by Patricia Fry
"But you don't understand... " Savannah started, quickly freeing herself from his loose grip and moving away from the table.
That's when Michael walked up and put his arm around her, whispering, "Hon, Rupert knows where to look. He'll find Rags." He gently led his wife back to the table and they both eased into their chairs. Savannah took a bite of the elegant dessert, but she could not concentrate on it or on the conversations around her.
After a few minutes, Rob noticed this. "Excuse me, but I think I'll help Savannah look for the cat, if you don't mind," he said, apologetically. He smiled at Savannah.
"Thank you, Rob," she said as she followed after him calling for Rags and peering in between and behind some of the many potted plants scattered throughout the room.
Rupert had rushed to an adjoining room in his search. However, he returned shortly appearing worried. "I can't find him."
"He's probably lost in this big house," Savannah said. She turned to Charles. "Okay if we go look for him?"
Reluctantly, he nodded.
Margaret and Max stood and offered to join the search.
At that, their host vacated his chair, and suggested, in his usual take-charge manner, "Savannah and Michael, you two explore the west wing. Margaret and Max, take the east route. Rupert, check all of the outside doors to make sure none of them have been left open. Rob, you come with me; we'll search the great room and kitchen area. There are a lot of places for a cat to hide in this house." He chuckled. "He's probably having a marvelous time exploring." He then turned to Henrietta. "You keep Cheryl company, dear. I'm sure we'll return promptly... with the cat." When Charles noticed Savannah and Michael standing in the middle of the room looking confused, he pointed. "West wing; through that door."
"I knew it was a bad idea to turn him loose," Savannah said under her breath as the couple headed down a long hallway on the ground floor.
"Yeah, we should have followed our gut on that one," Michael agreed. "Nothing is simple with that cat." He then said, "It looks like there are about eight rooms in this hallway. How about you take those on the left and I'll check the ones on the right."
Savannah was in the last bedroom on the west wing ground floor checking closets when she heard something. She stopped and listened.Sounds like a cat, she thought. She tilted her head. I think it's coming from upstairs. She walked cautiously into the hallway and looked in the direction she'd seen her husband go. "Michael," she called, quietly. When she didn't hear a response, she entered the room across the hall. No one was there. She stepped into the next room —empty.There it is again. Sure sounds like a cat. I'm going to investigate... if I can find my way back to that big staircase. Ah, there it is.
Seeing no one around, she ascended the staircase and walked slowly toward the occasional sound she continued to hear.Sure sounds like Rags. Where is he? she wondered. Maybe he went back to the Jungle Room. She turned the corner in the second-floor hallway expecting to see him, but the corridor was empty, so she advanced toward the playroom. Slowly, she opened the purple door.It's dark. Where's the light switch? Here, she said to herself as she turned on the light. "Rags," she called quietly. "Rags, are you in here?"
Just then Savannah thought she heard the sound of a door closing. When she peered cautiously into the hallway, she was stunned to see Rags sauntering toward her. "Where were you?" she said, gazing up and down the eerily quiet hall. When she noticed that all of the doors were still open except for the baby-blue door across from the Jungle Room and the emerald-green door at the end of the hall, she wondered, Did someone have him in one of those rooms? But Rupert said this floor is unoccupied... except for... Gads, she thought,ghosts!?
Focusing on the cat now, she whispered, "Come on, Rags, let's join the others and let them know you're okay." She quickly turned off the light in the Jungle Room and closed the door. That's when something caught her eye.Someone's moving around in that room at the end of the hall. I see shadows in the light shining from under the green door. Her heart raced. Who's in there? Ghosts don't make shadows, do they? I don't even know if I believe in ghosts. I think there's someone behind that door and I'm pretty sure that whoever it is, had Rags. Highly curious now, she picked up the large cat and walked toward the door. Readjusting the large cat in her arms, she raised one hand and prepared to knock.
"Savannah, are you up here?"
