by Valerie Tate
As for James, he was a happy man. Not only was his home life radically changed for the better, but for the first time in years there was hope for his business. The apprentice program was proving very popular and providing as many workers as he could handle. Furthermore, there were several exclusive stores that were willing to handle as much furniture as he could produce, and one of the larger chains was interested in the new line. He was working long and hard, but now with the prospect of showing a profit.
It was barely a year since Chris had had his one and only meeting with Amanda Dunbar and he couldn’t help feeling that somewhere she was pleased with the progress they’d made.
About the only one who wasn’t enjoying the current atmosphere of well-being was Marmalade. With everybody out and busy with his own life, he was left most days with only Mrs. Stuart for company.
“He looks so forlorn sometimes,” observed Alicia who was cuddled up with Chris on the sofa in the library, watching the flickering colors of a driftwood fire. “Mrs. Stuart told me that some days he wanders from room to room looking for us, and then, when he doesn’t find anybody, he goes back to the kitchen and curls up into a sorrowful little heap in his basket by the stove. And do you know, one day last week Mother came home early in the afternoon, and Marmalade was so glad to see her, he jumped into her lap and rubbed his head against her cheek.”
“I guess the day of miracles hasn’t yet passed.”
The Sunday visits had now become purely social, their original purpose no longer necessary, and rather than the bane of his existence, they had become the highlight of his week. Mrs. Stuart’s cooking could melt a heart of stone, and with the tensions and pressures of their ill-feeling gone, the Dunbars were one-and-all delightful company.
Fall arrived with a blazing display of orange, gold, and russet etched against clear azure skies. Days passed clean, crisp and bright, exhilarating to mind and body. Chris’ family came to spend Thanksgiving weekend with him and together with Alicia, James and Alice, they enjoyed the aging splendor of the countryside.
Saturday, they went for a long walk on the beach, gathering driftwood for the fire and then drove out along the meandering shore road to the historic lighthouse. It dated back to the days of the lake schooners that at one time had ruled the waves on the Great Lakes. Modernized with an automatic light, it was now a museum of Great Lakes lore and they spent an interesting hour browsing through the exhibits, many of which detailed the terrible wrecks and the losses of both ships and lives that had occurred in the past.
Alicia watched Chris with his family. She could see him in his dad. Samuel Mallory was still tall and slim, a little gray in his wavy brown hair. Caroline, his mom, was shorter and somewhat plump, with an ever ready smile and laughing eyes. They were so obviously proud of him it embarrassed him a little. His sisters teased him mercilessly, and he loved it. She thought how lucky he had been to grow up in such a happy household.
Sunday evening, Mrs. Stuart outdid herself, setting before them a ‘feast of fat things’ - vegetable puree soup, farm-fresh turkey, roasted to golden-skinned perfection, corn-fed ham spiced with cloves and garnished with pineapple rings and candied cherries, mashed potatoes and scalloped, giblet gravy, chestnut stuffing, candied yams and pepper squash, all the overwhelming abundance of the harvest. For dessert there was pumpkin pie and mince, rhubarb and apple, heaped high with fresh whipped cream or large wedges of cheddar. When they had finally pushed themselves away from the table, they had coffee in the parlor where a fire glowed warmly in the grate. The evenings were becoming quite chill and the heat from the flames was greatly appreciated.
Memories of another dinner filled his mind as Chris watched Alice pouring tea and coffee - the dinner in the gazebo and its disastrous conclusion - and then that fateful meeting with Alicia and all its subsequent implications.
“Chris? Chris! You look a million miles away,” Alice was holding a cup and saucer towards him.
“I’m sorry. I’m stupefied from all that food.”
“Aren’t we all. Mrs. Stuart is a wonder.”
That lady, beaming in the face of their over-stuffed appreciation, and despite their protests, hoisted herself out of her chair to pass around a dish of mint wafers.
“Oh, Mrs. Stuart,” Alice said as she helped herself to a mint. “While you’re up, I think you should let Marmalade out of the kitchen. He’ll be feeling left out, shut up in there.”
