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Authors: Marian Babson

BOOK: Whiskers & Smoke
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“It would be even better,” Pixie said wistfully, “if I could do the dance on the old Sacred Ground. Only that's right by the back door of the Peterson house. I'm not sure Noah would—”
“Noah Peterson is another reason I don't want Errol
roaming free right now.” I grasped the opportunity to change the subject. “I'm afraid Noah is on the prowl again.” I had already told her about his obsession. “I'd thought we'd arranged a truce, but now it seems he was just trying to lull me into a false sense of security. He's still after Errol.”
“That Peterson family has always been pretty odd.” Serenely, she called the kettle black. “You never can tell about them. It could be. Once they get an idea into their heads, they don't give it up easily.”
 
“Mrs. Blake—Rosemary—” Perhaps I should not have been surprised when Noah Peterson telephoned me half an hour after Pixie had left. “I am wounded, deeply wounded.”
“Oh, er, good afternoon, Mr.—er, Noah.” I knew immediately what had happened. Pixie—blast her—had trotted over to Noah Peterson in the guise of peacemaker and promptly blown the gaff.
“Here I thought we had embarked upon a friendship—” his voice throbbed with accusation—“and now I learn that you still harbor the basest of suspicions about me.”
“Er …” There was not much I could say to that—not to him. I would have plenty to say to Pixie when I saw her again.
“I can assure you, Rosemary, I was nowhere near your premises last night. I was otherwise engaged—very engaged. Pitti-Sing was having her kittens. She had a difficult time, poor darling. I was up all night with her. So was the vet.”
“Congratulations,” I said quickly. “How many did she have? I'll bet they're darling.”
“She had three—the first litter is often small. But they're beautiful,” his voice softened and became lyrical. “Exquisite, enchanting—I can almost forgive Errol. Certainly I wish him no harm.”
“I'm delighted to hear it.”
“Then prove it to me. Prove that we're really friends—and help me to celebrate. Let me take you—and the children—to dinner again tonight at Gino's Place.”
“But what about Pitti-Sing? If she's just had her kittens, surely you don't want to leave her alone.”
“Of course not. Pixie Toller has volunteered to sit with her for the evening. In fact, she suggested it. So that we could bury the hatchet, as it were. Properly, this time. She's quite right, I'm most grateful to her.”
“I see.” I saw far more than Noah realized. By throwing me to the wolves, Pixie had arranged it so that she could have the Peterson house—and the Sacred Ground—to herself tonight. Oh, she'd look after Pitti-Sing, all right, probably between Rain Dances.
“Don't be annoyed,” Noah said anxiously. “I've been wanting to invite you out again. I didn't have to be pushed into it. Please say you'll come, all of you.”
It would serve Pixie right if I refused. That would teach her to try to involve innocent bystanders in her harebrained schemes. Momentarily I pictured Noah, having settled down to a quiet evening with Pitti-Sing and the new kittens, being disturbed by whatever drumbeats or war whoops Pixie might consider part of the ceremony and going out to discover her in full Rain Dance. I wondered
if she had devised a suitable costume for the ritual.
“You still don't trust me,” he said. “Even when I have an alibi that proves I'm innocent.”
“Don't be silly. Of course, I trust you.”
Did I?
At least, I believed he hadn't been stalking Errol last night. “I simply made a light remark to Pixie and she exaggerated it out of all proportion.”
“She often does,” he agreed. “But there's usually a grain of truth in what she says, just the same. She thinks it's important that neighbors should be friends—and so do I. Especially when there's danger threatening, as now, and we might all have to depend on each other. So, why not have a pleasant evening first—while there's still time?”
“Oh, all right.” I could not betray Pixie—even though she had it coming. “I mean, thank you, we'll be happy to join you for dinner.”
“Wonderful! I'll pick you up about seven.”
 
I had hardly replaced the receiver when the phone rang again. This time it was Celia.
“I've been thinking,” she said. “If you're not feeling well, you won't want to bother about a meal tonight. Why don't we take the kids and eat at Gino's Place?”
“I can't,” I said. “I mean, not with you. I've already accepted an invitation from Noah Peterson. We'll see you there. Perhaps we can join forces.”
