Crossing the Lion: A Reigning Cats & Dogs Mystery

by Cynthia Baxter

  Nick and I looked at each other guiltily and, without another word, began putting everything back inside the suit of armor, exactly the way we’d found it.

  • • •

  “That was close,” Nick whispered as we tiptoed away. I’d scooped Max up into my arms again, while he had taken hold of Lou’s collar to keep him from wandering off in the wrong direction and revealing our presence. The last thing we wanted was for anyone to wonder what we’d found in the front hallway that was fascinating enough to hold our interest for such a long time. “What do you say we hightail it upstairs and get away from all this?”

  While I’d been planning exactly that a few minutes earlier, I’d just noticed Townie heading toward the back parlor—by himself. Since Missy’s husband was barely allowed out of her sight—clearly a rule that was good for the goose but not for the gander—I decided to jump on the chance to talk to him alone.

  “Why don’t you take the dogs back upstairs without me?” I told Nick distractedly. “I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes.”

  Nick’s eyes traveled to the doorway through which Townie had disappeared.

  “Go for it, Jess,” he said. Then he took Max into his own arms, leaned over to give me a peck on the cheek, and dashed off with Lou in tow.

  I found Townie standing at the dry bar in one corner of the room, pouring a pale golden liquid from a crystal decanter.

  “Oh, hello, Townie,” I greeted him, doing my best to sound surprised instead of letting on that I’d been stalking him. “I was looking for Nick.”

  “No Nick here,” he replied with a smile. Holding up his glass, he asked, “Can I offer you some brandy?”

  “No, thanks, I’m fine,” I said. Letting my eyes drift to the window, I commented, “This storm is brutal.”

  “And endless,” he added.

  We were both silent as lightning flashed, Townie sipping his brandy and me staring out at the storm. A few seconds later a powerful roll of thunder sent the crystal glasses lined up in the cabinet clinking against one another.

  “We may lose the electricity again,” I commented.

  Townie frowned, locking his jaw even more than usual as he commented, “As if this place wasn’t already gloomy enough.”

  “It is pretty gloomy,” I agreed. “But at least the whole family is together.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “That’s important at a time like this.” He held out his brandy snifter as if to toast the concept of families being together.

  “I’ve been amazed at how closely knit the Merrywoods are,” I went on. “Oh, sure, I can see that there are the usual family tensions.”

  Anxious to follow up on Gwennie and Jonathan’s mysterious comment about Brock and Townie being “in bed together,” a situation Missy was supposedly aware of, I added, “The tensions between Missy and Brock, for example.”

  Sounding offended, he insisted, “Missy may tease her brother a bit, but she certainly loves him, even though she might not always show it. In fact, it was her idea that Brock and I—”

  He stopped himself midsentence, and a pained look crossed his face. I wondered if saying more than he’d intended was a side effect of drinking brandy.

  “I suppose there’s no reason to keep it a secret any longer,” he said with an air of resignation. “It’s not as if we’re going to go ahead with it, anyway.”

  By that point, I’d definitely put on my listening ears.

  “For the last few months,” Townie continued, “Brock and I have been talking about going into business together.”

  Aha, I thought. So Gwennie and Jonathan really are paying attention.

  “That sounds like a great idea,” I commented. “I don’t know Brock very well, of course, but I get the sense that he’s really talented. He certainly seems dedicated to getting his jewelry-making business off the ground.”

  “My feelings exactly,” Townie agreed. “So it seemed to make good business sense to help him get started. It also would have been a good way of showing support for my brother-in-law. I would have been happy to subsidize the whole venture myself. It was Missy who insisted that he put up half the money.”

  I tried not to let my surprise show. “Why is that?”

  Townie sighed. “She felt he’d be more committed if he made a financial investment in the business. That, in effect, it would help him grow up. And I suppose she was right. The problem was, I didn’t know where she expected Brock to come up with that kind of money.”

  “What kind of money are we talking about?” I asked.

  “Half a million.”

  I gulped. “Half a million dollars?”

