Catnip (Dunbarton Mysteries Book 1) (4 page)

“He’s back.”

It was faceless conversation
spoken in sibilant whispers.

“Not for long. You know what has
to be done.”

“He’s just a cat.”

“He’s not just a cat. He’s a fortune
with legs, money with a tail.”

A resigned sigh was audible at
the other end of the line. “What if I get caught?”          

“Don’t.”

 “But what if I do?”

“If you do, you’re on your own.
No one can know I’m involved. I’ll deny everything.”

“If I’m taking all the risk, I’ll
want more money.”

“There’s no money until it’s
done.”

Another sigh and the line went
dead.

Chris had quietly apologized to
Alice for having thought her capable of harming Marmalade and she had accepted,
but their relationship was even more strained than it had been before, and so
it was with some surprise that she greeted him at the door the following
Sunday.

“Mr. Mallory, how nice to see
you. Please come in. Isn’t it a lovely evening?” She was smiling.

His first reaction was suspicion.
The last time she had greeted him with a smile, it was to present him with a
bill to replace a dress Marmalade had ruined, but this time there was no bill
and no calamity. Alice was in good humor and so, therefore, was James. As for
Alicia, the release from tension made her positively sparkle. Chris could
hardly take his eyes off her.

They had cocktails in the parlor
and then, while Alice finished the preparations for dinner, she suggested James
and Alicia show Chris the rest of the house.

It was basically a center hall
plan with a large, graceful, curving stairway rising to the second floor.
Opposite the parlor, on the other side of the hall, was the library which
served as James’ den. Richly paneled in oak, the walls were lined with
bookshelves. A large, black walnut desk stood in front of the windows and two
leather-covered chairs framed a fieldstone fireplace. The floor was covered by
a thick oriental carpet and cream-colored draperies covered the windows.

The primary focus of the room was
a large oil painting of Robert Allen Dunbar hanging over the fireplace. There
was a strong likeness to his son, both men having thick black hair and brows, a
fine aquiline nose, high cheekbones and a long chin, but whereas the father
bore the assurance of success, the son showed only the despair and exhaustion
of defeat. It was a cruel contrast and must have been a constant reminder to
James of his failure to maintain his father’s business.

Not that the failure was entirely
his fault, Chris had discovered. In the last few weeks he’d spent considerable
time researching the history of furniture in the area. Located on the western
shore of Lake Huron, Dunbarton had a fine natural harbor that made it a focus
for trade and thus commerce. Access to forest products and means of
transporting the finished products early on produced a flourishing furniture
industry. The Dunbar family had been among the first, and the best, and had
developed one of the finest names in the business. Times had changed, however,
and in the last 20 years numerous furniture manufacturers had gone under. The
lack of skilled craftsmen, the high cost of wood, and competition from more
cheaply made, veneer-finished products and imports were the principle reasons
in the bankruptcies. Chris was surprised that James had managed to keep going
as long as he had.

From the library, Alicia and
Chris went upstairs to look at the bedrooms, while James went to lend Alice a
hand. There had originally been six but at the time indoor plumbing was
introduced the smallest was converted to a bathroom and dressing room with a
connecting door to the master bedroom. Similarly, dressing rooms in two of the
other rooms and part of the pantry adjoining the kitchen downstairs were also
converted.

From there, they continued on to
the attic suite and then climbed up the winding stairs of the tower to the
Widow’s Walk where they spent some time watching the play of colors on the calm
surface of the lake and enjoying the magnificent panorama of the countryside
beyond the town.

“This would make a great
sun-deck,” Chris remarked. “Did you really drop water balloons from up here?”
he asked dubiously, looking over the railing.

Alicia hung her head in mock
embarrassment. “Yes, to my shame, I did. Actually, it is really very
scientific. You have to time things perfectly. I got quite good at it. In
retrospect, I was a horrible child.”

“You said it, not me.”

“I’d be happy to give you a
demonstration sometime,” she offered primly. “I’m sure I haven’t lost my touch.”

“Just so long as I’m not the
intended target.”

“Spoil sport!”

It was the most relaxed Alicia
had ever been with him and he wanted to prolong the moment.

