Fear Familiar Bundle

by Caroline Burnes

  When her brain finally started functioning, she targeted the one piece of information that might solve the entire case. J. P. Frost. It had been his telephone.

  She hurried through the kitchen, each move followed by the curious stares of Eugene's cats. They were so well behaved, so in control, that they lounged around the house and she hardly noticed them until they moved.

  Eugene had built perches for them around the entire house and along the screened back porch where they reclined. Taking care that none tried to follow her into the yard, Jennifer entered the maze of blooming shrubs and potted plants that Eugene rooted and nurtured, and listened for the sound of his typewriter clacking away. In the distance the old keys clattered.

  "Eugene!" She listened, but he didn't respond.

  The garden wasn't large, not over half an acre, but it was so chock-full of plants that it was a small maze. She knew the way to his work area and hurried there, her high heels sinking into the rich loam.

  As she rounded the corner, she stopped.

  The young girl looked up from the typewriter. "Where's Eugene?" she asked. "I've been waiting here for over half an hour."

  Jennifer stared at the girl. She knew her. Judy Luno, one of Eugene's protégées who lived several blocks down the street. "You haven't seen Eugene?" Jennifer asked.

  She shook her head. "He was helping me learn to type. He said I could practice on his typewriter here." She slowly stood up. "We were supposed to have a lesson today. At eleven. But I've been here since ten forty-five and he wasn't here. I thought I'd practice till he came out."

  Jennifer did the math in her head. Eugene had walked out the back door and left immediately. The entire time she'd been talking with James, Eugene had been gone. The sound of the typing had been Judy practicing. Where could Eugene have gone?

  "He never breaks an appointment," Judy said. Her dark eyebrows drew together and she flipped her hair back over her shoulder. "It's rude to break an appointment."

  "I'm sure he didn't intend to do it." Jennifer stumbled over the words. Where could Eugene have gone, without a word?

  Judy shrugged as she sat down again in front of the typewriter. "It's okay. The heat's really been on him, huh? Some folks think he took Mimi and Tommy and hurt them." She rolled her eyes. "What doofos. Eugene wouldn't hurt a fly."

  "Yes, I know." Jennifer watched the young girl. She was quick, and Eugene had often remarked how observant she was. "Where do you think he went?"

  "Well, his bicycle is gone." Judy nodded toward the garden wall where an old Schwinn had once stood, covered with honeysuckle vines.

  "But he hasn't ridden in years!"

  Judy smiled. "That's what he tells you because he says you try to mother hen him to death. He rides a lot, and when he puts the bicycle up, we pull the vines over it again. He rides me on the handlebars!"

  Jennifer wanted to sit down, but the child had the only chair. "He shouldn't do that. He could hurt himself. And you."

  "Oh, he's great. We go all over the place. Especially Thrill Hill. I scream the entire way down!"

  The hill under discussion was a very steep drop that was part of a new subdivision. There was little traffic on the road and the hill was fast, curvy, and a roller coaster ride even in a car. It would be the ultimate bicycle thrill. And Eugene was in his seventies with a child on the handlebars! The mental picture made her cringe.

  "It's okay. We've never had a wreck yet."

  "I'm going to let the air out of his tires and then tie him up with the bicycle chain when I find him." Jennifer saw the laughter in the young girl's eyes. Apparently Eugene had told her plenty about his publicist.

  "Eugene says you make up terrible threats but don't follow through on any of them."

  "This time I might actually do it!"

  Judy stood. "Have you found Mimi and Tommy yet? Eugene said you'd find them. He said you were the smartest woman he'd ever known and that you'd figure it out."

  Jennifer sighed. "I only wish he was right. First I have to find him, though. Any ideas where he'd go on his bicycle?"

  She shook her head. "No. But that black cat took off toward Donovan Street. He was sniffing the ground like a dog, so maybe he knows where Eugene went."

  "Familiar. He's gone, too?" Jennifer wanted to lie down. Eugene and the cat were both missing. If anything happened to that black feline, Eleanor Curry would skin her and Eugene alive. The issues of who's kidnapped whom would be moot.

  "What can I do to help?" Judy asked.

