Рита Браун - Cat On The Scent

“Today, in fact.”

“Bet you're relieved.”

“Archie is curiously stubborn.”

“What a nice way to put it.” Harry smiled as she headed for her truck. “Where's he going?”

“Tally Urquhart's.”

“What?”

“She'll let him live in one of her outbuildings if he'll restore it. He said he needs a positive project.”

“I'm nervous.” The tiger walked over to Harry's truck. “We've got to get her to call Coop.”

It was too late for that.

50

Sir H. Vane-Tempest noticed the peculiar waxiness of the magnolias—grandifloras—he'd planted along his southern drive. The long shadows of late afternoon heightened the colors and the sense of melancholy at the day's passing.

A troop of gardeners worked behind the house.

Usually the garden delighted him. Vane-Tempest was not a man to delight in people, since he viewed all relationships as a power struggle, a struggle he must win in order to feel important. He saw people in terms of a vertical scale. Perhaps the Windsor family ranked above him, certain Rothschilds and Von Thyssens, but he believed he sat very near the pinnacle. Usually that fact thrilled him.

Since reading Tareq's transcription he'd been unthrilled, indeed, deeply miserable.

“The days are drained into time's cup and I've drunk it dry,” he whispered to himself, turning on his heel to go inside.

He stopped, turned around, and looked again at the gardens. He noticed Sarah walking among the workers. Her beauty soared beyond explanation, like the beauty of creamy peonies. It just was.

He turned once more and walked into the house. He strolled down the long parquet-floor hallway, barely noticing the Monet. He strode into Sarah's room, opened her closet, clicked on the lights, and closed the door behind him.

Row upon row of cashmere sweaters in plastic see-through boxes attested to her acquisitiveness as well as to her insight into the fact that she was valuable only as long as she was beautiful.

He headed for the long rows of canvas garment bags. He unzipped them one by one. Sumptuous evening gowns of emerald, sapphire, ruby, silver, white, and gold spilled over the sides of the opened bags. He could picture his wife in each of these extravagantly expensive confections.

He reached into the bottom of each garment bag, swished around with his hand, then moved to the next one. The last bag tucked in the cedar-lined closet swayed slightly.

He opened it. The zipper clicked as the tab moved down. Her shimmering peach gown fluttered. He reached down. Nothing.

The door opened. “H., what are you doing?”

“Where is it?”

“What?” She noticed the shine on his brow, the gleam in his eye.

“Your uniform.”

“What uniform?”

“Don't play games with me. You dressed up and shot me. Archie doesn't have the guts.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Liar!” He lunged toward her but the closet was huge.

She slammed the door, locked it, and cut off the lights. She took her unregistered snub-nosed .38 out of the nightstand by her bed and threw it into her purse. Then she ran like hell for her car.

51

Harry was just turning into her driveway when Sarah flew past her without waving, her car a blur.

She stopped at her mailbox, watching as Sarah turned into Blair's driveway a quarter of a mile down the road.

“I wonder—” she said out loud, then shook her head. “Nah.”

Sarah roared up to the house, parked her car next to the Porsche, and ran to the door.

“Archie! Archie!”

Archie, who'd just come back from dragging the U-Haul to Tally's, was surprised to see Sarah burst through the doorway, even more surprised when she flung herself into his arms.

“I think I'll go to my office.” Blair, who'd been helping Archie, put his papers in a box, then walked upstairs.

Sarah waited until she heard the door close. “He's going to kill me.”

“H.?”

“Archie, I've got to get out of here. Help me!”

“Why does he want to kill you?”

“Because I tried to kill him.”

“What!”

“It was me at Oak Ridge. You were right. I dressed as a soldier, just as you said. Those damned old rifles—it's a wonder anybody hit the broad side of a barn during that war.”

Archie held her at arm's length. “Sarah, you really shot H. Vane?”

“I'm only sorry I missed killing him.”

“He knows?” Archie was amazed.

“He thinks he knows. I caught him in my closet going through my garment bags—looking for the uniform, damn his eyes. Well, he won't find it. I'm not stupid. I burned the thing.”

“So he has no proof?”

“No, but what does that matter? He's in a rage. He'll kill me if he finds me and he's so rich he'll get off. People like him always do.”

“Why did you want to kill him?” Archie coolly asked.

“Because I couldn't stand his fat body one more minute. Because I hate him. I hate the sight of him. You've never been a servant, Archie, you wouldn't understand.”

“You were a very well-paid one.”

Sensing his withdrawal, she said, “I couldn't tell you. You would have tried to stop me. As long as he's alive I can't be with you. And why should I go to the poorhouse? I've worked for that money. If he caught us together my divorce would be an open-and-shut case. Shut the door. Bang.”

“I see.”

“Archie, help me!” She threw her arms around him.

“Where is he now?”

“Locked in my closet. He'll eventually break the door down. His shoulder still hurts but he's strong. You've got to hide me until I can figure something out.”

“Jesus, Sarah, didn't your mother tell you, Look before you leap?”

“If I'd done that I'd never have fallen in love with you.”

“I wish I believed that.” He sighed. Beautiful women acquired men like dogs acquire fleas. All they had to do was walk through a room.

“Did you shoot Tommy? Tell me the truth this time.”

“No. I loved Tommy once.” She looked him square in the eye. “He had magic. It didn't last long but I was so miserable with H. Archie, can't you understand?”

“I—”

“He'll kill me!”

“All right. All right.” He stroked her hair.

Try as he might, he couldn't stop loving her. He kissed her. “Everything will be all right.” He walked to the foot of the stairs. “Blair.”

The door opened. “Yes.”

“I'm taking Sarah to the airport.”

Blair clomped halfway down the stairs. “Everything okay?”

“No,” Sarah tearfully confessed. “Blair, I can explain everything later. I just have to get out of here.”

Archie hustled her into his Land Rover. Blair watched them start down the driveway. If he'd watched longer he would have seen that Archie turned right out of his driveway, not left toward the airport.

52

Pewter wedged herself underneath the camellia bush. She felt certain the blue jay would perch there and since she'd squeezed herself in and was still, he wouldn't notice.

Hunting was best in the morning or late afternoon. No animal likes to go to bed on an empty stomach. She knew she could grab the blue jay. She'd even gone to the trouble of scattering about bread crusts, which she fished out of the garbage when Harry's back was turned.

Pewter dreamed of ways to dispatch the bird, her favorite being a straight vertical leap, grasping the offender between her mighty paws, pulling him to the ground, and staring him in the eye before breaking his neck.

“She who laughs last laughs best!” she told herself, revving her motor.

She was ready!

Pop.

Mrs. Murphy, sitting on the haywagon next to the barn, out of Pewter's way, heard it, too. She looked out toward Harry, who'd been inspired by the vision of that new John Deere to get up on Johnny Pop and overseed the front acres. Harry rolled along, the small seeder attached to the back of the tractor.