To Catch a Cat (19 page)

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Authors: Marian Babson

BOOK: To Catch a Cat
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Mummy and Robin had left. Josh was still here. In the secret recesses of her heart, Mags could wish it were the other way around. Mummy at her most irritating was preferable to Josh in his current state of mind.
‘Have you settled it?' he demanded. ‘They're not coming back here. Where are you meeting them? Remember, make sure you keep them away until at least midnight.'
‘Um, well …' Mags confessed uneasily. ‘I didn't really have a chance to talk with Mummy. She's coming back here after she drops Robin off at school. I'll sort it out with her then.'
‘You'd better.' He turned back to hunch over his computer, dismissing her.
‘Josh …' There was something else to be sorted out before Mummy got back. ‘Josh, you called Robin a thief – or as good as. You had no right to say that.'
‘What?' He raised his head, she had his attention now. ‘I didn't. I just said there was a tealeaf in the mouse.' He gave her a strange look. ‘I wasn't necessarily referring to your precious nephew.'
‘Oh, but -' He was right, she realised. He hadn't actually accused Robin. It was Robin's reaction to the statement that had given her that idea.
‘Miss Innocence!' He was openly hostile now. ‘Did you think I wouldn't notice?'
‘Notice what?'
‘You've been hitting them pretty hard, haven't you? I wouldn't mind so much, if only you'd said something.'
‘Said what?' She was confused and stunned. ‘What are you talking about?'
‘Sorry, Miss Innocence,' he sneered. ‘Of course you don't know what I'm talking about, do you? What's the matter, did you get bored when you were here by yourself all day? Temptation get too much for you?'
‘Temptation?'
‘Oh, stop it! You know what I mean.'
‘No, I don't!'
‘Oh, you don't?' He stood up and pulled down the tea caddy, shaking it before he pulled the lid off.
‘How about that, then?' He shook it again, right under her nose.
‘Stop it!' She pushed the caddy away, but not before she had noted the depleted contents. ‘Don't blame me for the amount you've been smoking! I told you it's been getting too much of a grip on you.'
‘Oh, so it's all my fault, is it?' He glared at her.
‘Yes!' She glared back.
Stalemate.
‘So, it's not you.' His attitude told her that the jury was still out on that one. ‘And it's definitely not me …' He silently defied her to challenge him. ‘In that case, it has to be your precious Robin.'
‘It isn't!' At the same time, she remembered Robin's guilty demeanour. ‘It can't be!'
‘Oh, can't it? In that case, it must be Mummy!'
‘Don't be so stupid!'
‘All right, so it's not innocent you, it's not precious Robin, and it's not darling Mummy. So, who's left? And let me tell you right now: the only one I don't suspect in this whole house is the goddamn cat!'
They faced each other – at snarling point. Then the doorbell pealed sharply.
‘Oh, no!' For an instant, they were as one. This was too much.
‘Go ahead, let her in.' The unity dissolved. ‘You don't want to keep Mummy waiting.'
‘You're right, I don't!' Mags started for the door, peripherally aware that Josh had hurriedly replaced the lid and stored the tea caddy back on the top shelf of the Welsh dresser.
‘Just as I thought!' Mummy swept past her into the hall. ‘It was just a bit of childish nonsense. I took particular notice – and all of Robin's schoolmates were wearing socks!'
‘Oh?' Mags could feel her mental gears grinding as she tried to shift from Josh's melodramatic accusations to Mummy's mundane concerns about the state of Robin's wardrobe.
‘He's probably left them strewn all over his room in dirty little balls, just the way his father used to do. We'll sort this out right now!' Mummy started up the stairs determinedly, Mags trailing in her wake.
The cat was asleep on the pillow; it awoke, stretched and chirruped a pleased greeting as they entered. Mags, mindful of Robin's fears, closed the door firmly behind them.
‘Nice kitty.' Mummy bestowed an absent caress before she turned back sheet and coverlet and began shaking them in search of straying socks.
The cat watched with interest, stretching out a tentative paw to join in the new game.
Mags looked around vaguely. The room seemed normally messy for that of a young boy, but there were no socks in sight. On top of the dressing-table, however, there was a jumble of small paper packets. Mags moved towards them uneasily. What were they? Was Robin experimenting with substances?
‘What's that?' Mummy had a question of her own, staring down at a strange yellow streak where her hand had just released the sheet.
