The Diamond Cat Read online

  The rest of the crowd consolidated, huddling together, talking among themselves, watching avidly … waiting for some victim they could accost for details.

  Bettina fled through the kitchen. Men in uniform were clustered around the table and the blood-splattered floor beneath it. One or two looked up at her sharply as she opened the back door.

  “It’s all right,” Inspector Hughes told them and they lost interest.

  Which was more than could be said for her mother. Although Mrs. Bilby had been stationed behind the living room curtains, the sound of the back door opening rang like a clap of thunder in her ears and she was in the kitchen before Bettina had closed the door behind her.

  “What’s going on?” Mrs. Bilby demanded. “What’s happened over there?”

  “I have to ring Zoe.” Bettina deposited the carrying case in its accustomed place and headed for the telephone with her mother following.

  Bettina spoke briefly to Zoe against a background of gasps, shrieks and mutterings from Mrs. Bilby. When she rang off, her mother gasped dramatically and reeled back against the wall, hand to her heart.

  “Burglars! I told you so!” Mrs. Bilby hyperventilated for a few moments before continuing.

  Bettina occupied the respite in ringing for a taxi to take her to the hospital to meet Zoe.

  “You’re never going to leave me here alone!” Mrs. Bilby protested. “Tonight? When who knows what monster is prowling about outside!”

  “The police are all over the place,” Bettina pointed out. “They’ll be here for hours yet. You’ll be perfectly safe. Where’s Adolf?”

  “That cat again!” Mrs. Bilby brought her other hand up to her heart and clutched at her bodice frantically. “You’re worried about a wretched cat when your own mother—”

  “You’ll be all right.” Bettina could not quite control her impatience. “Adolf?” She raised her voice. “Adolf?”

  “Poor Dora Rome beaten up and nearly dead—and you worrying about a bloody cat! Poor Dora, she should have been over here, then she’d never have known her house was being broken into until it was all done and the burglar well away …” Mrs. Bilby’s eyes widened suddenly, her face sagged, a new and horrifying thought struck her.

  “She might have been here—but I might have been over there! He might have broken in to find the two of us together having tea. He might have tried to kill me, too!” She was hyperventilating in earnest now.

  “I might be in that ambulance with Dora. He might have killed me!” Her hands clawed at her bosom. “Oh, my heart! Where are my pills?”

  “In your pocket,” Bettina said. That had been decided and arranged long ago. It was the closest and safest place for them, easily reached and always to hand.

  “Oh, there you are, Adolf.” He had come out from under the sofa. Automatically, she bent to check; it was clean and clear under there.

  Adolf sat down and gave her a huffy look. He was a clean cat and she ought to have more faith in him.

  “Sorry, Adolf, but it’s back in your cage.” She caught him up and carried him into the kitchen. “I’ve got to go out.”

  “And leave me here alone!” Her mother was not going to forgive this defection easily.

  “Why don’t you ask Jack Rawson to come in and sit with you for a while?” She turfed Adolf into his case. Later, she would take a good look round the house to make sure he hadn’t relieved himself in some dark corner while she was next door with Inspector Hughes.

  “Sit with me? Like a baby-sitter? Or”—her mother sneered—“a cat-sitter? And you can lock up that Pasha, too, while you’re at it,” she added. “I’m not having him roaming through the house, either.”

  The telephone rang; an unfamiliar voice reported that her taxi was waiting outside.

  “I’ll have a word with Jack Rawson as I go past,” she told her mother. “He’s in the crowd outside.”

  “You haven’t had your dinner.” Her mother made a last-ditch attempt to stop her.

  “I’m not hungry. Give it to Mr. Rawson. And don’t wait up for me.”

  “I’m not going to cry,” Zoe said. “Not yet. She’s still hanging on. They don’t think there’s much hope, but they’re not giving up on her. Neither am I.”

  Bettina nodded; she couldn’t offer any hope, either. Zoe had not seen her mother at her worst. Mrs. Rome was so small and frail, it was unthinkable that anyone could have used violence against her.

