“The driveway can be very dark,” Charline said, a pinch of worry between her eyebrows. “Maybe Roger should--”
“Thank you but I’ll be fine. I have a flashlight and I just need to move around so I can sleep.” Tabitha was firm. Roger Long was poor company in a roomful of other people. Alone he would be intolerable. Besides, she couldn’t snoop if he dogged her footsteps. The strange call to Trudy’s phone made the situation even more urgent. “I won’t be out long.”
It looked as if Charline might protest, so Tabitha quickly made her escape out the front door into the darkness. The night was cool, bordering on cold, but she set out down the driveway at a brisk pace. She could smell the land, and it relaxed her. Growing up in Nola, she’d dreamed of having a horse with pastures surrounded by wood fences, a patch of a garden, of living in a place where she couldn’t hear the neighbors argue. Long Hall was like one of her childhood Cinderella fantasies. Even in her wildest dreams, though, she’d never envisioned the graciousness and beauty of the Long home.
Perfection would describe it—if only Trudy were there to share the place with her.
Where in the hell had her sister gotten off to? Why had she left without alerting anyone to her plans? And why would someone be following Trudy?
Chapter Three
Thank goodness the glamourous kitty Vesta is residing in Long Hall and being cared for. Pluto helped her make it out to Long Hall to look for Trudy, but he’s been worried about her, out alone in the night. There are coyotes and wild dogs roaming the Delta and no kitty should be out roaming at night. Now she’s in the house—and being spoiled rotten by the lady of Long Hall. As part of the Long household, Vesta will do her share of sleuthing and report back to me in the morning. Now, I’m cutting across the fields for a little recon work at the business office. Desk drawers and computers must be searched. If push comes to shove, I can hole up in the business offices for the night and catch some shut-eye. I’m savvy to the dangers of the night, and I don’t want to end up as catfish and chips for a coyote either.
Because I’m svelte and athletic and have the feline ability to compress and lengthen my body, I can gain entrance through the bathroom window that was left open…just enough for me to squeeze through. Yes, it is twelve feet off the ground—nothing for a cat who can climb a nearby tree and jump five feet to the window ledge.
After this escapade I’d like to settle into a nice English pub for some Scotch eggs with curry mayo. Ah, there is no such culinary fare in the village of Zinnia, but Vesta assures me the grub at Millie’s Café is quite excellent. No bangers and mash, but perhaps some fresh local fish. I don’t indulge in the fried delights of the South too often, but I dearly love them. Pluto tells me that the proprietress of this diner often cooks especially for him and that…hound, who is his companion. Sweetie Pie. Lord save me from the charming names some people give their pets.
Now I’m inside, let’s see what’s what.
There’s the desk Trudy worked at. The nameplate says Trudy Wells, Receptionist. And on the desk is a photo of Trudy and the traveling psychic medium currently forking down her food in Long Hall. Even I can see the resemblance between the two. It’s so strange that the Longs haven’t put this together. Ah, the bipeds—not so skilled at observation. And this resolves a big mystery for me and also relieves my heart a little. I’m glad to know what Tabitha is up to and that she’s worried about her sibling. I believe she’ll prove to be a valuable asset to me. While I’m more than competent in most matters, it’s always good to have a biped on the case to do such things as drive, stroke my fur while I’m cogitating, and prepare the gourmet delicacies that sustain me.
Methinks I should get rid of this photo. If Roger were to look too closely…Obviously Tabitha Kingsley is here undercover. Based on this discovery I’m inclined to think the whole psychic medium thing is a ruse, so I needs must do what I can to preserve Tabitha’s cover. It’s just a matter of pulling off the back of the frame, sliding out the photo, and secreting it in a desk drawer. Now it’s out of the way but not destroyed. On to more productive snooping. Good girl, Trudy kept an old-fashioned calendar that doesn’t require a computer password to read.
