Crossing the Lion: A Reigning Cats & Dogs Mystery

by Cynthia Baxter

  “Vegan, actually.”

  Missy rolled her eyes. “It’s always something with you, Brock, isn’t it?”

  Glowering back at his sister, he replied, “I don’t know that I’d classify a healthy and socially responsible way of eating as ‘something.’”

  “Personally, I couldn’t live without meat,” Townie interjected. As if to make his point, he plucked the largest Cornish hen off the platter.

  “Personally, I couldn’t live without planet earth,” Brock countered. “And if everyone who lives on it doesn’t start behaving more responsibly—and that includes eating more responsibly—there’s not going to be much of a planet left. Then, of course, there are the obvious health benefits of giving up destructive practices like smoking and eating dead animals and torturing one’s liver with alcohol—”

  “Brock, Missy, I think we’ve had enough,” Charlotte interrupted in a low, controlled voice. “I would appreciate it if you would all put your personal agendas aside at this extremely difficult time.”

  A heavy silence fell over the table, one that was interrupted only by the pinging of silverware as the serving platters continued to be passed around. I was relieved that one of them turned out to be piled high with carrots, broccoli, and several other vegetables that presumably qualified for Brock’s A-list. Or V-list, in this instance.

  “So what do you do, Jessie?” Townie finally asked in a congenial voice. He paused as he stuck a fork into the ill-fated bird on his plate. “Career-wise, I mean.”

  “I’m a veterinarian,” I said.

  “A vet!” Brock exclaimed. “Wow, that must be great. I considered going to vet school myself at one point.”

  Barely removing her lips from the edge of her wineglass, Missy muttered, “And architecture school and computer-graphics school and chiropractic school …”

  “I’ve heard it’s even harder to get into vet school than medical school,” Townie remarked, clearly impressed by my résumé. “Where did you attend?”

  “Cornell.”

  “Ah. A fine school,” Townie said with an approving nod. “Of course, I’m a Harvard man myself. At least, undergraduate. Got my MBA at Wharton.” Reaching for the platter of veggies, he added, “Where’s your office?”

  “I don’t have an office,” I replied. “At least, not the usual kind. I actually work out of a—”

  I was interrupted by a loud thumping that sounded as if it was coming from above. Automatically I looked up, afraid that something large and dangerous was about to fall on my head. But I saw nothing but a ceiling.

  Confused, I glanced around the table. Yet with the exception of Betty and Winston, who both looked surprised, no one seemed to react.

  Probably ancient plumbing, I decided. After all, that was something I had experience with myself, thanks to the more-than-a-century-old cottage that had formerly been my home.

  Not wanting to be rude, I decided to forge ahead.

  “Anyway, I work out of a van,” I went on. “A clinic-on-wheels. I have everything I need right inside it, and I travel all over Long Island, making house calls—”

  This time, it wasn’t just the thumping that stopped me. It was the distinct sound of wailing.

  It almost sounded like an animal. But I knew animals well enough to recognize that this was a human voice.

  “What is that?” I demanded. “Is someone hurt?”

  “It’s nothing,” Brock said, without bothering to look up from the potatoes he was shoveling into his mouth. “Ignore it.”

  It certainly didn’t sound like nothing to me. Once again I looked over at Betty, who appeared to be as puzzled as I was. But I decided not to pursue it, since none of the Merrywoods seemed the least bit concerned.

  “So tell me, Jessie,” Townie said, once again focusing on me. “How well did you know the old man?”

  He spoke in his usual tone, which I’d started to characterize as forced joviality with a side order of lockjaw. But I was pretty sure I detected an edge lurking underneath. I chalked it up to competitiveness over our respective educational pedigrees.

  “Actually, I didn’t know Linus at all,” I replied. “But he was a good friend of Winston’s, and he and Betty asked me to join them on this visit.” I glanced at them both to make sure my answer met with their approval.

  “That’s right,” Betty agreed. “Jessica is like a daughter to Winston and me, so we brought her along for moral support.”

