Fear Familiar Bundle (75 page)

Meow, Mauve, I'm coming your way.

This would be a great vacation if Mauve ran the place and everyone else was gone. No mystery. No disappearing acts. Just good food and a nap in the warm sunshine. Maybe even time for a postcard to Cassandra and Adam back in Tennessee. I miss that little mountain witch. And Adam wasn't bad, for a suit-wearing kind of guy.

My, my, what's the hubbub in the kitchen? Mauve has her daughter Bridget almost ready to cry. I'll do a little purr and distraction maneuver. It always startles them so when a cat demonstrates a talent for diversion. They forget what they were about. I wonder if that short-circuited thinking is a by-product of walking on two legs. It's long been my theory that humanoids don't get enough blood to their brains. Charming creatures, but not always real bright.

Ah, Mauve. Meow! Meow!

T
HE CAT WALKING
nonchalantly along the kitchen counter made Mauve pause in midsentence. Familiar had always been so well-behaved in the house. "Scat, cat," she said, waving her hands at him. "Get off my clean counter, you four-legged satan."

Familiar did a dodge and weave, leaping completely over a bowl of chicken and making tracks through the remains of flour for a pie crust.

"My land!" Mauve grabbed a dish towel and flapped it at the cat. "The creature has been possessed! Get out of here!" She flapped the towel and waved her other hand, calling loudly for help.

Bridget leaned forward on her stool, entranced by the sight of her mother driven to extremes by the beautiful black cat that leapt from counter to counter, never breaking a thing but never allowing Mauve to touch him.

"Look, Mama, he's on top of the refrigerator!" Bridget was delighted. "Here, kitty." She held out her arms and to her surprise, Familiar leapt into them. The weight of the fifteen-pound cat almost toppled her from the stool, but she locked her feet around the bottom bar and managed to stay upright.

"Meow," Familiar offered, nuzzling her chin with his whiskers.

"He likes me." Bridget stroked the cat's head, and when Mauve approached with the broom in hand as a weapon, Bridget put herself between the cat and her mother. "He's fine now. I have him."

"That little rascal," Mauve said, panting. "I let him in and fed him and now he runs the house. He even sleeps in Miss Catherine's bed. He's moved in here like he's a lost lord. Next thing you know he'll be writing the dinner menus."

The black cat looked at her and blinked.

"Look at the devil. He's thinking that's an excellent idea! I swear that cat is smarter than all of your brothers rolled up together."

Bridget laughed, and some of the tension left her shoulders.

Mauve sighed and went to her daughter. She brushed the bangs out of the twelve-year-old's face. "I didn't mean to scare you, but you have to tell Miss Catherine what you saw. Every bit of it. And you shouldn't have laid out from school. Life is hard enough. If you don't get your education, you'll wind up cooking and cleaning in a house that's not your own."

"Yes, Mother." Bridget tucked her chin. A salty tear rolled into Familiar's fur and in a moment he turned to lick the tears from Bridget's cheeks.

"Aye, you're a conniving devil, you are," Mauve said, stroking the cat's head as she hugged her daughter.

"He came to my rescue," Bridget said. "He was protecting me."

"From your own mother?" Mauve laughed. "Well, maybe you did need a bit of protection. Next time you skip school, I promise you that you'll be punished. Now enough said about that. Let's tell Miss Catherine. I heard Limerick is well and truly gone this time. Maybe what you saw will help."

"It was just a— "

"We'll tell her together." Mauve started to tell her daughter to leave the cat, but Familiar had the run of the entire house. Why not bring him along?

Mauve and Bridget found Catherine in her office. She was staring out the window and hadn't answered the light tap on the door.

"Are you ill?" Mauve asked. The entire farm was looking peaked. Maybe they all needed a dose of tonic. And she'd missed seeing old Mick. He had to be deathly ill to miss work.

"Sick at heart." Catherine turned to face the door. "Hello, Bridget, I didn't realize you were home from school today." Catherine had developed a real fondness for Mauve and her children. Bridget was the only girl, and the boys were wild and rambunctious as young colts, but they were all honest and well-mannered children.

"I skipped school. Today and day before." Bridget looked at her mother and then back at Catherine. "That's when I saw the man."

