That's one of the things that keeps troubling me. She's going to be devastated when she finds I'm gone. No time for a note, even. I'll just have to take care of business and get back as soon as possible. I know that promise sounds empty to a lot of people owned by cats. See, cats get a bum rap about leaving without a trace. I've heard so many owners moaning and crying, "He just disappeared one day." Well, there's more to that story. We aren't fickle by nature. But a cat has to do what a cat has to do! It's a law of cat physics. The problem is that once we get it done, sometimes we can't get back. Life isn't simple anymore. There used to be dogs, a few birds of prey, other, bigger cats, a handful of rare predators that stood between a cat and his natural behavior. Now, think about it! Millions of cars, billions of people. Those rascals in the white coats that snatch an honest cat off the street and sell him into hell. Getting home isn't as easy as it used to be. But I'll get back here. For the dame I'll do what has to be done, and then I'll come back and devote the rest of my life to purring for her. That's a solemn vow. Running around Washington on a cold winter night isn't what it used to be. I must have covered five miles!
And lo and behold, it looks like the old university campus. My instincts, as ever, are completely correct. From here I can find my bearings and get back to the lab. It'll take some doing, but I'm sure I can get there. And after that? Well, a determined cat knows no boundaries, as my grandmother, this incredible pitch-black feline with a long history of Egyptian blood, used to tell me. Now she was a wise mama. I'm going to rest a while under this shrub and give the old "dogs" a break. Hey, hey! I'm getting pretty good at this pun routine. I wonder if David Letterman is ready for a new segment. Superior Pet Tricks. I'll bet, with a few weeks of training, I could have even him twirling can openers and winding cat toys. Well, that's a challenge to think about during a little catnap.
* * *
"I HAVE TO FIND FAMILIAR." Eleanor knew she sounded like an unreasonable child, but as long as she kept hunting, she could hold her emotions at bay. She didn't know what she felt anymore. Not even about Peter.
In the initial questioning by Detective Jones, Peter had blithely lied about where they'd been. He'd told the police they were walking The Mall and a mugger had struck his head. And she'd gone along with it. Why?
Why hadn't Peter told the truth about the houseboat?
"Where do you want to look now?" Peter asked. They'd covered the building from the top floor to the garage. Familiar was gone. They were standing at the front door, scouting the busy street. Eleanor's clothes were still damp, but she refused to go into her apartment to change. At least there were no dead animals on the roadside. Eleanor couldn't have taken that. They both held plastic cups of coffee provided by Wessy.
"I don't know," Eleanor answered. "Do you think whoever…killed Rayburn…took Familiar?"
"It's a strong possibility." And if that were the case, then they might already have what they wanted. Peter was more and more certain that the black feline held a valuable secret.
"What was Rayburn doing in Washington?" she asked aloud, though the question was meant only for herself. "Maybe he was trying to warn me."
"When you talked with him, did he say anything?" Peter asked. Detective Jones had not been able to make a bit of headway questioning her. "Did he say anything about visiting Washington?"
"No." She was distant and withdrawn once again. She couldn't think about Rayburn— about how he'd be alive if she hadn't called him. Code One Orange. She'd forced him to talk about it. Now he was dead. Who had Rayburn told about their conversation? It had to be someone he knew, because she'd told no one about her conversation with Rayburn.
The pieces of the puzzle rattled together in her head like dice in a gambler's cup. The research on animal communication stolen— her office rifled and a flyer on animal activists planted— the reappearance of her "dead" husband— Peter— and Familiar. Always Familiar.
"You think Familiar is dead, too, don't you?" she asked.
"Eleanor, I said I don't know." Peter touched her shoulder. Her face reflected deep misery. "If we were right about the cat, if he carries some secret information, then he may well be dead. And the man in your apartment might have died trying to get that information."
"That's ridiculous," Eleanor snorted. "Rayburn was penny-ante. Besides, he didn't know a thing about Familiar or any of the other stuff."
"So what was he doing in Washington?" Peter turned her so she faced him. "In your apartment?"
