Fear Familiar Bundle (46 page)

It's time someone took things in hand around here and found some answers. Lancelot is down the mountain, and Miss Locks has gone off the deep end with this television idea. Geez! Humans are such creatures of emotion. If I understood the conversation I just heard, Running Stream and Cassandra both think Bounder is involved in the murders— by choice or happenstance. Now, let me put my thinking cap on and assume the pose of E. A. Poe's inspector in my favorite, "Murders in the Rue Morgue." Excellent title. Macabre twist. Those French have such wonderful street names.

I must have been an expatriate writer in a past life. Paris promises so many exciting things. Clotilde, the little calico feline who holds my heart, had a bit of Parisian blood. No, she wasn't long-haired and prissy. Not Persian, Parisian. Her great-great-great-great-great-grandmother was an immigrant. Clotilde had that bit of French…chic. It was in the way she held her tail when she walked. Elegant, yet a tease. Ah, Clotilde.

Anyway, back to Poe. Inspector Dupin knew the difference between inductive and deductive reasoning. Now think back with me. The earring is, of course, the crux. Both earrings. Why would Bounder find an earring with Adam if he intended to keep his involvement secret? This is the part that doesn't fit. I mean, Bounder didn't have to find that earring in the mud. He could have ignored it. Why find something that would be better to be lost?

How did Bounder get the second earring? My conclusion, or I should say that I deduce that if Bounder's friends are up to criminal behavior, he didn't know in the beginning.

Before you clap me on the back in congratulations, consider the implications. If Bounder is missing now, then he might be in danger. That is, if he found the earring in the possession of his two Indian friends, he might have found more than he should have. Another possibility is that he found the earring somewhere else. So where?

He had it the night he was watching this house— another example of behavior that could be interpreted a number of ways. Was he protecting or plotting? If he is a psychotic killer, my normal feline instincts might not detect it. I can sniff out bad guys sometimes, but the psychotics are impossible. They don't reek of guilt. It's a frightening thought. I remember how gentle Bounder's hands were when he stroked me. Once again, evidence that is either very good or very bad. Gentle. Tender. Sensitive…Abnormal. Geez! I need a bit of fresh air.

The thing to do is go back to the bushes where Bounder was hiding. Maybe I can detect something there, some lingering odor or emotion. I've got a lot on my mind, too. I was thinking— if I could get on television with Cassandra, Peter or Eleanor might see me. It's a slim chance. Martin West's show isn't nationally syndicated, but it might play on some of the cables. If Eleanor is as sick as I think she is, maybe she's watching television.

Whatever happens, I can't panic. So, I'll saunter over to the door and demand an exit. I can explore while the humans thrash around in complex emotion.

"M
EOW
."

Cassandra looked up from her intense conversation with Running Stream. Familiar was at the front door, asking to be let out. "Coming, boy," she said as she stepped away from her friend.

"Stay close to the house," Cassandra admonished the cat as he exited. "No telling who's out there watching us."

"Meow," Familiar agreed, walking to the edge of the porch and taking a seat. He yawned and stretched his body full-length across the wide boards. He sat up and began to clean himself.

"Stay close." Cassandra watched him a moment longer and then shut the door. She'd never seen a cat who took up with a place so readily. Familiar had never budged from his new home. He hadn't even given a thought to leaving. In fact, his only aberrant behavior was his passion for turning the television on and off.

"What is Familiar up to?" Running Stream's casual question broke the tension the two women had shared in their concern for Bounder.

"I don't know." Cassandra had returned to the kitchen, but on an impulse she went back to the front door. When she opened it, the porch was empty. "It was almost as if he knew I was watching him," she said. "Like a little boy, he pretended to settle on the porch, but the minute my back was turned, he disappeared."

Running Stream nodded. "Familiar has his own agenda. He came here unexpectedly, and his behavior is unique." She started to say something else but stopped. "I'd better go home. There's a chance Bounder has returned."

"Maybe." Cassandra didn't hold out much hope. "If he isn't home by tomorrow, we'd better notify the authorities."

