“What are you doing?” Libby demanded.
“I’m going to pull down the window shade so we’ll be less of a target,” Bernie explained.
“There is no window shade.”
“I know,” Bernie replied. She’d just looked up. “I realize that.”
Libby turned over on her back and studied the water marks on the ceiling as she rubbed her left thigh. From what she could see, there were a fair number of leaks. “Maybe whoever is shooting at us thinks we’re Allison,” she suggested.
“Neither of us looks anything like Allison,” Bernie objected.
“Maybe they don’t know what Allison looks like,” Libby countered.
“How could they not know that?” Bernie asked.
Libby hazarded a guess. “Because they haven’t seen her.”
Bernie snorted. “Then why would they be shooting at her?” When Libby didn’t answer, Bernie said, “Are you saying someone hired a hit man to go after her? Because that’s the only explanation I can think of for the scenario you’re suggesting.”
“No. That’s not what I’m saying.” Then the implications of what her sister was proposing hit Libby. “You’re saying that if they’re not shooting at Allison . . .”
“They’re shooting at us,” Bernie said, finishing Libby’s sentence for her. “Give the girl a gold star.”
“You’re making me feel better and better.”
“As your little sister, that’s my job.”
“Great.” At which point it occurred to Libby that it might be a good idea to get between the sofa and the wall. That way if the shooter came in, they wouldn’t see her. Hopefully. “Why would somebody do that?” she asked as she tried to wiggle her way into the space.
“Make you feel better?”
“No. Shoot at us,” Libby cried in exasperation. The space was too narrow. She definitely needed to lose that twenty pounds she’d been talking about shedding.
“We’ll know when we find them,” Bernie responded.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not go looking,” Libby said. Then she realized the shooting had stopped. She cautiously lifted her head up. Silence, except for the birds. “Maybe whoever is doing this has given up.”
“One can only hope,” Bernie said. She’d had the same thought.
“Maybe they got bored.”
“Or maybe they think we’re dead,” Bernie said.
“Maybe you should be quiet,” Libby said.
“Maybe I should,” Bernie agreed, thinking that if whoever was shooting at them thought he’d hit them, quiet was the way to go.
The same idea had occurred to Libby, so she and her sister stayed where they were for another five minutes. Just to be on the safe side.
“That was exciting,” Libby said as she got up and dusted off her pants. They were full of hair. Cat hair, she guessed. Evidently, the cats came inside.
“Wasn’t it, though?” Bernie agreed as she checked her dress. Aside from the cat hair, it seemed okay. That was the good thing about patterns. They hid dirt. Maybe things were looking up, after all, she thought as she went to the door and cautiously peered out.
“Do you see anything?” Libby asked.
Bernie shook her head. She tapped her fingers against her thigh. Where had the shooter gone? That was the question. He or she could have gone down the path when she and her sister were lying on the floor. Or he or she could still be in the woods. Waiting for them to come out. Or waiting for Allison to come in. What to do?
“What do you think?” Libby asked Bernie. “Should we stay put or go?”
Bernie was just about to say, “Go,” when she thought she heard something. She put her finger to her lips. Libby cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. Bernie pointed in the direction of the woods and then carefully tiptoed back to Libby and whispered in her ear, telling her what she wanted to do.
“I don’t know,” Libby whispered back.
“What else do you suggest?” Bernie asked.
Libby shook her head. She didn’t have a suggestion.
“Okay, then,” Bernie said. She went over to the Formica table, grabbed some of the papers on it, and went over to the window facing out on the other side of the clearing. Then she carefully picked the broken pieces of glass out of the window frame. When she had gotten as much of the glass out as she could, she went and got the butcher knife that was sitting on the kitchen counter and then took the blanket off Allison’s bed, placed it over the wooden window frame she’d cleared of glass, and climbed out, careful to hold the knife well away from her. As she dropped into the long grass and weeds, all she could think about were the ticks. Please, God, let there not be any here, she prayed as she made her way toward the path.
She took two steps and stopped and listened. She heard the rustle of branches up ahead. Then she heard a meow. She let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. It was the cats. That was what she’d heard in the house. Cats. She thought about turning back, but then she thought about what her dad would say, and she decided to walk a little bit farther.
It was tough going. The grass was high, and it hid rocks and low-growing brambles and sticky things that Bernie didn’t know the names of. After a couple of minutes of that, she was ready to turn around and go back when she spotted something in a clearing she could see through the trees. It was Allison, and she was crouched down and talking to three cats in low, dulcet tones.
Bernie hurried forward. As she came into the clearing, she called Allison’s name.
“Thank God you’re all right,” she added when Allison turned and looked at her. “You won’t believe what happened.”
Then she stopped talking, because out of the corner of her eye, Bernie had noticed something.
There was a rifle propped up against an oak tree.
Chapter 32
Jeez, talk about not getting the picture, Bernie thought as she dropped the knife she’d been holding and ran for the rifle. Allison sprang up and did the same thing, but Bernie was slightly closer and a little bit faster. She managed to get to the rifle a millisecond before Allison did.
“Now what?” Bernie said, pointing the rifle at Allison.
