‘Oh, dear, she
does
look frazzled! I must talk to her …’ Expertly, Gemma slid away from the group and headed for the new arrival, Opal following in her wake.
The others turned their attention to Macho, who quailed at the flurry of interest generated by Cressie’s revelation. Not that some of them hadn’t suspected it already, but it was satisfying to have their deductions confirmed. They waited to see whether further information would be forthcoming.
Not from Macho; he retreated behind Cressie, kicking her sharply on the ankle as he passed.
‘Right, right, I remember. I was just saying —’
‘Well, don’t!’ he snapped.
This time he got the poisonous glare. Cressie picked up a truncated celery stalk and swirled it in the bowl of houmous.
‘Not even taramasalata!’ Macho found another source of complaint as he surveyed the vegetarian spread provided with the drinks. A large platter of crudities was flanked by bowls of houmous, dal, green olive tapenade and the inevitable onion-and-sour-cream dip. Other bowls contained marinaded mushrooms, black olives glistening with oil and speckled with herbs, green olives stuffed with pimentos or anchovies, cheese straws and mixed nuts.
All very healthy and tasty, but nothing to bring home to a hopeful cat.
‘Gemma’s not so dumb,’ Freddie observed. ‘She doesn’t intend to feed all the neighbourhood pets.’
‘Considering the amount she snaffles for her own brutes at every party, it isn’t very sporting of her,’ Macho grumbled.
‘I never said she was sporting.’ Freddie nodded at Gemma’s retreating form. ‘Just smart. In her way.’
‘Which is not our way.’ Dorian gazed speculatively at the departing backs. ‘What do you think of that cousin of hers? Does she look like a troublemaker to you?’
‘What do troublemakers look like?’ Freddie wondered.
‘She hasn’t really said enough for us to formulate any opinion of her,’ Lorinda temporized.
‘Why is he worried about troublemakers?’ Macho muttered. ‘Is he afraid of competition?’
Cressie took another piece of celery and crunched it loudly.
Abruptly, Lorinda longed to go back home and settle down with a good book – or any book on which someone else had done all the work.
‘Mmmff, ooaah, umph,’
he moaned
.
‘You’ll have to speak up,’ I told him. ‘I can’t understand a word you’re saying.’
‘Mmfff, oooah, ummph.’
He tried again, rolling his eyes desperately and twitching.
It was his own fault. He’d insisted on the thumbscrew being applied to his tongue. I’d heard him myself. What else could Delilah do but oblige? He was the paying customer.
‘He’s doing it on purpose,’ Murgatroyd gurgled from the floor at my feet. ‘Hit him! Kick him in the balls! Show him who’s boss!’
‘I can’t kick him,’ I said. ‘I’m not wearing my stiletto heels.’
‘Use the cigarette lighter!’ Murgatroyd rolled over and licked my toes.
‘Will you two kindly shut up?’ I moved my feet away. ‘I’m trying to watch television.’
‘Mmmfff! Mmmfff!’
Mr Smith fell to his knees and began banging his head on the arm of the couch.
Maybe I should do something, he was beginning to turn blue
.
But I hated to interfere with Delilah’s business.
‘At least throw your drink in his face,’ Murgatroyd said, ‘or he’ll think you don’t love him.’
‘I don’t,’ I said. ‘I don’t even like him —’ or you. I think you’re absolutely disgusting!’
‘Oh, that hurt!’ Murgatroyd gasped. ‘That really hurt! Thank you.’
Mr Smith had fallen strangely silent. I looked at him uneasily. Delilah had the key to his handcuffs. I knew she was busy with
a special customer, but I wondered if I could knock on the door and disturb her for just a minute. I wasn’t used to this and Smith was making me nervous.
‘Stop!’ Murgatroyd hurled himself in front of me, trying to trip me as I started towards the Inner Sanctum. ‘You can’t interrupt her. It’s against the rules.’
‘You have rules?’ It was news to me. ‘Well, they’re nothing to do with me. I can’t —’
‘OHGODOHGODohgodohgod!’
The door opened abruptly and Delilah hurtled through it. ‘He’s snuffed it! I just left him tied up in the closet with the ferret and the baby boa constrictor for a couple of hours and I come back and he’s snuffed! Do something!’
‘For God’s sake, Delilah! That’s the second corpse this month and it’s only the thirteenth. You’ve got to stop throwing yourself into your work this way!’
‘Friday the thirteenth,’ Murgatroyd giggled. ‘Unlucky for some …’
‘I didn’t do it!’ she wailed. ‘I didn’t do the other one, either! We’ve got to get him out of here! If the landlord finds out, he’ll break my lease!’
‘We’ll help you,’ Murgatroyd said eagerly. ‘We did the last time, remember? just untie us and we’ll carry him out.’
