That “further” didn’t escape me. A couple of times since he’d hired me, I’d been kind of involved in a little unpleasantness at the Tabby. Okay. I’d been directly involved in some definitely unpleasant happenings. I took his warning seriously. I liked my job and I had no intention of letting Dorothy’s questions about Emily’s death mess up my future employment. I decided to call Pete at the first opportunity and to turn the letter and the entire matter over to the police. If there was anything more to be learned about Emily Alden, it was none of my business. I figuratively washed my hands of the whole thing.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Pennington,” I assured him, stuffing the letter into my purse. “I’m sure Pete can straighten this out. There’s no reason to involve the school at all.” And in my mind, there really wasn’t—except for the fact that Dorothy was one of my students. I’d just tell her that I’d teach her all I could about interview skills, investigative reporting and TV production . . . all strictly by the book. But as to actual investigation of Emily’s “accident,” she’d do well to let the police handle it—and to accept their conclusions about it.
I meant every word, and after I walked with my boss back to the elevator, watched the door close behind him and saw the lighted arrow pointing up to the second floor, I turned back toward my desk—where the swirling colors and pinpoints of light had already begun in the shoe.
I wanted to look away, to close my eyes, but I didn’t—couldn’t—do either. I moved slowly closer to the desk, watching the picture form.
The white cat, its nose pressed against a windowpane, stared at me. As I watched, the cat’s face moved closer—closer—until all I saw was the eyes. Then something changed. Those eyes were no longer green, no longer featured the familiar cat-striped pupils. They were no longer cat’s eyes at all. Peering through the window was a pair of blue eyes. Cerulean blue eyes.
Thankfully, the clatter of feet running up the stairs, the chatter of voices interrupted the disturbing vision. It blinked away and the black shoe once again became just an old display piece. But the thought of those haunting blue eyes didn’t go away.
I sat down quickly, busied myself with rearranging papers on my desk, lining pens and pencils in a row, willing myself to focus on the day’s work ahead, and on my very recent decision to turn everything over to the police to handle. Especially that letter in my purse.
“Lee?”
I looked up and faced a smiling Dorothy. “Yes? Good morning, Dorothy. You look happy today.”
“I feel pretty good. I talked with my stepmother last night. She sold Emily’s VW and the new owner found Emily’s phone between the seats. She’s sending it to me. Paula said she’d thought the only thing Emily had left in the car was the dirty old boots that were in the trunk, and she’d bagged those up and left them in the closet.”
“Did your stepmother say anything about what was on the phone?”
“She didn’t have the charger, so she hadn’t tried to look at it. I don’t think she wanted to anyway. She wouldn’t want to see pictures of Emily, messages.” The smile had disappeared. “You know, I’m not sure I want to either.”
“We really need to see what’s on it,” I said, letting that “we” slip out. “I mean,” I corrected, “you need to look at it and if there’s anything the police should see, you need to call them.”
“Okay.” She backed away from the desk, looking puzzled. “I’ll tell you as soon as I get the phone from Paula.”
I nodded, and returned my attention to the pens and pencils.
Letting go of all this isn’t going to be easy.
I managed to clear my mind of things that didn’t belong in the classroom, and before long we were all productively involved in watching an instructive video on digital editing. I followed up with a brisk question and answer session. Things were going well. I was pleased with the class—and with myself as instructor. Making the transition from my years of in-front-of-the-camera background in TV to the role of educator in the craft had not been an entirely smooth one. I reminded myself to be grateful to Mr. Pennington for the opportunity he’d given me, and to stop getting myself involved in things which could damage this almost-new career.
The thought of the letter I’d so recently stuffed into my purse intruded on my introspection. The printed words were more frightening than I’d let on to Mr. Pennington or maybe even to myself. I’d promised to turn the thing over to Pete and I could hardly wait to do it, to get rid of it, to disassociate myself from other people’s problems.
But how was I supposed to disassociate myself from the blue-eyed cat thing, the trowel in the dirt, the shoe slide show and the body in the bathtub?
