Canapés for the Kitties (15 page)

Lionheart tugged at his leash, Conqueror whined his impatience. They were ready for the next lamppost, making their wishes clear by pacing about restlessly.

“You'll feel better as soon as you get into the next scene,” Lorinda comforted. “I always do.”

“
If
I ever get into the next scene.” Freddie's despondency was not to be dismissed so lightly. She seemed to be leading up to something.

Ordinarily, Lorinda would have waited and encouraged the impending confidence, but Conqueror chose that moment to dart behind her, looping his leash around her ankles and pulling it tight. She caught at Freddie's arm to steady herself as Lionheart began to circle in the opposite direction.

“I'd better get along and let you finish with those brutes and take them back where they belong,” Freddie said.

“I
would
like to get rid of them,” Lorinda agreed, trying to untangle herself. “This dog-walking is trickier than it looks.”

“You're spoiled because cats take care of themselves. And I'd advise you to stick to cats.” Freddie watched critically as she struggled to extricate herself. “You're better off.”

“I'll be all right so long as we don't run into Clarice and her white rat. I'm not sure I could control them then.”

“I'm not sure you can control them now.” But Freddie did not offer any help. In fact, she began backing away. “Well ... good luck.”

At the end of the High Street, the dogs were still restless and unwilling to turn back. She knew that Gemma often set them free to run in the woods, but she didn't dare; they might not return when she called – and how could she go back to Gemma and confess that she had lost the dogs?

“Come on!” She tugged at the leashes, half dragging the pugs as they stiffened their legs and tried to make a dash for the woods. “Come
on
...”

“Having trouble?” She hadn't seen Professor Borley approaching. “Allow me.” He took a leash in each hand, gave them a sharp jerk and announced, “Heel!”

The pugs looked up at him in surprise and decided to obey.

“Right,” he said. “Where are we heading?”

“Back to Coffers Court.” Lorinda fell into step beside him. “I want to get them home before Gemma starts worrying.”

But Gemma was asleep when they entered the flat. She did not appear to have moved since Lorinda had left.

The cats were also where she had last seen them – fast asleep on the sofa – although, typically, Had-I had struggled out from under and was now on top of But-Known.

“Those cats have the loudest purrs I've ever heard.” Professor Borley had released the pugs and they scampered into the room ahead of him, charging straight for Gemma.

“That's not the cats,” Lorinda said. “It's Gemma snoring.”

“Snoring?” Professor Borley crossed to the chair where Gemma slumped.

Conqueror pushed a wet nose against the limp hand dangling off the arm of the chair and seemed upset when there was no answering caress. He began to whimper on a sharply rising note of panic.

But-Known sat up abruptly, tumbling Had-I to one side. Both cats became wide-eyed and still, watching.

Lionheart jumped into Gemma's lap and began to lick her face frantically.

Gemma did not stir; the heavy stertorous breathing continued.

“It was something she ate.” The tension began to infect Lorinda. “She said she'd been sick all night, but that she was better now. Surely, it can't still be affecting her?”

“That depends on what she ate.” Professor Borley's face was grim as he laid the back of his hand lightly against Gemma's grey, clammy face.

“Who's her doctor?” he asked.

“I don't know.”

“Then who's yours?”

“I don't have one here. Yet. Perhaps she hasn't one, either. We haven't lived here all that long, you know. We're still in the process of getting ourselves organized.”

Professor Borley's look told her she wasn't doing a very good job of it. Lorinda felt herself growing defensive.

“What makes you think Gemma needs a doctor? She told me she'd had a terrible night; she needs all the sleep she can get to catch up.”

“Sleep, yes. A coma, no.” Professor Borley frowned at her. “What number do you ring for an ambulance?”

“An ambulance?” Lorinda shrank from the thought. “Surely, that's a bit excessive? Gemma ...?” She moved over to look down at the woman. “Gemma ...? Gemma ... can you hear me? Do you want an ambulance?”

“Do you want the responsibility of denying her medical aid?” Professor Borley asked sternly. “
You
can't do anything to help her. Can you?”

