Whiskers & Smoke (19 page)

Authors: Marian Babson

BOOK: Whiskers & Smoke

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“Didn't you hear the Fire Whistle? The second oneâfor the North woods?”

“We've been busy,” Celia said primly. Then the full import of the question struck her. “The North? Oh no! We just heard the signal for the townâNo!”

We stepped out on to the porch, the sky red above us. A great rolling explosion echoed in the distance.

“That's it!” Pixie said. “They've begun dynamiting the fire-break.”

Something pattered like shrapnel on the roof of the porch. I hoped it was just stones and dirtânot burning pine cones.

“Lukeâ” Celia said desperately. “Lukeâ”

“We'll get him,” Patrick said. “He'll be all right.”

“The house is going to burn downâ” Celia began to laugh hysterically. “It's going to burn anyway!”

“Celiaâ” Patrick said warningly.

We went down the steps, down the path. Stones were pattering all around us.

“Ow!” Tessa complained. “They hurt, Mummy.” She was still carrying Errol's case and could not protect her face adequately.

“Hereâgive me Errolâ” Even as I took over the case, I became aware of a strangeness about the stones: they were all white; they bounced as they hit the ground; when they finally settled, they perched uneasily, then began to melt.

The deep rolling sound came again, climaxed by a great crash; the landscape sprang into bright relief. Large gobbets of water began to mix with the stones.

“It's hail!” Pixie halted and turned her paint-streaked face upwards. “It's raining and hailing! It worked!”

“Rain!” Celia cried. “Rain!”

The rain was gathering force. The parched earth could not drink it in immediately. Pools of water formed at our feet; rivulets followed the slope of the land.

“Thank God,” Noah breathed.

We stood there, faces upturned, glorying in the gorgeous soaking downpour. The hail disappeared but the rain continued, settling in for the night. Already the red glow in the sky was lessening.

“It's rainingâreally raining!” Celia was sobbing with relief. “You can't do it nowâit's too late!”

“Celia!” Patrick caught her by the shoulders and began shaking her.

“It's too late,” Celia insisted thankfully. “The house is saved. It's not just the rain, Patrickâwe've been rumbled!”

Chapter 18

W
e met at the entrance of the hospital. Pixie, Gino and I had just donated our pints of blood; Celia, Patrick and Noah were on their way in to donate theirs.

“How is he?” Noah asked.

“Holding his own.” Pixie reported what we had been told. “Greg's pretty tough. He'll pull through.” She glanced at Gino and said hastily, “Of course, it's too badâ”

“It is better that Rudi died,” Gino said heavily. “Better he should have died before he ever come to this countryâbefore he was born, even. I am shamed that my cousinâ”

“It wasn't your fault,” Noah said quickly. “How were you to know?”

“His family were too eager to send him to meâI should have suspected something wrong. Instead, I thought it was just ambition. It offered so much for him, if he had been the right sort. A partnership eventually, at least. Instead, I have lost my restaurant and must start
over. If people will still come to a Gino's Place after what I have done to the town.”

“You just go ahead and rebuild,” Pixie said. comfortingly. “We'll all come back. Nobody is responsible for what their relatives doâthank heavens!”

Amen to that
. I carefully refrained from looking at my would-be fraudulent sibling and her husband. In the postmortems after their discovery, they had admitted planning the desperate gamble to pay off their debts and regain solvency. For months, they had been denuding their home of its most valuable contents, while leaving them on the household inventory held by the insurance company. At first, they had simply sold them to the Singletons. Later, when I had agreed to occupy the Harper residence, they had planned to secrete Celia's most prized antiques in the storeroom. Celia had duplicated the key before handing it on to me; she had also unbolted the bulkhead door so that Patrick could gain access to the cellar without my knowledge. What a shock I had given him when I opened the guest room window the other night and leaned out. They had not known that I had changed from the master bedroom at the front to the cheerful little guest room overlooking the bulkhead. After that, had come Celia's pressing invitations, designed to get me away from the house so that Patrick could make the last trips with the remainder of the antiques, before firing their house while it could be blamed on sparks from the blaze in the North woods.

At least, I tried to look on the bright side, Celia had not lied to me completely. Patrick was illâbut not dying.
It had been one last summer in her beloved home she had been pleading for when I overheard them.

“You are all very kind:” Gino smiled at Pixie and then at the rest of us. “It is a pleasure to live here at Edgemarsh Lake with you. And now I must go for a consultation with the architect who will design the new Gino's.” He descended the steps and walked away slowly.

“Isn't it ironic?” Pixie looked after him. “Gino's Place was the most successful business for miles around. He must have been just about the only person in town who didn't
need
to collect on his fire insurâ” She broke off abruptly, glanced at Patrick and turned bright red.

Patrick and Celia retained their bright social smiles, showing no reaction to Pixie's gaffe. I looked at them curiously, wondering if there was anything else they knew that they were not telling me. There had been another frantic letter from Nancy in the morning post:

Dear Rosemary, she had written,

No matter what you might hearâdon't worry. It just looks a lot worse than it really is. The builders tell me that it can all be put right very quicklyâand it will never show when they've finished. It won't cost all that much, either. Naturally, we'll pay for it ourselves, although I think Lania ought to contribute something, if not half. After all, her kids did their share of the damage. But we'll work that out between ourselvesâit has nothing to do with you.