  Just then, a particularly loud roll of thunder set the entire house to trembling. In fact, it sounded as if a bowling alley had moved in next door. Through the window, flashes of lightning continued to illuminate the sky.

  Betty glanced around warily, then in a barely audible voice muttered, “And I think we’re going to need all the support we can get.”

  “Each and every one of us needs whatever support we can get,” Missy chimed in, clearly having heard what she hadn’t been meant to hear. “Especially from one another. Dad’s passing is such a terrible thing. And so unexpected! It’s not as if any of us had any warning. The man had never been sick a day in his life—”

  She was interrupted by more flashing lights and, a few seconds later, another round of booming thunder.

  And then everything went dark. Or at least darker.

  I glanced upward and saw that the tiny bulbs in the chandelier had gone out, leaving only the flickering candles to keep us from sitting in total blackness.

  “Oh, no!” Charlotte cried. “Just as I feared. We’ve lost the electricity—again.”

  “Oooh!” Missy squealed. “This is kind of spooky!”

  My thoughts exactly. Even though I don’t think of myself as someone who scares easily, being stranded on Solitude Island in the dark with the Addams Family was enough to give anyone the heebie-jeebies.

  “Darn!” Scarlett cried. “And my cellphone is about to die. I was planning to leave it on the charger overnight. Now I won’t be able to get any calls!”

  Or make any, I thought uneasily. Including those all-important 911 calls.

  “Cell-phone service is bad enough on this island that it’s not going to make much of a difference, anyway,” Townie grumbled. “There’s no Internet service, either. Coming to this island is like going back in time a hundred years.”

  “It’s just as well,” Brock interjected. “Cell phones and computers and BlackBerries are destroying civilization as we know it. People don’t talk to the people they’re with anymore. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen two people sitting in a restaurant together, each of them talking to somebody else on a cell phone.”

  “I didn’t know you went to restaurants,” Missy shot back. “Aren’t they simply tools of the proletariat?”

  Brock pushed away his plate. “Now I’ve had enough.” Glowering at his sister, he muttered, “And I’m not just talking about the food.”

  He stood up and started toward the door when Charlotte called after him, “What about dessert?”

  “He said he was full, Mother,” Missy said, her bottom lip protruding sullenly. “Let him go.”

  “Actually,” Winston said, clearing his throat loudly, “if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to go to my room, as well. It’s been a long, stressful day, and I suspect that tomorrow will be just as demanding.”

  “Of course,” Charlotte said. “Jessica, I’ve put you in a quiet room at the end of the north wing. You’ll have that part of the house to yourself until Harry Foss arrives. His favorite room is just a few doors down from yours.”

  Turning to Betty and Winston, she added, “I’ve chosen a lovely room for you two. It’s in the south wing and has a wonderful view of the bay, as well as its own bathroom. Scarlett is right across the hall if you need anything. As for the children, they’re all staying in their old rooms. They’re right near mine, in the east section of the house. I tried to spread everyone out so you can enjoy some privacy. I’ll have Jives and Gwennie escort all of you to your rooms.”

  “I’m sure we can find th
em on our own,” I assured her. I didn’t see any reason to inconvenience either Jives or Gwennie, especially since I was pretty sure I could find my way around. “Just point us in the right direction.”

  Frankly, I was more than ready for a little downtime. And it wasn’t just the complicated interactions that apparently went on in this household day and night making me feel that way.

  I suddenly missed Nick and my animals terribly. I could picture Max trotting around Betty and Winston’s house with his favorite rubber pink poodle in his mouth, looking for his favorite playmate, and Lou lying by the front door, making little whimpering noises that said he missed me as much as I missed him. I imagined Cat waiting for me on the softest cushion Betty owned, which she’d put in the corner near the fireplace, and Tinkerbell meowing unhappily.… I wondered why I hadn’t just thrown caution to the wind and tucked them all into my suitcase.

  With the lack of electricity and spotty cell service, I wasn’t even going to be able to call home and wish them all good night. At the moment, my regular life, not to mention the rest of the world, seemed far, far away.