"What man?" Catherine was careful not to show too much interest. If the little girl thought it was very important, she might get frightened or confused.

"He was staring at the house. And he put something in the mailbox. A letter or card. I didn't look." She gave her mother a glance. "Mama says we should never look at another's mail. I just saw him put it in the box."

"What did he look like?" Catherine knew who the man was, or at least, what he was doing. She'd received four notes telling her that Limerick was safe. The last had been the day before. And none of the notes had borne postage. They'd all been hand delivered, but she'd assumed it was someone from the barn, someone protecting Patrick and not wanting her to worry. Someone who was trying to make sure their job was secure.

"He was tall. Light-colored hair, I think, but he was wearing one of those wool hats that matched his tweed jacket. Very smart, he was. Wool slacks and all."

Definitely not one of the stable hands. The dress code for a working farm was a far cry from wool slacks. The man sounded as if he didn't work outdoors.

"What did he do?" Catherine asked.

"He looked up and down the lane, like he was expecting someone. Or maybe looking to be sure no one was coming." Bridget thought. "That's it. He was more making sure no one was coming because he'd sort of been hiding behind one of the trees. Then he hurried down the drive and put the letter in the post box. He was very quick, then gone."

"Did you happen to see what he was driving?"

Bridget's forehead wrinkled. "That's strange, but there wasn't a car, as far as I could see. He went back to the road and climbed the wall. He was in the pasture, and I thought that was odd, but I was waiting for Emily and I heard her coming so I forgot about him and started whistling to her."

"Where were you?" Catherine asked.

Bridget threw her mother a pleading look.

"She was in the fir tree in the side yard. The tree she's been told again and again not to climb."

Catherine suppressed her smile. She was too old to climb trees, but to a young girl or boy, the fir would be almost irresistible. It rose high and straight with limbs easily accessible.

"Then you had a good view and the man had no car?"

"I didn't see one, or hear one. I'm sure I would have heard it. Emily and I like to watch for cars, trying to tell if it's someone we know by the way they sound. Like old Mr. Bailey's truck makes a chug-a-chug sound. We know him from miles away."

"So you didn't hear anything?"

"Nothing."

"Would you recognize the man again if you saw him?" Catherine smiled to keep Bridget from seeing how urgent the question was.

"I'd know his clothes." Bridget looked up at her mother. "I don't know if I'd know him or not. It was mostly his clothes I looked at."

"You did fine, Bridget," Catherine said. "You're a good girl to tell your mother. This information could help us find Limerick and Mick."

"Mick? What's with Mick?" Mauve was instantly interested.

"I'm afraid he's missing." Catherine tiredly sat back in her chair. "He's disappeared and we're worried. I don't want the news to go any farther. You have to keep the secret, too, Bridget. You can't tell anyone. Mick's life could be endangered, so we have to keep this to ourselves."

"I won't talk. But who would hurt old Mick? He gives all the children candy and sings songs for us. He's very nice."

"He is, indeed," Mauve said. "It's that horse, isn't it?"

"Very likely." Catherine stood and began to pace. She was exhausted but she couldn't settle down to think.

"I heard that Cuchulain was out riding the seacoast road," Mauve said. "I figured it was Limerick with that damn fool Patrick on his back. I wondered what on earth he was up to. If Patrick can find the horse, he'll bring him back."

"I'm expecting Kent Ridgeway for dinner tonight. Would you plan something a bit heavier than I usually request."

"Yes, ma'am." Mauve touched Bridget's shoulder, signaling the child they were getting ready to go. "It's none of my affair, but I thought Patrick had taken the horse all along. To protect him, you know. If Patrick has lost the horse, maybe you should give him a chance to get him back."

"The gossip runs rampant through this household, doesn't it?" Catherine couldn't help the frosty tone in her voice. She was afraid, and now everyone knew what a fool she'd been to trust Patrick. "I've given Patrick a chance. I don't know that I can afford another one."

"I don't know that you can't," Mauve said as she turned her little girl toward the door and left.

