Please Do Feed the Cat

by Marian Babson

  ‘And a lot of strange people.’ Freddie left no doubt that, in her opinion, Cressie was one of the strangest.

  ‘That was when we came back here … I think.’

  ‘You must have taken the crack-of-dawn train.’ Lorinda tried to remember when that was. ‘6 a.m.? 5 a.m.?’

  ‘Earlier,’ Macho said miserably. ‘Too early for any train. We took a taxi.’

  ‘A taxi? From London?’ This scandalized Freddie more than anything that had gone before. ‘It must have cost a fortune!’

  ‘Where did you find a taxi at that hour?’ Lorinda wondered.

  ‘The details still escape me,’ Macho admitted. ‘But I seem to recall Cressie shaking me awake and demanding my wallet. I wasn’t sure it had actually happened until the grandmother of all hangovers wore off a couple of days later and I discovered I didn’t have a penny in the house, let alone my wallet.’

  The cats had been growing increasingly restless. Now they prowled back into the room, demanding to know when they were going to be fed. Had-I and But-Known were strident and sure of themselves and their rights. Roscoe was plaintive and diffident, unsure of himself and whether his pleas would have any effect. The once-proud tom had been beaten down to a shadow of his former self psychologically as well as physically.

  ‘Oh, poor baby!’ Lorinda swept him up into her arms. He headbutted her chin gratefully seeming to understand that he really was going to be fed properly at last.

  ‘OOOW! Oooh!’ Unbelievingly, Lorinda looked down at her own cats. One of them had just nipped her ankle.

  Jealous as a cat! No wonder there was such an expression. Had-I and But-Known looked back at her with identical icy stares of umbrage and reproof. She belonged to them. How dare she make such a fuss of Roscoe? He owned a perfectly good … well, adequate … um … anyway … Macho belonged to him. And if he hadn’t trained Macho correctly, it was his fault and he had no right to encroach on the sympathies of their own properly trained possession.

  Arrreow! Had-I underlined.

  Rrrryaah! But-Known agreed.

  ‘That’s telling her,’ Freddie said. ‘Now behave yourselves or you shall have no pie.’

  ‘Children’s books,’ Macho said. ‘Do you think …? No, perhaps not …’ He let the thought trail away, looking as dispirited as Roscoe.

  ‘Definitely not,’ Freddie said. ‘Lorinda and I considered it – briefly – but decided we didn’t know enough about children. Although, since you used to be a teacher, you might – ’

  ‘No,’ Macho said. ‘No. Better not. Cressie wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘And that would never do!’ Freddie exchanged a sardonic glance with Lorinda. You see what we’re up against, she telepathed.

  Roscoe whimpered and twisted in Lorinda’s arms, as though he knew who was being discussed and it upset him.

  ‘Food!’ Freddie said firmly. ‘Dinner is as ready as it will ever be. Let’s eat.’

  Mexican coffee cleverly replaced coffee and liqueurs by combining both. Kahlua, brandy and hot strong coffee topped by a swirl of whipped cream with just a hint of Cointreau in it, made a smooth innocuous-seeming brew. No one realized just how potentially lethal it was until Freddie had concocted a second round and they were slumped in their armchairs again, sipping it. Gradually it seemed too much effort to do anything, least of all break up the evening and go home.

  The cats were quite happy where they were. It would obviously suit Roscoe very well if he never went home – at least, not under the conditions that prevailed. Had-I and But-Known lay heavily across Lorinda’s lap, pinning her down, as though, now that they had got her back, they were determined to keep her.

  ‘Mmm …’ Lorinda gave a contented sigh. ‘Seems like old times.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Freddie agreed. ‘BC.’

  ‘Perhaps not quite that long ago – ’ Lorinda began.

  ‘I know what she means!’ Macho lurched to his feet, suddenly belligerent, sending Roscoe tumbling to the floor. ‘She’s getting at Cressie again! Before Cressie! That’s what she’s saying!’

  ‘Macho,’ Lorinda protested. ‘I’m sure she didn’t mean – ’

  ‘She meant it!’ Macho snarled. ‘You haven’t been here. She’s always getting at Cressie. Well, Cressie’s staying – so you’d just better get used to her! Come on, Roscoe, we’re leaving – and we’re not coming back until Cressie’s invited, too!’