“Oh—” Celia sounded rather strange. “No, I don't think so. Perhaps I won't go. I don't mind cooking tonight. I was thinking of you.”
She was thinking of something else, too. I recognized
the note in her voice. She wasn't—she couldn't—be thinking of matchmaking, could she? Not so soon.
“Celia,” I said warningly. “Celia, I assure you. Whatever you're thinking, you're wrong. Noah Peterson only wants to be neighborly. The children are coming and—”
“Rosemary!” Celia sounded genuinely shocked. “How could you think I'd think such a thing? I know what you and John meant to each other. I may not say much about it, but I know—” her voice broke. “I know how you must be feeling.”
“I'm sorry.” Of course she knew. She was next for the high jump. Furthermore, she had been forewarned. She must have given it a lot of thought.
“Look.” Her voice was bright, too bright, now. “Since you're all fixed up for tonight, let's plan something nice we can do later in the week. All of us. I know—let's drive over to the coast and go on that Whale Watch! How about tomorrow—or the next day? I'll ring and make reservations.”
“That sounds like fun.” Tessa and Timothy would love it. “Why don't we make it next week, though? I—”
“No!” Her voice rose unsteadily. “The sooner the better. Let's have a few laughs while we're able to. Patrick—” she broke off.
Had Patrick taken a turn for the worse? Celia was haunted by something more than she was going to admit, although she had just come very close. I waited, but she didn't say anything more.
“All right,” I said. “We'll do it this week.”
“Tomorrow?” She asked gratefully. “Please, Rosemary, tomorrow?”
“All right,” I agreed. “Tomorrow.”
I
t looked as though half the town—the more affluent half-had decided to dine at Gino's Place that night. Viv and Hank Singleton greeted us effusively as we passed their table. I was rather less effusive. When I had been at Celia's the other day, I could not help noticing that the Victorian tea-trolley and the silver-topped claret jug had disappeared. It was not the Singletons' fault that Celia had to sell them her cherished possessions, but it did not endear them to me.
Gino led us to a table by a window at one side of the room and whipped away a RESERVED notice.
“You kids sit here—” Noah directed. “I ordered this table especially,” he murmured to me while the children were seating themselves. “You can't see the lobster tank from here. I know it upset you folks last time.”
“That's very kind of you.” It would not be kind of me to cavil that I could see the kitchen door from my seat and would thus still be aware of the struggling victims
being borne to their doom. Noah was trying very hard. I smiled at him and edged my chair round so that I had an alternative view out of the window on to the little square across the street.
“Look, Mummy.” Timothy twisted round and waved to someone in the center of the room. “There's Dexter!”
“Is he out of bounds again?” Noah turned and frowned. “No. He's got Greg with him.”
“Hi, Noah, Mrs. Blake …” Dexter materialized beside our table. “Gee, I'm glad to see some friendly faces.” He looked and sounded faintly desperate. “I mean, I'm glad to see
you
—”
“What's the matter, Dexter?” Noah asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Dexter said unconvincingly. “Not really. It's just—” He took a deep breath and blurted it all out:
“It's Greg. They got a report from the dentist this morning—so he's got to believe it. It
was
Lois. He was pretty upset. I got my allowance today, so I thought I'd take him to dinner and cheer him up. But it isn't working. I can't get through to him. He's just sitting there—” Dexter's voice cracked—“staring into space. When I say something, he doesn't answer. I don't know what to do.”
Poor Dexter. It was more than he could handle. He was learning the hard way that life was not the way it was presented on the television screen. When people were cruelly wounded, they did not leap up with a merry laugh after the commercial—they lay there and bled.
Sometimes they died.
And when a friend and partner died, they did not shrug it off with a brave tight-lipped smile and go out on the
town and forget about it—they felt the pain. Sometimes they went into shock—deep shock.
Greg was sitting at a table for two, looking blankly at the empty chair across from him. The last time I had seen him at that table, Lois had been in that empty chair.
Noah and I met each other's eyes.
“Look, son,” Noah said gently. “Why don't you and Greg come over here and join us?”
“Could we?” Dexter's shoulders straightened as though the weight of the world had just rolled off them. “Look, I'll pay for us—for all of you. It will be my party. I've got plenty of money—”
“Don't you worry about that,” Noah said. “You go and get Greg. The rest of us will push our chairs together. It will be a bit of a squeeze, but we'll manage.” He signalled to the waiter for two extra chairs.
