Читать книгу Escape Claws - Linda Reilly - Страница 11
ОглавлениеChapter 3
“Thank you for making dinner, Lara. That omelet was scrumptious.”
Settled in the wing chair in front of the unlit fireplace, Aunt Fran folded a crocheted throw over her legs and patted her knees. Dolce accepted the invitation and sprang onto her lap, green eyes gazing up at her adoringly.
“Anytime,” Lara said, genuinely pleased. She was sitting on the floor next to her aunt, Munster curled in a half-moon atop her folded legs. “My landlady—her name’s Gabriela—calls them frittate, the plural of frittata. She’s the one I told you about—the one who owns the bakery.”
“And she’s teaching you some Italian, I see.” Aunt Fran smiled.
Lara waggled her hand back and forth. “A little, but I’m kind of a crappy student.”
“Lately,” Aunt Fran went on, “I’ve been making do with frozen dinners and canned soup. Not exactly my style, but it’s easier on my knees. I don’t do well standing at the stove or at the sink for long periods.” She rested her hands over Dolce and softly stroked the cat. “And thank you again for helping today. The house already looks much better.”
And smells better, Lara thought, though in reality she’d only skimmed the surface of what needed to be done. Tomorrow she hoped to give the place a good vacuuming and maybe some dusting.
Aunt Fran’s smile wilted. “I still don’t know why you’re here, Lara. Do you want to enlighten me?”
Okay, the moment of truth.
“Aunt Fran, I’m going to be honest. I’ve been here less than half a day and already I’m very worried about you. I remember this house before…before—”
“Before your mother and Roy moved away?” The bitterness in her aunt’s tone surprised Lara.
“Y-yes, before that.” Lara stroked Munster’s soft head for courage. “But what I meant was, um…before you got so overwhelmed with cats. And I don’t mean to pry, honestly I don’t, but…have you seen a specialist about your knees?”
“I’m not a fool, Lara. Of course I have.” She sighed. “My doctor calls my condition rapidly destructive osteoarthritis. It means the deterioration in the cartilage happened quickly, not over a long period. He’s urging me to have replacements done in both knees.”
Oh, boy. That sounded bad. No wonder Aunt Fran had so much difficulty walking.
Lara tickled Munster under the chin, triggering a loud purr. “So what are you waiting for? Why don’t you just have the surgery?”
“You sound like everyone else,” her aunt said, a touch of snark in her tone. “You don’t see it, do you?”
“See what? I—”
“How can I have knee surgery with no one to care for the cats? It requires several days in the hospital, and even more in a rehab facility, like the one where Heather works. And after that, a long period of recovery at home, with therapists making home visits. And that’s only for one knee.”
“Okay, I get it. But isn’t there anyone you can ask for help? Maybe pay someone to house-sit/catsit for a few weeks?”
Aunt Fran shook her head. “I tried finding someone, but no one was willing to work for the pay I could offer. Besides, a few weeks wouldn’t be enough.”
“Your knees,” Lara said. “That’s why you quit teaching this year, isn’t it?”
“It is, and before you ask, I do get a monthly disability check. The problem is, it’s barely enough to keep this house up and running. Once winter sets in, the heating bills will skyrocket.”
Munster began chewing on the sleeve of Lara’s paisley pullover. She smiled and bent down to kiss his whiskers. “What about Brooke?” she suggested. “She obviously likes your cats. Could she give you some help with the litter boxes?”
“She could and she offered to do so, but I refused. And since I can already see a question mark forming in that inquisitive head of yours, I’ll tell you why. You probably don’t remember your grandmother—my mother—do you?”
Lara shook her head. “Not really.” A vague memory of a scowling woman with a caustic tongue came to mind. Lara had been quite young at the time. She wasn’t sure if that had been her grandmother or a neighbor.
“Well, when I was a young girl,” Aunt Fran explained, her voice tight, “my mother suddenly declared one day that she was a semi-invalid. No doctor had ever told her that, or diagnosed her with anything in particular. But the label worked well for her so she stuck with it.” Her hands shook a little. “I was forced to perform all sorts of chores that a child should never be charged with. Including personal hygiene tasks that were mortifying to me.”
Dolce stared up at Aunt Fran, as if he felt her sudden angst.
“Oh, I…” Lara swallowed. “I’m so sorry. That sounds truly awful. Look, I get what you’re saying. But if Brooke really wants to help. Wouldn’t it be a good after-school job for her?”