  He cast me an odd look. “It takes substantial capital to get a new business going. If you want to do it right, of course. You need to rent space, hire the right people, create a strong presence on the Internet … And besides the usual start-up costs, Brock was going to need to invest in some high-quality materials for his jewelry. He doesn’t work in gold or precious stones, but the price of silver and semiprecious stones these days is nothing to sneeze at.

  “For a while, things looked very promising,” Townie continued. “Brock did a surprisingly thorough job of putting together a business plan. After he did, I ran some numbers and came up with the million-dollar amount. I thought it was a pretty reasonable investment, and I was prepared to jump in by myself. But then Missy insisted that her brother meet me halfway.” With a shrug, he added, “I had no choice but to go along with it.”

  My mind was racing. So Brock needed a substantial amount of money in order to live out his dream of pursuing his current passion. And given his father’s attitude toward sharing his wealth with his offspring, Linus certainly wasn’t about to give it to him.

  Which led to a question that was almost too painful to ask: How on earth would Brock ever come up with that kind of money?

  I went ahead and asked it anyway.

  Townie’s response was a deep sigh. “I don’t know about all the options he had. But I do know that a couple of weeks ago, Brock swallowed his pride and came here to Solitude Island to ask his father for the money. Not as a gift but as a loan.”

  “What was Linus’s response?” I asked, even though I was pretty sure I already knew the answer.

  “A resounding no,” Townie replied. “Linus gave Brock his usual speech about how he was thirty-one years old and it was high time he started acting like a man instead of a child.”

  “Brock must have been devastated,” I observed.

  “He came away heartbroken,” Townie agreed. “After that, he tried a few other options, like getting a bank loan. But he finally told me on Wednesday afternoon when we all arrived here at the house for Linus’s birthday celebration that he wasn’t going to be able to come up with the cash.”

  He shook his head slowly. “I felt really bad for the guy. Brock has his faults, of course. But this seemed like a wonderful opportunity for him to finally realize his potential. I tried talking to Missy again about letting me finance the whole deal, but she refused.”

  Maybe because she had some plans of her own, I thought. Like divorcing Townie to run off with Harry.

  And the richer the husband, the bigger her divorce settlement.

  But while I felt bad that Brock’s dream had fizzled out, I couldn’t ignore the fact that there was one last way he could have gotten his hands on the money he needed: through a generous inheritance.

  True, it was difficult to imagine the dreamy, Birkenstock-sandaled baby of the family murdering his own father. But I’d meant it when I commented to Townie that I didn’t really know Brock. In fact, I didn’t really know any of the Merrywoods, so I was in no position to judge who was capable of what.

  Especially where money was concerned.

  • • •

  By the time we all gathered together for the evening meal, I wasn’t sure who it was safe to sit next to. Practically everyone in the room had a motive for murder, which didn’t exactly lend itself to relaxing dinner conversation. I wi
shed I’d been able to join Max, Lou, Admiral, Corky, and Frederick instead: Cook had just summoned them into the kitchen for a private dinner of their own.

  Fortunately, I ended up between Nick and Betty. But I’d barely had a chance to snap open my carefully folded linen napkin before the chandelier began to flicker.

  Automatically everyone’s eyes traveled upward.

  “Uh-oh,” Tag groaned. “There go the lights.”

  As if on cue, the dim lights went out, leaving all of us sitting in complete darkness.

  “Do you believe the electricity has gone out again?” Scarlett cried.

  “We should all buy stock in a candle company,” Townie grumbled.

  “We’ll have to make the best of it,” Missy said cheerfully. “Besides, it’s kind of romantic, dining by candlelight. Don’t you agree, Townie?”

  “Frankly, it’s just darned annoying,” he replied. As usual, he was talking through clenched teeth, but this time at least there seemed to be a reason.

  “I’ve got matches,” Charlotte said helpfully. “Let me light the candles on this candelabra—”

  In the darkness, we could all hear the sound of a match scratching against the side of the matchbox. It was actually a pleasant sound, as if the hostile darkness around us was about to be banished.

