Into the Clouds

by Marilyn Leach

  “Very sure, Billie. The garage security number is 7477. Now ring me as soon as you get back.” The receiver back in the cradle, Berdie shot a wee prayer upward for Mrs. Finch to overcome her timid apprehension.

  Hugh bounded down the stairs, still knotting the belt of his robe. “Who is it?”

  “Mrs. Finch, a new friend of sorts.”

  “She’s ringing early.”

  “Yes, and that’s you off the hook.” Berdie grinned and moved away from the topic. “Hot tea’s on.”

  Hugh rubbed his hands together. “Very good.”

  “I’ll join you in a tic.”

  He placed a kiss on Berdie’s cheek and navigated down the hall to the kitchen.

  Meanwhile, Berdie sat on a stairway step and wondered if it was actually Olivia’s car that Billie Finch saw. Whatever, it had its place somewhere in the scheme of things.

  Brrnng-Brrnng. “That was fast.” Berdie sprang from her momentary chair. She hastily picked up the mouthpiece. “What did you find?” she blurted.

  “No, Mrs. Elliott. What did you find?” It was the raspy-voiced caller.

  Berdie held the phone with both hands. “Spiro Mikalos’s fortunes.”

  “Very good,” he graveled, “but I said no police.”

  “I’ve not gone to…” Berdie considered what might prompt this remark. “You didn’t say anything about journalists.”

  The caller spewed a long growl.

  He’s in the area, he’s seen the Gazette. Berdie ruminated. “Listen, you’re the one who seems to be on the inside of all this. Why aren’t you doing…”

  “Follow the cat.”

  Berdie frowned. “What?” Her mind bounced to the Mikalos vampire. “Tiddles?” Now she became edgy. “Please, you must give me more than that.”

  A click and silence were the responses to her plea.

  Berdie let out a long sigh. Must she now mount a campaign to find the missing feline? Perhaps she could fob that off on to Linden. But then, the villian had given her sound information before and it had opened up a clear motive for Olivia’s disappearance. Still, spending her valuable time searching for a cat? And she wasn’t sure it was Tiddles to be found, but it seemed the most likely. “Lord, does any of this make sense?” Berdie jumped as the vicarage phone once again wailed. “Vicarage,” she answered.

  “You are so clever, Mrs. Elliott.” Billie Finch sounded almost exuberant.

  “Truly?” At the moment, Berdie didn’t feel especially adroit.

  “The car I saw this morning must have just been one that resembled Mrs. Mikalos’s vehicle. Hers is dead cold in the garage.”

  “Well, there you see, Billie. You’ve been very helpful. Thank you.”

  “Oh, my pleasure.”

  “May I ask? Mrs. Mikalos’s cat, the one she’s caring for, seems to have gone missing. Have you, by chance, seen it about the house, in the area? Hopefully, not near Sir Percival’s garden.”

  “That poor, unsightly creature? No. And I should think it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if it found another home elsewhere.”

  “Yes, I know it’s not lovely, but the cat could be somehow important. If you do see it, please call me straight way. If you’ve a mind, perhaps try to catch it.”

  There was a laden silence.

  “Billie, thank you for keeping an eye. It’s invaluable.”

  “I shall do my best,” Billie chirped.

  Goodbyes given and phone back in its proper place, Berdie went to the kitchen to find Hugh drinking his tea and perusing the morning edition of the Timsley Times.

  “Your friend seems awfully keen,” Hugh remarked from behind his paper. “Ringing thrice in a few minutes time.”

  Berdie took a moment to get his meaning. “Three times.” No need to divulge it wasn’t just Mrs.Finch. “Oh, yes, Mrs. Finch is helping out a worthy cause.”

  “Which is?”

  Berdie took a sip of tea. “Which is in aid of Mrs. Mikalos.”

  “Speaking of Mikalos, it says here in the paper that Myles Mikalos’s business enterprise, Miles to Go, was set to go belly up. Isn’t he her son? It seems a private investor has bailed him out.”

  “Truly? Does it say who the investor is?”

  “No.”

  “Suspicious.”

  Hugh looked over the top of the paper. “What? Are you suggesting a son would kidnap his own mother for her money? How sinister.”

  “Certainly not our son, but one never knows, especially when it involves substantial amounts of capital.”