Aunt Fran’s expression softened. “It might be, but I know Brooke quite well. When she does something she enjoys, especially if it means helping someone, she puts her whole heart into it. I’m worried that if she started helping with the cats, she’d get so involved that her schoolwork would suffer. Plus, she’ll be entering high school next year, and will have even more homework than she does now.”
That is so Aunt Fran, Lara thought. You can take the teacher out of the school…
Finally, Lara relented. She didn’t want to badger her aunt anymore. She’d have to figure out another way to get her some help. “So you’ve been doing some private tutoring?”
“Not really. So far I’ve only helped Darryl with reading, but I’d like to do more if I can. Actually,” she said, “I don’t get paid for working with Darryl. His mom barely makes ends meet as it is. And speaking of Darryl…”
“Yes, speaking of Darryl,” Lara repeated. “Why do you think he suddenly started reading practically at high school level?”
Slowly, her aunt shook her head. “I can’t explain it, Lara. I saw it with my own eyes and I still don’t believe it. Just yesterday he couldn’t pronounce the word quarry. But this afternoon…” Her words drifted sideways, and she seemed to lose the thread. She leaned her head back in the chair and closed her eyes. She remained that way for so long that Lara wondered if she’d nodded off.
Taking advantage of the awkward silence, Lara glanced around, drinking in all the treasures that had fascinated her as a girl. When she was young she’d called this room the “fancy” room. She could still picture herself stretched out on the floor with her sketch pad and colored pencils, trying to copy the swirly patterns in the Oriental carpet. What had delighted her most was her aunt’s collection of Victorian flue covers. Lara was happy to see they were still displayed on the mantel, each one depicting a colorful cat or kitten.
There was, of course, a cat tree in the front window. Covered in sturdy beige carpeting, it had ledges and cubbyholes and a perch at the top. Two gray-and-white kittens were nestled inside the lower cubby. Lara cooed to them in a soft, singsong voice, hoping to entice them closer. Instead they huddled into a tighter ball, as if protecting one another.
Lara’s gaze drifted to the doorway that led to a back hallway. Beyond that was another porch—one that was screened in. When Lara had been hunting down litter boxes to clean, she’d found three of them out there. For some reason, she didn’t recall her aunt ever having spent much time on that porch, even with its short set of stairs that led out to the side yard. Aunt Fran evidently preferred the openness of the wraparound porch in front, and the padded wicker chair in which she could rock to her heart’s content.
Aunt Fran’s eyes opened abruptly. “Tomorrow, if you’re still here,” she said, “maybe you could sit with Darryl for a while. What happened today might have been a complete fluke. I’d welcome your opinion, Lara.” She rested a hand on Dolce, who snuggled farther into her lap.
“I’ll be happy to do that,” Lara said. She was miffed at her aunt’s implication that she was going to hightail it back to Boston the next day and leave her without any help. “And unless you toss me out, I have no intention of bailing on you.”
Lara knew she sounded cranky, but she was tired and beyond frustrated with her aunt’s situation. How could Aunt Fran have let things get this dire? Why hadn’t she tried to find homes for some of the cats? Wasn’t there a local humane society that could give her some assistance?
“Why would I toss you out, as you put it?” her aunt asked testily.
Lara blew out a breath. “Listen, Aunt Fran,” she said evenly, “from the time I got here this afternoon, I’ve sensed that you’re angry with me.” Her aunt started to interrupt but Lara held up a hand. “Granted, I haven’t tried to contact you for a very long time. I honestly can’t explain why. When Dad first got that new job and we moved to Sudbury, I was utterly miserable. I missed you so much. Plus, I was dying without Sherry. But I remember sending you a bunch of cards and you never wrote me back.”
Aunt Fran looked genuinely puzzled. “I only received one card,” she insisted. “It was about a week after you’d moved. I wrote several letters to you, but never heard from you again. One day I tried to call, but the number had been changed to a private one.”
Lara was stunned. She’d never received those letters. As for the phone number, she remembered her dad saying that because of his job they needed to get an unlisted number. She assumed he’d given the number to Aunt Fran, his only sister.
Her aunt’s eyes misted. “I’m sorry if I sounded cross,” she said. “My emotions are all over the place right now.”
Yeah, tell me about it, Lara wanted to say. “I know. Mine, too.” She placed a hand over her aunt’s thin fingers and was rewarded with a squeeze. “So maybe we can start fresh, okay?”
