“How long?”
“Not too long.”
“What’s with you? Why can’t you just—?” Mr. LeMaire’s hands closed into fists. I went over and stood beside the gun pocket.
Mom has a special, even tone she uses when things need calming down. Now I heard the same kind of tone from Harmony. “What about if Bro goes on ahead and we wait here to see what he finds out?” she said.
Mr. LeMaire thought about that. His eyes narrowed in a way that did nothing to improve his looks, in my opinion. “No,” he said, his hands unclenching. “We’ll go together.”
“There’s lots of good hikes around here,” Harmony said. “What’s so special about this Sokoki Trail?”
Mr. LeMaire tilted his head slightly, maybe trying to see Harmony in a new way. “Did I say it was special?”
“You just seem especially interested in it,” Harmony said.
“Heh heh,” said Bro.
Mr. LeMaire turned to him. “What’s funny?”
“Um, actually I’m not sure,” Bro said.
Mr. LeMaire shot Bro one of those human looks that say the other dude is hopeless. But there’s nothing hopeless about Bro. So what was happening? I got the feeling I might be missing a thing or two. No problem! Life goes on!
The wind rose. We’d reached the part of the mountain where the needly trees that stay green all year were replacing the bare ones that lose their leaves, meaning the wind made strange, high sounds in those needles. No one else seemed to notice.
“Since you’re curious,” Mr. LeMaire said, “it just so happens I’m interested in the history of this region.”
“Yeah?” said Harmony. “Are you a history professor or something like that?”
Mr. LeMaire shook his head. “This is more of a hobby.”
“What’s your real job?” Bro said.
“That’s rude, Bro,” said Harmony.
“I asked nicely.”
“You’re a curious pair,” Mr. LeMaire said. “Just remember what curiosity did to the cat. To answer your question, I’m an investor. Now can we get going?”
We got going, but my mind was elsewhere, namely back at curiosity doing something to the cat. Something bad? That was my takeaway. How would that work, exactly? I wondered what curiosity was. And could there be a way to make a cat—no particular cat, just any old cat—curious? That would have to be the first step. I forced my mind to think its very hardest.
Meanwhile, had Bro already squeezed through a small space between the puffball stump and some thorny bushes, and was he leading us on a steep, somewhat muddy, and pathless climb through close-together, needly trees? Something like that. At the same time, the wind kept rising and snowflakes kept falling, no longer the soft, fluffy kind but the hard, stinging kind, although they didn’t sting me, of course, except for my nose. There was lots of grunting from Mr. LeMaire, and that was before it got so steep we had to go down on all fours. I was way ahead of the game on that one! I moved into the lead. It was nice to see humans on all fours, although I couldn’t explain why.
“How much”—huff—“farther?” Puff. That was Mr. LeMaire, now way behind the rest of us.
“Uh,” said Bro.
“What does that mean? Try speaking English for—”
“Here we go,” Bro said, and all of a sudden we were in a little clearing, me first, followed by Bro, then Harmony, and finally Mr. LeMaire. Had he fallen? He looked kind of muddy.
The little clearing ended in a rocky cliff, not quite as straight up and down as a wall, that rose to about the height of a man standing on another man’s shoulders, which I’d seen once at the county fair, an outing that had ended up being a little too exciting. Some steps were cut into the rock on the lower part; up above there were rusted handholds all the way to the top.
Bro pointed. “The Sokoki Trail starts up there.”
“You expect me to scale this cliff?” said Mr. LeMaire.
“It’s not really a cliff.” Bro started up and reached the top in no time.
“What do you see?” Mr. LeMaire said.
“The trailhead. Can’t miss it.”
Mr. LeMaire climbed up. He didn’t make it look easy. At the top, he glanced around and nodded. “Okay, I see it. Won’t be needing you kids anymore.”
“Huh?” said Bro.
“But you hired us to—” Harmony began.
“Worried about your fee?” Mr. LeMaire took out a real big roll of bills, peeled some off. “Fifty, one hundred, ten, twenty, thirty.” He handed the money to Bro. “See you later.”
