Twice Told Tail

by Ali Brandon

  Just around midnight, she awoke from dreams of a mistuned strings section playing a concert in her bookstore to realize the sound she heard was Hamlet.

  Rowwwwww. ROOwwwww. ROOOWWWWW!

  “What’s wrong?” she sleepily managed as she sat up.

  He leaped from the bed and trotted to the closed door. ROOOWWWWW!

  Fully awake now and on alert, Darla threw back the covers. “What is it, Hammy?” she whispered as he pawed at the doorknob. Then a shiver ran through her. “Is someone out there?”

  Of course, no one could be, since she had an alarm both downstairs and up, which would have gone off if someone tried to get past it. But something obviously was very wrong.

  Flipping on her bedside lamp, she grabbed a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt tossed over the chair in the corner and hurriedly dressed. Then, grabbing up the baseball-bat-like Chilean rain stick beside her dresser that was the closest thing she had to a weapon, she eased open the bedroom door.

  Hamlet went flying out.

  “Hammy,” she softly called as she hurried after him, rain stick tightly clutched in hand. She should have been surprised but was not when she saw where he’d gone . . . straight to her front window. She could see him silhouetted in the faint silver glow from outside, stretched to full length with his paws on the sill and black nose pressed to the glass.

  “Is he back?” she whispered as she joined him there. “Is it the skulker?”

  Sure enough, she saw a dark, manlike shadow detach itself from the rest of the darkness. A faint red glow abruptly brightened—the ember of his cigarette—and then faded and spiraled downward. Darla gave her head a disgusted shake. A skulker and a litterbug, both.

  “What do you think, Hamlet? Should we take a little midnight walk of our own and see who’s down there?”

  At the word “walk,” the cat abruptly abandoned his post for the front door. It had been cold enough out that they’d not taken their usual walks of late, so Hamlet appeared more than ready for a little midnight excursion.

  Setting down the rain stick, she pulled Hamlet’s harness and lead from the hook near the door and buckled him in. She pulled on her navy blue down jacket, which would be dark enough not to advertise her presence on the street, and then tugged on her leather walking boots. Checking for gloves and scarf, she took her phone and keys from her purse, grabbed hold of Hamlet’s leash, and started out the door.

  She deliberately didn’t turn on the stairwell light as she felt her way down the steps, since its glow would show through the front door window and announce her presence. By the time she reached the entry landing, her heart was pounding in fearful anticipation. Did she really dare go out into the night to confront whoever was lurking there?

  “Wait, Hammy,” she hissed as she sidled up to the door’s curtained window. “Let’s see where he is first.”

  She eased the curtain aside just a fraction and cautiously peered out. Then she frowned. “He’s gone,” she told the cat. “Are you sure that wasn’t just some random guy headed home after a night out?”

  By way of answer, Hamlet reared up and pawed at the doorknob.

  “Okay, okay, we’ll go check it out.” Because, of course, the skulker might still be there and simply now out of view.

  Darla’s heart pounded faster still as she deactivated the alarm and, quietly as she could, unlocked all her front door’s knobs and latches. Hamlet’s leash was securely looped around her wrist as she slipped out onto the stoop and locked the deadbolt behind her. Stuffing the keys back into her pocket, she gripped her cell phone with her free hand, tempted to call Robert or Jake to meet her outside. But the youth had an early morning and needed his sleep, while Jake would only lecture her for wandering out into the dark on her own with some unknown person there on the street.

  “We can do it, Hammy,” she whispered to the cat as she steeled herself and walked down the concrete steps with him into the cold night.

  She realized as they reached the sidewalk that she’d left the rain stick back in the apartment. She could go back for it . . . but by the time she got back downstairs again, the skulker might be gone. And given the recent tragedy next door and the drama with Vinnie and his book, no way was she going to pass on a chance to finally determine her midnight visitor’s identity.

