“Don't be silly, Betty,” Gemma said. “You didn't push her ... Did you?”

“No, but I fought with her.” Betty seemed to be recovering; she noticed the drink in her hand and took a swallow. “That is,
she
fought with me. I was trying to be reasonable and explain that I couldn't take on her work at a moment's notice. I had too much else to do. It's all piled up and I'm trying to get through it as fast as I can. I told her I was working on your book –” She glanced at Rhylla. “And Dorian brought stacks of notes back from that cruise and he wants them all sorted out. Then I'm in touch with Plantagenet Sutton's sister-in-law about clearing the flat. She wants me to do it – but I don't have the time, I really don't.”

“All right, all right,” Professor Borley soothed. “Take it easy. We're on your side.”

“Yes, I know. Thank you, Abbey.” She smiled at him gratefully. “Anyway, she kept trying to persuade me to drop Rhylla's work and do hers instead. When I wouldn't, she got angrier and angrier and ... more abusive. She began saying perfectly awful things to me – and, of course, that didn't make me want to help her at all. I – I'm afraid I was rather sharp with her.”

“Quite right, too,” Rhylla said. “Ondine was always a bully on any committee she sat on. And bad-tempered with it.”

“That's right,” Betty said. “She lost her temper completely and, finally, she stormed out and I could hear her stamping down the stairs and the door at the foot of the stairs slammed. And ... and that must have been when it happened, but I didn't hear anything because I went into the bathroom to take a couple of aspirins. She must have tried to get into the lift on the floor below – that's as far as it comes up – they didn't bother about the attic when they put it in. I suppose it was only used to store old records in those days and it never occurred to anyone that the place wouldn't be a bank forever and that people might be living here some day.

“Oh, I'm not complaining,” she added quickly. “I quite like the privacy of having my own little staircase. It gives me a bit of warning if someone is coming up to see me – Oh, not that I mind people coming unannounced! No one must think they're intruding –” She broke off in confusion, realizing how much she was betraying and took another swallow.

Now that it was called to Lorinda's attention, she realized she had been guilty of such behaviour herself. In the comparatively short time she had been living here, there had been more than one occasion when she had mounted those attic stairs unannounced with a small sheaf of letters to be properly transcribed and dispatched. She could tell from the expressions on Freddie's and Macho's faces that she had not been alone in this transgression.

“So Ondine van Zeet went plunging down the stairs in a rage and that was the last you knew about it.” Professor Borley led Betty Alvin back to the subject gently.

“Yes ... until I heard Clarice screaming. But that was some time later. I ... I went downstairs to ... to investigate. I ... I found Clarice standing in front of the lift. The doors were open, but the lift wasn't there. I pulled Clarice back and leaned forward and looked down myself and ... and ... I saw her. Dimly. Sprawled on ... on top of the lift.” Betty gave up the battle, groped for her handkerchief and allowed the tears to flow.

Clarice, on the other hand, had become calmer. Listening to the events as recounted by Betty, she nodded agreement and pushed herself free of Rhylla, who let her go with obvious relief, flexing her cramped arms.

“It sounds typical,” Rhylla said. “I heard the door to the attic stairs slam. I didn't think it was Betty, but I wasn't interested enough to care who it was, which is just as well. Ondine would have been, literally, in a blind fury. She must have seen the lift doors were open and quite naturally thought the lift was standing there. She'd have hurled herself into it and –”

“But –” It was Karla who asked the salient question. “Why were the lift doors open without the lift being there? That's dangerous. I know it's an ancient contraption, but I thought even in those days, they had safety rules. The doors shouldn't open unless the lift was at that floor.”

“Kids!” A new bitter voice said. “You have kids around the place, you get them fooling around, messing up everything.” An exhausted, harassed Gordie stood in the doorway, glaring at Clarice.

“I didn't!” Clarice screamed. “I never touched those doors! Why would I do a thing like that?”

“You're a kid,” Gordie said. “Kids will do anything. You probably thought it would be funny if someone fell down the lift shaft.”

“No! I didn't! I didn't!” Clarice hurled herself back into her grandmother's arms, bursting into tears.

“All right, that's enough!” Rhylla snapped at Gordie. “That's a serious accusation and you have no right to say such a thing. If you ever repeat it, I'll sue!”

“Gordie, what are you doing here?” Gemma was staring at him in some perplexity. “How did you get in?”

“Oh, the door was ajar.” Gordie wrenched his baleful gaze away from Rhylla and Clarice, obviously struggling to bring his mind back to the more mundane subject. “I knocked, but nobody seemed to hear me so ...” He shrugged.

