She had shown Stuart the numbers on the clock face and he had only replied, “Maybe we could get one of the owners to tell us.”
When they got back to Townsend House, night had finally descended onto Gavot like a blackout curtain. The almost full moon hung in the sky like a gleaming bead lost among drapes of dark velvet.
After Mel got finished brushing her teeth and changing into a set of fuzzy flannel pajamas that had worn out into a dull yellow, she found herself standing in front of her bedroom window again, staring out. The cat-spirits of her room had decided to finally get out of bed. They prowled around the room, lazily, occasionally twining themselves around Mel’s legs, meowing at her, telling her to get some sleep.
In the dark, the back yard of the bed and breakfast looked like nothingness. The moon was weak—all she saw of the singular tree was a black blob.
After a hard minute of staring and wondering to herself what she was looking for, she pulled the drapes across the pane, turned out the lights, and went to bed. The cat-spirits settled at the foot of the bed like a line of watchful sentinels. With Mel asleep, they were the only ones that noticed the rain starting to pound the window.
* * *
He suddenly awoke, feeling a slight pressure on his chest. In the darkness and without his glasses, everything was only a blur, even the two glowing eyes watching him. He fumbled with the stand beside the bed and grabbed his glasses and his watch. He shoved the glasses to his face and blinked at the cat-spirit on top of him, tapping a paw and twitching its whiskers.
“What is it?” he asked gruffly, his mind still sleep addled. He looked at his watch, a digital one with a button that lit up its face. “This better be good. I don’t get up at two in the morning for nothing, you know.”
The cat-spirit meowed and jumped off the bed as he flung away the covers. He could hear the heating system throughout the house grumble lowly and rain on the window sill, but it was still cool and his skin prickled. Two other cat-spirits were sitting at the foot of the door, waiting to be let out.
Stuart grumbled incoherently and opened the door. The three cat-spirits rushed out into the hall and made loud hissing noises that could only be heard by people who could see them. He walked out into the hall to see what was getting them worked up.
A human-shaped shadow hovered in front of the door at the end of the hall. Mel’s room. The shadow didn’t appear to notice the cacophony the cat-spirits were raising.
“Hello?” Stuart called out.
The shadow suddenly moved and Stuart could hear the squeak of the floorboards as the figure hurtled down the stairs. Instinctively, he took off after the intruder, the cat-spirits leaping just ahead of him. The shadow crashed into the front door as the cat-spirits leapt upon it, scratching and hissing. The cat-spirits prowling the first floor of the bed and breakfast emerged from their corners and joined their comrades in the free-for-all. Stuart stumbled down the stairs after them, cursing as he stubbed his toes on unseen edges and corners before he belatedly turned on the light at the foot of the stairs.
The foyer light suddenly flooded the room. The cat-spirits didn’t seem to notice the light, but the shadow—which he could now clearly see as a dark inky film which had curled itself into a ball—visibly shrunk back at the light. It was then that he noticed that the thing was escaping through the crack in the door.
The cat-spirits chorused in frustrated yowls as the thing got away.
Stuart leaned back on the wall and let out a breath. What the hell was that thing? A small part of him was glad that he didn’t have to confront the thing himself. It was one thing if that had been a human intruder. But it was quite another if it was that.
“I thought I heard a noise.”
He turned his head and spotted Mel a few steps down the top of the stairs. Her black hair was mussed like a cloud and she was rubbing her eyes from sleep. Two cat-spirits were tugging at her pajama bottoms, trying to get her back into her room.
“Ah, nothing,” he said. “I just went to the kitchen to get a drink of water. Sorry to wake you.”
Mel nodded, not noticing that the crowd of cat-spirits at the front door had dispersed as soon as the shadow thing disappeared—except for the three that had originally came with Stuart. “Maybe you were making too much noise. The cat-spirits certainly seemed agitated.”
“Sorry about that.”
After making sure Mel had gone back to her room, he went back to his and tried to settle back to sleep.