“Well, if you …”
Mr. LeMaire turned and walked out of my view. I heard his footsteps as they moved off, fainter and fainter and finally silent.
Bro came down, taking to the air for the last part. Harmony held out her hand. “I’ll hang on to that.”
“Why not me?”
“Start with Mom’s birthday earrings last year.”
“I don’t know what happened. They were in my pocket.”
“Exactly.”
Bro handed over the cash. We headed for home, snow falling harder. After a while, Bro said, “Am I dumb?”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“How come you’re a grade ahead of me?”
“We’ve been through this. Mom—and Dad, actually—plus the school thought some extra … seasoning would do you good.”
“No one asked for my opinion.”
“You could hardly string two words together back then, if you recall.”
We walked down through the Mount Misty woods, down always easier than up.
“Dad, too?” Bro said.
“What about him?”
“The me needing more seasoning thing.”
Harmony gave him a long look, then nodded, just a little nod.
“I’m older than you,” Bro said.
“Four minutes.”
“But still.”
The back of Willard’s General Store appeared through a gap in the trees.
“How about hot chocolate?” Harmony said. “We can afford it.”
And could we afford some treats? Possibly a chewy, or some of Willard’s Homemade Doggy Biscuits, extra-large? Maybe a whole bag? I hoped so.
I AWOKE FROM A LOVELY DREAM. IT WAS all about birds. You should have seen the looks on their faces when—
Well, never mind. Humans can be surprisingly squeamish when it comes to certain—what shall we call them? Action scenes? I adore action scenes myself, especially when they’re featuring me. My claws are sharp and my teeth are even sharper. But at the same time, I’m so soft and cuddly. A rare combination: You might call it a gift.
I found myself on Harmony’s bed, just about my favorite napping venue in the whole house. Our bedroom—Harmony’s and mine—is a lovely little room with pine walls and a view that stretches all the way beyond the meadows, across the highway to Mount Misty. If I wasn’t mistaken—and that’s a safe bet—the kids had set off with our guest in that direction. Set off without me? That happens. Most of the time I don’t mind. And then there are other times. I leaped over to Harmony’s desk—more of a flowing motion, really—and gazed through the window, seeing no one out there, just the colored dots of a car or two on the highway.
This seemed to be one of those other times, when I feel the need for a little company. I went down the back stairs and into the kitchen. Nothing happening and no Bertha, meaning she’d gone for the day. The Christmas tree was standing nice and straight in the Big Room, now with lights strung on the lower part, but there was no sign of Elrod. There was only Mom, busy with paperwork in the office. That paperwork was all about money problems: I could tell from her face. I slipped under the desk and rubbed myself against her ankle, making things all better. She didn’t seem to notice. Had that ever happened before? We were in a bad way.
I don’t like being in a bad way. Have you ever noticed how a little adventure sometimes changes the mood? I decided on an expedition to the basement, for no particular reason,
although if mice are an interest of yours, the basement at the Blackberry Hill Inn should be on your bucket list. I’m not saying you’re guaranteed to see one—although you would be for sure if a certain someone didn’t take the trouble to venture down there from time to time. That certain someone would be me. Just pointing that out in case you’re a little slow on the uptake. Don’t take it personally, as humans like to say. Meaning take it … some other way, even though it is a criticism.
To get to the basement, you go past the kitchen to the back hall of the house. It’s the oldest part, with a worn wood floor that makes my paw pads feel nice. At the end of the back hall is a somewhat crooked door. There are a few things that need fixing in the part of the inn that the guests don’t see, and Mom has plans all drawn up, but first we need—well, you already know: money. But back to the crooked door, so crooked that even if it’s closed, someone good at squeezing through small spaces can get through the gap underneath.
Someone like, yes, me. I squeezed through and started down the stairs. It was all dark and shadowy, which doesn’t bother me at all. Humans see pretty well when there’s lots of light, but take that away and they’re practically blind. Supposing, for example, you were outside at night, say right out back, near the bird feeder, perhaps not with permission, strictly speaking, and anxious humans were peering through the windows, wondering where that cool cat could be—they wouldn’t spot you! It took me so many times before I realized this very important fact was true. It changed my life. Well, just the nighttime part.