Rudi disappeared behind the scenes and returned with the two chairs. He placed them solicitously, holding Greg's chair for him. Greg barely appeared to notice that we were there. He gave the ghost of a social smile and resumed staring into the distance.
“We're going on a whale watch tomorrow,” Timothy told Dexter.
“Hey, that's great. Some guys have all the luck.” Dexter was regaining his bounce now that he no longer felt solely responsible for Greg. “Can I come, too? I'll pay my own way—”
“Haven't you just about used up your passes for this month?”
“Oh, that's okay. I can sneak out and meet—” Dexter broke off, abruptly recalling his silent companion. He
glanced at Greg uneasily. Greg did not appear to have heard a word.
“You like to order now?” Rudi was back, flourishing his order pad. He bent over Dexter ingratiatingly. “Steak Diane very good tonight. Maybe Steak Diane for everybody?”
“Uh, I don't think so.” Dexter was learning tact; he looked at Greg. “No—not for me. I don't know about anybody else?”
“Definitely not,” I said. With Greg in the state he was in, it would be major cruelty to allow Rudi to go flaunting flames in front of him.
“Big mistake—” Rudi was beginning to sulk, sensing that he would not get the opportunity for his gala performance at this table. “Steak Diane specially good tonight.”
“Not tonight,” Noah vetoed firmly.
“Crêpes Suzette, maybe, for dessert?” Rudi was not going to give up without a struggle. “Crêpes Suzette ver' good tonight.”
“I'd rather have ice cream,” Tessa said. Her sidelong glance at Greg betrayed that she was being tactful, too.
“I should think we'd all have ice cream.” Noah disappointed Rudi again.
“Big mistake,” Rudi muttered, dying hard. He shrugged and waited for our orders as thpugh he had lost all interest in whatever we were going to have.
We ordered and I looked around the restaurant. It was apparent that Rudi was getting no chance to show off tonight. It was unrealistic of him to expect it. Surely he must realize that, with the fire in the woods endangering
the town, no one was going to want to be reminded of it.
“Are you all right, Greg?” Timothy asked uncertainly. Noah and I exchanged glances. It was the question we had not quite dared to ask.
“Oh, yeah, sure, Tim,” Greg answered mechanically. He was still a million miles away.
“Greg—” Impulsively I put my hand over his. “I'm so sorry about Lois.”
“It
was
her. It couldn't have been, but it was.” He turned to me, shaking his head. “I can't understand it. What was she doing way out there? She told me she was coming into town. Why should she lie to me?”
“Perhaps she didn't.” The more I thought about it, the more certain I was that I was right. “Perhaps she
did
come into town, to meet someone. He may have strangled her here and then taken her body to the shelter—”
Something cold and wet and red as blood splashed over our hands. I shrieked and jumped.
“'Scusi, madame,' scusi—” Rudi mopped feverishly at my hand with a napkin. “The tomato juice spill. Ver' sorry. An accident. 'Scusi.”
“It's all right.” I removed my hand from his frantic ministrations. He shifted his attention to Greg and dabbed at his hand.
“You're right.” For the first time, Greg was looking at me as though he saw me. “That must have been what happened. Lois wouldn't have lied to me.”
Another couple came in and took the table Greg and Dexter had vacated. Rudi muttered something in his own language—it could have been a curse or an expression of relief—and deserted us to rush over and bring menus to
the new people. Almost immediately, he seemed to be in dispute with them. It would appear that they did not wish to order the Steak Diane either.
“What's the matter with Rudi?” Noah wondered. “He seems to be building up quite a head of steam tonight.”
“He's temperamental.” Dexter spoke with the voice of experience. “He's having a fit because he can't play his big scene—like some ham actor who's just had his best lines cut.” Momentarily, disconcertingly, Dexter's face became faintly Latin, his eyes flashed, his upper lip curled back; he was Rudi about to throw a scene—or a knife.
“He is in a bad mood—” Gino spoke behind us. “It was necessary for me to have words with him this morning. He is not working out well. I apologize for my cousin. He will improve—or he will leave, I assure you.”
“We're all on edge these days,” Noah said soothingly.
