‘Do you have my lot cluttering up your kitchen?’ she asked when Freddie answered.
‘Are you referring to my Tasting Panel?’ Freddie replied. ‘I’m afraid they’re working and can’t be disturbed right now. They’re sitting in front of the oven, willing it to cook faster. Come over and join them, the latest experiment is just about ready to serve.’
The cats barely turned their heads when Freddie opened the back door to let her in. They did, indeed, appear to be exerting every ounce of willpower to urge the cooker to complete its task.
‘Sorry to barge in on you again,’ Lorinda apologized, ‘but I just can’t seem to settle.’
‘It is difficult,’ Freddie commiserated. ‘It always takes me ages when I get back from a trip.’
‘I know.’ Lorinda settled down at the table and sniffed the fragrant air as appreciatively as the cats. ‘But I always hope it won’t take so long this time.’
‘You’re such an optimist.’ Freddie poured coffee. ‘Start on that and the mini-muffins will be ready to come out of the oven before our second cup.’
‘Wonderful.’ Lorinda sipped the hot delicious brew and felt the restless formless anxiety that had plagued her begin to subside. There was no train or plane she had to catch, no signing where she had to preside and be gracious, no worries about missing buttons or lipstick on her teeth. She was home, safe and secure among friends. Nothing could bother her now –
‘Freddie!’ The back door burst open and slammed against the wall. The cats jumped and turned to stare accusingly at the noisy intruder.
‘Freddie!’ Macho staggered into the room. ‘Lorinda!’ He reached the table and grasped its edge desperately, swaying and trying to stay upright.
‘Macho, what is it?’ Alarmed, both women jumped to their feet, ignoring the coffee splashing into their saucers and spilling on to the table.
‘Help!’ he croaked. ‘Help!’ He gave a wild laugh. ‘But there is no help!’
‘Macho!’ Lorinda gripped his heaving shoulders, unsure of whether to shake him or cradle him. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Cressie!’ he gasped. Cressie!’
‘Oh.’ Freddie looked at Lorinda. They might have guessed.
‘No! No, you don’t understand!’ He caught Freddie’s wrist, not noticing her wince of pain. ‘Cressie – she’s dead!’
‘Don’t worry,’ Freddie said. ‘No jury on earth would convict you.’
‘No! No!’ Macho cried. ‘I didn’t do it! I never laid a finger on her!’
‘Are you sure?’ Lorinda asked. ‘That she’s dead, I mean,’ she added hastily.
‘I found her! I’ve just got back from shopping and —’ Macho snatched up the nearest cup of coffee and drained what was left of it. ‘I opened the front door and found her! Lying at the foot of the stairs! Covered in blood!’ He finished the other cup of coffee and stared around wildly.
The cats looked at him, then at each other and, moving as one, retreated to a far corner of the room. Lucky cats, Lorinda thought, the humans didn’t have that option.
‘Let’s get over there!’ Freddie moved forward, Lorinda right behind her.
‘But what about the police …’ Macho held back. ‘An ambulance …’ He shuddered. ‘This can’t be happening again.’
‘Come on.’ Lorinda linked arms with him and urged him along. ‘It may not be as bad as you think. Let’s go and see.’
‘No, please …’ Macho was protesting all the way. ‘Not the front door. I can’t walk in on that scene again. Use the back door.’
‘We will,’ Lorinda soothed, wondering why he thought the scene might improve if viewed from a different angle. She fought against a mounting surge of irritation. Even dead, Cressie was a nuisance. Especially dead.
As they entered the front hallway from the kitchen, they saw the shopping bag Macho had dropped just inside the front door. Several packages spilled from it, two of them wrapped in the distinctive striped paper the butcher used. A telltale blob of red saturated a corner of one of them. Blood leaking from the meat, or from …?
As they moved forward, she could see a shoe lying on its side. One of the large clumpy shoes currently in fashion which looked as though they were a danger to any wearer with the slightest tendency to clumsiness. Running up or down a flight of stairs in those …
Now they could see the foot and, crouching midway between it and the shopping bag, Roscoe, staring intently from one to the other. Hungry as he constantly was these days, he was showing unusual restraint in not attacking one of the butcher’s packages. Even dead, Cressie seemed to have traumatized both Roscoe and his master so thoroughly that they were unable to function normally.