Leif strolled over to sniff at it. He left a few strange multi-coloured streaks of his own on the pillow he had just vacated. Again, Mags was aware of the odd but familiar smell in the room.
‘That settles it!' Mummy dusted her hands, but the yellow clung. ‘That cat gets a bath – and the sooner, the better! We'll have her neat and tidy by the time Robin comes home.'
The look she gave her daughter left no doubt that ‘we' meant ‘you'. Mummy always hated to get her hands dirty.
‘Oh, but cats usually clean themselves. Why don't we wait a bit and see if she'll take care of it herself?' Mags hated to get her hands scratched. Tealeaf seemed perfectly friendly and amiable, but that could change in an instant if she were to be suddenly plunged into a tub of soapy water.
‘Nonsense! It's a perfectly simple little task.' Mummy turned away, leaving the bed nearly as rumpled as she had found it. ‘It will take no time at all.'
‘But … today isn't a good day for any sort of upheaval.' Mags had to tell her and this seemed like a good opening. ‘Josh has an important interview to tape and he won't want a wet cat running around the place. In fact – in fact, he doesn't want any distraction. He's suggested we all eat out and take in a film.'
‘Oh, has he?' Mummy arched an eyebrow. ‘Then, of course, we must do just as he says, mustn't we? After all, Josh rules the roost around here.'
Mags took a deep breath, feeling her face grow hot, and turned away to sweep the little packets from the dressing-table top into a drawer before Mummy noticed them. She could investigate them later.
‘What have you there?' Mummy's eyesight was always sharpest when anyone was trying to conceal something from her. She came over to stand beside Mags.
‘Not socks.' Mags closed the drawer quickly and opened the one below. ‘I know he had pairs and pairs of socks when he arrived. I can't think what he's done with them.'
Leif leaped lightly to the top of the dressing-table and
regarded them expectantly, prepared to join in any of these new games. He craned his neck to look down into the open drawer.
Mummy's little sniff said that she was quite aware that Mags was evading the issue and, even though she seemed to accept this, no subject was closed beyond re-opening later.
‘Look in the corners.' Mummy thrust her hand to the very back of the drawer and rootled around. A puzzled look settled over her face.
‘What on earth?' She pulled out one clean sock – with something hard and knobbly forming a bulge in the toe.
‘Where's the other one?' Mags knew her desperate try was doomed to failure. Just as Robin's attempt to conceal any drugtaking paraphernalia was a failure.
Ignoring her feeble question, Mummy untied the knot in the sock and slid its contents on to the dresser top.
‘Mmmrreeeoow?'
The cat sniffed at it, then looked around hopefully. Abandoning hope, it tried to roll over on the object.
‘What is it?' Nothing to do with drugs, Mags could see.
‘I'd say it's …' Mummy pulled the bracelet clear of the furry body and held it up, sparks of light shooting out from the stones. ‘Rubies and diamonds – and very expensive.”
‘Oh, but it can't be real,' Mags protested. ‘It must be some trinket Robin picked up for his mother.'
‘Some trinket, indeed!' Mummy inspected the clasp and held it out for Mags to see the ‘18K' engraved on it. ‘Costume jewellery doesn't come in 18 karat gold.'
‘But where on earth did Robin get it?'
Tealeaf,
Josh's mocking voice echoed in her ears:
a tealeaf in the mouse.
‘I don't know,' Mummy said grimly. ‘But that young gentleman has some explaining to do when I get hold of him!'
The door slipped from his unsteady grasp and slammed loudly. Not that it mattered, she would be lying in wait for him, anyway, he knew.
‘Nils, is that you?'
Ah, there she was, right on cue. Who else did she think it might be? How many grieving widowers had they opened their house to? How stupid did she think he was?
‘Edward?' The voice rose, hitting a higher, more nervous note. ‘Is that you?'
Oh, yes, poor benighted fool, he lived here, too. But he had moved in of his own free will. Actually married the harpy … no accounting for tastes.
Idly, Nils wondered if Edith, too, were an heiress. Might explain a lot. He must ask Ingr –
No. No, Ingrid was no longer available as a source of information.
‘Nils?' Edith's face peered around the corner. ‘Oh, Nils, it is you …'
‘Sorry, Edith, it's getting windy out there. I didn't mean to slam the door, but a sudden gust took it right out of my hands. Sorry …'
‘No, no, it's all right. I should have remembered. Edward said he'd be working late tonight.'
