To her surprise, Ray took the next left. They were headed down the mountain again.
"I really like this car," he said. "It handles real nice."
"Where are some of your favorite scenic overlooks?" she asked. "I mean, are there any that just give you a tingly feeling?"
He laughed. "You're asking a man who makes his living with carnival rides? Looking down the side of a mountain isn't all that thrilling."
"The view, though…" She didn't finish. Ray pulled the car over to the side of the road.
"Why are you riding around with me tonight?"
The question effectively paralyzed Cassandra's brain. She stumbled over a few words, but nothing would come out correctly.
"Because I wanted to talk with you," she said at last.
"If you've got something to ask, lady, just ask it. I get the feeling you're playing with me, and I don't like it." He put his arm across the back of her seat. "Now spit it out."
"Ray, I don't know what you mean." She pushed her back against the car door, but it wasn't far enough away. He only leaned forward.
"You're not the type to chase men, especially not men like me. You've been sitting over in your corner asking questions like some doctor for the insane. You poked around about the women I've dated, and now you're poking around all over. What do you want?" He grabbed her shoulder, and his fingers bit into her flesh.
"I'm a friend of Sarah's," she said in desperation. She was frightened, badly frightened. Not a single car had passed them in more than twenty minutes, and even if she could somehow get away from him and run, he'd be able to catch her.
Her words stopped him short. To her horror, he smiled. "Sarah never told me about you. And she told me everything."
"We weren't close friends, but I knew her. I liked her."
"If you liked her so much, what are you doing riding out in the night with me?"
"I had to find something out." Cassandra knew she was digging deeper and deeper in, but she couldn't stop herself.
"What was that?"
"You weren't at her funeral. You claimed to care for her."
He nodded, but his face never turned away from hers. "Sarah's family wouldn't have been too happy to see me, you can count on that."
"Why not? If you cared for her, and she believed you did, why would they object? What were you looking for in her house?"
"Her folks weren't the kind to take to the idea of a carnie dating their daughter. She talked a lot about her family. Sarah had made her own life, but she could never quite get away from them. She was as tied to this place and them as if they'd sewn her feet to the ground."
Cassandra almost thought she heard a note of remorse in his tone. She realized she was mistaken when he asked his next question.
"So, you know I was at Sarah's? You must know what I was looking for. Where is it?"
Cassandra's fingers inched to the door handle. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh yes, you do. See, I figured out who you are." He picked up a handful of her hair. "Sarah described you pretty good. Now you weren't any friend of hers. You were looking for little JoAnn. You and your friend hiding out there in the parking lot."
He grinned, and Cassandra felt her heart catch. He'd seen Adam. He knew it was all a setup.
"I'm not stupid," he said angrily. "Now where is that note?"
Cassandra felt his hand move closer to her throat.
"Could we go home, please?"
"I don't think so. I want the rest of the story. Do you know something about my sideline business?"
"I don't know anything. I was hunting JoAnn, too. I'm a friend of hers. We lost touch and I wanted to see her."
"If you were really JoAnn's friend, I'd have known about you. See, Sarah talked about everything. Her family. JoAnn's troubles and her friends. People from grammar school. That woman talked. Now what do you really know about me?"
In the darkness, Cassandra could see the glint of his eyes and teeth. He looked mean. "Only that you were seeing Sarah."
"Then why are you snooping around? What is it you want to know?"
"How she died?" Cassandra hurled the question at him as she pushed open her car door and dove into the woods at the side of the road. She had a slim chance, but it was better than sitting in the car and waiting for him to reach across and take her throat in his hands.
"Hey!" Ray made a lunge for her and for a split second his fingers caught her hair.
Cassandra gave a cry of pain, but she scrabbled into the blackness of the trees. There were rocks and roots, but she sprang over them with the grace of someone who'd spent many hours running through such terrain.
"Get back to this car!" Ray ordered. "You little fool! Get back here now, or I'm going to leave you!"