Allison put her hands in the air and took two steps back. “You’re being ridiculous,” she told Bernie.
“Me being ridiculous?” Bernie cried, her voice quivering with outrage. “You shot at us.” She waved Allison’s rifle in the air. “I can’t believe you shot at us. You could have killed us. Thank God you’re such a lousy shot, because otherwise we’d be dead.”
“I—” Allison began, but Bernie cut her off.
“Don’t you lie to me,” Bernie yelled. “Don’t you tell me you didn’t do it, because I can smell the powder. This rifle has been fired recently.”
Allison put her hands out in a calming gesture. “Let’s not overreact.”
“Overreact?” Bernie repeated, outrage fighting with disbelief. “What are you? Nuts?”
“It was an accident.”
“Accident?” Bernie said, repeating the word. “You had an accident more than four times. Once maybe, but four times? No, I don’t think so.”
“Bernie, please. Just lower the rifle and give me a chance to explain,” Allison pleaded.
Bernie took a step back. “I’ll lower it after you explain. How’s that?”
Allison tossed her hair. “Fine. Do what you want. But I think I should tell you that the rifle doesn’t have any shells in it.”
“Then why were you going for it?” Bernie demanded.
“Because you startled me,” Allison explained.
Bernie wasn’t sure if what Allison was saying about the rifle not being loaded was true or not. She really knew very little about firearms when it came down to it, but she sure wasn’t going to tell Allison that. Instead, she said, “I think I’ll be the judge of that. Now talk.”
“I’m trying,” Allison said. “You keep interrupting.”
Which wasn’t true, but Bernie didn’t s
ay that. Instead, she grunted and gestured for Allison to continue.
“I was going to say I was sorry,” Allison told her.
“I don’t think sorry cuts it in this case.”
“I thought you were Marie.”
“Marie?” In her amazement, Bernie lowered the rifle, realized what she had done, brought it up again, and then put it back down. Her arm was getting tired of holding it, anyway, and even with the evidence in hand, she was having trouble believing Allison had shot at her and her sister. “Marie,” she repeated.
Allison nodded. “That’s right.”
Bernie yanked her dress back in place with her free hand. This was definitely not the kind of thing one wore to this kind of event, but then, who knew the day would turn out to involve being shot at and crawling across the floor? “Why were you shooting at Marie? If you were.”
“Because she’s trying to kill me.”
Bernie blinked. This is just becoming weirder and weirder, she thought as a white-and-black cat came over and began rubbing its head against Bernie’s feet. The cats had vanished into the undergrowth when she’d come crashing through, but now they were back, along with a couple more.
“That’s Klepto,” Allison informed her as the cat sauntered over to Allison and lay on her feet.
“And why would Marie be doing that?” Bernie asked Allison.
“Because I have proof that she killed Susie.”
“Really?” Bernie said, the disbelief in her voice palpable.
“Yes, really,” Allison told Bernie.
“And how do you know that? Did she sidle up and tell you?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Allison bent down, picked up Klepto, and began rubbing his ears. He started to purr. “I overheard her. She and Susie were arguing in the grocery store. They were in the cookie aisle, and I was at the endcap, near the bread. Actually, they were pretty loud. Marie told Susie she was going to kill her for what she had done, and Susie laughed and told her to go ahead and try.”
“I think we call that a figure of speech,” Libby commented.
Allison shook her head vigorously. “Not in this case. Susie laughed again and told Marie she should have taken better care of her finances.”
“And then?” Bernie said, prodding.
“And then,” Allison replied, “Marie told Susie she was going to dance on her body and spit on her grave.”
“Colorful,” Bernie commented. “How did Susie respond?”
“She said, ‘Good luck with that.’ Then she said that nothing was going to stop her from turning Marie’s house into a pile of rubble and that Marie deserved everything that was coming to her, up to and including being blacklisted from all future cat shows.”
Well, that information certainly changed things a bit, Bernie thought. If Allison was telling the truth—and that was a big if—Marie had known about Susie’s plans for her house before the wedding. Had she gone there with the intention of killing Susie? Had Charlene known, as well? And what about the cat shows? Why had Susie made that threat?
“Then what happened?” Bernie asked as Allison put Klepto down, picked up a ginger tabby that had crawled out from under the bushes, and began to pet her.
“Nothing. Susie walked away,” Allison replied.
“I take it you didn’t tell the police this,” Bernie stated.
Allison nodded. “No, I didn’t.”
“Why not?” Bernie asked.
Instead of answering, Allison put the ginger tabby down and surveyed two more cats that had appeared. “I know. It’s dinnertime,” she told them. Then she turned and looked at Bernie. “Obviously, because I don’t want to have anything to do with the cops. I figure the farther away I stay from them, the better.”
“Or maybe you didn’t tell the police, because what you’re saying isn’t true,” Bernie suggested.
“Oh. It’s true, all right,” Allison declared. “You’d better believe it. I was just afraid that if I came forward, the police would blame me.”
“I see,” Bernie said. “Can I ask why Marie wants to kill you now?”
Allison wrinkled her brow. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. Why now?”
