Murder on Show (8 page)

Kellington Dasczo stood speechless, but Pearlie King yowled as the arms tightened convulsively around him.

I didn't know whether to curse, faint, or yowl myself, as I stared at the empty pedestal.

The gold Whittington Cat with the emerald eyes was missing. Lost, strayed, or – more probably – stolen.

I don't even want to remember the next couple of hours. Especially the moment when Rose Chesne-Malvern threatened to sue Perkins & Tate for malpractice.

By the time Gerry (I had hastily telephoned for reinforcements) and I had convinced her that it wasn't a publicity stunt we had thought up, we had to start from the beginning again and try to convince the police of it, too. They took an especially dim view of the fact that I had stayed all night. Gerry came in for his lumps when they found out he had been taking photographs of the golden cat and was the last person, besides the sculptor, to have seen it before the curtains went round it.

‘I wish we
had
thought of it,' Gerry said. ‘What a publicity stunt! We hit every media of communication – and the Wire Services are humming. Reuters, UP – all of them will be at the Show tomorrow. And Penny's been lining up interviews for all the weeklies and monthlies. If only it was a fake,' he mourned, ‘we'd have made PR history.'

I wished we'd done it, too, but for different reasons. It would give me a nice secure feeling to know just where that gold statue was lurking and to be able to produce it when I wanted to. Instead of which, I was sitting around wondering if it had already been melted down, and whether Hugo Verrier really could bring damages against the Exhibition for loss of his irreplaceable work of art.

‘You know,' Dave Prendergast said thoughtfully, (we were all having a late lunch in the pub across from the Exhibition Hall, and knocking back our last double before ‘Time' was called), ‘it seems to me that the police ought to be at the hospital, waiting for that Guard to come round. It stands to reason that he must have seen something. Probably that was why he was hit over the head – so that the thief could get away with the Whittington Cat.'

Gerry and I met each other's eyes and turned to regard Dave without enthusiasm. ‘That's an interesting theory,' I said. ‘Uh ... you haven't mentioned it to the police yet, have you?'

‘They hardly talked to me,' he said regretfully. ‘They were only interested in the people who stayed all night. That's when it must have been stolen, you know.'

‘So it would appear,' Gerry said. He looked at me pleadingly. ‘Didn't you notice anything at
all
? If we could only –'

‘Not a thing,' I said firmly. ‘Too bad you can't question the cats. Pandora might be able to tell you something – if she could. She was pretty restless last night.'

‘You see,' Dave said excitedly, ‘you see! The cats were restless! That proves something was wrong. Do you think I should talk to the police about it? Maybe I ought to go back right now and –'

‘They're trying to get some lunch, too,' Gerry said. ‘I know it's all fairly urgent to us, but it's only another case of theft to them. It's not like a murder, or some nut hijacking an airliner. I think the police can consider themselves fully justified in having a good lunch and worrying about the case again afterwards.'

‘Well, the Guard might have died,' Dave was reluctant to say goodbye to his theory. He brightened. ‘He
still
might.'

‘In that case,' I said, ‘maybe the police
will
go on 24-hour duty. But –' I remembered the saturnine official who had questioned me, and who had clearly felt there were more burning issues at stake in the world than a lot of pampered pets, their idiot owners, and the fate of a statue some imbecile of a sculptor had seen fit to cast in gold. ‘I wouldn't really bother them outside office hours unless he
does
die. Even then, I wouldn't push myself too far into it.'

‘I don't mean to be
pushy.
' I had chosen the wrong word, and Dave was instantly aggrieved. ‘I just thought one had a certain duty as a citizen. After all, they've had signs up on every hoarding saying you should call the police if you think you see anything suspicious.'

They had, indeed. And I wondered how many local stations had cursed the PR boys who had thought of
that
one.

‘Sorry, Dave,' I said. ‘You're right, of course. But the most suspicious thing I've seen all day has been that camera crew – especially the director. My bets are riding on one of them. They could have whipped the statue into one of their cases – it's only the size of a real-life cat, after all – and transferred it to their van outside without anyone noticing. There were too many of them creating constant distractions for us to have been able to watch them.'

