Crossing the Lion (a Reigning Cats and Dog) (2010) (22 page)

But the fact remained that I was lucky enough to have the entire house to myself, other than Nick, who of course would have understood, and Alvira, who didn’t seem to make a habit of strolling the halls during the day. That made this the best time—and possibly the
only
time—for me to search for Linus’s notebooks in his bedroom.

I still felt like an intruder as I crept up the stairs and into the master bedroom. I couldn’t help wondering if the walls had eyes. At least the wallpaper in this room didn’t appear to, the way it did in mine.

The first thing I did was close the door behind me to keep Max and Lou out. I wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible, and the last thing I needed was to be slowed down by the two kings of sniffing-every-single-item-within-reach.

Once that was done, I took a moment to survey the room. I noticed for the first time that this room was fairly pleasant. The wallpaper was powder blue, splashed with oversize off-white flowers complemented by tremendous green leaves. They looked like lilies of some sort. The furniture was the dark, heavy wooden stuff that filled the rest of the house, but somehow the dressers and bed in here didn’t seem as
clunky. The drapes were drawn tightly against the windows so they shut out the gray, stormy day.

But I wasn’t here to critique the décor. I immediately set about my task. I began by checking the usual places: under the bed, inside the night table, in the top drawer of the dresser. When none of the usual hiding places turned up anything, I stood in the middle of the room with my arms folded across my chest.

Where on earth …?
I thought impatiently as my eyes darted around the room.

And then I noticed the curio cabinet. In fact, I practically kicked myself for not spotting it right off the bat. The tall, slender display unit stood proudly in the back corner, its curved glass doors crystal clear and its rich wooden surfaces gleaming. It was one of the few items in this house that looked as if someone had taken care of it.

It struck me as a very good place to stash important things.

I made a beeline for it, already feeling the adrenaline rushing through my veins. Even in the dim light, I could see that it contained only a few items. But given their diversity, I concluded that they had been hand chosen for this special spot.

On the top shelf was a polar bear that looked as if it had been carved out of ice. Steuben glass, I surmised, which meant it was of the highest quality. The polar bear stood side by side with a colorful ball that reminded me of a kaleidoscope. That, I knew, was Venetian glass.

I glanced at the other items only long enough to ascertain
that the soapstone carvings of an Inuit fisherman and the graceful clear glass vase weren’t what I was looking for.

But what I found on the bottom shelf made me feel as if I’d just been hooked up to an espresso IV.

Neatly lined up were more than a dozen of those black-and-white marble notebooks that schoolchildren have used for decades.

So they
do
exist!
I thought, certain I’d just found Linus’s journals.

My hands were trembling as I carefully unlatched the glass door and opened it. I reached for the first notebook and pulled it off the shelf.

Handwritten on the front in bold black letters was
1992
. I hesitated, listening to my heart thump against my rib cage as I contemplated the momentousness of what I was about to do.

I’d been yearning to find Linus’s diaries ever since Alvira had mentioned them. Yet now that I actually held one in my hands, part of me felt that intruding into someone’s private thoughts was wrong.

I had to remind myself that doing so could turn out to be the best way of finding his killer.

I opened the book, aware that blood was pounding through my temples with alarming speed. Inside, I found page after page of handwritten notes, along with the date of each day’s entry.

Met with Bill Everett
, I read.
Looks as if merger will go through. Lunch with Tad and Edwin. Tad’s marriage is falling apart—really sad. Makes me appreciate
my Charlotte even more. I should remember to bring her flowers more often
.

I cringed. I didn’t know what I’d expected, but peeking inside the head of a man in this manner—even someone I’d never met—was making me feel like a cat burglar.

Even so, I read on. I found more of the same: short, choppy sentences that summarized each day of Linus’s life. While his writing style made for difficult reading, the journal was explicit about what was going on in his life. He had named names, for one thing. For another, he had recorded his feelings, however briefly, about whatever had happened in his business dealings, his marriage, and his friendships.