She pulled away from him, suddenly furious. "Don't act as if I killed him. Remember, I was with you. Walking around The Mall!" She stalked away from him, not caring that the night was bitter and her clothes clung to her clammy skin.
"What aren't you telling me?" he called after her. "What did you tell him, to motivate him to fly to see you after nine years?"
She whirled, confronting him. "What am I withholding? That's a fine question, coming from you. What is it that you have to gain? You picked up that flyer from my office and didn't tell me. That behavior might have cost me my life, as it turned out." She stepped behind him and started back to her building. She had to get away from him. "I'm going home, and I suggest you do the same."
"You can't go back there." He knew the bloodstained sofa would be her undoing. "Come back to my place and spend the night. Until your apartment can be cleaned."
"Go to hell," she answered, stepping briskly toward the door. "I was a fool to ever think I might— " she turned to look at him "— trust anyone. I mean really trust."
She stepped inside and hurried across the lobby toward the elevator. Peter knew there was no need to follow her. She'd never let him in. She might never talk to him again. And the worst part of it was that her accusations were perfectly justified. He had kept things from her.
He scanned the black night, wishing against all odds that by some dark magic he could conjure up that damned cat. Familiar! There was little doubt in his mind that the animal was dead. That was one feline too smart to voluntarily leave Eleanor's care.
Pulling up his collar against a blast of wind, he went to his car. He couldn't talk to Eleanor, but there were several questions he wanted to put to Magdalena Caruso, and he was willing to bet a hefty chunk of his savings that the short animal rights advocate was not tucked snugly in bed. Not on her conniving little life!
* * *
TRY AS SHE WOULD, Eleanor could not make herself enter the empty apartment. No cat, no friendly greetings. She leaned against the wall of the hallway in front of her door and almost gave in to her tears. She'd move! It was that simple. There were other buildings, even other cities, if it got down to it. Once the police were through with her about Rayburn, she'd pack the few things she really wanted and move on. But for tonight? She went back to the elevator, down to the house phone and dialed Betty Gillette.
"I've had some trouble," she said as soon as Betty answered. "Can I come over?"
"Lovers' quarrel?" Betty asked, shaking the sleep from her voice. "This is great. We'll pretend we're living in a dormitory and we can talk about it all night. That way, when school reopens, we'll be better able to communicate with our students."
"I'm sorry, Betty. It's pretty serious."
"Hey, I'm the one who's sorry. I always have to be the wise guy, and you sound really upset. Come on over. I'll put some hot tea on for us."
Eleanor resolved to stop at a convenience store on the way to her friend's house. She had no intention of entering her apartment, not even for a toothbrush.
With her purchases in a brown paper bag, she knocked at Betty's door.
"What is it?" Betty asked, hurrying her inside. "You look dreadful. What'd you do, take a swim in the fountains and then volunteer for Chinese water torture treatments?"
"Almost," Eleanor said. Her voice broke several times as she told her friend about Rayburn Smith's violent death.
"What have you gotten into, Eleanor?"
"I wish I knew. Betty, I needed to talk with you, but I also need to talk w
ith your friend, Alva Rousel. Do you know how to reach him?"
"He's working out of a house not too far from here. It's a cover house, so he told me never to go there."
"Maybe tomorrow?" Eleanor suggested. She was suddenly too exhausted to talk further.
"Absolutely."
Eleanor found herself grinning wryly. "And that's only the half of it. I forgot to tell you about the bomb on the riverboat."
"What?" She saw Betty's face blanch.
"I was checking out this group of animal lovers for Peter, and someone tried to blow up the houseboat. I grabbed the bomb and threw it into the water."
"Eleanor!" Betty grasped her arm tightly. "You could have been killed. All of them could have been."
"I think that was the general idea. But the thing is, I don't know if the bomb was meant to blow up the people on the houseboat or me or both." She felt the tears rising and turned away. "Could I crash on your sofa? I really can't go back to my apartment."
"Let me get a blanket," Betty said. She was trembling. "You've been through it, girl."
