Pawsibly Guilty

by CeeCee James

“Clint Miller. Another one of Andy’s friends. He was kind of Andy’s lackey, always needed money, so he was willing to do odd jobs for Andy. And I guess he’s now dating Madeline.” She sighed.

  “Do you like him?” Mary leaned in.

  “All of Andy’s friends are just like him, I’m afraid. Weak men. Poor Madeline. Maybe she’ll learn this time.”

  After Mrs. Fitzwater said that, she pursed her lips in an expression of decidedly unbelief that Madeline truly would learn anything new.

  I glanced back at the teahouse. The woman was refined, much more than I’d been raised. She acted like she’d grown up in one of those girl etiquette schools. It made me wonder why she was working here and how she ever became mixed up with Andy.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mrs. Fitzwater dropped us off at the gate and left with a toot of her horn. I carried the fragile package while Mary ran ahead to make sure the coast was clear.

  As I walked, Madeline and her thin, elegant frame came to mind. What had Andy told her to make her leave her husband? She must have thought it was real love. And what made her date Andy’s friend? I remember how odd I’d thought Clint’s relationship had appeared from the photos. Now I had even more questions.

  I skipped past the gorgeous veranda, already looking better for repairs and fresh paint. As I walked by, the fierce lion knocker on the front door seemed to be eyeing me back. When I’d first been hired at the manor, I hadn’t known the rules that we weren’t allowed to enter that way.

  Now, I followed the path around the side of the manor. Here the giant trees shaded the walkway and gave the feel of walking around an old museum building. The bricks forming the path had pitted through the years, leaving soft corners that gave opportunity for moss—covered in minuscule translucent flowers—to thrive.

  I entered the kitchen and handed the package and credit card to Cook. Her eyes lit up, and she clutched the cup to her chest like it was the Holy Grail. I thought for sure for a moment she was going to kiss me.

  “Just between you and me, right?” she asked again, tucking the card in her bra.

  “Of course! You know I can keep a secret.”

  She winked and touched her nose and then waddled off, holding the cup before her and humming admiringly.

  I found Marguerite upstairs and asked what she’d like me to start on next. She was in the linen closet, sifting through different table cloths with a deep expression of concentration. She glanced up. “Oh, you’re back then. How was your fitting?”

  So much had happened I’d nearly forgotten. “It went well. I’m excited to see how the dresses turn out. Now, what can I do?”

  “Well,” her voice took on a formal tone. “Miss Janice has a special guest arriving tonight, so I’ll be doing dinner service. Perhaps you can dust the study and parlor instead? And if you still have time, take yourself to the laundry.”

  I’d never heard her talk quite in that way before. Like she had an accent. And she most certainly did not have an accent.

  Puzzled, I headed to the cleaning closet and loaded the basket with supplies, and then continued to the parlor. On my way, I bumped into Lucy. “Hey, you, did you hear Miss Janice has a special male guest?” she asked.

  “So I heard.” I was curious to hear Lucy repeat the same accent. “Let me guess, he has an accent.”

  “The sexiest one ever!” she said before waggling her fingers goodbye and heading back upstairs.

  Interesting. I entered the parlor, where I discovered white dust everywhere despite the fact that I’d wiped the room down three times already this week. I glanced at the ceiling. The parlor jutted out from the mansion and needed a separate tiled roof. I figured it must have been the vibrations of the roof work that had caused this.

  It took nearly an hour, but I soon had the room tidy. I tucked the basket under my arm and headed for the study.

  After the last time I’d been in there, the dark room felt like a reproach. Why were the curtains closed again?

  “I’m sorry to intrude,” I whispered to Mr. Thornberry’s picture as I yanked them back open. “But I need to clean. I’m still looking for your cat. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

  Mr. Thornberry’s eyes were just as jarring as always, with his hair poking about like porcupine quills. Why did I feel the need to apologize to a painting? I’d faint dead away if he answered.

  I checked Hank’s empty cushion and glanced at the cupboard. What if, when I’d gone in the first time, Hank had somehow followed me inside, and now I’d locked him in there?