Which meant that Alvira’s theory that his journals might contain a clue about what had been going on close to the end sounded more solid than ever.

But the day-to-day details of Linus’s life in 1992 seemed too remote to be related to his alleged murder. I needed more-recent information.

So I slipped his journal from 1992 back onto the shelf and reached for the notebook that was the farthest to the right.

As soon as I pulled it out, I saw that the date written on the cover was 2007.

That can’t be
, I thought, staring at it.
This is much too old. What about the most recent years? Didn’t Linus keep a diary throughout his life?

I checked the shelf again, wondering if perhaps he’d run out of storage space. But the notebooks weren’t tucked in that tightly. There was still a good inch
left—certainly enough room to store his journals from 2008 and beyond.

Which meant he’d stored his most recent diaries somewhere else.

Either that or someone had removed them.

Yet instead of feeling defeated, I felt energized. The fact that someone had gone out of their way to conceal Linus’s final diaries increased my certainty that they contained clues about his murderer’s identity.

Which, in turn, increased my determination to find those missing journals.

•  •  •

Even though I had a feeling the notebook thief had found a really good hiding place, that didn’t stop me from examining every nook, cranny, shelf, cabinet, and corner I passed. I searched the bedrooms, wondering if whoever had killed Linus had also stolen his notebooks and hidden them in their room. But I found nothing. Next I went back downstairs, figuring I’d use the rest of the time I had to prowl around, looking for any secret doors or hidden staircases I’d missed.

I was standing in the front hallway, trying to plan my strategy, when I heard the sound of voices outside.

They’re back!
I thought, a wave of disappointment washing over me.

I darted into the closest room, which was the sitting room directly off the hallway. Even though I wasn’t doing anything sneaky at the moment, the fact that sneaky behavior lurked in my immediate past made me feel guilty.

Which, in turn, made me want to act
un
-guilty. So I sank into a big, comfy, upholstered chair in front of the fireplace, acting as if I’d spent the entire time the others were away warming the soles of my feet.

Corky sauntered into the room, wagging his tail and looking for love in all the right places. Admiral followed a few seconds later. But after a glance in my direction and a polite wag of his tail, he settled in front of the fireplace, resting his chin on his front paws.

I’d just started to fondle Corky’s wonderfully soft ears when I heard the front door open, then a couple of seconds later slam shut. I stood up, planning to put on my best expression of surprise and stroll over to greet whoever had just come in. But then I heard someone say, “I’m certainly glad all
that’s
over.”

Instantly I froze. Something about that voice sounded off. It took me a second or two to realize that it was Gwennie’s voice.

What was odd, however, was that it didn’t contain even a trace of a Cockney accent. In fact, the British accent she was now using sounded decidedly upper crust.

Is it possible she’s a fake?
I wondered.

“It’s always hard being around all of them at the same time.” This time I heard a male voice I immediately recognized as Jives’s. At least his accent sounded the same as usual.

Silently, I crept to the other side of the room and positioned myself in the corner, next to the door. Standing there enabled me to peer through the crack
between the door and the jamb. For once, I was glad the house was so full of shadows, since it greatly reduced my chances of being spotted.

Sure enough, Gwennie and Jives stood in the front hallway, pulling off rubber boots and shaking out umbrellas.

Gwennie sighed tiredly. “I’m so glad we’ll be done with all of this soon,” she said as she unbuttoned a half-soaked trench coat.

“Me, too,” Jives agreed. “I’ve had about enough of the buttling business.”

What’s this?
I thought, frowning in confusion.
A career change on the horizon?

“You think it’s fun making beds and cleaning up after people?” Gwennie demanded shrilly, still speaking with a British accent that was light-years away on the social scale from the one I’d heard her use up until now.

An explanation came soon enough.

“And I’m
really
getting tired of speaking in that ridiculous Cockney accent,” she grumbled. “I feel like a character in a Dickens novel. If I hear myself saying ‘blimey’ one more time, I swear I’m going to shoot myself.”

“Relax,” Jives insisted. A second later he moved into my line of sight, verifying my initial impression. “At least all those years of studying at that drama school in London turned out to have some use.”