  "Shoot me," Jennifer answered, then saw the look of worry on the child's face.

  "It's just a figure of speech."

  "I didn't think you meant it," the child replied indignantly. "I don't have a gun."

  "Right." Jennifer gathered herself. "Judy, do you know where Mimi lives?"

  "Sure, right by the park."

  Jennifer did another take. "No. I meant, where her father lives?"

  Brows drawn together, Judy thought. "I've never been there before, but I think Mimi said he had an apartment over on the west side of town." Her brows tightened. "Glendale Woods!" She looked up. "That's it. I remember because Mimi said she wanted to move out to the country and her daddy said if she came to live with him they'd buy this farmhouse that was for sale right beside the apartments. That's the old Glendale place. It's haunted."

  Jennifer wanted to hug the child. "Wonderful."

  "Are you going there?" Judy looked around. "I want to go."

  "I think it would be better if you waited here for Eugene and Familiar to come back. And promise me, Judy, if either one of them shows up you'll drag them into the house and make them stay there."

  "I'd rather go with you." There was a stubborn set to her jaw.

  "You could help me more here. And Eugene."

  She kicked a stick with the toe of her shoe. "Aw, darn! Okay. I'll stay here."

  Jennifer gave her a hug. "Thanks, Judy. This is really important. You're being a big help."

  * * *

  J. P. FROST'S APARTMENT, according to the manager, was on the bottom floor in the last unit. Jennifer hoped the manager was right— about several things. One being that J. P. Frost had gone out of town for two days and wasn't due back until tomorrow.

  The small backyard had been artfully landscaped, complete with a gas grill, patio and a privacy fence. Jennifer knew the fence was pine. The splinter in her palm proved it. The gas grill hadn't been used. Jennifer crouched beside it, noting the unspattered racks and clean dials.

  The grass was cut, the shrubs neatly trimmed, but there was not a sign of personal care about the yard. Easing up to the sliding-glass door, she peered inside. Thank goodness J. P. Frost didn't have a dog! At least, the manager had volunteered the information that tenants weren't allowed to have dogs.

  She pulled the screwdriver from the back pocket of her jeans. Even though it had cost valuable time, she'd gone home to change. And she'd also picked up a few items she thought she might need. A camera. The screwdriver. A can of Mace— just in case she miscalculated.

  Back in high school her best friend's boyfriend had been a kid with a passion for snooping. He'd taught Jennifer some tricks of the trade, and popping open a sliding-glass door was one of the easiest ways to get into a house. At the memory, Jennifer shuddered. Nick wasn't a thief, but he had been extremely strange. Thank goodness Jessie had broken up with him before they'd all gotten into serious trouble. But now, his lectures on break and entry would do her some good.

  The door popped and she eased it carefully along the track. She gave another silent thank-you that there was no burglar alarm system.

  Inside the door, she stopped. The house was silent. There wasn't even the sound of a fan or a clock. It was as if no one lived there. In the light from the doorway she noted the Formica-topped kitchen table and four chairs. The counters were devoid of canisters or the small electrical appliances that made a place home. J. P. Frost might sleep here and collect his mail, but he didn't live here. She felt a moment of compa
ssion for him. His divorce had been hard on him— hard enough to push him over the edge to kidnap his child?

  Standing in the spotless kitchen she felt a sudden rush of disappointment. At that moment she realized she'd hoped to find Mimi. But there wasn't any sign of a child in the house.

  Just to be sure, she started toward the bedrooms. That was her last hope. The apartment had only two bedrooms, and one was obviously a bachelor's dwelling and the other was filled with unopened moving boxes. The things he'd salvaged from his marriage that might make his apartment more homey were still packed away. J. P. Frost had not yet begun to put his life back on track.

  It wasn't a sign that he'd kidnapped his daughter, but it also wasn't an indication that he was adjusting smoothly.

  "I'm clutching at straws," she whispered, a sudden headache striking her between the eyes. She'd risked bodily harm and discovery to break into a shell of an apartment. And to make matters worse, her conscience was kicking at her. She'd invaded a man's privacy and seen a bleak side of his soul.