‘Yes, but the Security Guard –'

‘Might have had a genuine accident,' I said firmly. Or he might have tangled with one of the camera crew this morning. Last night probably had nothing to do with it. Now, have another drink, and let the police solve it. That's what we pay rates for.'

‘But, listen –' Dave leaned forward, he seemed to have thought of another point.

‘Time, gentlemen, please,' the barmaid carolled, turning out a couple more lights.

‘I'll take Dave on,' Gerry said, grasping Dave's arm firmly and urging him out of his chair, ‘and make good on that drink you promised him. Come on, Dave, there's a nice little club – so new I don't think you'll have heard of it yet –'

It was the perfect bait for an advertising man – they have to be in on the latest. Dave rose eagerly. ‘Well, maybe we can talk this over some more –'

‘We'll discuss it in depth,' Gerry promised, tipping me the nod. I relaxed, knowing I could safely leave Dave to him.

There was just one other thing. As the last lights went out, I palmed the last chunk of cheese on my plate and slipped it into my pocket.

The Exhibition Hall was dark in the late-afternoon gloom, except for the palely-lit aisle of the Special Exhibits. Again, I felt the unspoken approval as I walked along. ‘Here she is, Douglas,' Helena Keswick called to me. We had all slipped over into first name terms, closing ranks against the invading police and reporters.

I halted. Pandora was sitting in the lap of a man who seemed to be visiting Helena. Neither of them appeared to be over-enthusiastic about the arrangement and, seeing me, Pandora gathered herself and took a flying leap, landing on my shoulder.

‘Pprrryeh?' She nuzzled my ear. Now that I had come back, it appeared that she was glad to see me.

Marcus Opal looked at us enviously and sketched a wave, as he walked past, heading for the bedroom corridor. As soon as he had gone, Precious Black Jade opened baleful eyes and glared after him resentfully.

Helena's visitor unfolded from the low chair and held out his hand to me. ‘Nice to see you again, Mr Perkins,' he said. ‘I must say, I didn't expect you to be still here.'

‘Perkins & Tate never desert their post when the firing starts,' I said, taking his hand. I recognized him now. Roger Chesne-Malvern, presumably come to stand beside his wife in her hour of trial. Uneasily, I looked around, ready to disappear if I saw any sign of her. I'd frankly had as much of Rose Chesne-Malvern as I could stand in one day.

Pandora rocked unsteadily for a moment, then settled to her haunches and edged forward, lying half on my shoulder and half along the back of my neck. Roger Chesne-Malvern smiled faintly.

‘You seem to have made a hit with Pandora,' he said. I remembered suddenly. ‘Should you be here? I mean, your allergy. Isn't this the worst place in the world –?'

‘I've been to the doctor,' he said. ‘Had a couple of shots. Been taking them for quite a while now, actually. Immunizing treatment. With any luck ...' he shrugged.

‘We're all keeping our fingers crossed for you,' Helena said warmly. ‘This visit –' her eyes met mine warningly ‘is by way of being a test run. Rose doesn't know he's been taking these treatments.' One eyebrow twitched upward disparagingly. ‘He doesn't want to raise her hopes too high.'

So Rose Chesne-Malvern wasn't around. I relaxed and smiled at Roger Chesne-Malvern, although I still felt a bit awkward about wearing his wife's prize-winning cat as a neckpiece. ‘I hope it works,' I said. ‘I mean, it's tough, being allergic, when your wife's so fond of cats.' I
did
hope it worked, I'd thought of the happy ending. ‘You could stop boarding Pandora out then,' I said. ‘You could keep her at home with you.'

‘Yes.' Roger Chesne-Malvern smiled oddly. ‘Pandora
is
a nice little cat.'

Helena murmured something to him, and he turned to answer her. I remembered the chunk of cheese and fished it out of my pocket, brushing bits of lint off it, and lifted it shoulder high. ‘Fancy a snack?' I asked.

Greased lightning snapped at my fingers and flashed to the floor, carrying half the cheese with it. She was a lady – at least, she'd left my fingers. Most of them, and there was still an inch-thick, two-inch-long, wedge of cheese left in them. I looked at it consideringly, wondering whether to let her have it, after that exhibition of greed, or whether to show her who was boss by eating it myself.