Aunt Fran smiled, and her eyes brightened. “That sounds like a plan. You can start by telling me what I’ve missed all these years. Your career, boyfriends…” She let the words dangle.
Lara skimmed over the details of her art career, which, so far, had been less than impressive. She’d sold a few watercolors, but her earnings hadn’t been spectacular. Her online art projects supplemented her income, but the work was sporadic—nothing she could depend on. Her part-time job at the bakery kept her in food and rent, but with little left over. Not having a car helped. Taking the T to get around Boston, while annoying, gave her plenty of opportunities to find interesting faces to sketch. She occasionally did it surreptitiously between the seemingly endless T stops.
“Is there…anyone special in your life?” Aunt Fran asked.
The question surprised Lara. The dismal truth was that she’d never had anyone truly special in her life. Oh sure, she’d had boyfriends. But none had ever risen to the level of a “significant other.”
“No, no one. Aunt Fran, you were going to tell me all about that awful Theo Barnes. Why is he bothering you?”
Her aunt’s face clouded. “He’s been trying to coerce me into selling part of my land. You know the vacant stretch below the crest of the hill, behind the town’s parcel?”
Lara nodded slowly. She realized she was smiling to herself. She’d spent much of her early childhood exploring that empty field. It stretched from the back of the town’s tiny park to the bank of the narrow stream that formed her aunt’s rear boundary line. The meadow was a haven for a wealth of small animal species. Her favorites had been the red salamanders that darted along the water’s edge.
Aunt Fran continued. “Theo desperately wants that land so he can build luxury condo units. According to him, he already has interested buyers.”
“First of all,” Lara said, “he can’t force you to do anything with your own property that you don’t want to do. And second, think of all the animals that would be disrupted! And besides,” she added, picturing the location in her mind, “isn’t it landlocked?”
Her aunt nodded. “Right on all counts. Unfortunately, Theo owns the parcel adjacent to mine—it’s part of the town block where Bowker’s Coffee Stop is. If he consolidates my land with his, then the problem of street access will disappear. But that’s not all. His latest ploy is to claim he owns a big chunk of my land. Supposedly he had a survey done. My vacant parcel, he insists, doesn’t stretch as far as I think it does.”
Lara rolled her eyes. “What a royal toad. No offense to frogs.”
“He’s not a nice man,” her aunt said tartly. “And that’s as much as I can say without using a few choice descriptors that are not in the dictionary. Not in my dictionary, anyway.” Her green eyes twinkled a bit.
Munster rose, stretched, and lumbered off Lara’s lap. Lara took advantage of the sudden freedom and stretched out her legs. “Aunt Fran, have you talked to a lawyer about this?”
“Not yet. But I did try to find a survey of my property at the town hall. The only thing they had was the assessor’s map. The town clerk told me I’d have to go to the Registry of Deeds in Ossipee to get the recorded survey.”
“If you need it, Aunt Fran, I’ll drive up there and get it for you.”
Aunt Fran’s smile was warm, if a bit awkward. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
There were so many other questions Lara wanted to ask. She was beginning to realize how much she’d missed during all the years she’d been away. But when she looked over at her aunt, she saw that her eyelids were drooping. She needed a solid night’s rest. They both did.
“It’s after ten,” Aunt Fran said, as if reading her mind. She lifted Dolce gently and set him down on the faded Oriental rug. With the help of the cane she’d hooked over the arm of her chair, she pushed to her feet. “Why don’t we call it a night? We can chat more in the morning.” Her voice sounded hoarse with fatigue.
“Should I…sleep in my old room?” Lara asked.
“Of course. There are fresh sheets in the linen closet upstairs. If you don’t mind, I’ll let you put them on yourself.”
Lara smiled. “Not a problem.”
After ensuring that her aunt had made it safely to her room, Lara fetched her suitcase from her rental car.
Right after they’d eaten dinner Lara had scooped the litter boxes, so they should be all set for the night. After checking to be sure all the lights were off, except for a night light turned on in every room, she made certain the cats had food and fresh water and that the doors were securely locked. Tomorrow she would assess what else needed to be done, and try to come up with a game plan.
“If you leave your bedroom door open,” Aunt Fran said, “you’ll no doubt have some furry friends join you in the night.”
Lara grinned. “If they’re feline friends, they’re more than welcome.” It’d been years since she’d slept with a cat snuggled beside her. Her mother never let her have a cat, and her landlady refused to allow an animal in the studio apartment Lara leased from her. Gabriela, immaculate to a fault, imagined cat hairs floating magically through the air vents and into the bakery, landing on all of her baked goods.