"Don't dream tonight, Cass." Running Stream put a hand on her shoulder. "For both our sakes." She smiled, but it held only sadness.

"That's one request I'd gladly oblige. The trouble is, I think Sarah Welford was murdered, and I didn't dream a thing about that. So my dreams, or lack of them, don't seem to mean much."

Running Stream paused before she spoke. "I'm not certain what this means. The other girls were strangled, Cass. Sarah Welford was struck by a car. I agree, I don't think it was an accident. But why the change in the method of killing?" She shook her head. "We must try hard to think of every possibility. No closed doors."

"No closed doors." Cassandra forced a smile. "As soon as Adam gets back, I'll tell him everything. We'll come up with a plan."

Running Stream nodded as she opened the front door. Tears glimmered in her eyes and she brushed them away as she hurried down the steps without looking back.

Cassandra watched the car disappear down the lane. She took another look around for the cat, who was nowhere in sight. She'd give him an hour, then look for him in earnest while she waited for Adam to return. He was far later than she'd anticipated. Worry gnawed at her as she slowly climbed the steps to the shade of the porch. She felt as if her entire life had narrowed down to the minute passage of time, minutes ticking slowly by.

The brisk shrill of the telephone drew her back into the house. She felt a sinking sensation as she recognized Martin West's voice.

He gave her the instructions for the afternoon filming. The show was broadcast live and she had to be at the studio early. She was to bring a list of questions she wanted him to ask, and he had some tips for handling audience questions that he thought would help her. He assured her he was thrilled with her participation.

"This could be the show that sells the networks on me. Have you had any more dreams?" he asked eagerly.

"None." Cassandra couldn't keep the note of depression from her voice. As much as she hated the dreams, she'd come to feel they offered her only chance of solving the murders. Now, even they had abandoned her.

She hung up feeling more and more trapped by the circumstances of her life. How valid was it to go on television now, when Sarah Welford was dead and Cassandra hadn't even had an inkling of her murder?

For a few moments Cassandra paced the house. She straightened cushions, picked up her gardening gloves only to throw them aside, went to make tea, turned off the kettle and finally walked out the front door. If she couldn't do anything else, she could look for Familiar.

She took the path that lead to the upper orchard, moving on instinct. The cat could be anywhere, but she felt he'd taken the path she and Adam had used on their picnic. She didn't like the upper orchard. It was lovely, with one of the best views anywhere. But it was also where her father had died, and when she went there alone, it made her sad. Her life had changed so radically when Blake McBeth died. All permanence had evaporated. Sylvia, never one to love the settled life, had finally given up any attempt to make a home. Cassandra allowed a smile to play across her face as she thought of her mother. Where was she this week? Budapest? Prague? Or was it Brussels?

She received postcards on an irregular basis. They were loving and filled with Sylvia's adventures, both psychic and of the flesh. It wasn't the kind of life that Cassandra had ever wanted, but she loved her mother and wished her only happiness. After all, Cassandra had learned to take care of herself long ago, when she was just a teenager.

The past led to the present, and Cassandra gave in to her need to think about Adam. He'd begun to fill a void that she'd never even acknowledged before.

That was the thing that made him so special. Somehow he'd slipped into the tightly woven fabric of her life without disturbing a single thread. He was the element that had been missing. Someone to share with. Someone to…love. Yes, if she had to admit it, she did love him.

How was it possible that she'd fallen for a man who came from the opposite end of the world from her? Adam was business, profit, production, quotas. He lived the city life of an executive. Those things were anathema to her. She wanted solitude, isolation, the privacy of her mountain home and her garden and study. She could no more survive in a city than she could learn to fly. And Adam couldn't run his business from the top of a mountain, either.

She sighed and called Familiar. Listening for a moment, she heard nothing. She walked on, her determined strides covering the ground and moving her along the little used path. It was time she checked the apple trees anyway. She allowed the other farmers to come in and harvest the crop. She wanted only the apples she could use herself, and she had no desire to oversee the picking and selling of them. But she liked to look at the trees. Her father had taught her so much about husbandry. It was the growing that gave her pleasure, not the selling.

