Catnip (Dunbarton Mysteries Book 1) (14 page)

The day of the hearing arrived
with no word yet from Shae’s mysterious friend. It was a raw, blustery day and
somehow that seemed appropriate. They’d had no snow as yet but the forecast
said they could expect a front to move in before the week was out. Once the
snow came it wouldn’t leave until spring. Huron’s winters are long and hard,
drifts sometimes topping the telephone poles. Once it came, any hope of finding
Marmalade alive would be gone.

Because of the adverse publicity
they had already endured, Dave had requested a closed hearing. The judge had
denied this and the courtroom was packed with press and curiosity seekers. The
atmosphere wasn’t hostile, but rather maliciously amused. A woman Chris
recognized from the convenience store near his apartment told everyone within
earshot that, “This will be better than the Enquirer”.

Judge Palmer he knew, from
previous experience in his court, to be a just man, precise, methodical, and a
stickler for the rules of procedure. His was a no-nonsense court and it was to
his credit that no appeal had ever successfully been lodged on the grounds of
judicial error. The hearing would be fair, Chris knew, but he also knew that,
should they lose, he would be merciless towards an attorney found guilty of
breach of trust. Only training and strength of will kept the confident smile on
Chris’ face as he consciously relaxed his shoulders and spine. After all, he
was telling the truth. He had nothing to hide.

Being on the other side of the
legal bench was a new experience for Chris and not one he was eager to repeat.
The family put up a good front, but he could feel Alice and Alicia cringe with
mortification when the terms of the will were read aloud. The judge threatened
several times to have the courtroom cleared if the spectators could not control
their mirth. By lunch recess a comprehensive picture of the Dunbar family life
prior to and just after the death of Amanda Dunbar had been detailed for the
court. That it was as out-of-date as the Model-T had not been made apparent.
That would be their job. It would be uphill work.

When court resumed at two o’clock,
it was to hear testimony from Officer Carnegie as to the events of the night
Marmalade disappeared. He was concise and professional, expressing not even an
implied opinion.

Jarrod Inglis then called Mrs.
Short. She was in her glory. She fairly crackled with excitement and righteous
indignation. “... and to hear the screams from that poor animal, it would break
your heart.”

Mutterings and contemptuous looks
from the spectators were silenced by the judge’s gavel.

“Mind you, it wasn’t the first time
I heard that poor animal yowl.”

More mutterings, louder gavel.

“Why, one night, they were having
a party or some such thing. I mean, I wasn’t invited so I couldn’t be sure
exactly what kind of goings on they were, but that poor creature screamed something
awful. Fairly curdled the blood in my veins and made the hair on my neck stand
up.”

Mutterings becoming ugly, and so
was the gavel.

“And then didn’t I hear
half-crazy laughter …?”

Dead silence all around.

“Oh, yes, I could tell who was
laughing.”

Group inhale.

“It was her, Mrs. Alice Dunbar!”

Group exhale.

“She always hated that cat. I
wouldn’t put it past her to laugh while she tortured the life out of it ...”

All eyes on Alice, who sat
tight-lipped and stony-eyed under their scrutiny.

“Sorry, your Honor. I’m sure I
didn’t mean to slander anyone. I’m just telling what I heard and saw. No one
could ever accuse me of malicious gossip, let me assure you. I’m not one to be
spreading false stories. But when I see something suspicious going on, and hear
all that screaming and hollering, I say to myself, ‘Gladys, it’s your duty as a
citizen and an animal lover to speak out against whatever unholiness is going
on in that nest of vipers’ ...”

General sniggering.

“I beg your pardon, your Honor …
No, sir ... Yes, sir ... whatever is happening next door, and that’s all I have
to say ... so help me God,” she added brightly.

She was the last witness of the
day. Court recessed and they went home.

Mrs. Stuart had made them a
lovely dinner that no one really tasted, and then they all went to the library
where Chris filled Shae in on what had happened in court. She hadn’t gone in
order to keep her ties with them a secret from Abbot.

Shae didn’t mince her words. “Well
that was pretty damaging.”

The rest nodded glumly.

“Still, it’s early on, and
despite that woman’s testimony, there is no evidence that you have done
anything to the cat. And it’s up to them to prove that you have.”

“And they can’t prove that
because it didn’t happen,” Alicia snapped.

Before anyone else could respond,
Shae’s cell phone rang. “This could be it,” she said as she ran to her purse.

