Eleanor took a knife from the drawer and started to cut up green peppers for the omelet. “But Rousel implied that someone else might be interested in the cat.” She swallowed. “He even went so far as to say a faction of a terrorist organization.” And implied that her dead husband had some connection with the group! The phone call came back to her and the knife slipped through the pepper, missing her finger by a hair. At least it made sense now why someone was pretending to be Carter.
Peter dropped the whisk into the eggs. “Eleanor!” He took the knife from her hand and put it onto the counter. “Terrorist organization?” This was a little more than he’d bargained for.
“That’s what he said.”
“Well, I wouldn’t let this get out of hand in your imagination, Eleanor. Rousel may be a federal agent, but he could also have a tendency to exaggerate.”
“That’s true,” she agreed, slightly relieved. “Why would a terrorist group liberate a black tom cat?”
“Now that’s the sanest comment I’ve heard this morning,” he said. “Let’s just enjoy breakfast and hope by Monday morning all of this has been resolved.” He forced a smile, but felt his anger boiling beneath the surface. The CIA agent must be an idiot to talk to her in such a way.
“I hope my past hasn’t come back to haunt me,” she said as he took silverware from another drawer; there was definitely a taunted look on her face, he observed.
“No, I’m sure it hasn’t.”
As Peter poured the eggs into the pan, Eleanor set the table. In a few moments they were ready to eat.
“The juice is great.” She took another long drink from the chilled glass. “And the omelet, too.”
“What’s on your schedule for this afternoon?” he asked.
Eleanor grinned apologetically. “Actually, I often spend Sunday afternoon in the library or in my office. Betty Gillette, a colleague of mine, and I usually wind up working. Boring, huh?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “How about some Christmas shopping?” After all that had happened, Peter wanted to keep her in sight as much as possible. She didn’t think her research was related to the recent attacks, but he wasn’t so sure now. In fact he wasn’t sure of anything—except that he had to find Evans. That particular chore was looming larger and larger in his mind.
“I haven’t even begun to buy my gifts,” Eleanor confessed. “It wouldn’t hurt me to pick up some things and get them in the mail.”
“Good, then it’s settled. We’ll give Saint Nick a hand with the gift list. Maybe we’ll even pick up a little something for that black fur ball on the sofa.”
“Yeah,” Eleanor agreed. “An alarm clock. I refuse to let him sleep all day while I have to work.”
The stores were crowded and the lines long, but in Peter’s company, Eleanor didn’t mind the inconveniences. They picked up several items for respective family members and then sauntered through a pet supply shop.
“How about a red collar for Familiar?” she asked, holding up an item with an abundance of rhinestones.
Peter shook his head. “I don’t think Familiar’s the kind of cat who would appreciate such a gift. Catnip might be more up his alley. Or maybe even his own alley, if you’re feeling plush.”
Eleanor laughed out loud. Peter was delightful. “I suppose you’re right. Catnip it is.”
While she stood in the checkout line, Peter went to look at display of magazines. Eleanor was drawing her billfold from her purse when she felt someone staring at her back. She forced herself to turn slowly, casually. Not twenty feet away across the crowded store was Alva Rousel. He was engrossed in a wind-up toy of a jumping cat but Eleanor knew he’d been watching her.
She felt like abandoning her purchases, but instead put them onto the counter. The routine checkout seemed to take hours. Bag in hand, she hurried through the store until she found Peter.
“The man from the CIA was here, watching me,” she told him. She couldn’t help rushing her words together; her heart was pounding.
“He said he was going to keep an eye on you.” Peter was completely unruffled. “I’m glad to see he’s actually doing it. I hope he’s better at watching than he is at keeping his mouth shut.” He grinned. “Don’t you feel better, knowing that the CIA is protecting you?”
“You’re right,” she said, pulling herself together at his casual tone. “But I was buying all of these cat toys—after I said cats weren’t allowed in my building.”
