Escape Claws

by Linda Reilly

  “I’m so glad you liked it,” Lara said. “And it’s even better left over, so we can have it tomorrow, too.”

  Lara realized she’d just committed herself to staying at least another day, if not longer. She sneaked a look at her aunt, who wore a pensive expression.

  Time to reroute the conversation.

  “Aunt Fran,” Lara said, “when I went outside to put the trash in the can this afternoon, I thought I saw…a cat in the field.”

  Aunt Fran’s face twitched. “Really?”

  “Yup.” Lara swallowed. “Anyway, I decided to see if I could follow it. I traipsed around that yellow tape, down the hill, all the way to the rear of the lot. And then, like a klutz, I tripped over a metal rod that was sticking out of the ground. That thing was solid! After I fell, I tried to pull it out of the ground, but it wouldn’t budge.”

  Aunt Fran narrowed her eyes. “Where was the rod?”

  “It’s hard to describe,” Lara replied. “Not too far from the brook, about twenty, maybe thirty feet from the far corner of the field.”

  Her aunt’s lips tightened. She dabbed them with the tip of her napkin. “I suspect you tripped over a length of rebar,” she said, her soft tone belying the fury in her voice.

  “Rebar?”

  “It’s used in marking boundaries,” Aunt Fran explained. “And it might account for the noise I heard one night a while back.”

  Lara jerked forward. “What noise?”

  “About a month ago, not long after I’d fallen asleep one night, a roaring noise, like a loud engine, jolted me awake. At first I thought I’d imagined it. But then I heard it again, even louder. As quickly as these bad knees would take me, I hobbled to my bedroom window and looked outside. At first, I didn’t see anything. But then I spotted two round lights in the darkness.”

  “Headlights?” Lara guessed.

  “Exactly.” Her aunt’s face looked flushed.

  “You’ll have to clue me in, Aunt Fran. I’m not sure where you’re headed with this.”

  “Lara, I think someone was trying to remove the boundary marker on my land. Someone with a truck, who could tie a length of chain around the front end and pull the marker out of the ground.”

  “But that’s, that’s…despicable! Who would do that?”

  “I don’t know.” Aunt Fran frowned. “But whoever it was, I feel sure he was hired by Theo.” She pushed aside her empty plate, her hand trembling.

  Ah, now the light was dawning. “Okay, so tell me if I’m getting this. If Theo could remove the marker and set it in a different spot, it would make your lot appear smaller—”

  Aunt Fran nodded. “And his own parcel larger.”

  “And then,” Lara went on, feeling her ire rise, “when he hired a surveyor to plot out his own property, he’d have proof, so-called, that his lot line extended way beyond where it actually does.”

  “That’s right.” Aunt Fran’s smile was grim. “Now you’re catching on.”

  “But would that fool a surveyor?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” her aunt said. “They’re professionals. I’m sure they’d know if a boundary marker had been disturbed. Plus, to make the ruse work, Theo would also have to move the corresponding marker at the front of the lot. The whole idea is insane.”

  Lara sat back, stunned. She didn’t like the implications. It was all too…diabolical.

  “Did you report it to the police?”

  Aunt Fran shook her head. “No, though I probably should have. At the time, it didn’t seem serious enough for that. For all I knew, it could have been just some rowdy kids out there with a few too many beers in them.”

  “I suppose,” Lara said doubtfully.

  Lara’s thoughts were swirling. A part of her was relieved that her aunt hadn’t reported it. The police already had Aunt Fran on their suspect list—mainly because of the proximity of the murder scene to her property line. And because of her ongoing dispute with Barnes. If they’d known about the truck incident, they might have taken a closer look at her, grilled her a bit more harshly.

  The thought made Lara shudder.

  “I could use a cup of hot tea,” she said, rising to clear the dishes. “How about you?”

  “I’d love one,” Aunt Fran said.

  Lara stuck the dishes in the sink to soak and put on the kettle. A minute later she delivered two mugs of steaming tea to the table and sat down with her aunt.

  “So,” she said, “do you suspect anyone in particular of trying to move that boundary marker? You said it would have been someone with a truck, right? Or access to one?”

