Fear Familiar Bundle (82 page)

"Have you ever considered the fact that those are exactly the rumors we don't want to squelch?" Patrick countered. "There's a lot more to horse racing than running the horse."

H
OME AGAIN
, home again, Molly Magee. I never thought I would feel this way, but I'm delighted to see the rooftop of the barn at Beltene. I've been doing a lot of thinking about future travel modes. I'm ready for the old, "Beam me over, Scottie." There's such a lot of wasted time sitting in a luxury car, coasting along the highways. But I do have a better idea of the countryside here. The Emerald Isle. I know why they call it that. There's a ruggedness to this land, especially the western coast, that haunts a person— or a cat, for that matter. Not an inch of land untended, uncared for. Up around the hideout, where Limerick was staying, there's wild land. The bogs, with the rocks and heather. No one has claimed that, and maybe never will. Leave it to the sheep and the occasional traveler. But in the cultivated areas, there is regard for each square foot.

Catherine has been too quiet on the entire drive back. I watch her face and see her feelings play across her features. It's Patrick. What is she to do about him? He got her into this mess by stealing Limerick in the first place. He's been a thorn in her side from the first day she bought Beltene. And yet she finds herself drawn to him. A quandary, to be sure. No matter what she ultimately wants, if Patrick doesn't find that horse, he'll be gone.

And Patrick, driving so silently. Responsibility rests heavy on his shoulders, for Limerick and Mick. If he hadn't taken the stallion, then Mick would never have been put into danger. At least, that's how he thinks.

My problem is that whoever took Limerick— because someone was surely tailing us to the hideout— didn't have to take Mick. That's the part of this that doesn't make a bit of sense.

Ah, the car finally stops and we're home. Hmm, what's that I smell? Fresh garlic in butter? Thank goodness the preparations have just begun. I have to do some work before I eat. I've left it up to these humans long enough. So far the only thing Catherine and Patrick have discovered is their mutual desire. Harrumph! I could see that from the first. There are none so blind as those with two eyes— and two legs.

See, when I first met Clotilde, that little beauty who pines for my return to the capital city, it was love at first sight. I do admit, she was a bit on the coy side at first. Her eyes said yes, but her claws said beg a little, mister. But it was a game. We knew how it would end. And now I'm her devoted slave. My adventures take me around the globe, but she sits in the window of her posh town house and waits for my return. Let all the passing cats admire the fine arch of her back leg as she cleans herself, the perfection of her whiskers, especially the way they pucker when she's slightly distressed. That little edging of black along the tips of her ears. Ah, Clotilde, the calico of my dreams. I can't think about her too much, or I'll get homesick. And there's work to do here.

Someone is going to have to figure out where Limerick is. That race deadline is approaching fast. No one has to tell me that Limerick should run. In order to save Beltene, he'll have to run. Okay, everybody out. Well, Patrick is going to be the gentleman and carry Catherine's bags. I hope they consider dinner before they fall all over each other. I guess it's up to me to scope out the area.

Time for a prowl around the premises. There's bound to be some clues that everyone has overlooked. I want all of this resolved before Eleanor and Peter come to claim me. They'd never forgive me if I left a mystery only partially resolved.

Ah, the barn. There's McShane. At least his face has healed. Too bad the same can't be said for his bad heart. I wonder what drives him to be so bitter. And so furtive. He's looking around as if he were going to commit a crime. There he goes into the barn. I guess I'd better put it in gear if I'm going to keep up. He's walking like the devil's got a pitchfork in his backside.

Why am I not surprised? He's going straight to the loft. To Patrick's quarters. That's excellent, since I wanted to get into Patrick's abode myself. Good old Eamon can open the door for me.

That's the ticket. He never even saw me slide past his leg. Now that we're here, I'm going to duck under the bed and see what happens. Once, when Clotilde took a fancy to a dandified Himalayan, I wished for a more flamboyant hide. Once and only once. Black is chic, and also very practical in the line of work that I do. As it happens, even Clotilde came to her senses about that.

