The kettle began humming and a steady blast of steam issued from the spout. Bettina attended to the tea-making, then popped bread into the toaster and set an egg to poaching while the tea steeped.
Adolf yawned hugely and changed his mind about sleeping. Food—people food—was in the offing. He launched himself against the door of his carrying case and the latch, already weakened by many such assaults, was no match for him. He strolled out of the case and over to Bettina, looking up at her expectantly.
“Not now, greedy guts,” she said. “Only what’s in your bowl. That ought to be enough for any reasonable cat.”
Adolf promptly showed her how unreasonable he could be. His yowl woke the others; he heaved himself up on his hind legs, his claws lightly insinuating themselves into Bettina’s knee. He repeated his demand for whatever she was cooking.
Pasha moved to the front of his case, looked at the empty spot where Bluebell’s cushioned case had lain and added his complaint to Adolf’s. First, Sylvia had disappeared, and now Bluebell was gone; he was alone, bereft, abandoned. The world was too miserable to be borne.
“Oh, Pasha, poor baby.” Bettina was not only sympathetic, but frightened. Despite his size—which was mostly fur—Pasha already seemed frail to the point of illness. If he should lose the will to live …
“Here, Pasha.” Recklessly, she slopped cod-liver oil into his saucer and unlatched the door of his carrying case. “Cheer up. It’s not as bad as it seems.”
Or was it? If Sylvia had deserted Graeme, who would get custody of Pasha? Graeme obviously didn’t care about him at all—and Sylvia might have decided to leave him here, to be sent—for later … much later. If at all …
Enza announced that she, too, wanted her freedom and Bettina quickly let her out, noticing that her sides seemed to have bulged out at least an extra inch overnight. Thank heavens Jack Rawson could be relied upon to return tomorrow and retrieve his little darling.
It was fortunate that the Romes had returned early; Bluebell was a sweetheart, but four cats amounted to a handful and a half in the confines of one kitchen.
Adolf yowled again and Bettina looked down at him thoughtfully. It was less fortunate that May Cassidy had decided to add another ten days on to the Bank Holiday weekend and give herself a nice long holiday with her family in Ireland. Adolf could be a handful and a half all by himself.
Of course, if one had a proper boarding cattery, with separate heated chalets for each cat and a long wired-in run where they could exercise and an assistant to help care for them and—
“BETTINA! BETTINA!” Her mother’s shrill voice broke in on the pleasant reverie. “Hasn’t that kettle boiled yet? What’s taking so long?”
“Just ready now, Mother,” she called back, swiftly assembling the tea tray and starting for the door. She glanced back in time to see Adolf and Enza executing a pincer movement on Pasha, shouldering him aside and zeroing in on his cod-liver oil.
She was halfway up the stairs when the doorbell rang an abrupt, peremptory summons. She halted irresolutely for a moment, the tray teetering in her hands.
“Doorbell, Bettina.”
“I hear it.” She resumed climbing the stairs. “I’ll answer it in a minute.”
“Is that my tea?” Her mother appeared at the head of the stairs. “There’s a police car out front. If that’s the police, don’t let them in.”
“If it’s the police, I’ll have to let them in.” Bettina surrendered the tray and went back downstairs. The doorbell sounded urgently again.
“All right, I’m coming!” she shouted, aware of her mother’s disapproving gaze.
“What is it?” She swung back the door, still not in the best of moods.
“Good morning, Mrs. Bilby.” Two men stood there. The older man was not in uniform, the constable beside him was.
“I’m Miss Bilby,” she found herself snapping.
“Sorry, Miss Bilby.” The plain-clothes man swung a small card in front of her eyes, too quickly to be read. “I’m sorry to disturb you so early but—”
“Is that the police?” her mother demanded loudly from the top of the stairs.
“That’s right, madam.” The man stepped forward, a practised public relations smile on his lips. “Just a matter of routine …”
“If you have to let them in,” Mrs. Bilby said, “make sure you count the spoons before they leave.”
The smile congealed on his face.