“Eleanor, my dear,” Peter said patiently, “the truth is, you could have fifteen pet cats. Or you could be purchasing the toys for someone else’s cat. Or you could be a seriously kinky lady with a passion for catnip and stuffed birds on elastic strings.”
Eleanor laughed and the last of the tension was blown away. “I’ve never known anyone like you,” she said. “You’re immune to panic.”
“Don’t count on it. It’s just that I—” he touched the top of her nose “—don’t have a guilty conscience about lying to the CIA. How about an ice cream?”
She followed him out of the shop onto the brisk Washington street. “No ice cream for me. It’s freezing! Besides, I can’t wait to get home and give Familiar his presents."
“I do need to spend some time at the clinic,” Peter said. “I like to check all of the animals, just to be on the safe side.”
“I like that,” Eleanor said. “I like it that you care.”
“Then I’ll drop you off at your place, and I’ll take care of my work. Would I be pushing my luck if I asked you to a movie? We could find one we want to see or rent one.”
Eleanor didn’t feel pushed at all. She’d had a few misgivings about spending the evening alone, and Peter was a fun companion. “An old black and white with Cary Grant in it?”
“The Bishop’s Wife?”
“Perfect. And I’ll make some hot chocolate and popcorn, and maybe we could even build a fire.”
Peter pulled in the car at the curb before her building. “See you about eight, then?”
“Eight,” she said as she got out. Leaning toward the window, she smiled and waved before she ran to her building.
“Are you okay, Ms. Duncan?” Wessy stepped out and pulled open the door for her. “I hope I didn’t intrude last night.”
“Things were a little hectic yesterday, Wessy, but I’m much better now. I’ll tell you a little secret, if you promise not to tell anyone else.”
Her excitement kindled a fire in Wessy’s eyes. “What?”
“I have a pet, Wessy. A cat.”
The older man grinned. “I think that’s a fine thing, Ms. Duncan. You’ve been alone too long. A pet can make all the difference in the world.”
“I don’t think pets are allowed in the building, though,” Eleanor probed gently.
“Well, what the management don’t know won’t hurt ’em,” Wessy said. “Cats don’t make a lot of noise and they don’t make a mess. So I don’t see how anyone could complain, right?’’
“Right,” Eleanor agreed. “Now that we’ve settled this issue could I ask you about the man who left the manila envelope for me?”
“I didn’t see him,” Wessy said. “I was taking Mrs. Porter up some medicine the all-night pharmacy delivered. Her arthritis has been bad lately, so I left the door for a few moments. When I came back, the envelope was there with your name on it.”
“You didn’t see anyone?”
“No, I thought it must surely be a Christmas card or something from a friend. Maybe even a special letter.” He nodded at her. “I used to send my wife special delivery letters back when we were courting. She loved it.”
“Because you’re a special man, Wessy,” Eleanor said.
He shook his head, slightly embarrassed. “Then if it wasn’t letter, what was it?”
“Actually it was a photograph . . . of me shopping. I was just sort of curious about who sent it.”
“There wasn’t a name?”
“No.” Eleanor shook her head and forced a smile.
“I hope not too,” Eleanor said. “I’d better go check on the newest resident in my apartment. And thanks for looking out for me.”
“My pleasure,” Wessy said, returning to his post by the door.
Peter was aware of something the moment he unlocked his clinic door. Looking around the waiting room and reception area, he couldn’t put his finger on it but something was wrong. Damn! He was in a hurry to check on the animals, and then get to Eleanor’s university office. Maybe there was something in her research that might tip him off.
His gaze swept the large room, roving back to the filing area behind the desk. Several of the files were pulled out as if someone in a hurry hadn’t taken the time to put them away properly. He felt the hair on his nape of his neck begin to rise. Lucille, his receptionist, was a fiend for neatness. He carefully examined the door lock, but there was no sign of forced entry.