Allison rolled her eyes. “Duh. Because she obviously knows that I know what she did.”
“And how did she find that out? Did you tell her?”
“Of course not,” Allison protested.
“Then how does she know?”
Allison stuck out her chin. “I don’t have the foggiest. And now, if we’re done here, I have cats to feed,” Allison said, indicating the six by her feet.
“We’re not done yet,” Bernie told her and raised the rifle she was holding. Her arms were feeling rested. “Now, why don’t you tell me how Marie knows that you know? Guess, if you have to.”
Allison remained silent and began playing with the gold chain with a heart on it that was hanging around her neck.
“I’m waiting,” Bernie said.
“Well,” Allison began, drawing out the word well, after another minute had gone by, “it occurs to me I might have asked her for a little loan.”
“Loan?” Bernie repeated. Now, she thought, we’re getting someplace.
“Yes, loan. I told Marie I’d pay her back, but maybe she took it the wrong way.” Allison made a “Can you believe it?” expression with her mouth. “Maybe she thought I was extorting her or something.”
“Imagine that,” Bernie retorted. “Who would have thought? I am shocked that the idea even occurred to her.”
Allison straightened her shoulders. “There’s no need for sarcasm,” she replied. Then she went on the offensive before Bernie could say something else. “Anyway, you shouldn’t have gone into my house without permission.”
“The door was open,” Bernie pointed out.
“The door is always open. I can’t lock it,” Allison said.
“So, that makes it okay to shoot at someone?”
“It does in Texas.”
“But we’re not in Texas, are we?” Bernie pointed out. She was about to say, “Or Florida, either,” when she heard a noise. So did Allison.
They both turned in the direction of the snapping twigs and rustling leaves. A few seconds later, they heard Libby calling her sister’s name.
“Bernie, where are you?”
“Over here,” Bernie called back.
“Are you okay?” Libby shouted.
“I’m fine,” Bernie replied.
Libby came crashing through the undergrowth a minute later. She stopped when she saw Bernie and Allison, and her eyes widened as she took in the rifle in Bernie’s hand.
“What’s going on here?” she demanded.
Bernie explained as Libby absentmindedly rubbed the elbow she’d banged on the kitchen cabinet when she hit the floor. It still hurt.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Libby said to Allison when her sister was done.
Allison frowned. She looked, Libby reflected, more annoyed than anything else. “Hey, Libby,” she said. “I already said I was sorry. It was a mistake. Haven’t you ever made a mistake?”
“Not like that I haven’t,” Libby told her.
“Listen,” Allison replied, pointing down at the ground. “You . . .”
Libby held up her hand. “I don’t want to hear it. Your apology is not accepted.”
“I just—”
“No. Seriously,” Libby told her. “It isn’t.”
“Fine.”
“Nothing you say is going to make what you did better,” Libby said, ramming the point home.
Allison shrugged. “Okay.” She started to laugh and covered her mouth with her hand to hide it.
Libby put her hands on her hips. She was getting angrier than she was before. “What’s so funny?” she demanded.
Allison took her hand away from her mouth and said, “I just wanted to tell you you’re stepping in poison ivy.”
Libby looked down. She was standing in it up to her ankles. “Oh
, my God,” she shrieked. Could the day get any worse?
Chapter 33
“Stop scratching,” Bernie scolded Libby. It was eight o’clock that night, and Bernie, her sister, and Marvin were sitting at the bar at RJ’s, nursing their beers.
“I’m trying,” Libby said as she leaned down and scratched some more.
“You’re just making it worse,” Marvin observed.
“I know, but I can’t help myself,” Libby admitted as she continued scratching.
“It’ll be fine if you leave it alone,” Bernie said as she ate a pretzel. “It’s all in your head.”
“It’s not in my head. It’s on my ankles,” Libby protested.
Bernie took a sip of her wheat beer, put the glass back on the counter, ate the orange slice that came with it, and spoke. “Listen,” she said to Libby, “you washed with jewelweed soap and took a Benadryl. You’ll be fine.” She’d been saying the same thing to her sister for the past four hours, to no effect.
“At least an hour . . .”
“Half an hour,” Bernie said.
“Passed between the time I stepped in the poison ivy and the time we got home,” Libby continued. “I think that’s too much time.”
“No it isn’t,” Bernie told her for the twentieth time.
“Are you sure?” Libby asked.
“I’m pretty sure.”
“But not completely sure,” Libby noted. She turned to Marvin. “What do you think?”
Marvin shook his head and took a gulp of his summer ale. He wasn’t getting involved in this if he could help it. “I don’t know.”
“See?” Bernie said.
“See yourself,” Libby responded. “I looked it up on Google. . . .”
Bernie rolled her eyes. “Well, if you found it on the Internet, it must be true.”
Brandon intervened in the conversation before Libby could answer. “So how come you stepped in poison ivy?” he asked Libby as he took the dish of pretzels in front of the sisters and refilled it. RJ’s was busy tonight, and this was the first time there’d been enough of a lull for him to ask Libby and Bernie what had happened this afternoon.
A Catered Cat Wedding Page 19