Smith, who seemed to have revived, nodded eagerly. As a Captain of Industry, he blossomed at the prospect of action.
‘Oh, would you?’ Delilah flew over to Smith and removed the thumbscrew from his tongue. ‘I’d be ever so grateful.’ To prove it, she twisted the instrument as she pulled it free and he reeled. ‘Ever so.’
It just goes to show: you never know how your old school friends are going to end up. It had seemed like such a good idea when Delilah wrote offering me a room in her flat for a very nominal rent if I wanted to move to the city. How was I to know the career path she had decided to follow?
I just knew one thing for certain. Once I had enough money to get out of here, I was never again going to share a flat with a Dominatrix.
And this had been described on the cover as ‘a delightful introduction to a sparkling new genre: Cosy Noir’!
Lorinda hurled the book into the growing heap at the far corner of the room, glad that she had waited until morning before trying to settle down with it.
At least she had the rest of the day free now to do something else. If only she could decide what she really wanted to do. She was not yet in the mood to get on with the books in progress. The backlog of housework definitely did not appeal.
She prowled restlessly over to the window, in time to see a taxi sweep past and take the turning that led up to the Manor House. Presumably, Dorian’s guest arriving. That meant another welcoming cocktail party was on the cards.
A moment later, Gemma and her cousin hove into view, each holding a leash for one of the pugs. Lorinda looked after them wistfully. A walk would be nice, especially with a dog or two to add purpose to it. Lovely as they were, cats weren’t quite the same.
Thinking of which, where were Had-I and But-Known? She hadn’t seen them for some time. Either they hadn’t quite forgiven her desertion of them, or Freddie was cooking again. She crossed to the telephone.
‘Do you have my lot cluttering up your kitchen?’ she asked when Freddie answered.
‘Are you referring to my Tasting Panel?’ Freddie replied. ‘I’m afraid they’re working and can’t be disturbed right now. They’re sitting in front of the oven, willing it to cook faster. Come over and join them, the latest experiment is just about ready to serve.’
The cats barely turned their heads when Freddie opened the back door to let her in. They did, indeed, appear to be exerting every ounce of willpower to urge the cooker to complete its task.
‘Sorry to barge in on you again,’ Lorinda apologized, ‘but I just can’t seem to settle.’
‘It is difficult,’ Freddie commiserated. ‘It always takes me ages when I get back from a trip.’
‘I know.’ Lorinda settled down at the table and sniffed the fragrant air as appreciatively as the cats. ‘But I always hope it won’t take so long this time.’
‘You’re such an optimist.’ Freddie poured coffee. ‘Start on that and the mini-muffins will be ready to come out of the oven before our second cup.’
‘Wonderful.’ Lorinda sipped the hot delicious brew and felt the restless formless anxiety that had plagued her begin to subside. There was no train or plane she had to catch, no signing where she had to preside and be gracious, no worries about missing buttons or lipstick on her teeth. She was home, safe and secure among friends. Nothing could bother her now –
‘Freddie!’
The back door burst open and slammed against the wall. The cats jumped and turned to stare accusingly at the noisy intruder.
‘Freddie!’ Macho staggered into the room. ‘Lorinda!’ He reached the table and grasped its edge desperately, swaying and trying to stay upright.
‘Macho, what is it?’ Alarmed, both women jumped to their feet, ignoring the coffee splashing into their saucers and spilling on to the table.
‘Help!’ he croaked. ‘Help!’ He gave a wild laugh. ‘But there is no help!’
‘Macho!’ Lorinda gripped his heaving shoulders, unsure of whether to shake him or cradle him. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Cressie!’ he gasped. Cressie!’
‘Oh.’ Freddie looked at Lorinda. They might have guessed.
‘No! No, you don’t understand!’ He caught Freddie’s wrist, not noticing her wince of pain. ‘Cressie – she’s dead!’
‘Don’t worry,’ Freddie said. ‘No jury on earth would convict you.’
‘No! No!’ Macho cried. ‘I didn’t do it! I never laid a finger on her!’
‘Are you sure?’ Lorinda asked. ‘That she’s dead, I mean,’ she added hastily.
‘I found her! I’ve just got back from shopping and —’ Macho snatched up the nearest cup of coffee and drained what was left of it. ‘I opened the front door and found her! Lying at the foot of the stairs! Covered in blood!’ He finished the other cup of coffee and stared around wildly.
The cats looked at him, then at each other and, moving as one, retreated to a far corner of the room. Lucky cats, Lorinda thought, the humans didn’t have that option.
‘Let’s get over there!’ Freddie moved forward, Lorinda right behind her.