Treading as silently as possible, he moved into the examining rooms to the left of the reception area. The office was quiet, too quiet. The normal cacophony of barking dogs and meowing cats was missing, and Peter felt his nerves grow even tauter. Whoever had broken in might still be in the kennel portion of the building.
Step-by-step he moved toward the cages where boarded animals and those recovering from treatments were kept. The unnatural quiet grew more and more ominous. At the green door that led to the indoor kennels he paused. He had no weapon, didn’t keep one. From one of the examining rooms he took a squirt bottle of diluted ammonia. If worst came to worst, he could try to spray it into the eyes of anyone who threatening him. It was sometimes an effective way to keep a bad dog from attacking.
Fingers gently gripping the knob, he turned and pushed at the same time. The door flew open and before he could step into the room, he was partially blinded. Something flew at his face and he felt a razor-sharp grip on one shoulder.
Massive wings beat about his face, talons dug deeper and deeper into his flesh. He felt as if his shoulder were being torn apart, and knew that only the thickness of his coat protected him from severe injury.
It took only a split second for him to remember the great horned owl that someone had brought in, stunned by a car. He ducked and rolled, forcing the bird to loosen its grip. In another maneuver, he was on his feet and facing the bird. The owl had settled on the floor, enormous yellow eyes watching his every move. Peter was effectively trapped in the kennel, and now he knew why all of the dogs and cats had been so quiet. A great horned owl was big enough to make off with a full-grown cat. Even safe in their cages, the animals were smart enough not to agitate the big bird. He looked quickly to the right. The door of the owl’s cage swung open, unlatched.
“Come on, bird,” he muttered. “Back in your cage.” Who would know the potential hazards of a trapped owl? A trace of ugly memory came back to him. Vet school, a first-term student who’d never seen the work of a predator’s talons. The student had required a hundred stitches down his arm. He was lucky. And standing right in the middle of it all had been Arnold Evans.
Peter tried to move toward the door, but the bird spread its enormous wings and puffed its chest feathers in the first warning of attack. But Peter could clearly see that the bird favored one wing and appeared to be in pain.
“You’re going to have to let me by,” he said softly. “No help for it.” He shifted forward slightly. The bird made no noise, but it was plainly bracing itself for an attack. It would come talons extended, ready to hold and twist. The beak was a secondary attack weapon, and it was strong enough to inflict nasty wounds.
Moving very slowly, Peter took off his jacket. The owl was dangerous because it was hurt and frightened. In normal conditions it would never attack a human. If he could get the jacket over it and carefully fold down its wings, he’d stand a chance of getting it back into a cage without hurting it further.
“Steady, fella,” he said, advancing with the jacket. When the bird feinted, he followed and quickly enfolded it in the jacket. In a matter of a few seconds, he had it back in the cage.
“Someone was hoping you’d do some damage to me, weren’t they, Cornelius?” he said, still speaking gently to the bird. “Well, whoever pulled this prank is going to be very disappointed.” How had Evans learned that he had begun hunting for him? He’d told no one.
As soon as he was certain the owl had suffered no serious damage, he went back to the reception area. As he’d suspected the files that were disordered were those surrounding Eleanor Duncan’s name.
He went back to his office, Eleanor’s file in hand. As he flipped it open, he saw the potential for trouble. Her address and Familiar’s brief but damning history were all on one page.
He picked up the telephone and dialed Eleanor’s number. On the seventh ring he started to get worried. By the fifteenth, he was standing and reaching into his pocket for his keys. He should have walked her into the building. He should have made sure that her apartment was safe. He ran out of his office and into the parking lot. At the sight of his car he stopped. All four tires were flat. He walked toward it, examining the left front one. Several holes had been jabbed into the sidewall. A flutter of paper on the rear tire caught his eye. He saw the note, then the surgical scalpel that had been used to slash the tire and hold the note.
“Mind your own business,” he read aloud.