“Why is this called a Widow’s
Walk?” he asked. “Did women get rid of unwanted husbands up here, drop them
over like your water balloons?” He mimed tossing someone over the railing,
hoping to make her laugh, and succeeding.

“That depends on who you listen
to. However, I don’t think anyone has ever suggested the dropped husband theory
before, at least not to my knowledge,” she added with another giggle. “Seriously,
one very romantic theory is based on the fact that houses that had an enclosed
walk-way on the roof were usually found by the shore. People said they were
built so that the wives of sea captains could watch for the return of their
husband’s ships. Since sailing was a dangerous business, many of the wives
became widows and hence the name. The other, more mundane, theory is that they
were built purely as decorative features on the houses to show how affluent the
home-owners were. I like to imagine some young wife waiting anxiously for her
husband to come home to her, straining for a glimpse of sails in the distance.”

“I prefer my theory,” Chris said
with one last glance over the railing as they headed back down to the entrance
hall.

Marmalade was sitting waiting for
them at the foot of the stairs.

“You know, I’ll swear that cat
deliberately sets out to annoy mother,” Alicia said with a conspiratorial grin.
“Sometimes he’ll go to where she’s sitting and just stare at her. It makes her
so uncomfortable she usually gets up and leaves.”

“He’s a character, all right.
But, you know, I miss him. Those days he spent with me he used to wait for me
in the window, and the first thing I’d see going up the walk was his lop-sided
smile.”

As they reached the bottom step,
the orange ball of fur stretched out and scrambled up Chris’ leg to his arms.

“Well hello, Marmalade, and how
is the Howard Hughes of the feline set?” His answer was a contented purr. “It
seems to me you’re putting on a little weight.”

“He is,” she said ruefully,
clucking the cat affectionately under his double chin. “I’m afraid he’s the
original moocher, with a regular round of houses to visit, and everybody feeds
him. We’ve stopped giving him table scraps, but we can’t stop others from doing
so. Anybody we’ve approached has said that when he sits there looking at them
with such big, sad eyes, they haven’t the heart to refuse him, and they won’t
believe us that the big sad routine is just an act. The one night we tried
keeping him in again, he howled so long we were afraid the neighbors would
think we were torturing him. Grandmother always let him come and go pretty much
as he pleased.”

“Alicia, dear,” Alice’s voice
came from the kitchen, “take Mr. Mallory out and show him the gardens before
dinner. The roses are especially beautiful this year.”

They went through the parlor into
the dining room where French doors led to the garden. This was a room Chris had
been in many times, large and ornate, but like every other room he’d seen,
old-fashioned and over-crowded.

The garden was as lovely as Mrs.
Dunbar had said, fragrant and humming with life, and he was more than pleased
to have more time alone with Alicia. Marmalade had important business of his
own to attend to and went to skulk among the golden
-petaled
branches of the Forsythia bushes.

“Mother thought it might be nice
to have dinner out in the Gazebo since it’s such a pleasant evening.”

He looked across the garden to
that white frame structure where a small round table was set with china. A
Victorian ‘folly’, it was delicate in design and craftsmanship with a sloping
roof and intricate railings, and surrounded by flowering bushes.

“I’ve been wondering about
something that perhaps you can explain. Your grandmother would have been born
after Queen Victoria died ...”

“And you’re wondering why the
decor of the house is from that period?”

“Exactly.”

“You have to understand something
about small towns. It takes a long time for styles and ways of life to change.
Not so much today, with television and the internet, of course, but in the
past. This was the style Grandfather grew up with, was comfortable with, and in
fact, most of the older pieces you see belonged to his parents and
grand-parents. Many of them are museum pieces now. Anyway, when Grandmother and
Grandfather were married, he brought her to this house. It had been decorated
originally by my great-grandmother. My grandmother, as the new bride, made some
changes but she couldn’t radically alter things. Over time, even though things
like the wiring and plumbing have been brought up-to-date, the decor hasn’t.
Grandmother would repaint and replace draperies but not the furnishings. Mother
hates it,” she added, quite unnecessarily. “I think that was part of the reason
that Grandmother refused to let her make changes.”

“And how do you feel about it?”

