Whiskers & Smoke

by Marian Babson

  “It would do you good to get out and forget about it.” Celia sounded affronted. “Take a couple of aspirin and come along.”

  “Sorry, Celia, I’d rather not.”

  “I think you’re being silly.” It was not like Celia to argue so much. I wondered what she had really planned for us to do in Nashua.

  “Anyway,” I said, “Pixie Toller is coming over later this morning. I’ve told her I’ll be here.” It was not strictly true, Pixie had only said that she might drop by, but it sufficed to satisfy Celia.

  “Oh, very well,” she said, with bad grace. “Why didn’t you say so at the beginning?”

  “Because I honestly do have a headache—” I was talking to the dialling tone. Celia had rung off.

  CONSERVE ENERGY—The headline of the advertisement screamed at me. I turned the page. DO NOT USE HOSEPIPES OR SPRINKLER SYSTEMS. YOU CAN BE FINED UP TO $200.00.

  I was getting that feeling of a giant elbow in my ribs again. Even the news headline had been: WOODS CLOSED TO CAMPERS AND HIKERS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

  A car drove past as I looked up. The bumper sticker read: HAVE YOU HUGGED YOUR KIDS TODAY? Even the state license plates exhorted: LIVE FREE OR DIE.

  I was not in the best of moods when Pixie arrived. She looked around the veranda critically.

  “Have you been talking to the plants?”

  “No,” I said defiantly. “But I’ve had several meaningful discussions with Errol lately.”

  “Errol doesn’t count. It’s too easy to talk to him. He answers back. Errol will always be all right, but I don’t know what Nancy’s going to say if she comes home and finds all her hanging baskets have died. She always talked to them for ten minutes every morning. They’re pining for her.”

  “This state,” I said coldly, “is in the middle of the worst heat wave and drought in recorded history. There’s no water to spare and everything is parched and burning up. I very much doubt that a few kind words will do anything to change that situation.”

  “You don’t have to conserve that much water,” Pixie said. “No one will mind if you water the house plants.” She lowered one of the hanging baskets and gazed into it.

  “Poor little thing,” she cooed. “You miss your mother, don’t you? And your poor little roots are all dry and gasping for moisture. Here—” she tipped her glass into the basket. “Aunt Pixie will give you her own lemonade to drink and then you’ll feel a lot better.”

  I watched incredulously. It was hard to believe that this was the same woman who was plagued by violent dreams which betrayed the seething mass of hatred deep within her.

  “There—” She swung the basket up again and hitched the cord around the hook in the pillar. “Now I’ll just get some water and take care of the rest—”

  “Don’t let Errol out!” I blocked him with my foot as he tried to sneak past when the screen door opened.

  “What’s the matter?” She returned with a jug of water. “Has he been a bad boy—as usual?”

  “No. It’s just that I don’t feel it’s safe for him to be out in the woods with that fire still burning. If it should get out of control and we have to leave in a hurry, I want him where we can pick him up and take him with us.”

  “Yes,” Pixie said thoughtfully. “That’s a bad scene. Did you hear the latest?” Pixie would always have the latest—accurate or not. “They say that girl was strangled before the fire was started. So she couldn’t have set it.”

  “I never thought she had.”

  “I guess none of us did, really. It’s just that it was more comfortable to think that, maybe, she was the firebug and got hoist by her own petard. Only now—” Pixie shuddered—“it looks like she caught him starting the fire and he strangled her.”

  I watched Pixie’s strong capable hands as she raised the last basket and lashed the cord, pulling it a little too tightly. The flash of suspicion was momentary, but it shook me. Was this what we were coming to—suspecting each other?

  “So now we have to look elsewhere,” Pixie continued, unaware that I already had. “But I hate to think it could have been somebody from the town. Or one of the kids from Camp—” She looked at me and glanced away quickly.

  It was the first time I realized that the Blake Family might come under suspicion. We were unknown, foreign, with only Celia—who was, after all, another foreigner—to vouch for our background. How did anyone know that I was all right? That Timothy had not been in trouble with the Juvenile Authorities at home? Or how Tessa had really broken her arm? Once suspicion began to infiltrate a community, there was no end to it.

  “One thing I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Pixie said hastily, as though to make amends. “If we do have to get out in a hurry, I’ll come round with the Welcome Wagon and get you and the kids. I’m nearer than Celia and we may have to move fast. Tell Celia we’ll meet them at the Emergency Center.”

  “Oh, thank you—” I’d been worried about that. Celia was half way around the lake and the fire might cut us off.

  “It probably won’t come to that,” Pixie said. “There are a couple of emergency measures they’ll take first. They haven’t even dynamited a fire-break yet. It may never happen.”

  “I know,” I said. “But it’s the thought that … out there … the woods are still burning … and there’s nothing we can do …”

  “We can pray for rain,” Pixie said. “That’s what I’ve been doing all week. I’ve gone into every church—of whatever denomination—for miles around and said a prayer. And just in case—” She glanced at me obliquely. “I’ve got a book from the library and tonight I’m going to do the Mohigonquin Rain Dance. You never know—it was their territory, after all.”

  “I suppose it can’t do any harm.” I carefully refrained from saying whether I thought it would do any good.

  “There’s a full moon tonight, too. That’s supposed to be heap big medicine.”

  It was also supposed to bring out the nut-cases in force. Again, I felt it would be more tactful not to comment.

  “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 delight
ed 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.”

  Chapter 16

  It 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 res
umed 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.