Running Stream laughed. “Talk like that will get you burned at the stake, Cassandra.”
“Another visit to Sheriff Beaker with a dream, and he’ll probably be glad to oblige with the stakes and firewood.”
“Tell him. You must tell him everything. Then ignore the way he reacts to you.” Running Stream shrugged. “Your responsibility is to tell. You cannot make him listen.”
“That’s some comfort,” Cassandra said, finishing her tea. “We’d better go. It’s getting dark and one of the things I don’t want to do is go up that mountain when I can’t see.” “Bounder will be watching, in the woods,” Running Stream said.
“No!” Cassandra’s refusal was sharp. “If someone is out there, lurking about, Bounder could get hurt.”
“He can see in the dark,” Running Stream said with a .smile.
“Promise me he won’t try to protect me.” Cassandra could already see tragedy building. “It’s too dangerous to have him out there. Promise me.”
“I will tell him not to,” Running Stream said reluctantly.
“Cassandra’s right,” Adam agreed. “If we see someone around the cabin, we’re going to assume it isn’t a friend. We’ll be safer with that attitude.”
“Perhaps,” Running Stream said carefully. “The best thing you can do, Cassandra, is to fight to remember the dreams. Each detail. If you are seeing the future, then you can prevent it.”
“I’ll try. If only I could see the killer instead of the young women. That would be a lot more helpful.”
Running Stream touched her heart. “No, Cassandra, do not wish for that.”
“Why not?” Adam asked. “It would make things a lot easier to look for the killer.”
“Simpler, perhaps. But if Cassandra sees the killer in her dream, then she will be the next victim. She will be dreaming her own future death.”
* * *
Adam held out his hand to stop Cassandra on the porch. “The television’s on,” he said softly. “We didn’t leave it on.”
“This way.” Cassandra signaled him around to the side of the house. Hugging the log exterior, they moved silently, looking in each window as they passed. When they were finally at the den window, they saw the bluish blur of the television screen. The room appeared to be undisturbed. Familiar sat on the back of the sofa staring at the screen.
“He can turn it on,” Adam reminded her.
“We did leave him alone. Maybe he got lonely.”
“There’s something very weird about that cat, Cassandra.”
Her soft chuckle was delighted. “You step into the life of a woman who has prophetic dreams, is involved in serial killings, and you find it strange that a cat can turn on a television?”
“It’s a matter of degree,” Adam said. In the dusk, crouched at the window of her home, Cassandra had never looked more appealing. Before he had time to reconsider, Adam grasped her shoulders and kissed her. She responded with a tentative warmth that made him draw her closer.
The kiss wasn’t unexpected. She’d thought about it for several days, since she’d first felt that curl of feeling for Adam. She’d wondered how his lips would feel on hers. Wondered and wanted. The sensation was more than she’d expected. She found herself opening her mouth, inviting him to kiss deeper. His hands moved along her arms, down her back, pulling her against him. She yielded. The feel of his body was pleasurable, exciting. She was alive with sensation.
* * *
Well, well. Miss Locks and Lancelot must be pretending they’re at the drive-in movies. They’re standing at the window staring in at the television. Uh-oh, they’re not staring at the TV anymore. They’re smooching! I knew it would come to this. I have to admit, too, that I’m glad. Goldilocks ain’t the type of dame to stay up here on a mountain all alone. What a waste of nature’s bounty, if you’ll pardon the pun! Now Lancelot can help look out for her. He’s going to stay for the duration, I do believe. That’s good, cause I don’t like what’s been happening up here on this mountain.
Our uninvited visitor has got my hackles standing. Everyone thinks he dropped that earring accidentally. I think it was deliberate. I saw him standing there, his hands hanging at his side. The fingers on his right hand went slack. Mixed in with the rain, the earring hit the ground. Very subtle. Very deliberate. He was leaving a mark, a sign that he’d be back.
And he will.
And we’ll be waiting, Lancelot and me.