“Dinna fash yourself, Mrs. Alice, dear. He went out his wee door a little while ago. He’ll be on the prowl, I’m sure, and enjoying every minute of it.”
“That’s fine, but if he’s not in by eleven I think someone had better find him. It’s getting pretty cold these nights and I don’t like the thought of his being out.”
He wasn’t in by eleven and Chris was glad of the excuse to go out for some exercise. The yard was black, deep in the shadow of the pines. A cool breeze whispered through the poplars and brushed along his skin.
Walking around the verandah, he stopped frequently to call Marmalade’s name, but with no response. Perverse animal! He thought he heard a scuffling in the bushes and headed towards the gazebo.
“Marmalade, you stubborn beast! This is no time for games. Get your tail over here!” Still nothing. Damn that cat! “It’s too cold to be wandering around out here. Marmalade, damn you. This is the last call!”
And again, nothing.
“That’s it! Stay out there and freeze, if that’s what you want.”
Turning his collar up to his ears, he turned irritably and started back to the house, only to stumble over something small and furry at his feet. There was an infuriated, spitting yowl of protest, a scrabble of claws and he was gone.
“Chris, for crying out loud!” James was shouting from the dining room door. “What’s all the commotion? Half the neighborhood must have heard you. It sounds like you’re killing something.”
“I tripped over Marmalade in the dark and he’s run off. I suspect he’s hiding in the bushes somewhere. He’ll sulk for a while and come in when he’s ready, or cold enough, whichever comes first.”
They left soon after. Chris’ folks and the girls were leaving the first thing Monday morning so that they could get back to Toronto before the homebound rush.
The phone was ringing when they arrived back at his apartment.
Chapter 30
He knew he was taking a big risk being there, with it being Thanksgiving, and their having guests, but it couldn’t be helped. He was running out of time.
Were they never going to leave? It was getting late and his feet were cold.
He was just about to give up when, “My God, what a ruckus! What’s all that shouting? Damn, that’ll have the whole street out,” he muttered. He’d better make himself scarce.
And then his luck finally changed. Just as he was turning to go, he saw something racing towards him. The ball of fur practically ran into him. He grabbed it by the tail as it was flying past and stuffed it into the bag he’d been carrying for weeks.
“Gotcha!”
Chapter 31
“Chris, it’s James. I’m sorry to have to call this late, but you’d better get back here right away ... No, I think we’d better explain when you get here. Just hurry!”
The house was ablaze with lights as he drove up and there was an O.P.P. cruiser parked in the drive.
“Chris, thank God you’re here!” Alice met him at the door, an expression on her face somewhere between hysterical disbelief and nervous anxiety. “You aren’t going to believe what’s going on.”
They were all in the parlor, James, Alicia, Mrs. Stuart, a uniformed police officer and an old lady in curlers and a terry bathrobe.
“What seems to be the problem, officer?”
Before the officer could speak, the old lady whom he recognized as the next door neighbor, Mrs. Short, pointed a bony finger at Chris and exclaimed, “He’s the one! It was him! I recognize his voice.”
“Thank you, ma’am, now ...”
“There was a lot of shouting and cursing and then the poor creature screamed in agony.” She paused dramatically, her voice dropping to a stage whisper. “And then there wasn’t a sound!” Her head bobbed vigorously as she basked in the limelight. She turned to the officer. “I tell, you, they’ve done away with him.”
“Please, ma’am,” the officer broke in desperately when she paused for breath. “Let me handle this.”
But it was no use. She rushed on anyway. “I heard it all, and called the police. They just laughed at first, you know, when I said the victim was a cat. They told me to call the Animal Protection Society. But then I said, ‘They’ve killed that rich cat. You know, the one that inherited all of old Mrs. Dunbar’s money.’ They listened then,” she finished triumphantly.
The officer took a determined breath. “If you’re through, Mrs. Short, there are a few questions I’d like to ask.”
“Why, of course, I ...”
