The Chocolate Cat Caper (25 page)

Duncan looked relieved.

A little later I tried one more ploy. “Marion’s suicide certainly left you in a mess. What kind of deal were y’all involved in?”

He didn’t bother to answer that one. He just shrugged.

By the time we’d sat there, eyeing each other, for forty-five minutes, I was a nervous wreck and about to wet my pants. But I wasn’t about to say I needed to use the facilities. I knew Duncan wouldn’t let me go into a room with a lock on the door alone.

At quarter to nine, Duncan asked me where my car was and how long it would take to get it.

“Oh, maybe five minutes,” I said. “Are you ready to go?”

“Sure ’nuff.”

We both stood up, and I called out, “Here, kitty, kitty!” Then I realized that I had no idea where to find the can of cat treats, the key to catching Yonkers. I’d probably dropped them in the basement.

Miraculously, the cat came without them. He seemed to be tired of our house and ready to move on. I enticed him with a piece of deli-sliced turkey and he allowed me to pick him up. When I tried to stuff him in his carrying case, he kicked and yowled, but he went in. Neither Duncan nor I mentioned the litter box or the sack of Yonkers’s belongings. I just left them in the corner of the kitchen.

In fact, I don’t know why I even insisted on taking the cat. I guess it was because I’d made such a point in telling Duncan I was supposed to deliver him in town, just so he’d think someone would come looking for me if I didn’t show up.

There were a lot of bushes between Aunt Nettie’s house and the Baileys’. The path on the way over there, I decided, was the best place for an escape attempt.

I latched the cage and picked it up. Then I turned to Duncan. “Here,” I said.

Miraculously, he took the cage.

But he didn’t let me get very far away from him. He walked beside me, his hand gripping my arm, as we went out the back door and started along the path.

I had my spot in mind. It was a low place in the path, one which was nearly always damp and muddy, with dense brush on either side. When we got to that spot, I’d pretend to fall, shove against Duncan, yank my arm out of his grasp, and leap into the bushes. With the cat cage to throw him off balance—well, it might work.

I led the way, with Duncan’s hand on my arm and the cat cage bumping into the back of my thighs, and pretty soon we were close to the low spot.
Relax,
I told myself.
Keep your muscles relaxed. Don’t let him know you’re planning something.

The low spot was there. I stepped in it, then threw myself backward at Duncan. I squealed. Then I yanked away and jumped sideways, between two bushes. I heard Duncan swear and Yonkers shriek.

The next thing I knew I was flat on my face in the blackberry stickers.

I thrashed around, trying to get free of the brambles. Suddenly I was yanked to my feet. I was standing up, but Duncan’s arm was around my neck, and a silver pistol was pointed at my right eye.

“I didn’t want to show you this little gadget while you were being so nice and cooperative,” Duncan said, “but you’ve got to believe that I’m serious as a heart attack.”

W
ell, I’d tried. I might have gotten away with it, if the blackberries hadn’t tripped me up. I’ve always hated blackberries. They’re so seedy.

Duncan yanked me back onto the path. “Now you get to carry the cat,” he said.

I was relieved to see that Yonkers appeared to be unhurt by his rude treatment. He was glaring out the door of his carrying cage, but he wasn’t yowling or acting injured. I picked up the cage, and trying to ignore Duncan’s fingers digging into my arm, I again led the way toward the Baileys’ house.

When we got to the garage, I felt something sharp against my side. “I’ve still got the gun, honey,” Duncan said. “Just don’t try anything.”

I led the way around the garage, then unlocked the old van and slid the side door open. I put the cage on the floor of the backseat.

“Slide it over to the other side,” Duncan said. “Behind the driver’s seat.”

I obeyed.

Then Duncan opened the right-hand front door. “You can get in here.” I saw that he didn’t want me going around to the other side of the van.

I hesitated, and he poked me with the pistol again. “I’m determined that I’ll get to that bank before the police. So I want you to understand that you have to do exactly what I tell you.”

My heart seemed to be alternately racing and coming to a complete standstill. I didn’t have a single doubt that Duncan Ainsley could shoot me down in a heartbeat if he took a notion.

