by Meg Tilly
“Excuse me,” Zelia said politely. “Are you the building manager?”
The man didn’t even glance in their direction.
“Excuse me?” she said a little louder. “We’re friends of Mary and we were—” The man shuffled past.
“Sir?” Gabe reached out and clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder.
“Huh?” The man jumped, clearly startled, and turned with a scowl. “Hands off. Hands off, young man. Or I’ll give you what for.” His gray caterpillar eyebrows were waggling in a threatening fashion.
“We don’t mean any harm,” Zelia said in a conciliatory manner. “We were hoping you could help us. I’m a friend of Mary’s—”
His scowl left Gabe and was now focused solely on her. “What?” he barked, his head jutted forward like a snapping turtle. “Speak up!”
“I’m a friend of Mary’s,” Zelia said loudly. “She didn’t show up for work and she’s not answering her phone. We’re concerned.”
“For Pete’s sake, why must the world mumble so?” He held up a stumpy finger. “Hold on a second.” He stuffed his finger in the pocket of his shirt, fished out a gross-looking ancient hearing aid, and jammed it in his ear. The device emitted a few high-pitched squeals before settling down. “All right. Tell me what you’re yammering about.”
“I’m a friend of Mary’s,” Zelia said. “I’m also her employer. She didn’t show up for work and she’s not answering her phone. We’re concerned.”
“You’re not the only one.” The building manager cleared his nasal passages indignantly. “Rent was due two days ago and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of Ms. Browning. Been getting an earful from the wife, who hadn’t wanted to rent to her in the first place on account of her having no references. And now that damned cat of hers has been yowling up a storm and I’ve been getting complaints.”
“I want to check on her. Make sure she’s okay. Would you happen to have a master key—”
“Hey now,” he interjected as his rheumy gaze traveled down Zelia’s body. “I see what’s happening here. Nice try. Wasn’t born yesterday, you know. Get a motel.”
“Why, you—” Zelia sucked in a lungful of air, preparing to give the old geezer a piece of her mind, but suddenly there was an unyielding solid wall of hard male between her and the source of her irritation.
“Fifteen minutes, sir,” she heard Gabe say, his hand keeping her securely behind him. “Just need to take a quick look around to make sure Ms. Browning is still alive and breathing. If you are getting complaints about the cat, just think what sort of complaints you would get in a few days if things aren’t on the up-and-up.”
“What are you getting at?”
She could hear the suspicion in the old guy’s voice.
“Have you ever smelled a decomposing body?” Gabe said politely. “I have. It’s not something that’s easy to forget.”
“I’ll have you know,” the guy sputtered, “this is a high-class establishment. We don’t allow dead bodies in our complex.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” Gabe said soothingly. “And that’s why it would be best if you let us check to make sure Ms. Browning is okay. That she hasn’t fallen and is in need of medical attention. Here’s a little something for your trouble.”
Zelia peeked around Gabe, saw the old guy’s hand close around a folded bill and slide it into his pocket. “Money?” Her voice squeaked a little. “You’re bribing him to do what he should be doing out of common decency?”
“I’m thanking him,” Gabe said, clear warning in his voice. “For helping us.”
“Out of the goodness of my heart,” the old coot muttered as he thumbed through a plethora of keys on a large round key ring affixed to his belt loop with braided elastic cord.
Zelia snorted derisively, but she managed to keep her mouth shut.
“Here we go.” The building manager inserted a key into the lock, opened the door. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” he said to Gabe. “So you’d better be zipped up and ready to vacate.”
“Go to h—” Suddenly the world tilted on its axis and Zelia found herself slung over Gabe’s shoulder.
“Thanks,” Gabe said, striding into the apartment. He kicked the door closed behind them and then placed her on her feet.
“That disgusting little worm.” Zelia tugged her raincoat and skirt back into place and smoothed her hair out of her face. She huffed out a breath and set her chin. “Mary?” she called, just in case Mary was in the bathroom and hadn’t been able to answer when they knocked on her door. “It’s me, Zelia. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
There was no answer. She hadn’t expected one. The air felt still, like the apartment was waiting for Mary to return.
