On the walk down to his cottage, he looked back at the house where lights were burning in the morning room on the first floor. The rest of the house was dark, the windows empty. Whatever was going on at Loftus Manor, he wanted a chance to figure it out.
* * *
Ah, the Loftus Lass sleeps soundly on the sofa as the last log on the fire burns down to embers. She’s had a restless sleep, but at last she seems to have found a safe nocturnal harbor. Catching a few nods is commendable, but first I need to see what’s going on for food in the kitchen. Tommie forgot to eat, and she also forgot that I should eat. These modern women! They run on fumes. My da told me stories of the feasts he’d attend in D.C. when Eleanor and Peter entertained guests. That wasn’t so long ago, but people had actual sit-down meals with courses. Now everyone eats on the fly. The biped civilization is going downhill fast with all this grab-a-bag dining. It’s a fish and chips world--not for anyone with a hint of culture. But right about now, a hamburger from a drive-through would be delicious. I’m starving.
Loftus Manor is very quiet as I make my way to the kitchen. I know Tammy left some food here for me. She warned the Loftus Lass that I was finicky and needed plenty of sustenance—a warning that has gone unheeded. But even though I don’t have thumbs, I can open a refrigerator door.
And there, on the shelf, is the container of chicken livers sautéed in butter with a handful of cooked rice that Tammy left for me. I’ll have to eat it cold. A price will be extracted for this tomorrow, when my hostess is well rested. Now, though, it’s a matter of getting the lid off the bowl.
There, it’s coming now. Almost off!
What is that noise? The fur all over my body is standing on end. Someone is moving around upstairs.
To be honest, I’ve had enough of this foolishness. And despite my best efforts, I can’t twig onto what exactly is happening. I’m not certain I believe in ghosts, but I absolutely believe someone is trying to make Tommie believe the manor is haunted. These appearances and disappearances are designed to spook her, not really harm her. But that doesn’t mean harm isn’t on the agenda.
The arrival of Odell Rains tonight clued me in to the tenuous nature of the claim Tommie has—if there is a more direct blood heir like a child. Samuel left a will, but how valid is that if there’s a close blood relative alive? I’ve seen cases where a judge made some surprising rulings.
I took a good look at Ms. Rains, and while I didn’t see a family resemblance to Samuel, at least the Samuel in the portrait, what does that mean? Nothing. Tomorrow will tell that tale.
And there’s that noise again.
The racket is coming from upstairs. By the sounds of it, from the bedroom of the former caretaker, where earlier someone wreaked havoc. Now without the humans stomping after me, I’m going to slither up the stairs and find out what’s going on in this house.
The October chill has seeped into the unheated upstairs. I’m padding down the hallway, listening. The sounds have stopped, but I find myself in front of the door to Nina Ahearn’s old quarters. There’s only silence. Did I imagine someone walking about? I’m not a feline prone to fancy, but the house is quiet as a tomb, if you’ll pardon the expression.
When I reach up with my paw to try the doorknob, it fails to turn. It could be stuck—impossible for me to tell since it’s hard for me to grasp the round knob. If I were president, I’d ordain that only the lever type handles could be used on doors. Those I can open in a flash.
Peering under the door gives me nothing—except for the distinctive scent of perfume. Musky. Otherwise, the room is still. My sense is that it’s empty, but I can’t be certain. The secrets of that room will have to remain until Tommie or Harley open the door for me. What I can be certain of is that any person inside won’t leave. I’m going to park myself right here in front of the door until morning. If they try to escape, they’ll have to step over me.
My hunger pangs will make me that much more alert. The things I do for the people in my trust.
Chapter Eight
Tommie opened her eyes and had a jolt rush through her. Where was she? She looked around and didn’t recognize a thing. When she sat up, she remembered the intruder and the strange woman who insisted she was Samuel’s daughter. She put her head in her hands. “What I wouldn’t give to hide in bed all day today. Uncle Samuel might have been one to stare his actions in the face; I’d prefer not to deal with confrontation.”