  • • •

  Betty, Winston, and I tromped up a tremendous staircase that was covered in red carpeting and edged with an ornate wood-carved banister. It reminded me of the one in the mansion Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler moved into after they married. But then, according to the directions we’d received, it was time for us to part ways, with Betty and Winston heading off to the right and me going to the left.

  “Good night,” I said, holding the candelabra I’d brought along higher so they could see my face. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Actually, I’m heading back over to Long Island early in the morning,” Winston said. “As we were getting up from the table just now, Charlotte told me her lawyer, Oliver Withers, set up a meeting with someone from the medical examiner’s office in Riverton first thing. She asked me to go with him.”

  “It’s kind of you to be so helpful,” Betty commented, squeezing his arm.

  “I’m just glad there’s something I can do,” he replied. “There aren’t many people I’ve been friends with for thirty years.”

  “And I was just getting to know him,” Betty added. “Good night, Jessica.”

  As we headed off in opposite directions, I found myself alone, shuffling through a long, shadowy hallway, guided only by the dim candlelight. I realized that I was walking around with a potential weapon.

  Dr. Popper did it in the hallway … with the candlestick, I thought with amusement. Or maybe that should be Dr. Purple.

  When I heard the floor creak, I assumed it was simply because of the wind whipping around the house—It whooped and hollered so loudly that I decided it was what was responsible for the strange noises I’d heard during dinner.

  This big old house really does feel haunted, I thought. It’s a good thing I don’t believe in—

  “A-a-gh!” I yelled as something large jumped in front of me. I jerked backward, the sudden motion causing hot wax to drip onto my hand. That caused me to let out an even louder yelp.

  “Ow!” I cried, not sure if the sound I’d just made was the result of fright or simply good old-fashioned pain.

  Still, by that point, I’d realized that what had crossed my path so abruptly wasn’t a demon or a spirit or any other creature that hailed from a world other than this one. It was a man.

  Even though it was a dark, rainy night in November, he was dressed for cocktails on the terrace. He wore white linen pants that miraculously didn’t have a single wrinkle in them, a phenomenon I didn’t believe I’d ever witnessed before. His shirt was also white, but it appeared to be made of nubby raw silk. It looked as if Armani or someone of his caliber had designed it: It fit the man snugly in the torso yet had sleeves that were expertly cut to show off how nicely the fabric draped. His clothes also showed off his trim, muscular physique, no doubt the result of long, grueling hours at a gym.

  As I held my candelabra up higher, I saw that he was quite handsome, with thick blond hair that even in the pale light reminded me of my favorite Crayola back in elementary school. Its unlikely shade made me suspect that the folks who made Lady Clairol had recently launched a Lord Clairol line. His eyes were also unusually rich in color. Even in the dim candlelight I could see they were a bright shade of turquoise.

  Mother Nature—or Bausch & Lomb? I couldn’t help wondering.

  It was only after I noticed how good-looking he was that I became aware that, for some reason, he was gripping a tennis racket in one hand. The effect of his country-club-esque sports equipment, combined with his tennis whites, made him look like someone Jay Gatsby would invite to one of his parties.

  “Did I startle you?” he asked, looking surprised.

  “Heavens, no,” I replied sarcastically. “I was totally anticipating that someone was going to leap out of the shadows at me.”

  He laughed, revealing a set of perfect white teeth that gleamed even more brightly than the fabrics he wore. “I like to keep people on their toes.”

  “You must be Taggart,” I concluded. Which meant he was Linus and Charlotte’s oldest child, according to what Winston had told me on the boat ride over. The son who already had one or two marriages under his belt, even though he was probably only a few years older than I was.

  “One and the same.” He grinned. “Call me Tag. The old man was the only one who ever called me Taggart. Which leads me to the obvious question: Who are you?”

  “My name is Jessie Popper,” I said. “I’m here with some friends, Betty and Winston Farnsworth. They’re also friends of your parents. Your mother asked them to stay with her for a few days, and they asked me to join them.”