Patrick! Ever heard of a dust mop? Jeez, there's enough dust and puff balls under this bed to make an asthmatic go into a fatal attack.

Ah, old Eamon isn't wasting any time. He's going to the telephone. Pretty strange, to break into someone's home simply to use the phone. Five digits, which means the call is local.

"Hello, it's me. Yes, I'm calling from his quarters. That will link him directly. I saw them go up to the big house, yes. How's the old man? Good. I'll be in touch." The telephone clicked back down on the receiver.

There he goes, leaving as stealthily as he came. And not even a look around. My first conclusion is that it was Mick he was talking about. The old man— that makes me a bit nervous. I wouldn't trust McShane with a pet rock.

The coast is clear for me to do a little investigating on my own, but first things first. A little nudge and the phone rocks out of the cradle, then that amazing redial button. One ringy-dingy. Two ringy-dingy. Three ringy-ding…

"Hello. Who's there? McShane, is that you again?"

A little paw on the switch hook to break the connection. I've heard everything I need to hear. I know that voice. Ah, yes, the cultured and cultivated tones of Mr. Allan Emory. Five digits would give us Galway, but not Dublin.

So, Allan and Eamon are in cahoots. And Allan knows something about "the old man." Now, how to convey all of this info to Patrick? I mean, big sigh, I do all the work and even then I can't relax.

Not to worry, I'll mull over this matter while I check out what Mauve is making in the kitchen. I've always considered garlic to be one of the better brain foods. Indeed, where would the world be without da Vinci? Galileo? Both garlic eaters from the get-go.

"Let me make you something hot to drink," Mauve said as she followed Catherine into her office. "I hope you won't hold it against me if I speak my piece, but you look like warmed-over death."

Catherine smiled despite herself. "If I didn't already feel bad, that description would make me take to my bed. I will have a cup of tea, though. I'm very tired."

"I was worried sick about you until I figured Patrick was with you. What's wrong, Catherine?" Mauve was curious, but she was also concerned.

"Too many things." On the long drive home, both she and Patrick had been worn down by worries over Mick and Limerick. Even Familiar had been unduly quiet. Patrick had left her, saying he wanted to check on Mick's cottage. Though he hadn't stated it specifically, Catherine had known he needed a little time alone. "Maybe things will look better after some sleep."

Mauve shook her head. Taking a step forward, she hesitated. "What's going on here, Miss Catherine? Mick's disappeared. Patrick's acting like he's killed his mother. You look like you haven't slept in days. That strange man leaving messages on the front yard. What's wrong here?"

Catherine sighed as she went to Mauve. "It would be better if I didn't tell you. The less you know, the better."

"Has someone hurt Mick?" Mauve's eyes widened with that possibility. "He's an old man. I'm worried about him."

"I wish I could tell you something more, but it's best that I don't. Where Mick is concerned, I don't really know anything to tell you."

"There was a message for you while you were gone." Mauve went to the secretary and picked up an envelope. "Bridget didn't see anyone leave this, but it was by the front door, like the others. Looks to be the same paper and hand."

Catherine opened it slowly. The message was brief. "The old man is safe, but not forever. Where's the horse? Expect my call tonight." Cold dread clutched at her spine. For a second she stared blankly at the message, forcing herself to betray nothing to the cook. Whatever was going on, she wasn't going to embroil another innocent person in her troubles.

Without showing any emotion, she folded the note and returned it to the envelope. "I think you're right. I believe it did come from the same person who sent the others. When did you find it?"

"Just before you drove up. I went to see if the paper had come. It was almost propped against the door. No one saw it delivered. I've asked everyone around the house. Sonny was working in the front flower beds for several hours this morning. He didn't see a soul."

"Whoever is doing this is very, very clever."

"Miss Catherine, if you asked the men in the barn to help you, they would. All you have to do is ask."

Catherine smiled. "You know, the irony is that I believe they would. I didn't exactly win their hearts, did I?"

"Well, it's a hard situation. Being a woman and all, you had to come in tough, or so you thought."