She realized the black cat was missing, so she stood up, stretched, and headed barefoot to look for the cat. The floors were cold, though the morning room was still toasty. She dropped another log on the fire to keep it going before she peeked into the hallway. No cat was in sight. When she passed the staircase, she heard the cat yowl from the second floor, but he didn’t come down.
“Be there in a minute,” she said, as if he could understand her. “I’m going to make some coffee.”
She hoped she had coffee. She wouldn’t, unless Samuel had left supplies and a coffeemaker in the kitchen. She hadn’t noticed while she’d been showing the renovators around. When she turned on the light in the kitchen, she saw the container of Trouble’s food on the floor, the lid half-pried off. She stopped and studied the situation. It seemed pretty clear Trouble had come into the kitchen for a snack and been interrupted. But why? Why had he gone upstairs and abandoned his food?
She picked up the livers, which were still chilled, put a few on a plate and put them in the microwave. While they heated, she filled a kettle to boil water. An old dripolater sat on top of the ancient stove. Thank goodness it was gas. She turned on a burner and a small blue flame popped up and she centered the kettle over the fire.
She searched the old cabinets and found a container of gourmet coffee. Caramel pecan. She sniffed it and smiled. She liked Samuel’s taste. Looking at the other supplies, she realized a trip to town needed to happen before too much time elapsed. Funny how she’d failed to think about food or supplies. Her jewelry making tools, gems, and precious metals were due to arrive soon. That would give her a little sense of stability, normalcy, and of belonging. Once she had her shop set up, she could notify her customer list and maybe even find a retail outlet in Wetumpka.
“Meow!” Trouble’s call was insistent.
“Coming your way,” she called out to him. Whatever he was up to, he seemed determined that she would go to him.
As the hot water heated, she took the dish of chicken livers up the stairs, calling for the cat. She felt a twinge of guilt that she’d forgotten to feed him. No doubt, he would be hungry. She found him stretched out in front of the door to the old caretaker’s suite of rooms. Almost as if he were guarding it.
“What’s going on?” she asked the cat as she put his food in front of him.
He gave a half-purr, half-yowl as he daintily began to eat.
Tommie stroked his sleek fur. He was a very handsome cat. She’d love to keep him, but Tammy appeared to be quite attached. “You could scare the ghosts out of Loftus Manor,” she told him. The cat stopped eating and stared directly into her eyes.
He walked away from the food and patted his paw on the door.
“You want me to open the door?” She suddenly felt a wave of fear. Ridiculous. There was no boogeyman lurking inside, waiting to grab her. The cat was acting so strange, though. As if there really was someone inside.
Trouble patted the door again. “Meow.”
It was clearly a command to open the door.
Tommie grasped the knob and twisted. The door opened easily. She walked into the room with the cat beside her. The smell of expensive cologne rushed at Tommie. Trouble even wrinkled his whiskers.
Tommie felt her stomach drop. Someone had been in that room. Trouble was clearly guarding the door, but where had the person gone? The room was empty.
Trouble jumped up on the bed and walked around, sniffing. Movement out on the lawn caught Tommie’s attention and she slipped to the window to get a better view. What she saw made her gasp and step b
ack
A woman wearing a dark floor-length cloak was standing in front of a tall bank of flowers. The hood covered her hair and shadowed her features so that Tommie couldn’t get a good look at her. She was staring up at the house—seemingly at the very window where Tommie stood.
Trouble jumped to the windowsill, gave a low growl, and then ran out of the room. Tommie knew all of the doors and windows were locked, so she ran as fast as she could behind him. She was sorry she hadn’t bothered to put on some clothes and shoes, but she didn’t have time now. She raced barefoot in her shirt and underwear down the stairs and to the back door, which was the closest exit to the person in her yard.
