by Ruth Hay
Finally, I ran out of all my contrived excuses and I arranged with Pauline and Clark to keep an eye on Sea View. I called Dr. Dan and asked for an update on Alan Crawley only to learn there was no sign of the man.
“The police believe he has left the country and is lying low somewhere and staying out of sight.”
I was pleased to hear this. My path was now clear.
We set off on a bright morning with a mist rising from the sea. The red car was packed with items relating to Catling’s comfort and I had planned a whole day’s trip with shorter driving spells so both of us could get outside for exercise and fresh air on the way.
My route skirted Dartmoor. I wanted nothing to do with that area.
We stopped several times in quiet spots and I was pleased that Catling did not stray far from my side, even in unfamiliar territory with the temptation of exciting smells and the sounds of birds all around us. I had taught her to respond immediately to a low whistle, in case she ever wandered too far.
When the outer parts of Exeter hove into view, I was glad and yet somewhat undecided about how to proceed. I could have driven directly to my mother’s address but something warned me to delay until the next day. My excuse was the twilight that was soon approaching.
I went to my usual hotel in the centre of the town and booked in. after assuring them my pet was in control at all times.
Leaving Catling to explore in the room, I went to the restaurant and had a quick meal. Living on snacks was growing boring and I enjoyed the rich beef stew I ate.
After the meal, I had a rest on top of the big bed with Catling curling up by my side.
I was feeling mentally restless and I could not think why, until it came to me that I needed to see for myself that there was no sign of the Crawley’s Cuties pet shop remaining in the shopping gallery.
It was dark by now, but I figured I would be there and back in less than thirty minutes and we could sleep comfortably all night and be refreshed in the morning for my family visit.
Catling seemed glad to go outside in her cat carrier and we set out at a brisk pace. The gallery shops were closing up for the day as we entered, so I walked quickly to the former shop location to see if another business had taken over.
To my dismay, the windows were all boarded up, and the front door bolted, with a sign stating:
Police investigation in progress.
No entry permitted.
Contact this number for information.
I was surprised that the police investigation was not concluded yet, but my question was answered. There was definitely no chance of any more animal trading going on in this location.
I turned around to head back when Catling began squirming and meowing in her carrier.
Before I could do anything to calm her, she squeezed her body right out of the bag and took off like a rocket, away from the shop premises.
I was shocked, then frightened for her. I whistled but she was now out of sight and not responding.
Panic set in. Catling was in an unfamiliar place and could very easily become lost in the dark.
It crossed my mind that she sensed something terrifying in the pet shop location and she fled in fear. I followed at full speed and just made it out of the rear doors as they were about to be locked for the night.
My head revolved like a lighthouse light, as I searched in every direction. The alleyway was deserted. I could hear the last cars revving up and driving off from the parking areas.
I whistled again but there was no sign of my golden-eyed girl.
With no other recourse, I stopped and stood still, calming my mind for what was to come.
I closed my eyes and summoned my connection with Catling. I had not tried this before. Our only prior mind communication was more or less accidental.
I knew I must temper my forces in order to reach her without stunning her. I took a final deep breath and sent out the call.
Immediately the brain jolt replied. Again, it was in the form of a concept. This time Catling was sending strands of urgency and caution and wrapping it all up in a tiny glimpse of a door. I saw the logo CC and knew exactly where she was waiting for me.
There was a yellow police tape right across the back door of the former Crawley’s Cuties shop.
Catling was standing there with her eyes huge and glaring dark golden at me.
I soon noticed the yellow police tape covered over by a different transparent tape, on one corner of the door. This was not the usual police procedure.
It was not a great leap to figure out that someone was taking down and reattaching the tape as required.
I did not need Catling to tell me who that someone was.
Alan Crawley had returned to the scene of the crime and was hiding out there in the last place anyone would expect to find him.
Eighteen
I really did not hesitate.
I was not afraid of the coward Alan Crawley. I had a huge reservoir of anger just waiting to be unleashed on this man.
I could have summoned the police, but every fibre of my being wanted to confront him personally, and tell him how I felt about his actions.
I was not worried about Catling. She brought me here and she would understand what I needed to do now.
I placed my fingertips on the door and searched with my mind for any life force inside.
I immediately sensed the debris of a human’s hidden hideout. Broken food packages and cigarettes, and less-than-hygienic personal practices, filled my nostrils.
This kind of mind search could not extend too far. I could not be sure if Alan Crawley was inside and nearer to the front of the shop where he was out of my reach.
The best and safest option was to contact the police and let them find him.
I deliberated for a few seconds. How would I explain my suspicions? I really did not want any police attention. If they tried to delve into my background, it would be disastrous.
Catling mewed again. She was waiting patiently for my decision.
