A plaintive cry rose from the carrier on the front
passenger’s seat. When the cry rose to a shrill pitch, I tapped on the mesh.
“Don’t blame me. My cat made me do it.”
Actually, a small girl’s fascination with Robespierre
had led me to select my howling companion. The kitten’s wails grew louder.
“Your brother wouldn’t protest so vocally.”
Robespierre seldom voices an opinion. He has other
methods of communication. To gain attention he butts with his head and to show
disapproval when he’s been banished, he’s been known to trash my bedroom.
Bringing a kitten from my Hudson River village to Santa Fe wasn’t among my
greatest ideas. From the moment we’d arrived at the airport in Albuquerque, the kitten
had loudly protested. Stroking and cajoling had had very little effect on the
creature’s unhappiness. She wanted out of the cage, but I wasn’t willing to let
a kitten free to roam around the car.
With a prayer music would soothe the wee beast, I
turned on the radio and dialed around. An excerpt from Mozart’s Requiem filled
the car. My abdominal muscles tightened. A scream raised by memories pulsed
against my vocal cords and demanded release. As guilt curdled my thoughts,
tears threatened. I wallowed in remembrance and tried to block the comforting voices
that sounded in my head.
Stop blaming yourself. How could you have known the
woman was insane?
I should have and I should have found a way to divert
her anger. I should have pushed the search committee to investigate the choir
master’s past.
Mom, stop beating yourself. There were other committee
members. Didn’t Edward Potter hire the man on the spot? Did the Vestry protest?
The words my son had said time and time again were
true, but I had aided and abetted the selection. I’d trusted Roger Brandon. His
charismatic charm and his mastery of music had blinded me to his manipulative
nature. Lives had been radically changed because of my silence and because I
had coveted his music for St. Stephen’s.
The music on the car radio slid from Mozart to Handel.
My thoughts drifted to Lars. I prayed this visit would permit me to forget what
I had and had not done and that I could help solve whatever problem troubled my
friend.
For the first time since leaving the airport, I
noticed my surroundings. Though the road rose toward the distant heights, the
ascent was gradual. On the left, a vast plain of barren earth studded with
bushes stretched toward the horizon, and to the right, sharp hills and tumbled
rocks provided a contrast. Patches of snow clung to brown slopes. Towering
snow-covered mountain peaks rose in the distance.
I’m not sure why the sight of snow bothered me except
I’d thought of the area as desert, hot and covered with sand that would gleam
like a golden road. Not the case at all. Santa
Fe lays seven thousand feet above sea level.
For years, Lars had been after me to join him during
one of his stays in New Mexico.
Part of my reluctance had stemmed from the animosity of his two youngest
children.
There’d been a time after the deaths of our spouses
when Lars and I had considered marriage. His only daughter, Bonnie, had been
opposed. Her twin, Don, had echoed her protests, though he’d thrown none of the
tantrums followed by threats to run away from home the way Bonnie had.
Lars and I had put our plans on hold. His family’s
wishes had prevailed. Rather, Bonnie’s had. He’d never been able to deny her
demands or deal with her tantrums. We had remained friends and ignored the
yearnings for a more permanent relationship.
A year ago, Don, his wife and young daughter had come
east to a gallery exhibition of his paintings. Ramona and I had instantly found
rapport. Don and I had reached, not friendship, but accord. Megan had fallen in
love with Robespierre, thus the kitten.
A meow sliced into my thoughts. “Right on cue. You’ll
be out of confinement before long.” At least I hoped we’d soon reach our
destination.
Lars lived on an estate within the city limits. His
son and daughter also had homes on the property. This meant I would have to
deal with Bonnie, a thought that made me uneasy. In the past, her attitude
toward me had been insultingly rude. Had she changed?
When I reached the turnoff to the street where Lars
lived, the temptation to drive into the old town to explore clamored and was
pushed aside. The constant complaints of the kitten added a discordant theme to
Beethoven’s Fifth. Another day I would drive to town and browse in shops and
visit the historic sites I’d read about.
Lars had promised a tour of the town and surrounding
area. As I recalled his invitation, I smiled. “Can I tempt you to stay longer
than three weeks? You’ll need months to see everything.”
I couldn’t stay. A young couple who were friends of
mine had planned a February wedding. Since neither of them had a living mother,
I’d been tapped to play a dual role—mother of the bride and groom.
The directions Lars sent took me into an area of large
houses. Most of them were behind walls. I counted gates. Had he said four or
five?