“Maybe Blue will reappear, if that was Blue,” Lara said pensively. “More likely it was one of her descendants.”
Aunt Fran’s brow furrowed. “Lara, I don’t have a Ragdoll cat. Are you sure that wasn’t Bootsie? She’s mostly gray fluff, but has blackish ears.”
Lara was already shaking her head. She didn’t want to argue, but she was sure. Well, almost sure.
“You could be right, Aunt Fran. Don’t worry about it.” She leaned over and placed a kiss on her aunt’s cheek. “I’m glad I came up here today. Thanks for letting me stay.”
The room she used to sleep in had barely changed at all. The wallpaper, emblazoned with clusters of lilacs, was in good shape except for a few tiny spots where it had peeled. Lara wondered if she could repair those sections with small dots of glue. The fuzzy rug next to the single bed looked as thick and cozy as ever. The maple bed, which had a bookshelf-style headboard, was covered in the same ivory chenille spread she remembered.
In the morning, she’d throw open the windows and give the room a good airing out. For tonight, she’d settle for a hot shower, after which she planned to slip under the covers and sleep like the dead.
She located a set of sheets in the linen closet and quickly made up her bed. Then she pulled off her funky parrot earrings and dropped them onto the maple dresser. After shedding her jeans and paisley knit pullover, she took the world’s fastest shower, then wrapped herself in a terry cloth bath towel and scooted back to her room. She giggled when she saw Izzy and Pickles, the two calico sibs, curled around each other atop the bedspread. Izzy glanced up at her as if to say, “What took you so long?” She unzipped her suitcase and dug out her favorite sleep tee, the one imprinted with a repro of Van Gogh’s Starry Night over the Rhone.
The cats stirred when she slipped under the covers. They rearranged themselves, one against her leg and one pressed to her shoulder, and revved up their engines. Their purring sound was soothing, like the calm whisper of a surf. Almost immediately Lara drifted off.
It seemed that only minutes later Lara jerked upright. Something outside had awakened her—a searing cry, followed by the sound of raised voices. Careful not to dislodge a cat, she swiveled her legs off the bed and padded to the window. She lifted one of the blinds and peeked into the yard. The old shed was still there, hunkered at the rear of the property. In the vacant field below the hill, she thought she spied the quick flash of a light. But after an instant it disappeared, and then, only darkness.
“I’m definitely going crazy,” Lara mumbled to the cats. They graciously allowed her back into the bed, and after that she slept.
A short time later, a second noise awakened her. A muffled cry that seemed to come from the far edge of the meadow.
Lara leaped out from under the covers and dashed to the window. A lone figure was standing near the shed, her outline unmistakable.
Aunt Fran.
Lara gulped back a lump of surprise. Should she run out and see if something was wrong? Or would that make it look as if she’d been spying?
She hesitated, then watched her aunt move slowly along the rear walkway, aided by her four-pronged cane. Aunt Fran didn’t appear to be in any distress. She was making her way back toward the house without any difficulty, as if it were a ritual she performed every night.
With a sigh of relief, Lara slid back under the covers. After a few minutes, more sounds floated into earshot. This time they were faint thumping noises, coming from her aunt’s room. Almost as if Aunt Fran were shifting things around.
Those were the last sounds Lara heard. She didn’t awaken until the first trickle of daylight was squeezing through the blinds.
* * * *
A paw batting at her nose awakened Lara. She squinted at the clock—only six fifteen. Half-asleep, she grinned at the perpetrator—Izzy. The calico cat balanced on her chest while Pickles chewed on a strand of her tangled hair.
Although she was tempted to sleep half the morning, Lara hauled herself out of bed. The room felt chilly. She gave her arms a brisk rub. After a quick trip to the bathroom, she threw on her jeans, topping them with the multicolored cowl-neck sweater she’d scored for a fiver on eBay.
Lara headed downstairs and immediately turned up the thermostat. She felt sure her aunt wouldn’t mind, especially since the cats needed to stay warm.
In the kitchen, furry felines danced around her legs in a parade of tails that made her grin. Twinkles, the orange-striped tiger, reached up with one adorable paw as if to say, “Feed me first!”
“I know, I know, you’re all starving.” Lara gently peeled Izzy off her thigh, then pulled cat food cans and kibble out of the cupboard. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty for everyone.”