  “Same reason I’m stuck here, putting up with the entire Merrywood clan,” Tag said breezily. “It’s what’s known as a command performance. First the old man’s big birthday bash, and now this.”

  His comment startled me more than his abrupt appearance, since he sounded as if he didn’t particularly want to be around his family, even for his own father’s funeral.

  Wanting to change the subject, I said, “Are you planning to play some tennis tonight?” I gestured toward his racket with the hand that wasn’t getting an impromptu paraffin treatment.

  “What, this?” He glanced at the racket with surprise, almost as if he’d forgotten he was carrying it. “I found this in that hall closet.” He pointed to a closed door a few yards away. “When we were kids, we always cleaned our rooms by stashing most of our junk in there. I haven’t looked in it in ages, so I figured I’d see if I’d left behind anything good. This was actually a decent racket at one time. I thought I’d bring it home with me when I finally get out of this godforsaken place.”

  Good thing he happens to be wearing his tennis whites, I thought wryly.

  “Speaking of leaving, when did you arrive?” I asked. I realized I sounded as if I was giving him the third degree, so I fibbed, “You were missed at dinner.”

  “Ha! I sincerely doubt that, but thanks for saying so.” Flashing his pearly whites at me once again, Tag added, “I had some pressing business in the city, and I just got here a few minutes ago. Good thing the ferry has enough room for my car, since there’s no way I’d feel comfortable leaving it on the other side of the bay, completely unattended.

  “See?” he added, gesturing toward a window at the end of the hall. “That’s my little roadster, right out there.”

  Dutifully, I walked over and glanced outside. Despite the rain and fog, I could see a cluster of cars: Winston’s Rolls, a shiny black BMW I suspected belonged to Missy and Townie, and a dilapidated clunker that had to be Brock’s. But I got the feeling the one Tag wanted me to notice was the gleaming cherry-red Ferrari. I’m no car expert, but I was pretty sure that thing was the ultimate in boy toys.

  I also had a sense that swooning over Tag’s choice of transportation was the best way to rack up a few brownie points.

  “Wow!” I exclaimed, doing my best to sound sincer
e, even though I could never get that excited about a vehicle that didn’t come equipped with its own X-ray machine. “That’s some set of wheels! I bet you—”

  I froze at the sound of the same wailing that had erupted during dinner. As if that wasn’t enough to make my blood run cold, loud, gloomy organ music filled the hallway a couple of seconds later.

  “What is that?” I demanded, hoping I’d get a more satisfying answer than last time.

  Tag chuckled. “Don’t worry, it’s only Aunt Alvira.”

  I could feel my eyes growing as round as two tennis balls. “Elvira—as in Elvira, Mistress of the Dark? That creepy character from the horror movies?”

  “Not quite.” Grinning, Tag explained, “That’s Alvira—with an A.”

  “You have an aunt living in the house?” I asked, surprised.

  “Yup, up on the top floor,” he replied. “She’s my father’s sister. She lives all alone up there, where she can’t get into any trouble.”

  I blinked. “You keep your aunt locked away in an attic?”

  He laughed again. “You’d have to meet her yourself to understand. But that’s not likely to happen. Aunt Alvira is—well, let’s just say she’s not very sociable.”

  As if to drive his point home, the mournful wail from above cut through the house once more. Eerie organ music followed, this time a complicated melody in the same minor key.

  Nervously, I said, “This strikes me as a bizarre new twist on the concept of mother-in-law apartments.”

  Tag looked deep into my eyes. “You’ll find that a lot of things here on Solitude Island aren’t the way they are anywhere else.”

  I was about to ask him what he meant when he gave his tennis racket a few swings. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a very long day. I’m ready to hit the hay. Catch you later, Jessie.”

  With that, he turned. I watched him walk down the hall toward the stairs I’d just come up, still swinging his racket as he faded into the shadows.

  As I continued toward my room, I realized for the first time that I, too, was wiped out. Still using nothing but flickering candles to light the way, I followed the directions Charlotte had given me, going all the way to the door at the very end of the hall.