"Being a banker's daughter, I thought I had to come in very tough."

"A bit of softness sometimes works the best, especially with men. My mother always told me if you couldn't cook for a man then you'd better know how to soften him up. First line of attack is the stomach, the second is the heart."

Catherine and Mauve laughed together. "I'll keep that in mind. And thanks. I'm going to have a talk with the men. Maybe it isn't too late to get things off on the right foot."

"You'll find they're a right agreeable lot, with the exception of a few." Mauve was practically beaming. "I knew when I said I'd cook for you that it would be all right. Everyone thought I was crazy, that you'd be too hard to please. But you've proven them wrong in more ways than one."

"Thank you, Mauve." Catherine felt the sting of tears. If nothing else, she'd won the heart of Mauve McBride, and that was no small accomplishment. Mauve was nobody's fool.

Once she was alone in her office, Catherine took out the four messages saying that Limerick was okay. The latest note, a threat regarding Mick's life, was in the same hand. It had not been sealed with wax. Apparently the formalities were over. It was also the first solid piece of evidence should she decide to call in the authorities. The note was a threat against Mick's safety if not his very life. Up until this time, there had been no way that she could prove Mick had been kidnapped.

Well, she had only to wait for a call of some sort. Only to wait. It was one of the hardest things she could imagine doing.

As much as she dreaded it, she decided to go to the barn. The men must think her a fool. She'd puffed and blustered, and her horse was still missing. She'd accomplished nothing except endangering the life of one of her employees.

She couldn't ignore the possibility that someone at the barn had seen something that might help her find Mick before it was too late. If she had to crawl and beg, then she would. Pride was too expensive; she couldn't afford it for the time being.

The day was growing short and she picked up a heavy jacket and slipped into it. She checked the window seat for Familiar, but he wasn't in sight. Had she imagined that he'd come in with her? She distinctly remembered him jumping out of the car and sniffing around like a dog. Who knew with that cat?

Instead of going out the front, she cut through the kitchen, her mouth literally watering at the scent of the meal Mauve was preparing. If she knew Familiar, the cat would be parked somewhere nearby.

She saw the tip of his tail as he sat patiently waiting in one of the kitchen chairs. He'd invaded Mauve's kitchen just as he had the rest of the house— all with total complicity on the part of the humans involved.

"I'm going to the barn for a few moments," she said to Mauve.

"Would you take these over to the men?" Mauve held out a platter of cookies.

Catherine hesitated. Never in a million years would she have considered handing out cookies at the bank. She took the tray. She knew exactly what Mauve was doing. Beltene wasn't a bank. She might be the owner, but what harm would it do to pass out a few cookies? It was a gesture the men would see and understand. The first step in her program to start over.

"What a wonderful idea, Mauve. I'll tell everyone you baked the biscuits and I'm merely delivering them."

"Good girl," Mauve agreed. "Dinner will be ready by the time you're back."

"I'm starved," she said, pushing the door open with her free hand. "And I know Familiar is famished. But then, isn't he always?"

The cat looked up at her and very slowly, carefully yawned, as if to say that a human's sense of humor was beyond redemption. Then he hopped to the floor and followed her out the door.

"Get her back in time to eat," Mauve called to the cat. "You seem to be the only one around here who understands the importance of a good meal."

Catherine had made it across the road and was standing at the front door of the barn when she heard the vehicle approaching. Patrick pulled up beside her, his blue gaze moving over the picture she presented. He took in the tray, the cookies and the cat at her heels.

"Did you find anything?" Catherine knew the question was useless.

He shook his head and got out of the Rover. "So Mauve's up to patching things with the men." Picking up a cookie, he forced a smile. "She knows how to do it, too. Sandies, my favorite kind of biscuit."

Catherine's heart was pumping so hard she used both hands to hold the tray. Patrick's face was stubbled with beard and the lines around his eyes were worn deeper than she'd ever seen them. But there was a light in his eyes that kindled something warm inside her.

"You're going to make a right good farm owner, Catherine," Patrick said slowly. "You have good instincts."