Cassandra crashed through more foliage.
"I'm not going to chase you through the woods in the dark," he warned. "If you don't get your butt back here, I'm going to leave you. I've got fifteen minutes to get back to work, and I'm going to do it. You can rot up here on this mountain. Let the bears bring you home, bone by bone."
Cassandra ducked down behind a rock. She was surprised that he'd made no effort to chase her. Her breath came in short, harsh rasps as she struggled to be as quiet as possible. It would be like him to try to sneak up on her. She had to stay alert.
"You've got to ten to come back and get in this car. Then I'm leaving. One, two, three…"
Ray slowly counted, and Cassandra gripped the rock. She'd definitely blown the whole thing. Ray had never bought into her story. Why had she ever thought she could trick him? And why was he letting her escape without even trying to catch her?
"Ten! I'm out of here, lady. I'll leave your car at the Blue Ridge. I'll give the keys to Rita. Maybe when you ask for them, you'll tell her what kind of game you were playing. You'll have a long walk home to think about it. And just remember, I can always find you if I need to."
His laughter cut through the night, followed by the sound of the car cranking.
Cassandra stood up. She could barely see the headlights through the dense growth of trees. Ray was driving away! He really was leaving her! Or was he merely trying to trick her so that she'd leave the cover of the woods and walk right into his clutches again?
Chapter Fifteen
I feel like the only adult in a Little Rascal's feature film. What the hell is going on around here? And where is Goldilocks and her knight? I've been pacing this porch for hours.
Well, enough cogitation. It's time for action. I have a pretty good idea where those tire tracks up in the orchard lead, but I'm going to make certain. No one has any business up there. No one. But the facts tell otherwise, ma'am.
I haven't had the benefit of any of those fancy K-9 schools, but I know there has been more than one vehicle through the orchard. Different tires. It just doesn't make sense, though. Why is someone going up there? To watch Cassandra? That's a possibility, but it makes for a long walk through the woods.
To hide something? That's what I've finally hit upon. The more I think about it, the more it troubles me.
Humans! They play at destruction with such glee!
When I got Goldilocks to see the tracks, I wanted her to know someone was watching her. I thought she'd get the law, or at least Adam, to go up and check them out with her. But no-o-o-oo! She can't take a hint. Now Eleanor was attuned to me. She and Dr. Doolittle. They picked up on my not-so-subtle suggestions.
Cassandra can't be faulted too much, though. She's never had a cat until I showed up, so she isn't fully aware of my superior native feline intelligence, not to mention that I'm one savvy detective. In time, she'll learn these things, because she's perceptive, too. The trouble is, I don't have the time to waste. I've made a decision. I'm getting on that television show with Cassandra if it's the last thing I do. I'll make a public plea for Eleanor. It's a snowball's chance in hell, but it's my best shot right now.
With each passing day, my fears for Eleanor increase. I dream about her.
Is she hurt so bad she won't know me? Or Peter. If anything happened to him, it would kill her. She'd need me there to comfort her. Besides, there's the revenge angle to work, too.
That's another basic human flaw. They don't think animals plot revenge. Ha! And cats are the most notorious. The master's touch, though, is that most people never perceive the true motivation for feline retribution. But I want Arnold Evans to know it when I do him. I want him to know it, and know where it's coming from. I never should have left his punishment to the legal system. He killed two guards escaping. If I have my way, he won't have a chance to escape ever again.
I've got it pieced together in my mind. That bomb was meant for Kirk Ranager, the "houseguest." Eleanor and Peter could never resist a fight for the underdog. I knew they were working with someone in the political prisoner's rights area, but I didn't pay close attention. I'm a day late and a dollar short, but lately I've been scanning the national news. There hasn't been a word on my people, but Kirk Ranager has had a lot of press. His disappearance has created quite a stir. That Ranager, he was raising some hell in Ireland. Putting together conversations I heard at the house and the news reports I've seen, I believe Ranager had the goods on the treatment of some prisoners. He was about to make a speech to the United Nations.