Head throbbing and body aching, Catherine paced the room. The intensive search of the area around the hideout where Limerick had been hidden had revealed nothing new. She and Patrick, along with four men, had gone over the area with extreme care, but they had only confirmed what Patrick already knew. Whoever had taken Limerick had taken him into the bogs and high country. The thief was either a fool or someone who knew the local landscape very well.

There was nothing she'd learned to help her with the decision she faced. What to do about Patrick?

She held two sets of notes in her hands. The first note, cut from newspapers and magazines, was Patrick's creation. He'd told her that he'd sent it in an effort to keep her from going to the authorities. Since he'd intended to return Limerick, he'd wanted to keep her away from the police. He'd also tried to keep her from looking foolish by reporting a horse stolen that turned up later— if she could believe him on that count. If she dared to believe him.

There was a low fire burning in the library fireplace, and she tossed Patrick's note into it. In a second the flames curled the edges, then pulled the ash in toward the center. In less than a minute, the note was gone.

The other notes, four of them, she held in her hand. They were handwritten, sealed with the wax and the horse head crest. She'd assumed those notes had come from the barn, at Patrick's behest, to reassure her that Limerick was fine.

Her assumption was incorrect.

Dreadfully incorrect.

No one in the barn had penned the notes. Or at least no one whom Patrick had encouraged. Patrick had been upset when he saw them. Extremely upset.

"The paper is expensive. The writing shows a great deal of schooling."

That was all he'd said, but the line of his mouth was compressed, doubly worried.

The tension between the two of them was almost unbearable. Catherine couldn't bring herself to completely trust Patrick or what he said. Yet she wanted to. Even after everything he'd done, she wanted to believe him. It was a sickness with her. When was she going to learn?

"Miss Catherine, Mr. Ridgeway is here." Mauve eased into the room, careful to close the door behind her. "I know you aren't feeling well this morning. Would you like me to show him in here and bring some tea?"

"Make it something a bit stronger than tea," Kent said as he strode into the room, pushing Mauve forward as he swung the door wide. "You look beautiful, Cat. A bit pale, but that color green is magnificent with your eyes."

"Some brandy for Mr. Ridgeway would be nice, Mauve." Catherine kept her seat and tucked the envelopes into the cushion behind her. Kent would be more than willing to help her. He'd offered repeatedly. But it wasn't his problem, it was hers. And she intended to keep Limerick's second disappearance a secret from him if she could. The last time she'd trusted him, he'd told Allan Emory. Or at least told Allan enough so that he figured it out.

Allan!

The name was like a revelation, a treasure forgotten and then found. He fit perfectly the description of the person Bridget had seen, right down to the tweed coat. And he was lurking around the Great Southern Hotel in Galway, not thirty kilometers away.

But what would Allan have to do with the matter? He was a gambler and a fortune hunter, but he wasn't a horse thief.

"Since you go into a trance when I talk about how lovely you are, why don't we talk about Limerick? I think it's completely foolish that you didn't attempt to find out who took him, but since you haven't scratched him from the race, I assume that he's back, I guess it's a moot issue. When will he be ready to go to the track? There's a big race this Saturday in Kildare. I know he's on the schedule to run. Fifth race, a match against King's Quest."

"Yes, he is." Catherine's mind was poring over Allan and his possible involvement with Limerick's disappearance, but she took in the fact that Kent's smile was smug. What was Kent saying? "I bought King's Quest yesterday. It should be an interesting race."

"You bought King's Quest?" She finally understood what Kent was up to, but she didn't believe it. King's Quest had never been for sale. He was a horse that David Trussell had brought along himself, a privately owned and trained horse much like Limerick.

"I thought it might be fun if we raced against each other. You've always impressed me with your competitive spirit, Cat. I thought it would add a little spice." He smiled.

"I'm not certain Limerick will be fit to race. He's under the weather. I hate to admit it, but Patrick was right about that knee. We should have rested it more." Catherine knew she was talking in circles, but she had to get Limerick out of that race without arousing Kent's suspicions.

"Rot!" Kent stepped aside. Mauve had returned with a silver tray with one teacup and a snifter of brandy. She set it down and stepped back to the door, a frown on her face as she listened to Ridgeway talk. "Shaw will be the ruination of you. I wouldn't put it past him to put a nail in the horse's hoof to make him limp just to win his point with you."