  “They’ve got a policewoman sitting with her,” Zoe said. “To take down anything she says if she recovers consciousness.” She shook her head. “It all seems so unreal, so impossible. They don’t even know when it happened.”

  “Mother and I were home all day,” Bettina said, feeling the same disbelief. “We didn’t hear a thing—and the walls aren’t that thick. I don’t know when it might have happened.” That was something else unthinkable: how long had Mrs. Rome been lying there on the cold linoleum?

  “No one knows.” Zoe’s mouth twitched briefly in a sardonic smile. “The police—some of them—seem quite annoyed that she wasn’t dead. Then rigor mortis would have set in and they’d have had a better chance of pin-pointing when it happened. It’s just as well I was on the desk all afternoon from two o’clock on wards, in full view of the public.”

  “They wouldn’t suspect you.” Bettina was shocked.

  “Why not?” Zoe shrugged. “Most murders are domestic. That usually means the spouse did it. The fact is, you’re not really safe from anyone in the family.”

  “The neighbourhood was full of strangers all day. The police ought to be trying to find them.”

  “But why?” Zoe frowned. I don’t understand. We’ve always been such a quiet, peaceful neighbourhood. Dull as ditchwater, in fact. What’s going on?”

  This was neither the time nor the place to try to explain. Bettina felt a sharp pang of guilt. She should have done something earlier, told Inspector Hughes as soon as he first appeared on the scene. Now he would have to be told and it would be even more awkward because the clear implication was that she had trusted him no more than her mother had. While her mother had been consistently and overtly insulting, her own behaviour would be the more hurtful because they had seemed to get along so well, with an underlying … what … ?

  And she must tell Zoe, too. More guilt. If she had told Zoe earlier, could they have done something to prevent what had happened?

  “Still here?” A friendly nurse smiled at Zoe. “You might as well go home and get some rest, you know. There’s nothing you can do here. If there’s any change in Mrs. Rome’s condition, we’ll call you at once.”

  Bettina and Zoe exchanged glances. Neither of them liked that “at once” with its intimation of a wild dash back to the bedside for a last goodbye. The clear implication was that any change was going to be for the worse.

  It was all her fault. Rather, the fault of those diamonds. Again she felt that burning sensation in her pocket. And what was Adolf doing right now? Or not doing? She had to get home to see, but she could not leave Zoe here alone. Nor could she let Zoe return to her own house, to the devastation of walking into that kitchen and seeing the story of what had happened spilled out in her mother’s blood across the floor.

  “Come back with me,” she said. “You can stay in the guest room tonight. Bluebell is already with us.” They could face the horror better in the morning. If she could get up before Zoe, she could do something about cleaning up the kitchen—

  “I think it would be better if she came back to my guest room.” A male voice spoke unexpectedly behind them.

  “William!” Zoe gasped. They whirled to face him.

  “What on earth are you doing here?” Bettina asked. A sudden suspicion rustled at the back of her mind, as ridiculous as suspecting Zoe, but… “How did you know … ?”

  “Your mother telephoned me.” He spoke as stiffly as if he had just read her mind. “Quite properly.”

  “I see.” Bettina saw that her mother had been interfering again,
matchmaking Zoe and William, throwing them together at a time when Zoe could use someone to cling to. And, incidentally, removing William as a possible threat to the comfort of Mrs. Bilby’s own settled life. Bettina felt a sense of impending loss. Not that she wanted William for herself, but it had been rather comforting to think that there was someone she could fall back on. And surely William deserved more than that. So did she.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Zoe said miserably. “I just don’t know.” She looked at Bettina, halfway between hysterical laughter and tears. The old joke stood between them, only it wasn’t so funny now. It wasn’t funny at all.

  “Go ahead,” Bettina said. “Everything will look better in the morning.”

  Including William? Zoe’s quirked eyebrow conveyed briefly, with a flicker of her old mockery. Then he took her arm and she leaned towards him gratefully, all mockery gone.

  “She’ll be at this number,” William said masterfully, handing the nurse his card. “Please let us know as soon as you have any news.”

  “We’ll do that.” The nurse took his card. “Don’t worry—and try to get some sleep,” she said to Zoe. “Have you anything to take?”

