Catnip (Dunbarton Mysteries Book 1) (3 page)

The next few days were busy ones
at the office and Chris was glad to have the pressures of the Dunbar family off
his mind. On Thursday, however, he decided to pay a surprise visit to the
mansion to see how things were going and to take over some papers that needed
signing.

All was quiet as he drove up and
he found it reassuring. The grounds were, as usual, immaculate, the last of the
winter debris cleared away, and in the gardens the crocuses were in full bloom.
It was a beautiful evening, the sun setting rosily and the buff brick mellow in
the dimming light.

And his mood was equally mellow.
Things were going well. His partners were very impressed with the manner in
which he’d handled the estate, and he had the vision of a pair of turquoise
eyes and possibility of spending the evening with the owner thereof before him.
The Dunbars had been very amiable at dinner the previous Sunday and he foresaw
no problems with them, in any context.

Whistling happily, he took the
front steps two at a time and started to ring the bell, but before his hand
reached the button, there was a loud crash and a shriek of protest from within.
Not waiting to be asked, he opened the door to see a large porcelain urn lying
shattered on the floor, the earth and palms scattered across the hardwood and
carpets. Alice Dunbar stood in the middle of the mess, a stricken look on her
face.

“That damned animal!” Her lip
quivered. “He did this on purpose, I know he did. I just finished cleaning this
room, and now ...” She broke off in a loud sneeze as the dust settled on her. “..
and now I’ll have to do it all again!”

Chris looked quickly around the
room to find the cause of all the mess sitting under a small Queen Anne table,
rubbing his paw across his nose and eyes. He exploded suddenly in a sneeze and
something in Alice snapped.

Chris watched helplessly as she
took off after him, vacuum cleaner still in hand, screaming like something
possessed. Marmalade didn’t stop to argue. He took off across the floor and
over an end table, sending an ornate china lamp rocking precariously, and flew
out an open window.

Chris made a flying leap for the
lamp, catching it just before it fell, and set it gingerly back on the table,
then turned to see a red-faced Alice surveying the chaos. There was a layer of
dust over everything and pieces of china, palm leaves, and clumps of damp earth
covered a good deal of the floor and rug, ground in, in places, he observed
guiltily, by some size twelve footprints.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Dunbar. How
did this happen?”

She looked at him stonily. “That
damned ...” Her voice quivered with rage. “That damned cat couldn’t keep out of
my way while I cleaned. He had to play with the mop, and the duster, and the
cord of the vacuum. He tried to squeeze in behind the urn but he was too big
and the rest you can see.” She pointed dramatically to the shattered vase. “That
urn was a wedding present from my grandmother. It was one of the few things in
this house that was mine.” Her lips quivered again.

“I’m really very sorry. Marmalade
couldn’t know that, you know. Replace the urn and send the bill to me. The
estate will take care of it.”

“Thank you,” she said coldly, and
proceeded to clean up the wreckage. Quietly, Chris picked up a broom and went
to help. And that’s how James and Alicia, coming back with the groceries, found
them, working side-by-side in stony silence.

Chris left shortly after they’d
finished. Alice had retired to her room without saying another word. Alicia
followed to see if she needed anything, her turquoise eyes sending an unspoken
apology as she climbed the stairs. James accompanied him to the car. As James
opened the door, Chris saw Marmalade slink out of the garage and across the
yard to the kitchen door, hunger being the better part of valor, or perhaps
just getting the better of common sense.

“I’m very sorry about what’s
happened. My wife was too upset to thank you for your help,” James said. Chris
nodded understandingly. “It hasn’t been easy for her, you know. When we were
married she assumed we’d have an active social life. She always loved parties.
She was the prettiest girl in town, the belle of any ball. She could have had
any man she wanted and I was the proudest man in the world the day she married
me. But Dunbarton is a quiet town. The social life is limited. Since my
brother, Robert junior, had been killed and it was up to me one day to take Dad’s
place in the firm, there was no possibility of moving to Toronto as she wished.”

Chris picked up on the ‘as she
wished’. “Was that what you wanted, to move to the city?”

James smiled sheepishly. “No, I
never wanted to leave here,” he admitted, “but I would have, to make Alice
happy. I would have done anything to make her happy. Still would, for that
matter.”

“So what did
you
want?”

“I always wanted to stay here and
work in the company but not in the business side of it. I’ve never been any
good at business. That was Bobby’s forte. He was a natural. We had it all
worked out. He would run the business and I would run the shop. That’s what I
love, the craftsmanship, the wood. We would have made a great team,” he added
sadly.

“Your mother told me he died in a
car accident that you survived.”

“That’s right. Did she tell you
that I was driving?”

Chris could hear the guilt and
bitterness in his voice, even after all these years. “No, she didn’t mention
that,” he replied softly.