“I’m so sorry,” Bettina apologized quickly, abysmally aware that it would do no good. “You mustn’t mind my mother. She’s a bit difficult … at times.”
“We’ve heard worse than that,” the man said. “These days.” And he was prepared to forgive none of it.
“Please”—Bettina stepped back—“do come in.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to lock up the silver first?”
“I’ve said I’m sorry.” A trace of asperity crept into her voice. “I really can’t be held responsible for my mother’s opinions. And”—she added a bit of nastiness on her own account—“it was all over the local newspaper.”
“This week it will be in the nationals. They pick up anything that’s too good to miss.” His tone was bleak and, for a moment, his faint air of dejection was so like Pasha’s that her heart softened.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” she offered, leading them into the living room. “Or coffee—if you don’t mind instant?”
“No, thank you.” The older man established his rank by answering for them both without a glance at his uniformed constable.
The cats marched in from the kitchen on a tour of inspection. They, too, ignored the constable, and circled the older man warily.
“Do sit down,” Bettina said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name … ?”
“Inspector Hughes.” He did not introduce the constable, who perched on the edge of a chair while the inspector chose the sofa, leaning forward and offering his hand to be sniffed. Adolf and Pasha kept their distance, but Enza, certain of her welcome from all susceptible males, sniffed delicately at the hand and then leaped into his lap.
“She must smell Timmy on me,” he said with a trace of complacency as he began to stroke her.
“Timmy is your cat?” Bettina was aware that she was beginning to unbend. Even if he was from a highly suspect station house, a policeman with a cat couldn’t be all bad.
“Timon of Athens,” he said, half defiantly. “A Siamese.”
“How lovely!” The exclamation was so heartfelt that he thawed.
“He is, rather. That is—” With a swift sideways glance at the constable, he cleared his throat and became more formal. “This little lady seems to think so. Like to meet my Timmy, would you?”
Enza purred agreement, rubbing her head against the friendly hand.
“She’d better wait until she’s discharged her duty to Adolf,” Bettina said.
“Ah, yes.” The hands stroked Enza’s sides assessingly. Another two or three weeks perhaps?”
“About that.”
“And this must be Adolf.” He looked down into the jealous eyes at knee level, glaring at him. “Well named, isn’t he? Striking markings.”
“Just wait until you hear him haranguing the rabble. Then you’ll really know how he earned his name. May Cassidy always did have a wild sense of humour.”
“Oh? He’s not yours, then?” The quick look of interest swung to her from the cats.
“None of them are, I’m sorry to say. I don’t have a cat of my own. I just seem to have fallen into the position of neighbourhood cat-sitter to everyone else’s pets.”
“And yet”—he met her eyes in one keen glance that veered away and returned to the cats almost as soon as she’d noticed it—“you’re so fond of them.”
“Yes, but my mother—” She broke off.
“Ah, yes.” He glanced ceilingwards. “Quite.”
Bettina could hear sounds of activity overhead, which presaged an imminent appearance. The one thing her
mother had in common with the cats was a curiosity that would not be denied.
“You wanted to ask some questions?” Bettina spoke hurriedly. If she could speed up this conversation, perhaps they might get it over with before her mother came downstairs. “It’s about the accident to the Water Board man last night, I suppose?” There was a creak on the stairs. Bettina cast a harried glance towards the doorway, one which became even more harried as she realized that, having broken all records getting dressed, her mother was now going to stand outside in the hallway and eavesdrop.
“Shall we wait until your mother arrives?” Inspector Hughes was no fool. “Then we shan’t have to ask the same questions twice.” He stared pointedly at the doorway, but it remained empty.
“I’ll just go and see—” Bettina began. He stopped her with an abrupt gesture.
“Please come in.” Inspector Hughes raised his voice. “We’re waiting for you, madam.”
Chapter 10
“Humph!” Mrs. Bilby appeared in the doorway and swept them with a withering look, clearly unimpressed and letting them know it. “So they’re still here!”
