Bougainvillea (12 page)

“Poor thing,” Josh said, stroking Whitney's cold back. “He must have gotten into one of the storage sheds and eaten something. I'm so sorry, Kit.”

“There's fertilizer for the plants, all kinds of stuff in the storerooms—rat poison,” Michael said. “He might have gotten into anything, I'm afraid.”

“We have a little pet burial ground…it's very nice,” Josh told her, smiling with sheepish sympathy. “My canary is there, an old one-eyed stray we took in once, and Shelley's Pomeranian. It just died last year.”

Bury him. Of course. That was what you did with creatures that died.

She didn't want to bury Whitney. She wanted David to be there, and she wanted to cry her heart out, because suddenly it didn't seem fair that her father
and
her cat had died.

“I should find out how he died,” Kit said, her anger taking root with her pain.

“You want to autopsy the cat?” Kaitlin said, and laughed.

“What good will it do you?” Michael reasoned gently. “I'm afraid that I agree with Josh—he got into poison. And as I said, we do have it in the storeroom, down by the docks. We've never had an animal get into it before, but then, we never really had pets here before.”

He was right, and she knew it. She could autopsy the
cat, and find out that it had died from rat poison. She couldn't find out if Whitney had been given poison
on purpose
or not.

“We'll find you another one,” Lenore said impatiently. “There are always stray cats out by that marina shanty where the guys go for lunch every day. We'll just replace him.”

She didn't want to discuss the loss of a loved pet with people whom she doubted could really even understand the loss of a human being.

“I don't want another cat,” she said angrily and turned on her heel and left.

She was partway down the path when she heard footsteps behind her. For a moment, she felt a strange rake of fear streak down her spine. Having left the main house, she was suddenly aware of the darkness in the brush surrounding her, and of the many shadows created in the soft, surreal light.

She came to a dead stop and spun around. At first, she saw no one. She turned again.

The sound of footsteps reached her once again. She was being followed. Still frightened, she spun again.

“Kit! Wait up!” It was Josh. She had been followed. And yet, Josh was dead center in the path now, and running. He hadn't been following her slowly—or furtively.

She waited for him to reach her.

“Kit, are you okay?”

She nodded, then felt the tears fall.

“Ah, Kit, I'm so sorry!” He comforted her with an awkward arm around her shoulder. “I'm afraid you've got to ignore my mom and Kaitlin. They're both pet
haters.” She wondered what he saw in her expression then because he quickly said, “No, no—they would never hurt your cat!”

“This place just doesn't seem to be kind to my branch of the family,” she murmured.

Josh hesitated, looking at her. “Please don't feel that way.”

“I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm really feeling.”

“David will be back tomorrow. Things will look better again.”

She nodded.

“Hey, I really adored your mom, you know. I missed her terribly,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“I'll walk you back to the cottage. You can make me a drink.”

“Great. Thanks.”

At the cottage, Josh took Whitney and gently wrapped him in a big towel, then secured his body in a garbage bag. He thanked Kit for the rum and Coke she prepared him, drank it down, and suggested that they go bury the cat right then. Josh shrugged shyly. “We can both say a little prayer, graveside.”

“Thanks.”

It was dark at the pet cemetery. The compound lights didn't quite make it through the thickness of the foliage that surrounded the inner area of the estate. Josh had found a shovel in the work cabinet on the porch, so he led the way, pushing aside bushes as they walked. Once in the little area, Kit was touched to see that Shelley had ordered bronze markers for all the dead pets—even a goldfish someone had lost along the way.

As Josh dug a hole, Kit mourned her cat, her best friend when times had been the darkest. He was twelve years old, so she could at least assure herself that he'd had something of a life.

Not the life he should have had.

She had killed him by bringing him to Bougainvillea. Where her mother had died.

“He was beautiful, Kit, really,” Josh said, tamping down the dirt and then coming to stand beside her and set an arm around her shoulders. “Honestly, I'm so sorry.”

As sweet as he was being, she just wanted to be alone. She kissed his cheek. “I think I'm going to call it a night. Thank you, really.”