  “Where’s the ransom note? How would he get the money without proving her dead?”

  “Well, I’ve not got it all sorted, it’s just an odd coincidence.”

  Hugh stuck his nose back in the paper. “And how is your Mrs. French giving aid in the Mikalos situation?”

  “Olivia’s cat’s gone missing, and Mrs. Finch is watching for its possible return.” Berdie took the crispy bloomer of bread from the bread box and sliced two large pieces.

  “Cats seem the topic of the day,” Hugh continued.

  “In what sense?” Berdie’s ears went on alert.

  “Any chance for some toast and jam?”

  “I was just setting about to do that.” Berdie placed the slices into the toaster. “In what sense are cats the topic of the day?”

  Hugh put the paper down and ambled to the fridge where he began to rummage around. “Edsel asked, kindly I may add, if I could see my way clear to take Ivy and Duncan to the cat rescue today.”

  Berdie could almost feel the sparkle that was surely in her eye as she turned to her husband. “Really?”

  “Yes. It seems Duncan came upon a lost cat and has cared for it the past few days, becoming more attached to it by the hour. But, Ivy isn’t having it. So, it’s off to the rescue.” Hugh brought out a laden butter dish. “Edsel has a work project in Bridgeton today, Lucy has classes at the Tech, and Ivy doesn’t trust her Uncle Wilkie’s driving. So, Edsel asked if I could take them.”

  “The new rescue’s nearly twenty miles, anyway.” Berdie recognized an opportunity in the making. “That could take up the better part of your day.”

  “Perhaps not the better part, but certainly some of it.” Hugh added a jar of Mr. Raheem’s homemade strawberry jam to accompany the butter dish. “But, Edsel and Ivy do so much for the church, I could hardly refuse.”

  “Of course. Don’t you have an appointment with Reverend Simpson at St. Mark’s today?”

  “And leading the parish prayers for the nine days of Whitsun, here and at Mistcome. I had planned to do some sermon preparation, as well.” Hugh brought the butter and jam to the table and sat. “But there you are.”

  Berdie put her hand on his shoulder. “Your plate is full. Let me take Ivy and Duncan, and you can get on with your work.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Why not?”

  Hugh smiled. “Why not.”

  The toasted bread sent a gentle aroma through the kitchen as Berdie sat it on the table.

  Hugh spread a great swathe of butter across the warm toast. He stopped abruptly and pointed his buttering knife in Berdie’s direction. “The Mikalos feline, that’s what this goodwill is about, isn’t it? You’re up to something.”

  Berdie sat down and tipped her head. “Hugh Elliott, are you saying I haven’t any goodwill?”

  “Not at all. I’m just saying, in this case, it’s to your investigative advantage to be among cats.”

  “Well, actually, yes it is. But, I certainly don’t mind taking Ivy and Duncan to the rescue. And, if at the same time, I can see if Tiddles is there, all the more so.”

  “Tiddles?”

  “Olivia’s cat, well, her grandson’s cat, really.”

  “I thought you were looking for the person, not their cat.”

  “Finding the pet could be important to finding Olivia.”

  Hugh heaped jam onto his toast. “How?”

  “I’m not sure, yet.”

  “That’s not a very
reasoned argument.”

  “No, it’s not.” Berdie took the knife Hugh had just used and slipped it into the butter. “But someone has suggested it may be vital, so it’s worth a look see.”

  Hugh appeared contemplative. “Well, it would free up my time if you took Ivy. You and she could have a good chin wag on the journey. But mind you, no trouble.”

  “It’s settled, then. What time do I fetch them?”

  “Half nine.”

  “Half nine, it is.”

  As Berdie spread butter on the toasted bread, she knew she wasn’t just looking for Tiddles. ‘No trouble’ Hugh said. No trouble for whom? She hoped the cat people may be there, as well. Wouldn’t they manage the shop? She had a multitude of questions to ask them. And about time, too, she reasoned.

  ****

  Ivy had a rather beleaguered look about her when she answered Berdie’s knock at the door of the Butz home, rather unusual for ever-bubbling Ivy.

  “Where’s Reverend Elliott?” Ivy cast her gaze to the drive.

  “Change of plan. I’m taking you and Duncan to the rescue.”

