Canapés for the Kitties (18 page)

The back door slammed. “Had-I! But-But!” Freddie's voice carolled. “Come and get it!” The cats rose unhurriedly and strolled towards the kitchen.

“We're in here, Freddie,” Lorinda called. “Come and have a drink.”

“Oh, no!” Freddie appeared in the doorway, looking guilty. “You're back. I'm sorry, I wouldn't have burst in like that if I'd known. I thought you were coming back tonight.”

“Last night,” Lorinda said. “Don't worry, it's all right.” What was not all right was Freddie's appearance. She looked grey and drawn. What was going on around here?

The cats, sensing that they were not about to get another feed, turned and went back to their spot before the fire.

“Are the Jackleys still fighting?” Lorinda asked.

“They're trying, but some of the old fire has gone.” Freddie curled up on the sofa. “Jack still has one arm in bandages – he can't throw things the way he used to.”

“Maybe not, but they're obviously disturbing your sleep again.”

“If you think I look bad,” Freddie said. “Wait till you see the others. Gemma looks terrible – I think they let her out of hospital too soon.”

“What was wrong?” Lorinda felt guilty; she ought to have rung Gemma this morning.

“Nothing the medics seemed to be definite about. They halfway agreed with her own diagnosis of something she ate, but they didn't rule out an extreme allergic reaction to something, or even one of the new mystery viruses that are breaking out all over.”

“No one else seems to have caught it,” Macho said. “So it was probably an allergy.”

“And Rhylla is really in trouble.” Freddie dismissed Gemma's problem as inconsequential. “Her son and daughter-in-law telephoned last week to say they were having such a good time without the sprog that they've booked themselves a second-honeymoon skiing holiday in Colorado over New Year. She's stuck with the brat and the rat until well into January – and I don't know which is upsetting her more.”

“Oh, no!” Lorinda was horrified. “What will that do to her deadline?”

“Nothing good,” Freddie said gloomily.

“Look on the bright side.” Macho cheered up for the first time all afternoon. “It may upset Rhylla – but it will drive Plantagenet Sutton absolutely crazy.”

“That's right.” Freddie also brightened. “He hates rats. Funny that, you'd think he'd have some fellow-feeling for them.”

Had-I's ears twitched and she raised her head.

“Go back to sleep,” Lorinda advised. “Boswell is out of bounds.”

Had-I lowered her head slowly, with the air of a cat who had her own ideas about that.

“I thought I'd drive over to Marketown for some shopping,” Freddie announced. “Either of you care to come along?”

“Now?” Macho looked askance. He might have a hero who acted on impulse – a door kicked down here, a jaw broken there – but he preferred to plan his own days well in advance.

“Say ... ten minutes?” Freddie offered.

“Two will do it.” Lorinda was already on her feet. “Just let me grab my coat and bag and I'll be right with you.”

“Sorry –” she heard Macho say as she left the room. “But I want to finish a chapter before dinner. Another time ...”

It was not until Lorinda was safely tucked into the passenger seat beside Freddie that it occurred to her that it might not be wise to leave the house unattended. Dear as the cats where, they were of no use as watchdogs.

But the car was rolling smoothly down the High Street and it was too late to do anything about the situation except worry. She wished she had not thought of it. She turned to make a remark to Freddie and gave a muffled shriek.

Freddie was driving with her eyes closed.

“What is it?” Freddie's eyes flew open, she looked fearfully in the direction of the graveyard they were passing. The car swerved. “Did you see it?”

“See what?” Lorinda was startled. There was genuine terror in Freddie's eyes as she stared deep into the old graveyard where the mist was thickest. “Freddie, what's wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing!” There was an echo of Macho's anxious evasion in Freddie's immediate defensive denial. “Why should anything be wrong?”

“Freddie! Watch the road!” The front tyres scraped against the kerb.

“Sorry.” Freddie braked violently, then they lurched backwards. “Not paying attention. I'll be all right as soon as we get on the open road.”