CHAPTER 20
I was in a hurry to leave the Tabby that afternoon, realizing that the letter had me more spooked than I cared to admit. I practically sprinted across the parking lot to my designated space. I even peeked inside the car windows before unlocking the doors, glad at that moment there was no backseat. At least I wouldn’t have to replay that old nightmare of looking up into the rearview mirror and seeing someone looking back at me.
It was Aunt Ibby’s late day at the library so I knew I’d be alone in the big house for an hour or two. O’Ryan waited for me inside the back door and I scooped him up in my arms, burying my face in his warm fur. “I’m happy to see you, boy,” I whispered, and carried him all the way up the two flights of stairs. If he was surprised by the unusual display of affection, he didn’t show it, just snuggled against my shoulder, purring loudly.
Once inside, with the door securely locked, I put O’Ryan down thinking that he’d make his regular supper time dash for the kitchen. But he didn’t. He just sat there, looking up at me. “It’s okay,” I said, stooping to pat his head. “I’m all right. A little bit scared is all. Don’t worry. Come on.” I led the way down the hall to the kitchen with my big yellow pal close behind. Even after I’d served his Chicken Liver Pate in Cream Gravy with Peas and Carrots, he glanced up and down from his bowl, keeping me in his line of vision.
I hung my jacket on the back of one of the Lucite chairs, pulled my phone from my purse and texted Pete. Mr. Pennington got an anonymous note saying the nosy teacher should butt out. Call me.
“It’ll be okay,” I said aloud, more to myself than to the cat. “The cops will handle it.” It didn’t take long for Pete to respond. I hadn’t thought it would.
“What have you gotten yourself into?” came the cop voice. “Exactly what does the note say? Never mind. I’m coming over right now.” Softer voice. “Are you all right?”
“I am,” I said, unexpected tears gathering at the sound of his voice. “But I’m scared. A little bit.”
“I’m coming over right now,” he said again. “Is your aunt with you?”
“No. I’m alone.”
O’Ryan looked up. “Meeow?”
“I mean, I’m with O’Ryan.”
“Okay. On my way.”
It was one of those times when the clock seems to stand still. I must have looked at it a hundred times just to be sure it was running. But the Kit Kat’s coordinated tail and eyes continued to move reassuringly back and forth and before twenty minutes had crept by, I heard Pete’s key in the lock. The cat and I met him at the door. He didn’t say anything, just held me for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was husky with concern.
“That sounded to me like some kind of threat. Is it?”
“I think it could be. It’s in the kitchen. Come on.” My purse was still on the table. I sat down and pulled the note out, handing it to Pete who sat across from me. “Mr. Pennington has hired private security,” I said, “and he gave everybody one of those ‘I’ve fallen and I can’t get up’ buttons. So I’d say he’s taking it seriously.”
He studied the paper, then laid it flat on the table. “Jesus, Lee, what the hell have you gotten yourself into this time? Do you have any idea what this is about?”
“I really don’t,” I said, “except that it has to be about Emily Al
den and I’ve already told you everything I know about that.”
“Let’s go over it again.” Cop voice. Notebook on the table. Pencil poised. “Start with when Dorothy asked you for help.”
I went over it all carefully, trying to remember every detail, every conversation, every observation since that first ride to the Howard Street Cemetery when Dorothy had told me why she’d taken my class. He took notes and occasionally asked a question, but I talked nearly nonstop for an hour, ending with the information Dorothy had given me about the phone call from her stepmother. “I told her that if there was anything on Emily’s phone that she thought was important, she should call the police.”
He finally put the notebook and pencil down, leaned back in his chair and looked at me for a long, silent moment. “You know,” he said, “there may be more going on here than I thought. You could be right about . . . some of it.”
“What about the note? The threat? What should I—we—do about that?”
“First of all, you’ll do what it said. Stop meddling and we’ll suggest that your aunt do the same. Stick to your cemetery project. Keep the relationship with Dorothy Alden on a student-teacher basis. I’ll touch base with her, have a talk with Pennington, check out that alarm system and get an analysis of this note.” He picked it up by the edges. “Got a gallon-sized plastic Baggie?”