If I acted on my own, I must break through a door locked from the inside. I could summon energy for such an act but it would leave me vulnerable. Was it worth the risk?
I looked around for something to help me. The back alley was full of junk from delivery vans unloading their orders to the gallery shops. I scanned the back fence against which most of the junk was deposited, and saw bricks near a loose plank in the fence.
It was not much, but all I had, so I collected the bricks and yanked the plank out of the fence. Its pointed top end could help me force the door open.
Catling watched with interest as I applied both physical and mental strength to the door.
It would be better if I could avoid undue noise so my quarry is not forewarned.
I started with mental force, focussed on the inside lock. It was a simple padlock and I managed to loosen the mechanism enough to give me a chance to prise open the door with my fence post. I carefully inserted the tip of the post under the door and leaned on the length of it. I had to judge this action delicately so as not to shatter the fencepost before it had achieved my objective.
Slow and steady was my method. Part way through this operation, however, I felt an extra surge of strength from somewhere. I could not turn around but I had to believe this power was coming from the little cat by my side.
Unbelievable as this seemed, I dared not stop. I was close to forcing my way into the rear of the shop. A few more seconds and I heard the lock pop open and the door follow with only a small creak from its hinges.
I waited and gathered my strength, while listening for any sound.
Nothing.
Perhaps the shop was empty after all, and my idea about Alan Crawley’s hiding place was misguided.
There was no harm in checking it out. I could always suggest to the police, in an anonymous way, that it would be worth their while to take another look in there. There would be clues inside that they could follow.
I made my way cautiously toward t
he front shop. It was in darkness. No light could filter through the boarded-up windows.
Silence.
I was just about to turn around and leave when I saw a glimpse of legs and feet barring my path. A sleeping figure was crammed into the space beneath the counter.
I stopped breathing. Any sudden noise could wake Alan Crawley. My best move now was to retreat and get help, no matter what it cost me. I could smell the alcohol that had protected me thus far. Crawley was dead drunk.
It was a good plan. I had found the man.
But, I had not taken into account my companion.
Catling had followed in my tracks and she now did something both dangerous and brave.
Before I could stop her, she ran up the prone figure from feet to head and then there erupted the most awful noise. It was not from Catling. She returned to me and ran out of the shop immediately.
I was thunderstruck, but self-preservation took precedence and I ran after her. An enraged Alan Crawley was not someone I wished to meet in this deserted location.
I scooped up Catling and took off running. The dreadful noise behind me did not cease. If anything, it grew stronger. Someone would surely hear and respond before long.
It would not be me.
It was probably adrenalin coursing through me, that kept me moving.
My right leg was functioning perfectly as I tore around to the end of the alley and out into the street heading for my hotel. As I reached the front doors, I heard the sound of a police car siren not far away.
I was gasping for breath but full of questions as I dropped Catling on the bed and headed for a shower. When I returned, refreshed but still puzzled about what happened inside the shop, I found Catling carefully cleaning her paws. To my shock, I noticed a smear of blood underneath her on the narrow green drape the hotel placed at the foot of the bed.
What is this, Catling? Are you hurt?
Fear made my silent cry more powerful than I intended.
Catling looked up at me with her steady golden gaze and for the first time I heard her thoughts.
hurt him scratch eyes
My head rang with these words. I had to sit down at once or fall over from shock.
What kind of creature was this?
Words placed in my head? Not just pictures or images! Words?
Had this ever occurred before between a human and a cat?
It was a second or two before my shock subsided enough for me to begin to process the meaning of the words.
Catling had attacked Alan Crawley using her claws to scratch his eyes?
No wonder the sound he made was so dreadful.
I could not fathom her reason for this attack unless it was the scent of his crimes lingering around him or some memory of hers. But that was impossible. Right?
I left that problem for later consideration and realized the little cat had chosen to wound Alan Crawley in such a way that he could not follow us, or even identify us.
I had seen houses beyond the fence in the alley. Someone living there must have called the police because of the noise Crawley was making.
The risky venture of the evening had transpired far better than I could ever have hoped.
And all because of this amazing, psychic animal I had taken into my heart.
Nineteen
I was in no state the next day to consider a meeting with my mother.
I slept with one eye open to see what Catling was doing. She slept peacefully by my side.
I ordered room service for breakfast and treated Catling to a whole can of her favourite soft kitten food. I then inspected her claws for damage and found them sharp, pointed and intact.
While eating a feast of blueberry pancakes and poached eggs, I watched the local news on television for any information. I almost choked on my coffee, when I heard a summary report delivered by a police sergeant as part of the news bulletin.
An officer was summoned last evening, by a neighbour, to an alley behind the Gallery Shops in town. A man was found there, in some distress with an injury to his eyes.