‘Oh?'
‘Not
very
late.' Had it been something in his expression? She had just taken a step backwards as nimbly as Edward ever had.
‘Of course not.' He smiled reassuringly. ‘Very uxorious man, our Edward.'
‘Yes …' Nils watched with amazement as her face softened, her eyes grew dreamy and a faint smile curved her lips. ‘Yes, I suppose he is.'
She actually loved that pompous idiot! No accounting for tastes …
‘Come in, Nils.' Her face hardened again when she looked at him. ‘Come and have a drink with me. I think it's time we had a little talk.'
He wasn't going to like this. He knew it. He followed her into the living-room as gingerly as though she were leading him through a minefield.
The size of the drink she thrust into his hand and the strength of the drink in her own hand confirmed that this was not going to be a pleasant interview.
‘Sit down, Nils.' He could see that she did not intend to.
‘I'd rather stand. I've been sitting all day. In the car … driving around. It was one of those days, couldn't settle to anything, didn't know where I wanted to go, didn't know what I wanted to do … I just kept driving.' It was the best he could do as a plea for sympathy, but he didn't expect it to succeed. Not with Edith.
‘We're all having days like that.' It didn't. ‘Especially now …' She took a deep breath and an even deeper gulp of her drink.
‘Yes …' He dipped his head in acknowledgement, managing to ingest a large portion of his own drink, nursing a sense of grievance. He'd been telling the truth. He'd spent most of the day driving around, trying to outdistance the feeling that he'd made a fool of himself … been bested … and by a couple of feeble-minded teenagers, at that. He hadn't even had anything to eat. He was tired … exhausted … hungry … bereaved …
And did that cold bitch care? He raised his head and gave Edith a long assessing look.
No, she didn't. It had never occurred to him before but, without one Nordic lineament to her face, somehow Edith looked very much like Ingrid. Too much. Perhaps it was the expression with which she was regarding him. He felt the blood begin to pound in his ears.
‘I – I'm glad to have this chance to talk to you, Edith.' He tried to placate her. ‘I've been intending to but …' He
shrugged. ‘I mean, I know Edward rather foisted me on you and, although I'm very grateful for all your support, I – I think it's time that I began to fend for myself … book into a hotel, if I can't face going back to the house …' He faltered into silence – sensing that, although welcome, this was not really what she wanted to hear.
‘That might not be a bad idea. Of course, you're welcome to stay on – '
Just try it,
her tone warned. ‘But I understand that you've got to get back to your own life sometime and, if you really feel that it would be better – '
‘I'm sure it would.' He pounced on his cue. He'd known for a long time that she'd wanted to throw him out. Only the intervention of Good Old Edward had kept him under this roof.
‘But that isn't actually what I wanted to talk to you about, Nils.' Each word rang like a death knell.
‘It isn't?' His glass was empty. He looked from it to her irresolutely. She still had more than half of her own drink remaining.
‘Do help yourself to more.' She waited, pointedly, while he poured a triple measure into his glass and decided to sit down.
‘Thanks, that's better.' He hoped his smile was properly grateful, but he no longer cared. The deep glow of the alcohol hitting his empty stomach and filtering through his system was providing the first warmth and comfort he had felt all day.
‘We need to make some plans,' Edith said decisively. ‘Other plans, that is.'
‘Right. Fine. Whatever you say.'
‘I don't know whether Ingrid told you …' The way she evaded his eyes meant that she knew very well.
‘Told me what?'
‘That she'd appointed me executrix of her will.'
‘She did what?' Without being aware of moving, he found that he was on his feet. ‘Why would she do a thing like that?'
‘Well, you know, Nils.' Edith took a step backwards. ‘You can be a bit difficult at times. She thought I'd get along better
with her solicitor and everything could be sorted out more smoothly.'
‘Difficult? Me?' He took a step forward.
‘She'd probably have changed her will in the future.' Edith sounded defensive. ‘People do, you know, to keep up with the changes in their lives. This was just a formality. Ingrid wasn't … wasn't expecting to … Not for years and years yet. Not for decades …'
‘Yes, that s true.' He pulled himself together. ‘And she knew how busy I am right now. She would have changed it in the future. She wasn't to know …'
…
she had no future
hung between them. They both took a steadying pull at their drinks.
