by Patricia Fry
Craig chuckled. “No, Arthur. They need our prints to compare with any left by the intruder.”
“And the water?” Savannah asked, weakly.
Craig responded. “They’ll test it and send us a report. Okay gang,” he said, “let’s pack and get out of here, shall we?”
****
“So it’s been quiet while I was away?” Savannah asked Michael later that evening after the others had gone to their rooms and Lily was asleep in her bed.
“Too quiet,” he said, pulling her to him and holding her tight. “I sure miss you guys when you’re gone.”
“Me, too,” she said, kissing him. She settled against him and asked, “What about Rags?” Has he been a good boy?”
“Perfect,” he said. “I hardly knew he was here.”
Just then, they heard the familiar rumble of kitty paws roaring down the large staircase. They looked up in time to see Arthur’s Siamese cat tear into the room, Rags close on her tail. She leaped onto the sofa where Michael and Savannah sat, ran across the back and down the other side racing toward Rags, who jumped in the air and twisted as she came at him. They both landed on their feet and the chase was on again; this time, Rags in the lead. He lost his footing trying to navigate around the ottoman and slid into Lexie, who was sleeping in one of her beds. The dog jumped up and let out a yelp of surprise. Once she saw the rowdy cats disappear into the kitchen, she settled back down.
“Just when I thought things couldn’t get any more crazy around here—Koko comes along and proves me wrong,” Savannah said, laughing out loud.
“My phone,” Michael said, frowning. “Who’s calling this late?”
Savannah chuckled. “Probably neighbors wanting us to tone down the cat party.”
“It’s Max,” he said before answering. “Hi Max. What’s up?”
“Hey, do you guys have a problem over there this evening?” he asked.
“No, why?”
“Maggie and I were just getting home from the movies and it looks like someone’s walking around out near your corral with a flashlight. Thought there might be something wrong with the horse.”
Michael quickly stood and walked into the kitchen. When Savannah caught up to him, he was peering out the window toward the corral. “I don’t see anything. How long ago was it?”
“A few seconds. We just walked into the house.”
“Oh wait. There is someone out there.” He turned toward Savannah. “Call the sheriff.” Into the phone, he said, “Thanks Max. I’ll go check it out.”
“Want me to come over?” Max offered.
“Naw. It’s probably one of those paparazzi guys who’ll scurry away as soon as he sees me. Thanks anyway.”
“Sure,” Max said. “Let me know, will you?”
“Will do,” Michael said before ending the call.
“Where are you going?” Savannah insisted, when she saw Michael head for the side kitchen door.
“To see who the hell that is,” he snapped.
“Can’t you wait until the sheriff gets here?”
“No. He may be gone. I want to catch that creep.” He glanced at Savannah, picked up the flashlight that was sitting on the countertop, and darted out into the darkness.
Several minutes later Savannah heard sirens in the distance. She strained to catch a glimpse of lights from the emergency vehicles through the window when she saw a figure appear from behind the tack room. She watched as the individual raced across the front of the property alongside the driveway and toward the highway. Michael, who had been scouring the brushy area around the corral, suddenly spotted the beam of light shining in front of the prowler and took off after him. By the time the patrol car arrived, however, Michael was on his way back toward the house. He met the officers in the circular driveway. “Hey there, Ben,” Michael said when he saw the deputy exit the car. “I’m afraid he got away.” He pointed. “He’s heading west on the highway in a white SUV.”
The second deputy promptly made a call. When he was finished, Ben said, “Michael Ivey, this is Deputy Jess Mullens.”
The two men nodded at one another.
“So what’s going on?” Ben asked.
Michael explained, “My wife’s aunt lives next door. They saw someone moving around out near our corral and called to let us know. We looked out and saw him. I came out, and I guess he ran.”
“What was he doing?”
“I don’t know. I could see the light he was carrying, but not much else. When I came out with my own flashlight, he just disappeared. The next time I saw him, he was high-tailing it across the northwest part of our property and I chased him to where he’d parked his car along the highway. Before I could catch up to him, he was gone.”