Further investigation determined that this man is Alan Crawley, wanted for the abuse and sale of animals from the shop, Crawley’s Cuties, now closed.
Crawley could not account for his injuries. He is being observed in the county jail and awaiting trial on several counts. The Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals has been informed.
Anyone with information about this matter should call their nearest police station.
I sat back in the greatest relief. No one knew. Crawley was in police custody. Catling and I were safe from prosecution. Her actions were in the nature of poetic justice. She had avenged the death of her litter mates.
A wave of satisfaction swept over me. I cuddled Catling to me and she purred in my ear.
Nevertheless, my legs were still weak from strain and I was not in the mood to tackle my other concern.
More rest was required.
Tomorrow was soon enough to meet with my mother and then we would hightail it back to Perranporth and a quiet life again.
By the time the next day had dawned, I decided it would be sensible to give my mother some warning of my imminent arrival. I called from my hotel room and was shaken somewhat, by the sound of her voice after so many years.
“Justine! I had almost given up! I thought my letter must have gone astray.
How wonderful to hear from you.
Where are you? When can we meet?”
I skipped over the details and offered to come to her house in the afternoon for a short visit.
“I am in Exeter for a day but I leave this evening.”
“Wonderful! Please come. I can’t wait to see you, Justine. Oliver has heard all about you.”
I put down the phone and hoped Oliver had heard only the parts about me that were suitable for general circulation. The last thing I needed was a recital of my ’special abilities’.
The more I thought about this visit the less I liked it.
Best to get it over with, and exit fast for the North coast and safety.
After dressing carefully and checking out of the hotel, I drove to the address on my mother’s letter. It was a semi-detached house on the edge of a subdivision of Exeter.
I parked in the driveway behind a newish Toyota and brought only my handbag and Catling’s carrier bag with me.
My mother must have been watching for my arrival as she had the front door open for me.
Her arms enfolded me and I was able to conceal my feelings about her appearance. I had only a memory of her from years ago, but it was a memory of a much younger woman. She had aged, of course. I should have been prepared for that. I was not prepared for the silvering hair or for the wash of emotion that swept over me. These arms felt familiar in a very comforting way. It was as if the years between had vanished and the feelings I harboured against my mother, also vanished into thin air at this doorstep encounter.
I did not know what to say. My emotions were in turmoil.
My mother, ever the good communicator, filled the gap by ushering me inside.
“I have tea ready. Oliver is waiting for us. Oh, and who is this little person?”
Catling had emerged from her carrier and peered in an interested fashion at my mother.
“This is my cat. She is too young to be left alone so I brought her along with me.”
“Not a surprise, Justine! You always had a way with animals, as I recall. There are no dogs or other creatures here. Your cat is safe inside.”
I followed my mother into a comfortable living room where Oliver sat with a guitar on his lap. I had heard the pleasant strumming sounds when I reached the door.
“Don’t get up!” I said, as I bent forward to shake his hand. Everything I got from this contact was warm, talented, and good-natured.
He turned to my mother and made his excuses to leave us alone. He had music to work on but stated how pleased he was to finally meet me.
Catling decided to jump out
of her carrier and explore. Oliver, a handsome man with tanned skin and the long-fingered hands of an artist, had closed the living room door behind him so I knew Catling could not wander too far.
It was time to face my mother, at long last.
She busied herself with tea, and cake and chatter, but I had an agenda that I meant to follow and no time to waste.
“It is good to see you, Mother. We have a lot of catching up to do. I am glad you are happy here with Oliver, but I need to resolve the issue that separated us back then when I went away to college. What caused you to decide to keep me from my father?”
There it was. Out in the open.
Bald and bossy, just like she knew I was.
The sentence hung in the air as if it had a life of its own. Even Catling turned to look at me from her explorations on the window ledge.
Estelle put down her cup very carefully. I saw the slight shake in her hand that betrayed her feelings. She did not hesitate. She was an equally decisive woman, as I recalled well.
“Justine, you are old enough now to hear this story and understand my motives.
I only ever wanted to protect you. I chose to move to the old cottage to protect you and I chose to leave your father for the same reason.”
The pretence of a tea party was gone. We sat facing each other and I finally heard the truth.
“Your father was a very ambitious man. He loved me because I could share his need to get ahead, to make a mark on the world. He worked for a company that trained him in business techniques and it was not long until he wanted to set out on his own, with me as willing partner.
It was an import business. We sourced goods from China and sold them at a good profit in Europe. We never kept a large inventory. It was an ‘on time delivery’ situation and that was our downfall.
One unavoidable delay with a shipment and a snowball effect began. We lost customers and soon the word went out that we were unreliable. There was no way to recover. Dean Dixon Desirables had consumed all the money we possessed and we were suddenly broke.