“I had just bought my first new
car and I was taking Bobby for a drive to show it off. The accident wasn’t my
fault. A drunk driver ran a red light and plowed into the passenger side. Bobby
didn’t stand a chance. But I could never stop thinking that if it had been me
that was killed and not him, how different everything would have been for
everyone.” He said ‘different’, but Chris had the feeling that he’d meant ‘better’.

“Your mother didn’t think that.
She said that it was fortunate that you survived.”

James looked pleased. “She said
that? Anyway, it was me, and I had to take over the whole firm when my father
died. Thankfully, mother had a broker look after the investments or I would
have run them into the ground as well.”

Chris decided to ignore the last
self-deprecating comment. “I suppose Alice was unhappy about it.”

“Yes. She tried to make the best
of things here, though, and when we had Alicia, she made up for everything. But
Alice couldn’t have any other children and that was a bitter blow to my
parents. I think that’s when life began to change around here.” Chris looked at
him questioningly and he continued, “I wanted you to understand why my wife is
not always at her best. Being deprived of the life she expected has made her
dissatisfied with life in general.”
And being made to feel a failure for
being unable to produce a male heir to carry on the Dunbar name couldn’t have
helped
, Chris mentally added, contributing what James had been unwilling to
say outright.

Chris felt an unexpected sympathy
for Alice Dunbar and the young woman she had been in that old house. And he
began to realize that there was more to James Dunbar than he’d thought. Perhaps
he’d been too quick to let Amanda Dunbar’s bitterness towards her
daughter-in-law cloud his own judgment. Perhaps it would be possible to help
this family after all.

It was with a quiet sense of
optimism that he drove home that night, but the optimism was short-lived. That
was, in fact, to be only the first of a series of disasters. Each day, it
seemed, brought news of some new cat-astrophe, and despite the pleasant
anticipation of seeing Alicia, he began to dread those Sunday visits.

There was the Boston Cream Pie
that ended up, or rather down, on the floor when the four-footed sweet-tooth
tried to lick off the whipped cream topping; the antique slipper chair he used
as a scratching post; the table-cloth he’d caught a claw in while playing with
the lace edging, dragging it and all of the contents of the table after him as
he flew through the house trying to escape the dreaded linen- monster on his
tail; the dead mouse brought in and proudly dropped at Alice’s feet while the
snooty president of the local Historical Society was visiting; and, of course,
coughing up a hair-ball on the rug in the parlor during the Minister’s visit!
The list seemed endless. Many of the accidents that happened inside the house
were because the rooms were over-crowded with chairs, tables, sofas and
bric-à-brac, not to mention the fringes, tassels and ties so close to the heart
of a playful cat. But at times it seemed as if he knew exactly what he was
doing and delighted in the mayhem he caused. He’d find a lofty perch and watch
the results of his antics like an avid spectator at an antic theatrical event.

At the end of the first month,
Alice’s temper had been stretched to the breaking point, James had taken to
spending longer hours at the factory, and Alicia had withdrawn to a point where
Chris doubted he could ever reach her. He had fallen greatly in the estimation
of his partners as well.

Clearly something had to be done,
and fast. The question was, what?

June arrived without a solution
and he was near desperation. Outwardly, the house was as calm as ever. Roses
spilled over the walk, their scent filling the air with perfume, but he was in
no fit state to appreciate it. Cold dread filled his heart at the prospect of
another Sunday dinner spent in that atmosphere. The walk over had been spent in
tortured imaginings of what new calamity had taken place in the forty-eight
hours since he’d learned of the seafood chowder incident when the feline
miscreant had been discovered head-down in the tureen in the middle of the
dining room table.

*  *  *

His heart fell as Alice answered
the buzz. He could tell by the look on her face that something was wrong.

“What has he done now?” he asked
without preamble.

“He’s missing! We haven’t seen
him since yesterday morning.”

“He’s missing.” The voice on the
other end of the line was barely a whisper.

“Missing? That was fast! Good
work.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“If it wasn’t you, then who was
it?”

“How should I know? What should I
do?”

“Nothing. Just wait and see. Call
me again when you know something.”

Alice said that they’d been
trying to keep him in for fear of something happening to him, which explained
in part the many incidents over the past few weeks. The day before, when she’d
opened the door to get the newspaper, she hadn’t realized he was right behind
her, and before she could shut the door, he was gone.

It sounded perfectly plausible.

“Why didn’t you call me?”
Exasperation made him curt.

“We thought he would come back
when he got hungry, but he hasn’t. James and Alicia are out looking for him. We’ve
been out all day. I came back so there would be someone here when you arrived.”

Chris couldn’t keep the suspicion
from his mind or from showing on his face.

“You think I did something to
him, don’t you!” The accusation was more statement than question.

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Whatever you may think of me,
Mr. Mallory, you have to believe I could never harm Marmalade, or any animal,
for that matter!”

“Your mother-in-law thought you
could,” he said bluntly. The time for pussy-footing around was over.