  She returned to the kitchen and paused a moment to decide whether to risk the front door or to climb back over the privacy fence. There wasn't a bit of warning when the front door flew open and J. P. Frost returned.

  Jennifer made a dash for the sliding door, but he heard the sound of her footsteps and gave instant pursuit. She'd made it onto the brick patio when he tackled her.

  She went down hard, the breath going from her lungs in a painful explosion. Sand and small rocks ground into her palms where she'd tried to break her fall, and worst of all, J. P. Frost was tugging at the collar of her jacket. The canister of Mace skittered, useless, across the bricks.

  "Get up!" he ordered, trying to drag her to her feet. "What the hell were you doing in my house?"

  Gasping, she held up her hands in a sign of surrender. "Wait!" she managed to rasp, her lungs screaming for oxygen.

  When he saw she was in no condition for fight or flight, J.P. backed off slightly. "You're the woman who works for that crazy old writer." Anger tightened his features. "Lady, you're in big trouble."

  "Wait." She held up one hand and concentrated on getting her breath. Her palms were burning and she looked at one. It wasn't worthy of a doctor, but it hurt like the dickens.

  "You've got thirty seconds. Then I'm calling the cops."

  In twenty seconds Jennifer could manage to talk in short sentences. Sitting on the patio, she told him about the phone call. At his repeated questions, she assured him that she thought it was Mimi and that the child sounded afraid but unharmed.

  He sank to the bricks beside her. "Did she say where she was? Did she say anything?"

  At that moment Jennifer knew J. P. Frost wasn't party to his daughter's disappearance. "I'm sorry, no. She didn't say anything. In fact, I had the call traced and it came from your cellular phone. That's why I came here. I thought…"

  "You thought I had her."

  She nodded. "I don't know you. It was a possibility."

  "And you risked coming here? What if I'd had a gun?"

  Jennifer looked down at her hands. That thought had crossed her mind— more than once. But she'd been willing to take the risk to find Mimi and Tommy. "I had to do it, anyway."

  Taking her elbow, he helped her to her feet. "Let's clean up those hands. It's a bad scrape, but not serious."

  Together they went to the kitchen. As she washed her hands, she talked. When she'd told him everything except Mimi's assertion that Eugene had kidnapped her, she asked him about the phone.

  He held out the tube of antibiotic salve. "You're not going to believe this, but my telephone was stolen two days ago. From my car. They broke the windshield and took the phone. Not the stereo, but the phone."

  "Where?"

  "Outside the apartment. It was a clean job. No one heard them. There's security here at the apartments, and they didn't have anything else reported stolen. It was as if the person came in here to get the phone and nothing else."

  Jennifer met his worried gaze. "You may have hit the nail on the head, Mr. Frost."

  * * *

  "THE PRODIGALS RETURN." Jennifer gave Eugene and Familiar an angry glance. For Judy, she produced a frozen yogurt cone.

  "Hey, thanks." Judy took the cone and sat down out of the line of fire. "I told them you were going to be pissed."

  "Judith!" Eugene looked at her. "Your mother would have a fit if she heard you talk like that."

  "Right. She thinks I'm going to grow up to be a lady." Judy laughed. "I'm not missing all the fun."

  Jennifer ignored the youngster for the moment. "So where have you been?"

  "Spying." Eugene answered without missing a beat. "I thought I was pretty good at it until Familiar found me." He gave the cat an affectionate pat. "Lucky he did. Crush was pulling into the drive and if Familiar hadn't beaten him there by several minutes, I might have been caught red-handed."

  "You were at Crush Bonbon's house?" Jennifer didn't doubt it. Eugene was capable of many, many things.

  "I wanted to see if the children might be there."

  "And were they?" Jennifer knew if they'd been there Eugene would have risked everything to get them out.

  "I didn't see them. The house is too old, too big, too tall and too dark. I tried to climb a magnolia tree, but I just don't have the strength anymore. Maybe James will give it a try later this evening."

  "Maybe we should get the cops to get a warrant," Judy said. She licked a swirl of boysenberry from the side of the sugar cone. "This is great. The perks on a spy job are terrific."