The ambulance arrived quickly, the paramedics were swift and efficient. Gemma looked a little better even as they lifted the stretcher and carried her outside, but her eyes were still closed.

“Any idea what she might have taken?” The steely glance accompanying the question left no doubt of the medic's meaning.

“Taken?” Lorinda looked at him blankly. “She said it was something she ate. She thought it was food poisoning.”

“Hmmm.” His eyes were openly suspicious. “We'll see.”

“She might have taken something by mistake,” Lorinda said. “When she got up in the night. If she didn't put the light on ... an accident ...”

“Another accident? Pretty careless people around here.”

He could be right. A cold chill swept over Lorinda as she looked at the situation from his point of view. This was the second time an ambulance had sped to Brimful Coffers to carry away one of its newer residents.

“The rest of you better start being more careful,” he said. “Things come in threes, you know.”

“That's the sort of superstitious remark I wouldn't expect from a medical man,” Professor Borley said, but the medic had gone. They heard the ambulance door slam, the engine start, then the whine and whoop of the siren as it drove away.

Conqueror gave a mournful howl and Lionheart crouched with a pitiful whimper.

“What is it? What was that?” The door across the magnificent marble entrance hall opened and Plantagenet Sutton stood in the doorway of his flat, blinking. “What's going on here?”

“They've just taken Gemma away in the ambulance,” Lorinda said. The siren must have roused him, although it was strange that he could have slept through its arrival and the noisy invasion of the paramedics.

“Gemma? Gemma?” He might never have heard of her. He blinked again, reinforcing the appearance of someone who had just woken up.

Conqueror emitted another howl; Lionheart decided to join in.

“For God's sake!” Plantagenet winced and raised one hand to his head. “Can't you shut those mutts up?”

“Maybe
you'd
like to try,” Professor Borley challenged.

Plantagenet lifted his head and directed a venomous glance at the academic, who smiled blandly back. Plantagenet scowled, obviously realizing that he could not exact vengeance on someone whose work never came to him for review. He shifted his threatening gaze to Lorinda.

It told her she was doomed. Guilt by association. In the unlikely event of her next book winning the Nobel Prize, Plantagenet Sutton would still revile it as the most meretricious, unworthy, inept, misbegotten piece of arrogance that the world had ever had foisted on it. He would be merciless and utterly damning – and all because she had had the misfortune to witness him bested by Professor Borley.

“You do well to raise the subject.” Borley was not through yet. “What
is
going to happen to the dogs while their mistress is in hospital? Someone is going to have to take care of them.”

“Don't look at me!” Plantagenet retreated into his flat, slamming the door behind him.

Lorinda realized that Professor Borley was now looking at her.

“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “I can't take them. I have the cats.”

“That's what I thought,” he said gloomily, following her into Gemma's flat. The pugs scampered ahead of them, going straight to Gemma's chair. Despite the fact that they had just seen her carried out and loaded into the ambulance, they still seemed to expect to find her there.

“They're missing her already,” the professor said mournfully. “Poor things.”

Had-I turned to her sister and made an obviously uncomplimentary remark. But-Known agreed. They eyed the dogs coldly.

“If you took the dogs home with you,” Borley tried again, “you could keep them outside in the garden. The cats wouldn't mind that, would they?”

Had-I and But-known turned to stare at him with incredulous icy contempt.

“Sorry,” he apologized to them quickly. “It was just a thought.”

“Think again,” Lorinda said. “What about Gordie? He'll have duplicate keys to all the flats – and it's his job to look after everything. Surely, he can feed and walk the dogs for a few days?”

“I'm afraid Gordie isn't the pillar of reliability he used to be, now that he's got that new red-headed girlfriend. You'll notice there's been no sign of him, despite all the commotion here.” Professor Borley frowned uneasily. “She's much too old for him, of course, but they seem to be quite happy. I suppose one shouldn't be judgmental about such things. It's their business, after all.”