Her heart suddenly in her throat, she jumped and turned quickly toward the voice. She relaxed when she saw who it was. "Michael, you startled me." She glanced back at the emerald-green door. Oh, what does it matter who's in there? she thought.We have Rags back. Better go join the others. Don't want to cause any waves our first night here.
"What were you doing?" Michael asked as Savannah approached him with the cat in her arms.
"Well, I think someone's in that room," she explained.
"So?" he asked, taking Rags from her.
"Don't you remember, Rupert told us no one lives up here? But before I saw Rags, I heard a door close and then I saw shadows moving under that door. I think someone had him in there."
Just then they heard another voice. "Hello! Michael! Savannah!" the man called.
"Down here," Michael replied as Charles Peyton came into view from around the bend in the hallway.
"Good, there he is," he said. He then frowned. "Where's his harness?"
Savannah grimaced. "I don't know. When I found him, he wasn't wearing it."
Charles scratched his head. "Gosh, I'm sorry. This should never have happened. Rupert will be reprimanded. We'll purchase a new harness for him first thing in the morning."
"Don't worry. No harm done," Michael said. "We have another harness, don't we, hon?"
"Yes," she said. "With Rags, you have to think ahead and be prepared."
"But how in the world did he get it off?" Michael asked, staring down at the cat in his arms. "He's never shed one of those before—at least to my knowledge." He looked to Savannah for her input.
"No, I've never known him to get out of a harness. He had help," she said, glancing behind her again.
Charles chuckled. "Maybe he's just more clever than you thought. No one on my staff would remove his harness without permission," he insisted. He glanced beyond Savannah toward the end of the hallway. "No one stays on this second-story wing, you know. That's why we have the cat room on this floor. When the occasional cat visits, we keep them up here by themselves where their caterwauling can't bother anyone." He glanced at Rags again. "Well, let's go back and let the others know we found him. We'll have a nightcap and then you might want to take him to your bungalow and get some rest."
****
Later that night, Savannah awoke with Rags on her mind. He's such a worry. If he's home with us, I worry. If he's traveling with us, I worry. No way can I go back to sleep without making sure he's where he should be, doing what he should be doing. She raised herself up on one elbow and squinted toward his kitty bed. I don't think he's in it, she thought, climbing out of bed and walking over to look more closely. Awww, there he is, sprawled across it. "Hi Rags," she whispered, when he lifted his head and looked at her. She reached down and petted him. "Good boy. Now go back to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."
As she headed back to bed, she noticed a glow of light streaming through a split between the drape panels. She stopped and peered out the window.Gads, that mansion is huge, she thought.It looks eerie at night, the way the fog swirls around the place. The thick mist makes it seem grotesque instead of beautiful. She smiled at her wild imagination and started to release the drapes. Wait, it sure looks like there's a light coming from a window on the second floor. It's dim—like the window's covered or something. I think that's where I found Rags this evening. She squinted. I believe that's the room at the end of the hall where I thought I saw shadows moving under the door. She stared.Strange. Oh well, could be that someone left a light on when they last used that room or when the maid c
leaned it. I'd better get some sleep. She took one more quick look at Rags before climbing back into the monstrous four-poster bed.
Chapter 3
"Good morning, sunshine," Michael said when his wife entered the living room fresh out of the shower, dressed in jeans and a lightweight yellow sweater. "We're having breakfast on the lanai. Are you hungry?"
"Lanai?" Savannah said, laughing. "That's not a lanai; it's a deck. Breakfast? Sure, I'm ready. What are we having?"
"Whatever your aunt ordered. We're eating here because she says we have the better view."
"Cool. Oh, here they are now," she said, opening the French doors. Before she could greet them, there was a knock at the front door.
"That must be our breakfast," Michael said, taking his usual long strides to let the servers in.
"Surprise!"
"Peter! Rochelle! Hey, you guys are just in time for breakfast. Come on in," Michael invited, just as Margaret and Max stepped in.
"Hi Peter," Savannah said, crossing the room and greeting him with a hug. She reached out for Rochelle. "I'm so happy to see you two. Are you living up here yet?"
"Where's your studio?" Michael asked.
