The Cat Between Read online

  “Maybe,” Bea said doubtfully. “Maybe you better check.” She waited as Cece went back outside, jogged up the road then returned.

  “Nope. His car is there but he didn’t answer the door.”

  Dark figures began to be visible loitering outside the kitchen entrance. “The others are starting to assemble,” Bea said calmly. “Better let them in.”

  Cece admitted Cathy with Blaise. Behind them were Prudence and young Judith Parsley. David and Doug Shapland hurried onto the property. “You said to be prompt,” Doug said breathlessly. “It was a rush but we’re here.”

  They all crowded into the tiny kitchen. “She’s not here,” Cece said.

  “What do you mean?” asked Prudence, putting a foil-covered pan on the counter. “Everyone just leave the food in here and go into the living room, for heaven’s sake!”

  Sheepishly, they did as they were told, divesting themselves of coats and hats and chattering about where Gerry could be. Blaise, Cathy, Judy, David and Bea all sat at the table. Doug and Cece stood irresolutely.

  “What should we do?” Doug said quietly. “If she’s not with any of us, where could she be?”

  Bea, overhearing, said, “Well, you know Gerry and fast food. Maybe she went—oh, I’m so silly. Her car is here.”

  “Maybe she went for a ski. Or snowshoeing,” Prudence suggested. “Doug, check the shed for her equipment.” Doug took the shed keys from the hook by the door and went.

  The others waited nervously. Cathy spoke up. “She’s probably out with Jean-Louis. Maybe he asked her for a Valentine’s supper.”

  Cece shook his head. “Nope. I checked. His car is there.”

  Doug returned. He nodded at Prudence. “Snowshoes are gone. But even if she decided to go, wouldn’t she be back by now? It’s not much fun up there after dark. If you’re alone.”

  Cece interjected. “But that’s just it. We don’t know if she is or not.”

  Suddenly, a picture of Gerry either alone or accompanied by a possibly malevolent presence, in the woods where a murder had recently been committed, filled the minds of those gathered in her living room.

  “I don’t like it,” said Doug. “I’m going up there. Which trails would she be likely to take?”

  “From up behind my place,” said Cathy eagerly. “The sugar shack trail. Go, Doug, but take someone with you.”

  “I’ll come, Dad,” David said.

  Doug shook his head. “No, son. You haven’t been well. Cece?”

  Cece nodded and began to put on his coat. Bea made as if to stop him, checked herself and said in a low voice, “Don’t overexert yourself, dear. You’re not as young as you used to be.”

  He grinned wickedly. “Huh. I’m fitter than you think. Have to be, hauling you around, you great big woman.” He gave her a loud kiss on one cheek. She smacked his shoulder.

  “Flashlights,” said Prudence, handing the two men one each. “Make sure you check the pine plantation,” she added. After they’d left, she locked the door and put on the kettle.

  Jean-Louis was tired. He’d had a long hard week since the murder in the woods. His bosses hadn’t been well pleased about how he’d handled that. And, at the ski hill, his other bosses were becoming impatient with the amount of extra time he’d been taking off.

  He rolled over on the couch. Harriet, asleep on the mat where a cool draft blew under the door, whined gently. His eyes snapped open. She was usually such a silent dog. She had to be, given the line of business in which he found himself. She whined again.

  He sat up and looked blearily at the dog. “Hungry?” She wagged her tail. He filled her bowl, made himself a sandwich and stared morosely at the fire.

  It was no good. He couldn’t reconcile his life with Gerry’s. She had the house with all the cats in it. She was making a life in Lovering, putting down roots. Whereas he…

  Harriet had finished her meal and now stood at the door, head lowered, her curled tail slowly waving. “Want to pee?” He opened the door and watched as she relieved herself. He yawned. Harriet sniffed the snow in the driveway and on the lawn. She always sniffed the snow. Then he saw what she was sniffing, stiffened and took a few steps outside.

  Snowshoe tracks, made by the wide old-fashioned ones he associated with Gerry, came up to the stoop, turned and headed into the field behind his cottage.