  But Charlotte had barely had a chance to hold the flame up to the wick before we all heard another sound—one that, instead of warming us, chilled us to the bone.

  A shrill scream, coming from some distant part of the house.

  Chapter 14

  “If the lion and dragon fight, they will both die.”

  —Tadashi Adachi

  Alvira? Acting up again?

  At least, that was my first thought. But the concerned expressions on everyone else’s faces told me it wasn’t anything that innocent.

  “What is that?” Tag demanded.

  “Who is that?” Townie seconded.

  Glancing around the table, taking a head count, Missy added, “I don’t know, since everyone is here.…”

  “It’s Gwennie!” Charlotte declared, her expression stricken. “I recognize her voice.”

  Within seconds all of us were on our feet, getting ready to rush out of the room. Tag grabbed the candelabra, then led the group, with Brock close on his heels. I was happy to lag behind a bit, along with the other outsiders: Betty, Winston, and Nick. The four of us followed the family as they headed in the direction from which the scream seemed to have originated.

  Tag took the stairs to the second floor two at a time, with Brock still right behind him. Townie was next, with the rest of us scampering after the three of them as quickly as we could.

  Even the dogs came along, dashing out of the kitchen as soon as they heard all the commotion. But, unlike the humans, none of them seemed the least bit concerned. Max and Corky darted ahead of the rest of the pack, acting like schoolkids who’d just been let out onto the playground, while Lou loped after them like the little brother who didn’t know if he was welcome. Admiral lumbered along next, followed by Frederick, who had the shortest legs of any of them.

  As soon as I reached the top of the staircase and rounded the corner to the left, I came to a sudden halt. The entire group was gathered just a few feet away, huddled together in the hallway. Gwennie was at the front, her head raised slightly as she stared at the wall.

  “Whoa,” Tag muttered, holding up the candelabra in the direction in which she was looking. “Check this out!”

  I did exactly that, shuffling closer so that I now stood shoulder to shoulder with everyone else. Even though the light from the half dozen candles was dim, it was bright enough to see that, scrawled on the wall in huge letters, each one at least a foot high, were the words, GO HOME J! And the words were written in what looked like blood.

  My stomach instantly curdled, and a wave of dizziness passed over me.

  That message is for me! I thought, taking deep breaths. Automatically, I reached down and picked up Max, hoping to find comfort by holding his warm, furry body in my arms.

  Then I did what any other self-respecting person would do in a situation like this: I started rationalizing.

  Maybe you’re not the only J on Solitude Island, I thought, quickly running through the names of everyone else in the household. Charlotte, Tag, Missy and Townie, Brock … There was Jives, of course, also known as Jonathan. But somehow I got the feeling he wasn’t the one this note was meant for.

  The fact that everyone else turned to face me reinforced my conclusion.

  I was slightly relieved that Gwennie decided to turn on her mock-Cockney charm, taking me out of the spotlight for at least a little while.

  “Sorry to bring all o’ you running up ’ere loike this,” Gwennie said, her accent thicker and her voice even more shrill than usual. “I just come up ’ere to turn down the beds for the noight, like always. Then I saw this and it scared the livin’ dayloights outta me. Oi didn’t mean to scream.”

  “I don’t blame you for reacting that way, Gwennie,” Brock said, turning back to the horrible writing on the wall.

  “Is that … blood?” Missy asked, clasping her hands over her face.

  “Blimey!” Gwennie scoffed. “If that’s blood, I’m Camilla Parker Bowles! And if I was, I certainly wouldn’t be married to that slimy blackguard ’oo makes even King Henry look loike a saint!”

  “So it’s not blood?” Missy’s voice was a near whisper, but at least she was able to bring herself to peek out from between her fingers.

  “Not from the looks of it,” Gwennie exclaimed. “Not from the smell, either.”

  With that, she horrified absolutely everyone by running her index finger through the scarlet smear and sticking it in her mouth.