It would seem that a certain faction wasn't necessarily thrilled with the information he was going to deliver, and so they blew him up. Or tried to. They sent Arnold to do it, and since he could earn some money and settle a score with Peter, too, he was more than happy to oblige.
I should have listened to the conversations closer. It's hard to accept, but I fell into the "Fat Cat" mentality. I had my two people to cater to my every whim. My enemies were defeated. Life was good and I let my guard down. It's partially my fault that Eleanor is missing. I didn't protect her like I should.
And where is Cassandra? God forbid that she's gone off and jumped into a mess o' trouble. I'd better get my cute black tail up to the orchard and solve "the mystery of the twin tracks." I should have done this earlier. For a smart cat, I'm sure suffering from a lot of regrets lately.
* * *
ASTONISHMENT was the reaction that set in after the fear disappeared. Cassandra leaned against the boulder that had hidden her and stared through the trees into the blackness. It was so dark, she couldn't even see the road. Sure enough, though, Ray had driven off in her car and left her.
"And what are you going to do, Miss Genius?" she asked herself. She was so disgusted with her stupidity that for a moment she thought about lying down in the leaf-carpeted ground and waiting for dawn.
Only the thought of Adam's torment got her up on her feet and walking toward the road. Adam would be worried sick. By her calculations, she was closer to her house than she was to the lounge. She wasn't lost, she was just disgusted. Plodding forward, she mentally kicked herself each step of the way. There were a million things she could have done, except the ones she did. Why was it she'd picked all the wrong ones? Why?
Bounder was missing. Adam was worried, and rightfully so. JoAnn was in critical danger. Ray was still on the loose, and to put the cream on the pie, she was due on a television show in less than twelve hours.
She'd let everyone down, most of all Adam and Running Stream. Her shenanigans had cost her valuable time she'd promised to use looking for Bounder. Instead, she was out in the woods playing Girl Scout, hiking through the wilderness.
Even though the going was slower, she stayed in the fringe of the trees. She didn't trust Ray at all, and the idea that he was parked down the road, hiding, waiting for her to come out of the woods, made her take every precaution. She'd already been stupid; she could do without another go-round of it.
The incline increased, and so did her breathing. To save time, she cut directly through the woods. She'd grown up in these mountains. She knew the landmarks. The boulders and springs and giant hardwood trees were as familiar to her as her own skin.
She would have access to a telephone in a matter of minutes, and she could begin to hunt Adam down to tell him she was safe. Why hadn't she listened to him? They could be anywhere in the world now, safe in each other's arms. Was that so terribly much to ask? It was more than she'd ever expected, but now that she knew what it felt like to love Adam, she wanted a lifetime of it. That thought drove her forward.
Her house was uncharacteristically dark when she stepped out of the line of trees and into her yard. For a moment she paused, checking all of the windows. There was no sign that anyone was there, or had been there.
"Familiar!" She whispered the cat's name. He should be around the house. He'd never strayed before. "Kitty, kitty."
An eerie sense of foreboding crept over her. Even the woods seemed abnormally quiet. "Don't lose it now," she said out loud. "You've never been a namby-pamby. This is no time to start."
She forced her reluctant feet up the steps and across the wide boards of the porch. The knob turned readily, and she stepped into the foyer.
Something warned her not to turn on the light. It was a sixth sense that told her tragedy had struck. Her fingers found the switch, and then hesitated.
Ears straining to pick up any sound of another person in the house, she waited. She could hear the ticking of the kitchen clock. How odd that she'd never noticed it before. The pattern was peculiar. Tick, tick, tock. Tick, tick, tock.
Somehow she knew then. The scream was stifled in her throat, and she backed toward the door.
Tick, tick, tock.