He wanted to do more, she was certain. But he stayed there, watching as she walked away.

The little pet cemetery had been deep in the brush. Walking back, she felt the darkness all around her again. The bushes began to close behind her, separating her from Josh. She quickened her footsteps. It seemed that she heard the brush rustling, and she was afraid again, so much so that she didn't want to stop and listen for footfalls in her wake.

She hurried to the back door of their cottage, and realized that she had not locked the sliding doors when she had stormed out. She wondered what on earth she could be afraid of—there was a wall with a gated alarm system surrounding the compound.

Still, she grabbed an umbrella from beside the door as she walked through the cottage, going so far as to open every closet door. At length, she was assured she was alone. Only then did she sit down and call David.

His voice was strong over the phone, with the right touch of sympathy and assurance.

She didn't mention her accusation to the family. He told her he could try to get a flight in through a friend that night, but she told him it was too late, and she didn't want him rushing around to get back. She'd see him the next day.

Even when her dad had died, she had never resorted to drugs. But tonight was different. Kit mixed a few beers with mild sleeping aids, hoping to relax as she tried to pay attention to a Pay-Per-View movie. But she lay on the bed, wondering, despite herself, if her poor cat had just wandered in where he shouldn't have been, or if he had been tempted by something, or someone, far more dire.

* * *

The next morning, she made herself coffee, then hurried over to the main house. No one was around, but she helped herself to more coffee and walked up the stairs to the room that had been her parents' when they had resided there. She smiled, seeing the nightgown on the bed; Seamus had really ordered that nothing—nothing at all—be changed.

She stood without moving for several minutes, surveying the entire room. Then she idly began going through the drawers. The scent of jasmine rose to her, and she felt an aching sense of nostalgia. Her mother's taste had run toward the truly elegant. At first, Kit found nothing but her clothing.

In the nightstand by the bed, she found a journal. She took it from the drawer and sat on the bed and opened it to the first page. She noted that it began about a month
before her mother had died. The first few pages offered nothing but appointments and social engagements, but again, Kit felt that comforting sense of nostalgia, just seeing her mother's handwriting. She had gone no further when she was startled by a voice from the doorway. “What are you doing? What are you looking for?”

Kit looked up to see Kaitlin, knuckles white as she gripped the door frame. Kit surveyed her for a moment before speaking. “I'm not looking for anything in particular. Just exploring my folks' room.”

“Maybe you don't want to know more than you do,” Kaitlin told her.

Kit stared at her and sighed deeply. “Kaitlin, I get the feeling that we weren't great friends when I was a kid, whether you baby-sat me or not. And I definitely get vibes that you really didn't like my mother. I don't think that I'm going to find anything so bad. Maybe she could be a bitch. Well, if so, she fit right in here, and must have done so well.”

She slid the journal into her shoulder bag and rose, walking past a startled Kaitlin.

As she continued down the hallway, Kaitlin called out to her. “You know, we really didn't want you here.”

Kit turned around. “Wow. Duh. I think I've picked up on that.”

“Seamus sent David to bring you back.”

“Really?” she deadpannned. “What a shock.”

“Maybe David doesn't even really want you here,” Kaitlin suggested. She probably hadn't meant to go quite so far, but since her previous jibes hadn't garnered the response she wanted, she had pushed.

“If David didn't want me here, I wouldn't be here,”
Kit assured Kaitlin smoothly, and sailed on by her. She was glad that she could portray a far greater confidence than she was feeling that morning.

As she hurried down the stairs to exit the main house, Kit nearly collided with one of the day maids, a middle-aged, perpetually smiling woman named Rosa. She was carrying a tray.

“Where are you off to?” Kit asked her.

“To see Miss Mary.”

“Mary!” Kit repeated, standing dead still. “My God, Mary! I don't believe it—I had forgotten that she was still here, still alive. And no one reminded me! No one has mentioned her since I've been here.”

Rosa sighed softly. “She isn't well, Mrs. Moore. She is so old, you know? And she had a flu, so now…her mind wanders and she is very weak. She is in bed.”