“I hope so.” Lorinda bit down on a sharper remark. Freddie was still looking fearfully over her shoulder at the old graveyard. It was clearly not a moment for either levity or reproach. Freddie was deeply disturbed.

“Freddie –” A sudden thought disquieted her. “Don't tell me the old graveyard is haunted!”

“All right.” Freddie returned her attention to the road. They rounded a bend and the graveyard was out of sight. “I won't tell you.”

“Well ... is it?” She remembered Freddie's strange attitude towards the graveyard when she had been walking Gemma's dogs, just before she went up to London.

“Who knows?” Freddie shrugged. “Stranger things may have happened in Brimful Coffers. I wouldn't put anything past this bloody place.”

“But what is it?” She tried to pin Freddie down. “If there were any sort of legend about the place, surely Dorian would have told us about it?”

“Told us? He'd have seen to it that we were charged extra for the privilege.” Freddie's bravado was growing, the farther away from the graveyard they travelled.

“Have
you
seen whatever it is?” Lorinda would not be diverted. “Has anyone else seen it?”

“No one is admitting it, not that I'd blame them.” Freddie shrugged again. “In fact, the subject has never been raised. I don't blame anyone for that either.”

“But
is
there anything to talk about?” A spectral sighting might explain Macho's curious behaviour – although not, perhaps, his intense anxiety over Roscoe. In the annals of haunting, human beings were often menaced, but not animals. It took vampires for that.

“Perhaps someone is playing jokes.” Lorinda put forward the idea cautiously. Misery loves company and she realized that she would be a lot happier if she thought she wasn't the prankster's only target.

“Ha-ha-ha,” Freddie said bitterly. “I may die laughing.”

“But what exactly have you – ?”

Freddie swerved the car sharply, throwing her against the seatbelt, cutting off her breath.

“You had the right idea,” Freddie said. “Get out of this place for a while, sweep the cobwebs out of your brain and come back with a fresh perspective.”

“I'm not sure I could claim –”

“Maybe I ought to go up to London for a week or two myself.” Having changed the subject, Freddie was not going to go back to it. “Tell me what show I ought to see.”

It was days before Lorinda could force herself to take up work on the book again. Had-I and But-Known watched with interest as she approached the desk, taking one step backward for every two steps forward. They had not seen this performance before.

“All right, all right,” she assured them. “I'll get there? Don't rush me.”

It didn't help that the cats had decided that their favourite spot to curl up was the place on the carpet beneath which the envelope lay hidden. They weren't trying to keep her attention focused on the spot, she knew, and no one who came into the study would think anything untoward about it. They were probably settled there because the envelope and pages provided another layer of insulation, making that spot on the carpet slightly warmer than the rest of it.

She hesitated over the pile of paper beside her typewriter, and lifted the top sheet with a hand that trembled only slightly. It was blank. She quickly riffled through the other pages. Blank, all blank. She exhaled a quiet sigh of relief.

The cats shifted into a more comfortable position and waited for her to sit down in her office chair. They seemed to relax when she did so. It had been several days since she had occupied her familiar place. All was right with their world again. What about hers?

Cautiously, she began to tap at the keys, still half fearful that control might be snatched away from her. After a few paragraphs, the knot in the pit of her stomach began to loosen. Miss Petunia settled her pince-nez firmly on the narrow bridge of her long thin nose, Lily growled, Marigold tossed her red-gold curls and burbled, and none of them showed any signs of taking on a Sinister life of their own.

With increasing confidence, Lorinda settled down to making up for lost time. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, she scarcely noticed when the sky began growing darker.

The cats grew restive. Had-I strolled over, head-butted her ankles and eyed her lap, inaccessible since the chair was pushed well under the desk.

“Later,” she said absently to Had-I's protest.

But-Known knew better than to try to disturb her, but was equally disgruntled. Nose to nose, the cats communed for a moment, then turned and left the room purposefully. Lorinda barely registered the subsequent plop of the catflap as she continued working.

When, at last, she raised her head and came back to the present, the room beyond the desk lamp was dark. In the early-night blackness outside, lighted windows glowed in Macho's cottage and in the larger semidetached occupied by Freddie and the Jackleys.