“The Rescue Services sent me.” His voice grew firmer as he cited a higher authority. “They want me to make sure everybody stays put for the next few minutes. They don't want anyone straying out into the main hall. You see” – he looked at them with grim relish – “They're bringing out the body now.”

As soon as the ambulance had driven away from Coffers Court with its grim burden, the gathering split up abruptly. In the marble hall, the yellow tapes sealing off the area around the lift were an uneasy reminder that the police would be investigating this incident.

Gordie stood irresolutely by Gemma's door for a few minutes, but only Clarice paid any attention to him, sticking her tongue out as she passed him. Rhylla had noticed, but made no comment; she held Clarice's hand tightly as they started up the two flights of stairs to her flat.

“I'd better get back to my workroom,” Gordie said, quite as though someone had invited him to stay. “I expect the police will want to talk to me.” He sent a malevolent glance after Clarice. “They'll want to know what could have happened with the lift doors and all that.” There was little doubt as to what he would tell them and who he would blame. It did not make anyone feel any more kindly disposed towards him and they allowed him to depart unhindered.

Professor Borley swept Betty Alvin and Jennifer Lane up to his flat for further refreshment. Gemma decided that it was a matter of urgency that she walk the dogs at once.

Lorinda wanted to check on the cats and Freddie and Macho had naturally gravitated towards the house with her. Somehow, Karla and Jack had tagged along, happily unaware that they were blocking the conversation that would otherwise have ensued.

Had-I was furious and complaining, But-Known was resigned. Had-I marched over to the catflap and bumped her head against it several times, demonstrating the extent of her captivity and her annoyance. But-Known, curled up on a kitchen chair, watched with one open eye, waiting to see what would result.

Lorinda sighed and went to the fridge. Had-I slowed her tirade and began to relent. Oh, well, if she was going to apologize properly ...

But-Known yawned, stretched and slithered to the floor, sauntering over to join Had-I at the fridge. This was more like it ...

Last night's leftovers were quite acceptable, thank you. They watched with approval and some surprise as she scraped out the casserole into their dishes. She hoped they weren't betraying the fact that, if she hadn't brought company back with her, she might have just put the casserole down and left it to their rough little tongues to do the scraping.

As it was, only Freddie had an amused smile. Karla and Jack obviously weren't attuned to feline attitudes and the cats' silent communication went over their heads. Macho was too bemused to notice.

With relief, Lorinda led everyone into the living room and dispensed drinks, but first she snapped on all the lamps against the encroaching darkness.

“If you ask me, there are a helluva lot of accidents here for one little village,” Jack said, rubbing his injured arm. “Now, if all this had happened in one of your books ...” He let the uncomfortable thought lie there.

“Jerk!” Karla said. “Most of what happens in life is too unbelievable to put into a book. We all know that. We have to tone it down to make it seem real.”

“Coincidences abound in real life,” Macho agreed, but looked as though he might be having second thoughts about it. “At least, we always assume they're coincidences.”

“
Aaaaarrreeeooow ...
” The long plaintive wail rose outside the windows and Macho leapt to his feet.

“Roscoe!” He rushed to the window and threw it open. He was nearly knocked over as the large orange tom flew past him into the room.

“Roscoe ...” He closed the window again and turned to stare at his pet, who was now sitting complacently at his feet. “How did you get out?”

Because someone else got in?
Lorinda wondered whether there was now another bottle of tequila lurking somewhere in Macho's house, waiting to be discovered. Or perhaps something worse. The fictional Macho Magee had an unfortunate disposition towards finding naked female corpses in various comers of his seedy office-cum-dwelling. It would be a natural progression of the harassment campaign being waged, but, if it had not occurred to him, she did not want to be the one to put it into his mind.

“That cat gets bigger every time I look at him,” Jack said. “You got him on steroids, or something?”

“Don't be insulting,” Macho huffed. “Some breeds are just naturally large.”

Roscoe blinked amiably at them both. When neither food nor affection was forthcoming, he got up and ambled toward the kitchen where the faint sound of bowls scraping along the linoleum could be heard.

Jack opened his mouth, perhaps to question Roscoe's pedigree, but the doorbell cut across him. Before anyone could move to answer, it rang again. And again. Someone without much patience was intent on entry.

“Hello, Dorian.” Lorinda opened the door, winning the mental bet with herself.

“Your telephone is out of order,” he said irritably. “I've been trying to get you.”

“Oh?” This was not the moment to explain that she had unplugged it when she went out. The fear of coming back to find another sinister message waiting had been too much for her. “Come in.”

“Where's Betty?” Dorian halted, in the doorway and looked around the room with dissatisfaction. “I thought she'd be here. I can't find her anywhere else.”

“She's with Professor Borley,” Karla said. “At least, she was when we left.”