“We haven’t finished our inquiries, madam.” Inspector Hughes remained seated, firmly anchored by Enza, who had settled down on his lap. At least, Bettina divined, that was his ostensible excuse; it was also more than possible that he had not forgiven Mrs. Bilby her earlier remark and saw no reason to extend any courtesies to her. Her present attitude wasn’t going to ease the situation, either. The inspector sent a sharp glance towards the constable, who had risen to his feet and the unfortunate young man dropped back into his chair, his face turning bright pink.
“I don’t know why you have to make any inquiries here,” Mrs. Bilby said. “That stupid man drowned in the Romes’ garden, not ours. You should be next door talking to them.”
“We’ll get to them, madam. I understand the deceased and another man had been in every garden in the vicinity yesterday afternoon. Do you know why they—”
“Because the Water Board is staffed by a pack of incompetent idiots!” Mrs. Bilby could not wait for the end of the question to enlighten him. “None of them can remember where they’ve put their drains. Every time we looked out of the windows yesterday—front or back—there were fools splashing about in puddles. It’s a wonder more of them haven’t drowned.”
Adolf voiced a sudden opinion as to someone he would like to see drowned. Mrs. Bilby glared at him and he glared back.
“We’re trying to trace his movements during the day. Could either of you tell us what time he was here?”
“You’re not a local man,” Mrs. Bilby accused suddenly. “You have a different accent—a country accent.”
“That’s right,” Inspector Hughes said. “I’m from the West Sussex Constabulary. A group of us from different regions have been seconded to your local station to make up for the suspensions. Not enough, though. The station is still short-staffed and fully stretched, but we’re doing our best. If you could kindly answer the questions, it would help us a great deal.”
“Helping with inquiries!” Mrs. Bilby said “We all know what that means. Do you suspect”—her eyes gleamed—“foul play?”
“In this case, it means just what it says.” He gave her a jaded look. “We are simply trying to establish what happened. The man was dead when the ambulance arrived and the accident report has to have a routine follow-up.”
“They were here most of the afternoon,” Bettina said. “In one back garden or another. Most of the neighbours are away for the holiday, so they were able to poke about without interference. They—the man who died—came to our back door sometime about half past three and wanted to come in and check the roof, but Mother wouldn’t let him in.”
“Check the roof, indeed!” Mrs. Bilby sniffed. “What would the Water Board be doing with the roof? Burglars, that’s what they were! They didn’t fool me! Wanted to look around and see what was worth stealing, so that they could come back later and get it. The police ought to be watching out for suspicious characters like that—if they weren’t too busy doing their own thieving!”
“Mother!” Bettina protested automatically.
“Then only one of them came to the back door?” Inspector Hughes ignored Mrs. Bilby’s outburst. “Where was the other man?”
“He was waiting at the bottom of the garden,” Bettina said.
“Did you hear either of them call the other by name?”
“You mean you don’t even know who he is?” Mrs. Bilby’s nod said she had expected no better. “Why not? Wouldn’t the Water Board tell you?”
“He wasn’t carrying any identification,” Inspector Hughes said patiently, conveying the implication that he would answer reasonable questions, but would not deal with hysterical nonsense about burglars.
“And we haven’t been able to get through to the Water Board yet. They’re trying to deal with all the storm emergencies and they’ve put a recorded message on their phone line. Someone else has gone round to call on them personally.”
“If there’s anyone there,” Mrs. Bilby said. “The lazy—”
“Or everyone is out on emergency work,” Bettina said quickly; Inspector Hughes was getting that jaded look again. “Even some of the higher-ups were trying to unblock a drain out front earlier in the day.”
“They weren’t very good at it,” Mrs. Bilby said, “but it did my heart good to see them get their Savile Row suits soaking wet. It was probably the first time they’d ever sullied their hands in their whole miserable, useless lives.”
“Anyway, we didn’t hear any names,” Bettina said. “You should ask Zoe Rome next door. She might know. She was talking to them and even gave them mugs of coffee.”
