Authors: Marian Babson
To Catch a Cat (10 page)
It was growing dark, not that it had ever been properly light all day. Nils hunched his shoulders against the thin misting rain and trudged onwards, telling himself that all this dislocation and discomfort was only temporary. Soon he would be able to return to normal life again. But not right now.
For another week, perhaps two, he had to force himself through this charade. It was still too early to return to work. Although he had telephoned the office, the reaction of his secretary had warned him that he should not be thinking about business matters. They were not expecting him back until after the funeral â whenever that would be. The police were still holding the body and in no hurry to tell him when it would be released.
He had already decided upon cremation. Much safer, with no danger of exhumation and re-examination in case of official afterthoughts. Or was that only a danger when poison had been involved? No matter, better to play safe. Who knew what stray hair, flake of skin or fragment of DNA might have been overlooked in the original autopsy only to show up in a later, more focused one? No, cremation, definitely.
He shivered, the chill was creeping through him, from the soles of his damp shoes upwards. He had taken in the early afternoon matinée at the local cinema, ignoring the screen, peering through the darkness, trying to see if any semi-discerned silhouette around him looked vaguely familiar. It was a long shot that his tearaway burglar might be at that performance, but it gave him the illusion that he was searching. When the programme ended, he had remained in his seat, scanning the faces of the departing children. Then the cinema was empty and he had to go out into the bleak October greyness again.
It hadn't been this bad when he started out this morning,
a pale watery sun had been trying to break through the clouds and it had been warmer. He'd started out briskly, conscious of Edith watching him from behind the curtains, always watching.
a pale watery sun had been trying to break through the clouds and it had been warmer. He'd started out briskly, conscious of Edith watching him from behind the curtains, always watching.
It was getting on his nerves. He'd never cared much for Edith, anyway, nor for Edward, if the truth be told. But Edward was marginally preferable to Edith, more predictable - and less observant.
He checked his watch â it got dark so early at this time of year that it left one disorientated. He didn't want to go back to the house until after Edward had returned from work. Even if he went straight to his room, Edith was always hovering, asking if there was anything she could do to help, offering yet another cup of her endless tea. The fool had tea on the brain! It seemed to be all she could think of to offer â not that he'd want anything else from her. He shivered from the random thought ⦠or was it the cold? Perhaps he might stop in a pub for a brief respite and a warming drink. A whisky mac, definitely, against this all-pervasive chill.
He rounded the corner â and saw it.
He stopped short, gasping convulsively, as though a glass of icy water had been thrown into his face.
âLOST â¦' the poster tacked to the tree trunk proclaimed. Underneath the stark black letters, Leif Eriksson's face stared out at him challengingly. The image had been taken from another, more comprehensive, photograph, cropped as much as possible around the edges. But he could recognise Ingrid's hand and wrist, circled by her favourite diamond and ruby bracelet as she cradled Leif in her arms. He could even remember when the picture had been taken, when Leif had won Best of Show at a regional cat show.
The description, in smaller lettering under the picture, was blurred. Or was the blurring in his eyes? He blinked hard and another, blacker word leaped out at him from the bottom of the poster: âREWARD!'
Where the hell had that come from? It could ruin everything!
He had torn the poster down before he was even aware of
moving and looked around wildly, suddenly aware of what a dangerous move it had been. But he was safe ⦠no one had seen him. There was no one in sight.
moving and looked around wildly, suddenly aware of what a dangerous move it had been. But he was safe ⦠no one had seen him. There was no one in sight.
But ⦠on the other side of the street ⦠at the corner ⦠a square of white gleamed just above eye level on the corner lamp post.
Almost running, he lurched across the street and headed for it.
It was! Another of the damned things! Leif Eriksson looked down smugly as he ripped the poster from the lamp post. His breath came in ragged gasps as he tore the two posters into strips and crammed them into his pocket.
How many more of them were there? He forced himself to take deep, even breaths and looked around again. He'd been lucky, still no one in sight. Unless they were watching from behind the curtains, the way Edith did.
Edith!
She had done this! No one else could have been responsible. The red mist swirled past his eyes again, then cleared. He pulled a handful of the bits of paper from his pocket and checked. Yes, there below the word REWARD, was her telephone number to contact.
She had done this! No one else could have been responsible. The red mist swirled past his eyes again, then cleared. He pulled a handful of the bits of paper from his pocket and checked. Yes, there below the word REWARD, was her telephone number to contact.
Miserable, stupid bitch!
How dare she interfere in his business? His hands clenched convulsively. Another neck that needed wringing! He'd go back and have it out with her. Just because he was temporarily sheltering beneath her roof - and that might have been a mistake, he admitted now â it didn't give her the right to take over.
How dare she interfere in his business? His hands clenched convulsively. Another neck that needed wringing! He'd go back and have it out with her. Just because he was temporarily sheltering beneath her roof - and that might have been a mistake, he admitted now â it didn't give her the right to take over.
