Fear Familiar Bundle

by Caroline Burnes

  "Get that dog out of my house," Eleanor told the intruder, iron in her voice. "If anything is mistreated, it's that stupid poodle."

  "Oh, dear," Magdalena said, her breath coming in short gasps as she went after the quivering dog. "Poor Bowser. He can sniff the cats out, but he's never quite acquired the art of holding them at bay."

  She scooped the poodle into her arms once more and stroked him until he stopped shivering. "That's the boy," she whispered. "Such a good sniffer. You found the kitty."

  Eleanor's quick flash of temper disappeared at the sight of the little woman worrying over her poodle. Eleanor caught Peter's attention. "I owe you a dinner," she said, "and after this, I think even a homemade dessert should be included. I've never— "

  "So you did have the cat," Magdalena interrupted rounding on her as soon as the dog was quiet. "My sources are never wrong."

  "Ms. Duncan never denied that she had a cat," Peter interjected softly, "but as the animal's veterinarian, I can assure you that he's received only the best and kindest of care." Was Magdalena Caruso the person he needed to watch?

  "You're a vet!" Mrs. Caruso looked him up and down. "Don't tell me you were here making a house call." Her voice was loaded with sarcasm.

  "You, madam, are a hard case," Peter said, grabbing the older woman's arm again and propelling her out of the bedroom, down the hall and to the front door. "Leave immediately, or Ms. Duncan will press charges of unlawful entering, assault with…a deadly poodle, creating a public disturbance and whatever else it takes to get rid of you."

  The short woman drew herself up indignantly. "I'm not afraid of the law— I've been arrested before. Sometimes when you believe in something, you have to pay a price. You haven't escaped without suffering, have you?" Her green eyes shot like a laser into Peter.

  "You, lady, are a nut case," Peter said, easing her into the hallway. He had to get her out of here, there was an off chance that she might remember him. "Take your poodle and be gone. I have a lot of sympathy for the SPCA, but zealots can be very dangerous, no matter how worthy their cause."

  "Are you really a vet?" Magdalena asked. There was a new hint of softness in her tone.

  The suddenness of the question stopped Peter. "Yes," he said. "My clinic is over on Pitchton Road, about twelve blocks from here." He couldn't afford to appear ill at ease.

  "And you guarantee that the cat isn't being injured?"

  "Ms. Duncan found the cat with a catheter in his leg. She brought him in to my clinic this morning and had it removed. We believe the cat might have escaped from a research lab, but we have no intention of using him for any experiments."

  The brightest of smiles touched Magdalena Caruso's face. "Once I saw the two of you, I couldn't believe that you'd use an animal inhumanely. I'm seldom wrong about people, you know. But I had to check it out. I must say, the cat looked fine and all. So glad when a mission turns out this way. God bless you!" She started down the hallway, her short, plump body moving with great speed and determination.

  In the apartment again, Peter closed the door, leaning against it as he threw the lock. "Eleanor, you need a bodyguard." He couldn't swear that the little scene hadn't been deliberately constructed for his benefit, but had been unable to detect any hint of a relationship between the two women. He thought about confronting Eleanor with his questions outright, but decided that time was his best ally. If she was a member of a radical animal group that went around robbing labs and freeing animals, he'd find out soon enough. And if she had news of Arnold Evans, well, that would make his future that much easier. He had only to watch and wait.

  Eleanor sank onto the sofa, a wry grin on her face. "My telephone never even rings. I swear it. Ever since that cat came into my life, I feel as if I've stepped into the middle of a circus."

  Peter looked up, eyes widened with anxiety. "How did that woman know you had a cat?" he asked suddenly. "Does she live in this building?"

  "Not to my knowledge." Eleanor felt a sudden lurch in the pit of her stomach. "This is a big apartment complex. She could live somewhere around, but I've never seen her."

  "How about the neighbors? Any of them know about Familiar?"

  Eleanor shook her head. Each question was a little more frightening. "Peter, the two times I've brought Familiar into the building, he's been tucked in my coat. I'm sure no one noticed him."

