Лори Касс - Pouncing On Murder

“You killed Henry,” I said, in as strong a voice as I could, which wasn’t very, but still. “You were up there that weekend with your girlfriend, and Henry saw her with you. You knew Henry well enough to know he’d never lie for you, so you figured a way to make Henry’s death look like an accident.”

Though the sun had dropped behind the tree line, the rising half-moon was sending out enough light that I could see shapes, if not colors.

“What of it?” Duvall toed Eddie’s box, sending it another inch toward the edge of the dock.

“And you saw Adam try to get Henry out from under the tree, didn’t you?”

Duvall chuckled. “Yeah, figured that guy was toast, the way he fell to the ground, grabbing at his chest. Pissed me off something royal when I found out he was still alive, let me tell you.”

“How did you know that Adam had seen your girlfriend?”

“Didn’t.” Duvall shrugged. “But I couldn’t take that chance. I hoped that heart thing would kill him off, but no, he got better and came home to a wife that hovered over him like a nutcase.” He snorted. “Took me a while to figure out a way to get at him.” He glared at me. “And you had to go and mess that up, too.”

“He’s my friend,” I said quietly. “I help my friends.”

“That’s great for them,” Duvall said, his voice hardening. “But who helps you when you need it? What happens then? Do they come running, lending a hand when you need it?”

Actually they did. And had done so that very day. It would have been hard to count all the friends who had gathered around when I called that morning when I was panicked for the book fair.

Trock had been a trouper, the library staff had hardly blinked an eye, Rafe had come through like a champ, Kristen had handed out the emergency fliers Pam printed up until her restaurant opened, my downtown friends had willingly helped direct people to the school, and there was Ash and my aunt Frances and her friend Otto and the marina folks and—

“Yeah, I thought so,” Duvall said. “You can’t count on anyone these days.” He stood, towering over me, his bulk blotting out the moonlight. “Just like I won’t be able to count on you.”

Of course he couldn’t. Why on earth would he think he should be able to? I barely knew him and didn’t care for what I did know. In addition to making no sense, the man was a jerk of the first order, and I wondered how he’d managed to fool Larabeth long enough to convince her to marry him.

Duvall’s foot slid to the side and I suddenly realized what he was about to do.

“No!” I shouted, and lunged forward, flinging myself onto the cardboard box, the flimsy, wouldn’t-hold-water box, the box that held my furry friend, my confidant, my pal.

My hands snatched the box out of Duvall’s reach just before the rest of my body hit the dock. I oof ed out a painful grunt and twisted my body away, rolling as far as I could as fast as I could, trying to escape his powerful kick.

Still rolling, I scrabbled to open the box. It was taped shut, but I yanked away the sticky stuff and pulled open the flaps.

As soon as I did, Eddie, howling and scratching and hissing, launched himself out of his small prison. His paws barely hit the dock as he bounded away from me and onto the Duvall’s empty boat lift. He galloped along the narrow metal beams, clawed his way up the vertical padded posts, and leaped up onto the metal of the canopy’s framework.

I held my breath, because that framework was made of metal tubes and wasn’t anything any normal cat would typically be happy perching upon, but Eddie was no normal cat and this was definitely not a normal situation.

“What’s with him?” Duvall asked.

“He’s scared,” I said, and so was I. Because it was now obvious to me that Duvall had given up on having me clear things up for him with Larabeth. He’d passed the moment when I might have convinced him to work on his marriage. He might have passed it before I even arrived. And the moment I thought about that, I knew it was true.

Duvall had never intended to let me go. Even if I’d sworn to keep quiet, he would never have allowed me to go home, free to call Larabeth and tell her what her husband had just done to me. He’d brought me here to kill me and I’d walked right into his manipulative trap. Too Stupid To Live, they called this. TSTL.

“Stupid,” I whispered to myself. Because now what was I going to do? Duvall was far too big for me to fight and I hadn’t heard the least hint of police sirens.

I could try to run, but unless I got a huge head start, he’d catch up to me before I got off the dock. I could scream, but it was too early in the year for anyone to be around, and the only weapon I had was . . . well, nothing.

I studied the boat lift, thinking to emulate my cat, but I didn’t see how I could climb what Eddie had climbed. Besides, Duvall could just step onto the horizontal bits, reach up, and yank me down. In the end, he might leave Eddie alone.

Then again, I didn’t want to leave Eddie an orphan. Aunt Frances would take him, but Otto already had a cat and the one time we’d tried to encourage their friendship had not gone well. Kristen’s apartment was above the restaurant and she wouldn’t want that much cat hair floating about. Holly had a young dog, and Josh wasn’t a cat guy. I toyed with the idea of Rafe and Eddie, but wasn’t sure Rafe would remember to feed and water him on a regular basis. During the school year, sure, but what about during the summer when Rafe went for three months without a haircut because his secretary wasn’t there to remind him? So Rafe was out, and I didn’t know Ash well enough to say, not yet anyway.

The dock creaked. Duvall was moving closer to me. I cleared my mind of the panic-induced cobweb of thoughts it had drifted into and inched backward.

“What are you doing?” I asked loudly.

“Nothing,” he said. “Not just yet anyway.”

“Well, what are you going to do?” Brave Minnie, facing down her foe with courage and a fierce determination to battle her way free. If only her voice hadn’t sounded so squeaky.

“I’m not going to do anything.”

His voice was calm and pleasant, and now that he was close to me—far too close—I could see that he was smiling. The smile creeped me out more than anything else had yet and I whirled away, starting to run, wanting to run, trying my hardest to run, but not being able to because a huge meaty hand had clamped onto my upper arm, the weight behind it keeping me from going anywhere.

“No,” he said, “I’m not going to do a thing. But you, you’re going to have an accident. It’s going to be very sad. All your little bookmobile and library friends will boo-hoo when they hear.”

I tried to yank free of his grip. “No one will believe it. I’m not accident-prone.”

He snorted. “So what? You’ll be dead. Besides, no one will be able to tell. You’re going to drown, that’s all. Happens every year. Someone falls in the water, doesn’t realize how fast hypothermia works, and blub-blub-blub, down they go.” He chuckled, and that was when I really started to hate him. Killing me was one thing, but he didn’t have to be so jolly about it.

“I can swim, you know.” I gave my arm a quick twist, hoping to break his grip. Though it didn’t work, I kept trying. I thought about trying to hit him, to scratch at him, to kick him, but was wary of the danger that his other hand—his other fist—presented. One good hit and I’d be down and incapacitated.

“Of course you can,” he said, dragging me toward the end of the dock. “You’d have to be an idiot to live on a houseboat and not be able to swim.” He stopped. “Hang on. You know how to swim, so you’re not an idiot, but you have to be pretty stupid, coming out here all on your own. Kind of makes you wonder what the difference is between stupidity and idiocy, doesn’t it?”