His hand was on the knob when he yelped and jumped back. "Wait a minute!" The cat's claws dug sharply into his calf. "That blasted cat!"
"Familiar!" Cassandra was shocked. "Stop that."
Familiar unhooked his claws one by one. He held his paw in midair, contemplated it a few seconds, and then began to clean it.
"That animal has it in for me," Adam said. "He attacked me on the sofa earlier."
Cassandra looked from the cat to Adam. "I think he's trying to tell you to stay. It would seem that Familiar has more sense than either of us." Her smile was self-deprecating. "I am a bit uncomfortable staying alone, Adam. It's silly for you to sleep in the car when I have a guest room. Please stay."
Adam hid his victory grin. The cat was a pain in the neck, but he had perfect timing. The strange idea that he and Familiar were working together to protect Cassandra flitted through his mind. "I'll get my things." He looked at the cat. Familiar held his gaze, then slowly closed one eye.
* * *
ADAM HEARD THE RATTLE of the car engine and the slamming door before he was fully awake. He opened his eyes to the blast of morning sun that came in the window of his room. It was a room that perfectly reflected his hostess— quilts and handwoven rugs, polished antiques and the smell of fresh flowers. He closed his eyes and thought of Cassandra. She was a beautiful woman, in an odd sort of way. Her eyes. That's what drew him to her. They were unusual in the depth of their honesty. She looked and didn't flinch. Nor did she hide her own troubles. All of her emotions were there to see, reflected in the sky blueness.
The sound of breaking glass had him out of bed and scrambling down the steep stairs from the guest room in the loft. "Cassandra?"
There was no answer, and he hurried into the kitchen, heedless of his state of near undress. He was wearing only his pajama bottoms. The house seemed empty, and he almost ran to the front porch. He was out the screen door before he saw the sheriff's car.
Cassandra was holding on to the porch railing as she talked with the lawman. Pieces of a broken water glass were around her bare feet, and she ignored them. Both she and the sheriff turned as he came out the door.
"Mr. Raleigh," Sheriff Beaker nodded. He glanced knowingly at Adam's bare chest.
"Sheriff," he said, but his concern was for Cassandra. She was pale and obviously holding on to the railing for support.
"They found Carla Winchester's body. In a ravine. She was strangled," Cassandra said slowly. "The sheriff wants to know where I was night before last."
"And I'd like to know your whereabouts, too," Beaker said as he stared at Adam. "I didn't realize you and Ms. McBeth were such good friends." He said the last word with a twist. "I got the impression you'd only met yesterday."
Adam went to Cassandra and bent to pick up the broken glass before she stepped on it. "I was in Knoxville at the Marriott. I checked out about eleven a.m. and started driving this way."
"I'm sure the hotel can verify that."
"I'm sure they can." Adam had the big pieces of glass gathered in his hand. He stood up and went to the edge of the porch. "Ms. McBeth went to your office trying to help. Why do I get the impression that you're accusing her of something?"
Beaker didn't move. "Maybe not her. Maybe you."
Cassandra's hand on Adam's arm was light, almost fluttery. "It's okay," she said softly. "He's only doing what he has to do. I know too much about the murder. I described it perfectly, didn't I? Carla Winchester was strangled from behind. The fingers pressed into her throat, just to the side and below the larynx. She struggled, going down on one knee in the gravel as she tried to get away. One hand clawed his face. There was tissue beneath the nails of her right hand, wasn't there? That would mean the scratches are on the right side of his face."
Both men were staring at her in fascination.
"Where did you find the body?" Cassandra asked.
"A hiker found it on a trail in a shallow ravine. It had been covered with brush."
"She wasn't killed there," Cassandra said. "It was somewhere with a view. High up."
"Ms. McBeth, if you're withholding anything, you could be charged as an accessory to murder." Beaker's hand had moved to his gun belt, where it hung loosely beside the grip of his gun.
"In case you've forgotten, Ms. McBeth went to your office voluntarily," Adam interjected.
"Where did you get those claw marks on your face?" the sheriff countered.