“Hi, it’s me. So what did you
find?” She was silent, listening for a few minutes, and then turned to Chris. “Do
you have a fax machine?” she asked uncertainly.

“Yes, at my apartment. Why?”

“What’s the number?” she asked
without answering his question. When he gave it to her, she repeated it to the
person at the other end of the line, “You’ll send it right away? And e-mail me
a copy as well. That’s great. Call me when you know more. Bye” She turned off
the phone, and seeing their anxious faces, grinned and said, “Abbot is toast!”

The room erupted into excited
shouts of “I knew it!”, “He did it!”, “Of course he did it!” When it had died
down, they asked Shae for all the gory details.

“Well, he’s only completed a
preliminary survey - he’s faxing it right now - but he says the books have
definitely been doctored, and what’s more, the guy has done a lousy job. A
simple check with previous sponsors shows large discrepancies in the amounts of
donations, even in the amounts of government funding. There are notations of
payments made to suppliers, but when he checked with the companies named, they
have no record of the transactions listed. In some cases, where there are
records of shipments, the amounts listed in the records are significantly
higher than what was actually paid out. There is also a considerable amount of
money on the books for renovations and additions to the shelter two years ago.”

“That shelter is only seven years
old. There haven’t been any additions.” James said.

“So where could that money have
gone?” Alicia asked.

“I can think of one place,” Chris
said. “James, didn’t you say that Abbot had built a new house two years ago?”

“So he did.”

Shae smiled. “I’ll pass that
information on later.”

“The question is, what do we do
with this information? It doesn’t prove that Abbot had anything to do with the
disappearance of Marmalade,” Alice asked of no-one in particular.

“No, it doesn’t, but it does give
him a really good motive.” Chris said.

“You’re right. He said this is
such a sloppy job that it would certainly have come out in an audit. It would
be interesting to know if one is scheduled any time soon,” Shae mused
thoughtfully.

Chris stood up. “I’ll see if Dave
can find out, and I’ll bring the report over tomorrow after court and we can
decide then what we want to do with it.”

Following Mrs. Short’s testimony,
Chris had consoled himself with the thought that at least it couldn’t get much
worse.

That really was tempting
Providence.

He’d become used to sight-seers,
busy-bodies and the odd picket hanging around the Dunbars’ house, but he wasn’t
prepared for what he found when he arrived for breakfast before court the next
morning.

The tour busses were parked at
the side of the road and about 150 men, women and children carrying signs and
banners were marching up and down in front of the house. P.A.W.W. had arrived.

P.A.W.W. - Protecting Animal
Welfare Warriors, the most strident and militant of all the strident and
militant animal rights activists, had cut their teeth on the Save the Seals
campaign, moved on to the crusade against the use of animals in medical
research and for chemical testing, and were now operating internationally to
end all use of animal flesh as meat or animal skins for any purpose. In Canada
they were currently lobbying to have animal welfare included in the Charter of
Rights and Freedoms, to have the unwarranted killing of animals considered and
dealt with as murder, and for offenders to be treated accordingly. The same
group was responsible for the Crusade Against Cruelty to Chickens and other
Living Entities - or CACCLE – Bill, designed to prevent the killing of chickens
and other birds for meat, and a hot debate was raging over whether a fertilized
hen’s egg was a living being.

A policeman at the gate saw him
safely through the crowd, past a small, blonde, dimpled darling clutching a
stuffed cat and carrying a sign that read:

MALLORY IS A MURDERER!

Alicia had been watching through
the curtains and let him quickly through the door amid a chorus of jeers and -
you’ll excuse the expression - catcalls.

“Hi,” she said, a little
awkwardly, shutting the door quickly behind him. They walked through into the
living room. “Isn’t it awful? They’ve been here since seven this morning. Daddy
called the police, and they sent some men over to keep them out of the yard and
away from the house. They were actually coming up and waving their signs at the
windows.”

“Has there been any trouble?”

“No, but it’s not pleasant to
feel like a prisoner in your own home. We have to have an escort to the
courthouse this morning.”

And they needed it. Three
officers cleared the road, while two squad cars accompanied them to court where
two more busloads of protestors were waiting, as well as reporters and T.V.
crews.

The opposition finished their
arguments that morning and it was to be their turn following the lunch break.
Chris was to testify first, followed by the family, Mrs. Stuart, and then one
or two witnesses who’d been at the party and could testify that they were all
visible when Marmalade started his cat-erwauling. It would probably take
another day or two. Then summations and it would be over. Except, of course,
for that all-important decision. It didn’t give them much time to come up with
a plan for proving that Abbot was the guilty party.