She started to step forward, when she heard a soft thud in Mary’s bedroom. She froze in midstep. Her hand flew to the side and landed on Gabe’s abdomen as if it were a seat belt holding him back from the windshield. It had been instinct, but now it rested there, plastered against the rock-hard warmth of his washboard abs. The muscular solidity of him was comforting. Made her feel safer.
“I heard something,” she whispered.
An ancient, gray male tabby cat appeared around the corner and bolted toward them.
“Oh. It’s the cat,” Zelia said, her body relaxing.
“Mrrrouw . . .” the cat complained. Then he wove around Zelia’s wet boots, leaving a smattering of gray hair in his wake.
“It’s her cat, Charlie. She talks about him all the time.” Zelia bent to pet him, but he dodged out of the way.
“Mrrrouw . . .” He padded a few steps back the way he came, tail erect, then looked over his shoulder at them. “Mrrrouw . . .”
He seemed to be trying to tell her something. “What’s he want?” she murmured. Charlie returned and nudged her with his nose and then walked away again, pausing to look over his shoulder with his unblinking blue eyes.
“Mrrrouw . . .”
Zelia stepped toward the cat, who then turned and walked briskly into the kitchen area. Zelia followed apprehensively, not sure if the cat would lead her to Mary’s inert body lying on the floor behind the island.
The floor was clear, which was a relief. She glanced at Gabe. “How much time do we have left?”
“Eleven minutes.”
“I’ll take a quick look around in her bedroom and bathroom.”
She returned to Gabe’s side a few minutes later. “She wasn’t there,” Zelia said. “Everything looks normal. No sign of struggle or disarray.”
“You didn’t see your rug anywhere?”
Zelia shook her head.
Gabe glanced around the room. “She didn’t take her belongings, which means she wasn’t planning to skip town.”
“I know,” Zelia said, a lump of worry in her belly. “So where the hell is she?”
“Mrrrouw . . .” Charlie wailed. He bumped his head rather forcefully against her leg and then padded back into the kitchen and leapt onto the counter.
“Charlie, get down from there.” She followed him into the kitchen, scooped him up, and plopped him back on the floor. “I’m pretty sure that’s not allowed.” She turned back to Gabe. “Would you take a look through her bedroom as well? You might notice something that I missed.”
“Sure.” Gabe strode across the cramped living quarters and disappeared down the hall.
“Mrrrouw . . .” complained the cat as he leapt back onto the counter, his tail in the air.
“Charlie.” Zelia reached for him, but he dodged out of the way and then rose onto his hind legs and batted the cupboard door with his paw. “Maybe you’re hungry?” She opened the cupboard, and sure enough there were some stacked cans of cat food. Charlie launched into serious purring action that was vibrating his entire body as he rubbed against her.
“Okay, I get the hint.” Zelia opened a can of cat food
and dumped the contents into the empty cat dish on the floor by the fridge. It smelled very fishy. She grabbed the empty water bowl and was refilling it when Gabe reappeared.
“I checked the bedroom, bathroom, closets. There is no residual water in the shower, and the bar of soap is dry. Her toothbrush is as well. Of course, she might have decided not to shower or brush her teeth this morning.”
Zelia shook her head. Charlie was practically doing a face-plant in his food. “I don’t think she’s been home for a while. There was no water in Charlie’s dish. She jokes that he’s a bit of a glutton, but I’ve never seen a cat gobble food this fast.” She felt Gabe’s hand alight on her shoulder.
“You okay?”
“No,” she said, turning to him, stepping into the comfort of his arms. “I’m not. I’m scared shitless. Where is she? This is not normal for her. She loves Charlie. She would never skip town and leave him behind. Never.” His hand was making soothing circles on her back. She leaned her head against his chest, grateful she wasn’t alone.