I don’t know for certain who that guy was. Too bad we couldn’t get a better look at him. Maybe I couldn’t see who he was, but I know what he was. A killer. He’s different from my old enemy Cal Vrenner. It’s a difference of degree. This guy’s worse. Cal kills for profit, to benefit himself. This guy, he kills for the pleasure of the kill. It’s enough to tingle a cat’s tail just thinking about it.
I don’t know what he was doing up here on the mountain, but I know it doesn’t bode well for Cassandra. Looking and watching. Dropping little clues. Why? That’s the sixty-four-million-dollar question that everyone is asking. Why?
I’m just glad that Lancelot has been smitten and is hanging around. Now that Miss Locks has some help, I could use a little myself. There hasn’t been a word on the news about Eleanor. My leg is getting stronger and stronger. It’s almost time for me to leave, but I don’t know where to go.
I’m afraid to leave here. Once I’m on the road, there’s no guarantee that I can get any news. It’s a quandary. I’ve thought of calling Eleanor’s friends. It’s not a simple matter—getting Ma Bell to make the connection. Reach out and meow at someone just isn’t effective. I hardly think even the most talented information assistant would be able to give me Magdalena’s number.
While Lancelot and Goldilocks were gone, I did call Dr. Doolittle’s office. Drat! Lucille answered. I did my best to talk to her—what a waste. After twenty years of working for a vet, you’d think she’d pick up the rudiments of a few feline vocabulary words. Nope! No capacity whatsoever for languages. She squawked and snorted and then hung up.
I’ll try again at another time. Eventually Dr. D. will have to answer. Until then, I’ve got the television remote in one paw and one ear cocked for trouble on this front.
Now that the two adult delinquents have stopped making out, they’ll be heading inside. Good. I’m ready for a little evening snack before dinner. I hope Cassandra stopped by the store and got a supply of sardines. This country life has reawakened some odd hankerings.
* * *
The kiss left Cassandra breathless, her mind fogged by the surge of sensations. Only her tight grip on Adam’s shoulders kept her standing as he gradually lessened his hold on her.
There was a look of wonder in his eyes as he stared down at her. “Running Stream implied you were a witch. I believe it.” He smiled. “You just put a mojo on me, I think.”
The lighthearted remark gave Cassandra the time she needed to compose her own emotions. Her blood coursed, and she heard her own pulse. Slowly, it subsided.
There were things she wanted to tell Adam. She wanted him to know that she was afraid of her dreams, of what she saw. But that when he was with her, she was less afraid. He was a visitor, though, and to burden him with such a confession would be unfair. He had his own business, his own concerns. And he would have to leave soon, especially when she could not do the one thing he requested of her.
She dropped her gaze from his and turned away. “Let’s go see what that crazy cat is up to,” she said carefully.
Adam had watched the play of emotions in her eyes. He’d seen the tenderness, the yielding, and then the closing, all in the span of a few seconds. For an instant, she’d been his completely. For whatever reasons, she’d shut off those feelings. He didn’t know why, but he intended to find out.
He followed her into the house, half intending to ask her then. But her nervous behavior made him desist. Cassandra McBeth was a very complex woman. It would be better to let her come forth with what was troubling her.
Not to an
yone’s surprise, the television was silent when they entered the den. Familiar had given up his perch on the arm of the sofa and had curled up on a cushion for a nap.
“It’s almost as if he were watching for something specific,” Cassandra said.
“Is it time for that talk show guy?” Adam picked up the controls.
“Adam!” Cassandra was appalled. “Surely you aren’t going to watch Martin West. He’s a waste of time.”
“Only because he’s having some FDA experts talk about false advertising. This is one of the issues I’ve been fighting about with the FDA. Some of those packagers put anything on their labels. They make all sorts of claims that aren’t true. If they would force the companies to be accountable, then consumers would be able to know when they’re buying healthy products and when they aren’t.”