“Can you describe him?” Ben asked.
“Not very accurately, but he seemed kind of small to me—not a big guy.” He shook his head. That’s about all I’m fairly sure about.”
“Did he do any damage or take anything?” Ben asked.
“I don’t know,” Michael said.
When Ben noticed Savannah standing on the porch, he instructed Michael, “Stay here with your wife, will you?”
Several minutes passed before the two deputies returned. “Did you find anything?” Michael asked, expectantly.
“Yes,” Ben said. “Someone seems to have left a message. They painted it on the side of the little building out there—I guess that’s a tack room.”
“Peaches,” Savannah gasped.
“Peaches?” Deputy Mullens asked. “Is that the horse out there in the corral?”
She nodded, her hands covering her mouth.
“The horse seems to be all right, ma’am—just a little antsy—nervous.”
“Can we go out to her?” she asked.
Before the deputy could respond, Michael asked, “What kind of message?”
“It’s three letters—D-I-E.”
“Die?” Michael repeated, pushing out a thin breath. He ran his hand through his hair. “Anything else?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“No, just that word in large letters painted on the wood. We found a can of spray paint—we’ll check it for prints. We’d like to come out in the morning and finish looking around.”
“Yes, by all means,” Michael said. He paced in a small circle. “I’m getting awfully sick and tired of this.”
Ben peered at Michael, asking, “There have been other incidents?”
Michael nodded. “Well, yes, Savannah and Craig had some trouble in San Francisco just yesterday. Someone actually took a shot at them,” he said, choking up a little. “And those paparazzi; they’re an awful nuisance.”
Yes, I imagine so,” Ben said. He hesitated. “We haven’t decided quite what to do with the complaint against your guest Arthur Spence, for the…attack on that paparazzi. The guy’s been pushing us to charge Spence. We may have to.” He took in a deep breath. “Although, if the complainant is the one taking things into his own hands here, that would turn the tables back on him.” Just then Ben noticed that Arthur had joined the others on the porch. He said to the boy, “It’s wrong to attack someone. But so is trespassing wrong and stalking is wrong, as you pointed out when we talked last week. That fellow was pretty hot under the collar, but enough to do this—to threaten in this manner?” The deputy shook his head. “I just don’t know.” He looked at Michael, Savannah, and then Arthur. “Is there anyone else who would issue a threat such as this to any of you?”
“A threat like what?” Arthur asked.
Savannah grimaced and then said to Arthur, “Someone wrote the letters D-I-E on the tack room.”
“Sheesh,” Arthur said. He looked at Ben. “To answer your question, yes, as a matter of fact there is someone else who wants me dead. I think they’ve let my stepfather go free up in San Francisco, and he hates me. He can afford to hire people to do anything he wants—anything. It could be one of his…what would you call them…goons…?”
“Artie, what about the accountant?” Ruth asked, as she stepped out of the shadows.
“Oh yes, he’s pretty upset with me for firing him,” Arthur explained.
“He threatened Artie at the courthouse,” Ruth said.
“He threatened you?” the deputy asked.
Arthur nodded. “Yes, he did. He was pretty ugly about it.”
“Who is this guy?” Deputy Mullins asked, pulling a small pad and pen from his pocket.
After giving him the accountant’s name and contact information, Arthur said, “I haven’t done very well since I gained my freedom, have I?” He lowered his head. “It seems as though I make enemies everywhere I go.”
“But your friends way outnumber any perceived enemies,” Savannah said, putting her arm around his shoulders. “Let’s focus on the good things in your life, shall we?”
The boy smiled weakly.
“Now, wanna come with me to check on Peaches?” she asked him.
He nodded.
As the pair started to step down off the porch, the deputy said, “Stay away from the front of the tack room, will you? You’ll see the yellow tape.”
****
Savannah was feeding the baby the next morning when she heard a knock and then, “Yoo-hoo.” She looked toward the kitchen door and saw her aunt peering in through the window.