“Me? I hardly notice. My room is
very comfortable. I know the parlor isn’t but, then, I’m rarely in there.” She
smiled absently and he could feel her slipping away. The same frustrating thing
happened every time he attempted to ask a personal question. She kept him at
arm’s distance, never letting her guard down, never letting him past the wall. “Here’s
mother with dinner.”

Dinner was superb: spinach salad
with sliced strawberries and pine nuts, prime rib au jus with Yorkshire
pudding, roast potatoes, creamed peas and pearl onions, and a delicious sherry
trifle for dessert.

The night was filled with the
scent of roses and the shrill whirr of cicadas. From off in the distance, came
the muffled pounding of waves on the shore.

And Marmalade was nowhere to be
seen. 

With the evening progressing so
well, Alice relaxed, and in the mellow candlelight, Chris could see the young
girl James Dunbar had married twenty-six years before.

“Are you sure you won’t have
anything more, Mr. Mallory?”

“No, I couldn’t possibly eat
another bite. Everything was marvelous. And, please, won’t you call me Chris?”

“Why, yes, if you’d like. Now, if
you’ll excuse me, Chris, I’ll just run in and bring out the tea.” She walked
back through the garden along a path lined with coach lamps, across the veranda
and in the kitchen door.

“I can’t remember when we’ve
spent such an enjoyable evening.” James smiled happily. “I want to thank you,
Chris. This has been a difficult situation and you’ve been so very helpful.”

“I’m glad you think so. I’d begun
to doubt it.”

“I assure you, you have. And I
know Alice feels so too. Look, she’s even using her grandmother’s tea service.
That’s a real honor.”

They looked up as the kitchen
door banged shut. Alice was walking towards them carrying a silver tea service
and four delicate china cups and saucers on a silver tray with Marmalade
trotting behind.

“No, don’t get up. I can manage
this. But would you please clear a space on the table. Marmalade, stay away
from my ankles. You are such a pest. Get away! Alicia, would you come and get
this animal?”

Alicia ran down the steps to
where Marmalade was playing cat and mouse with Alice’s feet. She was too late.
Just as she reached them, the inevitable happened. Alice tried to push the cat
away with her foot, lost her balance and stumbled forward. The tea pot rocked
and went crashing to the ground, sending china flying in all directions.

“Alice, are you all right, my
dear?” James dashed to where Alicia was attempting to brush the hot tea off her
mother’s gown.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” she
snapped. “Stop fussing over me. Just look at that mess. And my china, it’s
ruined! This is the last straw! God help that cat if I get my hands on him.”

She made a grab for Marmalade
who, oblivious to the chaos he’d created, was placidly lapping cream from a
pitcher that had somehow remained upright.

“Alice, you can’t!” Chris shouted
while James tried to run interference for Alicia who had scooped up the cat. “Remember
the will. If you harm him, you’ll all have to leave.”

His warning must have penetrated
her rage, because she stopped short and visibly checked her angry impulse.
Turning to him, white-lipped with anger, she said furiously, “Mr. Mallory, I’d
advise you to keep that animal out of my sight for the next few hours,” then
strode off towards the house, across the veranda and inside, slamming the door
behind her.

Chris took the now irate cat from
Alicia, carried him spitting and clawing to the garage, and shut him in.
Ignoring the cat’s outraged howls, he turned back to find James waiting alone. “He’ll
be all right there for a while. That should give Alice time to cool off.”

James nodded wearily. “I think I’d
better go in and try to calm her down. The only other time I’ve seen her this
livid was the day the will was read. Good-bye, Chris. I’m sorry the evening has
ended this way.”

“So am I. Did Alicia go in after
her mother?”

“No, she wandered off into the
garden. There’s a little ring of birches at the foot of that path. That’s one
of her favorite spots. I wouldn’t be surprised if you found her there. Now you’ll
have to excuse me ...”

“Of course.” Chris watched him go
and followed the flagstone path he’d indicated.

Alicia was sitting on a little
wooden bench beneath the birches, a pale, golden wraith in the moonlight. She
seemed as unapproachable as the stars she watched. He stood there, looking at
her, not knowing where to begin, or what to say. Finally, “Why did you run
away?”

She turned dreamy eyes towards
him and smiled. “It’s such a beautiful night, clear and tranquil. And those
stars! They’re so remote and untroubled.”

Not to be side-tracked, he
repeated his question softly.