  "How did that woman know he was here?" He went into the kitchen and returned with a telephone directory. Looking under the C's, he drew a blank. "There's not a single Caruso listed," he said. He flipped to the business section, then hurriedly dialed a number.

  "SPCA?" Eleanor asked.

  He nodded. "Yes," he said into the phone, "I'd like to speak with one of your workers, maybe a volunteer, Mrs. Magdalena Caruso."

  There was a pause, and she saw him draw his eyebrows together. He replaced the receiver.

  "She doesn't exist," Eleanor said weakly. The whole business was really beginning to frighten her. It wasn't just the strange little woman with her poodle, it was the whole thing. The attack, her apartment, the way her life had suddenly spun out of her control.

  "Oh, yes," he answered, "she exists. She 'retired' from the SPCA two years ago, when she was arrested for dropping cans of paint onto the cars of research scientists. She's an activist against the use of animals in research with a group called the Animal Rescue Squad Arsenal. A radical group."

  "How did she get my name?" Eleanor asked. "Who would have told her that I would hurt an animal?"

  "I don't mean to frighten you, Eleanor, but there are some very strange things happening around you." If she was faking it, she deserved an Oscar.

  "As if I couldn't tell that!" She stood up and began to pace the room. "Maybe she got my name from your files. I mean the cat was hurt and all, and I brought him in. Maybe…"

  "I locked my office. My receptionist was gone." He paused. "I'm willing to bet anything that she didn't get the information from my office, but first thing Monday I'll talk with Lucille."

  "And until then?" Eleanor felt her heart pounding in her chest. "I'm afraid to get in my car, afraid to leave my apartment. There's a whole crowd of people out there— " she swept out her hand "— who know more about what's going on in my life than I do."

  "Before Monday, we need to have a little chat with Familiar," Peter said.

  As if he'd expected a cue, the black cat strolled into the living room, dug his claws into the carpet and stretched, a perfectly glorious stretch.

  "Meow," he said, heading for the kitchen. "Meow."

  "I think your roommate wants dinner," Peter told her. "I have some errands to run. If you're okay, I think I'd better take care of them, so I can enjoy my hard-won dinner."

  "Familiar and I will be fine," Eleanor assured him. "How about seven?"

  "Perfect," he said, then lingered at the door. "Is there something I can bring?"

  Their voices dropped to a mumble as they made plans for the evening. Yawning, Familiar padded toward the refrigerator.

  * * *

  BATTLING that frazzled white creature with bone breath gave me something of an appetite. I wonder if there's any of the cream left from this morning. Some cats are born with exquisite taste, and I'm one of those lucky ones. I mean, I made it pretty good in the neighborhood around Pennsylvania Avenue. Those politicos give a lot of parties, with a lot of leftovers. It wasn't until I was nabbed by the guys in the white lab coats that I ever saw those despicable pouches of processed food. Well, at least Eleanor knows how to set a proper table for a cat. I do believe seafood was mentioned as a possibility for later on. I could beg now, or wait. I'll think about it while I watch the effect Dr. Doolittle is having on the dame. Jeez, give a guy a little medical business and he moves right into your life.

  The two of them together remind me of the sexy little Persian that lived at 1820 Roanoke. Clotilde! She had a walk that made my tail tingle. Yeow! It was in a fit of lovesickness for Clotilde that I let my guard down and got captured by the animal
dealer. Three days in a cage without water or even a crust of bread, then sold for research. The only thing to sustain me was the thought of Clotilde. I could see her sitting in the bay window, fur all brushed and shiny. She'd be waiting for me to serenade her from her backyard fence. She liked a little calypso beat to her music. Yeah, she was a sweet little feline. Maybe one day I'll get a chance to go back and look her up. Watching the dame and Dr. Doolittle make cow eyes at each other gives me a real yearning for Clotilde.

  It's strange how I'm here now, safe and secure. I was never so surprised in my life as when the Shadow opened my cage and let me out. The whole time she was liberating me and the other cats, I kept trying to get her to look in the back room at Zelda. But she wouldn't. Zelda was really top secret, and the Shadow was too busy herding all of us to freedom, I suppose. I'll probably never know how or why she came in, dressed all in black, and turned us loose. She was like some hero from a comic book, and at the time I didn't want to ask any questions, I just wanted to make a beeline for a dark alley and safety. I thought I could leave that hellhole behind me, but I can't! Living in the lap of luxury like I am, I can't get rid of the memories of that place! Of Zelda.