  “Oh, dear.” Ivy shook her head and wrung her hands together. “Dottie’s got a tummy. Everything going in one end is coming out the other, if you’ll pardon me saying.”

  “Oh, dear, Ivy.”

  “So you see, I can’t possibly go out. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Elliott.” Ivy ran a hand across her forehead.

  “Oh, it’s no problem.” Berdie made sure her voice was very reassuring. “I’d be delighted to take Duncan and his furry pal to the rescue.”

  Ivy brightened. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

  “No imposition, none at all.”

  Ivy displayed her familiar grin. “Gracious, how kind.” The woman turned around and yelled in the direction of the stairwell. “Duncan!”

  Berdie was surprised the rafters were still in place after Ivy’s booming voice.

  The lad appeared and struggled to bring the cat carrier that held his treasure within.

  “Mrs. Elliott has come to fetch you and your Razor.”

  Duncan looked like a wet weekend. His usual pizzazz seemed in some distant place where he and his four-pawed pal played together endlessly. He halted at Ivy’s side.

  “Now, no nonsense, love. You know what we’ve agreed.”

  Duncan nodded his five-year-old head.

  Ivy ran her hand cross Duncan’s brown hair, smoothing it, and bent down. “Be Mummy’s big boy, and don’t give Mrs. Elliott any grief.”

  Duncan, chin down, gazed up at Berdie. “Yes, Mummy,” he mumbled.

  Ivy stood and moisture glistened in her eye as she turned toward Berdie. “Let me know if there’s any trouble.” She leaned closely to Berdie. “He’s taken to this tattered creature. By Dunc’s insistence, we took a picture of him holding it. Then I found the feline on his bed in an evening. It just won’t do,” she whispered.

  Berdie nodded. “I quite understand. Don’t worry yourself. We’ll be fine.” She eyed Duncan. “Off we go, Duncan.”

  Ivy planted a big kiss on Duncan’s forehead.

  Berdie took the cat carrier. This could be a decidedly long ride. Her attempts to cheer the child on their journey went for naught.

  Duncan only nodded occasionally. He held the carrier in his lap.

  The cat, a rather calm creature, leaned its scarred body against the side of the cage closest to Duncan. It appeared the affection was mutual, rather unusual for such a battle hardened tom.

  Berdie’s childhood family cat was not like this one. Someone was forever trying to get it out of some hard to reach area where it disappeared for days at a time.

  Duncan’s find seemed an entirely different species.

  After traveling the lane to a tucked away area, the view upon arrival at the rescue car park was astonishing. An expansive low-lying building, gleaming white and surrounded by well-kept gardens, sported large, lighted letters that read Queen’s Gardens Feline Board and Rescue.

  “Duncan, just look at Razor’s new home. It’s fit for a king,” Berdie encouraged.

  “It’s big,” he breathed.

  It was the first verbal response she had gotten from the forlorn lad since getting in the vehicle.

  “Let’s see what the inside is like,” Berdie offered with buoyancy.

  Once through the automatic glass doors, Berdie took a deep inhalation of mint scented air as her astonishment only grew.

  And by the size of his widened eyes, Duncan’s, as well.

  A well turned-out woman sat at a long counter marked Reception. Holographic photos of cats playing, resting on satin pillows, eating from personalized bowls, and sitting in a vet’s lap apparently pleased they had just received a healthful jab, filled the walls. A video about feline care played on a giant flat screen television in a lowly lit area that held several pillowed couches and cat baskets.

  A white-clad young woman of meticulous appearance swept past. She gently held a cat against her chest.

  Berdie stared at the black and white creature, its gaping fangs exposed. “Tiddles?” Berdie all but gasped.

  “Sorry?” The attendant’s tone had a terse edge and she stopped.

  “The cat, its name is Tiddles. I know the owner.”

  “Oh. How nice for you.” The attendant returned to forward motion.

  “No, I mean he’s missing. Well, the cat’s owner is missing, as well as him.” She nodded toward Tiddles. “Rather his caretaker, not owner, is gone missing.”

  The young woman stopped again. “Excuse me, but you’re not making sense.”

  “He’s not in the rescue?”

  “Our rescue is one of the finest in Britain. But no, this client is boarding.”