Here it is, Wednesday from two weeks ago. “Meet Lisa East at six.” Lisa East. This is a new name in the investigation. And there’s no location. A very interesting note is also on the calendar—“send Tabitha the files.” And there is something else. A symbol with a question mark. It looks like something from ancient times, but my exposure to symbolic history is limited.
What files does this reference? …Intriguing. And now the calendar has to go also. The name Tabitha is a dead giveaway. If Roger Long reads this, the jig will be up for our pretend psychic. So I’ll flick it off the desk and slide this under the bookcase.
Now I have two leads. Lisa East and files. I’ll have to have human assistance in accessing the computer. I’m quite clever, but passwords defy me. When my dad was building his clientele, he had a real knack for guessing human passwords. He was brilliant at it. But that was in the day when people used the names of their children or birthdates or maiden names. Now passwords require those stupid nonsensical characters, plus capitals, and numbers. My feline brain balks!
I’ve taken note of the desk set up and I suppose I’ll somehow have to drag Tabitha down here to help me. We do share the same goal, I believe—finding her sister. Wait a minute. Someone is coming. I can hide in the shadows, but if the intruder turns on the light, I’m toast.
It sounds like they’re picking the lock on the door. Using a cell phone for a flashlight—good. They’re also breaking and entering. This could be very good or very bad for me.
Ah, so the psychic lass is here. I call that proactive in finding her sister. Uh oh, what she doesn’t realize is that someone else is headed this way, creeping along in a big black dually truck. And I can guess who that is.
Tabitha has picked the lock and is coming through the door, and I have one play! I launch myself at her with all of my fifteen pounds.
“What the—”
No time for explanations. I head butt the office door shut and hear the lock click back into place. I give her thigh a nice nip to move her into the shrubbery. She wants to curse, but I shush her with a low growl and deep hiss.
She’s about to lay into me—or as Sherlock would say, berate me--when she hears the same thing I heard moments ago. A vehicle is approaching. She inhales and calms instantly, pulling me into her arms. We huddle in the hedge around the office building and wait.
The truck rumbles toward the building and stops. The door opens and a tall man steps out. Tabitha tenses and folds down more tightly around me, whispering for me to be still and quiet. She’s wasting her breath. That’s Roger Long and I somehow think he would be very, very upset at finding either Tabitha or me here. He tries the door and finds it locked. For a moment he stands at the door, then returns to his truck. He drives away slowly. When he is truly gone, Tabitha sets me free and stands. She is trembling.
I rub against her legs and give her a few of my delightful little trills.
“Well, that was close. We were almost in a lot of trouble.”
“Me-ow!” I nip her lightly to let her know she got my name correct.
She looks at me. “Trouble?”
“Me-ow!” I am adamant. And she understands that is my name. Now I only have to convince her to take me to town so I can meet Tammy at the Prince Albert. My humanoid is going to be worried at my strange absence.
* * *
Roger surveyed the open fields as he drove back to Long Hall. Tabitha Kingsley had vanished. Completely. She’d walked down the driveway and by the time he’d extricated himself from his well-meaning aunt and uncle, Tabitha was gone. He’d been certain he’d find her poking around the ag office. Even though he’d failed to apprehend her doing something questionable, he still believed she’d been there. Why would a psychic be interested in agriculture? He didn’t for a minute believe her cover story of writing lyric
s for a blues song. But why? What was Tabitha Kingsley up to? If that was really her name. Psychic to the stars, ha.
His cell phone buzzed in his pocket and he slowed to pull it out. He answered immediately. “Have you found anything?”
“She has a website and it’s professional, but it appears to be very new. Like a few weeks ago,” a woman answered in a drawl even thicker than Roger’s. “As far as I can tell, Tabitha Kingsley has never been a fortune teller in New Orleans.”