“All right, you two,” the building manager barked as the front door of the apartment crashed against the wall, startling the both of them. “Time’s up!” the guy crowed gleefully. “Out you get. If you need another fifteen minutes, it’ll cost another fifty.”
“Another fifty?” Zelia sputtered.
The old guy leered. “Not my fault if the man has a slow trigger. You play. You pay.”
“You gave this loathsome little toad fifty dollars?” Zelia demanded.
“Aaand unless we want to give him fifty more,” Gabe replied, scooping up the cat, “I suggest we vacate the premises.”
“Hey now! What do you think you’re doing with Ms. Browning’s cat?”
“We are taking care of your noise problem,” Gabe informed him.
“Cats don’t come cheap,” the guy said. “And that cat there looks like some kind of fancy purebred.”
“You idiot,” Zelia said, stalking to the kitchen cupboard and grabbing the cans of cat food. “She got this cat at the SPCA. It was a rescue that was going to be put down because no one wanted it.”
He moved to block their exit, a mulish expression on his face. “Well, it seems your gentleman friend wants it. And me, bein’ a man of business . . .”
Gabe removed a bill from his wallet. “Let’s go,” he said, ushering Zelia before him, Charlie yowling under his arm. Gabe looked at the building manager and raised an eyebrow. The old coot hitched up his trousers, wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand, and then stepped aside.
“A pleasure doing business with you, Gov,” the building manager said when Gabe handed him the bill as they stepped past.
“You should be ashamed of yourself!” Zelia would have liked to give him a proper lecture, but she couldn’t escape the firm grip Gabe had on her arm.
They were almost at the front door when Zelia heard the old guy call down the stairway, “You forgot to pay me for the cat food.”
“Screw you, you asshole!” she bellowed, trying to jerk her arm free. “Gabe. Let. Go,” she said through gritted teeth. Gabe did not oblige. He tugged her through the entry door, down the steps, and along the walkway. And once again, the two of them were at the mercy of the torrential downpour that had blanketed the island.
The icy rain was like a slap to the face, draining the rage out of her.
Zelia exhaled, trying to steady her breath. Adrenaline was still coursing through her, embarrassment, too. “Wow,” she finally said, shaking her head. “I don’t know what the hell came over me. I wanted to beat the crap outta that man. Don’t laugh. I’m serious. I wanted to charge up those stairs and box his ears.” She huffed out another breath. “Sorry about that.” Zelia avoided Gabe’s gaze as she reached for the yowling cat wedged under his arm like a football. “I don’t normally flip out.”
“Totally understandable. It’s been a stressful time.”
“And the guy was a dickhead,” she said, opening her rain jacket and gently tucking Mary’s cat inside.
“Yes.” Gabe nodded solemnly, but his twinkling eyes gave him away. “The guy was a dickhead. But even dickheads don’t deserve the fury you were about to unleash on him.”
“Mm . . .” Zelia tilted her face forward to nuzzle the top of Charlie’s furry head. The cat quieted, but his body was still shaking. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Don’t worry. We’re gonna find her.” It was comforting to have Charlie’s warm body snuggled next to hers as they sloshed their way to Gabe’s vehicle. Strapping in required a bit of maneuvering so she didn’t squash the cat. Gabe started the engine. “What now?” she asked.
“I wish I had some answers for you, but we just seem to be accumulating more questions. Let’s go back to the gallery and take a more thorough look around.”
Forty-three
THE MAN HE’D called Fredrick entered the bedroom carrying a tray. He had table linens tucked under his arm. The aromas drifting toward her made her mouth water. Mary wasn’t sure how long she had been incapacitated, but from the hungry rumbles her stomach was making, it must have been a while.
“Ma’am.” He shot a troubled look in her direction. “Where would you like to be served?”
“You don’t have to serve me,” Mary said, trying to put him at ease. “Just plop it on the dresser. I can help myself.”
“I’m sorry. I . . . can’t do that. This is a . . . quality household. There are standards that we, the staff, are expected to maintain.”