  As they started down the sidewalk, the first thing that hit her was the acrid smell of secondhand cigarette smoke. The discarded butt still smoldered where the figure had dropped it. Buoyed by a flash of righteous indignation that was tempered by a sudden urge to cough, she paused and ground the butt with her boot heel until the red tip flickered out. Then, waving away the remaining cigarette stench, she glanced around her again.

  The sidewalk on either side of the street appeared clear of pedestrians, for the moment. But, of course, most of the brownstones featured garden apartments, meaning there were plenty of walls and railings and stoops and stairs behind which anyone might hide. And the midnight shadows would only further cloak them.

  The shiver that swept her was not entirely because of the cold. You’re being ridiculous, she scolded herself. Even if there is someone out here, how does he know you’re not just a regular Jane taking her cat on its usual midnight walk?

  Hamlet, however, already had a plan and a destination in mind. He gave the leash a tug and started toward Bygone Days.

  Darla followed after, keeping a close eye on her surroundings. The back of her neck tingled like Hamlet’s whiskers as she anticipated an attack with every shadow she crossed, and she hunched deeper into her coat for what little protection it offered. Of course, it could simply be her imagination creating danger where none lurked, she tried to tell herself.

  The smoke smell had dissipated. Either the skulker had gone inside somewhere, or else he hadn’t lit a replacement cigarette. But at least that did eliminate one possible person who could be that shadowy figure, she told herself . . . namely, Vinnie. For hadn’t the man talked about his childhood asthma and how his father’s smoking had made his illness worse? No way would he, as an adult, become a smoker.

  That still left infinite other possibilities as to who the skulker could be.

  By now, they had reached Mary Ann’s stoop. Hamlet halted there, then lightly bounded up the first step before glancing over his shoulder at Darla.

  “You want to go inside?” she whispered as she took another step up. “But, why—oh!”

  For as she peered inside the window, a single small light suddenly flared somewhere deep within. She’d barely had time to wonder why Mary Ann had turned on a lamp, when a shadow momentarily blocked it from view. Someone had walked past the window . . . and from the shadow’s shape she was sure it wasn’t Mary Ann.

  Hodge, perhaps? Maybe he was there with Mary Ann again. And maybe, like Hamlet, he had heard a sound outside and crept downstairs in the darkness to check on it. Maybe he’d found nothing, and then Mary Ann had flipped on a light so he could see his way back upstairs.

  It was a perfectly reasonable scenario, Darla tried to tell herself. Yet there’d been something oddly furtive about that shadow’s movement, as if making its way in an unfamiliar place while trying to remain unnoticed.

  She slipped her cell phone from her pocket and crouched on the topmost step of the cold stoop, hunching her body around the phone as she opened it so that its glare wouldn’t be noticeable inside the shop. Don’t assume, she told herself. Give Mary Ann a call and see if everything is all right.

  She could hear the phone ringing in her ear, and also faintly through the store’s window glass, the twin rings forming a stereo effect. The shadow flashed past the window again, causing Darla to gasp. But after another couple of rings, the call went to the store’s recorded message, carefully spoken by Mary Ann.

  Thank you for calling Bygone Days Antiques and Collectibles. We are assisting a valued customer at the moment, so kindly leave a message and we will b
e happy to phone you back momentarily.

  Darla ended the call before the beep sounded. Mary Ann was in there, she was certain . . . and if Darla could hear her phone ringing from outside, then surely the old woman had heard it, too. But why didn’t she answer?

  Her uneasiness returning, she shot Hamlet a look. The cat was seated with his nose almost touching the door, obviously waiting for a human to let him in. She hesitated, recalling that the last time she and Jake had essentially broken into the store out of concern for Mary Ann’s safety, their sudden appearance had come at a highly inopportune moment. But she trusted Hamlet’s instincts, and he obviously thought something was amiss with the old woman.

  Swiftly, she raised the phone again and hit a button. She’d call Jake and get her take on the situation before trying anything drastic.

  It took a few rings before the PI answered, her voice thick with sleep as she said, “Hello.” And then, sounding confused, she added, “Darla?”