  ‘Cressie was invited, but she went to London instead —’ Lorinda’s peacemaking was cut short by the slam of the front door.

  ‘Damn!’ Freddie said. ‘I was afraid I’d mixed that coffee too strong.’

  Chapter Four

  Morning brought the first of the Welcome Home invitations.

  ‘I thought just a small cocktail party Saturday,’ Gemma said. ‘Just our group and a few friends.’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ Lorinda said. ‘But are you sure you’re up to it? I’ve heard about your accident.’

  ‘Oh, I’m all right. Compared to that poor child, I mean. It was such a nightmare and I feel worse because I wasn’t able to be of any help at all. I’ve been trying and trying to remember something that might help the police, but I was watching the dogs and then I fell. I feel so useless and stupid —’

  ‘No one could blame you,’ Lorinda soothed. ‘Accidents happen so quickly it’s hard to sort out what actually happened.’

  ‘Yes, well …’ Gemma took a deep breath, obviously pulling herself together and back to the present. ‘I wanted to tell you that the party is also to introduce my cousin to everyone. She’s staying with me while she decides whether she wants to sublet Rhylla’s flat for the summer to work on her new book. She ought to fit right in here, she’s another mystery writer. She’s been doing very well with her historical mysteries. Her series character is Bess of Hardwick Hall.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ That rang a bell. ‘I believe I met her in New York.’

  ‘Oh, no, you couldn’t have, dear. Opal has never been to the States. Although there’s talk of her going over for the publication of her next book. You could clue her in on all the things she ought to know.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’ But did Opal really need any advice? Granted, the meeting had taken place at the beginning of her trip and she had met a lot of other people along the way, but Bess of Hardwick Hall was a distinctive enough historical figure to be memorable in herself. Oh, well, Gemma had identified the woman as a cousin. Quite probably Opal did not feel it necessary to inform every member of her family of every trip she made.

  ‘Wonderful!’ Gemma said. ‘I know you’ll like her. I’ll look forward to seeing you on Saturday, sixish. Although,’ she added more realistically, ‘I expect we’ll probably run into each other around the village before then.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lorinda agreed, ‘we probably will.’

  Had-I and But-Known watched with interest and approval as she got out her wheeled basket and prepared to visit the shops and get in some supplies. They were unusually vocal, presumably giving her their suggestions as to what was needed.

  ‘Yes, right,’ she told them. ‘You’ll get what I decide we need. Although,’ she conceded, ‘I must say a bit of lamb’s liver wouldn’t go amiss.’

  They agreed enthusiastically, twining around her ankles, nearly tripping her as they urged her through the door.

  It was a typical late spring day, given that spring was a bit late this year. After the early heatwave she had encountered in the States, Lorinda welcomed the erratic breezes and hint of rain in the air. She stepped out briskly, noting the trees progressing from bud to tiny leaves and blossoms. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of lilacs. At her feet, clusters of daffodils, tulips, roses and more exotic blooms sprinkled the grass. A cloud moved away from the sun which glowed down on the flowers, deepening their colours and making the cellophane sparkle.

  Cellophane? She looked again.

  Somewhere along the way, while she had been admiring the cloud formations, she had strolled into a sea of f
lorists’ blooms, still protected by their original cellophane wrappings, even though some of the flowers had withered and died.

  Sparse at the fringes, the bouquets thickened into a solid carpet surrounding a lamp post. More bouquets were tied to the lamp post, as were several miniature teddy bears and a selection of small soft toys. Surmounting it all was a photograph of a little girl, smiling trustingly out into a world she would never see again.

  This must have been where it had happened. Farther on, at a respectful distance from the shrine, stood the yellow sign headed ‘ACCIDENT’ in large black letters, while smaller letters spelled out the police appeal for information from anyone who might have witnessed the accident.

  It was as well Freddie had warned her about this: it was no sight to stumble on unprepared.

  Moving closer, she could read the sad little notes from school friends and family pinned to the various bouquets. Such a brutal waste of life, such a shock for her schoolmates, such devastation for her parents.

  Lorinda moved slowly on her way, feeling guilty because of the relief she also felt. Freddie was right: it was no one they knew.