  “I’ll give her something,” William said. “I don’t use them often, but I do have some sleeping pills.”

  “That’s fine,” the nurse approved, turning away, moving on to the next task, already forgetting about them—until there was some news to report.

  “Let’s go.” William tugged gently at Zoe’s arm. He looked over her head at Bettina. “We’ll drop you back at the house.”

  “Thank you,” she said. It was already “We”, the beginning of the newer, stronger alliance. She looked at Zoe, who did not meet her eye. “Do you want to pick up Bluebell?”

  “She’ll be all right there,” William said.

  “I’ll be round first thing in the morning,” Zoe said.

  “Perhaps second or third thing,” William amended softly. “Those pills are strong enough to keep her knocked out for a while.”

  Chapter 15

  Despite wishing that she had been able to ask William for a couple of his sleeping pills, Bettina fell into an exhausted slumber almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. If there were strange motor cars patrolling through the night, she didn’t hear them. It was just past ten when she awoke in the morning.

  The cats were still in their carriers when she entered the kitchen. Restless and complaining, they let her know just how badly they were being treated. They hadn’t even been fed.

  “Mother?” Suddenly frightened, she rushed back upstairs. “Mother?” Her mother’s bedroom was empty, the bedcovers turned back for airing.

  Bettina returned to the kitchen, checking all the other rooms on the way. Mrs. Bilby was not in the house.

  “All right.” She let Bluebell and Pasha out of their pens, but not Adolf, and opened the back door, allowing them out into the garden. They swept past her like a tidal wave, only one need more urgent than breakfast.

  Adolf howled and stamped about in his cage. It was unfair, it was unjust, he was being kept prisoner—and he was innocent.

  “All right, Adolf.” Bettina let him out, but shook her head as he dashed over to the back door. “No, not you. You stay in here.”

  Adolf had another temper tantrum, but it did him no good. At last, he capitulated, stalking stiff-legged to the litter box, outrage in every fibre of his being. Glaring at Bettina, he squatted, but only liquid was released.

  “You’re not cooperating,” Bettina said reproachfully. “Never mind, at least you’ll get your breakfast first.” She filled his bowl and, when he was fully occupied, opened the door to see if the others were ready to come in.

  Pasha was waiting at the door, but Bluebell was nowhere in sight. Probably trying her luck at her own back door, Bettina decided. Life would be so much easier if one could only explain it to cats.

  “Bluebell …” she called. “Over here, Bluebell. Breakfast.”

  Pasha was already in the kitchen, gazing with dissatisfaction at his empty bowl. Nothing was the way it should be these days.

  “Sorry, Pasha.” Bettina closed the door, nipping in the bud Adolf’s dash for freedom, and poured Pasha’s breakfast into his bowl.

  Pasha, a gentleman, meowed his thanks. It was probably just as well she could not interpret Adolf’s snarled remark, it sounded vile.

  Bettina was just sitting down to her tea and toast when the back door opened and Mrs. Bilby came in, Bluebell at her heels.

  “Mother, are you all right?” Bettina leaped up and quickly poured another cup of tea. Her mother looked terrible, white-faced and trembling. “Sit down. Where have you been?”

  “Next door, of course.” Mrs. Bilby slumped into the chair, staring into space, only her voice seemed to have any strength. “Cleaning up. I couldn’t leave that for Zoe to face. It was my duty. The least”—her voice broke—“I could do for poor Dora.”

  Bluebell wound around her ankles, chirruping anxiously.

  “Oh, Mother!” Bettina put milk and extra sugar in the tea and pushed over her own buttered toast. “You should have waited. I was going to do that.”

  “Dora was my friend, long before you were born,” Mrs. Bilby said. “It was up to me to do it.”

  “Drink your tea.” Bettina moved away to put more bread in the toaster and fill Bluebell’s dish. “And stop using the past tense. Mrs. Rome isn’t dead yet.”

  “And do you think she’s going to survive?”

  Bettina could not answer.

  “No.” Mrs. Bilby shook her head and reached automatically for her cup. “We weren’t to know it the other night, but when poor Dora turned up the ace of spades, she was turning it up for herself.”

