Лори Касс - Pouncing On Murder

Trees and fire pits and fences didn’t matter any more. I jumped into a trot, then a run. I had to get to Eddie before . . . before anything happened. The heavy weight of my wet clothes dragged at me, trying to sap my speed, sucking at my strength, but that couldn’t matter now.

“Stop wriggling,” Duvall said, accompanied by metallic creaks as he climbed off the boat lift. “This won’t take long. Soon you’ll be together with your mistress and won’t that be nice for both of you?”

I was running full force, arms pumping, legs pistoning.

“That’s a good kitty,” Duvall said almost jovially as the dock creaked underneath him. “We’re almost there.”

The thick clouds that had been in front of the moon blew past, and the lakeshore was gently illuminated. It should have been a scene of great beauty, but all I could see was a great hulk of man on the end of a dock, about to toss my cat out into deep and frigid water.

“Leave him alone!” I shouted, and ran toward the steps to the dock.

Duvall whirled and cursed.

Suddenly bright lights glared all around us. “Mr. Duvall,” blared a voice through a bullhorn, “this is the police. Please put your hands up.”

But Duvall didn’t. I could tell that he was intent on sending my cat into the water and nothing anyone said was going to stop him. He turned around and I could see that he held a spitting and struggling Eddie with one outstretched hand.

I hurtled down the steps and reached the dock.

“Mr. Duvall,” the bullhorn said. “Put your hands up.”

Mr. Duvall did not. He kept walking, out to the very end of his dock.

I pounded down the wooden slats. “Put him down!”

“I’ll put him down all right,” Duvall said. “Right in the—”

“MRR!” Eddie flung himself around and latched his claws straight into the back of Duvall’s hand.

“Ah!” Duvall yelled and dropped Eddie. “You miserable cat, I’ll—”

But that was all he got out before I caromed into him with all my weight. Shoulder first, head down, elbow tight to my body, I thumped him and I thumped him good.

Duvall, still yelling, flailed about with his arms, trying to recover, but I’d caught him off guard and off balance and he fell into the water with a great splash.

I scooped Eddie off the dock and snuggled him close. “Are you all right, pal? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Feet hurried toward me. I turned and saw multiple officers rushing toward me. Sheriff Kit Richardson led the way, followed by Detective Inwood, followed by Ash, followed by two other deputies.

The sheriff stood at the dock’s end, flashlight in hand, and took in the situation. “Wolverson, make sure he gets out of there fast. That water’s cold.” She glanced at me. “Ms. Hamilton, you need a hospital. No arguments. Your lips and fingers are blue. A deputy will take you. Now.”

The command was sharp and crisp and I did not dare disobey. But . . .

Sheriff Richardson smiled. “If he’ll let me,” she said, “I’ll take care of Eddie until you get home. From what I can tell, he’s the hero of the hour.”

“What d-do you s-say, Ed-die?” I asked through chattering teeth as a deputy put an emergency blanket around my shoulders.

“Mrr,” he said, and bumped my chin with the top of his head.

Chapter 22

Sunday afternoon, Kristen thundered out a laundry list of unnecessary orders to her staff, gave them a good long glare, and ended with “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Don’t burn the place to the ground when I’m gone, okay?”

Each and every one of the white-coated staff members rolled their eyes, right in front of their boss. “We’ll be fine,” the head chef said as she stirred something in a huge pot. “Go have some fun before you forget how.”

Kristen sniffed loudly, turned to me, winked, and together we headed into the sunshine, destination: the party at Josh’s house.

“Ash Wolverson, huh?” she asked as we walked along. Her elbow caught me in the middle of my upper arm. “He’s pretty hot. What are you going to do on your date?”

“Go to a different town,” I said promptly. “Or maybe Canada. It’s not far, really, and it’s a nice drive across the bridge.”

I’d been joking, but it wasn’t a bad idea. No one would know either of us in Canada, which held great appeal, because I’d had many a romantic meal hijacked by friends who’d wanted to stop and chat. And then there’d been the memorable occasion when I took a date to Kristen’s restaurant and she played waitress for us.

“With Trock in town for the book fair,” I said, “why isn’t Scruffy hanging around you like a lost puppy dog?”

“They’re behind on the TV show,” she said. “Flew back to New York this morning. I barely saw him at all.”

“But he’ll be back for the summer, right?” Kristen and Scruffy made a wonderful couple. I didn’t like to think of them apart for too long a stretch.

“Memorial weekend,” she said, happiness clear in her voice. “Then on through to Labor Day.”

I sent an elbow her way, which smacked into the top of her hip. “Should be a good summer, then.”

“Only if you finish telling me what happened to you last night.”

“How much did I tell you?”

It had been Kristen who’d picked me up from the hospital, where I’d been delivered, so to speak. Ash had driven my car to the houseboat, and after the emergency room doctor said my body temperature was at a safe level, I used the hospital’s phone to summon my best friend. My cell phone was in the hands of Detective Inwood, who would be taking it to their computer forensics guy, who would do his best to recover my audio recordings of Duvall’s threats to me and his acknowledgment of what he’d done to Henry and Adam.

Kristen had been full of questions last night, but I’d fallen asleep within two blocks and had barely woken when she gently pulled me out of her car, walked me to my houseboat, and dribbled me into bed.

“For clarity’s sake,” Kristen said now, “let’s say you didn’t tell me anything.”

This was sensible, because whatever I’d told her last night couldn’t have been very coherent. “Well,” I said, “it all started when Cole Duvall called me after the book fair and said that he had Eddie.”

Kristen made a T with her hands for a time-out. “Sidebar. How is Mr. Ed?”

“He’s fine. Kit Richardson brought him home this morning. I think he likes her better than he likes me.”

“Hang on,” Kristen said. “You’re talking about the sheriff?”

“Well, yeah. Is there any other Kit Richardson in Chilson?”

She shivered. “You let her take Eddie? You sure she didn’t eat him and bring a substitute in his place?”

“What? No, of course not. What’s the matter with you? She’s perfectly nice.”

“I doubt that word has ever been associated with Sheriff Richardson,” Kristen muttered, then looked around to see if anyone had heard her.

“You’re an idiot,” I said.

“And you’re what, smart?” She made a rude noise. “Going off to meet a guy you suspected of murdering Henry Gill and trying to run over Adam Deering isn’t what I’d call stellar brainwork.”

“It wasn’t as bad as you make it sound,” I said. “Matter of fact, I—”

“Say,” Kristen interrupted. “Isn’t that your aunt? And Otto?”

I clutched at her arm. “Don’t tell her anything about last night. I’ll talk to her later.”

But Aunt Frances was headed straight in my direction. “Minerva Joy Hamilton,” she called, “I need to talk to you.”

“Okay,” Kristen said, grinning. “I won’t tell her a thing.”

“What were you thinking?” my aunt scolded as she enveloped me in a huge hug, smushing my face against her shoulder. “Going off like that without a word to anyone, walking straight into danger . . . For heaven’s sake, I thought you knew better!”