"I just need a few hours sleep, and then I'm going to get up and find my cat."
"Familiar's missing, too?"
Eleanor nodded. "But I'll find him. He's a really special cat. Peter thinks he's dead, but I know he isn't. I can sense that he's alive. I'll find him tomorrow."
"You bet," Betty said, tucking the blanket around Eleanor. "You bet."
* * *
"WERE YOUR FRIENDS HURT?" Peter stood on the steps at Magdalena's. He didn't wait for her to invite him in. Just as he suspected, she was up and dressed, her coat flung over one arm in her hurry to leave.
"Your timing is incredibly bad," she said, opening the door to admit him. "I expected to see you, but not tonight." She scanned his face, gauging his anger. "You aren't as mad as I expected you to be."
"Oh, I was safely in the car, knocked on the head. It was Eleanor who took the big risk. She was nearly blown to bits." His voice was as cutting as the lash of a whip.
"Eleanor! Is she hurt?" Magdalena grabbed the back of a chair. "How did she get involved in all of this? You said you were going."
"So I'm the one that you thought would get hurt." Peter shook his head in disbelief. "I knew you were an extremist, but I never guessed how far you'd go."
"I didn't think you'd get hurt! Not you or anyone else. Don't be a complete fool." Magdalena pulled him inside and closed the door. "I need to go and check on a few of the AFA members. They aren't hurt badly, just shaken up. How is Eleanor?"
"She saw the man throw the bomb, and she picked it up and threw it in the river. If it hadn't been for her, all of them would be dead."
The coat slipped from Magdalena's nerveless hand to the floor. "I can't believe this has happened."
"Why not? You've clamored for open war for years. Well, now we have it. I only want to know why you wanted me to go to that meeting. Why you lied to me about being a member."
"Because I know who you are, and I wanted the other members to meet you. Some of them still believe you're as guilty as Evans. I wanted you to have a chance to tell them the truth." She took a breath. "But I didn't leave that flyer in Eleanor's office. When you found it, I just didn't try and stop you from making your assumptions."
Instead of an attempt at a frame, she had thought she was giving him an opportunity. His temper dropped several degrees. "How long have you known about my past?"
"Just recently. I put it together when I saw you at Brenniton's. I really wasn't certain then. Almost, but not a hundred percent. Then I checked the old records and easily picked up your trail."
"Why?" He barely breathed the word.
"Arnold Evans has resurfaced."
His breath left him in a hiss. "So you know. Have you located him yet?"
"He's in Washington." Her smile was tight with victory. "I spoke with him recently, face-to-face."
"Impossible!"
"Quite the contrary. Eleanor spoke with him, too. That's what got me thinking about you. Once I saw Evans, then I began to remember the whole story and I recognized you."
"Where is he?" Peter asked. His hands were clenched at his sides. "I want to know where he is."
"So what, so you can beat him up?" Magdalena's smile grew cold. "We don't want him hurt, we want him behind bars."
"Evans nearly ruined my life. He tried to kill me and frame me for horrendous things!" Peter's words were thick with anger.
"I know all of that. But when you start condemning me for using you a little, think what you've been doing. Isn't it the same? You latched on to Eleanor because you thought she could lead you into a group of activists. You had your own agenda to follow. It's true, I used her, too. We're both equally guilty."
Her words were harsh, but essentially true. The last of the anger went out of Peter like a match being snuffed.
"At first," Peter admitted, "I did think she was involved in some of the raids. That cat had a catheter in his leg. The catheter had a distinctive mark, a notch that was exactly like Arnold used. Like a personal brand." He shook his head. "I wanted to find Evans so badly, I willingly used Eleanor. But now it's gotten out of hand. A man was killed in her apartment tonight."
"Who?"
"Some guy from Colorado named Rayburn Smith. He was a friend of her ex-husband. He was shot on her sofa."
"How is he involved?" Magdalena asked. "His name isn't one I recognize."
"Maybe he got caught in the cross fire, sort of like Eleanor. The thing that troubles me now is that we've both been so good at setting Eleanor up, maybe someone out there believes she's really guilty of something."