  “Exactly. No one in particular comes to mind, but I feel certain Theo was behind it.” Aunt Fran stirred her tea absently. “He had a way of making people feel obligated to him. One of his employees could have done it on the threat that he’d lose his job if he didn’t.”

  A furry form surprised Lara by springing onto her lap. Munster rubbed his orange face against hers, his tail almost dangling in her tea.

  “Hey, I don’t need you stirring my tea, or getting scalded,” she teased him, pulling him out of harm’s way. She pushed her mug farther back. The cat issued a loud purr and settled in her lap.

  “I feel sorry for anyone who worked for Barnes,” Lara said. “Didn’t you say Heather Weston did at one time?”

  “Yes, she did clerical work for him. Hated it. And you might be interested to know that he once tried to retain your old friend Gideon Halley to represent him in a suit against one of his lumber suppliers.”

  Lara felt her cheeks grow warm. She wanted to protest that Gideon wasn’t her old friend—only a former classmate. But that would be a lie.

  Tiger Lara. She’d almost forgotten Gideon’s childhood nickname for her. He’d gotten it from Peter Pan, in which a character, a loyal friend to Peter, was named Tiger Lily. Lara’s red hair had prompted the nickname. It sure beat Carrot Top or Red Baroness, which is what other kids called her.

  Should she tell her aunt that she’d seen Gideon at the coffee shop earlier?

  No, it wasn’t important, she decided. It wasn’t likely she’d see him again, so why bother?

  “Tell me about the claim,” Lara said.

  “It was a frivolous one, and Gideon politely declined to take the case. Theo never forgot it. He bad-mouthed Gideon all over town, told everyone what a sleazy lawyer he was. When he realized he was only making himself look foolish, he finally stopped. Gideon took it all in stride, of course.”

  “Hey, anyway,” Lara said, anxious to change the subject. “What I started to tell you before is that…well, the cat I saw in the field today was Blue. That’s why I was so determined to follow her.” She didn’t know why she was hesitant to say the cat’s name, but there it was. She’d said it.

  Aunt Fran’s jaw slowly dropped. She reached over and placed her hand over Lara’s wrist. “Lara,” she said quietly. “When you were a little girl, do you remember seeing Blue?”

  “Of course! That’s why I couldn’t believe she was still here. Aunt Fran, it has to be her. She knows me. She recognizes my voice.”

  For a long moment, her aunt held her gaze. Her voice was gentle. “Lara, I want you to listen to me. When you were a girl, you were the only one who ever saw Blue. We—your mom, dad, and I—simply assumed she was your imaginary feline friend. She comforted you the way any child’s imaginary friend would.”

  Lara felt a jagged lump lodge in her throat. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me you never saw her?”

  Aunt Fran sat back in her chair. “That’s right,” she said. Lara started to object but her aunt held up a hand. “Think about this. Do you remember ever feeding her? Or brushing her?”

  “I—” Lara began, but then stopped. “I guess I just assumed you did all that. I was a kid, Aunt Fran. Adults took care of stuff like that.”

  Didn’t they?

  Her aunt’s smile was achingly sweet. “But you fed my other cats, didn’t you?” she pointed out. “Every day after school you gave the
m a treat. You made sure their water was fresh.”

  Okay, wait a minute, Lara thought. This is crazy. Blue was never imaginary. She was a real, flesh and blood feline.

  She tried to remember a time when she’d held Blue, or stroked her lush fur.

  She couldn’t, except…well, there was that one night, when Lara was seven or eight, she’d given her mom some lip. In exchange, she’d lost her TV privileges for a week. Furious at her mom, she’d thrown a minor hissy, for which she was sent to bed early.

  Lara had cried herself to sleep that night. At some point during the wee hours, she’d been awakened by a soft form pressing against her foot. When she’d sat up and squinted into the darkness, she’d realized that it was Blue. Lara had reached out to her, but the cat had remained still, calming Lara with her presence. Almost immediately Lara had drifted back to sleep, and in the morning Blue had been gone.

  But she’d been there. She had.

  She felt Munster stir. The cat yawned, hopped off her lap, and then padded over to check out the food dishes.