“Come in, Auntie,” she said, rushing to unlock the door. She embraced her in a big bear hug. “How are you?”
“What’s with the locked door?” Margaret asked. “Trying to keep relatives out?”
“No,” Savannah said, “we had a visitor last night. Well, you know—Max told us about it.”
“Oh, so it was someone prowling around?”
Savannah nodded.
“Paparazzi?” Margaret asked, walking toward the baby.
“We don’t know—but whoever it was left a frightening message.”
Margaret spun around to face Savannah. “What? Where?”
“Look, it’s still out there,” she said, leading her aunt to the large window.
“Oh my God, Vannie. What does that mean? Who do you think they’re targeting? Is it for real or some joke, like toilet-papering someone’s house?”
“We don’t know, Auntie. We just don’t know.”
“Annoying as hell, if you ask me.” She then glanced back at the baby. “Hey, looks like I’m in time for breakfast. Good morning, little one,” she cooed as Lily turned in the high chair to see who was talking to her mom. “How’s my precious girl? Oh, Vannie, she’s getting so big and prettier every day.” She moved in front of the high chair. “Lily, I brought you something, but I can’t give it to you until Mommy cleans your face.”
“I think she’s had enough. Here, I’ll wash her up so she can have her gift,” Savannah said, grabbing one of Lily’s washclothes. “Coffee?” she offered.
“Sure,” Margaret said, taking a little cloth doll out of a small bag and showing it to Lily. The baby stared at the doll, then looked at Margaret. Her eyes lit up and she reached out for the toy. Margaret and Savannah watched as Lily held the doll out and looked at it. She then slammed it against the tray on her high chair a few times before bringing it up to her cheek and hugging it to her.
“Aww, she likes it,” Margaret said. “Hug the baby. Oh Vannie, she is so cute.”
“She loves the doll. That’s her first doll, you know.”
“Really?” Margaret said.
“Yes, she has her stuffed kitty and a bunch of other stuffed animal toys, but no doll.”
Margaret pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Oh, I must get a picture of Lily with her first doll.” She snapped a few pictures, then handed Savannah her phone. “Here, take a picture of me with her and the doll. I’ll send it to my sisters and brother.”
“What else do you have there?” Savannah asked after she took a few pictures for her aunt.
“Oh, check this out,” she said, picking up the newspaper she’d carried in. She thumbed through the pages, then opened it and placed it in front of Savannah.
“Oh no,” Savannah said. “That’s not good. What newspaper is this?” she asked, looking for the front page.
Margaret smirked. “One of those scandal sheets.”
“How’d you come across it?” Savannah asked. “I didn’t know you read these things.”
Margaret squirmed in her chair. “I pick one up occasionally. That one had a story about the actor who hoards cats—I wanted to read it. As I was thumbing through it, I came across this story about the Peytons and that picture of Arthur.”
“Oh no,” Savannah said. “He’s not going to be happy. But what can he do? As careful as he is to avoid those photo-hounds, as Craig calls them, they’re bound to get a shot or two.”
“Yeah, look where that one was taken, Vannie.”
“Where?” Savannah looked more closely at the photo. “Well, dang—that’s on our property—oh my gosh, there’s Rags. That’s the day Arthur took Rags out on his leash. I don’t think he was aware of anyone being out there. He didn’t say anything about seeing anyone.”
“Well, they have those gigantic lenses, so they can shoot from pretty far away.” She leaned in and spoke more softly, “I don’t know what the big deal is, anyway. Why does he care if someone takes his picture?”
Savannah tightened her lips and peered down at the photo again. “You know, from the angle of the picture, it looks like the paparazzi could have been on your property.”
“What?” Margaret grabbed the magazine from Savannah. “Well, dammit, they sure could have been. It’s the right angle. Now that makes me mad. They have no right to trespass—that’s an invasion of privacy. I would have them arrested if I saw them out there.”
“Touché,” Savannah said.