“Zoe is a fool!” Mrs. Bilby said. “So is her mother. Anyone could talk those women out of anything!”
“Perhaps it would be best to speak to them.” Inspector Hughes, holding Enza, rose to his feet. “If we have any more questions …” He sent Mrs. Bilby an inscrutable look.
“I’ll be back at work tomorrow,” Bettina said. “At Jelwyn Accessories. I’m personal assistant to Mr. Norris—”
“We called them secretaries in my day,” Mrs. Bilby sniffed. “They didn’t get so above themselves then.”
The constable was already at the door, anxious to escape. Inspector Hughes transferred Enza to Bettina’s arms, giving her a look that told her he had correctly interpreted her message and would arrange to speak to her at the office without constant interruptions from her mother if it became necessary to ask any further questions.
“Good riddance!” Mrs. Bilby said, before the door had quite closed behind them. “All tarred with the same brush, they are. Give them enough time to learn their way around these parts and they’ll be in it up to their armpits, too.”
Bettina watched the ramrod-stiff backs of the two men marching down the path; they had heard every word, no doubt about it As Mrs. Bilby had intended them to.
Bettina was conscious of a ghostlike echo from her childhood: “I’ll never see them again.” Friends she had brought home from school to play who, having encountered Mrs. Bilby, never returned. They had remained friendly enough but wary, and all contact with them had thenceforward been on their territory. It had not been long before she had learned not to invite anyone home …
“Are you going to stand there all day?” her mother demanded. “I didn’t get the chance to have my breakfast with those people here and everything will be cold now. I can’t drink cold tea—and cold poached egg is disgusting!”
“The cats will eat it,” Bettina said. “I’ll chop it up for them.”
“The cats! The cats! The cats! What about me?”
“I’ll put the kettle on.” Bettina turned away from the door, still wondering at the faint sense of loss she felt.
Mrs. Bilby had retired for her afternoon nap when Zoe tapped at the back door and entered quickly, before the cats could get out. She was carrying a small covered roasting pan, holding it a good dista
nce away from her.
“Have you,” she asked, too sweetly, “anything you’d like to tell me?”
“Oh, dear! I was hoping you wouldn’t find it until I had a chance to speak to you about it,” Bettina said.
“It’s a good job I’m the one who found it. We’d have had a prize case of hysteria on our hands if Mum had uncovered it.” Zoe set the pan on the table and stared at her accusingly. “What on earth are you playing at?”
Adolf caught the scent and leaped for the table top.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Bettina caught him up and tossed him back to the floor. His paws hardly touched it before he rebounded to the table top.
Pasha strolled over to see what was going on, Enza was right behind him. Adolf let out a cry for reinforcements and Pasha jumped on to the table.
“For heaven’s sake!” Bettina snatched up the roasting pan and thrust it at Zoe. “Take this away. Put it back. Please. They’re getting overexcited.”
“So am I,” Zoe said. “Why should I put this … this thing … back into my deepfreeze? Why can’t you put it in yours?”
“Because if my mother finds it—”
“Why don’t you just throw it away?”
“Because—Stop that!” Adolf was teetering on the edge of the table, striking out with his paw, trying to knock the pan from her hands.
“Distract them,” Zoe said. She reached up to the shelf above the table and tossed a handful of cat treats to the floor.
Enza promptly began eating them. Pasha dropped to the floor and dived in for his share. Adolf fixed Bettina with a baleful eye—there was more than cat treats around here and he wanted it. Meanwhile … he jumped to the floor and jostled the others aside.
“Now,” Zoe said. “Why have you suddenly become so attached to a dead pigeon?”
“BETTINA!” her mother called. “Who are you talking to? Have those policemen come back?”
“No, Mother, it’s only Zoe.” Bettina went out to the foot of the stairs. “Go back to sleep.”
“Sleep! Sleep! As though anyone could get any rest around here. There’s never a quiet moment.” There was the sound of feet hitting the floor heavily. “I might as well get up.”
The Diamond Cat Page 10