No ⦠wait. He slowed his steps. First, he had to take down as many of those bloody posters as he could find. He couldn't leave them on display for everyone to see. He hurried to the next corner and stared about wildly.
They were everywhere! At every crossroads. She'd been a busy little bee â damn her! Festooned on every third or fourth lamp post as far as the eye could see. How many of them had she had printed â fifty? a hundred? two hundred? She'd gone mad. Overboard. There couldn't be a street in town that wasn't littered with them.
The coast was still clear, but he hardly cared any more if
anyone saw him. He could explain â say that the cat had been found and was safe. They didn't want any more inquiries, or people bothering them with cats that had been mistaken for the one for which a reward had been offered.
anyone saw him. He could explain â say that the cat had been found and was safe. They didn't want any more inquiries, or people bothering them with cats that had been mistaken for the one for which a reward had been offered.
He moved from poster to poster, tearing them down, adding them to the growing pile under his arm. He felt dizzy, breathless, but he forced himself onwards until, at last, he looked around and saw no more white oblongs against vertical posts.
Had he got them all? Or just the ones in this part of town? Had bloody Edith posted the whole town? How many more were there?
It was almost too dark to see. He jumped as the street-lamps belatedly flickered on, none too brightly, just marginally better than no lights at all. Cheap lousy town! Wouldn't spend the money for decent lighting!
Still, mustn't grumble. They weren't splashing out for an up-to-date, state-of-the-art, brilliantly intelligent police force, either.
Another white oblong gleamed tantalisingly on a tree trunk just ahead. He moved forward purposefully and had his hands outstretched to tear it down when he realised that it had nothing to do with the missing cat. It was advertising a Jumble Sale next Saturday.
That did it! He couldn't go on stumbling through the darkness, not able to see what he was doing, snatching at any poster he found. He'd been lucky so far but, sooner or later, someone might see him and wonder what he was doing â and why. Worse, someone who had legitimately posted a notice of some social event might report him for vandalising their posters.
He turned back towards the house, suddenly anxious to get there before Edward returned. He needed to talk to Edith and find out just where she had put up all those posters. Then he could go round and collect them at first light in the morning.
It had been such a happy dream. Mum and Dad were still together. He had come home from school with a wonderful report: top of the class in every subject and they were so proud of him. He'd told them the latest joke going around the school and they'd laughed uproariously. They began making plans to go away somewhere wonderful for a holiday, just the three of them together, the way they had when he was just a little kid â¦
Robin lay motionless, trying to hold on to the fading tatters as the dream fragmented and dissolved. The warm glow he had been feeling gave way to cold bleakness, the smile faded from his lips. It was gone, all gone now.
There was a faint scratching sound in the far corner of his bedroom; from below, the raised voices were growing louder. Mags and Josh were shouting at each other again. That must have been what woke him up.
Robin opened his eyes, there was no reason to keep them closed any more. He could not summon back the dream. He didn't want the dream, he wanted the reality. He wanted yesterday, his old life, the world the way it had been. He swallowed against the lump in his throat. He was a big boy now, only little kids cried. Anyway, crying didn't change anything. He'd learned that by now.
What time was it? A rim of grey light framed the window shade and Josh was home. That meant it was morning.
â
Prrrmmmph?
' The bed jounced, startling him. It was only Leif Eriksson, of course, hopping up to see if he was awake yet, pulling him the rest of the way back to the here and now.
Prrrmmmph?
' The bed jounced, startling him. It was only Leif Eriksson, of course, hopping up to see if he was awake yet, pulling him the rest of the way back to the here and now.
âYou hungry, boy?' He reached out and gathered the cat to him.
â
Prrrmmph?
' Leif nuzzled his ear and he began to feel
better. The tight knot in the pit of his stomtch loosened as he stroked the cat. âDon't worry. I'm going to get up now and find you something to eat.'
Prrrmmph?
' Leif nuzzled his ear and he began to feel
better. The tight knot in the pit of his stomtch loosened as he stroked the cat. âDon't worry. I'm going to get up now and find you something to eat.'
How was he going to manage that with both Mags and Josh around? He'd have to buy lots more tins of catfood and keep them in his room for the future. Money was no problem - he had more than he needed, or even wanted. Every time Mum had apologised because they weren't taking him on honeymoon with them, she had given him another fiver. And New Dad had slipped him tenners. Guilt money. Had they known even then that they weren't coming back?
Leif watched him expectantly as he dressed, then followed him to the door.
âNo, you don't!' He blocked Leif's effort to dart through the opening, pushing him back gently. âYou can't. You'll get us in trouble. Stay here ⦠stay â¦'
He opened the door just wide enough to slip outside and closed it swiftly against Leif's fresh effort to escape.
A loud, mournful protest rose behind the closed door. Oh, no! Could they hear the cat's cry downstairs? Would they know what they were hearing?
Robin clattered down the stairs, making as much noise as he could, hoping to mask any further sounds from above. The voices in the living-room lowered, then stopped as he drew closer. When he opened the door, he found Josh and Mags looking at him.
