Fear Familiar Bundle

by Caroline Burnes

  "It's time to go." James jumped to his feet, ignoring the fury of his pounding head. He hit the light switch, casting the room in darkness. "Run for it," he said, nudging Judy first and following hot on the heels of Jennifer and Familiar.

  They sprinted down the stairs in the darkness, heedless of the amount of noise they made. Judy was the first to the window and she tumbled through it with the agility of the very young. Jennifer sat on the sill, phone clutched tightly to her chest, and threw herself down into the scratchy branches of the azalea beneath. James followed with less regard for his own bones. With the grace of thousands of generations of perfect balance, Familiar sailed out to the ground and landed in a crouch.

  When Judy started to run to the west, he snagged her foot and held on.

  "Follow the cat," Jennifer ordered, glad for the bit of moonlight that gave them limited vision but also aware that it could give them away.

  There was no time to replace the screen. They ran across the yard, fleeing figures that moved in and out among the shadows of the trees. They just made it to the safety of the thick line of oaks and azaleas when the car lights swung across the yard and pulled up to the front door.

  In the light of the moon a heavyset man got out from behind the wheel and went to the front door. He went in, opening the door without even unlocking it, flipping on the entrance lights as he went.

  "It's Crush," Judy whispered. "The front door was open. We didn't even have to crawl through the window."

  Jennifer felt James's strong fingers close over hers, a touch that was meant to steady both of them. She knew he was still unsettled from the blow to the head— and the hundreds of questions that had to be answered.

  "Meow!" Familiar brushed beneath their hands, reminding them of his presence and the need to get farther away if they didn't want to get caught.

  "Let's move it." James backed into the denser bushes and led the way out to the fence. They arrived at a point fifty yards from where they'd entered, and James helped Jennifer and Judy over the picket fence.

  "I suppose it's futile to go back and repair the fence. We left the screen off the window. It won't be long before he realizes someone was in his house."

  "If he doesn't already know it. Someone had to knock you out and lock me in the basement," Jennifer said darkly.

  "And he was off the air," Judy added. "It's possible he might have done it. He had motive and opportunity."

  "Good grief," James said under his breath. "I have to work with the princess of slander and now a junior Sam Spade."

  "Instead of making fun of me, you should thank me," Judy said quickly as she bent to scoop Familiar up into her arms. "Me and the cat. If I hadn't heard him at the door, I might have given up the search for you two and thought you'd gone home. I mean, I did risk my flawless reputation to break in there and get you out before Crush returned. If my parents knew what I was doing they'd ground me forever. They'd probably nail my feet to the bedroom floor."

  "My God, she's even beginning to talk like you," James whispered as he put his arm around Jennifer and squeezed her shoulders tightly before he directed a shallow bow to Judy. "Thank you, Miss Luno. You did a wonderful job of saving us doddering, old adults."

  "Eugene said someone had better keep an eye on you. He said not even Familiar could keep you two out of Dutch for long. But at least y'all found something to steal." Without waiting for a reply, Judy skipped ahead with the cat in her arms.

  "So much for Eugene's opinion of us," James whispered in Jennifer's ear. "Where did you find the phone?"

  Jennifer still clutched the instrument. "Familiar found it, sans battery, in the washing machine, before we got locked in the basement. Judy let us out— it's a good thing she doesn't take her promises to stay away seriously. But let's get out of here. Someone was in that house, and they may still be watching us."

  James set the pace with a long stride that covered the distance quickly. They'd put a block between them and the scene of the crime, and his headache had settled into a dull pain. He didn't feel great, but at least he knew he wasn't going to die.

  They had circled the three blocks around Crush's house and were moving back in the direction of Jennifer's car when James suddenly stopped. "Don't you think Crush has had time to discover someone was in his house by now?"

  Jennifer shrugged, a gesture lost in the darkness. "Maybe. Let's just get in the car and get out of here before a cruiser happens along. I mean, it is nearly midnight. We've got a minor child who is supposed to be in bed, and a cat who lives in Washington, D.C. If Crush does call the cops, we aren't exactly the most innocent people on the street and we're the only people on the street."