  “Sorry to wake you,” Darla whispered into the cell, “but I’m sitting on Mary Ann’s stoop. Hamlet thinks something’s wrong. I tried calling her, but she didn’t answer, even though I saw a light go on inside the store. Plus I know I saw someone moving around in there.”

  “Hamlet thinks something’s—oh, never mind,” Jake cut herself off. “Look, kid, if you really think Mary Ann’s in trouble, call 9-1-1.”

  “But remember last time?” she softly urged. “I hate to ask, but can you come out and take a quick look?”

  “Sorry, no can do.”

  “I know it’s late, but if you could just throw on your coat and run over here—”

  “I can’t.” Jake cut her short. “I’m not there.”

  “But where—?”

  “I’m on a date,” she replied in a soft if very precise tone. “You know. A date.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  Darla felt herself blush as she took Jake’s meaning, even though no one was there to see her embarrassment. But Jake was continuing, “Look, give Mary Ann one more call. If she doesn’t answer, call me back and I’ll throw on my, uh, coat and hurry back over there.”

  “I’m calling her now.” Darla hung up, then gave Hamlet a determined nod. “One more time, Hammy.”

  Swiftly, she went back to her “recently called” screen and pressed Mary Ann’s number again and silently counted the rings as she waited for it to connect. She’d begun to fear the call would again go to voice mail, when at the last minute she heard Mary Ann’s quavering voice answer, “Hello?”

  “Mary Ann,” she replied in relief. “It’s Darla. I was afraid something had happened to you, and—”

  “Why, Jake.” The old woman cut her short. “Whatever are you doing calling me at this time of the night?”

  “Mary Ann, it’s Darla. I’m out here on your stoop. I saw a light on inside your shop, and I thought I saw someone moving around. Are you all right?”

  “Now, Jake,” she replied. “I don’t know why you and Fiorello worry so much about me. You know that I haven’t slept well at all ever since that surgery last year. It’s really not necessary for you to keep checking up on me.”

  Jake? Fiorello? Surgery?

  Darla felt her stomach clench as a very terrible suspicion gripped her. Lowering her voice, she said very slowly, “Mary Ann, is someone there with you keeping you from talking?”

  “Of course, my dear. Of course. And now, I really must try to go back to sleep. Give Fiorello my love,” she said, and hung up the phone.

  Hands shaking, Darla hurriedly dialed Jake again.

  “Someone’s in there with her,” she softly cried as soon as her friend answered. “She was saying all sorts of strange things, and when I asked her if someone was keeping her from talking, she said, of course. I’ve got to do something.”

  “Don’t do a thing except call 9-1-1,” Jake shot back in a low voice. “If someone is holding her, last thing we need is for you to be taken hostage, too. I’m heading there now, and I’ll call Reese, too. You stay put and just keep your eyes open until a patrol car shows up.”

  “But I can’t just—oh, no!”

  For even as she started to argue with Jake, Darla heard from within the antiques store a faint, high sound, like a scream being cut off. At the soft keen, Hamlet leaped at the door and pawed at the knob.

  “It’s Mary Ann,” Darla choked out in a rush. “I just heard—it sounded like she screamed. Jake, I don’t have time to call 9-1-1. I’ve got her spare keys, so I’m going inside.”

  “Don’t you dare, Darla Pettistone!” Jake yelled back at her . . . or, rather, yelled as loud as she could while still whispering. “I’ll make the call for you, but don’t go inside under any circumstances.”

  “You’d go in,” Darla pointed out, then hung up the phone before Jake could reply.

  Turning her phone ringer off, she stuffed the cell into one coat pocket and then pulled her key ring from the other. Fingers shaking, she quickly located the old woman’s door keys. Carefully, she inserted the key into the deadbolt and turned it as quietly as she could. Then, shoving the keys back into her pocket, she tightened her grip on Hamlet’s leash and slowly opened the door.

