by Valerie Tate
“We appreciate that, officer,” Chris said, relieved. Reprieved, if only for a time.
“If, however, you haven’t produced the cat in that time, I’m afraid we will have to turn the matter over to our attorneys.” He stood to go.
“Of course and, I assure you, Marmalade will be back by then.” Chris stood and proffered his hand.
James joined them at the door. “I hope we can rely on your discretion, officer. If this should reach the papers, I hate to think what it would mean for my family.” It was said with a dignity garnered, Chris knew, through a life stained with humiliation, but his eyes showed the anxiety that prompted the request.
The young man missed neither and nodded understandingly, with growing respect. “You can count on me. However, if the cat isn’t back by next Monday, then I can’t promise it won’t get out.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll be back,” Chris repeated with more confidence than he felt.
They watched as he drove off and then returned to the library. Alicia ran swiftly into Chris’ arms and he held her tightly. With all they had to lose, he just had to be back.
Chapter 33
In the week that followed, they did nothing but look for Marmalade. They raked the town from one end to the other, up alleys and down, along the harbor front and beaches, through the lumberyard and abandoned factories. Chris took a week’s leave of absence and James stayed home from the factory to search. Mrs. Stuart prepared little treats and left them on the veranda, hoping to lure him back but, although they always disappeared, there was never a sign of the cat, nor proof that he had been home, and they suspected that it was Mrs. Short’s terrier, Horatio, that had enjoyed the chicken livers and kidneys.
The weather grew colder, the days shorter, and Wilf Mitchel spent a great deal of time in the grounds, raking, pruning, and covering the flower beds with straw to reduce winter-kill.
The garden was a desolate place now, the autumn winds swirling the fallen leaves into little cyclones around the gazebo and cutting through their jackets as they, once again, searched the trees and bushes for that small ball of orange fur.
“I’m so worried,” Alicia said, unnecessarily, slipping her arm through Chris’s. “Winter is coming. Last night the temperature dropped near freezing and I was up half the night worrying about him. I know he always spent a lot of time outdoors, but what happens if it snows?”
The shadows under those turquoise eyes brought out all his protective instincts and he inwardly cursed his own helplessness.
“Don’t worry about him. He’s used to fending for himself. Besides, he can always get in through his little door if he wants to.”
“That’s true. And Mrs. Stuart is still putting food out for him every day,” she added, sounding unconvinced.
“Right. And your father told me he’s been leaving the back porch light on, just in case. If he wants to come home, he can. Let’s just hope he decides to come back before Monday.”
Thursday rolled around, and then Friday and Saturday, and still no Marmalade. By Sunday they were frantic. He’d been gone a week and the only lead they’d had was a rumor that a large orange cat had been seen playing with a little girl in the new housing development in the east end of town. Alicia and Chris had rushed over Sunday afternoon only to find that the ‘large orange cat’ was a very pregnant tortoise-shell Tabby and certainly not Marmalade.
None of the people on his usual ‘mooch’-round had seen him but many of them had, like Mrs. Stuart, been leaving treats out for him ‘just in case’. Marmalade had a very loyal following.
Monday morning’s arrival was inevitable, as was the barrage of questions and accusations that ensued following their announcement that the cat had not returned and could not be produced.
They were polite, but the suspicion was there - ugly in its implications, frightening in its ramifications for the Dunbars and for Chris.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dunbar, but in view of the fact you can’t produce the cat, we have no choice but to petition the court for a reversion of the estate to the Society.”
* * *
Jarrod Inglis, the Society’s attorney, was a man in his fifties, distinguished and well-respected in the profession, well-known in the courts of Ontario. Prematurely gray, his thick silver hair rose crisply above a tanned face, evidence of a recent Bahamas jaunt, while piercing gray eyes surveyed each of them in turn. Chris remembered thinking, the first time he’d met him in Toronto when Chris was a wet-behind-the-ears graduate, that he shouldn’t like to be on opposite sides of a court battle with him. His record was terrifyingly good, a fact which, under the circumstances, made Chris’ palms sweat as he contemplated what was to come.