Then at the foot of the dead end street, I saw the
sign. Casa de Oro. House of gold,
indeed. Bonnie had chosen the name, but in a way it suited Lars. Years ago my
husband had teased Lars about his Midas touch for nearly every business he
touched prospered.
The gate stood open. I frowned. Lars had said I would
have to announce myself and he would open the gate. I’ll surprise him, I
thought, and drove into the compound.
At the top of the rise I saw the reason for Bonnie’s
choice. Bathed in sunlight, the two-story house at the top of the rise appeared
to glisten. The golden adobe wasn’t my destination. On the lower end of the
horseshoe drive were two smaller houses.
The adobe with a long porch on the left side of the
drive was Don’s. The H-shaped ranch on the right belonged to Lars.
Though Bonnie’s choice was above the gate, Lars’ name
amused me. He called the estate Las Casas
de Los Tres Osos. The houses of the three bears.
Laughter bubbled forth. Was I Goldilocks? Not
according to my hair color. Mine is a rich auburn shade courtesy of my
beautician.
I pulled into the carport beside Lars’ silver
Mercedes, twin to the car he drives back east. The house seemed larger than my
“Painted Lady,” circa 1890. The difference was that mine has two stories and an
attic while this house is on one level.
With the kitten carrier in one hand and my purse in
the other, I walked to the front door and rang the bell. To my surprise, the
door was ajar.
When no one answered, I rang a second time. Where was
Lars?
What now? My foot beat an impatient rhythm against the
flagstone walk. The kitten cried and scrambled around the carrier making my
hold iffy.
I pushed the door open. “Lars, I’m here.”
He didn’t answer. I set the carrier on the slate floor
of the foyer. Since the door was open and his car sat in the carport, he was
probably in the rear of the house or at one of his children’s. I returned to
the car for my suitcases.
I left my luggage in the foyer and stepped into the
living room. A portrait of my friend hung above the massive fieldstone
fireplace. Several Navaho rugs hung on the cream colored walls.
Through the archway I glanced into the dining room.
The table was set for one. The sight of a partially eaten breakfast sent fear
surging through my veins.
“Lars, are you here?” My voice echoed in the deserted
room.
What if he’s had some kind of attack? A stroke or his
heart.
Those thoughts propelled me through the dining room and
into the kitchen. I glanced into the pantry and stepped into the sunroom.
Lars, where are you? Had something dreadful happened?
Was my visit responsible for his disappearance?
Don’t be a fool. The world does not revolve around
Katherine Miller. He’s at Don’s or Bonnie’s.
Those thoughts failed to staunch my rising panic.
Though I felt like an intruder, I made a quick tour of the house. I found three
empty bedrooms, a deserted office, two powder rooms and three bathrooms, one
for each bedroom. Nowhere was there a sign of my friend.
I returned to the dining room. The food was cold. A
fork lay on the oak floor. What had happened here? Lars and I are in our
sixties. He’s my senior by six months, but his health has always been
excellent.
In the living room, I reached for the phone. Whom
could I call? Other than Lars and his children, I knew no one in Santa Fe. I opened the
directory. Were their numbers even listed?
My legs trembled. I sank on a chair and glanced
through the bay window. Don and his daughter walked across the drive. I went to
the door.
Megan, clad in a bright pink puffy jacket, dropped her
father’s hand and ran up the walk. “Told you she come.”
Don reached us and hugged me. Warmth infused my
thoughts. I believed we’d moved beyond accord.
“Aunt Katherine, you look wonderful.”
The spicy scent of his aftershave was a welcome
addition to the sterile air of the deserted house. “You look great and Megan
has grown.”
The dark-haired child danced around us. Her blue eyes
sparkled with excitement. She pointed to the carrier. “That’s a suitcase for
pets. You bring Rose Prairie. Let me see him.”
Momentarily I pushed my concern for Lars aside. No
need to upset Megan, especially since she’d lost her mother just eight months
ago. “He didn’t come this trip.” I looked at Don. “You may hate me when you see
what I’ve done.”
“Never.” He ran his fingers through his hair, a color
between blond and brown. “Never hated you. Back then I let my sister run my
life.” He closed the door.
I opened the carrier and lifted the kitten. “This is
who I brought.”
“Rose Prairie, you shrink.” Megan’s blue eyes widened
and she touched the kitten’s brown, white and sable fur. “Him soft.”
“This is Robespierre’s baby brother. Thought you might
like to take care of him.”