“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t want to make extra work for you is all.”
The butler was standing stiffly by the door, waiting for her instructions.
“How about over there?” Mary gestured to a round side table by the armchair.
“Very well.” Fredrick walked to the table, placed the tray down, and then moved the square squat vase of tightly packed white roses to the dresser.
“Thank you,” she said. The butler seemed upset. She watched him lay a white linen place mat on the glossy wooden table, then set out a crisply folded napkin. “I was hoping you would help me?” she ventured, keeping her eyes downcast, her voice demure. She could see out of the corner of her eye the butler’s body stiffen. “I appear to have bumped my head and my memory is off.”
He didn’t look over. Didn’t reply. Just doggedly continued placing the silverware in their appropriate places.
“I don’t seem to remember who I am.” She shrugged as if embarrassed and managed a soft, wistful laugh. “Or who you all are for that matter. It’s quite confusing. I was hoping you could give me a hint or two to jog my memory. Or maybe if you helped me get back to Solace Island, I’d be among familiar things and surroundings and my amnesia would lift?”
She waited, breathing shallowly, hoping. Praying.
His hands were shaking as he poured ice water into a crystal glass.
“Please . . .”
His gaze darted to the door; then he tipped his head slightly upward toward where the ceiling met the far wall.
Mary’s gaze followed his. How had she missed that faint red dot of light? A camera. Recording her.
The butler shifted, bending his body so his back was to the camera as he picked the silver domed plate from the tray and set it in the center of the place mat. “I can’t,” he said in a hoarse whisper, using the clatter to camouflage his words. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with here. You must be careful. Play along. Your very survival depends on it. Do you understand me?” Fear was emanating from his pores like a bitter perfume, making it difficult for Mary to breathe.
She gave a minuscule nod, keeping her face blank, like she wasn’t freaking out, was just idly watching the dining preparations.
Good, he mouthed. Then he straightened abruptly, gave a slight tug to his waistcoat, adjusted his cuffs, his dispassionate butler’s mask back in place. The only thing that gave him away was the barely visi
ble, agitated rise and fall of his chest.
The butler lifted the silver dome. “Your meal is served,” he intoned. He picked up the serving tray, inclining his head slightly, and glided toward the doorway. “Please ring if I can be of any further service.”
He disappeared into the hall, closing the door firmly behind him.
She rose to her feet, her gaze fixed on the door handle, once again hoping, praying. Please . . . please . . . please . . . She took a quiet step forward, and then another, before she heard the scrape of the key locking her in.
Forty-four
“I NEED TO grab a few things. I will be right back.” Gabe switched off the SUV’s engine, removed the key from his jeans pocket, and placed it in the cup holder. “In case you need to crack open a window or something.”
Zelia nodded. She had a death grip on the jacket that was wrapped around Charlie. Gabe didn’t blame her. The cat clearly was not a fan of riding in cars. The instant Gabe had started up the engine, the cat yowled and tried to claw his way up Zelia as if she were a telephone pole with a snapping German shepherd at her feet. Gabe had ripped open her raincoat and yanked the crazed cat out before it could do any more damage. Holding the spitting, clawing cat at arm’s length, he’d peeled off his leather jacket and wrapped it tightly about the frightened bristle-furred cat. Zelia had laid her purse flat on her lap for added padding before she took the leather-bound cat back in her arms. Charlie had squirmed and yowled pitifully the entire drive to the Mansfield Manor. Judging from the quantity of gray cat hair that clung to Zelia’s wet raincoat, it looked to Gabe as though stress had caused Charlie to lose his winter coat early.
When Gabe jogged down the wooden steps that led from the parking lot to the Mansfield Manor resort below, the cold cut through the thin fabric of his shirt. Fortunately, the rain was not as intense under the canopy of the tall evergreen trees that flanked the stairs. His mind was in overdrive as he sprinted down the pea-gravel path to his cottage, turning over the events of the last couple of days.