And I also realized that no matter what I did, Duncan planned to kill me as soon as he got an opportunity. My only chance was to cooperate until we got where there were people. Then I’d just have to take the chance of being shot and make a break for it.

“So,” Duncan said, “you get in, and I get in after you. Then I get into the back of the van—thanks to these bucket seats, it’ll be real easy—and I’ll sit on the floor. And I’ll have this pistol pointed at you every minute, Lee. So you do exactly—exactly!—what I tell you to do.”

We arranged ourselves, and I started the van, backed out from behind the garage, then turned onto the road. When I got to the Lake Shore Drive, I stopped. “Which way?”

“To the bank, Lee. Just like I said. And drive carefully. No sudden moves.”

All the way to Dock Street I could see the pistol out of the corner of my eye. Duncan scrabbled around, doing something, but every time I glanced sideways I saw that pistol.

As I turned onto Dock Street—I guess Duncan knew where we were when he saw the two-story brick buildings go by the windows—he spoke. “You’d better park in the alley,” he said. “It might look a little strange for me to climb out of the floor of the backseat in front of the bank.”

It was going to look strange wherever he did it, but I wasn’t pointing that out. I turned down Peach Street, then swung into the alley and parked behind TenHuis Chocolade. Duncan eased between the seats and sat down in the front passenger seat. His appearance surprised me; now he was wearing a hat and a jacket.

It took a second to realize they were mine. The khaki-colored rain jacket and billed Dallas Cowboys cap had been tossed into the third seat. Duncan had managed to put them on as we drove along. The sleeves of the jacket were a little short, but it wasn’t a bad fit. And the hat hid most of his noticeable gray hair.

He showed me the pistol. Then he put it in the pocket of the jacket. “I’ll be keeping my hand on this,” he said. “Now let’s concentrate on getting out of this van safely.”

He opened the front door on the passenger side and sort of oozed out, then stood partially hidden by the van’s open door. “Now you scoot over and get out on this side.”

Maybe this would be my chance. I moved slowly, but I tried to get in position to kick.

I had just eased over into the passenger seat when the back door to TenHuis Chocolade swung open.

“Lee? What are you doing here?”

It was Aunt Nettie.

Instantly Duncan had his hand on my arm and was pointing the gun in his pocket toward her. He didn’t need to say a word. The threat hung in the air like a balloon.

Aunt Nettie looked perplexed. “You’re not due until eleven, Lee. How come you’re here now?”

I tried to think fast. “Something came up. I had to come down early.”

“What became of the cat?”

“I have him. I’m afraid I’ll have to leave him here for a little while.”

“Here?” Aunt Nettie looked horrified. “But I can’t have a cat around.”

“He’s in his carrying case. He can just sit in the break room. I don’t think the health department will throw the book at you.”

Aunt Nettie looked doubtful. Then she looked at Duncan Ainsley. A hat wasn’t going to keep her from recognizing him. Suddenly I remembered that Chief Jones had planned to call and tell her about the fingerprint in the glove. So she must know Duncan was involved in Clementine Ripley’s death, even if she hadn’t figured out that he had been our burglar.

If she said the wrong thing, Ainsley would kill her. I had to keep that from happening.

“I’m helping Duncan,” I said frantically. “He’s trying to get hold of the state police to straighten out a misunderstanding. If I can’t put Champ in the break room, I’ll have to leave him in the van.”

“All right. I guess there’s no help for it.”

I eased over and got out the passenger side of the van, then slid the side door open, crawled in, and pulled out the cat cage. Duncan didn’t speak to Aunt Nettie, or offer to lift the cage out of the van, and Aunt Nettie didn’t seem to notice his lack of courtesy. We were all acting extremely oddly, but none of us wanted to mention it.

As Aunt Nettie took the cage, she squeezed my hand.

For a moment I thought she was going to yank me inside the back door. And for a moment I desperately wanted her to do that. Then Duncan poked me with the pistol in his jacket pocket, and I pulled my hand away.

“I’ll be back as soon as I help Duncan,” I said.

Aunt Nettie nodded. She closed the door. Duncan Ainsley and I were alone in the alley.

Of course, it wasn’t exactly private, since cars and pedestrians were passing either end of the alley. But it sure felt lonely right then.