They were leaving the courtroom
for lunch when a stranger approached and handed a paper to James. Having read
it, white-faced, he passed it to Chris and hurried the family to a rear exit
where the car was waiting.

It was a notification of a
law-suit. P.A.W.W. had filed a class-action suit against them for $1,000,000,
charging they had maliciously disposed of Marmalade to benefit from his death.
The suit was filed on behalf of pets everywhere, with proceeds going to
specified animal shelters and advocacy groups. Wordlessly, Chris passed it on
to Dave and followed the others to the car, wondering if life would ever be
normal again.

They didn’t say much on the drive
home. The others knew, as did Chris, that this could drag on for years,
law-suit after law-suit, appeal after appeal. What was there to say?

They’d chosen to have Mrs. Stuart
fix lunch at home, not wanting to face the curious looks, malicious smiles, or
righteous indignation of the public by eating out.

There were only a handful of
picketers left at the house. The rest had joined their fellows at the
courthouse.

Mrs. Stuart had lunch waiting.
James stopped to look over the mail, but Alice, Alicia and Chris went straight
to the kitchen where Mrs. Stuart ladled out homemade soup and warm bread. A
meat pie bubbled in its pastry in the oven and a crisp
Salade Vinaigrette
waited on the sideboard. Mrs. Stuart’s reaction to stress was culinary. Alicia,
as usual in time of crisis, ate with gusto.

“My God!” James’ shocked tones
rang through the house. “Listen to this.” He ran into the kitchen waving a
white sheet of paper. It was covered in letters cut from magazines.

WE HAVE YOUR
CAT

HE IS NOT HARMED

BRING $50,000 TO

THE BANDSHELL BY

7:00 A.M. SAT.

IF YOU WANT HIM

BACK. NO POLICE

IF YOU WANT HIM

BACK ALIVE!

“Oh, James!”
Alice’s voice was filled with hope.

“Yes, this could be it.” James
fairly shook with excitement.

“It could be a fake too.” Chris
didn’t want to raise false hopes. “I’ll call Officer Carnegie and Dave. Don’t
handle that sheet any more. There might be fingerprints.”

His own hands were shaking as he
dialed. He knew it could be, probably was, a hoax, but he couldn’t help hoping
either. He also wondered how Abbot fit into all of this. Had they been
completely wrong about him? Was the catnapper really just a thief who had
seized an opportunity for his own benefit? And then a thought hit him like a
blow to the solar plexus: what if he’d been wrong about Wilf? Had he been completely
taken in by a sophisticated con man?

His hands shook even more.

The police arrived in less than
ten minutes - Officer Carnegie and his Superintendent, Dave Jukes – accompanied
by Jarrod Inglis, who’d been called by the police and had a suspicious glint in
his eye.

“When did it arrive?” Dave was
almost as excited as they were. And why not? He had almost as much at stake.

“In this morning’s mail. I opened
it when we came back for lunch.” James handed the tray he’d put the letter on
to the Superintendent.

“Saturday. That’s two days from
now. Can you raise that much money?” he asked.

Chris looked at Jarrod. “The
estate can.”

“Now look, Chris, I can’t ...”
Jarrod exploded.

“Can’t nothing,” Dave interrupted
just as hotly. “It’s the cat’s money. If you tie it up, it’s as good as killing
him.”

They argued it out for half an
hour before Jarrod finally agreed, on condition that they all agreed to be
fingerprinted for comparison. They said they would and the two attorneys
returned to court to ask for a continuance until the ransom could be raised and
paid.

The Superintendent called his
office and arranged for a tap on the phone and permission to continue the watch
on the house, and then he left, taking the letter and its envelope back for
forensic testing. They all agreed to follow him in their own cars to be
fingerprinted.

Dave returned within the hour,
and with him came the P.A.W.W. protesters.

“Chris, we’ll have to do
something about them. I’ll file for an injunction limiting access and numbers.
I don’t mind telling you I don’t like their involvement. They’re fanatics and
they don’t let go. This lawsuit could drag on for years. They’ve already
plastered this town with leaflets that border on libel.” Dave munched a
sandwich as he talked.

“Surely this ransom demand will
make a difference. If Marmalade’s been kidnapped they must realize that we’re
not involved.” Alicia spoke hopefully.

Chris hated to point out the
obvious. “If the letter is legitimate, it is still possible for any one of us
to have engineered the kidnapping, and if it’s a hoax, then we’re right back
where we started.”