“Quite right,” Lorinda agreed abstractedly. Had-I and But-Known were sliding cushionwards again, ready to go back to sleep.

“No, you don't,” she warned them. “We're going home.”

“Betty Alvin!” Borley said, on a note of inspiration. “She'll take care of the dogs.”

“Betty already has her hands full,” Lorinda said. “Dorian is coming to the end of his new book.” There might be more demanding employers than Dorian, but not many. He monopolized Betty at the best of times; now that he was coming to the end of a book, he undoubtedly turned into the proverbial Fiend in Human Form. Perhaps they all did. It was a wonder poor Betty was able to stand it. It was certainly unfair to expect her to take on any more tasks at such a time.

“In any case, I'm not going to be here next week. I have business to attend to in London and I'm leaving in the morning.” It was a spur of the moment decision but, as soon as she said it, she knew it was the right one. She needed a respite. When she returned, she would be better able to usher those ghastly Sibling Spinster Sleuths to the victorious conclusion of another case and a happy ending for everyone except the trapped villain.

“Tomorrow?” Professor Borley looked aghast, realization seeping in that he was going to be left holding the pugs.

“Home,” Lorinda said sternly to the cats. Had-I twitched an ear and wriggled deeper into the cushions. Lorinda sighed and started for the door.

“You can't leave them here!” Professor Borley sounded close to panic at the thought of yet more animals to look after.

“I don't intend to.” Lorinda reclaimed her shopping trolley from the hall and wheeled it back into the living room. She positioned it beside the sofa and flipped back the lid. But-Known opened one wary eye and closed it again.

“Inside,” Lorinda ordered. Both cats remained motionless. She knew they were aware of her because they had stopped purring.

“All right, we'll do it this way.” She lifted Had-I and lowered her into the basket. But-Known gave a faint mewling protest at receiving the same treatment, then they both moulded themselves to the lumpy bags of vegetables and returned to their semi-comatose state. Lorinda lowered the lid and wheeled the basket toward the door.

“Umm ...” Professor Borley was at the window and appeared to be about to say something, then changed his mind. “I suppose,” he offered instead, “I could walk the dogs before bedtime tonight ... and open a can of dog food.”

“That would be fine,” Lorinda agreed. “Gemma may be able to come home by tomorrow. It might just be a case of having her stomach pumped and then they'll release her to recuperate at home. I'll ring the hospital later and find out how she is.”

“I hope you're right,” he said gloomily. “She looked pretty awful to me.”

Since Lorinda was the one moving, both dogs followed her hopefully to the door. Perhaps she could be persuaded to take them for another walk.

“Ummm ...” Again, Professor Borley seemed about to say something. He trailed after the dogs, looking undecided.

“It might be a good idea to open that dog food now,” Lorinda suggested. “Fill their bowls and then you can slip out while they're eating.”

“That wasn't what –” He stepped back nimbly, trying to restrain the pugs as she swung the door open and wheeled the shopping basket into the marble hall.

And halted abruptly. Clarice was crossing the hall to the lift, her white rat perched on her shoulder, its little red eyes gleaming wickedly as it turned its head to look at Lorinda.

“Hello.” Clarice changed course, veering over to the group in the doorway.

“No!” Lorinda gasped. “No, go back!”

“Don't you like rats?” Clarice asked innocently, delighted with the effect she was creating. “Boswell won't hurt you. He's really quite tame. He won't bite. Wouldn't you like to pet him?”

“No.” Lorinda backed into Professor Borley as she tried to pull the shopping basket back into Gemma's flat.

Too late. The lid on the basket began bouncing as strong little legs fought to brace themselves on the vegetables and leap upwards. Two indignant yowls told Clarice what they'd like to do to Boswell. The dogs added their yelps.

“Back! Get back!” Lorinda pushed at the little muzzles thrusting out of the basket.

“Steady, boys.” Professor Borley fought to keep the dogs from rushing into the hall. “Steady there.”

“Oohhh ...” Clarice began backing away. The rat squeaked, recognizing danger, and tried to burrow down the neck of Clarice's sweater.