Savannah jumped in again, "How do you like it so far?"
"Hey, hey," Peter said, "one question at a time." Before he could respond, however, he spotted Margaret, who had walked toward them. "... but first, I want to meet this delightful young lady." Bowing slightly, he extended his hand. "I'm Peter Whitcomb, an old friend of Michael's and a new friend of Savannah's." He cocked his head. "You look a lot like Brianna. Are you another sister?"
Margaret smiled broadly. Keeping her eyes on Peter, she waved a hand in front of her face. "You sure know how to make a girl blush." Addressing Rochelle, she asked, "Is he always this complimentary?"
"Pretty much," she said, smiling. "I didn't get to meet Savannah's sister, but I did meet her mother and you sure resemble her."
"Close," Savannah said. "This is my aunt, Margaret Sheridan, and her husband, Max. Auntie... Max... meet Peter and Rochelle." She explained, "It was Peter's beach house we stayed in last month."
"Nice to meet you," Margaret said, allowing Peter to take her hand.
"You had a beach house in Southern California and you left it to live up here?" Max asked.
"Yes, needed a change in scenery," Peter said.
Michael clapped his hands together. "Hey, have you two had breakfast?"
"Actually, no," Peter said. "Are you cooking?"
Michael chuckled. "I thought maybe you would, like you did our first day at the beach house."
Rochelle looked at Peter, her eyes wide with disbelief. "You cooked a meal?"
"Yeah, I did," he said, looking a little sheepish.
Savannah nodded. "And it was good. Won't he cook for you?"
"No. He told me he doesn't know anything about cooking anything."
Michael slapped his friend on the back. "You scoundrel." He turned to Rochelle. "I can vouch for his bacon and eggs."
"We've ordered veggie omelets, cinnamon buns, and a variety of fruit. How does that sound?" Max asked the couple.
Peter seemed pleased to have the subject changed. "You're being served?"
"Yes, we'll eat on the deck," Margaret explained.
"Sounds great," Rochelle said, looking to Peter for his input.
Peter shrugged. "Sure, count us in, if it's not too late."
"No," Max assured the couple, "it's not too late. I'll call the chef."
"Come on out and make yourselves comfortable," Savannah suggested, leading the couple to the deck. Margaret and Max followed.
The sun had just cleared the first turret on the Peyton mansion as the small group gathered around the table. "Shall I open the umbrella or do you ladies prefer the sunshine?" Michael asked.
The three of them agreed that the sun felt good.
After engaging in small-talk for several minutes, Peter grinned and asked, "Where's the bus-riding, escape-artist, bathing-suit-stealing cat?"
Michael chuckled. "In solitary confinement."
"Resting up for his big night," Savannah added.
"Bus-riding, bathing-suit-stealing?" Margaret repeated. "Vannie, you didn't tell me about that."
"Here's our breakfast," Max said, when he saw the parade of chefs marching toward the deck carrying large trays.
Once everyone had been served and the servers had left, Margaret turned to Savannah. "Now what's this about Rags riding a bus and stealing bathing suits?"
"Didn't you tell her about that?" Michael asked as he spread butter on a warm cinnamon bun.
Savannah shook her head. "He gets a bad enough rap without us adding to it."
"I'll tell you, Margaret... " Peter started.
"It's Maggie," she corrected in a slightly flirty manner.
He smiled. "Okay, Maggie. Well, you see, on the cat's first day at the beach house, I accidentally let him out and he ran off and stole a gal's bathing-suit top."
"Took it off her?" Max asked, chuckling.
"That's what I wondered," Peter said, winking. He continued, this time, using a mock-serious tone, "His last night there, he went for a bus ride... "
"What?" Margaret exclaimed. "By himself?"
Peter started laughing. "Yes, can you imagine? The police brought him home... "
Savannah held up one hand. "Not the police. It was a security guard."
"How did they know where he belonged?" Max asked, now completely enthralled by the story.
"Well, you see, Max," Michael said, "the cat developed a reputation while we were living in the beach community. Someone at the fish restaurant where he stopped to eat recognized him and knew where he was staying."