“Do me a favor and wake me at six,” he told the nearest cat-spirit that had made itself a bed at his feet.
The cat-spirit yawned, briefly showing its teeth, and it made no indication that it heard him except for the twitch of its ears.
* * *
Fresh from a morning shower, Mel dried her hair and tied it back. She had donned jeans and a blue sweater, ready for an outside hike around town in search for the perfect shot. Momentarily, she glanced at the spot on the floor in front of the bureau. No one had touched the area, but nonetheless, she went over to retrieve the plastic bag with Mad Dog’s beads and stuffed them into her tote bag along with her camera and equipment. The cat-spirits took over her unmade bed and watched her silently when she left.
The hallway on the second floor was empty, but at the foot of the stairs, she encountered a short plump woman with brownish-blonde hair dressed in a turquoise jumper and holding a coffee pot. The woman was perhaps in her late forties or fifties judging from the ill disguised lines crinkling at the corner of her eyes and mouth. One glance at the parlor told Mel that the woman had served coffee to the man that Stuart had been talking to the previous day—Jed Townsend—who was at the moment manning the reception desk and reading the morning paper.
“Good morning,” chirped the woman.
“Morning,” Mel replied politely.
She motioned toward the back of the house. “Breakfast is this way, in the dining room. Pat has outdone herself this morning.”
“Pat?”
“The cook,” the woman clarified. “By the way, I’m Ida Townsend.”
“Pleased to meet you. Mel Ang.”
Ida nodded. “You’re a photographer? My husband saw you taking pictures yesterday.”
“Yes.” She followed the owner of the bed and breakfast toward the dining room which was filled with morning light. “The outside of this house is quite unusual,” she added tactfully. “I hope you don’t mind that I take some pictures. There is a possibility that those shots might end up published with the story that my partner is doing on the Harvest Festival.”
“Oh no,” Ida laughed. “Any publicity would be good publicity for this place. So you and your partner work for a newspaper?”
“A magazine. Hot Tread.”
“Sorry. I haven’t heard of it. What is it about?”
“It’s based in New Halis and I heard from your niece, Rebecca, that the Gavot library carries a subscription. The public relations people bill it as a cultural magazine. Mostly it’s stories and photography of different places and events with some fashion and media reviews as well as interviews with well-known people thrown in. It has a fairly large distribution in the metropolitan places.”
“Huh. Well, Gavot is a small place. We’re not used to all the stuff the city folks bring in. Are you sure doing a story about Gavot and its small little Harvest Festival won’t make the sophisticated readers of your magazine bored?”
Mel grinned. “It’s our job to make things interesting. Besides, our editor actually passed through here earlier and thought this would be a neat place for a story.”
“Your editor passed through Townsend House?”
“He might have. His name is Ralph Bartlett.”
They had arrived at the threshold of the dining room. The table was already occupied with a young couple dressed in matching purple windbreakers, an old yet spry old man in spectacles, and the painter, Laurent, who was dressed again in black. Mel glanced toward the front of the house and spied Stuart just rounding the corner of the stairs.
“Sorry,” said Ida. “I don’t recall that name.”
“Some people call him by his nickname, Mad Dog.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Mel saw the painter slightly hesitate before buttering his piece of toast. She pondered that action, but then dismissed it as a coincidence.
“Ah, Mad Dog,” the plump woman said, recognition dawning on her face. “He’s hard to miss. He was staying with a friend of his though at Grandbury Farm.”
“Grandbury?”
“It’s a couple miles north of here. I recommend visiting their orchard at this time of year. They have the best apples. If you stick around tonight for dinner, I’m making apple pie out of them.”
“Did someone say apple pie?” a masculine voice interrupted them.
Mel turned her head and found herself inches away from Stuart. He smelled fresh from a shower. She smiled, but took a step back. “Morning.”
