For a brief moment, the squirrel and I just looked each other in the face, each of us equally flabbergasted. I giggled silently when I realized the strips of paper in his mouth had an archaic-looking print on them.
I said, “Well, it looks like Mrs. Silverthorn isn’t the only one around here with their own private library.” Mr. Peters ignored me and took a few more steps forward. He was just as interested in the squirrel as he was in the cheese, if not more so.
Suddenly the squirrel hopped out of the hole and scampered down the tree, and Mr. Peters and I watched as he ran across the tangled lawn of vines and slipped into a hole near the foundation of the gardening shed. I turned to Mr. Peters. Now I knew what he’d been up to.
I said, “You know, it’s not very nice to go around hunting poor defenseless squirrels, especially when you have a devoted owner who I’m sure keeps you very well fed with the finest cat food available.”
He gazed at me, unblinking, and I wondered if that was even true. If the Silverthorns’ financial situation was as dire as it appeared, it was possible Mr. Peters was wholly responsible for rustling up his own dinners.
I held the cube of cheese up again, cooing softly at him, and even though he eyed me suspiciously the entire length of the branch, it only took a little more encouragement to get him to come all the way down and gingerly take it from my fingers. As he gobbled it down and licked his chops, I could see his eyes were even more beautiful up close. They were an impossibly clear baby blue, like something an artist could only come up with in a dream.
He flashed me an expectant look, so I took that opportunity to make my final move—one more tiny offering of cheese, which worked like a charm. He fluttered his tail in the air and rubbed his cheek up against the back of my hand, purring like a tiny salad spinner. Now I knew I’d won him over completely, so I gently scooped him up in my arms and handed him another morsel. He barely argued, which was a good thing since I had no idea how I would have managed to climb down that ladder and hold on to a flailing cat at the same time.
Just then, I noticed one of the strips of paper hanging halfway out of the squirrel’s hole. It had perfectly aligned bite marks all the way down one end, but that’s not what caught my attention. It was the color of the paper—a pale, creamy yellow.
I have no idea what possessed me to do what I did next, because in my mind, every nook and cranny in the entire state of Florida is teeming with venomous snakes just waiting for an opportunity to strike, but sometimes my curiosity gets the best of me. Cringing, I reached my arm down into the hole and my hand fell on something at the base of it, something fluffy, like a cheerleader’s pom-pom, but solid underneath. I closed my hand around it and slowly drew it out.
My jaw fell open and my eyes must have grown ten times bigger.
Now I knew exactly where I’d seen that paper before, plus the old-fashioned print. I was certain. The bottom half was nibbled and shredded, and the whole thing was wrapped in a water-stained lavender scarf, which was also pulled and chewed through, but I knew without a doubt that it was the missing chapter from The Furry Godmother’s Guide to Pet-Friendly Gardening, by V. Tisson-Waugh.
I said, “Huh,” and pursed my lips together, making a little sucking sound of air through my teeth.
Mr. Peters cocked his head to one side and stared up at me quizzically.
“Mr. Peters,” I said. “I have no frickin’ idea.”
Part of me knew it was wrong. Part of me knew I should have dropped the stupid thing right back in its squirrel hole and never thought of it again, but I didn’t care. In a way, it was mine. I folded the whole fluffy mess up as neatly as possible and was tucking the wispy ends of the scarf between the pages when something slipped halfway out the bottom.
It was a drawing—a pen-and-ink drawing, to be exact—of an attractive woman with long dark hair cascading off her shoulders. She was sitting on a couch, her knees drawn up beneath her, with one arm draped casually over the side cushion, and looking straight at me with a slyly seductive look in her eyes. I recognized her immediately.
It was the same woman in the drawings hanging behind the register at Beezy’s Bookstore, the same woman with the diamond ring and the tiny kitten in her lap. This drawing, however, was a little different from the rest—the woman was completely naked.
When I got to the bottom of the ladder and was back on solid ground, I turned to find Janet standing behind me, her arms folded over her chest.
I gasped. “Good Lord, you scared me to death! I thought you went back inside.”
She narrowed her gaze. “I came back.”
Something in the way she was staring me down made my palms break out in a sweat. I could probably have freed Mr. Peters right then and there and said my good-byes before she started asking questions, but I just couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t run right back up the tree, and I definitely didn’t feel like climbing that ladder again. Janet stepped forward and held out her hand with an expectant, almost accusing look in her eye. I took a deep breath.
She said, “I take cat.”
I handed Mr. Peters to her. He tried to squirm out of her arms, but she held on to him with a firm grip and then glanced in my general direction.
“Thank you,” she said and then turned back toward the house.
I’m not sure what came over me then—maybe the adrenaline from having stuck my hand down in a potential snake’s lair—but there was something about her voice, her accent, that made something click in my brain.
I said, “You’re welcome … Mrs. Vladim.”
She stopped and turned to me. In that instant I knew. I could see it in her eyes. She was Baldy’s wife, the Bonnie to his Clyde, the woman the police were looking for—and Mrs. Silverthorn’s missing “footman” was none other than Baldy himself.
Her eyes widened, and she smiled politely. “I’m sorry? My name is Henson. Janet Henson.”
Then she turned and continued toward the house, her pace slightly quicker now. Not knowing what else to do, I followed her through the garden and around the corner through the portico, and when we reached the front entrance Janet opened the door and bowed her head. “I will tell Mrs. Silverthorn that you are gone.” Then she closed the door behind her.
I stood there dumbfounded, staring blankly into the eyes of the weathered green elephant door-knocker, my mouth hanging open like a boxer who’s just received a good left hook, followed directly with a heavy jab from the right. My hand fell down to the side pocket of my cargo shorts and closed around the tattered edge of the missing section of my book.
There appeared to be a whole host of things hiding at the Silverthorn Mansion.
25
It felt like I was waking from a dream as I made my way through the labyrinthian maze of hallways and stairwells at Sarasota Memorial. I hadn’t exactly planned on going there, but speeding up Midnight Pass from the Silverthorn Mansion, I found myself turning right onto Stickney Point and crossing over the bridge to Tamiami Trail. Then the next thing I knew I was circling around inside the multilevel garage next to the medical building looking for a parking place, and then suddenly I was headed straight for Baldy’s room.
I told myself I wouldn’t stay long. I was already in deep enough and I had my own life to think about—specifically, my date with Ethan that night. I wanted to keep it short and sweet so I could go home, take a shower, and get ready for a nice evening out with my man. Of course, even as I made my way through the lobby, I had no idea why I was there or what I was planning on being so short and sweet about.
When the elevator doors slid open at Baldy’s floor, it dawned on me that in some strange way I felt responsible for him. Sure, he’d put himself in the hospital with his crazy driving—that was nobody’s fault but his own—but I was the one who had pulled him out of his car, just the way you might free a chick that’s too weak to break out of its own shell. And just as a baby chick forms a never-ending bond with the first thing it lays eyes on, Baldy had taken one look at me and decided I was his dear, loving wife.