Cassandra picked up the remote control and flipped it through the air to Adam. “Enjoy. I’m going up to my study to work on my book for a while. I can’t take Martin West.” Adam grinned as he punched the ON button. He turned the volume down and stretched out on the sofa beside Familiar. It had been a long, long day with a lot of emotions.
The show made several points that impressed Adam. One federal food inspector infuriated Adam. The man, Harry Robbins, claimed that all “health food companies” were public rip-offs.
Before Adam knew what he was doing, he had the telephone in hand and the number of the show dialed.
“Go ahead, caller,” Martin West’s practiced voice said. “As owner of a natural food company, I’d like to say that some companies take it very seriously when we advertise our products as healthy. In contrast to what Mr. Robbins implied, my company is accurate in labeling and conscientious in production of our natural cereal products.”
“Whoa, if it isn’t Yul Gibbons with a bite!” Martin West said with a laugh. “What is your product?”
“Good Stuff Cereal.” Adam felt slightly foolish.
“You’re one of the good guys, right?”
“Right,” Adam said, feeling even dumber. What was he doing calling in to a television show?
“Well, there must be some companies who take their products seriously. It’s good to know that you’re one of them.”
Adam heard the disconnect, and he watched on the television screen as Martin West went back to his panel of experts. Harry Robbins was commenting in a nasty tone how companies were more concerned with the bottom line than with what sediments and preservatives gathered in the bottom of a cereal box. Adam put the receiver back in the cradle. How had he ever gotten caught up in such a ridiculous confrontation?
He clicked off the set. On his way to the kitchen he paused by the stairs to the loft. He could hear Cassandra’s fingers pounding furiously on her computer keyboard. She was working on her tenth Nature’s Bounty book. A smile touched his features as he decided to surprise her with a light dinner.
In the kitchen, he made tuna salad and brewed a pitcher of fresh raspberry tea. He was cracking the ice trays open when the telephone rang. A moment later, he heard Cassandra coming down the steps. She was in a hurry.
“That was Martin West,” she said evenly, but the corners of her mouth were tight. “He wanted to know if you’d be a guest on his show Friday. Something about how natural products are grown and refined for wholesale purposes. He said you’d called in to his show today.” The look she threw him was an accusation.
“I did, but I didn’t leave this phone number,” Adam said.
“Then how did he happen to call here?” Cassandra asked.
“Good question, but I don’t have an answer. Would they record the number automatically?”
“He knew who I was when I answered,” Cassandra said. “In fact, he asked if I would appear with you, along with a nutritionist and a representative from a holistic clinic. He said the show this afternoon was ‘very, very hot.’ He said the networks had called again, and he wants to do a follow-up show.”
“Good for Martin West,” Adam said.
“Well, he can count me out. I don’t do that sort of public thing, and I don’t like people like West calling my home.”
“I’m sorry, Cassandra. I had no idea. I felt that I needed to comment on a remark one of his expert guests made, so I called in. I didn’t mean to start something that dragged you into it.”
Cassandra pulled out a chair at the big kitchen table. “It’s just that my privacy is so important to me, and I can’t think of anything worse than spending time doing one of those horrible shows with Martin West.” She took the glass of iced tea Adam offered.
“It does sound pretty dismal, but from my point of view, it could be worthwhile.”
“You have a product to market. I don’t,” Cassandra reminded him.
“In a way you do. Your books: And you have a duty to educate the public. The things you know could make a difference in someone’s life. Don’t you think you should teach them better?”
Cassandra put the glass down on the table in a very gentle way, but the gaze she turned on Adam was blazing with anger. “No, I don’t. I don’t owe people anything except that I live my life in a way that does as little harm as possible.”
“I didn’t mean duty like—”
“Yes, you did,” Cassandra interrupted. “It’s just like this dream business. I have to stop the killer. The responsibility is mine, whether I like it or not. I should go on television and try to convince people how to eat and live a healthy life. That’s what you’re saying, that I ought to do it.”
