The Cat Who Wasn't a Dog (18 page)

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Authors: Marian Babson

BOOK: The Cat Who Wasn't a Dog
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A cold chill swept over me. Abruptly, I remembered Ron Heyhoe's story about the rugby match and the almost-permanent injury Thursby had deliberately inflicted on him. We'd laughed when he gave us our introduction because he said he owed Thursby one. Now – too late? – I recalled uneasily that there had been times when Heyhoe had had his problems with Evangeline. Did he feel that he owed us one, too?
‘Just what makes you think we aren't getting anywhere with the case?' His glittering eyes were as cold and menacing as those of the hooded cobra must have been, and Evangeline was momentarily as frozen in their beam as any lesser prey.
‘You haven't told us anything! What else are we to think?' No, Evangeline was more mongoose than prey; she came out fighting.
‘You might think that it was none of your business. You might think that it was just possible that the police had more than one case at a time to work on. You might even think that your own position was a bit equivocal. You were on the scene, you have a highly developed sense of drama and, I understand, a fearsome temperament. If you had quarrelled with the man, struck him impulsively, harder than you meant to …?' He gave a cold smile and paused, inviting a confession.
‘Don't be ridiculous!'
‘It's only too plausible, I assure you. As is the possibility that your friend Eddie is so good a friend that he is allowing himself to be chief suspect in order to shield you.'
‘No!' I gasped with outrage and he transferred his icy gaze to me.
‘Both of you,' he said impartially.
‘Really!' Evangeline's head reared back, her nostrils flared. ‘You'll be accusing Cecile next!'
‘We're not dismissing her out of hand. My information is that she is an extremely distraught woman whose recent behaviour has been … eccentric … if not demented.'
‘Who gave you that information?'
‘Now, now.' He shook his head. ‘You should know that we never reveal our sources.'
‘Not unless it suits you!'
I noticed the waiter hovering as our discussion grew more heated and signalled to him urgently. It took him only a moment to deliver the bill which, after hesitating briefly, he set down beside the gentleman of the party.
I could see that Evangeline was so furious she was going to let it stay there, so I grabbed it.
‘We
did
invite him,' I whispered.
‘And very kind of you, too.' He wasn't missing a thing. ‘A delicious meal and a most enjoyable occasion.'
I was glad he thought so.
In the morning, I didn't feel like facing Eddie, even though I knew he had never expected our efforts with Superintendent Thursby to be successful. Cravenly, I decided to skip breakfast at the house and go out and buy that pretty necklace for Viola, getting something to eat at a coffee shop along the way. Let Evangeline be the one to break the bad news to Eddie when he arrived, it had been her idea. Not one of her better ones. We were now firmly placed in the forefront of Thursby's attention. And suspicion.
It was a good plan: I might have known it wouldn't work. When I got back to the house, Evangeline was still in bed. That took care of the glow of triumph I felt over my successful purchases. I'd picked up a novelty watch for Orlando, so that he wouldn't feel neglected, and a couple of kitchen gadgets for Martha.
‘One of her headaches,' Dame Cecile informed me. ‘And that terrible smell of paint isn't going to help.'
Now that she mentioned it, I became aware of the overpowering odour of fresh paint. Eddie was putting the finishing touches to Matilda's new built-in bookcase. Perhaps he'd have time to fix my closet shelf while the first coat of paint was drying.
I decided to clear the clothes rail suspended from that shelf, so that Eddie could get at it more easily. There wasn't much hanging from it and, as I worked, I allowed myself the brief luxury of imagining that I could throw everything back into my suitcase, ready to depart.
But we couldn't leave yet. We couldn't desert Eddie.
And perhaps the ‘don't leave town' edict had been extended to us by this time. Hector Thursby seemed to be preparing an all-purpose, any-suspect-will-do case against one or all of us.
The unused wire hangers at the far end of the rail were in a fearful tangle. They had been rammed over the rail carelessly, their hooks opening in opposite directions, their loops intertwined and practically tied in knots. They had probably been there so long they were all rusted together. I tugged impatiently at them.
Suddenly, the whole thing gave way. I had time for one sharp involuntary scream as the shelf tilted and an avalanche plunged towards me.
 