Chapter Five
Eleanor stood at the gate that led to the small house and took a deep breath. It had taken a tremendous amount of wheedling to get the address of Magdalena Caruso from the SPCA. The organization had been reluctant to admit to any dealings with the woman. She was an avowed radical, and they wanted no connection with her, present or past. But persistence had paid off, and they’d finally relented enough to yield her address.
She opened the gate and stepped along the sidewalk, which was bordered on either side by a variety of plants. The small house with its tiny front garden was exquisite. It was obvious that Magdalena Caruso was as fanatical about plants as she was about animals.
Eleanor took her time inspecting the neat flower bed. She could imagine how bright the yard would be in summer. She could picture the marigolds, petunias and the vivid zinnias.
Standing silent, she let the recent events stew in her head like some roiling gumbo. Out popped the name of Magdalena Caruso. If anyone could shed light on “terrorist” behavior, it was her.
“Ms. Duncan!”
Eleanor’s head snapped up from her inspection of the flowers to find the small, rotund woman standing on the front step. “How nice of you to pay a call. Come in." Bowser’s head ducked out behind her legs and he issued a short bark of welcome.
Eleanor didn’t know how she’d expected to be greeted, but it certainly wasn’t so warmly.
“How’s that cat of yours?” Magdalena asked. “You did a very generous thing, taking care of him. Not many people are willing to help animals from labs. They don’t want to get involved. I won’t ask how you got him.”
‘‘Familiar is fine,” Eleanor said, stepping over the threshold. Now wasn’t the time to explain to the woman that she hadn’t “gotten” Familiar. If anything, he’d “gotten” her.
As the door shut behind her, she stopped dead in her tracks. At least fifteen cats were perched, posed and positioned on different pieces of furniture in the living room. Totally oblivious to the feline population, Bowser went to a small rug and settled down for a nap.
“Let me make some introductions,” Magdalena said. “You’ve met Bowser, so that’s Garp, Slugger, Minnie the Moocher, Zazu, Squeaky, Whiskers, Lord Byron, Adolph, Mister Mitts, Jones, Tiger, McDonald, Cochise, Asia, Calico, Mozart, Smokey, Stay Puff, Yoda, Pitter, Van Gogh and Faulkner. That last one has defied my ability to come up with a name, so we call it Boo Boo Kitty. Cats, this is Eleanor Duncan, new cat owner.” She waved Eleanor to an empty chai
r.
“How many are there?” Eleanor asked. She felt as if the room could burst into motion at any second.
“Too many,” Magdalena said cheerfully. “But they needed a home, and I had one with a wonderfully enclosed garden in the back. What brings you to this part of town?”
“I want to know more about ARSA,” Eleanor told her.
“Why, my dear? You’ll forgive me if I say you don’t seem to be the type to want to get involved in what will inevitably be a dirty fight. Now that veterinarian friend of yours, he looks like a good candidate.” Her green eyes were intense. “Is he?”
“I don’t know about Peter. I don’t want to be in a fight at all, dirty or clean,” Eleanor said with emphasis. “But I’m already involved. I didn’t steal Familiar, but when he came into my life, a lot of things changed. I’m not exactly certain how, but I’ve begun to think that maybe some of the changes might relate to that cat. Did your group break into any labs recently?”
“The Animal Rescue Squad Arsenal hasn’t officially been active since last summer.”
“This isn’t a real answer,” Eleanor pressed.
“It’s the only answer I’m prepared to give,’’ Magdalena said. There was a no-nonsense look in her green eyes now.
“Last Friday night there was a break-in. A man was seriously injured.’’ Eleanor took a deep breath and met the direct gaze of the woman who sat across from her. “I have been questioned by the CIA, and I think my cat was stolen from there.”
“I see.” Magdalena was clearly evaluating something. “When I got the report about you and the cat, I was led to believe you were supplying experimental animals. There seems to be a great deal of confusion here, and I’m wondering how that might be. How about a cup of tea?”
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