‘Here, boy.’ Keeping his face averted from the staircase, Macho went forward and picked up Roscoe. ‘It’s all right, boy. It’s all right.’
It patently wasn’t. While Macho did not want to look at Cressie’s body, Roscoe could not stop staring at it. The tip of his tail twitched slowly and rhythmically. He might have been watching at a mousehole.
Lorinda found herself on Macho’s side. She did not want to look, either.
Freddie was more intrepid. Moving slowly and carefully, she circled the body and stood looking down. Lorinda forced herself to go over and stand beside her.
There was an awful lot of blood. Dried blood. Smeared over Cressie’s face and neck, arms and hands, the dark reddish-brown coagulating blood was a gruesome sight, not to be looked at too closely. An arteryful of blood. But … didn’t arteries spurt? And … where was the break in the skin from which all that blood could escape?
‘How long were you out shopping, Macho?’ Freddie asked.
‘About an hour.’ Macho still would not look in their direction. He cradled Roscoe and added defensively, ‘She was perfectly all right when I left.’
‘Freddie …?’ Lorinda had a question of her own. ‘How long does it take blood to dry?’
‘Good question.’ Freddie bent closer to the inert form and took several deep sniffs before straightening up with a triumphant look.
‘Up, Cressie!’ She prodded Cressie’s ribs with a none-too-gentle toe. ‘Up! The game is over. You’ve been rumbled!’
In the long moment that followed, Macho and Lorinda drew closer. Lorinda did some sniffing of her own with a dawning suspicion … there was something awfully familiar about the scent reaching her nostrils.
‘What do you mean?’ Macho looked from Cressie, who had not moved, to Freddie, who was drawing back her foot again. ‘No, don’t kick her! She’s —’
‘She’s shamming – and you’re the one who ought to kick her! That isn’t blood – that’s Angostura bitters!’
‘Of course!’ The vaguely familiar scent identified, Lorinda could not imagine why she had not recognized it at once. On the occasions when drops had flown astray in the cocktail mixing process, she had even noticed the resemblance to blood herself.
‘Gotcha!’ Cressie’s braying laugh rang out as she rolled away before Freddie’s foot reached her again. ‘Told you none of you would recognize a dead body if you saw one. Now I’ve proved it! You fell for it! All of you!’
‘Not for long,’ Freddie said grimly.
‘Long enough!’ She was triumphant. ‘Long enough to send him —’ she gestured dismissively towards Macho – ‘running like a frightened rabbit! Or maybe I should say a scaredy-cat. Yeah, that’s right – scaredy-cat! Even the cat was braver than you. At least it came close enough to sniff!’
And that was why Roscoe had resisted the pull of the butcher’s parcels. He had known she wouldn’t let him get away with it. Whatever games she might be playing, she was still an active and dangerous force.
‘You’re disgusting!’ Macho’s colour had been returning to normal, now he paled again.
‘Macho is right. Go and wash your face!’ If Cressie wanted to act like a child, Freddie was prepared to treat her as one. ‘And change your clothes. Although,’ Freddie added with gleeful malice, ‘I wouldn’t be prepared to b
et you’ll ever get those stains out. I hope you weren’t planning on ever wearing that outfit again.’
‘Oh!’ Obviously, Cressie had not thought of that. She squinted down at her ruined top, although most of the damage was around the neckline and not visible to her. For a moment, she looked childlike and vulnerable.
‘I don’t care!’ Abruptly, she shrugged herself back into her normal persona. ‘I can buy more. Plenty more!’ She whirled away, snatched up her shoe and dashed up the stairs. A door slammed defiantly.
‘Macho …’ Lorinda began tentatively.
‘That woman is poison!’ Freddie was not prepared to be discreet. ‘You’ve got to get rid of her!’
‘I can’t.’ Macho would not meet their eyes. Roscoe gave a protesting squeal as Macho clutched him tighter. ‘Don’t you see? I can’t!’
He turned unseeingly and blundered into his study. The door slammed behind him, too.
