Catnip (Dunbarton Mysteries Book 1) (10 page)

He knew he was taking a big risk
being there, with it being Thanksgiving, and their having guests, but it couldn’t
be helped. He was running out of time.

Were they never going to leave?
It was getting late and his feet were cold.

He was just about to give up
when, “My God, what a ruckus! What’s all that shouting? Damn, that’ll have the
whole street out,” he muttered. He’d better make himself scarce.

And then his luck finally
changed. Just as he was turning to go, he saw something racing towards him. The
ball of fur practically ran into him. He grabbed it by the tail as it was
flying past and stuffed it into the bag he’d been carrying for weeks.

“Gotcha!”

“Chris, it’s James. I’m sorry to
have to call this late, but you’d better get back here right away ... No, I
think we’d better explain when you get here. Just hurry!”

The house was ablaze with lights
as he drove up and there was an O.P.P. cruiser parked in the drive.

“Chris, thank God you’re here!”
Alice met him at the door, an expression on her face somewhere between
hysterical disbelief and nervous anxiety. “You aren’t going to believe what’s
going on.”

They were all in the parlor,
James, Alicia, Mrs. Stuart, a uniformed police officer and an old lady in
curlers and a terry bathrobe.

“What seems to be the problem,
officer?”

Before the officer could speak,
the old lady whom he recognized as the next door neighbor, Mrs. Short, pointed
a bony finger at Chris and exclaimed, “He’s the one! It was him! I recognize
his voice.”

“Thank you, ma’am, now ...”

“There was a lot of shouting and
cursing and then the poor creature screamed in agony.” She paused dramatically,
her voice dropping to a stage whisper. “And then there wasn’t a sound!” Her
head bobbed vigorously as she basked in the limelight. She turned to the
officer. “I tell, you, they’ve done away with him.”

“Please, ma’am,” the officer
broke in desperately when she paused for breath. “Let me handle this.”

But it was no use. She rushed on
anyway. “I heard it all, and called the police. They just laughed at first, you
know, when I said the victim was a cat. They told me to call the Animal
Protection Society. But then I said, ‘They’ve killed that rich cat. You know,
the one that inherited all of old Mrs. Dunbar’s money.’ They listened then,”
she finished triumphantly.

The officer took a determined
breath. “If you’re through, Mrs. Short, there are a few questions I’d like to
ask.”

“Why, of course, I ...”

“Thank you,” he said firmly,
giving her no chance to get on another roll. “Now, if you’d all please sit
down. As Mrs. Short has just told you, she called the station claiming that you’d
just killed the cat named Marmalade. Normally we wouldn’t be involved, it would
be a matter for the Animal Protection Society, but as this is rather a special
case, I thought I’d come by and find out exactly what has happened.”

Up to this point Chris had been
too stunned to say a word but things had gone far enough. “Officer, this whole
thing is ridiculous. No-one has done anything to Marmalade. I just tripped over
him in the dark while trying to bring him in out of the cold. I’m sorry if we
disturbed you, Mrs. Short, but that is all there was to it.”

The officer smiled, visibly
relieved. “I thought it might be something like that, but perhaps if you would
bring out the cat, that would relieve Mrs. Short’s mind.”

Shifting uncomfortably, Chris
turned hopeful eyes to James, but he shook his head. Chris turned back to the
officer and smiled as confidently as he could. “That might present a bit of a
problem. You see, when I stepped on him he ran and hid, and it seems he hasn’t
come out yet.” He looked from one accusing face to another. “He’s done this
before. He’ll come out when he’s ready. Believe me, there’s nothing more wrong
with Marmalade than wounded dignity. Really.”

Mrs. Short smiled her ‘I told you
so’ smile and said, “You see. They’ve done away with him. I know the truth,
whatever stories they might come up with. Mark my words, that cat will never be
seen again. Murderers, that’s what they are.”

The officer merely stood there,
saying nothing, a speculative look in his eyes.

Things went from bad to worse -
unbelievable to absolutely ludicrous.

Marmalade hadn’t appeared by
morning. Officer Carnegie returned at ten, closely followed by Mrs. Short who
had been peering at them all morning from her second floor windows.

“I’m sorry, officer, but
Marmalade hasn’t decided to put in an appearance yet,” Chris said, trying to
keep his tone nonchalant. “We’ve checked around the house and grounds, but with
no luck.”