  Maybe Dr. Doolittle can help me. He was pretty decent about removing that tube from my leg. He didn't say much, but I got the idea he's full of opinions about such things. If only there was some way I could get Doc and the dame to the lab. Boy! Then they'd get an eyeful. Dr. Frankenstein's workshop! And poor Zelda. They'll never give up on her. If she doesn't get out soon, it won't matter. She won't be able to remember anything but what they program her to know.

  When we came home today and I saw the mess of this apartment, I knew Frankenstein was behind it. He left his stench everywhere. The dame and the doctor can't smell him, but I'd know it anywhere. Sort of a cheeseburger and cigarette odor— unmistakably his. And I was hoping maybe I'd done some permanent damage to his corneas last night. I gave it everything I had. Too bad. If anybody ever deserved to be laid up with an injury, it was him. The thought of him makes my tail fuzz. Who knows what he's done to Zelda by now? She never wanted to do anything but please. Hell's bells! Every time I start to think about something, it goes right back to Zelda.

  I can't help it. Look at me. I'm free, I got this great dame who is knock-down gorgeous and looks out for me. Even Dr. Doolittle in there isn't so bad. I mean if you've got to have a physical, he's on the considerate side. But if I know anything about Frankenstein, even if I manage to put Zelda out of my mind, he ain't going to forget us. He saw the dame in the parking lot with me. He knows she picked me up, and he came here and ripped her apartment to shreds. So he wants me back! I'm not too impressed with the plans he has for me. Well, since he came here and I was gone, maybe he'll give it up. He always struck me as a little on the lazy side.

  Really! Frankenstein and Bowser in one day! It's enough to drive a cat to clawing the furniture.

  What's with Dr. Doolittle and the dame? They sure are taking a long time to make a few simple plans. The way he looks at her! I've seen a hungry tom show more discretion eyeing fresh fillet of salmon. Yessir, he's got that carnivorous gleam in his eyes. I just hope he understands that she's my dame. There's plenty of room for the two of us, as long as he doesn't push his luck. So now they've agreed on dinner, and he's out the door. What a relief. Now it's just me and my Eleanor.

  * * *

  "FAMILIAR, want a little snack?" Eleanor scratched the cat under his chin. "Maybe I shouldn't give you so much rich food. You did have a bowl of cream this morning, plus that ham."

  "Meow," the cat answered, rubbing her legs, then playfully nipping her ankle.

  "I guess you do want a snack. Well, okay. But it can't become a habit. If you get too fat, I'll have to borrow Bowser to come over and chase you around."

  "Arrowow!" The black cat rolled on the floor, leaped to the counter, dashed on top of the refrigerator, took a flying leap into an open cupboard, sailed back to the counter, then jumped to the floor and rolled again.

  "Familiar!" Eleanor said, laughing. "Are you trying to tell me that you get enough exercise on your own?"

  "Meow," he said, scratching the refrigerator door with one paw.

  "Great." She poured a small saucer of cream and left the cat lapping away. The apartment was clean, but there were still stacks of books and papers that had to be sorted. She went to the shelves and began to impose order. Most of her serious research was at the office on campus, but she'd been doing some of the lighter work at home.

  As she shuffled through the papers, she found bits and pieces of projects she'd abandoned or incorporated into other work. Organization was one of her most effective weapons against the demands of academia, and she soon had the papers arranged and in proper order, with the exception of one missing file. She was just finishing when the cat sauntered into the room.

  "Want to hear something strange, Familiar? Every single thing is here, except for a paper I did on the communication patterns of African apes. I'm sure you've heard of Dian Fossey and the breakthrough work she did with a tribe of apes. Well, I used some of her stuff to show similarities in all communication patterns. None of my research was original. Now why would anyone want to take that?"

  Chapter Three

  The white tapers were a troubling touch, but Eleanor left them. They gave the table a romantic formality that blended well with the small bouquet of fresh daisies. As Familiar walked round the table for the hundredth time, she patted him. "I already told you I'd save some snapper," she said.