“Thank you,” he said firmly, giving her no chance to get on another roll. “Now, if you’d all please sit down. As Mrs. Short has just told you, she called the station claiming that you’d just killed the cat named Marmalade. Normally we wouldn’t be involved, it would be a matter for the Animal Protection Society, but as this is rather a special case, I thought I’d come by and find out exactly what has happened.”
Up to this point Chris had been too stunned to say a word but things had gone far enough. “Officer, this whole thing is ridiculous. No-one has done anything to Marmalade. I just tripped over him in the dark while trying to bring him in out of the cold. I’m sorry if we disturbed you, Mrs. Short, but that is all there was to it.”
The officer smiled, visibly relieved. “I thought it might be something like that, but perhaps if you would bring out the cat, that would relieve Mrs. Short’s mind.”
Shifting uncomfortably, Chris turned hopeful eyes to James, but he shook his head. Chris turned back to the officer and smiled as confidently as he could. “That might present a bit of a problem. You see, when I stepped on him he ran and hid, and it seems he hasn’t come out yet.” He looked from one accusing face to another. “He’s done this before. He’ll come out when he’s ready. Believe me, there’s nothing more wrong with Marmalade than wounded dignity. Really.”
Mrs. Short smiled her ‘I told you so’ smile and said, “You see. They’ve done away with him. I know the truth, whatever stories they might come up with. Mark my words, that cat will never be seen again. Murderers, that’s what they are.”
The officer merely stood there, saying nothing, a speculative look in his eyes.
Chapter 32
Things went from bad to worse - unbelievable to absolutely ludicrous.
Marmalade hadn’t appeared by morning. Officer Carnegie returned at ten, closely followed by Mrs. Short who had been peering at them all morning from her second floor windows.
“I’m sorry, officer, but Marmalade hasn’t decided to put in an appearance yet,” Chris said, trying to keep his tone nonchalant. “We’ve checked around the house and grounds, but with no luck.”
That was an understatement. After the officer had left the night before, they’d scoured the house from cellar to garret, and from first light the five of them had searched every inch of the grounds and the surrounding neighborhood, but he was nowhere to be found.
“Has he ever done this before, been gone this long?” Taking out his pad, the officer started making notes, and Chris suddenly knew how a tuna felt with the net closing in around it.
“Yes, he was gone for several days a while back, and he does tend to hold a grudge.”
He looked at Chris skeptically, jotted something down on his pad, and turned to look at James.
“Mr. Dunbar, since you can’t produce the cat, I’m afraid I’m going to have to file a report with the Animal Protection Society. They will conduct their own investigation, and depending on their findings, charges may or may not be laid. I’m sorry to have to do this, but a complaint has been filed by Mrs. Short. We can’t ignore it.”
“You can’t possibly believe we’d do a despicable thing like that,” James exclaimed, horrified.
“It’s not what I personally believe. I’m merely following procedure. It will be up to a judge to decide culpability, if it comes to that. Meanwhile, I will be in touch with the Society and they will contact you. Thank you for your time.” He turned to go, Mrs. Short still his shadow.
“You see, I told you something was up. They’ve murdered that poor animal so ...” The closing door mercifully cut off her ecstatic stream of accusations.
Collapsing into the nearest chairs, they gazed at each other in horrified disbelief.
“Surely they can’t be serious,” Alicia cried, clutching Chris’ hand.
“I’m afraid they seem very serious,” he said worriedly.
“I’m sure no-one will believe us capable of such a thing,” James said, putting a comforting arm around his wife whose eyes reflected her own uncertainty. It hadn’t been that long ago that Chris had thought her capable of just such a thing.
James looked to Chris for affirmation, but he dropped his eyes uncomfortably, remembering the terms of the will and the language it was written in. If that became public ... My God, what a mess.