“I still want to see her, as soon as possible. Now. May I come with you?”

“Of course!”

Rosa chatted happily about the beautiful day as they walked along the trail. Mary's little cottage was on the opposite side of the lagoon from Kit and David's, but like theirs, closest to the water.

Rosa pushed open the door to the cottage, calling out to announce her arrival. A young woman in a nurse's uniform came to greet them. Rosa introduced her as Alicia. She seemed pleased to meet Kit, and assured her that her patient was doing well that day. “Her mind wanders almost continually, but she's as sweet and wonderful as ever,” Alicia said. “She'll enjoy seeing you.”

Kit thanked her, and stepped toward the bedroom. The windows to the water were wide open. Mary, tiny,
thin, was in a hospital bed, and it was levered up so that she could look out on the beauty of the bay.

She heard Kit's arrival though and turned. Her eyes widened with pleasure. She weakly reached out an arm, lips turning into a smile that lit up her entire face. Kit was surprised that she would recognize her, even if she had remembered her.

But then Mary spoke, and Kit understood. “Marina! They said you were gone. I knew you would never leave without saying goodbye to me.”

Little strings pulled around her heart. Walking quickly, she came to Mary's bedside. Mary's fingers curled around hers with surprising strength.

“Come close!” Mary whispered.

Kit leaned closer to her, trying to explain. “I'm not Marina, Mary. I'm Kit, her daughter.”

Mary didn't hear her. Or else she heard what she chose to hear, accepted what she wanted. “Marina, you must leave, though. You must leave with Mark. Young lady! I know where your heart lies, but give a good man a chance. I'm not happy, I'm worried. I hear the birds, you know. I hear the birds all the time. They bother me, but they worry me, too. They force me to listen. Because they are warning me, about you.”

“Mary, it's okay,” she said gently. “It's all right, honestly. I'm Kit, not Marina.”

Mary's grip grew impossibly tighter. “Stop seeing him. Never see him again. Ever. Get out. Get out with Mark, quickly. I know that you love me. But you must go. You and Mark…you can send for me, sometime.”

Kit didn't think she'd ever convince Mary that she wasn't her mother. She felt uneasy, but first, she had
to do something to reassure the old woman so that she wouldn't be so agitated.

She kissed Mary's forehead, tenderly stroking back her silver hair. “It's okay, Mary. Honestly. It's okay. Everything is fine.”

Mary looked back out to the water. “You know now. You know, you'll be careful. You'll watch what you say. You won't get angry, speak when you shouldn't. You must be ready to leave with Mark, promise me.”

“I promise,” Kit said. A feeling of deep unease swept over her.
You know now.
What had her mother known?

That Kaitlin hated her?

Or someone else?

Hated her enough to…kill her?

Mary's eyes closed.

A gentle hand fell on Kit's shoulder. Alicia spoke quietly, “She's sleeping again. She wakes, sleeps, wakes, naps. She's just getting better, you know, and she's very, very old.”

“I know,” Kit said. She rose, smiling at Alicia. “She was wonderful to me, though, when I was a little girl. I'll be back. When she's too weak to see me, just tell me. But I'll be here. Every day.”

She left Mary's little cottage deeply disturbed, but when she returned to her own home, she allowed her renewed feelings of unease to slip to the back of her mind.

Entering, she saw a large box set right in the midst of the parlor. Frowning, she remembered that once again she had left the doors unlocked.

Naturally. It seemed that no one locked doors in the compound.

She approached the box, and was startled when it wriggled. Carefully, she continued toward it, and saw that it wasn't really a box at all, just a large sheet of brown mailing paper cast loosely around something. Curiously, she pulled at the paper.

It was covering a large crate.

And inside the crate was a bouncing ball of fur that immediately began to whine. A puppy—a
really big
puppy.

“Hey!” she said softly, bending down to scoop up the creature. The puppy was black with huge feet. His little body wriggled with happiness as he attempted to lick her face. “What on earth are you?” she said, laughing.