Adam rubbed his hand over his chin. “I guess that was what I was saying, and I owe you an apology.”
“I write books about natural foods,” Cassandra said, her voice calmer. “I put the information out there for the public to read and learn about. That’s enough.”
“It is,” Adam agreed. “But sometimes the public needs a little jolt to make them interested. You’re a beautiful woman. You have presence. I think you could shake up a few people via television. That’s all I meant to say, even though I worded it poorly.”
Cassandra sighed. “I’m sorry, too. I flew off the handle. It’s just that I’m feeling a lot of pressure with this killer, and the idea that Martin West had my telephone number is unnerving.”
“I’ll call back and tell him no.”
“Wait a minute.” Cassandra stood up. “By all means, you go ahead and do the show. Tell people about your cereal. Just keep me out of it, okay?”
Adam shook his head. “I’m not interested in a television appearance.” He took the two steps that closed the gap between them. “And I agree with you, at this particular time I think it might be best if you avoided all publicity.”
“Because of my dreams?” Cassandra didn’t follow his abrupt change.
“Mostly because Sheriff Beaker already views you with some lack of credibility. If he sees you on West’s television show, he might think you’re a publicity hound.”
“True,” Cassandra said, unable to stop the smile that changed her face from angry to amused. “I’m such a publicity seeker!”
“He doesn’t know you,” Adam reminded her. “Now that we’ve settled this, I’m going to call West and find out how he got this telephone number.”
“Forget it, Adam. It doesn’t really matter.”
“I want to know for certain how he found out I was here.”
Cassandra shrugged. “Ask him.”
“I intend to.”
“The salad looks great. I’ll slice some tomatoes and how about some corn?”
“Great. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Adam was prepared for the high voltage of Martin West’s determined personality. The guy’s show was popular because he got the guests he wanted, and for some reason he wanted Adam.
“Since you’re here in town, it would give the show some broader-based interest,” West said. “Your company will get exposure in this part of the country you couldn’t buy with advertising dollars.”
“I realize all of that,” Adam said, “bu
t the answer is still no. My visit to Gatlinburg is personal, not business.”
“You and Ms. McBeth going to collaborate on some product?” Martin had a nose for news.
“I wouldn’t attempt to speak for Ms. McBeth,” Adam said carefully, “and she doesn’t care to speak at all right now.”
“How’d you two meet?” Martin pushed.
Adam hesitated. The questions were harmless, but he didn’t want to say anything that might jeopardize Cassandra. “I’ve admired her work for years,” he said. “We’re both sorry to decline, but we must. First, though, I’d like to ask you a question.”
“Let’s meet for a drink,” Martin suggested. “I’m sure we can iron out this issue. If you don’t come on the show Friday, I’m going to have a hard time filling that hole.”
“Sorry, Mr. West,” Adam said carefully. “I can’t do it.”
“Not even a drink?”
“My question was, how did you happen to call me at Cassandra’s number?”
“Sheriff Beaker told me where to find you,” Martin said quickly. “It’s no secret that you’re staying with the mountain witch.” He laughed. “And it’s no secret that several guys are envious of you.”
Adam was astounded. He’d never lived in a small town where gossip was battered back and forth like a shuttlecock.
“Beaker told you this?”
“Sure, when he was on the show the other day. He said Ms. McBeth had been in his office to tell him about her dreams.” West laughed. “It did make her seem a little...eccentric.”
“Cassandra may be a lot of things, such as bright, intelligent, and sensitive, but she isn’t eccentric.” Adam clenched the telephone cord.
“No offense, I was quoting the sheriff. So, if you’ll come on the food show, maybe we could get Cassandra, uh, Ms. McBeth, to do a show on her dreams. Now that would provoke some interest!”
“No.” Adam’s refusal was adamant and cold.
“Beaker said she thinks she witnesses the murders before they happen.”
Too Familiar (Fear Familiar Book 2) Page 8