"Oh my gosh," Margaret said, practically doubled over laughing. "That is just too far out, even for Rags." She thought about it for a minute, shook her head, and asked, "He actually climbed on a bus and what? ... jumped off when it stopped at a restaurant that had fish on the menu?"
"It appears that's exactly what he did," Savannah said, a bewildered look on her pretty face.
Max looked across the table at Savannah. "He is too much. What a character."
After cleaning their plates, the three couples continued a lively conversation while enjoying their coffee and tea, when they heard a new voice. "Good morning."
Michael craned his neck to see who had issued the greeting. "Oh, good morning, Rob... Cheryl."
"Hi, you two," Savannah said. She scooted her chair out to face them. "These are our friends, Peter and Rochelle. This is Rob and Cheryl, the producers and directors of the film we'll be seeing tonight."
Suddenly, Rob pointed at Peter. "Hey, you're Peter Whitcomb."
Peter cocked his head and said, hesitantly, "Guilty."
"I met you at a gig down south—near Atlanta. You were showing your art. I was filming some of the artists. I actually have you on tape talking about your work."
"Oh? Was that at the Connover Plantation?" Peter asked.
Rob nodded.
"Yes, I remember. What did you ever do with that clip, anyway?"
"Nothing, yet. Otherwise, I would have contacted you... for permission, you know." Rob peered at Peter. "Hey, how's your... what is she... publicity gal... ?"
"Dawna?" Savannah said, recalling her less-than-pleasant last encounter with the woman. "Yes, how is she doing?"
"She was a dynamo," Rob recalled. He chuckled. "She reminded me of a teacher I had at Catholic school-no-nonsense, down-to-business. Does she ever lighten up?"
Peter shook his head. "Not so you'd notice." He swallowed hard. "She's doing her own thing, now. Showing her art."
"Really?" Rob said. "I didn't know she was an artist, too."
"Neither did I until... "
"Until what?" Rob pushed.
"Until she told me she didn't want to represent me anymore; that she'd rather represent herself."
"So you've brok
en ties with her completely?" Michael asked.
Peter took a sip of coffee and placed the mug on the table. "It's better that way."
After a few moments of silence, Savannah asked Rob and Cheryl, "So, what are you two doing out and about this morning?"
"Hiking... getting to know the area," Rob said.
"Where did you hike?" Michael asked. "... down in the marshland or up in the foothills?"
"Today, we walked down through the meadows... as you said, the marshland. It's not too soggy this morning. Tide's out and it was an easy walk."
"We walked almost to those trees you can see way out there," Cheryl said. "I was scared the tide would come in and I made Rob turn around so we wouldn't be stranded."
Margaret twisted in her chair and looked in the direction Cheryl pointed. "That's quite a walk. What time did you get up?"
"Oh it wasn't bad—only three or four miles, maybe," Rob estimated.
Cheryl frowned. "Seemed more like ten." She addressed Margaret, "It's hard walking in all that wet grass."
"Come join us for coffee," Michael invited. "There's fruit left and a few cinnamon buns, if you're hungry."
Rob stepped up on the deck. "Sure, I worked up an appetite." He pulled two chairs closer to the table and he and Cheryl settled into them.
While Margaret and Rochelle cleared the table—placing the dirty dishes on the large trays and setting them aside, Savannah retrieved clean dishes and utensils from the kitchen for their guests.
"So what do you figure, there's about a hundred acres here?" Max estimated.
Rob looked out over the land below. "Yeah, or more," he said, reaching for the pitcher of orange juice.
"We saw a cat out there," Cheryl said. "... a wild one."
"Feral," Rob corrected.
"I thought there were no cats on the property," Margaret said.
Rob took a sip of his juice. "I guess they had cats here at one time. They had people who did nothing but care for them; Rupert was in charge. He set up the playroom and managed the cats' schedules, diets, and all. As I understand it, it got to be too much. Henrietta wanted to keep the cats, but Charles had had enough and banned them from the house. Today, there are just a few ferals on the grounds."