“Then what difference does this
letter make? If we can’t win either way, we might just as well give up now and
save ourselves further humiliation.” Angry color flushed her cheeks.

“I’m surprised at you, Alicia,”
Alice broke in. “I for one have no intention of giving up. And I thought you
were made of tougher stuff than that. Your pioneering forebears would be
ashamed of you.”

“I’m sorry,” Alicia smiled
sheepishly. “I’m just so angry and frustrated ... Those P.A.W.W. people were
the last straw. Every time one of those self-righteous old busy-bodies shakes
one of their signs at me, I want to take it and smash them over the head with
it. I just want to kick something.”

They all laughed and some of the
tension that had been building for weeks started to dissolve.

Alicia and Chris decided to get a
breath of fresh air and cool off in the garden. It was the first time they’d
been alone together since the night he’d seen her with Hugh Jameson, and Shae’s
arrival. Neither one of them said much.

It was chilly, but despite the
predictions, the snow hadn’t arrived, and Wilf still paid regular visits to
clean up the leaves that collected in the bushes and gardens. The roses had
been hilled up and covered with earth and straw, and the rhododendrons and
other flowering shrubs were wrapped in burlap. On the shores of Huron, nature
needed a helping hand.

Wilf had been paid for the season
and pretty much came and went as he pleased. He rarely spoke and usually
responded to greetings with a smile and a nod before getting back to work.
Chris couldn’t help wondering once again if he had been too quick to cross Wilf
Mitchell off their list of suspects.

Alicia wandered aimlessly from
garden to garden. “I always think the garden is a lonely place this time of
year. The flowers are dead and the birds are gone. The bushes are brown and
barren. It seems empty and sad .... Oh, I do hope we have a white Christmas!”

*  *  *

Dave got the injunction and the
P.A.W.W. pickets were limited to a half dozen, 100 feet away from the house.
The guard remained, however, and a wire-tap was installed on the phone in case
the kidnapper(s) decided to contact them.

James, with the co-operation of
the courts and the bank, was able to arrange for the ransom money. Chris was to
deliver it to the band shell on Saturday, closely watched by the law whom, he
felt sure, were just as suspicious of him as of the writer of the note. In
fact, he realized, they might just be thinking he was the writer of the note.

The sun was just rising when he
arrived at the park on Saturday morning. It promised to be another clear, cool
day. There had been a frost overnight and the grass was crunchy beneath his
feet. He didn’t see or hear anyone as he approached the rustic white band shell
in the park. He walked slowly up the stairs and placed the case with the money
on the floor, turned and walked back to his car. It felt rather anti-climactic
to just drive back to the house, but that’s what he did and together they all
waited for the call that would tell them, one way or another, what had
happened.

Nobody, not even Alicia, felt
like eating, so Mrs. Stewart kept the coffee coming then they sat around the
library, waiting.

The call came at eight-forty.
Chris reached the phone first. It was Dave from the police station.

“They’ve got him. They’re
bringing him in immediately. I’ll let you know what they learn as soon as I
find out.”

“What about Marmalade? Did he
have him with him?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll call you
back.”

He turned to Alicia. “They’ve got
him!”

“Chris!” Alicia flung herself
into his arms, laughing and crying at the same time, while Alice and James
danced crazily around the room. Mrs. Stewart, after uttering a mighty, “Whoopee!”,
scuttled off to fix a celebratory breakfast.

“Chris, it’s over. It’s really
over. Marmalade will come home. Daddy will get the company back. It’s just so
wonderful.”

It is said that champagne goes
with everything. It certainly went with the scrambled eggs and bacon that Mrs.
Stewart prepared. For the first time in weeks, the cloud of gloom that had hung
over them was gone and the air positively fizzed with joy. They made
extravagant plans for Christmas celebrations. James and Chris planned for the
factory. Alice and Alicia planned a shopping trip to Toronto to buy new
clothes. Mrs. Stewart planned the meal she would prepare for a celebration
dinner that night.

When the doorbell rang late that
afternoon they were still high on a combination of relief, exhilaration and
champagne.

“That must be Dave.”

“Let him in, Chris and invite him
to stay for dinner. Mrs. Stewart has prepared enough for ten at least,” Alice
laughed and went back to the kitchen.

Alicia and Chris flung open the
door together.

“Welcome! We bid you enter and
...” The look on Dave’s face killed the laughter and the bantering words. A
feeling of dread filled them.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry. He was a fraud.”