  Had she come when he hadn’t been home? But he’d been sleeping on the sofa since noon. If she’d knocked, he or Harriet for sure would have heard her. So she hadn’t knocked. She’d decided to go into the woods alone. Why?

  His eyes narrowed as his lips compressed. He made a phone call and went outside. He looked at the snowmobile. It would be fast. But skis would be quieter. He strapped them on, called the dog, and headed into the night.

  Gerry’s hand closed on the tightly wrapped parcel. “Gotcha!” she said softly, then looked around. All clear. She opened the bag and looked inside. Tablets, each enclosed in its little plastic cell. She rewrapped the parcel, put it in a pocket on the inside of her jacket and zipped both pocket and jacket closed.

  She moved to the end of the row of pines towards the trail. As she stepped onto it she heard a sound coming from her left where the trail continued away from Lovering up toward the highway.

  Suddenly Gerry wished she was not out in the woods alone and at night with who knew what type of drugs next to her body and who knew what kind of person or animal approaching. She looked up the trail. There, nose to the ground, was a dog. Or was it a wolf? A coyote? A coywolf? she thought hysterically, looking around for her snowshoes.

  As the animal grew closer she saw it would every now and then lift its nose from the path and cast to either side. An experienced tracker, she thought, and recognized it.

  Doug and Cece, one in his forties, the other a decade further along, walked moderately quickly along Main Road before turning up the well-plowed lane next to Cathy’s property. They didn’t speak.

  Where Cathy’s land ended and that belonging to the empty farmhouse ahead began, the snowplow had turned and they slowed, trudging through snow, in some places up over their knees. “Wait, Doug,” gasped Cece. “There aren’t any snowshoe tracks. Or ski tracks.”

  Doug stopped as Cece caught his breath. “I noticed that too,” he said worriedly. “Shall we go on a bit or what?”

  “I vote we go as far as the train tracks. If she was heading up to the woods, she’d have to cross them somewhere. We can fan out in either direction until we find her marks.” Doug nodded and they continued.

  It was with relief that they found a snowmobile path crossing the field surrounding the house. “Look!” Doug said, pointing downwards. Snowshoe tracks coming from the right led onto the trail.

  “So she came from that fellow’s cottage,” said Cece, looking down. “I see cross-country ski tracks too. Over the snowshoes’.”

  “So he was following her,” said Doug. “By God, if he hurts her—”

  “Calm down. Maybe they were together.”

  They doubled their speed, only sinking in a couple of inches. “Snowmobiles make good paths,” panted Cece. “I’d forgotten that.”

  They reached the railroad. Evidence of snowmobiles went off in all directions but Gerry’s tracks as well as the skier’s had disappeared from the now bare icy path. Doug held up one hand. “Do you hear anything?”

  Cece shook his head. “Now what?”

  “She always talks about the sugar shack and the pine plantation Geoff planted. And that’s the direction Cathy and Prudence suggested. Let’s go that way first.” They plunged down the little slope from the railway tracks, finding evidence of the skier but not of Gerry.

  Doug flashed his light from side to side. “Here!” he called out, stepped off the path and fell into deep snow.

  Cece flashed his light to the same spot. Snowshoe tracks led off behind the sugar shack, follow
ed by the ski tracks. “Why would she—?” he began, but Doug held a finger to his lips.

  He whispered. “I think we should be careful from now on. The tracks go behind the shack. She—or they—were hiding. I’m going to look.”

  Cece stayed on the path. Doug reappeared from around the far side of the shack and beckoned. Cece caught him up and saw the snowshoe tracks had also reappeared. As well as those of the skier.

  They were halfway up when they heard a startled cry. They broke into a run. Cece slipped and fell, and watched as Doug continued up the hill and out of his view.

  “No, no. It’ll keep,” Cathy said in a low voice to Prudence as they looked at the beef Wellington Cathy was unwrapping. “I just don’t want it to get too cold in the fridge. Let’s put it out here.” She rewrapped the dough-encased meat and put it in the porch, on an old bureau on which was a basket of combs, brushes, scissors and nail clippers, Gerry’s cat-grooming station.

  “The vegs are ready to go. Whenever they get back.” Prudence looked at Cathy who grimaced. If they got back, both seemed to be thinking.