  "But if he has discovered the break-in and hasn't called the police, what does that tell us?"

  Jennifer had momentarily put the peculiarity of Crush's decor out of her mind. "That he has something to hide— from the cops." As soon as she said it, she felt a rush of certainty.

  "Exactly. What did you find at his house?" James asked. His headache was easing and he had begun to formulate the questions of his trade.

  "The phone. Nothing much." Jennifer nudged him and nodded toward Judy, who walked ahead.

  He nodded that he understood she didn't want to talk in front of the child. "Good. Let's get home."

  The car was parked under a leafy crepe myrtle and they shifted through the shadows. When they were all ready, Jennifer checked the back seat to make sure Familiar had gotten in— and stayed there.

  "Just let me out about a block from the house. I can sneak through Mrs. Evan's backyard and get back in my window."

  "Maybe we should just knock on the door and explain," Jennifer said. She had a real hesitation about leaving the young girl out in the night— especially to sneak back into her own house.

  "I do it all the time." Judy was exasperated with their foolishness. "You grown-ups must never have done anything fun. My folks sleep like logs. They work all day and then sleep. What a boring life. They have no idea what goes on once they close the bedroom door. They'll never catch me. But if you wake them up, I'll be in big trouble." An edge of worry had crept into her voice.

  "I'll go with her," James assured Jennifer.

  At Judy's instructions, Jennifer parked and waited as Judy and James crept through another yard. In ten minutes James was back. "Safe and sound. Now let's go someplace nice and quiet. I think we have a lot to talk about."

  "Meow!" Familiar put his paws on the back of the seat and tucked his head between them.

  * * *

  I HAVEN'T HEARD the logic Madame Spitfire and Clark Kent are going to apply to the events of this night, but I can tell you, there are a lot of things that trouble me.

  For instance, the placement of that darn phone in the washing machine. During the few weeks after Jordan Lindsey's birth, Eleanor wasn't exactly in the most coherent frame of mind. It was a joke around the house that she would pick up an item, put it down, and then it would be gone forever— until it turned up in some bizarre place. The perfect example was the rack of ribs she'd bought for a dinner party. She'd put it out on the counter, but when she'd started to prepare it, she'd discovered there was no garlic in the house.

  Ah, tragedy! A trip to the grocery with baby in tow meant at least an hour, so she'd packed up the little urchin and taken off. As it so happened, I'd decided to take a nap in the middle of her preparations, so I'd missed the departure. When she'd returned, the ribs had disappeared.

  The Dame must have spent twenty minutes standing in front of the open refrigerator door looking for the rack of ribs because she'd been sure she'd put it in the refrigerator. Needless to say, I discovered it some ten hours later— in the washing machine.

  This is a long, rambling story to make a point. Peter would never have put the roast in the washing machine. The trash compactor, perhaps. The toolbox, maybe. But not the washing machine. Few men, based on my trained observations, understand that a washing machine is an empty metal container.

  Now, it
's difficult for me to lower myself to human standards of behavior, but I believe the person who put the phone in the washing machine was a woman.

  First, the tread was light— and second, there was a teensy bit of foundation makeup smeared on the phone. Although my thoughts are brilliant, my eyes and nose are keener. The phone was smudged with traces of makeup. The phone belongs to J. P. Frost, who does not wear makeup. Thus my "woman" theory.

  It pains me to have to admit this, but I allowed smugness to interfere with my work tonight. I was so delighted to have discovered the phone that I wasn't paying attention. I should have heard someone else in the house. I should have been alert.

  If it had been Crush Bonbon prancing about the house, I would have heard him. He weighs a ton. I insist that the person who locked the cellar door was a woman. Someone about the size of Anna Green. Or Mrs. Frost.

  I'll see if I can't get this point across to Jennifer and James. Along with the fact that whoever it was had some upper body strength to be able to whack James in the head and knock him completely out. It was a well-directed blow— as if whoever struck him knew what they were doing. Well-directed and well-executed. That implies knowledge of martial arts, or at least some form of self-defense. A woman with training.

