“FLUFFY!” I bawl.
There is no reply.
Chapter Fourteen
I pound on the door of the Beach House.
“I’m coming! I’m coming!”
A bleary-eyed Deacon opens the door. He is still in his dressing gown, hair tousled, face unshaven.
I look past him into the hallway.
“Where’s Alicia?”
“Just left for work.”
“Good.”
I barge my way in and stomp up the stairs, flinging open the door to her bedroom.
“Fluffy?” I holler.
I yank open her wardrobe, but there is nothing there but a few neatly ironed clothes and a couple of pairs of shoes. Nothing under the bed, either.
Deacon folds his arms. “Are you going to tell me what all this is about?”
“Fluffy’s gone,” I say impatiently, marching into the en suite.
“What’s that got to do with Alicia?”
“I think she’s taken him.”
“Why?” He looks perplexed.
“Because she’s evil.”
He laughs. He thinks I’m joking. But when I don’t laugh too, his face grows serious.
“Come on, you don’t really mean that, do you? You’re just upset.”
“I mean it.”
I prise the lid off Alicia’s laundry basket and peer inside, examining its contents.
“Look, this is silly.” Deacon says, folding his arms. “Why on earth would Alicia take your cat? And if she did, she would hardly hide him in the laundry basket, would she?”
“Where, then?”
He shakes his head. “We’ll find Fluffy, don’t you worry. He’s probably just sulking because you weren’t home last night.”
“I really hope you’re right.”
But what if he’s not?
“I can come back to yours and help you look, if you like? I’m not seeing any patients till this afternoon.”
“Would you?”
“Of course. Just give me ten minutes to have a shower. There’s seed cake in the kitchen if you want.”
“Seed cake?” I murmur, pretending to consider this. But I’m not really interested. As soon as he’s gone, I resume my search, going through every drawer, bag and box in Alicia’s room. There must be a clue in here somewhere.
She has so few possessions that under different circumstances, I would feel sorry for her, but as it is, it makes my job a bit easier. I’m just in the middle of rifling through her underwear drawer when my phone rings. It’s a number I don’t recognise.
“Hello?”
“Why aren’t you at work?” a squeaky voice demands.
Alicia!
I nearly drop the phone. She’s never phoned me before. I didn’t even know she had my number.
My heart begins to pound.
Does she know I’m here? In her bedroom, this very minute, going through her things?
No, she can’t know. That’s impossible. She’s at work. Isn’t she?
“Isabel?” she prompts, “I do hope you’re not ill?”
“No.” I clear my throat. “I’m looking for Fluffy.”
“Your cat?” she asks innocently “Oh, is he missing?”
You know damn well he is!
“Any idea where I should look?” I ask, through gritted teeth.
“No idea. You know what cats are like. They turn up in the most unexpected places.”
Is that supposed to be some sort of clue?
“Like where?”
“I don’t know. Have you checked all the outhouses in your street? Or maybe one of your neighbours has seen him?”
“Do you think he’ll be OK?” I ask, my voice breaking a little.
“Well, that’s down to you.”
“What does that mean?”
She just clicks her tongue, signalling that the subject’s closed.
“You should really get to work now, Isabel. It’s getting busy. Sonya looks like she’s going to blow a gasket.”
“But what about Fluffy?”
The line goes dead. For a moment I just stare at it, dumbfounded.
Then I look down at my hands. This is ridiculous – I’m actually shaking!
Snap out of it. You have to find Fluffy.
I survey the room. What was I even thinking, coming over here? All that searching and not so much as a cat hair. But of course she wouldn’t be stupid enough to bring him back here. If he’s even still….
“Isabel?”
Damn, Deacon’s coming. I quickly close the drawer and check the room, careful to leave everything just as I found it.
“Come on, let’s go.”
We scour my neighbourhood, but nobody’s seen or heard anything, not even Mr Krinkle, who can usually tell you the comings and goings of every single person, vehicle and animal in the street.
“What we need are some posters,” Deacon suggests, “with a picture of Fluffy and a contact number. Somebody must have seen him.”
“Good idea.”
We plod back to my house.
The phone is ringing as we walk through the door.
It’s Sonya. “Isabel! Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”
“Sorry. I’ve been stuck in bed with a migraine.”
How smoothly the lie comes.
“You’ve got a migraine? Alicia said something about your cat going missing?”
Damn.
“Yeah, that too. I’m having a really bad day.”
“I’m not having such a great day either, Isabel. Stu screwed up the canned goods order and the computer’s playing up again. I could really use your help.”
“Sorry.”
I try to feel guilty, but I can’t. I’ve got too much else to worry about right now.
“Well, OK,” she relents. “Take the rest of the day off if you have to, but I need you in first thing in the morning.”
“Of course,” I promise. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks, Sonya.”
I switch on my laptop and do a quick mock-up of a poster while Deacon investigates the contents of my fridge.
“Half a bottle of wine and a manky old avocado? Is that all you’ve got?”
“I haven’t had time to shop.”
“But you work in one, don’t you? You’d think it would be easy enough to pick up a few groceries.”
“So you would think.” I manage a tiny smile.
“Come on, let’s go and get some breakfast. We can put up some posters on the way.”
We walk down to the greasy spoon on the corner – not my first choice, but Deacon is hungry and I’m not in the mood to argue. We hand out posters as we go, stick them to every bus stop, telephone box and lamppost we pass. I even stick one on the noticeboard at the cafe, while we’re waiting to be seated.
“Table for two?”
We are taken to a booth by the window and Deacon orders a full English.
“I’ll just have a coffee,” I say halfheartedly.
“Bring her a muffin as well,” Deacon tells the waitress.
He looks across the table at me. “I know you’re upset, but you’ve got to eat.”
“OK,” I reluctantly agree.
He rests his hand on mine. “Try not to worry. I’m sure Fluffy’s just hiding out somewhere. He’ll turn up safe and sound.”
“I hope so.”
But the phone call from Alicia has not filled me with confidence. Horrible images keep flashing through my mind; Fluffy locked in a cold, dark cellar, Fluffy lost and injured, Fluffy tied to the railway tracks…
“Isabel?”
“Huh?”
“I have to ask,” he says, handing me a napkin.
“What made you think Alicia would have taken him?”
I want to tell him, I really do. But I’m scared he won’t be able to see past her big Bambi eyes.
So I just shake my head. “You won’t tell her, will you? I don’t want her to think…”
“That you don’t trust her?”
I look at him uncertainly.