Adam touched the traces of the scratches Cassandra had given him. Since he hadn't shaved yet, he'd forgotten about them.
"When I was dreaming yesterday I accidentally scratched Mr. Raleigh," Cassandra said. "Those marks were made from the front, with my left hand." She held out her hand to show the short, well-cared-for nails.
"And where were you night before last?" Beaker asked her.
"Here. Alone."
"No alibi?"
She shook her head. "None."
"I thought Mr. Raleigh might say you were in Knoxville with him." Beaker let the accusation hang in the air.
"We weren't acquainted until yesterday," Cassandra said with complete dignity.
"Don't leave the area," Beaker said as he turned back to his car. "Either of you."
Adam and Cassandra watched the sheriff walk away. He got into his car, pulled around and left in a cloud of dust.
"He thinks you're involved in this," Adam said with amazement. "He really believes you did something wrong."
"I am involved," Cassandra said slowly. "Unfortunately, you are, too."
* * *
CASSANDRA EXAMINED the spoonful of cereal. She knew Adam was watching her as she lifted it to her mouth. Adam and a very interested black cat. She took the bite. It was crisp, not sticky sweet. She could detect the subtle flavors of the grains. Bits of dried apple gave it a naturally sweet taste.
"Well?" Adam prodded.
"It's not as bad as I thought it would be." The cereal was good. And if Adam's claims about the ingredients were true, it was a healthy cereal. It was just the idea of dry cold cereal that made her cringe. All of those innocent children munching down on sugar puffs with marshmallows and goo. The idea of what cereal had become was what she rejected. How could she make Adam understand?
"It's a good product," he said. "If children would eat Good Stuff…"
"But they won't. Given a choice, they'll take the candy-coated junk, and by marketing a product like Good Stuff, you encourage parents to buy cereal."
"I'm giving them a choice, Cassandra. A healthy product over things that are bad for their children."
"Adam, I tried your cereal. Now I have work to do on a book. I appreciate everything you've done, all the trouble I've caused you. But it's time for you to go." She picked up Familiar and held him in her lap as she checked his wound. The gash had begun to heal, and with the application of her herbal remedies, even the scar would be minimized. He'd taken the bandage off as soon as she'd put it on, and luckily, it wasn't necessary anymore.
"What about tonight?"
"You don't have to worry about me anymore. I'm not afraid. I'm home. The phone service will be repaired. I'll be fine."
"I mean, would you have dinner with me?" Adam picked up the box of cereal and put it on the counter, out of sight. "No business, no pressure. Just dinner. I'll pick you up and bring you home. That way I can check around your house and make sure you're okay."
"Don't you have a life in Michigan? I mean, shouldn't you get back to your company?" Cassandra got up and put a bowl of milk on the floor for Familiar. The black cat settled down to a leisurely breakfast. Adam disconcerted her. He'd moved from a professional to a personal plane in one giant step. Did she want him to stay around? She honestly didn't know, and that troubled her.
"I haven't had a vacation in five years. I think I can afford to stay around a day or two and learn about the Smokies. I was hoping you might show me some of your plants."
Cassandra felt the pull of conflict. Adam was adept at putting pressure on her, and she di
dn't like it. He made everything he said sound so reasonable.
Yet she found his company very pleasurable. He'd been a perfect gentleman in her home, but there was something in the way he looked at her that made her heart jump. He was a handsome man. When he'd walked out the front door clad only in his pajama bottoms, she hadn't reacted, but her mind had registered the image. Lean torso with a light covering of brown hair on his chest. She remembered the feel of that chest as he'd held her. It was strong and gave her a sense of security.
Even more important, he didn't flinch. He'd taken everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours and none of it had rattled him. He was remarkable. It crossed her mind that she liked him more than she should. He was passing through her life, a man who'd come on an errand and would leave as soon as he realized he wouldn't get what he'd come for.
"In your third book, you write about a meadow not far from your house. I was hoping we could go there."