  Lara pasted on a smile, but she knew it went flat. “You know, maybe you’re right. Maybe it was Bootsie I saw with Darryl.”

  Aunt Fran nodded, but the worry lines in her kind face deepened. “You’ve been under a lot of stress, Lara. You uprooted your life to drive up here and help me. Look at all the work you’ve done in only a few days. Maybe it was too much all at once.”

  “I wanted to do it,” Lara said testily, feeling her throat tighten. “Like I said before—I’m only twenty-seven. A little work isn’t going to—”

  A ping from her cell phone interrupted her.

  Lara scooped up her cell. “It’s Sherry,” she said. “Excuse me for a sec.” She tapped the text and read it, feeling the blood drain from her face.

  Lara set down her cell phone and looked at her aunt. “Aunt Fran, you’re not going to believe this. Glen Usher is dead.”

  Chapter 18

  Lara read the text aloud to her aunt:

  “‘Police found Glen Usher dead in his car. Medication overdose. Possible suicide, cops not sure. Poor guy.’”

  “Oh my,” Aunt Fran said, touching her fingertips to her lips. “Poor Glen, indeed.”

  “I didn’t know him at all,” Lara said. “But I feel really bad about this. I can’t help putting some of the blame on Barnes. He was the one who tossed Glen out of his apartment.” She sent a quick text back to Sherry and set her phone on the table.

  “That much is true,” her aunt said, looking somewhat dazed by the news. She shook her head. “Keep in mind, though—Glen’s had a long history of ill will with just about everyone in town. Wherever he went, he quickly wore out his welcome. Oh, listen to me—I’m already speaking of the poor man in the past tense.”

  But he is past tense, Lara thought, then scolded herself. What a terrible way to think of a person.

  All at once, she felt immensely sad. She’d been in Whisker Jog barely three days. In that short span of time, two people her aunt knew had died—one violently. Lara was beginning to feel as if she’d brought bad luck to the entire town, not only to her aunt.

  Her thoughts going back to Glen, she remembered what Mary had said about him.

  “I forgot to mention this,” Lara told her aunt, “but when I was at the crafts store today, I talked to Mary Newman. Let me tell you, that is one person who did not care for Glen Usher. In fact, she told me she wanted him thrown out of the classics book club. From what she said, it sounded like Glen had a major crush on her. He used to pass little notes to her with song titles written on them.” She explained what Mary had said about songs with the name Mary in the titles.

  Aunt Fran sat back in her chair. She looked troubled. “That bothers me, Lara. Passing silly notes might seem like an innocent thing. But if Mary told him to stop and he didn’t, then he was crossing a line.”

  “I agree,” Lara said. “I don’t think she wanted Chris to find out, either. I think she was afraid he’d punch Glen in the teeth or something.”

  Aunt Fran was silent for a long time, then she pushed off her chair and took hold of her cane. “You know what’s sad? Glen was actually a smart man. But somewhere along the way, his emotional growth got stunted. He never learned to be an adult or take on adult responsibilities. It was truly a waste of a good mind.” Her eyes brimming with tears, she picked up her mug and started to inch toward the sink.

  “Leave that, Aunt Fran.” Lara quickly drained her own mug. “I’ll wash it with the dishes.”

  “I’ll do the dishes,” her aunt said abruptly. “I’ll have to do them after you’re gone, won’t I?”

  Lara felt something akin to a boulder drop inside her stomach. “I…I know. Of course, that’s true. But while I’m here, can’t I do the chores? It’ll give you a chance to rest your knees.”

  Aunt Fran turned and dropped back into her chair. She set down the mug and then covered her face with one hand. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, Lara. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I must sound like an ingrate.”

  “No, you don’t,” Lara said, fighting back her own tears. She went over and slipped an arm around her aunt’s shoulders. “We’re both on edge. My future is in limbo. A killer is still out there. I don’t know how to help with the cats. I—”

  “Lara, stop,” Aunt Fran said. “Stop right now. You’ve done more for me in the few days you’ve been here than anyone has ever done for me. I will never be able to thank you for pulling me out of the dark hole I’d sunk into.”

  “But I’ve hardly done anything,” Lara whined. And there’s so much more to do.