The cat was already waiting for her at the door. When she opened it, he rushed out and she was hot on his heels. Panting, she found herself beside the giant gardenia shrub. Alone. Even the cat was gone. There was no evidence of the woman at all, and when she looked around on the ground for any tracks, there was nothing. Not a single bit of evidence.
The cat poked into the bushes, growling and yowling softly. Tommie picked him up in her arms. She was freezing, standing out in the cold in her underwear. She turned back to the house and stopped. Harley stood not ten feet away, his gaze rivetted on her bare legs. He instantly turned his back, but not before Tommie caught the grin that crept over his face and revealed a dimple in his right cheek.
“So sorry,” Harley said. “I didn’t realize you were up and outside.”
Tommie no longer felt the cold—heat rushed up her neck and into her face. She was half-dressed, outside. “I saw someone down here,” she said, edging away from Harley and toward the back door. “The cat was chasing this woman in a dark cloak. I didn’t have time to…put on pants.”
“I’ll look around,” he offered. “Go inside before you catch your death.”
She didn’t need a second invitation. She ran toward the back door and didn’t stop until she was in her room. How would she ever face that man again?”
* * *
Harley attended the serious issue of searching for evidence of an intruder. No matter how thoroughly he examined the ground and shrubbery, he found nothing. Just like when he hunted for evidence of someone in Loftus Manor. He’d seen someone in the window, but he could find no trace of them.
And it didn’t matter that his mind kept drifting back to the image of Tommie in that oxford button-down shirt and little else. She had lovely legs—and even though he didn’t want to think of that, he couldn’t stop. He regretted catching her by surprise, but they’d both been caught off guard.
He was worried that Tommie’s embarrassment would make her reluctant to allow him to help. To that end, he stood up. Better to get this discussion out of the way before she had time to stew about it. Best to meet this situation head-on.
When he started to leave, he saw the cat in the bushes, digging away at something. He thought at first it might be a cat tending to feline business, but he decided it would be wise to investigate. Trouble meowed at him and scratched some more. Harley knelt down and began to look at the mulch the cat was disturbing. He’d put it down only a few weeks before in preparation for the coming winter. It took a moment but then he saw it. A button. A large, blue-black button crafted with a shiny black stone that seemed to have a star in the center. The button itself seemed made of bone rather than plastic. It could have come off either a man’s or woman’s clothing.
He bent down and picked it up and the cat brushed against his hand purring. “Is this button a clue?” he asked.
The cat blinked at him twice and then gave a low rumble—not a growl or a meow. Harley could have sworn the cat said, “Top that.” He smiled at his fancy. Now he was not only seeing phantoms in the windows of Loftus Manor, he was hearing talking cats. A tenure in the state mental hospital couldn’t be far behind. The saving grace was the unique button he held in his hand. This proved that someone had been in the yard. Tommie had seen someone, not some apparition.
* * *
At last we’ve found solid evidence that the figure in the black cloak was real and not some revenant. The perfume is another clue, but one only I’ve noticed. I suspect the scent was deliberately left behind to tease the Lass into believing a ghost is in the house. Strange bumps and smells are tropes of a haunting. But who is going to so much trouble to plant seeds of doubt—and how are they moving about so freely? Brawny Man said he wanted to investigate the house and I think that’s a fine idea. I’m generally sensitive to the smell of a strange biped, but I’ve sniffed all around the caregiver’s room, and nothing. There’s nothing I can detect behind the walls. But there has to be, unless there’s a real ghost in the manor. If I could swing a sledge hammer, I’d have some answers by lunchtime.
I have to convince the Lass that now is the time to knock in some walls. The renovation crew is here in Wetumpka and there will never be a better time to do it. And I haven’t had a chance to explore the attic—a task I’m not looking forward to and will attempt to relegate to someone else.