The sound was coming from the kitchen. It wasn't the clock. The kitchen clock was electric. It had never made a noise, except maybe a tiny little whir every now and then.
Tick, tick, tock.
The ticking came from the kitchen. Each second her dread increased. Hand behind her, she fumbled with the doorknob. Cassandra's heart tightened painfully when she could not turn the knob.
Tick, tick, tock.
The knob was frozen in place. She gripped it with everything she had in her. Still facing the kitchen, she twisted with all of her might. The knob would not turn.
She expelled a rasp of breath. She knew what it meant. Someone had come into her home, put a bomb in her kitchen, and was now standing outside the door, holding her prisoner. She had to think. She had to be smarter than they were, or she could be dead.
Was there a trip wire in the house? Was that why they were holding the door, hoping she would panic and go rushing blindly through the house?
She was afraid to move forward, and someone was keeping her from leaving through the front.
The thought that at least Familiar was out of the house crossed her mind, and with it came a release. She wasn't going to cling to the door like some terrified rodent in a trap. She let go of the knob and ran across into the kitchen. As she felt her own footsteps on the wooden floor, she heard someone running across her porch. The door was free.
It was too late. She'd already made her decision. She flipped on the overhead light in the kitchen as she raced in.
A strange contraption with a clock attached to it was sitting on her table. It was exactly like the bombs she'd seen in the movies.
Her hesitation in grabbing it was short-lived. With one fluid movement, she swept it into her hand and dashed for the back door. She hurled it into the woods with all of her might. The bundle crashed into the trees and Cassandra dropped against the floor, covering her head with her arms.
Her body tensed, waiting for the explosion. There was only the sound of laughter, deep, crazy laughter, as she slowly lifted her head.
Silent seconds slipped away. Nothing. Cassandra's skin began to crawl.
"Witchy woman, I'm watching you." The laughter followed, and then there was the sound of feet running across the ground.
It had all been a joke. The bomb wasn't real. She'd been reduced to Jell-O in her own house by some sick cretin who thought he'd played the best trick in the world on her.
Slowly she got to her feet. Her body was trembling with suppressed terror. S
haking, teeth chattering, she went to the telephone. When she heard the dial tone, her anger kicked in. The creep had been so confident, he hadn't even bothered to cut the phone line.
Cassandra began the process of trying to track Adam down. She called Crockett's and the lodge where Sarah Welford's family had been registered. He didn't answer a page at either place. The Welford family had checked out, and no one of Adam's description had been seen.
She tried not to think about the fake bomb, but she couldn't stop herself. It was such a personal attack. Even more frightening was the aplomb with which it was carried out. The person had stood on the opposite side of her door and held her prisoner.
For some reason, she felt the voice was familiar. Too familiar. She couldn't remember exactly where, but she was certain it was a voice she'd heard recently. Mayor Simpson's? He'd accosted her in public, and he also knew that she was suffering from nightmares.
Whatever it was with Simpson, it was personal. She'd never understood it— she'd only tried to stay out of his way. Did he despise her enough to play such a cruel and vicious joke? The answer was yes.
She walked to the decanter and poured a small shot of brandy as she went back to the telephone and tried to concentrate on places Adam might have gone. She called the Blue Ridge and to her surprise, her car had been returned to the parking lot.
It struck Cassandra like a blow to the head. When Ray had taken her car, he'd also had access to her purse. Her driver's license. Her real name and address. The bomb could have been his idea of a payback. Or a warning. And he'd had plenty of time while she was scurrying through the woods.
The sound of a crash against the front door made her slosh brandy all over her hand. It came again, a determined thumping on the wood.
"Familiar!" She rushed to open the door. The black cat, yellow eyes glaring, stood hissing toward the darkness.
"It's okay," Cassandra said as she scooped him into her arms and brought him in the house. "It's okay now." She buried her face in his warm black fur, glad to have something to hold on to. With a kick of her heel, she slammed the door and hastily threw the thumb bolt into place.
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