“Come now, Jarrod, surely you don’t believe this,” Chris said heartily, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. “The cat has merely run away. Cats do. It happens every day. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”
Jarrod looked at him somewhat sadly, and Chris had the uncomfortable feeling that he believed they had done away with the poor animal.
“I’m sorry, Chris, but my hands are tied. You know the terms of the will better than I. You can’t produce the cat and, face it, Mrs. Short’s testimony is pretty damaging. I know that you are the Dunbar’s attorney, but in view of the circumstances surrounding the disappearance of the animal and your obvious connection with the family - a connection which the court might view as a conflict of interest - may I suggest that you let one of your partners handle the case.”
Chris felt Alicia stiffen angrily beside him and said quickly, “I appreciate your concern, Jarrod, and I intend to do just that.”
“Good. Well, I expect you’ll be hearing from the court shortly. I’ll be in discussions with the Society chairman and the board concerning the line we wish to pursue. Mr. and Mrs. Dunbar, Miss Dunbar, I’m truly sorry we had to meet under such unpleasant circumstances.”
They rose, murmured the usual civilities and left the law office.
“Chris, I’m scared.” Alicia shivered as he helped her into the car. “What if Marmalade never comes back? We’ll lose the house and half of the business. I could stand even that, though, but I can’t stand the thought that everyone in town will believe that we could do such a terrible thing.”
She turned troubled eyes to him as he slid into the driver’s seat. He wanted to tell her that no matter what happened, she needn’t worry, that he’d look after her. But, he reflected wryly, since at the moment his own prospects were looking rather bleak, it wasn’t the time for such a promise.
“Chris?”
He couldn’t bear the look in her eyes, or the tremor in her voice, so he pulled her into his arms. Her head nestled under his chin, he kissed the glossy hair. “It isn’t fair, just when things were going so well.”
She turned trembling lips to his, and for a moment, forgetting everything else, they clung to each other, their hearts beating a frantic rhythm.
A discreet honk brought them back to reality and, laughing shakily, Chris released her and turned to raise an apologetic hand to James and Alice who were parked behind them.
Alicia blushed and gave that throaty chuckle that always sent a thrill up his spine. “I’d forgotten they were there,” she said with an embarrassed grin, and then, serious again, “What are we going to do?”
Chris took a deep breath and started the car. “I don’t know, but I can tell you what we’re not going to do,” he said with grim determination. “We’re not giving up!”
Chapter 34
It was inevitable that the press would latch on to the story once the claim had been filed with the court. Two days later they received official notice of the lawsuit and the first of the head-lines was splashed across the front page of the local paper:
MILLIONAIRE MOUSER MISSING. FOUL PLAY FEARED.
The lawsuit named the Dunbars and Chris as co-defendants, claiming the estate and court costs, and the papers made the most of his inclusion in the suit, his as yet undefined relationship with Al
icia, the fact that he was the trustee for the estate, and then raised the twin specters of breach of trust and disbarment.
Oh, Mrs. Dunbar, what have you done?
Faces were grim at the council of war, as Alicia had not so playfully dubbed it, the following Friday. Dave Jukes, the senior partner had agreed to handle the case and it was in his office that they were meeting.
If Chris had had any illusions as to Dave’s motives in championing their cause, they had been quickly dispelled. Chris was now on a ‘voluntary’ leave of absence, voluntary in that, while he had no choice in the matter, they hadn’t asked for his resignation, and he was too relieved to argue. And they were right about one thing, however unintentionally, he had placed them in a position where a ruling in favor of the plaintiff could seriously damage the firm’s reputation and credibility. Dave had as much to lose or gain by the decision as any of them.