  Checking her preparations one last time, she felt an unfamiliar tingle in her stomach. How long had it been since she'd entertained a man with dinner? That question didn't bear answering. She couldn't compare the past with the present. It wasn't fair. Peter was awfully nice to help her so much, but it did arouse her suspicions, and she couldn't help that. Still, he seemed like a kind man.

  The match made a soft, shushing sound as she struck it and lighted the candles. The scene took on a soft, intimate glow. The image was disconcerting. Leaning over to blow them out, she hesitated.

  The doorbell rang as if on cue. Eleanor felt the bottom of her stomach drop away and opened the door with a fixed smile on her face.

  Peter was almost hidden behind a mass of red roses. "They're a little traditional, but you looked like the classic American beauty to me. Sort of Snow White, with the dark hair and white skin." He handed her the flowers as he stepped inside. "Aren't you glad I couldn't find any red apples? Anyway, after the day you had, I thought you needed a surprise." A small degree of guilt had also entered into the purchase. What if she was exactly what she appeared, a kindhearted woman who helped an injured animal?

  "I'm overwhelmed," she said. There were at least two dozen perfect blooms. She took them into the kitchen and found a vase, her hands suddenly awkward as she arranged them. "I was thinking earlier…it's been a long time since I've been treated to such a lovely bouquet of flowers. Thank you."

  "How's my patient?" Peter asked, deftly turning the conversation to the cat that was patrolling the kitchen. He was acutely aware of Eleanor's discomfort and curious about it. Was she hiding something?

  "Familiar is ready to gnaw the refrigerator down. He knows the fish is there and he wants it."

  "For a stray cat, he sure has a lot of audacity," he said, his easy laugh lightening the mood.

  "That's an understatement. How about some wine?"

  She poured wine into two glasses and settled on the sofa, at the far end from Peter. "When I was finishing with the cleanup, I found that the person who trashed my apartment did steal something." She frowned into her glass. "It doesn't seem important, just strange."

  "If something was taken, you have to call the police." Peter didn't emphasize the suggestion. One thing he didn't want was police meddling.

  "I don't want to involve the police, Peter. The thing that was taken is some old research— not even original material. But it's just so odd. It was based on Dian Fossey's work with primat
es, their communication system. It doesn't have any bearing on anything I'm doing. I used the material for a speech."

  "Animal communication. That's strange stuff to steal," Peter agreed. He couldn't help the quickening of his pulse. She'd brought up the subject of research again. "Still, even if it isn't valuable, I think you need to notify the authorities." He kept his tone cool and detached.

  She shook her head. Her brown eyes were unfocused; her gaze never left her glass. "I really don't think there's any real danger. I suspect that someone from my past is trying to intimidate me. A long time ago, I was involved in something through my husband. This kind of thing— " she picked up a demolished pillow and threw it back to the floor "— became a part of my everyday life. I'd go to work and come home and find my things torn up and destroyed." A self-deprecating shrug lifted her shoulders.

  "Even a spouse shouldn't be allowed to do this type of destruction." He spoke softly to hide his disappointment. The conversation had gotten off track again, and to make matters worse, she was married. "Did your husband leave after the quarrel?" He couldn't help the edge in his voice.

  "Oh, no!" Now she looked at him. "It wasn't Carter who trashed my things. I'm sure it was his fault, but it wasn't him. He just neglected to tell me that he owed large sums of money to unsavory characters. All along I thought he was working on humanitarian projects."

  A bitter smile gave her face a haunted look. "I was a little on the naive side, I guess you could say."

  "So you think your husband may be running up bad debts again, and you're paying the price?"

  She shook her head, causing her dark curls to shimmer. "My husband is…well, I've been single for nine years." She forestalled any sympathy with a steady look. "Don't say you're sorry, because I'm not. I took my maiden name back, I moved across the country and went to college. I've done everything I know to put the past behind me. And what I think is that someone has stumbled over me, and they're still a little mad at Carter. There's no limit to what he might have been involved in. But this is the end of it, I'm sure. One last act of revenge. That's just the kind of people my husband did business with."