Part 5 (2/2)
”I'm not sure she was seeing anyone,” Cora said. ”She went to work when Patrick started kindergarten. At some antique store downtown. Part-time, so she could get home before the school bus dropped him off in the afternoons.”
”And that's when she started changing?”
”A few months later,” Cora said, and shut the dishwasher door decisively. ”Help me serve the coffee, Avery. I baked a cake, too. There are cups and plates in the cabinet and forks in the drawer.”
”Yes, ma'am,” I answered, opening the cabinet door. I'd worry about Peggy Murphy and her phantom lover later.
5.
It wasn't until we pulled to a stop outside Aunt Inga's house-my house-on Bayberry Lane that I realized what I had done.
”Oh, my G.o.d!” I turned to Derek, my eyes wide, ”we have to go back!”
”To Dad and Cora's?” He put the truck back into gear, and we rolled away from the curb again. ”Why? What did you forget? I have a key, if you left your purse there.”
”Not your dad and Cora's. The house on Becklea. The cats!”
”Oops,” Derek said, his voice a lot calmer than mine. I fisted my hands.
”How could I have been so stupid? The poor things, they must be terrified!”
”Jemmy and Inky are cats, Avery,” Derek said, turning the corner. ”They're used to being alone, they're safe inside the house, and if you're worried about the footsteps scaring them, keep in mind that cats consort with witches. They're used to supernatural phenomena. In fact, they're probably curled up somewhere, sound asleep.”
”If you think you can talk me into leaving them there until tomorrow . . .”
Derek shook his head. ”I'm driving, aren't I? All I'm saying is that you needn't worry. They're fine. If you wanted to leave them until tomorrow, they'd still be fine, if a little upset.”
Undoubtedly he was right. Jemmy and Inky were used to their own company. They didn't care much for mine, that's for sure. Being alone wouldn't bother them. Nor would the footsteps, if they came back. Being without food was another story. That would make them angry. But they'd survive overnight. Especially if there were mice. Still, Aunt Inga had left me the responsibility of taking care of Jemmy and Inky, and this was how I rose to the challenge?
Fifteen minutes later, we were back at the house at Becklea. Derek turned off the engine and turned to me. ”Here we are.”
I nodded, not making a move to get out of the car. ”Looks spooky, doesn't it?”
”It's just because it's vacant and unlit,” Derek said, with a look around. ”We should turn on the porch light before we leave again.”
”Are you sure that's all? That it doesn't look . . . creepy?”
Derek shrugged. ”If it looks creepy, it's only because you're projecting. If you didn't know what happened here, it would just look like an empty house. Or even an occupied house with n.o.body home. You can't tell from here whether anyone lives here or not.”
”That's true,” I admitted. Derek looked at me.
”Do you want me to come with you?”
”You mean you weren't planning to? Yes, of course I want you to come with me. I can't handle both Jemmy and Inky on my own.”
”You wanna hold my hand, too?”
”I wouldn't mind,” I admitted. Derek grinned.
”C'mon, then. Let's get this show on the road.” He opened his car door. I did the same, and we met on the gra.s.s beside the truck. ”Last one to the porch is a rotten egg.” He took off, laughter trailing after him. I let him run. I was wearing a dress and high heels, and besides, I enjoy watching him move. So while he ran h.e.l.l for leather toward the front door, I minced across the gra.s.s in my pumps, doing my best to avoid sinking the three-inch heels too deeply into the ground.
By the time I reached the porch, Derek had already dug his keychain out of his pocket and managed to fumble the correct key into the lock. ”After you,” he said with a bow, taking a step aside as he pushed the door in and fumbled for the porch light switch. I opened my mouth to respond in kind-”No, no; after you!”-because I sure as heck didn't want to be the first one into the dark house. But before I could get a word out, we both froze where we stood, mouths open, while a scream cut through the air. High-pitched, shrill, terrified. The hair at the back of my neck stood at attention, and goose b.u.mps popped up all over my body.
”One of the cats?” Derek asked, his voice amazingly steady, though not without a faint tremor. My own teeth shook like castanets when I answered.
”Don't think so.”
”There's no such thing as ghosts.”
”Of course not.”
”Somebody's messing with us.”
I nodded, teeth chattering. He plunged into the house, and a moment later, the dining room chandelier came on. Derek stalked into the kitchen and from there into the den, lights blazing on in his wake, while I stood where I was, trying to force my feet to cooperate but failing miserably.
A minute later he came back into the living room. ”No cats.”
”No cats? But . . . where are they?”
”No idea,” Derek said. ”They must have gotten out somehow.”
”Oh, no.” I looked around, not knowing quite what to do or where to start looking. Then something struck me. ”How could they get out? We didn't leave any windows open, did we? And we locked the door, right?”
”Right,” Derek said. ”Seems there's a way out we don't know about. Either that, or someone else has a key to the place.”
”I'm not sure I like that idea,” I said, after a beat. He looked at me.
”I'm sure I don't. Let's go. We'd better see if we can find them.” He brushed past me, and headed down the stairs to the yard again. I was just about to follow, more slowly, when I heard a door slam.
”What in blazes is going on here?”
I minced down the stairs to the gra.s.s. Derek was halfway across the lawn by now, but he turned so we were both facing Venetia Rudolph's house.
It was going on eleven P.M., and the older woman must have been all tucked up and ready for bed. She was wearing plaid pajama pants under a dark dressing gown, and on her feet were mannish slippers. Her gray hair was standing out around her head, and she was obviously annoyed. ”What is the meaning of this?” she added.
I glanced at Derek, who said politely, ”The meaning of what, Miss Rudolph?”
”That . . . that . . . squealing!” She looked from one to the other of us.
”One of the cats,” Derek said, at the same time as I asked innocently, ”What squealing?”
Venetia Rudolph snorted. ”Bad enough that you're carrying on inside the house all day, but do you have to do it outside, too? At night?”
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