  ‘A terrible thing.’ The voice spoke from behind her. ‘Just terrible.’ Betty Alvin, Dorian’s part-time secretary and occasional typist for others in the group, quickened her pace to fall into step beside her. ‘Everyone is shocked. One doesn’t expect that sort of thing in a place like this.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Lorinda murmured non-committally. After the spate of murders that had occurred in their midst last year, she would have thought that that was just the sort of thing that people would expect.

  ‘Gemma, especially,’ Betty prattled on. ‘To think that she was an eyewitness and she let those dogs distract her so much that she didn’t see a thing!’

  ‘That ankle must have been quite painful, too,’ Lorinda said. ‘No wonder she couldn’t pay attention to everything that was happening.’

  ‘Oh.’ Betty was disappointed. ‘You’ve heard.’

  ‘I’ve talked to Gemma.’ It seemed kinder to let Betty believe that she had had a first-hand report, rather than a briefing from Freddie first. To further cheer Betty (after all, there was a sort of diary of her trip to be typed eventually), she asked, ‘How’s Dorian?’

  ‘So-so.’ Betty cheered up immediately. ‘But not so bad as he’s pretending, I think. Do you know —’ she lowered her voice – ‘he’s still using a walking stick – and I’m sure he doesn’t really need it any more.’

  ‘No!’ Lorinda reacted obligingly with the expected shock, but wasn’t at all surprised. Typical of Dorian. He’d never let go of a good pose until he’d milked it for all it was worth.

  ‘And you wouldn’t believe the letters he’s written to the insurance company!’

  Oh, yes, she would.

  ‘He’s trying to make it sound as though he’s been crippled for life. It would serve him right if they sent someone round to check on him.’

  ‘He was very badly hurt.’ Lorinda would never forget seeing his body sprawled across the desk, blood oozing into the old-fashioned green blotter. ‘I wasn’t sure he’d survive.’

  ‘Hmmph!’ Betty sniffed. ‘You needn’t worry about him. He’ll outlive us all!’

  ‘Quite likely,’ Lorinda agreed absently. They had reached the greengrocer’s and she began mentally debating the merits of imported cherry tomatoes versus home-grown early-crop Lancashire peas, although she knew she would undoubtedly wind up buying them both, plus Jersey Royal new potatoes and …

  ‘Well, I’ll leave you to get on with your errands.’ Betty recognized that she had lost her audience for the time being and crossed the street to the post office, pointedly looking carefully in both directions before she stepped off the kerb.

  Macho was already at the counter being waited on when Lorinda arrived at the butcher’s. He gave her a guilty nod. ‘And half a pound of sausages,’ he said in an undertone to the butcher, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that no one else had entered the shop.

  ‘That the lot?’ The butcher swirled an outer covering of striped paper around the order and placed it atop a pile of similarly wrapped packages. At Macho’s nod of agreement, he shook open a plastic carrier bag and began loading the purchases into it, naming a total that raised Lorinda’s eyebrows.

  ‘And what would you like?’ The butcher took Macho’s money and transferred his attention to Lorinda. ‘Nice to see you back. Have a good trip?’

  ‘Lovely, thanks. A pound of lamb’s liver, half a pound of streaky bacon and, I think, a couple of —’

  ‘What are you doing in here?’ an icy voice demanded from the doorway. ‘And what have you got there?’ Cressie advanced on Macho, glaring at the carrier bag he had just acquired.

  ‘Hers! … It’s h-h-hers,’ Macho stammered, pointing to Lorinda. ‘I’m just c-c-carrying it for her.’

  ‘She’s got a shopping cart! What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘I – I – don’t know.’ Macho looked to Lorinda beseechingly, but she couldn’t claim that her cart was full. Cressie was quite capable of lifting the lid and proving her a liar. ‘I – I – didn’t think.’

  The butcher turned away, his shoulders quaking suspiciously. Lorinda got the impression that he had seen Cressie in action before. When he turned back, he caught her own eye meaningfully and held out her parcel tentatively.

  ‘Is that yours, too?’ Cressie didn’t miss a thing. ‘Aren’t you buying rather a lot – for one person?’

  ‘I’m restocking my freezer,’ Lorinda replied smoothly. ‘If that’s quite all right with you?’ She could be rude, too.