Our basement is very big, with lots of rooms. The furnace room’s the biggest, but there’s also the storeroom, the sporting gear room, the laundry room, the room for broken furniture—all of those in the newer part of the building. I’d learned long ago that on an expedition like this one, the older part of the basement, with its dirt floor, cobwebs, and strange rusted-out farm machinery from long ago, was a better hunting ground. Not that I was hunting anything, not really. I was simply passing the time, staying out of mischief, being a quiet little kitty cat.
But I can’t be blamed for smelling things, can I? I do have a nose—an adorable little button nose, as Harmony always says, unlike the nose of you-know-who. All creatures have a smell, mice included. A mouse’s smell is actually quite strong, especially for such a little critter. Not an unpleasant scent, and one part of it—not the main part, but always there—is the scent of fear. That’s not a smell you pick up from me and my associates in kitty-cat world; nor, to be fair, do you detect it on Arthur or others of his ilk. A slow-witted ilk, but not given to fearfulness. Lucky Arthur, out in the world at that very moment. Why him and not me? Was everything upside down? I came very close to falling into a bad mood.
Except I didn’t, on account of the fact that I’d come across mouse smell. The old part of the basement has only one small window, high up at ground level, the glass so dirty hardly any light gets through. Beneath that window is an old metal coal chute, going back to long-ago days. Elrod had explained the whole thing to Bro, and one of us had been paying attention. I followed my nose—an adorable little button, in case I forgot to mention it—around the old furnace, huge and shadowy, past a stack of wooden crates, and over to the coal chute. And who was scurrying desperately up that coal chute, headed for the window? Why, a mouse! A rather fattish mouse, my favorite kind. I leaped up onto the coal chute, not in any hurry. The mouse wasn’t going anywhere, not with that window closed. I’m way ahead of you, my rodenty friend! Enjoy these last extra moments on—
But no! What was this? The little scamp! Somehow, when he reached the top of the chute, he kept going, right through the window and out? How was that possible? I hurried up the chute, dug my claws into the windowsill, and had a look. And what did I find? In one pane of the window, the glass had broken and fallen away, except for a narrow sharp strip at the top. Could I get through? I was sticking out an exploratory paw when I noticed movement in the meadow. Harmony and Bro were coming this way. Plus it seemed to be snowing. Oh, and also: Arthur. He was waddling very slowly, the way he does when all tuckered out. Arthur’s the type that gets all tuckered out a little too easily, in my opinion. And then came a terrible sight. Harmony knelt, said something to Arthur—something gentle, far from “Bad Arthur!” or “What a lazy boy!”—and scooped him up. No! No! But yes. She scooped him up—even though you would have thought that the pudgy mutt was pretty much unscoopable—and carried him the rest of the way home. Carrying a dog? Aren’t dogs supposed to be working creatures? Arthur should have been pulling the kids in a cart or a sled. Dog carts! Dog sleds! These things had names for a reason! I backed away from the window in shock.
Sometime later, we were in the Big Room, trimming the tree. Mom was sitting by the fire, mostly working on her laptop; Bro was picking the colored balls and snowmen and elves and igloos and bells and all the other ornaments out of boxes and handing them to Harmony, up on the ladder; Harmony was placing each decoration carefully on a branch; and me, up on the top shelf of the bookcase in the corner, keeping my opinions to myself. Plus Arthur, if you must know, sleeping on his side in front of the fireplace, his chest rising and falling in the most annoying way.
Mom glanced out the window. It was almost dark outside.
“I’m getting a little concerned,” she said.
“Yeah?” said Bro. “What about?”
“Mr. LeMaire, of course,” said Harmony. “What if he’s lost?”
“Lost?” Bro said. “All he has to do is come down the same way he went up.”
“It’s not so easy,” Mom said. “I wish you hadn’t left him alone.”
“He insisted,” Harmony said.
“Yeah, insisted,” said Bro. “He wasn’t even going to come across with the cash unless we split.”