That was an understatement. After
the officer had left the night before, they’d scoured the house from cellar to
garret, and from first light the five of them had searched every inch of the
grounds and the surrounding neighborhood, but he was nowhere to be found.

“Has he ever done this before,
been gone this long?” Taking out his pad, the officer started making notes, and
Chris suddenly knew how a tuna felt with the net closing in around it.

“Yes, he was gone for several
days a while back, and he does tend to hold a grudge.”

He looked at Chris skeptically,
jotted something down on his pad, and turned to look at James.

“Mr. Dunbar, since you can’t
produce the cat, I’m afraid I’m going to have to file a report with the Animal
Protection Society. They will conduct their own investigation, and depending on
their findings, charges may or may not be laid. I’m sorry to have to do this,
but a complaint has been filed by Mrs. Short. We can’t ignore it.”

“You can’t possibly believe we’d
do a despicable thing like that,” James exclaimed, horrified.

“It’s not what I personally
believe. I’m merely following procedure. It will be up to a judge to decide
culpability, if it comes to that. Meanwhile, I will be in touch with the
Society and they will contact you. Thank you for your time.” He turned to go,
Mrs. Short still his shadow.

“You see, I told you something
was up. They’ve murdered that poor animal so ...” The closing door mercifully
cut off her ecstatic stream of accusations.

Collapsing into the nearest
chairs, they gazed at each other in horrified disbelief.

“Surely they can’t be serious,”
Alicia cried, clutching Chris’ hand.

“I’m afraid they seem very
serious,” he said worriedly.

“I’m sure no-one will believe us
capable of such a thing,” James said, putting a comforting arm around his wife
whose eyes reflected her own uncertainty. It hadn’t been that long ago that
Chris had thought her capable of just such a thing.

James looked to Chris for
affirmation, but he dropped his eyes uncomfortably, remembering the terms of
the will and the language it was written in. If that became public ... My God,
what a mess.

Investigator Hugh Jameson from
the Animal Protection Society arrived that afternoon. An intense, attractive
young man, tall, broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, hair bleached white blond
and skin still tanned from long days spent working out of doors, he appeared
totally dedicated to his job. It’s amazing how guilty just the sight of a
uniform can make you feel and the no-nonsense look in the pale blue eyes didn’t
help the knot in Chris’ stomach. He forced a smile and showed the Investigator
to the library where the others were gathered around the fire.

Alice and Alicia were both quite
pale and made only half-hearted attempts at welcome. James was dignified but
reserved as he rose from the sofa and held out his hand. Thank God for Mrs.
Stuart. She was like a breath of fresh air. She bustled around, laying her tea
of small finger sandwiches and little cakes, smiled reassuringly at Alice and
patted her hand, then scurried out of the room, sniffing scornfully at the
investigator for having dared suspect ‘her family’ of anything so dastardly.

Chris smothered a smile and
offered the disconcerted investigator a chair by the fire.

“Mr. Dunbar, our office received
a disturbing report from the O.P.P. this morning concerning the cat known as
Marmalade.” He was feeling his way carefully. “You must know that because of
the terms of the late Mrs. Dunbar’s will, our Society is especially concerned
with what’s happened, and so our Director, Bill Abbot, has sent me over to
determine what, if any, action should be taken by our lawyers.” He turned
bright quizzical eyes on each of them in turn. They lingered appreciatively on
Alicia a few seconds longer than Chris felt necessary and so he moved to the
arm of the sofa beside her.

“Look, officer, we went over all
of this ...” James began, with barely concealed irritation.

“Excuse me, James,” Chris broke
in hurriedly, “perhaps you ought to let me handle this.” He looked a warning
and James nodded in agreement.

“Now, officer, let me assure you,
there is no question of anything having happened to Marmalade. Last night,
after dinner ...” and he went through the whole story once more. “Marmalade is
simply sulking somewhere. He’ll come back when he’s over his huff.”

Jameson looked at him as
skeptically as the police officer had that morning. But this fellow wasn’t
pulling any punches. “You’ll forgive me if I have trouble believing this. I can
see how he’d run and hide if, as you have said, you accidentally stepped on
him.” Chris didn’t like the emphasis he put on ‘accidentally’. “But surely he’d
have returned by now, if only to be fed.”