  "No cops," Jennifer and Eugene said in unison.

  "You act guilty," Judy pointed out. "In the movies that's always the mistake the heroine makes. She doesn't go to the authorities. Of course, in the movies, if she went, they'd lock her up because they think she's the one who…" She looked up at Jennifer. "I see the problem. Forget that I ever said anything."

  "Don't fret, Judith. We'll figure out a way to check out Crush." Eugene spoke softly to the young girl.

  "Want me to go look at Crush's house?" Judy was suddenly on the edge of the sofa, the last few bites of her cone forgotten. "I could do it. I'm really good at sneaking around."

  "Absolutely not," Jennifer said firmly. She nudged Eugene.

  "Of course that wouldn't be appropriate behavior, Judith. You might be injured, and then you'd be in a fine pickle. Leave this to us adults, who can afford legal counsel."

  "That's not exactly the reason why she shouldn't break into someone's house," Jennifer whispered to Eugene. "It's wrong."

  "Judith has enough sense to know right from wrong. But it isn't right that they're trying to frame me, either," Eugene said loud enough for the child to hear. "If anyone breaks into Crush's house, it's in an effort to get the truth." He gave Judith a long, contemplative look. "But it has to be an adult, Judith. For a lot of reasons. Children aren't considered reliable witnesses, though God knows why. They're far more observant than most adults. And you're an exceptionally bright young lady."

  "I've studied subversive tactics, too." Judy looked around. "I've read all the Nancy Drew mysteries, and I've been practicing."

  "But not at Crush Bonbon's house." Jennifer saw pending disaster. "Please, Judy, promise me that you'll leave this to us. If anything happened to you, it could go very badly for Eugene."

  Judy's mouth flattened into a thin line as she thought it over. "Okay." She held out her hand. "You have my word I won't go near Crush Bonbon's house tonight."

  Jennifer's hands shook with relief. One disaster averted. Now for plans for the night.

  * * *

  METHINKS MISS SPITFIRE has all of her brain cells in high gear and churning. That look in her eyes is enough to call to mind the great strategists of the world. Hannibal to be specific. And that makes my kitty fur twitch. I see trouble abrewin', and it ain't no mild afternoon blend.

  This is going to take some fine maneuvers, but I've got to get in the car with her and make sure she doesn't get herself in t
rouble. I know she won't take me voluntarily. Let me think…

  Ah, there's the morning newspaper. Let me push it toward Eugene's lap. A gentle nudge and there it goes, off the arm of the sofa and right into his lap. He looks surprised. Eugene is a student of feline behavior, and he knows whenever a cat knocks something off, it's deliberate. Yes, he's picking up the paper and looking at it. Scanning the headlines now, looking to see what might have caught my interest.

  Eureka! He's found the byline by James. Light is dawning. He understands. I can tell by that little smile of his that he'll call James as soon as Jennifer and I are out the door.

  Yes, he's up and giving her a goodbye kiss. He's standing in the doorway— against all the rules— with the door open and he's letting me through.

  God bless a human with a fully developed brain! I may have to adopt this man.

  But for now, I've got to make it to the back seat of the car before Jennifer slams the door on my lovely…tail.

  Piece of cake! I'm in. The car is moving. And Spitfire drives like a bat out of hell. Ah, one of the finest things in life is to be chauffeured through an interesting old city by a beautiful woman. I'll just kick back and enjoy this until she discovers I'm here.

  * * *

  JENNIFER STOPPED in her driveway and reached into the back seat for her purse. When her hand encountered the warm furry obstacle, she hesitated, felt it again, and then knelt on her seat so she could get a better look into the back seat of her car.

  "Familiar! How did you get there?"

  The cat yawned.

  "So I'm boring you with all of this? Eugene is going to be worried sick about you." She watched as Familiar stretched slowly and then got up. "Or did he put you up to this?" She had the strangest sensation that the cat and the writer were in cahoots. "Well, you can stay at my house, but you aren't going to follow me around like a dog."

  Ignoring her completely, the cat leapt out of the car and landed on the ground. Acting as if he'd grown up in her house, he went to the front door.