“With reason,” Gino sighed. “With good reason.” He bent over Greg. “My friend, I am so sorry. There is nothing one can say … can do …” He patted Greg's shoulder ineffectually.
“I am sending over brandies—on the house,” he informed Noah.
“That's very kind—” But Gino was gone, following his cousin into the kitchen. We heard raised voices.
“She came to meet someone …” Greg had been oblivious of everything, following the painful trail of his own thoughts. “Someone in this town—” His gaze ranged searchingly across the tables. “I'll find out who. And when I do—” His hands clenched convulsively.
“Take it easy, fella,” Noah said. “That's for the police to investigate. Chief Rogers—”
Greg said something totally out of character about Chief Rogers and didn't even apologize. He seemed to have forgotten there were children at the table and that he was supposed to set a good example. Some parents would have removed their children from Camp Mohigonquin immediately if they could have heard him.
“Steady on—” I said automatically, glancing at the children. Tessa was being a proper little lady and giving no indication that she had heard the last remarks at all. Timothy was struggling to keep a straight face. Dexter was unconcerned; he had heard far worse on visits to his parents.
Rudi brought our orders, dealing them off the tray as though he were riffling out cards from the bottom of the deck. His face was thunderous. He didn't really care whether we got the right orders or not.
Tessa and Timothy quietly swapped plates. Greg stared at his indifferently until Noah reached over and exchanged it with mine. Even then, he continued to stared at it blankly.
“Come on,” Noah said. “You've got to eat something. Keep up your strength.”
“Yeah, sure.” Greg picked up a fork and began pushing the food around his plate mechanically.
“I hope you don't mind,” Noah said, “but if you're not going to eat all those scallops, could I have them for my kitty-bag? Pitti-Sing is eating for four now.”
“And we'll have Dexter's leftovers for Errol,” Tessa said stoutly, before the belated realization struck her that Dexter was highly unlikely to leave anything on his plate.
“Yeah, sure.” Greg looked around vaguely, as though
ready to tip everything into a kitty-bag there and then. “I'm not very hungry, I guess. Sorry, Dexter.”
“Aw, that's okay.” The lineaments of Dexter's face shifted subtly to mirror the devastation underlying Greg's expression.
“You're going to be an awfully good actor someday, Dexter,” I said. “You're going to outdo everyone in your family.”
“Me?” he squeaked, gratified and incredulous.
“You,” I predicted firmly. “You're going to be the finest Herbert of them all.”
“Well, gee—” His ears turned red, he shrank back against his chair. He was accustomed to complaints and disapproval; he had never learned to deal with compliments. He would. “Well, thanks …” He swallowed and smily shyly. “Thanks a lot.”
“I'll kill him!” Greg exploded suddenly. “Whoever killed Lois—I'll find him and, with my bare hands, I'll kill him!” He shoved his plate away and lifted his head, glaring wildly around the room.
Hank Singleton intercepted Greg's gaze, winced, and raised his hand to signal for his bill.
“Greg—” I tried to calm him. “You're frightening people. You'll empty the restaurant—”
“I don't care!” He glared with renewed fury. People at the adjoining tables began to edge their chairs away.
Now Viv had joined Hank in trying to catch their waiter's eye. It could be the beginning of a mass exodus if we couldn't get Greg under control.
Unfortunately for them, the customers were too conventional
to leave without paying their bills—and they could not pay them unless they got them.
Rudi was paying no attention to his tables. He had withdrawn to lounge against the wall by the swing doors leading into the kitchen. He was in a monumental sulk brooding over his unrequired trolley. At some point, he must have lit the spirit lamp; now he kept playing with it, turning the flame up, lowering it, then turning up to full force again. He was totally preoccupied; a child with a toy. A dangerous toy … a dangerous child—no, man, which made him even more dangerous. The leaping flame cast shadows, masking and unmasking the brooding face. The reflection of the flame glinted in his eyes, turning him into a stranger—a mad stranger.
“What's the matter, Rosemary?” Noah asked softly. I was aware that the others took one look at my face and then turned to see what had caused my expression.
They sat rooted for a moment watching the spectacle: Rudi, completely off guard and unaware of anything except the bright beckoning flame. Rudi, playing with fire.

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