“Well done,” Duncan said. “Now let’s head on down to the bank.”

He held my arm as we walked back toward Peach Street. Would I have a chance to get away from him when we turned out onto the street?

I abandoned that idea as soon as we were there. Warner Pier was just waking up. The half block between the alley and the bank was empty except for a teenager sweeping out Mike’s Sidewalk Café, on the opposite side of the street. If I ran for it, Duncan could shoot me down at will, and maybe shoot the kid with the broom as well. I led the way to the bank.

The bank had just been open ten minutes, and there was no rush. Only one teller was on duty, and the only customer was just leaving. No one was in the manager’s office. Duncan guided me over to the teller.

“I need to get into my safe-deposit box,” he said.

“I’ll call the branch manager,” the teller said. “You can wait by her desk.”

The manager—Barbara—came from the back. “Lee? What can I do for you?”

“I’m the one who needs attention,” Duncan said. “Lee’s just along for the ride.” He poked me with the pistol, but I knew Barbara couldn’t see what he was doing. “I need to access my safe-deposit box.”

“Of course.”

I thought of crossing my eyes, throwing up on her desk—anything to keep Duncan out of that safe-deposit box. But it went off routinely. Barbara led us back to the cage that closed off the safe-deposit boxes. Duncan, still keeping his hand clenched on my upper arm, signed in, and Barbara opened the gate. She looked surprised when Duncan shoved me in ahead of him.

“Miss McKinney should wait outside,” she said.

“I need her to sign something,” Duncan said. “Can’t you make an exception?”

Barbara’s face clouded, but she didn’t argue. “I guess it’s okay, since I know who it is,” she said. She took a key Duncan produced and her own key, opened the box—it was one of the small ones—then locked us in.

At least Duncan let go of my arm. Since neither of us was going anyplace, he evidently didn’t consider it necessary to hold me.

He flipped the box open and took out two manila envelopes. He peeked inside the top one, and I got a glimpse. Cash. For some reason I wasn’t surprised.

Then he peeked inside the second. I craned my neck, and I got a glimpse of something navy blue and flat.

A passport.

All of a sudden I wanted to laugh. Duncan was ready to fly the coop. Leave the country. Go to Texas, as the old-timers used to say. And Marion McCoy had stashed his passport and the cash for the trip in a bank box that he couldn’t access on the weekend.

Well, it explained why he’d sneaked into Aunt Nettie’s house, then spent the night lurking in the Michigan basement, huddled in an afghan he’d snitched from the living room, afraid that the cops would pick him up before he could leave Warner Pier. But it didn’t do me any particular good. I was still a prisoner.

Unless . . . I moved toward the gate. Maybe I could yell at Barbara, tell her to leave us in the cage and call the cops.

But Duncan was right behind me, his fingers pressing into my arm again. His voice came out as the sort of whisper you hang the phone up on. “Don’t even think about it. I could kill both the bank people, plus you. Then me. I’m not going to jail.”

He’d won another hand. I stood there while he called to Barbara, and she came and opened the gate. The box was replaced, and Duncan and I walked slowly toward the outside door of the bank.

And once we were outside, I decided, I was going to make a break for it. If only there were no innocent bystanders on the street. I breathed a silent prayer for Peach Street to be empty.

But there was somebody coming. And darned if it wasn’t someone I knew. It was one of Aunt Nettie’s teenage employees. Tracy? Or Stacy? I still didn’t have them straight. The one with the stringy hair was passing the bank.

She seemed delighted to see me. “Hi, Lee.”

“Hi.” I pushed on past her. Please, let her go into the bank, get off the street. But she lingered. When I looked back, I could see her standing there, staring after Duncan and me as we crossed the street.

What was I going to do?

Just as I reached the point of despair, a miracle happened. A bright blue miracle.

Joe Woodyard’s pickup came around the corner of Peach and Dock, and Joe began honking madly.

Duncan clutched my arm even harder, but we both stopped in our tracks. Joe stopped right behind us, opened his door, and got out.

“Duncan! You’re the guy I’ve got to see!”

Duncan moved his hand. I saw that he was going to pull the pistol out of his pocket.