“That’s no problem, officer.”
Alicia said quietly. “Just about everybody in this part of town feeds him.”

The smile he gave her was
friendly and understanding. “Thank you, Miss, that would help to explain things
...” he turned back to Chris. “somewhat.”

It was Chris’ turn to become
annoyed. “Look here, officer, we have told you the truth. Nothing has happened
to the cat. Furthermore, none of the family was involved in what happened in
the yard. I was the one who stepped on him and made him hide. I would have no
motive for his death and, in fact, am the trustee of his estate.”

Jameson looked at him a little
oddly and smiled. “I am aware of that, Mr. Mallory, but the whole town is also
aware of your relationship with Miss Dunbar. That relationship, I think, would
constitute motive as Miss Dunbar is the major inheritor after the cat.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Alicia spoke
up indignantly, her eyes flashing. “Chris couldn’t be involved in anything of
the sort. He couldn’t hurt Marmalade. He’s very fond of him. I think it’s just
terrible of you to come in our home making these horrible accusations. Chris
isn’t capable of doing anything so malicious.”

“Alicia ...” Chris tried in vain
to stem the angry tide.

“He’s an honorable man and he’s
been working so very hard to help us all and ...”

“Alicia!” Chris spoke sharply.
She was treading on dangerous ground and he could see the speculation in the
officer’s eyes changing to suspicion. “Alicia, please honey,” he continued more
gently and smiled reassuringly, “the officer isn’t making an accusation. He’s
merely trying to get the facts.”

Her angry eyes met his and he
tried to mask the growing worry he felt.

“I’m sorry, Miss Dunbar, if I’ve
offended you.” Jameson said gently. “Mr. Mallory is quite correct. I’m not here
to make accusations but to get at the truth. Because of the nature of your
grandmother’s will, we have to take a complaint such as Mrs. Short’s quite
seriously. We will, of course, give you the benefit of the doubt, for the time
being anyway, and allow you time to produce the cat - say, one week from today.”

“We appreciate that, officer,”
Chris said, relieved. Reprieved, if only for a time.

“If, however, you haven’t
produced the cat in that time, I’m afraid we will have to turn the matter over
to our attorneys.” He stood to go.

“Of course and, I assure you,
Marmalade will be back by then.” Chris stood and proffered his hand.

James joined them at the door. “I
hope we can rely on your discretion, officer. If this should reach the papers,
I hate to think what it would mean for my family.” It was said with a dignity
garnered, Chris knew, through a life stained with humiliation, but his eyes
showed the anxiety that prompted the request.

The young man missed neither and
nodded understandingly, with growing respect. “You can count on me. However, if
the cat isn’t back by next Monday, then I can’t promise it won’t get out.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll be back,”
Chris repeated with more confidence than he felt.

They watched as he drove off and
then returned to the library. Alicia ran swiftly into Chris’ arms and he held
her tightly. With all they had to lose, he just had to be back.

In the week that followed, they
did nothing but look for Marmalade. They raked the town from one end to the
other, up alleys and down, along the harbor front and beaches, through the
lumberyard and abandoned factories. Chris took a week’s leave of absence and
James stayed home from the factory to search. Mrs. Stuart prepared little
treats and left them on the veranda, hoping to lure him back but, although they
always disappeared, there was never a sign of the cat, nor proof that he had
been home, and they suspected that it was Mrs. Short’s terrier, Horatio, that
had enjoyed the chicken livers and kidneys.

The weather grew colder, the days
shorter, and Wilf Mitchel spent a great deal of time in the grounds, raking,
pruning, and covering the flower beds with straw to reduce winter-kill.

The garden was a desolate place
now, the autumn winds swirling the fallen leaves into little cyclones around
the gazebo and cutting through their jackets as they, once again, searched the
trees and bushes for that small ball of orange fur.

“I’m so worried,” Alicia said,
unnecessarily, slipping her arm through Chris’s. “Winter is coming. Last night
the temperature dropped near freezing and I was up half the night worrying
about him. I know he always spent a lot of time outdoors, but what happens if
it snows?”

The shadows under those turquoise
eyes brought out all his protective instincts and he inwardly cursed his own
helplessness.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s used
to fending for himself. Besides, he can always get in through his little door
if he wants to.”

“That’s true. And Mrs. Stuart is
still putting food out for him every day,” she added, sounding unconvinced.