  I sprayed some lemon oil on the desk and half-heartedly trailed the rag over it. My eyes dragged back to the cupboard.

  “No. I’m not going back inside.” I ferociously polished the desk and started on the empty bookshelves. Besides, who knew what conversation I’d overhear this time.

  Swiftly, I did the third shelf and the fourth. I would need a step stool to reach higher. I left it and went to dust the picture frame. I dusted the chair rail, which led me slowly back to the front of the cupboard.

  As I dusted, the rag caught the corner of the cabinet, and it cracked open.

  An accident? Or a sign? I hesitated. My fingers traced the top of the trim. Wait! Did I hear something? I swung the door open. “Hank?” I called. My voice squeaked like I needed a drink of water. I peered into the crevice. “Hank?”

  And then I knew. This was really happening. I was about to go into the depths of the house again. I licked my dry lips and then ducked inside.

  It was even creepier this time, especially when I had an idea of the cobwebs that lay ahead of me. I tried to block the memory of them as I squeezed inside the wall.

  I walked faster this time, in a hurry to pass the area where I’d overheard Miss Janice. This was the spot where I’d turned around before. I crept by and exhaled with relief not to be subjected to any unwanted conversations.

  Unfortunately, the relief was short-lived. Just a little farther along, and the pathway split into two different directions.

  The last thing I wanted was to get lost in these walls. I could just picture it now, having to break through the plaster like the Kool-Aid Man for my freedom.

  I tried to mark the dust on the floor with an X and continued down the one to the left. Pretty soon, there were more X’s than I knew what to do with as the path split and split again. Regret filled my mouth like sour milk. Why had I done this?

  Suddenly, I stumbled on a piece of something, and my hand landed on the brick wall. Yuck! My hand came away black and grubby, and I swiped it down my pants.

  My footsteps sounded hollow as if I were in a cave. I turned one last time, and noticed a change in the air. Cool air seeped along the floor, smelling musty. I flashed the flashlight and saw the inner walls had taken on the appearance of a long dark tunnel rather than the interior of the house.

  The light beam winked off of something ahead. Was it a puddle? No, wait. It was metallic. A ladder?

  Nervously, I approached the ladder. Every sound seemed magnified, and I stepped as quietly as possible. I shone the light down the hole. It hit something at the bottom, something small that glittered. I leaned to try and see what it was… something gold. It was no use, I couldn’t make it out. Closing my eyes, I sucked in a deep breath. I’d come this far. I couldn’t leave this as a mystery.

  I climbed down the ladder, grimacing at how damp the rungs were from the humidity in the air. The lower I descended, the colder it got. At the bottom, a shiver ran down my spine at the drop in temperature.

  Where was this place? Some kind of cellar? I flashed the light at the object and saw it was a cigar wrapper. What in the world? I moved the light along the walls and down the tunnel. It was made of bricks and definitely sloped downward.

  “Hank? Here, kitty. Kitty. Kitty.” My voice echoed back and sounded desperate and afraid. I didn’t like that at all. I was scared of what it might stir up.

  There was no meow back, just a steady drip of water. I flashed the light at the ceiling to
search for bats or any creepy crawlies. I didn’t see any, but I also didn’t have faith that they wouldn’t be hiding somewhere conspiring to make a sneak attack.

  I was about to climb back up when I realized I could see a smidge of light ahead, shining on the silvery cobwebs that hung with beads of dew. I hesitated a second and then walked down the path. My light reflected off of a small puddle ahead of me. I bent down to look and then gasped. It was a perfect boot imprint filled with a bit of water.

  The hair on my neck stood up. Someone had been down here recently. Was that person here right now? I tried not to think of how very far I had to go to escape this place.

  Instead, I forced myself to focus. I scrambled to pull up my phone’s camera. Squatting down, I framed the shot and snapped the picture.

  It was then that I noticed an itty bitty paw print beside the boot print. A print of a cat.

  Hank! He’d been all the way down here! He really had a life I knew little of: none of us did.