âBrought up in a barn?' Josh growled. âWhat kind of way is that to come downstairs?'
âDon't start â ' There was a warning note in Mags's voice.
âHe'll hear worse than that when your mother gets here. I still don't know where you think you'll put her.'
âWhen she gets a look at this place, she probably won't want to stay.'
âWe should be so lucky! You know damned well she's been dying to come here and poke her nose into everything â ' Josh's voice was rising again, Mags's eyes flashed dangerously.
âI'm just going to get something to eat.' Robin sidled past
them, making for the kitchen, hoping they'd go back to their fight and leave him alone.
them, making for the kitchen, hoping they'd go back to their fight and leave him alone.
âWhat do you want for breakfast?' Unfortunately, Mags seemed to welcome the chance to get away. âShall I do you some bacon and eggs?'
âUm â¦' About to refuse, he realised that Leif would probably like a rasher or two of bacon. âAll right.'
âThe kid is big enough to cook his own meals,' Josh grumbled. âYou shouldn't have to do it.'
âThat's right,' Robin agreed eagerly. Then he wouldn't have to worry about Mags catching him as he sneaked the bacon into his pocket. âI can fry bacon.'
âSure, you can,' Josh said. âAny fool can.'
âYes, that would suit you just fine, wouldn't it?' Mags flared up at Joshua again. âHave the house burn down before Mummy can get here!'
âI wouldn't burn the house down,' Robin protested, but Mags swept past him, slammed a frying pan down on the cooker and began rootling around in the fridge.
âSit down!' she snapped over her shoulder at Robin.
âI only want to help.' He slumped into a chair. Mum had told him to help Mags, but there never seemed to be much of anything he could do. Maybe what would help her more than anything would be to give her some of his money. But then Josh would get it and he didn't want that.
âDo as your aunt says and don't sulk!' That was unfair. He wasn't sulking. He was just watching Mags turn the bacon over and break the eggs and tip them into the frying pan. The gas was too high and the splatterings of grease sparked like fireworks. If anyone was in danger of burning the house down, she was. But it would be neither polite nor tactful to point this out.
âThere!' She set the plate down before him. âDo you want toast or will plain bread and butter do?' It was more of a challenge than a question.
âBread and butter,' he mumbled â he didn't want to get into a fight. âAnd can I have a glass of milk, please?'
âMay I?' Josh corrected.
âJust stay out of this, Josh, will you?' Mags turned back to Robin. âAnd don't bolt your food! You can't have chewed that bacon at all.'
âI was hungry.' He shifted uneasily as the heat burned through his pocket, and kept eating rapidly. He just wanted to get out of the way, he'd had enough of adults fighting. His fingers were greasy and he wiped them surreptitiously on his shirt.
âWhat are you doing? Oh, God!' Another realisation came to Mags. âLaundry! When you're done, I want you to collect all your dirty clothes and bring them down here. If I can't get the washing machine to work, I'll have to take everything to the laundrette.'
âAll right.' He gulped the last of his food and stood, picking up his glass of milk.
âYou're not taking that upstairs!'
âI won't spill it.' He headed for the door, clutching his glass stubbornly.
Fortunately, Mags wasn't in the mood for any more arguing. At least, not with him.
Josh growled something as he walked past, but he ignored it. Holding the glass steady, he climbed the stairs and opened the door with extra caution.
Sure enough, Leif had heard him coming and was waiting behind the door, but he got through it and closed it swiftly. Leif nosed at the door wistfully.
âHere, boy.' He pulled the bacon from his pocket and Leif was happily distracted. He poured the milk into the bowl on the floor (Mags hadn't missed it yet) and left Leif to it.
His dirty clothes. This was the first time Mags had shown any interest in them. Practically everything he had was dirty, especially his socks. He approached the tumbled heap of them in the corner, his nose wrinkling distastefully. Maybe he should have done something about trying to wash them himself. Gingerly, he lifted the top sock from the pile.
âOh, no!' He stared down at the mess unbelievingly. âNo!' He looked at Leif accusingly. âHow could you?'
Leif stared back, half apologetic, half defiant. How could he not? He had to go somewhere and he couldn't get outside.
âI never thought about that,' Robin admitted regretfully. âIt's all right, boy, I'm not mad at you. I suppose they were so smelly anyway, you thought it was the right place to use. But ⦠what am I going to tell Mags?'
He couldn't tell her anything. Not and keep Leif's presence secret.
There was no mistaking what had happened to those socks; he couldn't let her see them. He'd have to smuggle them out of the house in a plastic bag and put them in somebody else's dustbin. Somebody who lived a long way from here. And then he'd have to buy himself some new socks â and he'd have to buy something for Leif to use, too.
It seemed as though his problems would never end. For a moment, he was discouraged. Then Leif strolled over and rubbed against his ankles, looking up at him anxiously, seeming to sense his mood.
âIt's all right, boy.' He stooped to caress the aristocratic head and tug gently at the tufts of hair sweeping from the ears. âDon't worry. It's not your fault. We'll manage somehow.'
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