“That didn’t happen,” said Harmony.
“Sure did.”
“Did not.”
Mom raised her hands. “Listen to the two of you.” She rose. “His cell number is on the registration card. I’m going to call him.”
“No service on Mount Misty,” Harmony said.
“Maybe he’s back down—warming up at Willard’s, for example.”
Harmony checked her phone. “Willard’s closed ten minutes ago.”
“I’ll try anyway.” Mom left the room, headed for the front desk.
“Did,” Bro said.
“Did not,” said Harmony. She lost her grip on a bright red ball. It fell to the floor and shattered in lots of pieces. “Now look what you made do.”
“Me?”
“Why do you have to be so stubborn? You’re worse than a mule.” Harmony climbed down the ladder and started cleaning up all the little red pieces. I watched her—always enjoyable to watch humans at work, helps pass the time—but my mind was elsewhere, namely on Bro and mules. We had a mule living in the barn at one time, name of Muley, if I recall. Yes, Bro could be stubborn at times, but he was nowhere near Muley’s class. Once Elrod had tried to get Muley to move from his stall to the next one over. What an amusing morning that turned out to be! And afternoon as well. I realized to my surprise that I missed Muley, if only just a little.
Mom came back into the room. “No answer,” she said.
Bro shrugged. “You just come back the way you went up.”
Mom and Harmony both shot Bro a look. It was the same look—in fact, Harmony and Mom appeared quite similar in every way at that moment. As for the look, it said, What are we going to do with you?
Mr. LeMaire did not appear, not before supper, or while we finished trimming the tree, or when bedtime rolled around. Mom tried B and Bs, motels, and other inns in the valley to see if Mr. LeMaire had checked in at any of them, but he hadn’t.
“I’m calling the sheriff,” she said.
“Sheriff Hunzinger?” said Harmony.
“Have we got some other sheriff?”
“No, Mom. But what do you expect him to do?”
“His job,” Mom said. “Find Mr. LeMaire.”
�
��Sheriff Hunzinger, Mom? At night? In the middle of a snowstorm? When we don’t even know if Mr. LeMaire is missing?”
“Why not?”
“Because the sheriff’s, like, not a hiker,” Bro said.
“I hope you’re not about to make disparaging remarks about a person’s weight or age,” Mom said.
“Depends what disparaging means,” said Bro.
“And he doesn’t have to go himself—he could send Deputy Carstairs.”
“They’re not back from Disney World,” Harmony said.
It just so happens that I know the Carstairs family, Emma Carstairs being a friend of Harmony’s. I’ve even paid a visit to their house, just the once. They turned out to have a pet gerbil living on the premises. What a strange idea!
“I’m not looking for reasons to do nothing,” Mom said. She picked up the phone. Then came a long conversation with Sheriff Hunzinger. My ears turned themselves in Mom’s direction and I heard the sheriff’s deep, rumbly voice pretty well. He pointed out that it was a moonless night with snow falling, mentioned that the department’s only working snowmobile was in fact not working but headed to the shop, and added that the county line crossed the old Sokoki Trail somewhere or other, so the whole issue—and he was confident this LeMaire fellow would turn up safe and sound in the morning, meaning there was no issue—might not even be in the sheriff’s jurisdiction. Or something like that. My mind had actually wandered back to memories of the Carstairs’s gerbil, Jerry, if I’d caught the name. Are gerbils somewhat reminiscent of mice? I went back and forth on that question, nice and relaxed amid the soft paperbacks, and gazing at the flames slowly shrinking in the fireplace.
Not much later, we called it a night, Mom leaving the outside lights on and the front door unlocked. I mostly sleep on our bed, mine and Harmony’s. No one could complain about the comfort level, and best of all is the fact that Harmony is a deep sleeper, so deep she hardly ever notices when I ball myself up in her hair. She has the thickest, softest hair—a rat’s nest, Mom calls it, but I’ve had more experience than Mom with rats’ nests and she’s flat-out wrong. Just thinking about Harmony’s lovely hair makes me sleepy.
Ruff vs. Fluff Page 3