  ‘I’ll put it on your bill, shall I, love?’ The butcher cleverly avoided the subject of payment. Cressie would have noticed that the price asked was too small for the amount of shopping.

  ‘Thank you.’ Lorinda deposited the small parcel in her basket and Macho hurriedly flung his carrier bag in on top of it.

  ‘Honestly, you don’t know what I have to put up with!’ Cressie’s complaint was obviously as close to an apology as she was able to get. ‘He’s always trying to sneak food to that overstuffed monster of his. It was a good thing I saw him from the taxi as he was going in here.’

  ‘You took another taxi from London?’ Macho asked.

  ‘No, from the station. Well, I couldn’t walk it with two heavy suitcases, could I?’

  ‘Suitcases?’ Macho paled.

  ‘I do need a change of clothes occasionally. And I wanted some manuscripts I’ve been working on.’

  ‘Oh, yes … yes, of course …’ Macho’s attention had drifted back to the counter where the butcher was feeding off-cuts of lamb into a hopper and long delicious-looking strands of mince were emerging from the grinder. Lamb burgers had always been one of his barbecue specialities.

  ‘Come along,’ Cressie said briskly. ‘There’s nothing for us here. I’ve picked up a couple of ready-meals in town. Macaroni cheese, and spinach and ricotta cannelloni – you can take your pick.’

  ‘Oh … fine.’ Macho did not even bother with a pretence of enthusiasm.

  ‘I still have to get to the bakery.’ Lorinda could stand the piteous sight no longer. ‘I’ll see you at Gemma’s party.’

  ‘Yes.’ He brightened. ‘Yes, it’s your welcome home. It’s so good to have you back.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Cressie’s narrowed eyes swivelled between Macho and Lorinda’s shopping basket with dark suspicion. ‘Just great.’ She saw to it that they preceded Lorinda out of the shop and frowned when Macho paused to hold the door open for Lorinda.

  Lorinda hoped that Cressie did not notice Roscoe skulking behind a neighbouring waste bin and a couple of bin bags. His baleful gaze followed Macho and Cressie as they turned towards home. Then he turned on the nearest bin bag and, with a savage sweep of his claws, ripped it apart. Somehow, he left no doubt as to just whose flesh he wished it was.

  And Roscoe had always been such a gentle, sweet-natured cat. What had that woman done to him? What had she done to Mach
o?

  Chapter Five

  ‘You might have told me you were going to the States.’ Dorian King sounded distinctly pettish. ‘I could have given you any number of people to look up. They’d have shown you a wonderful time.’

  ‘I had a wonderful time.’ Lorinda took a deep breath and tried not to sound pettish herself. ‘It all happened very suddenly when there was what they called “a window of opportunity”. Besides,’ she remembered, ‘you weren’t around. You were away on one of your cruises.’

  ‘You needn’t say it as though I were off on some sort of jaunt. It was a necessary part of my convalescence. I was nearly murdered, you know.’

  ‘“Nearly” doesn’t count.’ Freddie had come up behind them.

  ‘I’m surprised you don’t say “Better luck next time.”’ Yes, he was in a very waspish mood. Perhaps he had a right to be. His injuries had been quite fearsome, even considering that head wounds were notoriously bloody. Yet there seemed to be an extra edginess in the way he looked around the party. The killer had been caught and was awaiting trial. Surely, Dorian couldn’t still be in fear of his life. He was safe among friends now.

  ‘I might say that yet,’ Freddie assured him. ‘What’s this rumour I’ve been hearing about you?’

  ‘Which rumour is that?’ Dorian’s tone was guarded; judging from his expression there could be a wide choice of rumours.

  ‘The one about your … impending house guest. Your … protégée.’

  ‘Nothing of the sort,’ he denied quickly. ‘A mere colleague, an acquaintance from New York. She’s coming over to do research for her historical series. Naturally, I invited her to stay with me, since I have so much room.’

  ‘Historicals seem to be flying high these days,’ Freddie observed. ‘Have you met Gemma’s cousin yet? She’d be a good one to get together with your house guest. They ought to have a lot in common.’

  Lorinda blinked. Was it her imagination, or had Dorian suddenly gone several shades paler? Was he all right?