“Sure,” I said, wishing I’d been more careful of the thing when I’d stuffed it into my purse. I got up and opened the plastic wrap, aluminum foil, waxed paper, plastic bag drawer. “Here you go. Want coffee?”
“Yeah. Of course. Got any food?” He carried the carefully bagged note into the bedroom.
I opened the freezer. “A three cheese pizza, a couple of beef pot pies, spinach soufflé, half a chocolate cake and the remains of that bottle of sangria from the other night,” I called.
“Sounds good.” He rejoined me in the kitchen
“Which one?”
He smiled. “All of it. I’m hungry.” He joined me at the kitchen counter and put his arms around my shoulders, pulling me close. “Don’t worry, babe. It’s going to be all right. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Just be careful. Don’t take any chances. Promise?”
“I promise.” I meant it too. “Oh” I said, remembering the cat-thing in the shoe. “I have one more vision to tell you about.”
“Shoot.”
I described the white cat looking through the window, almost the way it had in the other vision. “But then, the cat face—at least its eyes—changed. They turned into blue eyes. Human blue eyes. In a cat’s face. The same eyes Dorothy’s building superintendent has. His name is Dakota something.”
“Dakota Berman,” Pete said in his cop voice. “Already checked him out. He has a little juvie record. Nothing recent. Nothing real serious.”
I knew better than to ask any questions about Dakota Berman’s police record. “You start the coffee,” I said, “and I’ll start cooking—or thawing as the case may be.”
The meal turned out to be surprisingly tasty—or else we were both so hungry it just seemed that way. After dinner I asked Aunt Ibby to come upstairs. Pete’s warning to stop meddling applied to her as well as to me. I knew before I heard her knock on the kitchen door that following that advice was going to be easier said than done—for both of us.
My aunt, bearing a bottle of Kahlua “to perk up the coffee,” joined us at the table. “What’s going on? You two look kind of grim. Something wrong?”
“Not exactly,” Pete said, perking up his coffee, “but something to be concerned about.”
He explained about Mr. Pennington’s note and went into quite a lot of detail about the importance of both of us minding our own business.
“May I see the note?” she asked.
“Of course.” He disappeared into the bedroom and I heard one of the secret compartments of my antique bureau creak open. Aunt Ibby raised an eyebrow. “Must be important,” she said, “to rate being hidden.”
“It kind of is,” I agreed, as Pete came back into the room and laid the plastic-covered message in front of her.
She studied the words carefully, then looked up. “Did Rupert save the envelope this came in?”
“I don’t know yet,” Pete admitted. “I plan to ask him about it tomorrow. I’ll need to know a lot more about the circumstances of the delivery. Like a description of the messenger. Was it from a standard messenger service or just some guy off the street wanting to earn a couple of bucks.”
My aunt nodded, using her “wise old owl” look. “I’d bet on the latter.”
Pete persisted. “So may I count on your—uh—discretion in the matter?”
Aunt Ibby cocked her head to one side and perked up her own coffee. “You mean, like—keep your nose out of it, you meddlesome old biddy?”
“I wouldn’t have exactly put it that way.” Pete smiled. “But, well, yeah.”
“I’ll do my best,” she said. “But I do have a curious turn of mind, you know. And there are library books involved. I guess my niece told you about the soil sampling research both Emily and James were doing?”
“She did. And I’ll take it from here. You don’t need to help. Honestly.”
She put a finger to her lips. “I’ll be the soul of discretion. I promise. I’ll keep my nosiness within the confines of the public library. Okay?”
“Guess it’ll have to be,” he said. “And you, my snoopy girl detective, you’ll behave too?”
“I will,” I said, dumping a healthy slug of Kahlua into my cup. “To the best of my ability.”