“I don’t need to tell you how bad this looks for all of us,” Dave said, distractedly running his lean fingers through crisp brown hair, liberally sprinkled with gray. Old Mrs. Dunbar’s comments to the contrary, David Jukes was no nincompoop, and if he was this worried ... The lump in Chris’ stomach could have been used as a basketball. “You have to find that cat. Without him ... God, Chris, how could you let this happen?” He was up and pacing.
“Now look, Dave ...” Chris began hotly.
“No, you look, Chris. Without that animal, who’s going to believe anything we might say in your defense? You were the animal’s trustee. You were responsible for his welfare. The will is more than explicit about the possibility of his needing a protector. And what happens? You become involved with the family. You’re linked romantically with the one person who would benefit directly from the cat’s death. The cat disappears and to top it all off, a witness will swear you were overheard abusing him immediately beforehand. And what is your response? The cat is sulking. Good Lord, the only defense that comes to mind is that no-one with half a brain would concoct such a ridiculous scheme and honestly expect to get away with it.” A motley red color had risen gradually up his neck, washed over his face and was edging slowly towards his slightly receding hairline.
Alicia had heard enough. She surged to her feet, her eyes flashing blue-green fire. “I thought you were supposed to be on our side. We aren’t guilty of anything. And the only thing Chris is guilty of is kindness. If you don’t want to represent us, we’ll find someone else who will, someone who believes we’re innocent.”
Dave looked from her to Chris and returned to his chair, mopping his brow. “Ok, I get it.”
“The cat will turn up, Dave,” Chris said quietly. “All we need is time. You’ve got to stall as long as possible. They have no proof of anything because there’s nothing to prove. Nothing has happened to the cat, I promise you. Nothing. We just need time to find him. You’ve got to get us that time.”
Dave nodded wearily. There was no other choice. “I’ll do what I can, Chris, but for all our sakes, find that animal, and fast!”
Grateful for even the possibility of a reprieve, no matter how short, Chris hurried the others out of the office. They had no time to waste. The problems just kept on mounting.
Finances presented the greatest immediate concern. With the suit in the courts, all assets of the Dunbar estate had been frozen - no allowance or household expenses was being paid, and while James still received his salary from the firm, it was, as Alice had said, a nominal one. Matters were made worse by the fact that James had insisted on putting up his 51% of the company as collateral for the loan the estate had given him. It hadn’t seemed important at the time, and while Chris had thought it unnecessary, and told him so, it seemed to be a gesture James needed to make, and so Chris hadn’t argued. Now, should they lose the case, they would lose everything.
Chris’ own position was little better. The ‘extended vacation’ was without pay and most of his savings had gone to buying the partnership in the firm. Alice had offered him a room at the house, but under the circumstances, he felt that to be unwise. He had enough in his accounts to meet expenses for a couple of months. It was the long term that worried him. Disbarment. If it should come to that, and it could if he were convicted of breach of trust, his career was over. What he would do then he couldn’t imagine.
Alice summed up his feelings exactly as they left the building following the meeting. “My God, what a mess. I know that’s been said before, but it bears repeating.”
Chris nodded vigorously, and added, “I don’t know about the rest of you but I could use a drink.”
“And some lunch,” Alicia put in fervently.
“My poor starved darling. It’s only three hours since you ate.”
She turned aggrieved eyes towards him. “Can I help it if crises make me ravenous?”
“Well then we’d better get this one solved soon.” Chris took her hand and started down the street. “Let’s go to Di Angelo’s. Their food’s always good. One last hurrah before the belt-tightening begins. And we’d better call Mrs. Stuart when we get there and tell her not to expect us back for lunch.”
Alicia nodded happily. “But if she’s already prepared something, we can always have it for an afternoon snack.”
James swore devoutly under his breath. Alice ‘Tsk-tsked’ in appalled amusement. But Chris, besotted fool that he was, found himself grinning broadly and nodding back.