Something made me look up and into the stall across the aisle. Precious Black Jade crouched at the bars of his cage, yellow eyes intent on the chunk of cheese in my hand. I remembered that I had heard Marcus Opal beseeching him to eat something at various times during the day, but that he had disdained every tin offered. Maybe he only fancied mousetrap cheese. However, going near Precious could be living dangerously. So could feeding another cat when Pandora was around.

But Pandora was occupied with her cheese, and the way Precious was staring at the remainder couldn't be ignored. At least, not by me. Making sure Pandora wasn't paying any attention, I sauntered over to the stall.

‘Okay, sport,' I said – I couldn't bring myself to call him Precious, ‘see if this suits your taste.' I poked it hurriedly through the bars at him and retreated back to the Keswick Cattery stall, hoping the beast would eat it. I had the strong impression that Marcus Opal wouldn't take kindly to having anyone else make what he'd consider overtures to his cat.

When I looked back, Precious was in a shadowed corner of his cage, unmistakable jaw movements showing that he was busily disposing of the evidence. I glanced around and saw that my infidelity had not gone unnoticed by Pandora. She crouched at my feet, and I flinched as she sprang.

‘Prryeh,' she said, landing on my shoulder and scratching her wet nose on my ear. Evidently I was forgiven. Of course, Precious was a male. Perhaps she was only jealous of other females. Some time, when I was feeling braver, I might test that theory by feeding something to Mother Brown again.

‘How about going back in your pen?' I suggested. ‘I've still got work to do.'

‘Prryeh.' She nestled down comfortably on my shoulder and settled into a steady purr.

Helena and Roger seemed to have forgotten me, but I thought it only polite to say goodbye. Helena smiled cordially, but Roger leaped a mile. It was beginning to get through to me that he didn't really have eyes for anyone else when Helena was around. I wondered what Rose thought of this situation – or whether she had taken enough time out from trailing around after Hugo Verrier to notice that a situation existed at all.

‘Before you go, Douglas,' Helena purred, holding something out to me. ‘Why don't you borrow this brush until tomorrow. I don't
think
' (which meant she knew damned well) ‘Rose has a brush for Pandora.'

Come to think of it, Pandora could do with a nice little brushing – not that she looked at all tatty. It was just that she could look a bit sprucer with a nice gleaming coat. ‘Thanks,' I told Helena, meaning it, ‘I'd appreciate that. We want to look our best tomorrow.'

Helena smirked at me and it wasn't until I was turning into Pandora's stall that I realized what I had said.
We,
indeed. This damned place was getting me. I was nearly as crazy as the rest of them. And it wasn't even my cat. Pandora belonged to Rose Chesne-Malvern and, from what I had been seeing here, she represented quite an expensive investment.

I was just starting to brush Pandora when all hell suddenly broke loose at the Big Cage. Pandora, who had been enjoying the attention, dived under the table and hissed.

Up and down the aisle, the others reacted. Kellington Dasczo dropped the book he had been reading and lurched in front of Pearlie King's pen, spreading his arms out defensively.

Betty Lington shrieked, and Silver Fir sat up and blinked. Precious Black Jade snarled softly. Helena Keswick drew the curtains protectively around Mother Brown's bed, as though that would shut out any noise, any danger. Roger Chesne-Malvern stepped out into the aisle and looked up towards the source of the disturbance. Only in the end stall was there no reaction, perhaps because that pampered advertising agency cat,

Lady Purr-fect, was accustomed to eccentric goings-on in her vicinity.

I moved forward to see just what in hell
was
happening. Marcus Opal cowered against the inside of the guard rail as both Pyramus and Thisbe raked outward with their claws, trying earnestly to remove as much of his flesh as they could manage to reach. Fortunately, he had succeeded in leaping out of reach a split second ahead of them. As I watched, he ducked under the guard rail and scuttled down the aisle to the safety of his own stall. Behind him, the frustrated roars of the big cats shook the rafters.

‘Really!' Kellington Dasczo said, recovering himself and moving away from Pearlie King's pen. ‘I
did
think everyone here was sophisticated enough
not
to tease the animals.'