  Adolf finished his breakfast and stalked over to the back door with a determined gleam in his eye. He sat down beside it, staring up at the knob. When this brought no result, he emitted a long, loud howl, making his wishes clear.

  “Oh, let him out,” Mrs. Bilby said. “What does it matter?”

  She could not tell her mother how much it mattered.

  “Why don’t you lie down for a while?” she suggested instead. “You’re looking … very tired.” On closer inspection, her mother’s appearance frightened her. Mrs. Bilby looked more than tired; she looked exhausted … and old. Much older suddenly than her actual years, drained of all energy and at the end of her tether.

  “I can’t help remembering,” Mrs. Bilby said, “the way Dora’s Joe and my Arthur died together on that fishing trip. Now Dora’s almost gone and I feel terrible. Maybe it was meant for us to go together, too.”

  “Don’t talk like that!” Bettina hadn’t intended to speak so sharply, but her nerves were on edge. A shudder ran through her. “It’s like tempt—”

  “Tempting fate? Or acknowledging it?” Mrs. Bilby stared into space unseeingly. “I’ve never admitted it before but, ever since Joe and Arthur went like that, I’ve thought it often. It’s as though all our destinies have been entwined since we first moved into these houses. Perhaps you and Zoe will die together, too.”

  “Highly unlikely.” Bettina fought for control; one of them on the verge of hysteria was enough.

  “Oh, I don’t know. All it would take would be an accident in that car of hers—you know she drives too fast—and that would be it Two families wiped out completely.” She nodded reflectively. “I suppose your cousin Anselm would get the house.”

  “You’ll feel better after you’ve rested,” Bettina said firmly.

  Mrs. Bilby snorted.

  “If you don’t want to go up to your room, you can lie down on the sofa.” At this point, her mother looked as though the stairs would be too much for her.

  “I’ve no time to lie down,” Mrs. Bilby said. “I want to get over to the hospital and visit Dora.”

  “I’m not sure they’ll let you in.” Bettina tried to dissuade her. “And Mrs. Rome won’t be able to speak to you, she’s unconscious.”

  “Just the same, I�
�ll be there.” Mrs. Bilby pushed herself away from the table and rose heavily to her feet, panting slightly from that much exertion.

  “Let me call Zoe first and see if she’s heard anything.” Bettina’s concern grew. Her mother was already dangerously upset. If she got there and found that Dora Rome had died during the night, the shock might be too much for her.

  But no one answered the telephone at William’s house, although she let it ring for an inordinate length of time. That could mean that Zoe and William had gone to work … or that they were on their way over here … or that the dreaded summons had arrived and they were at the hospital.

  “No answer?” Mrs. Bilby watched her bleakly. “Never mind her then. Just get me a taxi.”

  “In a minute.” Bettina rang the hospital first, to hear that there had been no change in Mrs. Rome’s condition. She looked from her mother to Adolf irresolutely. “Would you like me to come with you?”

  “And leave your precious cats?” Mrs. Bilby jeered, with a faint return of her old spirit. ‘I can manage on my own, thank you. Just order me that taxi.”

  The weather was running true to form. Having stormed and raged all over the Bank Holiday weekend, it now provided a perfect early autumn day, warm and sunny, for everyone to sit in their offices and look out on.

  Bluebell and Pasha, remembering that they had been allowed out in the garden earlier in the day, were now agitating to go out again. Adolf hadn’t given up hope, his voice was loudest of all.

  “Not right now,” Bettina said firmly, glad that her mother wasn’t there to complain about the noise.

  Adolf realized the truth of the situation well ahead of the others. With a disgusted look at Bettina, he leaped for the counter and sat down to stare out of the window in a put-upon manner. Then he snapped to alert attention and moved up against the pane, staring intently towards the end of the garden.

  Bettina could not resist the pull of curiosity. What was Adolf witnessing this time? She leaned over him, her gaze following his.

  The bushes were rustling, branches waving about wildly—and yet there was no wind. As she watched, a man emerged from the thick of the bushes and crouched there.