  Immediately, she could hear the soft sounds of two people arguing: a woman’s determined if shaking voice that was Mary Ann’s, and a second, angry male voice that sounded familiar, although she couldn’t identify it. Slipping past the door, she hurriedly punched in the alarm code and eased the door shut behind her and Hamlet, praying that the intruder had been so intent on his dispute that he hadn’t heard the hinges creak or noticed the momentary change of light as the door opened and closed.

  Just to be certain, she stood half crouched with Hamlet a moment, listening. But even when it was apparent her entry hadn’t been noticed, she continued to hesitate, uncertain what to do next. The voices seemed to be coming from the second-floor landing. If Mary Ann was still talking, that had to mean she was relatively unharmed, though that situation could change at any moment. Darla shook her head. She had to find a way to distract the intruder long enough for the old woman to break free. If she could lure the intruder downstairs . . .

  A plan abruptly occurred to her, though it would require Hamlet’s assistance, as well as getting to the stairway quickly, and unnoticed. A look at Hamlet showed him primed for action, all but marching in place on his leash. Shedding her bulky coat there in the aisle, she gave the cat’s lead a gentle tug. Doing her best to imitate his cat walk, she moved softly but swiftly toward the back of the store.

  Once at the register, she could hear the voices above more clearly.

  “I don’t know anything about that book,” Mary Ann was insisting. “I told you we don’t inventory anything but the most valuable volumes when we set up an estate sale. The rest are priced in tiers, and we only list how many, not the titles.”

  As Darla scooted behind the counter, she could hear the man shouting, “The book was there at the end of the sale. I saw it, and then some idiot packed it away with a bunch of others before I could get to it again. I need to know the names of everyone who bought books at that sale. I want that book!”

  She shuddered at the venom she heard in the intruder’s voice. They had to be talking about her copy of The Marble Faun. But who besides Vinnie would have reason to want it? Who could know that a copy of the secret trust had been hidden within its cover? Obviously, the same person who’d attacked Mr. Plinski with the pillow.

  The pillow.

  Abruptly, something about the pillow rang an alarm bell in her head, but she didn’t have time to worry about that now. Instead, she began feeling about in the darkness there behind the counter.

  She heard Mary Ann give a sharp cry of pain just as Darla found what she’d been searching for . . . the long length of silver chain that Mary Ann had used to tie herself up in protest. Spurred on by the sound of her elderly friend’s fear
, Darla swiftly carried the chain to the staircase. Moving carefully lest the chain slip and jingle, she looped one end on the open newel post and then laid out the rest so that it ran parallel to the bottom step, ending at the wall. That accomplished, she picked up Hamlet.

  “You’re on, boy,” she whispered in his ear. “Just stay where I put you.”

  Removing his leash, she hefted him onto the seat of the gliding stair lift. She waited a couple of heartbeats to make sure he was settled and pressed the “On” button for the lift. Then she swiftly concealed herself around the corner of the wall.

  Unleash the felines! she wildly thought as, with a soft clink and hum, the chair began moving up its guide rail toward the second-floor landing above.

  TWENTY

  “What in the—?”

  A flashlight beam abruptly shined upon the lift chair as it made its inexorable way up to the second floor, Hamlet seated upon it.

  “What did you do, lady? If you think you can trick me—”

  “It’s just the neighbor’s cat,” Darla heard Mary Ann say with lofty dignity while the gliding chair continued its upward journey. “He comes over to visit sometimes. He’s very clever. He’s even learned to press the buttons on the stair lift chair so he doesn’t have to walk up.”

  “Yeah, well, let’s see just how clever that cat is.”

  Something large and rectangular came flying down the stairwell, hitting the wall just above the stair railing. The resulting loud splat caused Darla to jump. And, not surprisingly, it made Hamlet spring up from the seat with a yowl and go flying back down the steps toward Darla.

  Don’t hurt my cat, you jerk!

  It took everything Darla had not to shout the words, but she had no choice. For in the moment that the book had gone sailing down the steps, the intruder had taken a few steps down toward her. The flashlight he carried had briefly illuminated the long and wicked-looking knife he held in his other hand.