“Huh?”
“You’ve answered your own question about why this would upset Arthur. Auntie, no one likes their privacy invaded. It’s like being stalked—you feel as though you’re always being watched—that you have no private life—and that you could be in danger.”
“Oh. I get it. That poor kid. Yes, that would be mighty uncomfortable.” She looked up at the doorway to the dining room. “Good morning, Arthur.”
“Hello, Ms. Maggie. How are the kitties?”
“They’re just fine.” She smiled brightly. “Three of yours have wonderful new homes.” She tilted her head a little. “You took good care of them, didn’t you?”
He smiled and nodded. “The best I know how. I’ve learned more about caring for cats by hanging around Michael and Savannah.”
Margaret smirked. She waved her hand in front of her face. “Oh, don’t pay attention to my niece—she can’t even control that cat of hers.”
“Auntie, what a thing to say,” Savannah complained.
Arthur reached down and petted the cat that had followed him into the kitchen. “Rags is okay—just has a lot of creative energy.”
The women laughed. “That’s one way to describe him,” Margaret said. “Creative energy. Good one, Arthur.”
“Um, Arthur,” Savannah said as she watched him pour a glass of orange juice, “Auntie brought you something.”
“Oh?” He glanced at the baby. “I see Lily has a new dolly.” He addressed her. “Is that your new doll, Lily? Cute.” He laughed when she slammed it against the high chair tray. “Now is that any way to treat your baby?”
When Arthur sat down, Savannah handed him the newspaper. He took a sip of juice before glancing down at it. “Oh,” he said, frowning. “They got a shot, did they?” He grimaced and then looked at Savannah and Margaret with a sideways smile. “Paparazzi one, Arthur seventeen…or more, maybe. I’m still ahead,” he bragged. He stared down at the picture. “Not bad, really. Look, they got my good side.”
“What’s so funny?” Michael asked when he entered the kitchen and heard the others laughing.
“Look at this, Michael,” Arthur said. “The paps finally got a shot of me and
put me in this newspaper.”
“Oh, Arthur, I’m sorry to hear that. But they were bound to get a picture or two; they’ve been relentless.”
“That they have,” Arthur said, looking more closely at the picture. “So what do they have to say about me?” he asked, not expecting an answer. He began to paraphrase what he was reading, “They say that Charles Peyton is free after a preliminary trial.” He looked up. “Gosh, they got that news out quick.” He continued paraphrasing, “They talk about the surprise witness—his mother—who continues to claim that Karen’s death was an accident and no one paid her to do anything, but they’re still holding her for trial. They say here that my mother is still being held for possible attempted murder.” He glanced up at the others. “According to the prosecutor, there’s more to this case than has been revealed and it’s difficult to get at the truth when so much time has passed and memories have dimmed. Oh, and they say that I am the only known living victim and witness to what happened and even my memory seems to have become hazy over the years of isolation in the belly of the mansion. Belly of the mansion,” he repeated. “Now that’s an interesting phrase, don’t you think?”
“Is that your phone, hon?” Michael said.
Savannah jumped up to answer it.
“Well, look at you, Lily—do you have a new toy?” Michael said. “Did Auntie bring that to you?” He looked at Margaret and she nodded. “Well, it’s sure a cute baby,” he cooed to his daughter. He turned to Margaret. “Thank you, Maggie,” he said. “She seems to like it.”
Margaret beamed.
When Savannah returned, she sat and observed Arthur for a moment and then said, “Arthur, how are you feeling about that article?”
“What article?” Ruth asked when she joined the others.
“Hi, Ruthie,” Arthur said. “There’s a picture of me and an article in this newspaper.”
She rushed to him to take a look.
“How do I feel?” he repeated. “I’m okay. So they scored one. And I see nothing in the article that isn’t true or near true, except…”
“Except what?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know,” the boy said, shaking his head. “There’s just something not quite right. I can’t help but feel as though justice isn’t yet being served.” He looked at the others and asked, “…know what I mean?”