Investigator Hugh Jameson from the Animal Protection Society arrived that afternoon. An intense, attractive young man, tall, broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, hair bleached white blond and skin still tanned from long days spent working out of doors, he appeared totally dedicated to his job. It’s amazing how guilty just the sight of a uniform can make you feel and the no-nonsense look in the pale blue eyes didn’t help the knot in Chris’ stomach. He forced a smile and showed the Investigator to the library where the others were gathered around the fire.
Alice and Alicia were both quite pale and made only half-hearted attempts at welcome. James was dignified but reserved as he rose from the sofa and held out his hand. Thank God for Mrs. Stuart. She was like a breath of fresh air. She bustled around, laying her tea of small finger sandwiches and little cakes, smiled reassuringly at Alice and patted her hand, then scurried out of the room, sniffing scornfully at the investigator for having dared suspect ‘her family’ of anything so dastardly.
Chris smothered a smile and offered the disconcerted investigator a chair by the fire.
“Mr. Dunbar, our office received a disturbing report from the O.P.P. this morning concerning the cat known as Marmalade.” He was feeling his way carefully. “You must know that because of the terms of the late Mrs. Dunbar’s will, our Society is especially concerned with what’s happened, and so our Director, Bill Abbot, has sent me over to determine what, if any, action should be taken by our lawyers.” He turned bright quizzical eyes on each of them in turn. They lingered appreciatively on Alicia a few seconds longer than Chris felt necessary and so he moved to the arm of the sofa beside her.
“Look, officer, we went over all of this ...” James began, with barely concealed irritation.
“Excuse me, James,” Chris broke in hurriedly, “perhaps you ought to let me handle this.” He looked a warning and James nodded in agreement.
“Now, officer, let me assure you, there is no question of anything having happened to Marmalade. Last night, after dinner ...” and he went through the whole story once more. “Marmalade is simply sulking somewhere. He’ll come back when he’s over his huff.”
Jameson looked at him as skeptically as the police officer had that morning. But this fellow wasn’t pulling any punches. “You’ll forgive me if I have trouble believing this. I can see how he’d run and hide if, as you have said, you accidentally stepped on him.” Chris didn’t like the emphasis he put on ‘accidentally’. “But surely he’d have returned by now, if only to be fed.”
“That’s no problem, officer.” Alicia said quietly. “Just about everybody in this part of town feeds him.”
The smile he gave her was friendly and understanding. “Thank you, Miss, that would help to explain
things ...” he turned back to Chris. “somewhat.”
It was Chris’ turn to become annoyed. “Look here, officer, we have told you the truth. Nothing has happened to the cat. Furthermore, none of the family was involved in what happened in the yard. I was the one who stepped on him and made him hide. I would have no motive for his death and, in fact, am the trustee of his estate.”
Jameson looked at him a little oddly and smiled. “I am aware of that, Mr. Mallory, but the whole town is also aware of your relationship with Miss Dunbar. That relationship, I think, would constitute motive as Miss Dunbar is the major inheritor after the cat.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Alicia spoke up indignantly, her eyes flashing. “Chris couldn’t be involved in anything of the sort. He couldn’t hurt Marmalade. He’s very fond of him. I think it’s just terrible of you to come in our home making these horrible accusations. Chris isn’t capable of doing anything so malicious.”
“Alicia ...” Chris tried in vain to stem the angry tide.
“He’s an honorable man and he’s been working so very hard to help us all and ...”
“Alicia!” Chris spoke sharply. She was treading on dangerous ground and he could see the speculation in the officer’s eyes changing to suspicion. “Alicia, please honey,” he continued more gently and smiled reassuringly, “the officer isn’t making an accusation. He’s merely trying to get the facts.”
Her angry eyes met his and he tried to mask the growing worry he felt.
“I’m sorry, Miss Dunbar, if I’ve offended you.” Jameson said gently. “Mr. Mallory is quite correct. I’m not here to make accusations but to get at the truth. Because of the nature of your grandmother’s will, we have to take a complaint such as Mrs. Short’s quite seriously. We will, of course, give you the benefit of the doubt, for the time being anyway, and allow you time to produce the cat - say, one week from today.”