‘But what about the police …’ Macho held back. ‘An ambulance …’ He shuddered. ‘This can’t be happening again.’
‘Come on.’ Lorinda linked arms with him and urged him along. ‘It may not be as bad as you think. Let’s go and see.’
‘No, please …’ Macho was protesting all the way. ‘Not the front door. I can’t walk in on that scene again. Use the back door.’
‘We will,’ Lorinda soothed, wondering why he thought the scene might improve if viewed from a different angle. She fought against a mounting surge of irritation. Even dead, Cressie was a nuisance. Especially dead.
As they entered the front hallway from the kitchen, they saw the shopping bag Macho had dropped just inside the front door. Several packages spilled from it, two of them wrapped in the distinctive striped paper the butcher used. A telltale blob of red saturated a corner of one of them. Blood leaking from the meat, or from …?
As they moved forward, she could see a shoe lying on its side. One of the large clumpy shoes currently in fashion which looked as though they were a danger to any wearer with the slightest tendency to clumsiness. Running up or down a flight of stairs in those …
Now they could see the foot and, crouching midway
between it and the shopping bag, Roscoe, staring intently from one to the other. Hungry as he constantly was these days, he was showing unusual restraint in not attacking one of the butcher’s packages. Even dead, Cressie seemed to have traumatized both Roscoe and his master so thoroughly that they were unable to function normally.
‘Here, boy.’ Keeping his face averted from the staircase, Macho went forward and picked up Roscoe. ‘It’s all right, boy. It’s all right.’
It patently wasn’t. While Macho did not want to look at Cressie’s body, Roscoe could not stop staring at it. The tip of his tail twitched slowly and rhythmically. He might have been watching at a mousehole.
Lorinda found herself on Macho’s side. She did not want to look, either.
Freddie was more intrepid. Moving slowly and carefully, she circled the body and stood looking down. Lorinda forced herself to go over and stand beside her.
There was an awful lot of blood. Dried blood. Smeared over Cressie’s face and neck, arms and hands, the dark reddish-brown coagulating blood was a gruesome sight, not to be looked at too closely. An arteryful of blood. But … didn’t arteries spurt? And … where was the break in the skin from which all that blood could escape?
‘How long were you out shopping, Macho?’ Freddie asked.
‘About an hour.’ Macho still would not look in their direction. He cradled Roscoe and added defensively, ‘She was perfectly all right when I left.’
‘Freddie …?’ Lorinda had a question of her own. ‘How long does it take blood to dry?’
‘Good question.’ Freddie bent closer to the inert form and took several deep sniffs before straightening up with a triumphant look.
‘Up, Cressie!’ She prodded Cressie’s ribs with a none-too-gentle toe. ‘Up! The game is over. You’ve been rumbled!’
In the long moment that followed, Macho and Lorinda
drew closer. Lorinda did some sniffing of her own with a dawning suspicion … there was something awfully familiar about the scent reaching her nostrils.
‘What do you mean?’ Macho looked from Cressie, who had not moved, to Freddie, who was drawing back her foot again. ‘No, don’t kick her! She’s —’
‘She’s shamming – and you’re the one who ought to kick her! That isn’t blood – that’s Angostura bitters!’
‘Of course!’ The vaguely familiar scent identified, Lorinda could not imagine why she had not recognized it at once. On the occasions when drops had flown astray in the cocktail mixing process, she had even noticed the resemblance to blood herself.
‘Gotcha!’ Cressie’s braying laugh rang out as she rolled away before Freddie’s foot reached her again. ‘Told you none of you would recognize a dead body if you saw one. Now I’ve proved it! You fell for it! All of you!’
‘Not for long,’ Freddie said grimly.
‘Long enough!’ She was triumphant. ‘Long enough to send him —’ she gestured dismissively towards Macho – ‘running like a frightened rabbit! Or maybe I should say a scaredy-cat. Yeah, that’s right – scaredy-cat! Even the cat was braver than you. At least it came close enough to sniff!’
And that was why Roscoe had resisted the pull of the butcher’s parcels. He had known she wouldn’t let him get away with it. Whatever games she might be playing, she was still an active and dangerous force.
‘You’re disgusting!’ Macho’s colour had been returning to normal, now he paled again.
‘Macho is right. Go and wash your face!’ If Cressie wanted to act like a child, Freddie was prepared to treat her as one. ‘And change your clothes. Although,’ Freddie added with gleeful malice, ‘I wouldn’t be prepared to bet you’ll ever get those stains out. I hope you weren’t planning on ever wearing that outfit again.’
‘Oh!’ Obviously, Cressie had not thought of that. She squinted down at her ruined top, although most of the
damage was around the neckline and not visible to her. For a moment, she looked childlike and vulnerable.