  I sucked in some air, noting a fresher scent, and continued forward. I had to see where this ended.

  The tunnel straightened after that point with no more curves. The ceiling started to close in. I shivered to see roots pushing through the ceiling surface to dangle like a witch’s chin hair.

  And then it just stopped, blocked by an ancient wooden door. One metal bar held the boards together like an old wine barrel.

  I tried the door and winced at how the metal grated. Just like a fork screeching across a china plate. I turned the handle harder and shoved at it. I was rewarded with a crack of light showing.

  Determined, I pushed through the entrance with a grunt and looked around me.

  Wherever I was, the light was dim and the room small. There were shelves on one wall stacked with old rusty tools that hadn’t been touched in what appeared to be eons. Dust covered everything, coloring every surface in the same beige, and a strong scent of gasoline hung in the air. A pair of rubber boots stood next to a very old mower covered in petrified grass clippings.

  For as abandoned as the place appeared, it was obvious I wasn’t the first person here. Footprints crossed the floor in the dust to where I now stood.

  They originated from a door across the room. There was one window covered in yellow wax paper. Tentatively I walked to the door, not trusting the old floor despite the footprints.

  This door opened easier, and I walked through. I was outside. Sunlight spilled in, feeling harsh after the dark tunnel. I blinked hard. How far had I gone from the house?

  A field stretched before me, its grass buzzing with unknown wigglies. I breathed in the scent of drying hay, happy to cleanse my lungs of the funky scent of the tunnel. I scanned the area, quickly realizing I’d never been down here before.

  There was a rock wall that curved out of sight to my left. Weeping willows hung over the rocks and appeared to be pulling the old thing down. My gaze followed it further, and saw a lush line of trees and bushes. I must be somewhere by the creek. I shut the door and headed that way.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Blue, yellow, and white dotted the field like a child had gone crazy with their finger paints. I walked toward the trees for a few steps and then turned around. The entrance to the shed blended into the hillside behind me, hidden by a copse of blueberries.

  I heard burbling water and knew the creek was somewhere below me. Soon I was under the trees whose branches crocheted into a green scarf against the sky. Several birds flew in the air at my approach. Their movement scared me in return, and I jumped.

  And then I saw her.

  Sophia sat on the bank’s edge with a fishing pole. She cast her line, making a small splash, and then settled back against the log—the epitome of patience.

  I walked toward her. “You catch anything yet?” I asked.

  Sophia jerked and jumped to her feet. Her entire body quivered with tense muscles, ready to run. Old habits were hard to break, and after spending an entire life hiding away, she still wasn’t comfortable with people from the house seeing her.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you.” I used an extra soft voice and stared out into the water. “This is where I first saw you. Do you fish here often?”

  Sophia nodded. “Yes.” Her face slowly filled back with color, and her freckles looked like little cocoa sprinkles on her skin.

  “So you have lots of luck, then?”

  The little girl shook her head. “But it gives me time to read. Look at what I finished.” She held out a book with a red pig-tailed girl on the cover.

  A bee flew by, making me freeze, but he continued on, bored with my appearance and anxious for another field of flowers.

  “You finally finished it! We’re kindred spirits.”

  “So can we go have our raspberry cordial now?” Sophia smiled back, impishly.

  She remembered. I picked a cobweb out of my hair and tried to decide. So much was going through my mind right now.

  “Please! You promised you would come over one day.” She thrust a hint of accusation at me.

  I gave in. “Okay. Fine. Sure.”

  “Yippee!” She grabbed her fishing pole and then reached for my hand. I held it a bit warily. I didn’t have a lot of experience with little kids.

  “Come on, slowpoke.” She tugged me along.

  We walked down a well-beaten path through the woods, and then a little cabin came into view.

  I gasped. Stephen had done a lot of work on it. In fact, right this moment, he was on a ladder with a paintbrush in his hand. The trim glistened in fresh white.

  “Stephen! Look who I brought!” Sophia called.