"If you're right…"
"She could be hurt." Peter withdrew his keys from his pocket. "Where is Evans?"
"The Behavioral Institute. I saw him the night I went there with Breck and Eleanor."
"So close." Peter walked away from her. He paced the room, his eyes lowered in concentration. "How could the creep be so close and I didn't even know it?"
"In a sense, Eleanor has been crucial in bringing you to him. If she hadn't picked up that cat and brought it to your office, then you'd never know this."
"That doesn't make me feel any better." Thin lines of anger tightened his mouth. "All of this time Evans has been under my nose. What name is he using?"
"Vrenner. Cal Vrenner. I did a little checking, and I'm sure he must be laughing at us all. The real Cal Vrenner died years ago. He was one of the leading animal activists in West Germany. Evans has not only stolen his name, he's done it to be cute."
"I'm warning you, Magdalena. Keep your group away from Evans. He's mine. And he owes me a large personal debt."
Magdalena approached Peter, raising one hand. "Think about what you're saying. There are several members of ARSA and AFA who want to see Evans disappear. Forever."
"I would like nothing better myself," Peter declared.
"I could get a lot more vivid and graphic in what I'd like to do to him, but we can't afford it." There was an urgency in Magdalena's voice. "We want him punished, publicly. And we can't do anything to risk messing that up."
"So that's why you broke into the lab," Peter said.
Magdalena shook her head emphatically. "We tracked him for years, and we finally ran him to ground. Then an outside agent raided the lab. We didn't expect it, and to be honest, it threw a monkey wrench into our plans. The cats were stolen, several of them in bad condition. Familiar obviously escaped."
"Who raided the lab?" The question had been gnawing at Peter since he'd given up all thought that it was Eleanor.
"We aren't really certain."
"I'm not in the mood for games," Peter threatened. "Eleanor is boxed into a bad position. Who robbed that lab? I'm not going to let her take a fall for something she didn't do."
"We haven't been able to pin it down. I swear, it wasn't someone from ARSA or AFA. A wild-card striker is the best we can figure. I promise I'll tell you when we find out. If we find out. We're running mailing lists
to see if we can match a person with the place and time. We have no real idea who did it."
Peter believed her, and it only deepened his worries. "There are a lot of things happening around Eleanor that no one can explain. She thinks that warning you got when you were attacked was meant for her."
"That's impossible. Her husband is dead," Magdalena asserted.
"Tell it to her. She thinks she saw him in her parking garage, and he seems to be threatening her."
"What is going on?" Magdalena walked to a crochet-covered rocker. Gently pushing two cats aside, she saw down. "Dead men walking, labs raided, Evans resurrected and back in business. I'm getting too old for all of this."
"Well, if we don't figure it out, Eleanor won't get a chance to grow much older. I'm really worried about her. When the CIA agent showed up, I honestly believed she was guilty. Now I don't know what's going on."
Acting twenty years older than when she'd first sat down, Magdalena rose. "I have to get down to the emergency room."
"No serious injuries among your colleagues?"
"No, apparently thanks to Eleanor."
"By the way, Familiar's missing. I'm afraid whoever killed Rayburn Smith might have taken the cat."
"Oh, Familiar," Magdalena sighed. "He looked like a perfectly common old tom cat. He's certainly spiced up Eleanor's life, but why would anyone take him?"
"Eleanor and I believe he carries a clue."
"Something that fiend Evans did to him, no doubt!" Magdalena exclaimed. "I was the SPCA worker who was sent to examine what was left of Evans's experiments at International Chem-Co. The carnage was unbelievable." She looked at him. "You were accused of the fire and the atrocities. I saw the news clips where you were led out of the smoldering building, and I hated you."
Her words brought back the past. Peter remembered the lab, the inhumanity he'd discovered. 1977. "When I confronted Evans, he lost his mind. He attacked me, knocked me unconscious and then tried to burn down the laboratory. He'd already changed the records to try and put the blame on me for all of the atrocities done to the animals."
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