Chapter Seven
A strong smell of burning greeted them as they opened the back door into Freddie’s kitchen. Had-I and But-Known trotted forward, uttering loud complaints and recriminations.
‘Oh, no – the muffins!’ Freddie caught up a pot-holder and swung the oven door open. A dark cloud eddied out and swirled around the kitchen, setting them coughing.
‘Ruined …’ Freddie mourned, backing away from the smoke and bending down for a better look. ‘They’re not actually alight, though.’
‘You’d better let everything cool down a bit,’ Lorinda warned as Freddie reached for the pan. ‘And find another pot-holder – you’re going to need both hands.’
Had-I added an observation of her own, which might have been helpful if translatable.
‘There are no two ways about it …’ Freddie abandoned the oven and turned to brewing a fresh pot of coffee. ‘No matter what Macho says, that woman has got to go!’
‘Well, you heard him. He couldn’t have been more definite that she’s staying.’ Lorinda attempted to change the subject. ‘The muffin tin isn’t ruined, too, is it? It looks a bit warped and out of shape.’
‘I don’t know what sort of hold she has over him,’ Freddie would not be diverted, ‘but we’ve got to break it!’
‘How?’
‘I’m working on that. We’ll think of something.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Lorinda noted the shifting pronoun. ‘And doesn’t Macho have any say in the matter?’
‘He’ll be relieved,’ Freddie said airily. ‘I don’t believe he even likes her any more.’
‘Then why does she still have a hold over him?’
‘Mmm, good question. Blackmail, perhaps?’
‘Macho?’ Lorinda had to laugh. ‘He’s the most law-abiding person I know. What could she blackmail him about? Now, if it were Dorian …’
‘I take your point, but don’t forget that blackout Macho claims to have had the night he and Cressie went out on the town. Something could have happened then.’
‘Claims?’ But it was just within the bounds of possibility. Either it was a genuine blackout, or something terrible had shocked him so deeply that he had blanked it out and was in denial. But Cressie remembered … perhaps had evidence …
‘You’re getting the picture.’ Freddie had been watching her face.
‘No!’ Lorinda shook her head. ‘No, I’m not going to believe that. It’s only one possible explanation.’
‘How many others can you think of?’
‘You were here at the time. Were there any media reports of scandals or sinister goings-on that they might have been involved in?’
‘Not that I noticed.’ Freddie shrugged. ‘But I wasn’t looking. Whatever it was, it happened in London. If it was just one of the usual drunken brawls, it wouldn’t even make the papers. Especially if there were no fatalities.’
‘Or it could have been hushed up if there were important people involved,’ Lorinda said thoughtfully. ‘Politicians … or royalty.’
‘Politicians, maybe,’ Freddie agreed. ‘But somehow, I can’t quite see Our Cressie hobnobbing with royalty. Much as she might like to.’
‘True, they’re not very bookish. She’d have better luck there if she were working with horses.’
‘Then there’s the editor Cressie was plotting revenge on.’ Freddie had another thought. ‘Their rocks couldn’t reach the twelfth floor, but perhaps Cressie persuaded Macho to go back later and set fire to the building. Even if no one was hurt, the charges would be arson and criminal damage, at the least.’
‘Mmmm … and that would fit in with those hazy memories of people shouting “Let’s get out of here!” Still …’ Lorinda shook her head. ‘No, I can’t imagine Macho – even dead drunk – doing a thing like that.’
But-Known appeared to decide that a perfectly good lap was going to waste and leaped up nimbly to settle across Lorinda’s knees. Had-I continued to circle Freddie, not giving up hope that something edible might yet be forthcoming.
In the other room, the telephone began to ring.
‘Forget it!’ Freddie sent an impatient glance in that direction. ‘I’ve had enough for today. Whatever that is, I don’t want to know about it.’
With a sound like a hiccup, the phone stopped in midring as the answering machine cut in.
‘Freddie —’ if you’re there, please pick up the phone. Please. It’s urgent!’ The voice, barely recognizable, was ragged with desperation.
‘I knew I didn’t want to know.’ Freddie continued to pour the coffee. ‘I suppose the publishers haven’t sent the books she ordered, or sent the wrong ones. I wish she’d. learn to complain to them and not bother us.’