“Thanks, Ellie.” Roger put his phone away. Just another layer of mystery around Tabitha Kingsley and her hokum story about being a New Orleans psychic medium. Roger had come to one clear understanding—Tabitha Kingsley was at Long Hall because she, too, was involved in the disappearance of Trudy Wells. What Roger had to determine was how Trudy and Tabitha were involved together. And he was beginning to come to a conclusion based on visual evidence. There was a photo on Trudy’s desk in the ag office. Two women, arms around each other. One was Trudy, the other…he’d never bothered to ask. Now he didn’t have to because he knew the second woman was Tabitha Kingsley. But what interest did they have in his uncle’s plantation?
He drove past Long Hall and toward town. The night was young. There was time to check out a few more leads he had regarding Trudy Wells’ disappearance. She’d seemed happy at work, involved in the farming business, eager to learn. Perfect for research. Farmers were bombarded with new crops, new fertilizers, new “opportunities.” A lot of it was bull crap. But some of the information that poured into his office was valuable and required evaluation. Trudy had demonstrated an interest in that work and a mind that was more than capable of analyzing facts and culling out false promises. She’d completed several assignments, and Roger had been impressed with her work ethic and intelligence. Then one day she left at five o’clock and never returned.
The little orange cat that had strayed up at Long Hall looked a lot like the cat Trudy was always showing photos of on her phone. She’d named the cat Vesta and talked about her all the time. But how had Vesta gotten from Trudy’s apartment in town to Long Hall? It didn’t make sense.
A lot of things didn’t make sense.
* * *
Tabitha looked south toward the lights of Long Hall. She should head back to the “big house.” Charline and Samuel would wonder where she’d gone. Her brush with Roger had left her unnerved.
“Come on, Trouble.” She motioned the cat toward the road. Instead of following her, the cat snatched at the hem of her dress, pulling her toward the door of the office. When she urged him to follow her to the house, he resisted. He obviously wanted her to go inside the office.
She summoned her courage and picked the lock—a skill she’d learned from the days when her mother had failed to leave a key--again, opening the door. The cat shot inside. In a moment the feline clawed at the desk drawer and meowed. She couldn’t believe what was happening, but she used the light on her phone to examine the contents of the desk drawer. The first thing she saw was the photograph of her and Trudy.
“Holy cow,” she murmured. If Roger recalled that photo, her goose would be cooked. She pulled it from the drawer and tucked it into her jacket.
When the cat went to the bookshelves and began digging under them, she helped him pull out the calendar. Trudy’s calendar. Lisa East. The last appointment listed for her sister on the day she disappeared. Who the hell was Lisa East? And what files had Trudy meant to send her? And the symbol—what did it mean?
“What gives with you?” she asked the cat. “What’s your interest in my sister?”
“Meow.”
It was almost as if he wanted to tell her. First Vesta, and now this cat who liked the name Trouble. The felines were all over Trudy’s disappearance. Was it possible Trudy had adopted more than one cat? Again, how had both felines made their way from town to the ag offices? It was a good four miles at the very least.
It was probably desperation, because Tabitha had never felt so alone, but she was glad for the cat’s company. When he hopped on the desk and patted the keyboard for Trudy’s computer, Tabitha sat down and turned the machine on. After ten tries of passwords that failed, she had to accept defeat—at least for the moment.
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” she promised the cat.
Trouble grabbed at her hand, his claws sheathed.
“What?”
The cat looked up at her with green eyes that seemed to comprehend her worries and fears. He jumped to the floor and headed to the door. He was smart—it was definitely time to leave before they were caught. And thank goodness she’d retrieved the photo. It had never occurred to her that Trudy would have put a framed copy of a picture of them together on her desk. If Roger recalled that photo, she would have a lot of explaining to do. Now she had to hurry back to the Long plantation house, and the cat was certainly eager to push her down the road.
* * *
Getting Tabitha to head to her car is like herding geese. Honestly, what’s a black cat to do? She keeps trying to go inside the house. What she doesn’t understand is that I need a ride. At least she’s passing her car, but she keeps dodging left toward Long Hall. I can’t allow that. I have to get back to the Prince Albert right this red-hot minute.