"We can." She looked at him, pleased by the open enthusiasm he had for life. He did know a lot about her writing, and her ideas. What would it hurt to take a walk with him? "We can go now. In fact, let me pack a picnic and we'll have lunch there." The truth was, she didn't want him to leave. There was something about Adam that attracted her. If she were being honest with herself, and she tried to be at all times, she wanted him to stay.
They talked about herbs, spices and natural medicines as Cassandra packed a picnic lunch. Adam did, indeed, know about natural foods and medicines. As they talked, she picked up tidbits about his past that intrigued her more and more.
The son of a corporate banker, Adam had rejected a handpicked invitation to work at a large bank and started his own company. Good Stuff was small, compared to the larger food companies. The breakfast cereal was their first product, but Adam was ready to expand. In the past few years, Adam had fought off several attempts at leveraged buy-outs. He was determined to keep Good Stuff small and accountable.
When the basket was packed, Cassandra held the door open for Familiar. "Coming with us?" she asked.
"Cats don't go for walks," Adam told her. "Cats are notoriously arrogant and never do anything like go for a walk."
"Meow," Familiar said on a throaty purr as he walked out the open door and went to the steps to wait for them.
"Familiar isn't an ordinary cat," Cassandra reminded him with a smile. "Don't ever underestimate him. He has some uncanny powers."
"Like you?" Adam teased.
"I'm not certain." Cassandra's brow was slightly furrowed. "Maybe not exactly like me, but Familiar's smart, and he knows a lot more than anyone thinks possible. Maybe all cats do."
"Meow," Familiar said, looking up at her. "Meow." He led the way down the steps and toward the meadow.
"See," Cassandra laughed. "We'd better hurry and catch up."
As they left the cabin behind, Cassandra pointed out the many different types of trees and wildflowers.
"Spring hits here suddenly. One day the land is gray, the next, tiny green buds are showing, and then the next day, it's spring."
"I've spent too long at my desk." Adam looked around him and sighed. The beauty of the mountains made him want to forget his work. For a split second he entertained the thought of moving. A cabin tucked high on the side of a mountain, like Cassandra's. Rich meadows and orchards around him. What would he do? He'd always dreamed of using his knowledge of herbs to make natural medicines. Cassandra wrote about cures and remedies handed down for generations. He wanted to make the actual salves and medicines. His cereal company was one aspect of that desire— healthy foods. But there was so much more he wanted to do.
"This orchard has been in my family for generations," Cassandra said as they walked. Her voice, naturally husky, deepened even more. "Like any other piece of ground, it continues when those who love it die."
For a small person, Cassandra took long strides. Adam couldn't help but notice the way her jeans tightened and relaxed as she walked. She used her entire leg to move forward, and she set a pace that made Adam hustle. The terrain was uphill, and he felt perspiration break out on his forehead even though the morning was still cool.
"The McBeth family has been in these parts for as long as the mountains have been settled," she continued, unaware of his scrutiny. "My dad's folks came over from Ireland, and they laid claim to this part of the mountain. My dad was the last, though. Or I should say that I am. He was an only child. I understand it was a bit of a fray when he married my mother."
"She wasn't from these parts, then?"
"Not by a long shot." Cassandra laughed. "My mother is European. It depends on her mood which country she's from, but always European." She laughed again. "She is exotic."
"How did she learn to tell fortunes?"
"Family trade. Her mother and her grandmother had done it. She said it was a gift, and she believes it. She does have an…ability to know about people. It's extraordinary."
"Where is she now?" Adam had wondered at Cassandra living alone. He'd assumed she had no relatives.
"Traveling. The last I heard, she was in Poland. I guess we have relatives all over the place. After my father died, she stayed here as long as she could. I don't think she ever wanted to stay in one place long. She was like a tumbleweed marrying a fence post. As long as Dad was alive, he kept her anchored to this place. Then— " she waved one hand in the air, palm up "— she was gone."
"And you stayed." That fact was more than a little interesting to Adam. "Why?"
"I guess I'm like my father in the way that I love this place. Even after the folks in town treated him badly about Mom, he still loved this land. He couldn't have left it, and I'm like him that way."