Even if I am the Sherlock of black cats, I’m reluctant to chase down leads in attics. Or basements for that matter. Bad things happen in attics and basements. I’ve watched too many horror movies with Tammy and her significant other Aiden not to realize that those who creep into the attic to check things become part of the body count.
I see Mr. Brawny has worked up the courage to knock on the door. And there’s the Lass, dressed in jeans, a turtleneck, and a thick sweater, as well as boots. A little over-compensation for her earlier bare legs, if you ask me. She’s also sporting a blush that goes all the way to her hair roots. It’s a little old-fashioned and a lot very appealing. Even Harley sees it, and when he turns back to look for me, I see that elusive dimple in his cheek. Call me foolish, but I think the man is developing a crush. Perhaps the inheritance of Loftus Manor will prove bountiful in more than one area for Tommie. He’s got the look of a man who’d like a little snogging.
Now isn’t the time, though, to encourage what he fancies. Let me slide in the door and scamper down to the library. Surely there are some family genealogy records. I’d like to peruse them for a bit. And then I’ll need a lift to town. I want to investigate that lawyer’s reputation. Britt Gordon. I can tell Harley doesn’t think much of him, and I’m beginning to trust Brawny Man’s judgement. He may be reclusive and lack skills at fluffing up the birds, but he’s got a level head on his shoulders.
Now to the library. I wish the humanoids would come in there to work so Harley could build a fire. This October morning is nippy, and there’s much to be done. And truth be told, I feel a strong inclination to nap. I shan’t, but I really want to. Time is limited to figure out what’s happening with Loftus Manor. I definitely intend to be in on the meeting with the lawyer.
Chapter Nine
Tommie held the unusual button up to the light. It was exquisite, for a lot of reasons. She avoided looking directly at Harley—she was still humiliated by being caught running outside half dressed. He was pretending it had never happened, and she was good with that. It would suit her just fine if no one ever mentioned her faux paus.
The button was an interesting find. And the black cat had actually discovered it. “The stone, as you noted, Harley, is a black star sapphire. They vary in price. This one would be expensive for a button because it’s so big. But it would give a garment a very distinctive and sophisticated look.” She moved closer to the window in the morning room so she could examine the button in the light. “Look at this. The base is bone, not plastic.”
“Does that mean it’s old?” Harley asked.
Tommie knew he was thinking about the woman she’d seen in the full-length cloak. She’d had a chance to give him more details, and he’d agreed that she sounded like a historical figure, not someone from modern times. “It could be old or new. I can’t tell by looking at it. The stone is firmly glued to the bone platform. The glue might date it more accurately. The catch in the back of the button allows it to be sewn to the garment, generally an
outer garment I’d guess. I wouldn’t think a washing machine would be a good idea for this type of button.” She finally looked Harley in the eye. “Bone and horn were popular with button makers for many years. This could be antique or it could be retro. I can’t tell. The figure I saw out in the garden looked to come from a different time, though. It would make sense if she drop…” She hesitated. “Do you think the button is proof that someone was there, or perhaps that a ghost left it for me?”
“I’d never believe it was a ghost until we prove it wasn’t a human,” Harley said. “I’m willing to believe in ghosts, but only after all reasonable explanations have been exhausted.”
She blew out her breath. “That’s the right approach.” Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something supernatural was happening in the house. If she didn’t figure out what was really going on, she wouldn’t be able to make her home in Loftus House. She’d lived without lots of amenities, but she couldn’t live in a house that made her afraid.
Harley seemed to sense her worry and hesitation. “Trouble, on the other hand, seems to be quite capable of finding clues. Until I met him, I would never have believed that a cat would engage in solving a mystery.” Harley smiled to show he was gently teasing her.
His point was well made. At least Trouble was doing something proactive. The black cat prowled the library shelves. He was lithe and agile and able to move along the ledges with great skill. It was almost as if he were cataloguing the books there. Crazy thought.
“Trouble is up to something,” Harley said. “I’ve been watching him. He’s looking for something.”
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