  Cathy the caterer spoke. “I think we should serve the crudités and cheeses. People are getting hungry.” Prudence nodded and they prepared the appetizers.

  When they carried them through to the living room, they found a strangely silent little group. Someone had started a fire. Blaise and Bea had the rockers by the fireplace; David and Judith were sitting on the hearthrug playing with Jay. Assorted cats paced around the edges of the room.

  Judith looked at the cats uneasily. “They know we shouldn’t be here without Gerry.”

  “Or they know something’s happened to her,” David said gloomily.

  “I think it’s just our worry transmitting to them,” Prudence said kindly, handing around the raw veggies and dip. “No double dipping,” she reminded.

  Food calmed the cats wonderfully. They stopped agitating and closed in. “Don’t feed them,” warned Prudence. “That was Maggie’s one rule. If you feed them once they’ll come to expect it. And Gerry has to live with them.”

  “But they’re so cute,” Judith cooed as Jay arched her little back and rubbed along her leg.

  “Graymalkin always gets a little from my plate,” said Blaise, “and he’s a perfect gentleman.”

  “Yes, but there’s only one of him.” Bea shuddered. “Can you imagine if all nineteen of these were hounding you while you ate? A nightmare.” She leaned over to Blaise. “I confess, I feed my little Cecilia from my plate too.”

  The older people were sparing in what they ate but the younger ones made up for their lack of interest. “We better put some aside in a container for the others when they get back,” Cathy cautioned quietly.

  “Already done,” Prudence said calmly.

  Gerry’s heart almost stopped when she saw the thin figure walking toward her.

  “Miss Coneybear,” said Elizabeth Shrike.

  “Mrs. Shrike,” Gerry replied, feeling as though they were acting like they were meeting at a formal occasion in the village instead of in the woods at night. “Beautiful evening. Walking the dog?”

  The dog Sharp stood between the women for a moment, then resumed casting for a scent. He went down the row of pines from which Gerry had come. Both Gerry and Mrs. Shrike looked at the footprints he was following.

  “My Uncle Geoff planted all these—” Gerry began.

  Mrs. Shrike held up a hand. “Stop. Do you have something for me?”

  The dog returned, following Gerry’s tracks back to where she stood. He sat at her feet and looked up. On impulse, she reached out a hand to pet him. Her caress was accepted.

  “Good dog. Good dog,” she crooned. He sniffed her hand. She reached into a pocket and gave him a dog cookie. He ate it and then nosed out which pocket contained the drugs and sat again, close to that side. Gerry tried to appear nonchalant but must have looked nervous.

  “He’s not going to attack you,” Mrs. Shrike said cuttingly. “He’s a family pet.”

  “A family pet who’s been trained to sniff out drugs,” Gerry couldn’t resist saying.

  Mrs. Shrike flushed. “That was Nolan’s idea. He’d worked in security and knew how easy it was to make stuff go missing. All it needs is one bent cop—” Her hand flew to her mouth.

  “Ahh.” The soft sound broke from Gerry’s throat as various anomalies clicked into place. “You’re not a killer, Mrs. Shrike,” she said quietly.

  Mrs. Shrike made a sound halfway between a sob and a hiccup. “No, but the people Nolan was working for are. They said if I didn’t keep doing his work, I’d be next.”

  “Why did they kill him?”

  “I persuaded Nolan to ‘burn’ the drugs, to take a bit off the side for ourselves to sell separately. To a local dealer. We needed the money. I needed the money. It hurts me to spend money and I can never get enough.” Glassy-eyed, Mrs. Shrike stared past Gerry’s shoulder as if she were reliving some experience that had turned her into a miser.

  “Burn the drugs” sounded incongruous coming from the older woman’s mouth. Gerry put out a hand in what she hoped was a calming gesture. “That’s why you don’t eat and wear old clothes. And drive an ancient car,” she said softly. “I suppose you make the students work and take their money?”

  “They’re young. Why shouldn’t they work?”

  “They’re just kids,” Gerry protested. “And why would you threaten to kill them?”