‘ … Trixie! … Trixie! …' People were calling to me from a great distance, their voices faint and alarmed. ‘Trixie! …'
I moaned and turned over. I didn't want to wake up. I wanted to lie here on this nice comfortable bed for ever.
‘Trixie!'
I tried to pull the pillow over my ears, but a sudden pain shot through my head and jolted my eyes open. I moaned again.
‘She's coming round.'
‘I'm not. Go away and – ' Someone pulled me upright and thrust a glass of water against my lips. I discovered I was very thirsty.
‘Trixie – what happened?'
‘The shelf got me,' I said. ‘Before Eddie had a chance to fix it.'
‘I was going to get at it right after lunch,' he defended himself. ‘Couldn't you leave well enough alone until then?'
‘I just wanted to clear the rail for you, but the hangers were all stuck together and, when I pulled at them, the whole shelf – '
‘Eddie's right,' Evangeline said. ‘If you didn't go rushing at things – '
‘The edge of the shelf didn't strike you, did it?' Matilda looked me over carefully. ‘I don't see any blood.'
‘She might have concussion.' Dame Cecile was as ready as Evangeline with ever the encouraging word. ‘How many fingers am I holding up?'
‘I'm not going to answer that.' My head was settling down to a steady throbbing ache. ‘Why doesn't somebody get me some aspirin?'
‘They might not be the best thing for you,' Matilda worried. ‘I'll call the doctor. That shelf could have done serious damage.'
‘I don't need a doctor – '
‘It wasn't the shelf.' Eddie had roamed over to inspect the closet. ‘That's still ‘anging in there. Only just, mind you, but …' Eddie moved deeper into the closet, then we heard a clatter, as though he had stepped into a nest of wire hangers, and a muffled oath.
‘Are you all right?' Matilda called.
‘Just about.' He reappeared in the doorway, a cluster of coat hangers in one hand, a largish suitcase in the other. ‘It's dangerous in there.'
‘So Trixie discovered,' Evangeline said.
‘They say most accidents happen in the home,' Dame Cecile said, ‘and this home is well on the way to proving it.'
‘I'm going to need room to work in there.' Eddie turned to me. ‘Where do you want me to put your suitcase?'
‘That isn't mine,' I said. ‘Mine's over there.'
He turned to Matilda.
‘It's certainly not mine,' Matilda said. ‘I've never seen it before in my life.'
‘Oh …?' He stood there, holding the old-fashioned, slightly battered case, then revolved it slowly, inspecting it.
‘Stop!' Evangeline shouted. ‘Hold it right there!'
He did and suddenly we all saw it: a Qantas Airways label stuck on one end of the case.
‘Where did you say that housekeeper was from?' Evangeline asked.
‘Australia,' Matilda said faintly, staring at the label. ‘You think it was hers?'
‘We can open it and find out. Set it down on the chair, Eddie, and let's take a look at it.' Evangeline moved forward purposefully. ‘I don't suppose you saw any sign of a key?'
‘Probably 'ave to bust it open.' Eddie poked at the lock.
‘We can't do that,' Matilda protested.
‘Why not?' Eddie wanted to know. ‘Who's going to complain?'
‘He's right.' Evangeline was stabbing at the lock with a nail file. ‘Until we look inside, we won't know who has any right to complain – not that they would. If we hadn't opened it they'd never have known what happened to her.'
‘I'll get my toolkit.' Eddie hurried off. ‘You'll never do it that way.'
‘I suppose we must.' Matilda surrendered. ‘The police were asking about her next-of-kin and I wasn't able to tell them. I'd like to know myself. I should write to them, see what arrangements …'
‘
If
there's any information inside.' I tried to sound a warning before they got too hopeful about it.
‘There's bound to be some clue.' Evangeline would not be discouraged. ‘Eddie – ‘He was back. ‘Have a go!'
‘Right!' He attacked the lock with a hammer and chisel.
I sank back on the bed and this time succeeded in folding the pillow around my ears, not that it did much good in blocking out the noise. Vaguely, it occurred to me that, if the shelf was still in place, it must have been the suitcase that hit me, sliding off the shelf when it tilted. That meant someone had pushed it as far back on the shelf
as it could go. Trying to hide it? Or just tidying it out of sight, as a good housekeeper would have done?
The hammering stopped abruptly. I heard Evangeline's satisfied exclamation and sat up again, struggling off the bed and over to join the others around the case.
‘There!' Eddie wrenched back the lid and we looked down at the neat piles of clothing.
There were the usual bulging pockets along all sides of the case, the most logical places to look for any papers. Still, something held us back. I was sure I was not the only one to have a lump in my throat. She hadn't even had time to unpack.
‘It's got to be done!' Evangeline's rallying call seemed to be for herself as much as for us. She plunged her hands into the most bulging of the pockets.
We looked with sad dismay at the dubious trophies she pulled out: a half-used jar of foundation cream, a couple of lipsticks, an eyebrow pencil, an eyeliner – cosmetics for a face that would never need them again.
Shaken, Evangeline dropped the pathetic hoard on top of a folded blouse and slid her hand into another side pocket with less enthusiasm. This time, she felt cautiously along the pocket making sure that what she found might have some relevance to our quest. The heavy-duty manilla envelope she surfaced with looked distinctly more promising.
It wasn't sealed, it just had one of those little metal clasps. Evangeline bent the wings back and slid the flap open. The contents seemed promisingly bulky. Surely there must be something in there.
‘Why don't we take it downstairs – ?' Matilda began, but Evangeline was already pulling out the papers.
A few letters in yellowing envelopes looked a likely source of information, but would take time to read. Evangeline was after more immediate results. She let the letters slide back into the big envelope and flipped through the remaining documents until – paydirt!
‘A passport!' Evangeline said. ‘Now we're getting somewhere!'
She opened it eagerly. A strange expression came over her face as she read it. Wordlessly, she handed it to Matilda.
‘Alison Temple-Jordan,' Matilda read out. ‘But what – '
‘Wait …' Evangeline had found an official-looking document. ‘Here's a birth certificate.' She read it before holding it out to Matilda, who took it gingerly.
‘Mother … Margaret Temple. Father …' Matilda's voice trembled. ‘Gervaise Jordan.'
‘The old bastard!' Evangeline said. ‘Sorry, Matilda, but – '
Matilda hadn't heard her. She stood frozen in time and space. I crowded forward to look at the documents and my heart twisted with pity for the poor woman who had reached out for that spurious hyphen to give her baby the illusion of legitimacy, so desperately important in those days.
‘She … she was my half-sister,' Matilda whispered, ‘and .. I never knew.'
‘She wanted you to get to know her before she told you.' Dame Cecile patted her shoulder comfortingly, but she was oblivious.
‘I liked her … I liked her the minute I saw her. That was why I hired her. I thought we could be friends – ' Matilda's voice broke.
‘Downstairs!' Evangeline ordered briskly. ‘Downstairs – and drinks all round. We need them!'
‘At least we now know who her next-of-kin is.' Matilda's mouth twisted wryly. ‘I am.'

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