‘I wanted to consult you because there are some decisions which should be made.' Edith sounded as though she had already made them.
‘Oh?' Nils braced himself against the decisive voice, noticing with surprise that his glass was empty again. He moved towards the drinks trolley.
‘The funeral, Nils,' Edith said impatiently. ‘What do you want to do about that? People have been asking me – '
‘No rush … Have to wait for the police to release the – her …' Some of the liquor missed the glass and ran down his hand. He stared at it absently.
‘I've spoken to the police and they – '
‘You what?' He swivelled around to look at her, standing there, so smug and self-satisfied. ‘You take a lot on yourself, don't you, Edith?'
‘Someone has to, Nils. You've been pretty much out of things for the past few days. Not that we blame you,' she added hastily.
‘I should think not! What right have you to blame anybody? What would you blame me for? What? What?' He wasn't quite shouting, he assured himself, he had just raised his voice enough to be emphatic, to show her his displeasure.
‘Perhaps we should continue this conversation later, Nils. When you're feeling better.'
‘I'm feeling fine right now. Oh, I see.' He advanced slowly, registering the expression on her face, wanting to change it. ‘You think I'm drunk, don't you?'
‘I think you've had enough.' She was standing her ground, but appeared to be having second thoughts about it as he drew closer. ‘Why don't we go into the kitchen and I'll get you something to eat.'
‘I'm not hungry. I'm not drunk. And I'm not Edward!' He grew increasingly truculent. ‘You can't push me around … take over my life … you're not Ingrid!'
‘Is that what you think Ingrid did?' He'd changed the expression on her face, all right, but he didn't like this one any better. It was shading from suspicion, to growing realisation, to accusation. ‘Did you hate her that much?'
‘Yes …' They were even, she didn't like his twisted smile. She had begun edging away cautiously, heading in the direction of the telephone.
‘But not as much as I hate you!' He let the red tide engulf him, lunging for her, hands outstretched. She'd interfered in his life for the last time, the bitch!
With a squawk, she tried to evade him, but blundered into the table, knocking the table lamp to the floor and tripping over the cord.
His hands closed triumphantly around her throat and began squeezing …
 
 
When the blood had stopped beating in his ears, when his vision cleared, he looked down at the motionless body, still with that gloriously triumphant feeling. She'd had it coming! For a long time! And if Edward hadn't been man enough to –
Edward!
The last of the mist dissolved. This was Edward's house and he would be returning to it, expecting to find his wife. If he found her like this …
No. She mustn't be found here. He would have to move her. Some place where she might never be found … or not,
at least, for a very long time. Perhaps Edward could be persuaded to believe that she had left him. Without warning, yes, but these things happen.
Edith was a neat corpse. Much neater than Ingrid. No blood. That was good. It would make it much easier to transport her. And only a minimum of cleaning up needed.
There must be no trace of anything untoward having happened here. He replaced the lamp, straightened the table, took the glasses to the kitchen and rinsed and dried them before putting them away.
It was hard to remember that it was still only afternoon. With the days shortening, it was dark by four o'clock now and, on days when the weather was like this, even earlier. The street-lamps had been lit when he turned into the driveway, but the houses on either side had been dark, their occupants not home yet.
He had to get her out of the house before Edward came home. Edward, who was working late, but not very late, she had amended quickly, some instinct warning her of danger – but not soon enough, not clearly enough.
He could bundle her into the car while there was no one around to see. Roll her up in something – not a rug, even Edward would notice if a rug went missing.
There were always sheets in an airing cupboard – Ingrid had taught him that. But Edward would have no idea about any domestic arrangements, he wouldn't know how many sheets there were in the house, to begin with.
His course of action stretched out before him with a crystal clarity: remove a couple of sheets, drive to the old deserted stone quarry, wind Edith into the sheets, along with enough stones – which were plentiful there in all shapes and sizes – to weigh her down. Then tip her into the quarry and the deep secret water would swallow up the bitch.
And, as an added bonus, dreary tiresome Edward would spend the rest of his life wondering why she had left him so suddenly and without warning. Was it something he had said? Something he had done? Or not done? It would be a mystery for the fool to brood over to the end of his days.
But Nils, faithful Nils, would stand by his old friend, being so concerned, so sympathetic …

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