  He glanced down at me, and his eyebrows flickered. Still, he managed to sound unruffled. “Hey, little lady. Where have you been?”

  “Fishing!” she announced.

  “Catch anything?”

  She shook her head, making her braids fly. I could see she really enjoyed doing that.

  Stephen climbed down. “Well, get inside and grab some lunch.”

  Sophia skipped into the house, leaving the pole on the front porch. I was impressed to see even the front door had a new coat of paint. And many of the deck floorboards and porch spindles had been replaced.

  “It looks good,” I said, nodding to the work.

  “Yeah? I sold some stuff, and then Miss Janice shlepped over some money to finish things up. It’s nice to have the cash for repairs.”

  “I bet. You did a lot.”

  “Thanks.” He studied me with those green eyes and dragged his fingers through his already rumpled hair. “So, were you bringing her back? She wandered off while I was at the big house this morning.”

  “I’ve meant to talk to you about that,” I said. “The other day, I stumbled onto her in one of the gardens.” I hid the nature of the secret garden. “And she told me a funny story of how she watched a hammer drop from the roof. Scared me half to death, thinking of how that could have landed on her head. Do you think you might be giving her too much freedom?”

  His friendly expression immediately disappeared, with two dark, frowning eyebrows trading its place. Too late, I realized my delivery was about as subtle as a bull in a china shop. He rested the handle of the paintbrush against his knee and stared at me. “She’s seven. She’s lived here her entire life and knows this property like the back of her hand. I assure you, she’s quite safe.”

  “I didn’t mean that. I—”

  “Why don’t you try to not stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. I promise you, I take good care of her.”

  “Of course!” I back-pedaled, lifting my hands to prove I was yielding.

  He arched an eyebrow. “If there isn’t anything else, I suppose I’ll see you later then.”

  My jaw dropped to be so dismissed. Fine. If that was the way he wanted to be, so be it. I nodded and ducked my head, trying to think if there was anything I could say to smooth things over. “It wasn’t my intent to be so abrupt. I just wanted to let you know.”

  “
I got it. Anyway, let me get back to work.”

  Just then, the front door opened, and Sophia walked out onto the porch.

  I gasped. In her arms was a very fat, very content Hank.

  “You found him!” I squealed.

  “I spotted him wandering outside the other day. He was lonely and needed a friend.” The little girl buried her face in the cat’s neck, and Hank blinked smiling eyes.

  I rushed over to pet him. “I’m so glad. I’ve been worried.”

  Stephen’s face was impassive. “The cat’s safe. Just like she is.” And then to his sister. “Tell Laura Lee goodbye, Sophia. She was getting ready to go.”

  “You can’t leave! I wanted to show you my picture. Besides, you promised we could have some raspberry cordial.”

  I glanced at Stephen, and he rolled his eyes. It was obvious he didn’t know how to say no to his sister. He must have decided to completely ignore us because he picked up the paintbrush and started up the ladder again.

  The two of us stood below and listened to the gentle sweep of his painting until he yelled out, exasperated, “Fine. Show her your stuff and drink your fruit juice or whatever. But make it quick. She’ll be late for work or something.”

  “Yay!” shouted Sophia. “Come on in!” She skipped down the stairs to grab my hand. With Hank now draped over her other arm like a bag of dried beans, she dragged me up the stairs.

  I was relieved to see the inside of the house was also in good repair. The main room included both the living room, kitchen, and a little dining table by a window decked with red-checked curtains. Criss-cross scars marred the table’s surface from years of use. Still, it was clean, with a cute chicken napkin holder placed in the center.

  The kitchen appliances were dated as well but had a homey feel. A hand-hewn wood mantel skirted the fireplace. In the air lingered the scent of coffee and bacon. I saw a stack of pancakes sitting on the counter covered in plastic wrap and assumed those were what Stephen was referring to when he told her to go inside and eat.

  Sophia set Hank on the floor, where he casually stretched. The orange monster stalked over to me and rubbed his cheek against my leg to say hello. I, of course, dropped to the floor to curl around him and give him lots of kisses.