The sight of a sleek black tail bobbing out of some huckleberry bushes put all thoughts of the past or future from Cassandra's mind.

"Familiar, you bad cat. I told you to stay close to the house." Cassandra left the path and went after the bobbing tail. Familiar was obviously going to lead her on a merry chase through the orchard.

Well, the sky was blue and the sun warm and pleasant. Chasing the cat was the best option Cassandra had at the moment. Laughing, she darted toward the shrubs, willing to play Familiar's game of hide-and-seek.

"Come here you black devil," she called as she ducked around a tree. Familiar stayed just enough ahead of her to lead her through the orchard.

The grass had grown with the first hint of warm weather, and it brushed Cassandra's bare calves with a whispering sound. For a moment she remembered the way it felt to be a child, to run in the orchard playing without worries or concerns. It was a memory that brought sadness and delight.

"Meow!" Familiar called her back to the game. With a spurt of power from his hind legs, he bounded into a tangle of vines.

Cassandra laughed, then doubled around the vines, hoping to cut him off on the other side. He was a wily creature and one that obviously had spent plenty of time playing with humans. Where was his family? How had he come to be in her car?

It seemed that her entire world was questions without answers. She pushed that depressing thought aside and renewed her attempts to corner the cat.

"Familiar, if you don't come to me, I'm not going to give you any cream when Adam brings the groceries back," she threatened.

"Meow." Family pounced out of the vines and butted the back of her calf with his head. Then he was gone again, bouncing over the tall weeds and hiding in the grass.

"I'm not going to give you any of the fresh fish Adam's bringing." Cassandra crouched down and listened for the cat.

When he sprang out of the weeds at her, she fell over backward laughing. "I'm going to get you, Familiar," she cried as she jumped up and ran after him. She could barely see his black tail above the weeds, but this time she wasn't going to let him win.

He disappeared a moment and when she crashed through a waist-high plot of black-eyed Susans, she found him standing perfectly still in the middle of two tire prints. Two ribbons of light green grass led away in either direction. Her heart began a steady, high-paced drumming.

She stopped beside the cat. The tall grass had been pushed down by the weight of the car. A small car, judging by the width of the tires. Cassandra looked up and down the tracks. Who had been on her property? Perhaps the man who'd been watching her house had driven in and hidden his vehicle in the upper orchard. It was a thought that made the goose bumps march across her skin.

Only Familiar's total calm kept her from panicking. If there was a stranger around, Familiar would let her know. He was the best watch-cat she'd ever seen. She had to think of other alternatives. She'd promised Running Stream no closed doors.

It could have been Bounder, looking out for her. It wasn't uncommon for him to patrol her property, but she'd never been aware that he did it in his car. He loved to walk in the woods. Cassandra looked at the cat. Familiar sat in the scrunched-down grass, licking a back leg.

"Why do I get the impression that you wanted me to see this?" she asked him. "Let's take a look and see where the tracks lead. My guess is that the southern direction hooks up with my driveway. And the northerly route…I don't know for certain."

Before she could take a step, Familiar's claws sank into the top of her tennis shoe. He held her with both paws and an unblinking feline stare.

"Come on, Familiar, let's go." She tried to shake her foot free, but the cat held on with all his might. Her persistent jiggling of her foot only made him dig his claws in deeper.

"Wait for Adam?" she asked. She hesitated as she met his gaze. He was one determined creature. "Okay, we'll wait for Adam and show him."

Familiar released her shoe.

"Then let's get back to the house." She started down the trail with Familiar at her side. With each step, the possibilities of someone hiding out on her property increased her dread. Who had been in her private orchard?

It could have been Beaker's men, when they'd searched her house. It could have been one of the farmers, checking on the apple trees. But the farmers always stopped by her house and had a cup of tea. Beaker's men had no reason to ride around her apple orchard. The only thing she'd ever found in the orchard was the past. Besides, the path had been used more than once, the grass was crushed, not merely pressed down.