  “Not me! I was saying that their bosses would kill them if they were late. Don’t criticize me! Everything has been given to you!” Mrs. Shrike’s voice was becoming hysterical. The dog Sharp moved uneasily at her feet. “Don’t you think I feel bad? I’ve gotten two men killed! By the real boss.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gerry said. “What do we do now?”

  The silent watcher crept closer.

  Jean-Louis skied as fast as he could, his brain furiously ticking. Ahead of him but not too far, Harriet—all business—tracked Gerry.

  They reached the railway in record time. He took a minute to examine the snow in either direction along the line before following Harriet into the woods. The snowshoe tracks, visible starting from his backyard, had been obliterated by a fresh snowmobile trail. But had the vehicle been coming or going? It was a good thing he could rely on Harriet’s nose. He followed her into the woods.

  He found and followed the snowshoe marks off the snowmobile trail to where they led to the sugar shack, pausing to listen carefully and draw a handgun from its holster.

  He edged around the back of the shed. Nothing. She’d gotten off the trail to hide, obviously. From a snowmobiler?

  He ran up the path that snaked between tall maple trees, thanking the job at Royal Mountain for his good conditioning and remembering how he’d coached Gerry to crawl up sideways, painful step by painful step. If she had gotten mixed up in this… His mouth set grimly. Collateral damage.

  He reached the top of the hill and paused again, listening. Harriet came quietly at a hand gesture. She was really turning into a very good dog, he thought, and then heard a crack and a sudden cry.

  Silently the watcher crept forward, focused on the two people and the dog. It decided to take the dog. But the bough on which it was crouched must have been rotten, and gave way under its slight weight, and the fisher found itself falling straight down, still clinging to the piece of wood.

  The bough landed on the path between Gerry and Mrs. Shrike, breaking into several large pieces. The women screamed as the branch almost hit them and again when they saw part of it separate and shoot off into the pine plantation. The dog Sharp gave chase. Then another dog appeared and followed Sharp. Then a man skied up waving a gun. The women screamed again. Then another man appeared, running.

  “Doug! Doug! He’s got a gun!” yelled Gerry. She tackled Mrs. Shrike and lay on the ground, protecting the older woman.

  Jea
n-Louis began to say, “Oh, so you’re D—” when Doug plowed into him. The gun skidded into a snowdrift and out of sight.

  “No! No! Stop!” Jean-Louis tried to defend himself but was hampered by his skis. Doug grabbed a chunk of wood and stood over him menacingly. Gerry and Mrs. Shrike got up slowly. Gerry scrabbled in the snow for Jean-Louis’s gun. She didn’t like to point it at him so handed it to Doug who had no such compunction. He dropped the chunk and covered Jean-Louis.

  “Can I get up?” Jean-Louis asked.

  Mrs. Shrike approached. “Who’s he?”

  Gerry turned to her in surprise. “Isn’t he the one who’s threatening you?”

  Mrs. Shrike sniffed. “Never seen him before in my life.”

  And that’s when Cece hobbled into view.

  19

  There ensued a confusion of snowmobiles converging on them from several directions, all manned by police.

  Jean-Louis showed his identification, his gun was returned to him and Gerry sheepishly handed over the drugs. When she did, all he did was shake his head and cluck his tongue before turning his attention to Mrs. Shrike, who was taken away by snowmobile.

  Cece, whose ankle was quite painful, was transported out on another. Which left Gerry, Doug and Jean-Louis facing each other.

  “Wait!” Gerry said. “Her dog.”

  “Yes, where are the dogs?” Jean-Louis wondered. He whistled and waited.

  The two dogs appeared, each with a scrap of fur in its mouth. Sharp had the head while a happy Harriet dropped the fisher’s tail at her master’s feet.

  “Eew,” said Gerry.

  “I’ll have it made into a hat. A souvenir of a successful bust. Or maybe I’ll give it to you. For your birthday.” He exchanged a look with Doug.

  “No, thanks,” Gerry said firmly. “The poor animal.”

  J-L shrugged. “Dogs are hunters too.” He petted Sharp who had cast for Mrs. Shrike’s scent, then given up. “I’ll take this one. You say it’s trained to sniff drugs, eh? Like Harriet.”