Catnip (Dunbarton Mysteries Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

wouldn’t be at
the top waiting for them.
    The sitting room seemed curiously
empty. The blinds were drawn, shutting out the light, and dust sheets shrouded
all those treasured pieces of furniture. In the center of the room stood the
now unnecessary wheelchair and there, curled up on a small flat cushion, was a
very mournful little cat. Hearing them come in he turned large questioning eyes
to them and let out a plaintive mew.
    Chris walked over and picked him
up. “Come on, little fellow. There’s no one here for you now.”
    Marmalade snuggled unresistingly
into his shoulder and they left the room, closing the door behind them.
    Alicia was waiting for them in
the parlor. The cat broke away from Chris and rushed towards her. She picked
him up, cuddling him against her cheek, then motioned Chris towards the sofa in
front of the bay window and they all sat down. “Thank you for bringing our boy
home to us, Mr. Mallory. The house has been quite empty without him.”
    He could just imagine how empty
Alicia Dunbar had thought it. There was a twinkle in those turquoise eyes and
Chris knew something of what he was thinking must have shown in his face.
    “You’ll be happy to know he’s in
excellent shape. The vet gave him a clean bill of health. I’ve got a list of
instructions from him. Most of them are merely common sense. Any of the good
quality cat foods is acceptable. Whatever he’s been eating seems to have been
fine. Just watch the table scraps. I’ve got a few things in the car that I
bought for him and I’ll get them for you later.”
    He handed her the vet’s list and
she smiled. “My, you’ve certainly been thorough.” She laughed lightly - at him,
not with him, he thought derisively, and bristled. “It’s probably just as well,
though. Grandmother took care of most of these things herself. I fixed his
meals and took them upstairs, and took him to the vet for his shots, but she
did the rest. Mother couldn’t stand the sight of him, so he spent his time
either upstairs or outside.”
    “You realize that he is to have
the run of the house from now on,” Chris said more firmly than necessary
because of that little laugh.
    “Of course, Mr. Mallory,” James
anxiously assured him. “This is his home and I ... we all understand
that.” The emphasis on the ‘we’ was unmistakable and Chris wondered just how
sure he was of his wife’s intentions.
    As they talked, Chris shifted
uncomfortably on the unyielding surface of the antique Victorian sofa. A
museum-quality piece, it was lovely to look at but lacking in comfort, and he
speculated as to whether this choice of seating was deliberate, intending him
to feel as uncomfortable physically as the situation was making him
psychologically. Looking around the room, though, he realized that it was
probably the most comfortable piece of furniture in it. The chairs and other
sofas were all just as delicately styled, straight of back and deficient in cushioning.
    The tables, though, were
magnificent, a warm mahogany, superbly carved and finished, setting off the
pale rose of the walls and the rich wine of the drapes, and all bearing fine
china figurines and crystal vases full of flowers. Behind him, the bay window
was full of green plants, filtering the light and sending constantly changing
shapes flickering across the walls. A large marble-mantled fireplace on the
other outside wall was flanked on either side by French doors leading into a
glass-walled conservatory containing more plants and some white wicker
furniture with thick floral seat cushions. More French doors led out from there
to a flagstone patio. In the opposite corner from where they sat, beside the
doors that led to the dining room, sat a baby-grand piano covered by a
multi-colored oriental shawl and generations of family photos in antique silver
frames.
    All in all, despite the
over-crowding and the bone-bruising seats, it was actually an attractive room,
he thought, in an old-world sort of