She made quick work of popping open cans and pouring dry food. Callie and Luna approached the bowls with hesitation, but eventually hunger won out. They began scarfing down wet kitten food as if they hadn’t eaten in a week. Only Ballou, the feral cat who hadn’t yet made an appearance, was missing. Lara hoped he might join the others if she made herself scarce.
After scooping the litter boxes and wrapping up the trash, Lara headed outside through the kitchen door. The sun sat slightly above the horizon, blinking with the promise of a bright day. The air was crisp with the intoxicating scent of autumn—wet leaves, smoke, and apples. She sucked in deep, cleansing breaths, expelling the lingering smells from the house.
Lara ambled around the backyard, her feet kicking up scads of leaves from her aunt’s shedding maple. She’d missed this place. Until now, she hadn’t realized how much.
The old shed, once white with green trim like the house, was in sore need of a paint job. Propped against the front of the shed were two bulging burlap sacks. Were those the tulip bulbs Aunt Fran had mentioned? On the side facing the vacant lot, a steel tool rack had been bolted to the shed wall. A row of garden tools hung from its hooks.
She grinned when her gaze landed on her favorite spot. At the edge of the yard, about ten feet from the crest of the hill, sat a huge stone. About six feet tall, it was roughly shaped like a curved hand. Lara used to nestle inside that curve with her pad and pencils and sketch to her heart’s content.
Feeling like a kid, she dropped down to the grass and pressed her back against the rock. It cupped her with its hard edges, not quite fitting the way it used to. The ground felt cold and uneven. Almost immediately, she hopped to her feet and laughed. I guess I’m getting old, she thought, smirking to herself. She brushed her posterior with her hands to get rid of any stray dirt.
Hugging herself against the morning chill, Lara strolled toward the top of the hill and looked out over the landscape. A light wind lifted the ends of her hair. In the meadow below, behind the town park, the field grasses tilted in the breeze. How many winters had she sledded on this hill, gliding down the snowy slope on her aunt’s ancient Flexible Flyer? This was the parcel of land, she realized, that Theo Barnes had been pressuring her aunt to sell.
From where she stood, the block that housed Sherry’s coffee shop was visible. Across the street from that was the town library, a one-story red brick affair that looked as if it hadn’t changed in decades. Another old building squatted next to the library. With its dreary gray shingles and shallow front steps, it had all the trappings of an ugly apartment house.
A sudden flurry of movement in the meadow caught Lara’s attention. It was an animal on the prowl, sleek and stealthy, and—
Lara took in a quick breath.
It was Blue, stalking through the field toward the base of the hill, her aquamarine eyes seemingly fixed on Lara.
“Blue,” she called softly to the cat. “Come here, sweet kitty.”
The cat continued moving but then shot off through the tall grass, heading in the direction of the brook.
Lara scuttled down the hill as quickly as she could, determined to catch up with the elusive feline. The cat was trotting through the grassy field as if on a mission. Lara was so focused on keeping Blue in her line of vision that she didn’t notice the jutting rock embedded in the ground. It caught the toe of her boot. In the next instant she pitched forward, her arms flailing in a clumsy attempt to break her fall. She tumbled to the ground, skidding on her stomach, almost to the bottom of the hill.
For a moment Lara lay there, her breath coming in sharp gasps. She rolled over and sat up, groaning as she tested her limbs. Everything worked, although the palm of her right hand was scraped and sore.
After tossing a few colorful curses at the rock that had betrayed her, she hauled herself to her feet and began brushing dirt and grass from her hands and sweater. She slapped at her jeans to dislodge the clinging bits of dirt and grass. She hoped Aunt Fran’s washing machine was in good working condition. At the rate she was going, she’d be running a load through very soon.
One last time, Lara glanced around for any sign of Blue, but the cat was MIA. By now Aunt Fran was probably awake and wondering where she’d disappeared to. She felt her stomach rumble. It was time she made breakfast for the two of them.
Lara turned to start back up the hill when something caught her eye—a swatch of red, maybe thirty feet away, that she hadn’t noticed before. Whatever it was, it was lying behind the granite bench at the rear of the town’s property. Had someone left an old blanket there? Could it be something that belonged to Aunt Fran?
She moved gingerly toward the red lump. A weird chill crept up her spine. Nothing in the meadow had ever frightened her before, but now she felt oddly afraid.
Lara halted abruptly in her tracks.
It wasn’t a blanket, as she’d first thought. It was a jacket—a red-and-black-checkered jacket.
A jacket still worn by its very dead owner, Theo Barnes.