An hour had passed and they had covered several miles. Cassandra showed no sign of tiring or fatigue. The path split in two directions, and Familiar stood patiently at the intersection. Adam's natural inclination was to go right, but Cassandra tugged at his sleeve.
"Not that way."
"Why not?"
Cassandra's blue gaze was direct. "Bad memories. There's an overlook there that goes all the way down the mountain." She could tell by the way Adam's eyes brightened that the idea interested him.
"My father died there when I was a child," she added.
Chapter Four
Ah, a simple country meal of chicken and cheese. None of that fancy sauce that I was eating in Washington— ruining my figure, too. No, this is the life. Fresh air, sunshine, exercise, a little snooze on the quilt Cassandra brought.
My leg is getting stronger and stronger, and along with watching out for Miss Locks, I've been putting a lot of thought into what happened with Eleanor.
She's alive. I know it. If she weren't, I'd be able to tell. Hanging around Miss Locks has given me a new appreciation for my feline instincts. Well, it isn't totally my instincts. The news report said no bodies were found in my bombed home. Eleanor is alive, but I think she's hurt. That bothers me. Where is she? What can I do to help her?
Chances are Dr. Doolittle would get her out of Washington, if at all possible. He has contacts in the medical profession. But where would he take her? How can I get there? I'd never admit it to anyone else, but there are times when being a cat has distinct disadvantages. I mean, I'm a better driver than most of these maniacs behind the wheel of a car, but do you think they'd give me a license? Besides, I can't really see over the steering wheel. And who designed the automobile, anyway? The pedals are too far down on the floor. The upshot is that I have to figure out a way to catch a ride back to Washington. Getting in a car might not be that difficult, but getting it to go where I want, and then getting out of it again, will be tricky.
First, though, I have to figure out what to do. I tried to dial the phone the other day, but the line was dead. I guess that's the next step. Get the phone repaired and make an effort to get Dr. Doolittle's office. I remember the number. If I can just get him to answer instead of that battle-ax Lucille. She'll hang up on me. Dr. D. might have enough savvy to
figure out my voice.
Get the phone fixed. That's the first step. Eat, rest and keep a watch on Miss Locks. From what I can see, Lancelot is quite willing to keep an eye on her. I'll bet he'd like to put a hand on her, too. Hey, hey. At least I haven't lost my touch for puns.
* * *
ADAM LEANED BACK on the quilt. The pattern was the Rose of Sharon, one her grandmother on her father's side had made for her hope chest when Cassandra was still an infant. It was a thought that interested Adam. Why hadn't Cassandra married? She was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen— not just in body, but in spirit. Why had she chosen to lead such a solitary, isolated life?
"More bread and cheese?" Cassandra asked. She cut another piece of cheese for Familiar. The cat's appetite was ravenous.
"I can't eat another bite," Adam said, stretching even longer on the soft quilt.
"You'll be hungry again— when we walk down the mountain." Cassandra was on her side, resting on one elbow. Adam's eyes were closed, and she studied this unusual man who'd broken into her life. He'd come when she was in the throes of a dream, when all of her defenses were trashed and useless. Otherwise, he'd never have gotten his toe in the front door. But she had to admit, it was odd how he fit in so easily— almost like the cat. She smiled slightly. Running Stream would say that the gods had sent her a gift when she needed him. To the Cherokee woman, every action had a purpose.
"Meow," Familiar said, as if to insist that it were true. He went to Cassandra and flopped onto his back at her side. Motor running, he demanded a rub.
Still stroking the cat, Cassandra lightly cleared her throat. "Thanks for being with me. Beaker's a difficult man, and he didn't believe a word I told him."
"No thanks necessary." Adam kept his eyes closed by an act of will. He felt Cassandra was going to say something. If he looked at her, she might shy away.
"I've been alone since my father died. That's the emotional reality if not the physical truth. My mother…" Cassandra paused. "Well, we're just very different. It was odd having someone on my side. Thank you, Adam."
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