‘Freddie, it’s Jennifer – at the bookshop. If you’re not there at the moment, then come round to the shop whenever you get in. Please. As soon as you can. The situation is urgent! Almost out of control – No! No, please! Don’t do that —’ The connection was severed abruptly.
‘That doesn’t sound like a mis-shipment to me.’ Lorinda stood quickly, sending a loudly protesting But-Known. tumbling to the floor.
‘Oh, all right. I suppose we’d better get over there.’ Freddie was curious herself. ‘But, I warn you, I’m not up to chasing shoplifters down the High Street.’
At first, the shop looked deserted. The neat window display was undisturbed and no customers browsed inside. No Jennifer was in sight, either. They entered cautiously.
‘No bodies littering the floor, at any rate,’ Freddie declared, looking around.
‘Perhaps she’s in the back room.’ Lorinda started forward, still checking for anything that might be out of place.
The large round ball of pale grey fluff curled up beside the till certainly wasn’t. As she paused to look behind the counter, it raised its head and blinked pale blue eyes at her.
‘Hello, Misty.’ She stroked the silky fur and a friendly rumble returned her greeting. A happy contented cat, nothing had upset her recently.
‘Over here.’ Freddie spoke softly from the doorway to the back room. ‘Someone’s in here.’
‘Is it —’ Lorinda found herself tiptoeing over to the doorway to the darkened room. A darker figure could be dimly discerned slumped in an armchair in the corner, surrounded by packing cases.
‘Jennifer …?’ Freddie called softly. ‘Is that you? Are you all right?’
‘Don’t turn the light on!’ Although they were hoping to hear it, Jennifer’s voice startled them. ‘I have a raging headache.’
‘We came as soon as we could.’ Freddie pushed the door farther open so that more light filtered into the storeroom. ‘Is that all that’s wrong?’
‘No, of course not. I mean …’ Jennifer sat up, the damp cloth across her forehead falling into her lap. ‘I mean, I’m sorry I disturbed you. It … it was a false alarm.’
‘Alarm about what?’ Lorinda wasn’t going to let her off that easily. There had been a tremor of genuine fear in her voice as she pleaded for Freddie to come over quickly.
‘It was silly, really, but I panicked. I saw
Gemma and her cousin coming along the street with the dogs and, for an awful moment, I was terrified that they were going to come into the shop.’
‘Why shouldn’t they?’ Freddie asked.
‘The dogs did seem a bit boisterous today,’ Lorinda said, ‘but I don’t think they’d have bothered Misty.’
‘Nothing bothers Misty,’ Jennifer said. ‘The problem was that Adèle Desparta was already in here.’
‘Who?’ Freddie looked at her blankly.
‘Adèle Desparta …’ Lorinda frowned, something about the name seemed to ring a dim and distant bell.
‘Dorian’s guest. Haven’t you met her yet?’
‘She’s only just arrived, hasn’t she? I saw a station taxi heading towards Dorian’s just a little while ago. There hasn’t really been time to meet her.’
‘Perhaps not for you,’ Jennifer said bitterly, ‘but she was around here before she bothered to unpack. I’ll bet Dorian put her up to it. She couldn’t have known where the bookshop was. He probably drew her a map.’
‘But why?’ Freddie was still puzzled.
‘Because he’s been furious with me ever since I included his last book in the remainders sale. He wanted to make trouble.’
‘Nothing new about that,’ Lorinda observed. ‘Personally, I blame Dorian for everything that’s happened this past year.’
‘No, I mean, why don’t you want her in the shop?’ Freddie persisted.
‘I don’t mind her coming in here,’ Jennifer said wearily. ‘And I don’t mind Opal – even though she rearranged my table display to give her book more prominence. But Adèle actually knocked Opal’s pile of books off the table while my back was turned – and she tried to blame poor Misty! As though Misty would do a thing like that!’
‘Never,’ Lorinda agreed. Bookshop cats were all expert at threading their way through stacks of books and even leaping from pile to pile without disturbing a thing.
Prrreow? Misty appeared in the doorway, drawn by the sound of her name.
Please Do Feed the Cat Page 6