Alice obviously thought so too. “My
mother-in-law hated me for marrying her son. I wasn’t what she wanted for him.
I wasn’t good enough to be a Dunbar.” The bitterness of years boiled to the
surface. “I would have left years ago but James wouldn’t desert his family and
I didn’t want to lose my husband and my daughter, so I pasted a smile on my
face and I stayed. It’s true Marmalade infuriates me at times, and I’ve lost my
temper with him, but Alicia loves him, so we would have kept him no matter
what. My mother-in-law knew that the cat wouldn’t have ended up back on the
street. She wrote that will out of pure spite. But the bottom line is I’m not
stupid. I wouldn’t violate the terms of the will, regardless of what I think of
them. In the long run it is our daughter’s future that we are concerned with.
In ten years or so, she will be a wealthy woman. I can put up with being
housemaid to a cat to ensure that.”

Alice’s words rang true and he
was inclined to believe her. For everyone’s sake he hoped she was telling the
truth.

James and Alicia dragged
themselves in sometime later. They’d scoured the town without success. Chris
could possibly believe Alice Dunbar to be capable of doing away with the cat
but just couldn’t see James or Alicia being involved. Since it was too dark to
proceed any further, they arranged to start looking again in the morning.

*  *  *

Chris arrived at the house right
after breakfast. He’d decided to go door-to-door to see if any of the neighbors
had seen Marmalade while James and Alice searched the beach and harbor. Alicia
opted to hold the fort at home in case he turned up there. They would all keep
in touch by phone.

Chris’ first stop was Mrs. Short’s
house next door. Frantic barking could be heard inside when he rang the bell.

“Down Horatio, down! No barking!”

The door opened revealing a
short, elderly woman with a tight perm and suspicious eyes. A small, black
Cairn terrier was resolutely trying to push past her feet and she, just as
resolutely, kept pushing him back, the two of them giving the impression of
doing a well-rehearsed dance.

He introduced himself and
explained about Marmalade being missing.

“So she’s finally done him in,
has she?” Mrs. Short said bluntly, nodding sagely. “We’ve heard the scandalous
goings on over there, haven’t we, Horatio?” In reply, the terrier tried to
squirm past again and the little dance was repeated. “I’m just surprised it’s
taken her this long.” More dancing. “Mark my words, you won’t see that poor
beast again.” A few final dance steps and the door was emphatically shut in his
face.

The next two neighbors were less
vitriolic but no more helpful.

It was at the fourth house that
he finally had some good news. The woman there said Marmalade had stopped by
the day before. She explained that he used to be a regular visitor but he hadn’t
been around for a while. She had given him some canned salmon and he had gone
on his way. Thinking that he owed Alice Dunbar a huge apology, Chris asked
which way Marmalade had gone and continued on down the street.

It seemed that the cat was a
popular visitor all along Glengarry Lane. Several of the other neighbors said
he used to stop by but hadn’t lately, and that they missed him and would be on
the look-out for him. When he reached the end of the block, Chris called James
and Alicia but neither of them had any more news to report.

The next day, they put up posters
all over town, promising a substantial reward for any information, which
resulted in a series of Marmalade look-alikes (and not-so-much-alikes) being
paraded past their door, but no Marmalade.

It had reached the point that
Chris felt he was going to have to report the situation to the APS when,
walking back home one afternoon having spent the morning checking out back
alleys along the main street, he saw an orange tail attached to a large orange
bottom flying along a fence top.

Without stopping to think, he
took it after it, running at break-neck speed, leaping short hedges, dodging
trees and boulevard gardens, and calling “Marmalade!” at the top of his lungs.
The scandalized expressions on the faces of people he passed assured him that
he was making a spectacle of himself, but he was beyond caring. He had to keep
the cat in sight. He didn’t even know if it was Marmalade, but it was the only
lead he had.

And then he lost him. In the
blink of an eye, the cat cut through a yard, leaped over a high fence, and was
gone.

Abandoning the chase, Chris
collapsed against a tree, panting. He really had to get to the gym more. When
his ragged breathing had returned to normal, he turned back the way he had come
and headed for his apartment.

He was sprawled on the sofa,
cursing life in general and orange cats in particular, when his phone rang.

“He’s back!”

The happy wanderer was sitting in
the middle of the kitchen floor, calmly cleaning his fur, and totally ignoring
the humans who stood in a circle looking down at him with a mixture of relief
and exasperation.

“He just showed up at the kitchen
door and meowed to get in. He smells of fish, so we think he’s been at the
beach.”

Remembering the tinned salmon,
Chris wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t care. A disaster had been averted.

Despite the scare he had given
them, they decided that trying to keep Marmalade in was a mistake. The more
they kept him in, the more he was bound and determined to escape. He was used
to coming and going as he pleased and was obviously happy to return home when
he was ready. It was a risk, but one they felt they had to take.