“Good morning Mel. Morning ma’am.” Stuart’s dark hair glimmered, wet. He was wearing his leather jacket again but his shirt this time was a bright blue one with an abstract logo that looked like a hatched square with a smiley face. Mel assumed it was probably a representation for a computer company or a video game. But she was drawn more to his face. There was something odd about his expression. Noticing her stare, Stuart pushed his glasses up his nose with a finger in an effort to hide his eyes.
Ida Townsend greeted Stuart and babbled about making apple pies for dessert and something about how her husband told her all about his interest in the history of the bed and breakfast before ushering them into the dining room and offering them coffee.
Stuart and Mel took the two closest empty seats which happened to be the ones across the young couple in the windbreakers. The couple completely ignored the journalists as they crooned to each other and fed each other bits of omelet and toast. Mel fought the urge to roll her eyes. Crazy honeymooners, she thought. Stuart forked some fruit onto his plate from the family style setting of the food at the center of the table. Then he leaned toward Mel’s ear and whispered.
“There ought to be a law banning public displays of affection just to prevent morning indigestion.”
Mel chuckled. “If you pass by city hall, you might want to suggest that to the mayor.”
“There’s an idea.”
The other occupants at the dining table did not appear to be the chatty morning types. The old man seemed to be taking his time about his food, concentrating as he took each mouthful. The painter had muttered a brief greeting but other than that, he seemed to be content to be just watching. When the other guests at the bed and breakfast left the table to go about their day’s business, Ida Townsend bustled back into the dining room with a fresh pot of coffee and inquired if they wanted anything else. Stuart shook his head and complimented the breakfast before saying that he was fine.
Mel accepted another cup of coffee before she said, “I was admiring your grandfather clock.”
Ida glanced at the clock across the room and twittered as if flattered. “Jed and I got it last year. Grand old thing, isn’t it?”
“I’m not all that familiar with antiques but it does look like an impressive piece,” Mel said, seemingly concentrating on sipping her coffee. “I was looking at the clock face yesterday. Are the numerals really made out of mother-of-pearl?”
“Oh gosh, no. At least I don’t think so. The dealer would have told us if it were true.” Ida tapped a finger on her chin, thinking. “We actually didn’t get it for quite so much, to be honest. If it were mother-of-pearl, the price would be higher, wouldn’t it? I don’t know. We just got it because we thought it would fit in with the décor. Perhaps Wally would know for sure.”
“Wally?”
“Wally McNab,” she clarified. “He owns the furniture store on Main Street.”
“I see.”
The owner of the bed and breakfast nodded before turning back to Stuart. “Coffee?”
“Uh, no thank you. I think I’ve had enough to get me through the day.”
As Mel and Stuart got up to leave the house, they encountered the older couple and their young son Peter in a yellow jumpsuit coming down the stairs. Peter’s parents briefly greeted the journalists before turning toward the dining room for breakfast. Their son lingered behind with a small golden cat-spirit at his heels. At the sight of the two adult strangers, the cat-spirit skidded to a halt and cautiously approached them to sniff their pant legs. A moment later, satisfied that the journalists weren’t a threat, it sat down on the welcome mat and began to wash its paws.
“Hi Mel. Hi Stuart.”
“Good morning, Peter. How are you today?” said Mel. “I see you’ve found a friend.”
Peter grinned. “I’m doing great! I saw Nemo trying to get into the house last night and I let him in. He’s followed me ever since even though I don’t have any candy with me.” At the word ‘candy’, the cat-spirit perked up its ears and meowed.
“You’ve named him?” Stuart said, surprised.
The little boy shook his head. “Nemo told me his name. Anyway, mommy and daddy got mad when they saw me opening the window to let him in, but that’s okay. He’s really glad he’s inside now since it was raining outside.”
“That’s nice of you,” Mel replied.
“Well, later then,” Peter said waving. “Maybe I’ll see you at dinner. Mrs. Townsend told my parents yesterday that she was going to bake her famous apple pies tonight.”
“Famous, huh? I’m a sucker for pies,” said Stuart.
Peter nodded and giggled before he ran down the hallway for breakfast. Finally finished grooming, Nemo bounded after the boy to catch up.