“He-e-ey!” she protested teasingly. “I was pretty impressive as Hedda Gabler, wasn’t I? And the critics loved me as Varya in
The Cherry Orchard.”
All the
lightness went out of her voice as she added, “At least the ones who bothered to show up.”

“I like to feel my training paid off, as well,” Jives said, sounding a trifle wistful. “And I’m not talking about the rave reviews I got for my portrayal of Estragon in
Waiting for Godot.”

My mouth dropped open.

They’re actors!
I thought. Which meant, fake accents aside, neither one of them was what they appeared to be.

“We’ll find out how good we are at acting soon enough,” Gwennie replied.

I pressed my nose even closer to the doorjamb, hoping she’d expand upon that comment a little.

Instead, she commented, “The old man got quite a send-off, didn’t he?”

“I’ll say,” Jives agreed. “Not that I’d expect anything else, given how important the old codger was.”

“You mean how
rich
the old codger was,” Gwennie added jokingly.

“Y’got me there,” Jives agreed with a chuckle.

“There must have been a few hundred people at his memorial service,” Gwennie continued. “Even a few of those wealthy ancients we researched.”

Research? My ears pricked up like I was one of the dogs.

“I think we got lucky, though,” Jives said. “With the way things worked out with Linus, I mean.”

“I agree completely,” Gwennie said. “Still, it was interesting, meeting so many of the other people we
initially identified as possibilities. Since we already knew so much about them and all.”

“To tell you the truth, my favorite part of the whole event was watching Brock and Townie,” Jives commented. “They’re pretty good actors themselves.”

“I’ll say,” Gwennie said. “Did you notice the big show they made of not sitting together? You’d never guess the two of them were about to get in bed together—as the saying goes.”

“Missy deserves a round of applause, as well,” Jives noted.

Brock? Townie? Missy? What was up with
that
?
I wondered.

I was dying to know what they were talking about. But given the fact that I was a mere eavesdropper, I wasn’t about to have any say in the matter.

The tone of Gwennie’s voice changed as she suddenly said, “Goodness, the place seems so quiet.” With a little laugh, she added, “I mean, even quieter than usual.”

“Yes, it does feel different with the whole family gone,” Jives agreed. “It’s rather nice, being here all alone, isn’t it?”

“I’ll say.”

“Too bad everyone else will be back on the next ferry,” he said, his voice growing husky.

“That still gives us a bit of time to ourselves,” Gwennie murmured.

She took a step closer to him, meanwhile letting her coat slip off her shoulders. As it fell to the floor, she
put her arms around his neck and planted a big wet kiss on his mouth.

For the second time in less than a minute, my mouth dropped open.

Not only were Jives and Gwennie a couple of fakes, they were a
couple!

I watched as she pressed her body against his. By the way he responded—by grabbing her bum, for lack of a better word—I concluded that they had been a couple for some time. After all, they seemed so comfortable with each other.

Unfortunately, Corky chose that moment to seek me out, demanding attention. And he chose to do so by letting out a yelp.

The jig was up. Through my peephole, I saw both Gwennie and Jives turn their heads in my direction. Both of them looked surprised—and not in a good way.

I stepped back quickly, then dashed back to my chair by the fire as quickly as I could. I dropped into it, slumped to one side, and closed my eyes.

A few seconds later, I heard the dull thud of footsteps against the thick, dust-encrusted carpet.

“Someone in ’ere?” Gwennie asked. She was back to speaking in her loud, high-pitched voice, the one that came complete with the Cockney accent that did, indeed, make it sound as if she should be dressed like a chimney sweep.

I pretended to snap awake, then glanced around the room, looking confused. “What—what time is it?” I
asked in my best disoriented-from-having-just-been-unconscious voice.

“Sorry to wake you, mum,” Gwennie replied shrilly. “It’s about half past the hour.”

I glanced at my watch, still acting surprised. Of course, the fact that she hadn’t specified
which
hour gave me a good excuse.