Patricia Seeley - The Millionaire Meets His Match

“You’re here to see me?” Emilie Crosswhite repeated, turning to Gabe while clinging to Cass’s hand. “I thought I didn’t have any appointments this afternoon.”

“I don’t have an appointment, Mrs. Crosswhite,” Cass confessed, releasing the tiny cool hand that had gripped hers with unexpected firmness. “I didn’t have time to make one. I’m here because of an emergency.”

“An emergency!” Mrs. Crosswhite’s clear blue eyes dimmed with concern. Her classically arched eyebrows drew together as she frowned. “Sit down, my dear. Gabriel, ring for tea, won’t you please?” She led Cass to a sofa and sat, patting the cushion next to her. “Tell me all about it.”

Cass sat and her eyes flicked toward Gabe, who was speaking on the house phone. “It’s rather personal,” she said softly.

Mrs. Crosswhite followed the direction of her glance. “You mustn’t worry about Gabriel. my dear. He’s my godson and my most trusted friend. I have no secrets from him.” She laughed gaily, like a girl. “Except my age of course. No one knows that but me, and I’m afraid I’ve quite forgotten it.”

Gabriel had hung up the phone and stood propped against a high-backed chair, his forearms resting lightly on the wicker. His sea green eyes were alert and watchful, belying the casual pose.

Cass took a deep breath. “I’m not sure I know where to begin.”

Emilie Crosswhite patted her hand. “Just take your time, dear, and do the best you can. Gabriel will explain it to me if I don’t understand at first.”

That wasn’t a reassuring thought. Cass turned so she wouldn’t have to see Gabe’s face when she told Mrs. Crosswhite the reason for her visit. “Someone has kidnapped my cat,” she said.

“Oh, my dear!” Mrs. Crosswhite exclaimed, genuine distress clear on her face. “How awful for you.”

Cass ignored the choking snorting sounds coming from Gabe Preston’s direction and concentrated on capitalizing on Mrs. Crosswhite’s sympathy. “They didn’t mean to take my cat. They meant to take your cat, Princess Athabasca.”

“My cat?” Emilie Crosswhite looked confused. She shot a quick look at Gabe, searching for a clue to Cass’s mysterious statement. Apparently he was no help. She focused on Cass again. “I don’t understand, dear.”

“There was a burglary at Dr. Bellingham’s clinic last night,” Cass explained. “Whoever broke in took my cat and left a note. The note said the kidnappers would be calling you tonight to give you instructions on when and where to leave the ransom money. They think they stole Princess Athabasca, but they made a mistake and took the wrong cat. My cat.”

“That is the most ridiculous—” Gabe began.

Emilie Crosswhite brought him up short with a stern look, then addressed Cass. “What does your cat look like, dear?”

“He’s a big gray tom with gold eyes. Bobby, one of the kennel boys who works for Dr. Bellingham, says there’s a strong superficial resemblance between Crudley and the Princess.”

“Crudley?” Gabe echoed in disbelief. Cass nodded without looking at him. For the first time she wished she’d given her cat a more impressive name.

Emilie, however, seemed quite taken with the name. “That would be,” she ventured, “C-r-u-d-l-e-i-g-h? He is French, isn’t he?”

The unmistakable twinkle in Emilie Crosswhite’s eyes filled Cass with renewed hope. She smiled and shook her head in answer. “No, he’s American. It’s just plain l-e-y.”

“How refreshing! And what a relief, really. The French can be so fiercely independent one hesitates to offer help. A French cat, no matter how desperate his straits, might very well try to bite the hand that rescued him. I speak with some authority. We had a French poodle once—”

“Emilie,” Gabe interrupted, his voice dropping to a lower warning register.

“Now, Gabriel,” Emilie Crosswhite answered him, a hint of willfulness in her tone, “you know we have to help the girl.”

“This is not your problem,” he insisted.

“Of course it is,” she countered. “Someone tried to kidnap Princess Athabasca. They failed, but only because this girl’s brave cat thwarted their plans by valiantly substituting himself for their intended victim. It could easily be the Princess and not poor Crudley languishing in a cold dark cage somewhere without food or water or a kind voice to cheer him.”

Gabe rolled his eyes theatrically and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Emilie, your whimsical interpretation of events is an almost constant delight to me. But in this case, I think you’re overreacting. This woman is a stranger. She showed up here today unannounced, charmed her way past the staff—” he had the grace to stumble a little over that “—and now she’s trying to sell you this preposterous story, apparently in the hope you’ll feel guilty and agree to pay off some alleged kidnappers for the return of a cat she may or may not even own.”

Cass was prepared to take offense when Emilie Crosswhite took it for her. “Now who’s being ridiculous?” the older woman demanded. “No one would name an imaginary cat ‘Crudley.’ He’s obviously a real cat, and he’s obviously an innocent bystander, caught up in a plot to extort money from me. I cannot simply abandon this poor animal or pretend I bear no responsibility for what happens to him. He would be safe at this moment if I hadn’t taken the Princess to that wretched clinic for her yearly tonic.”

Cass had a fleeting vision of a kitty health spa where overweight and overpampered cats dined on caviar and drank Perrier water while attendants brushed their fur and clipped their unused claws. Then Gabe rejoined the argument. “What if she does own a cat named Crudley? What if he was at Dr. Bellingham’s clinic last night and he’s missing now? How do you know this woman isn’t the extortionist herself? How do you know she didn’t come here today to give you this sob story in person just to convince you to pay the ransom?”

“Very simply,” Cass interrupted, her temper rising at Gabe’s about-face and his attempt to blacken her character. “You know that isn’t true because I didn’t come here to ask Mrs. Crosswhite for any money.”

Emilie Crosswhite beamed at Cass, then threw a smug little smile in Gabe’s direction. “You see?” she scolded him. “I keep telling you not to assume the worst about people.”

Gabriel Preston colored deeply, an unreadable mix of emotions flashing across his face. He wasn’t ready to surrender, however. “Why did you come here, then?” he demanded of Cass.

“To ask Mrs. Crosswhite if she’d help by stalling the kidnappers when they call.” She turned to Emilie. “If you could play along with them, tell them you need time to collect the ransom and most of all not tell them they have the wrong cat, then that will give me a chance to notify the police. They can set up a phone trace or something and catch the people who did this.”

“The police are not going to go to all that trouble because of a missing cat,” Gabe interjected.

“He’s not missing. He was stolen,” Cass corrected hotly.

“Even if he was,” Gabe said wearily, “that isn’t a crime.”

“Of course it’s a crime!”

Gabe shook his head. “Cats are not considered property in this county.”

The two women stared at him, uncomprehending. “What does that mean?” Cass finally demanded.

“It means cats can’t be ‘stolen’ because legally they don’t belong to anyone. They’re like squirrels or raccoons.”

Emilie waved off Gabe’s statement. “They’re not a bit like either of those creatures.”

“Legally speaking, Emilie, cats are considered no different from wild animals. Unless they’re living on a game preserve, protected by state or federal government, their welfare falls outside the scope of the law.”