Di Angelo’s was doing their usual brisk lunch trade and there could be quite a wait, but remembering his last meal there with James, Chris felt confident they wouldn’t have to. The crew and passengers of the Titanic felt confident too as they boarded that ill-fated vessel. Their confidence was no more misplaced than his.
They waited twenty minutes for a table, and then it was in the back by the kitchen door. As they crossed the room there were no friendly smiles or words of greeting, but rather hostile stares and heads turned pointedly in another direction, conversations which ceased abruptly and then resumed in sibilant whispers when they’d passed.
Alicia walked head held high and proudly, but by the way her hand gripped his arm, Chris knew she was shocked and hurt by their reaction. It was something they’d discussed as a possibility but had never really credited until now. Not in ‘their’ town. Alice Dunbar could face-down an army of spiteful tongue-waggers, though, and malicious eyes fell at her scornful glance.
Lunch was painfully cheerful. Alicia chattered animatedly and ate virtually nothing. The rest of them did their best to follow her lead and keep up their ends of the conversation. The one bright spot in an otherwise miserable meal occurred as they were preparing to leave. There was a commotion at a table across the room, a man and a woman arguing, then the man, ignoring his wife’s objections and restraining hand, got up and crossed the floor towards them.
James and Chris rose to their feet simultaneously, Chris to ward off a possibly unpleasant confrontation, but James, surprisingly, smiled and held out his hand. It was grasped and shaken vigorously.
“James, Alice,” the newcomer began, still clutching James’ hand, “I had to come and tell you that whatever these fools think, I don’t believe a word of it and I’m going to do all I can to see you through this unpleasant affair.”
James smiled gratefully. “We appreciate that, Bill. I can’t tell you how much. This whole thing has left us in a state of shock.”
Willliam Ferguson, tall and distinguished-looking with silver hair and a bristling mustache, was Chairman of the Town Council and a member of one of the town’s oldest and most distinguished families. He and James had gone to school together and were still close friends. He was a valuable ally, and more importantly just now, his support was a real morale booster. The stiff, artificial smile on Alice’s face relaxed into one of genuine warmth, while the tension in Alicia’s body gradually eased.
“Chris, have you met ... No? Bill, this is Chris Mallory, our attorney. Chris, Bill Ferguson.”
“Pleased to meet you, young man.”
“And I’m
more than pleased to meet you.” Chris’ hand was also vigorously shaken. “It was a gallant gesture, coming over. Obviously not a popular position, judging by the reaction of the room.” Heads were shaking and angry looks sent their way. Mrs. Ferguson, scarlet with mortification, was looking for a place to hide.
“Bloody fools!” was Bill’s snorted comment. “Believe everything they read. Well, I have some influence in this town and I’ll see to it that the real facts get round. Knock some sense into their thick heads. Can’t muzzle that rag, the Bulletin, unfortunately. If it were still old Simpson running it I could have had a few quiet words with him, but he’s retired and moved to Florida. His son has it now and he’s out to boost circulation. Yellow journalism, I call it.”
“You know we’d appreciate any help you can give us, Mr. Ferguson ... O.K., Bill, but I don’t think that attempting to muzzle the newspaper would be a good idea. Might just give people the idea we’ve something to hide, which we don’t.”
“Just so, just so. I hadn’t thought of that. You’re quite right.” He gave him an appraising look and turned to James. “Hang onto this one, Jim. He’s got a head on his shoulders. Must be off. Louise is chomping at the bit over there. Don’t you worry, you’ve still got friends. Don’t be put off by this lot. Your family’s done a lot for this town and I’ll see they don’t forget it.”
Another round of earnest hand-wringing and he was gone, leaving a much more confident group in his wake.
Chapter 35
Tension did lessen in the following days. James’ and Alice’s true friends rallied round and they managed to face down the spite and censure of the rest of the town. The anonymous cards and notes continued but they’d become reasonably immune to their malice and vicious accusations, and actually managed to find some of them amusing. The one accusing them of ‘catricide’ was pinned on the fridge door to read when things were getting them down.