Too bad Tabitha isn’t wearing pants. I hate to do it, but a little snag of her skin at the back of the knee—oh so tender and she is swatting at me. And cursing. Now that I have her attention, I’ll get her back to her super fancy ride. I would prefer an old farm pickup for surveillance but I get that Tabitha is playing the part of a very successful psychic medium. Which she is not. I still don’t know exactly what she is, but I’m going to find out.
Okay, she’s looking at me batting the car door. She is catching on. Yes, she’s opening the car and letting me in. And she’s asking me where to—as if I could simply tell her. I’ll have to help her steer. Man, if I had thumbs and longer legs, this would be a piece of cake. As it is, trying to program a biped to do my bidding is a herculean task.
At the end of the driveway, I sit up in the passenger seat and meow as I stare out the window toward town. Tabitha obliges. She’s catching on, quicker than the normal biped. And now we’re on the road to town. Thank goodness the Prince Albert is on Main Street. Not a lot of turns. I could have walked it, but why when there’s this fine new car to ride in. Still smells new!
She’s turning into the front of the hotel. While a valet tries to park her, I’ll make my escape and head inside through the revolving door. There’s loud chatter and laughter in the bar and I spy my beloved Tammy, having a martini with Jamey and Kelley Kornegay from Turn Row Books. They seem to be having a good time. I’m heading to the room. I will lounge for a while, and perhaps do some midnight sleuthing. A detective’s work is never done.
Chapter Four
Roger was loaded for bear when he strolled into the kitchen at Long Plantation at six in the morning. He wasn’t prepared to see Tabitha sipping coffee, waiting for him. He was early, and so was she.
“I love to watch the day break,” she explained, nodding out the window. “I’ve never visited the Delta. This is an incredible place. It’s like…the horizon goes on forever.”
“Those fields seem like forever when you’re planting or harvesting.” The morning light caught the auburn highlights in her hair and set them on fire. Her pale skin took on a rosy glow as the sun began to clear the distant tree tops.
“Thank you for agreeing to show me your business. I’m ready whenever you are.”
“Oh, I need some coffee. And we need to talk.”
His tone made her swivel to face him. She was good, but not good enough to hide the alarm on her features. And a pinch of guilt, if he was reading her correctly.
“Talk about what? I swear to you I’m not trying to bilk your aunt and uncle out of money. I really want to bring them peace.”
“It’s not Samuel’s money I’m worried about. It’s my agriculture business.” He realized she knew then that he was on to her. Was she sm
art enough to own it or would she lie?
“Trudy is my sister.” She brushed a few strands of hair from her face, obviously trying to decide what to reveal. “I’m trying to find her.”
Her direct words were like a kick to his gut. Deep down, he’d hoped Trudy had gone home. Now he knew that wasn’t the case.
“So this whole ‘talk to the dead’ thing is a ruse?”
She nodded. “Pretty much. I needed access to the wealthier planters’ homes. I needed a reason to be invited in. I have to find my sister—and people will talk to a psychic medium when they won’t talk to anyone else. Just so you know, I haven’t taken a penny in fees.”
“That’s a pretty nice car for someone who has no way to make a living.”
She sighed. “I know. I’m a writer and songwriter. I rented the car. I had to play the part.” She shook her head but not before he saw the tears welling in her eyes. “I was desperate and I came up with the best plan I could.”
“Maybe you should have simply asked me.”
She met his gaze. “I couldn’t. I suspected you.”
Man, she wasn’t one to pull her punches. And he liked that. He completely understood her lack of trust. He’d been Trudy’s boss. The last place she’d been seen, to his knowledge, was her desk at Long Agricultural Products. No wonder he was high on the suspect list of people who might be involved in foul play.
“Do you still suspect me?”
“Yes.” She didn’t blink.
“Yet you were willing to get in a vehicle with me?” He was growing more and more amused. And impressed.
Bone-a-fied Trouble Page 4