  “That’s not true.” She pointed at Lara’s chair. “Sit for a minute. Listen.” She held up one finger. “Can you hear it?”

  Reluctantly, Lara sank back onto her chair. “What am I supposed to hear?”

  “You tell me.”

  Lara was puzzled. What was her aunt talking about?

  She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath. And another. She felt her aunt’s gaze on her, but she kept her eyes shut.

  After a minute or so, Lara realized something. Compared to only a few days ago, the house had the feel, the essence, of a real home. The cats were more relaxed, more at ease in their surroundings. Their coats were brushed, their dishes clean.

  It was as if they knew they didn’t have to compete for attention.

  The sound she heard was peace. The contentment of a happy household.

  Lara opened her eyes and looked at her aunt. “I think I get it,” she said, her voice a choked whisper. “It’s the way things are supposed to be.”

  Her aunt nodded. “That’s right. And it’s because of you.”

  Lara started to shake her head in protest when a slight movement caught her eye. A furry black face with a white ’stache was eyeing them from the doorway to the large parlor. His sleek body was taut, ready to flee at the slightest sound. How long had he been there?

  The expression on her aunt’s face told Lara she’d spotted him, too.

  “I see it, but I can’t believe it,” Aunt Fran whispered.

  Lara remained as still as she could. Aunt Fran’s face shone with a mixture of awe and delight.

  Minutes passed, and then Aunt Fran sucked in a breath.

  Ballou took a step forward, then another. He’d crossed the threshold into the hallway adjacent to the kitchen.

  “He wants to come in here,” Lara said in a soft voice.

  Aunt Fran nodded, her eyes fixed on the cat.

  Still wary, Ballou moved a few steps closer to the kitchen. He craned his sleek black head around, peering toward the food bowls near the sink.

  “I think he’s hungry,” Aunt Fran whispered.

  Lara felt her heart race. She wanted Ballou to feel safe here, to know that he was loved. This was real progress.

  Ballou made an odd brrrpp sound, then padded slowly into the kitchen. He shot a look at his human companions—just to be sure they planned to stay put. One wrong move and he’d probably flee the scene. But
apparently he felt reassured, because he licked his lips and moved toward the nearest food bowl.

  Lara and Aunt Fran both clapped soundlessly as they watched the cat gobble from the bowl of kitty kibble. The look of joy on her aunt’s face warmed Lara’s insides.

  After he finished eating, Ballou licked one paw in preparation for a post-dinner bath. And then, as if suddenly remembering where he was, he turned, looked at the humans, and bolted from the room.

  “He’s going back upstairs,” Aunt Fran said, laughter in her voice. “Oh, that just made my day. You’re a miracle worker, Lara. I honestly believe that.”

  Lara smiled, but she didn’t feel like a miracle worker. “I didn’t do anything, Aunt Fran. He probably got used to my scent from secretly sleeping in my room—if that’s what he’s been doing. He must’ve been hungry enough to risk eating in our presence. By now he has to know we’re not going to hurt him.”

  Aunt Fran sobered. “Look at us. Rejoicing over Ballou’s progress when poor Glen died alone in his car. I wonder how long he’d been there.”

  “I don’t know. Sounds like Sherry didn’t know much, either. By tomorrow I’m sure the news will be all over town.”

  “Medication overdose,” Aunt Fran said pensively. “I’m afraid it does sound like Glen might have taken his own life. The way he lived—he didn’t have much of a future, poor fellow.”

  “Did he have any family?” Lara asked.

  “None that I know of. His folks died when he was young. I don’t think he had any siblings. Glen was the quintessential loner.”

  Lara insisted on doing the dishes. This time she wasn’t taking no for an answer. She shooed Aunt Fran into the living room to watch TV for a while.

  After the dishes were washed, Lara replenished the cats’ food and water bowls. Fatigue was beginning to tug at her. If she flopped into her favorite chair in the large parlor, she’d probably conk out.

  Instead, she went about the task of scooping the litter boxes. She was getting so that she could do it in her sleep. Tomorrow she’d change and wash all the boxes, leaving them freshly scrubbed for Aunt Fran.