“Right. And your father told me
he’s been leaving the back porch light on, just in case. If he wants to come
home, he can. Let’s just hope he decides to come back before Monday.”

Thursday rolled around, and then
Friday and Saturday, and still no Marmalade. By Sunday they were frantic. He’d
been gone a week and the only lead they’d had was a rumor that a large orange
cat had been seen playing with a little girl in the new housing development in
the east end of town. Alicia and Chris had rushed over Sunday afternoon only to
find that the ‘large orange cat’ was a very pregnant tortoise-shell Tabby and
certainly not Marmalade.

None of the people on his usual ‘mooch’-round
had seen him but many of them had, like Mrs. Stuart, been leaving treats out
for him ‘just in case’. Marmalade had a very loyal following.

Monday morning’s arrival was
inevitable, as was the barrage of questions and accusations that ensued
following their announcement that the cat had not returned and could not be
produced.

They were polite, but the
suspicion was there - ugly in its implications, frightening in its
ramifications for the Dunbars and for Chris.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Dunbar, but in
view of the fact you can’t produce the cat, we have no choice but to petition
the court for a reversion of the estate to the Society.”

*  *  *

Jarrod Inglis, the Society’s
attorney, was a man in his fifties, distinguished and well-respected in the
profession, well-known in the courts of Ontario. Prematurely gray, his thick
silver hair rose crisply above a tanned face, evidence of a recent Bahamas
jaunt, while piercing gray eyes surveyed each of them in turn. Chris remembered
thinking, the first time he’d met him in Toronto when Chris was a
wet-behind-the-ears graduate, that he shouldn’t like to be on opposite sides of
a court battle with him. His record was terrifyingly good, a fact which, under
the circumstances, made Chris’ palms sweat as he contemplated what was to come.

“Come now, Jarrod, surely you don’t
believe this,” Chris said heartily, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his
stomach. “The cat has merely run away. Cats do. It happens every day. He’ll
come back when he’s ready.”

Jarrod looked at him somewhat
sadly, and Chris had the uncomfortable feeling that he believed they had done
away with the poor animal.

“I’m sorry, Chris, but my hands
are tied. You know the terms of the will better than I. You can’t produce the
cat and, face it, Mrs. Short’s testimony is pretty damaging. I know that you
are the Dunbar’s attorney, but in view of the circumstances surrounding the
disappearance of the animal and your obvious connection with the family - a
connection which the court might view as a conflict of interest - may I suggest
that you let one of your partners handle the case.”

Chris felt Alicia stiffen angrily
beside him and said quickly, “I appreciate your concern, Jarrod, and I intend
to do just that.”

“Good. Well, I expect you’ll be
hearing from the court shortly. I’ll be in discussions with the Society
chairman and the board concerning the line we wish to pursue. Mr. and Mrs.
Dunbar, Miss Dunbar, I’m truly sorry we had to meet under such unpleasant
circumstances.”

They rose, murmured the usual
civilities and left the law office.

“Chris, I’m scared.” Alicia
shivered as he helped her into the car. “What if Marmalade never comes back? We’ll
lose the house and half of the business. I could stand even that, though, but I
can’t stand the thought that everyone in town will believe that we could do
such a terrible thing.”

She turned troubled eyes to him
as he slid into the driver’s seat. He wanted to tell her that no matter what
happened, she needn’t worry, that he’d look after her. But, he reflected wryly,
since at the moment his own prospects were looking rather bleak, it wasn’t the
time for such a promise.

“Chris?”

He couldn’t bear the look in her
eyes, or the tremor in her voice, so he pulled her into his arms. Her head
nestled under his chin, he kissed the glossy hair. “It isn’t fair, just when
things were going so well.”

She turned trembling lips to his,
and for a moment, forgetting everything else, they clung to each other, their
hearts beating a frantic rhythm.

A discreet honk brought them back
to reality and, laughing shakily, Chris released her and turned to raise an
apologetic hand to James and Alice who were parked behind them.

Alicia blushed and gave that
throaty chuckle that always sent a thrill up his spine. “I’d forgotten they
were there,” she said with an embarrassed grin, and then, serious again, “What
are we going to do?”

Chris took a deep breath and
started the car. “I don’t know, but I can tell you what we’re not going to do,”
he said with grim determination. “We’re not giving up!”