  “How did he get here?”

  “Well, he didn’t fly.”

  Duncan tried to hide a chuckle. At least, the attendant’s sarcasm generated something redeeming.

  “Where was he found? Who’s paying his board?”

  The woman took a deep breath. “We don’t divulge information concerning our boarding clients, madam. If you know the owner, as you say, why don’t you contact them? Now, please excuse me.” The woman disappeared behind an automatic door.

  “Welcome to Queen’s Gardens,” the receptionist greeted from her area.

  Berdie wanted to follow the caretaker into the inner sanctum, but felt compelled to take care of Duncan and his Razor. She pondered the fact that Tiddles was in boarding as she and Duncan made their way to the desk.

  “What time is your appointment?”

  “Appointment?” Berdie raised her brows. “I’m afraid we don’t have an appointment.”

  “Oh, dear,” the receptionist twittered.

  “We were hoping to place a wayward cat in safe keeping.” As she looked toward the automatic door behind which Tiddles and his warden disappeared, Berdie sat Razor, in the cat carrier, absently on the floor.

  “Oh, no.” The woman patted the smooth surfaced countertop. “Please don’t set the client on the floor, place them here.”

  “What’s a client?” Duncan asked Berdie.

  Berdie placed Razor in all his harrowing majesty on the granite countertop.

  The woman’s eyes widened. “I say.” Her jaw dropped, and she placed her palms on her cheeks.

  Berdie wasn’t entirely sure what to expect next. ‘Get your mangy client off my polished tabletop?’

  “This is wonderful, a small miracle.” The woman almost cheered.

  “Is it?” Berdie was sure she sounded amazed.

  The woman bent closer to the cage and examined Razor. “Yes, indeed. Incredible. He’s a bit thin, but it’s quite incredible. Where did you find him?”

  Berdie looked at Duncan.

  “On the green, Sunday,” he offered quietly.

  Sunday. Berdie flashed back to the conversation with lemonade-toting Duncan and his pal. And yes, the cat was following him. This cat became suddenly interesting.

  “The village green, Aidan Kirkwood,” Berdie
reiterated to the receptionist.

  The woman stuck a finger through the carrier. “Who’s the lovely cat, then?” she purred.

  Berdie could feel her eyes pop at the word lovely. What planet had she landed on?

  “Mr. Moore will be pleased.”

  “Mr. Moore?” Berdie inquired.

  “Hero’s owner. He volunteers occasionally. Although his flight departs soon, he just happens to be here today.”

  “Indeed?” Berdie’s interest flamed into anticipation.

  “Please be seated.” A rushed wave toward the lounge area was followed by punched numbers on the telephone.

  Berdie took Duncan’s hand, and they slipped onto a sofa where the cat-care video narrated in a voice Berdie thought was solely reserved for televised golf, offered tips on feline grooming. Berdie’s thoughts whirled while Duncan watched the video. Why was Tiddles boarded? Did someone find him? But why pay board for a stray cat?

  Duncan tapped her arm. “Do you think Razor will forget about me?”

  “No, I shouldn’t think so, Duncan. He seems to have grown very fond of you. But, if he had an owner before he found you, well, he should be with them.”

  “I know. Mummy said.”

  The receptionist finished her telephone conversation and another automatic door opened from a place beyond the lounge to reveal a tall, handsome gentleman who raced toward reception. Berdie assumed him to be Mr. Moore.

  When he came to rest at ‘the client’s’ cage, he couldn’t scramble quickly enough to pull Razor from the enclosure and clutch him to his chest with both hands. He ran his silvered goatee chin across the cat’s head. “My dear, dear Hero,” he murmured.

  The cat gave a scratchy meow, and the receptionist clasped her hands, a giant grin on her face. It was almost a portrait of happy families.

  Duncan watched the goings on without a word.

  Berdie cleared her throat and stood. “Would you like to meet the child who rescued your cat?”

  Mr. Moore seemed entirely unaware there was anyone else for miles.

  Berdie put her hand on Duncan’s back and guided him forward. As she did, she felt her stomach squeeze and her face flush. The smiling gentleman seated in a car from whom she had asked directional help just a couple days past danced through her memory. Minus the sunglasses, Hero’s owner, Mr. Moore, was that man.