  We're getting closer to some answers, but I have a terrible, nagging feeling that something else awful is about to happen. And though Eugene doesn't make a big deal about his concerns, this is having a grave impact on him. My worry is that even if the children are safely returned, this could affect his writing.

  And it's my job to see that it doesn't.

  * * *

  JENNIFER DROVE to her house without asking James's opinion. As they pulled into the driveway he gave her a curious look.

  "I have an ice pack, aspirin, a thermometer and all of the other things to make sure you aren't permanently brain damaged." She tried to sound tough, but her voice cracked and she knew she couldn't hide her true feelings much longer.

  James got out of the car and went around to her side, pulling her into his arms. "I'm okay," he said. "Better than okay."

  He was solid against her, his heartbeat regular, steady, his arms strong and supporting, and Jennifer allowed the last dregs of her fears for him to slowly slip away. He had been injured, but not seriously.

  Without a word James led her to the door, took her keys and opened the house. Familiar darted in ahead of them, making a beeline for the kitchen.

  "I think he wants a reward for saving all of our hides tonight," James said, following Jennifer to the kitchen.

  "And he shall have it." Jennifer opened a tin of sardines. "This isn't gourmet, kiddo, but I've never seen a cat turn it down. Just don't breathe on me for at least an hour."

  For James and herself she put on some coffee and found the aspirin. Their gazes met and held as they each took two. "I know I wasn't hit in the head, but the tension from this night is more than I can take," she explained, motioning him into a chair. "I have to tell you what I found, James. And we have to think of something to do. I believe I know the next kidnap victim."

  At her words James eased into the chair she'd indicated, his arms on the table. He instantly picked up the pen and pad of paper she kept beside her phone. "Okay, shoot," he said. "I'll make notes."

  Jennifer began her description of the room she'd found in Crush's house, concluding with the missing page from Eugene's book, and the missing book from the bookshelf.

  James's pen stilled in midair as he took a deep breath. "And the book is about a redheaded boy?"

  Jennifer found her anxiety had increased— she'd hoped James would discount her theory. But he seemed as certain as she was. She nodded. "Eugene knows at least two redheaded children. I can't think of their names, but I've seen them at story hour, and I know they've visited his home at least once."

  The tip of the pen tapped on the pad. "I wish we'd been able to get that screen back on the window."

  "Not to mention, cleaning up the blood on the upstairs bedroom floor," Jennifer added. "There's no doubt that Crush knows someone was in his home." She felt a sudden defeat. "What has he done with Mimi and Tommy?" She had so hoped to find the children, to rescue them and deliver them safely home. "There wasn't a trace that they'd been there."

  "Just the phone, and the clues about the books. Not to mention the…peculiarity evidenced in that room. But it does give me hope, Jennifer."

  "Hope?" She looked out from her own misery.

  "Hope that the children haven't been harmed. That room sounds as if it were created by someone who cares for children. Maybe not in a normal way, but everything there was for the child's pleasure. The toys, the wallpaper, everything. If Crush has Mimi and Tommy, it may be because he wants them to be his. And this attack on Eugene may be because he feels the children will care for him if they no longer care for Eugene."

  The words James spoke gave Jennifer a measure of comfort, but they also made her sad. "How awful," she said. "Never in a million years did I ever think I'd feel sorry for Crush Bonbon. And yet…I do." She looked up, her blue eyes unaccountably filmed with tears. "How terrible to want to be loved, to want to love someone that much."

  For all of Jennifer's appeal when she was shooting fire with her eyes and mouth, the tears were James's undoing. He put down the pen and stood. With two steps he was beside her, drawing her into his arms. "It's been a long, long week for you." He kissed the top of her head. "There's nothing we can do now, except wait to see if Crush files a report with the police that his home was broken into. That in itself will tell us a lot." His lips brushed her temple, lingering at the edge of her hair.

  Tired did not begin to describe Jennifer's emotional state. She was weary— and exhilarated. The touch of James's hand, his lips, sent pulses of need throughout her, and this time there was no hesitation as she lifted her lips to his.