Pete picked up the plastic-covered note and returned it to the bureau in the bedroom while Aunt Ibby finished her thoroughly perked-up coffee. She declared between that and the sangria, if she had another she wouldn’t be able to find her way home. She gave a fluttering wave of one hand, knocking her wineglass onto the floor. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said with a muffled giggle. Pete, returning from the bedroom, grabbed the dustpan and brush on his way past the broom closet and with what looked like one fluid motion, swept up the pieces, dumped them into the wastebasket and bowed in my aunt’s direction.
“May I walk you home, Miss Russell?” he said. Aunt Ibby, smiling happily, took his arm and they left via the kitchen door with O’Ryan close behind them. Pete returned within minutes.
“Looks like the cat has abandoned us for greener pastures.” He picked up our empty cups and carried them to the sink. “We’ve got the place all to ourselves.”
“Thanks for seeing her home,” I said. “I like being alone with you.” I put the cups into the dishwasher, then turned to face him.
“Me too.” He pulled me close. “I wish I could be with you every minute, so I wouldn’t worry about you so much.”
“I don’t mean to make you worry. Sometimes I just get myself into . . . situations.”
He smiled. “You sure do. Anyway, I’m with you tonight, so no worries.”
“No worries,” I agreed. I sighed happily, looking over his shoulder toward the window.
That damned white cat looked right back at me.
CHAPTER 21
A sharp intake of breath, a little squeak of a scream and I pulled away from Pete’s embrace. “Look,” I said in a half-whisper. “There.”
He whirled, pushing me behind him with one arm, and faced the window. “Oh. It’s okay, babe. It’s just a cat.”
“You see it too?”
“Sure. A big old gray cat.” He pulled me close again and smoothed my hair with a gentle hand. “Nothing to be afraid of. Probably just one of O’Ryan’s girlfriends checking on him.”
“She’s a white cat,” I murmured, close against his shoulder. “At night all cats are gray,” I paraphrased Franklin, “and I’m glad you see her too.”
“I get it.” He steered me away from the window and down the hall toward the living room. “You thought you were seeing things again, right?”
“Uh-huh. Sure did. Sorry to be so jumpy. Between the note and the blue-eyed ca
t monster thing . . .”
“I know. Come on. Let’s sit on the couch and relax and watch TV for a little while.” He reached for the remote. “I think we can catch the late news.”
A woodsy scene of trees and bushes filled the screen as the voice of Phil Archer, WICH-TV’s senior announcer, commented on the ongoing battle at City Hall. “Although all of the paperwork regarding the proposed shopping mall in the area known locally as the wild woods appears to be in order, some council members object to the continuation of the project due to environmental concerns. However, in an exclusive interview, the owner of the property has told WICH-TV that construction of the parking lot will proceed as planned with an official ground-breaking ceremony on Monday morning, despite the likelihood of protestors.”
“Oh boy,” Pete said, “guess we’ll be busy Monday keeping the tree-huggers and the mall lovers separated and out of the path of the road graders.”
A few more local stories preceded the weather report. Wanda predicted a cool but sunny Friday with the possibility of some rain on Saturday. Posing prettily in front of the large weather map, she pointed to a circular pattern close to the bottom of the screen. “We’re still keeping an eye on this tropical disturbance which has strengthened a bit since yesterday. Stayed tuned to WICH-TV for continuing updates. Tarot Time with River North is next. Bye for now!” With a dimple-flashing smile and the ever popular cleavage-exposing bow, Wanda waved good night to her many fans and River’s theme music began.
“Want to watch the scary movie?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. Today has been scary enough.”
“Okay.” He clicked off the TV and pulled me to my feet. “Want to go to bed?”
“Yes, please.”
We didn’t lose any time walking down the short hall and through the kitchen toward the bedroom. As Pete turned off the kitchen light, I stole a peek in the direction of the window. No cat. I was glad.
* * *
Sometimes morning comes too fast, even Friday morning. There was the usual dash to get ready for work, and once again I was thankful for a big house with plenty of bathrooms. (I opted for the pink-and-white one next to my childhood bedroom one flight downstairs.) We took time for a glass of juice apiece, orange for me, apple for him, and shared an English muffin slathered with peanut butter. After a quick good-bye kiss in the back hall, we headed for our respective cars.
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