  “Ew!” Missy once again covered her face with her hands.

  “Good heavens!” Charlotte cried.

  Even the men looked revolted. As for me, I instinctively buried my face in Max’s fur.

  “Ketchup!” Gwennie announced triumphantly. “Heinz, if you ask me. Full o’ those nasty chemicals that are probably wot really did poor ol’ Mr. Merrywood in, Gawd rest ’is soul!”

  The fact that we were all once again in an escapade involving food wasn’t lost on me. Scanning the faces, I realized that Cook hadn’t bothered to race upstairs with the rest of us to see what the commotion was all about.

  “Okay, everybody,” Townie said, breaking into my thoughts. “Whoever did this made his point. Or her point. If it was one of you, I think I speak for the rest of us when I say that if this was meant to be a practical joke, no one is amused.”

  “And if it was meant to be a threat,” Tag interjected dryly, “next time use something a little scarier than Heinz ketchup.”

  “This isn’t funny, Tag,” Charlotte insisted. “And I don’t think this was meant to be a practical joke, although to be perfectly honest, I don’t know what it was meant to be.”

  Turning to me, she added, “If it was meant for you, Jessica, I hope you won’t think that I’m the one who doesn’t want you here. The same goes for the rest of you—Betty, Winston, Nick, and even those lovely dogs of yours. You’re all welcome here. I hope you can put this ridiculous business behind you. In fact, I hope we all can.”

  “Hear, hear,” Brock mumbled.

  “Why don’t we all go back to the dining room?” Scarlett suggested. “I’m sure Cook has prepared a lovely meal, as usual, and it’s a shame to let it all go to waste.”

  Personally, I wasn’t in a hurry to eat anything Cook had prepared.

  “Oi guess Oi’m the one ’oo’ll be cleaning up this mess,” Gwennie said with a sigh. “I ’ope this comes out of the wallpaper. It’s silk, inn’t it, Missus Merrywood?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Charlotte said vaguely. “Just do your best. And even though most of the walls in this house are indeed covered in silk, this isn’t one of them.”

  “Good thing,” Gwennie grumbled. “Otherwise Oi could scrub me fingers to the bone and it st
ill wouldn’t keep from stainin’.”

  The group and our canine entourage made its way back to the dining room, all of us moving considerably more slowly than we had while storming up the stairs. There were so many of us that we broke into smaller groups, with the members chatting among themselves. I still had Max in my arms, and my lovely loyal Lou was at my side. Nick, who’s at least as loyal, immediately made his way over to me and put his arm around me.

  “Are you okay, Jess?” he asked, his eyes clouded with concern.

  “I’m fine,” I said, even though I wasn’t completely sure about that.

  Betty and Winston came up on my other side.

  “Jessica, Winston and I both feel absolutely terrible,” Betty said, softly enough that the others couldn’t hear. “We’re the ones who got you into this in the first place. If you and Nick want to pack your things and leave right now, we won’t blame you one bit.”

  Glancing over at Nick to make sure he agreed, I replied, “No, I’ll stay.”

  “Really?” Winston said, sounding as surprised as he looked.

  “You don’t know Jessie as well as I do,” Nick told him with pride. “Somebody telling her in no uncertain terms that they’d prefer it if she left is exactly the type of thing that makes her even more determined to stay—and to accomplish what she came here to accomplish.”

  He squeezed my hand. “And the fact that she won’t let anyone bully her is only one of the ten million reasons I love this woman.”

  I smiled wanly. Not that I didn’t appreciate Nick’s loyalty. It was just that at the moment, I wasn’t completely sure that opting to stay on Solitude Island was the right decision.

  To be honest, if Lieutenant Falcone hadn’t charged me with doing my own murder investigation, I might have taken this warning written in blood-red ketchup as my cue to leave.

  But for the first time ever, he’d invited me to prove to him just how good I was at solving crimes, and that changed everything. In fact, his belief in me—or perhaps his determination to show me once and for all that I wasn’t the sleuth I thought I was—made me unwilling to back down.