  All of her life she'd used her wit and caustic tongue to drive back suitors. But James was amused by her verbal attacks. In fact, he enjoyed and provoked them. Yet he was also moved by her tenderness. Even as she kissed him, she smiled at a sudden thought. He also had a rapier wit and a quick tongue, and yet he could be gentle and tender. Perhaps, at long last, she'd met a worthy adversary.

  "What's so amusing?" James asked, his breath warm against her cheek.

  "You. Me." She kissed the stubble of his jawline. "Us."

  "Is this a lesson in pronouns?" he queried. God, she was beautiful with that glint of devilment in her eyes. It took all of his willpower not to crush her against him.

  "Personal pronouns." Jennifer let her teeth nibble his bottom lip. "Very personal."

  "Any chance there might be some verbs attached to those pronouns?"

  She chuckled softly against his neck, a sensation that made him groan. "If this is your idea of foreplay…"

  Before she could finish, she felt his arm sweep beneath her knees as he lifted her up. His dark eyes looked into hers.

  "Yes or no, Jennifer?"

  She had never been so certain of an answer in her life. "Yes," she answered clearly.

  Chapter Twelve

  The lovebirds were a little too much for me last night, so I took an exit through the back door and decided I'd check out the action at Crush's pad. Humans are a definite drawback on a stakeout. They're big. They can't hide. They make noise, and they can't run. Or jump. Or climb. Very unwieldy species. I'll have a lot better chance of success on my own, though I do miss the way Miss Spitfire strokes my back. She's a woman with talented fingers.

  This is a great town. Traffic is almost nonexistent in these nicer old neighborhoods. I can't say for certain what's dragging me back to Crush's, but I have this compulsion to spy on him. While the dynamic duo were noticing the lack of a child in his house, I also observed that there wasn't any evidence of a pet. Of course, no self-respecting cat would voluntarily live with a guy like him. But what kind of man is this? No children, no wife, no pet. What does he do with his spare time? That's what I want to discover. And, also, to s
ee if he remains at home. If he has those kids, then someone has to be taking them food and water. Then perhaps I can get Jennifer and James to come up for air long enough to follow him. That is if they live through the night. I must say, they seem to have an abundant supply of energy and ardor. Ah, the combination of youth and love. I remember back in my salad days when I was hanging out behind that palace of Southern cuisine, The Okra Pod. There was a young feline who'd been partially adopted by one of the cooks. He'd bring her out a fried liver delicacy, which she gladly shared with me, and then our thoughts turned romantic. Yes, those were the days. When I was unattached and carefree.

  Though I may admire the set of AnnaLoulou's delicious little ears and the way her tail makes a question mark whenever Eugene strokes her back, I am true to Clotilde. True to my commitment.

  Ah, but a short trip back in time can stir the blood to a pounding thunder. James and Jennifer are making their own moments to hold and savor in the future. They may not realize it yet, but this kitty could get a job on the psychic hotline when it comes to predicting the future of Miss Spitfire and Clark Kent. It's a done deal— someone should rent the chapel— unless something tragic happens.

  Enough of this mushy foolishness. I want to see what Crush is doing. He's up in one of the bedrooms. Not the one where we found James, but the other. Lucky for me magnolias have smooth, tough bark. I've learned a valuable lesson while hanging out in the coastal plains— don't climb pines. That sap is something else and hard on a kitty's fur.

  What's that noise I hear? Typing? A soft clack-clack sort of noise. Not like Eugene's old typewriter. It couldn't possibly be. It's too…erratic. It sounds like Dr. Doolittle trying to type a report before the Dame takes pity on him and puts it into the computer. I'll just climb another limb or two and I'll be able to stare him eye to beady little eye— a terrifying thought for me.

  Yep, it's Crush! At a keyboard! And he's going to town as fast as his little pea-size brain will let him. Man, he's concentrating like his life depends on it. It's nearly one o'clock in the morning. What could he possibly have to type now?