The good news is that Esmond has begun to feel totally comfortable with us. For the first time yesterday, the darling leaped up on the kitchen table and stole a lamb chop! I'm so happy that he has accepted us at last.

The workmen are at the door, so must close now. Don't worry about anything. By the time you get back, you'll never be able to see that it happened.

Kisses to Errolâ

Nancy.

Don't worry
. My home had been in one piece when I left it. My cat had never been a thief. What was it all about? Had she also written to Patrick, confiding in him?

Patrick looked back at me with a guileless smile. Now that his scheme had been thwarted, both he and Celia were looking more relaxedâand years younger. Celia was talking about finding a job and they were both due for a talk with their Bank Manager later in the week. It would take time, but they would sort out their finances in a more socially responsible manner.

“If you'd care to hang around for about half an hour,” Noah said to me, “I can give you a lift back.”

“Thank you,” I said, “but I've grown braver. I'm using the Harpers' car now.” It was silly not to use transport when I had it available. Just as it was silly to worry about road accidents when worse could befall you through no fault of your own when you were quietly going about your own business at home.

“Fine,” he said. “I'm glad to hear it.” He did not look particularly delighted.

“Pixie is coming to dinner tonight,” I said. “Why don't you come along, too? I'm not a bad cook and it's about time I began to repay some of the hospitality I've been receiving.”

“I'd like that.” This time he did look pleased. “Thank you.”

“Don't forget,” Celia said. “We're still going on that whale watch. Next week.” There was a lilt in her voice. She could look forward to it now, knowing that her home would still be standing when she returned from the expedition. This time it would be a pleasure tripânot an alibi.

“Fine,” I said.

“And we're taking a trip or two across the border before you leave,” Pixie reminded me. “It's silly to be so near to Canada and not visit Montreal and Quebecâthey're such beautiful cities.”

“Fine,” I said again. A sad detached feeling began slipping over me. John had planned sorties across the Canadian Border, too. We had been so thrilled and excited about it.

I said my goodbyes and walked down the steps slowly and turned towards the car.

At the foot of the steps, I stopped and lifted my face to the cool rain-washed breeze. The scent of wet ashes still hung in the air, but it was fading. Over towards the lake, the sky was dotted with dark glorious rain clouds. It was a beautiful day in a beautiful country.

Perhaps, some day, I would discover what one did in Illyria.

WHISKERS AND SMOKE

Also by Marian Babson

NINE LIVES TO MURDER
THE TWELVE DEATHS OF CHRISTMAS
THE DIAMOND CAT
PAWS FOR ALARM

OUTSTANDING PRAISE FOR MARIAN BABSON

The Diamond Cat

“Babson's latest exceptional plot will please cat fanciers, humorists, and mystery lovers â¦ The fun continues.”

â
Library Journal

Nine Lives to Murder

“Quite simply, the cat's meow.”

â
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

“A giddy, fizzy farce that's a treat for any cat aficionado.”

â
Baltimore Sun

“Hilarious.”

â
Hartford Courant

“Cute â¦ I liked it a lot.”

â
Mystery News

“Clever and witty entertainment.”

â
Booklist

“Fanciful â¦ First-rate.”

â
Library Journal

“As usual, Babson's strengths lie in her characterizations and her wit â¦ Should keep you turning the pages right through to the finish.”

â
The Drood Review

“Easy-going narrative style â¦ Babson at her most antic.”

â
Kirkus Reviews

“You'll want to check it out.”

â
Washington Post

“A charming, witty farce.”

â
Poisoned Pen

“An adorable book.”

â
Deadly Pleasures

Other titles from St. Martin's Dead Letter Mysteries

THE NUN's TALE by Candace M. Robb
CURLY SMOKE by Susan Holtzer
HOOFPRINTS by Laura Crum
THE TWELVE DEATHS OF CHRISTMAS by Marian Babson
THE PRINCE LOST TO TIME by Ann Dukthas
MURDER IN SCORPIO by Martha C. Lawrence
MURDER IN THE CHATEAU by Elliott Roosevelt
CRACKER: To SAY I LOVE You by Molly Brown
BONDED FOR MURDER by Bruce W. Most
WIN, LOSE OR DIE ed. by Cynthia Manson &
Constance Scarborough
MORTAL CAUSES by Ian Rankin
A VOW OF DEVOTION by Veronica Black
WOLF, No WOLF by Peter Bowen
SCHOOL OF HARD KNOCKS by Donna Huston Murray
FALCONER'S JUDGEMENT by Ian Morson
WINTER GAMES by John Feinstein
THE MAN WHO INVENTED FLORIDA by Randy Wayne White

Dear Mystery Reader:

You've probably heard of or read the polls that the cat has now overtaken Man's Best Friend as this country's number one petâanother sign that mystery readers are trendsetters. For years and years now they've preferred felines over canines. Just ask my cat Dagmar, who benevolently allows me to feed her, pay the rent and occasionally brush and pet her. You see, cats are just the sort of prickly, idiosyncratic, eccentric, independent and intelligent characters mystery readers (and editors) love.

One of the reasons Marian Babson's novels are so popular is because she writes about such creaturesâboth human and feline. Another is that she is one of the finest practitioners of the art of suspense. Throughout her novels, she cleverly, inventively, ever-so-subtly terrorizes her readers, which is, of course, why they rush to buy her books.

If
Whiskers and Smoke
is your first foray into Babson's work, you've got a treat ahead of youâcatnip for the mystery reader.

Yours in Crime,