Lorinda sighed, stretched and pushed back her chair. As though that were a signal, the doorbell and the telephone rang simultaneously.

“Hello?” The phone was nearest. “Hold on a minute, will you? The doorbell's ringing. I'll answer it and get straight back to you.”

“Oh-oh!” It was unmistakably Freddie's voice. “I'll get right over there. You may need reinforcements.”

“What?” But Freddie had already rung off. The doorbell rang again, more insistently.

“I'm coming!” she called, hurrying down the stairs to throw open the door.

“I thought you might need some help.” Macho stepped inside and looked around – at floor level. “Where are they?”

“What on earth – ?” She could see Freddie hurrying up the path with an anxious expression on her face.

“Keep calm and don't worry,” Freddie said quickly. “If the pugs had done it, Gemma might be in trouble but, remember, a cat owner is not responsible for anything her cats do. That's the law.”

“Do? Law?” That sinking feeling was back in the pit of her stomach. “What have they done now?”

“She doesn't know yet,” Macho said. “They haven't –”

Flip-flop
...
flip-flop
... The catflap sent its familiar message, followed by a questing, “
Mrraahhaarrmm?
”

“In here –” Lorinda began, but Freddie and Macho were already rushing for the kitchen door. She followed, more slowly, in their wake.

“
Not
in here, you little wretch!” Freddie said. “Not on the nice clean carpet.”

There was a muffled indignant feline protest as Freddie executed some fancy footwork, blocking the threshold.

“Oh, no!” Lorinda had a full view of the scene now: two triumphant cats standing over one plump furry white body with glazing red eyes.

“I saw it from across the street,” Macho said. “I shouted at them, but they paid no attention.”

“They wouldn't,” Freddie said. “Not even Lorinda could have stopped them at that point.”

“You saw it, too?” Lorinda asked faintly.

“It was hard to miss. Clarice's screams were enough to wake the dead.”

“Oh, no!” Lorinda flinched as the telephone shrilled. “If that's Rhylla, what can I say?”

“Just grovel,” Freddie advised. “And remember, it's not your fault.”

“Hello ...?” Lorinda breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, Elsie ... Yes ... yes, I know. They've just come in with it ... yes. Yes, it looks very dead ... Well, thanks for trying to warn me.” She had barely replaced the receiver when the phone rang again.

“Hello ...? Oh, Jennifer... right past the bookshop, did they? Yes, yes, of course I want to know. They're back now and they've brought it with them. Thanks, anyway.” She began to replace the receiver, then thought better of it and set it down beside its base.

“What did you do?” she asked the cats bitterly. “Take a lap of honour with the damned thing?”

Had-I wriggled her shoulders and preened; she was delighted with herself. But-Known sensed criticism and moved a few inches away from her sister, distancing herself.

“
Prrryaaaah?
” Had-I began to notice that she was not receiving the appreciation that was her due. She reached out and prodded the limp white lump. “
Prrryaaaah?
”

“Yes, yes, good girl.” Macho bent and patted her head consolingly. It was all right for him, he didn't have to face the full brunt of the social horrors in store. Lorinda shuddered.

“Well, she is,” Macho defended. “If the place were overrun by an infestation of rats, you'd be bloody glad to have her on duty. She isn't to know the difference between a pet rat and a wild one. She might even have thought the rat was attacking Clarice. If it had been, she'd have been a heroine.”

“Good scenario,” Freddie said. “Would you like to try to explain it that way to little Clarice?”

“Perhaps after she's calmed down a bit,” Macho said.

Lorinda shuddered again. The doorbell rang more insistently. But-Known backed a little farther away from Had-I and her victim.

“I'll get the door,” Freddie said.

“Now what do we do?” Lorinda asked despairingly. “When we lost one of the hamsters at school,” Macho said, “we found it distracted the boys' attention wonderfully if we gave it a full military funeral. Matron,” he added hopefully, “always sewed a nice black velvet shroud for it.”