“Me! Daddy, can I?”
“Yes.” Don met my gaze. “Thanks. This is the most
animated she’s been since Ramona...” Sadness clouded his blue eyes.
I grasped his hand. “The kitten will help Megan with
her grief. Rose Prairie has had all his shots and you won’t have to worry about
offspring.”
“Bless you.”
“Megan, why don’t you take the kitten to the sunroom
and let her run? I need to talk to your dad.” Ever since they’d entered the
house, I’d wanted to blurt what I’d found, but my concern for Megan had stopped
my tongue.
“What’s wrong?” He trailed me to the living room.
“Where’s Dad?”
“Hoped you would know. When I arrived the gate was
open. So was the front door.” I halted in the archway to the dining room. “This
is what I found. Looks like he left in a rush.”
Don frowned. “That’s not like Dad. Maybe he went to
the office.”
“His car’s outside.”
“He could be at Bonnie’s.” He put his hand on my arm.
“She’s planning a bash for New Year’s Eve and might have needed his advice.”
“Call her.”
Don did. The housekeeper said Bonnie was out.
“What now?” I asked.
“Maybe Carl drove him to the office.”
That explanation didn’t quell the fear that had grown
steadily since my arrival. Was Lars’ disappearance linked somehow to the
problem he’d spoken of in vague terms last night? He’d mentioned his dead
daughter-in-law. Had he learned Ramona’s death hadn’t been an accident but was
part of something more sinister?
I wasn’t ready to ask Don those questions. I wasn’t
sure I wanted to know anything other than Lars was all right.
“Try the office.”
He nodded. “First let me show you the guest room. Then
I’ll make some calls. Don’t worry. I’ll find him.”
He carried my suitcase and the hanging bag to the
bedroom and put them on an ornate Spanish Mission oak bed. If my neighbor had
been here, he could have told me if the room’s furniture was antique or just
excellent reproductions.
After hanging my clothes in the closet and filling the
bureau drawers, I carried my stash of mint to the kitchen. Don followed me. The
kettle on the stove held water so I turned on the burner.
“Did you learn anything?” Hope filled my voice.
Don slumped at the table. “Carl and Damon were in a
meeting. The secretary refused to disturb them. She said Dad wasn’t with them
and she hadn’t seen him since the middle of the month.”
“What now?”
He rested his elbows on the inlaid painted tiles of
the table. “Have you seen Consuela? She’s usually here by eight.”
“No one was here.” The kettle whistled.
As I reached to turn off the burner, a stout woman
with ebony hair entered by the kitchen door. She carried two bags of groceries.
Don jumped up to help her. “Aunt Katherine, this is
Consuela.”
“Welcome, Senora.” She looked around the room.
“Donaldo, where is your padre?”
“I don’t know. He wasn’t here when Aunt Katherine
arrived. Did he say anything about going out?”
“Nada.” She opened one of the bags. “This morning I
make his breakfast. Then he gave me the list for the store. Was very crowded
today with people buying food for the New Year celebrations. I have lunch with
my cousin and come back.”
I added a selection of mints to a tea ball. “Was he
expecting anyone?”
“Just you, Senora. He was happy for the visit. He tell
me you have been amigos for years.” She opened a cabinet and took out a teapot.
“Maybe Senora Bonnie come for him.”
“She isn’t home,” Don said.
Consuela shrugged. “Senora Bonnie is always on the
move. Maybe they go somewhere.”
My choice of mints included one to clear my thoughts
and several to calm my nerves, a badly needed thing. Not knowing where Lars was
and fearing something awful had happened to him made me want to scream.
Consuela showed me where they kept the mugs. “While
you wait for the tea, I’ll show you the bedroom for the guests.”
“Already done,” Don said. “Just what did Dad talk
about this morning?”
“He talk about the Senora’s visit and tell me how she
grow the mint in her garden. He laugh and say when he drink a cup at night, he
think of her.”
“Lars?” I laughed. “Always thought black coffee was
his preference.”
She shrugged. “I never see him drink the tea, but he
is a truthful man.”
Megan ran into the kitchen. “Consuela, look. Rose
Prairie.”
Consuela took the kitten from Megan. “La gatita.”
“Megan, why don’t you get her dishes from the
carrier?” I asked. “She’s probably hungry and thirsty.”
“Okay.” Megan darted away.
Don followed her. He returned with the litter box and
took it into the sunroom. “Looks like Button and I need to go shopping.”
“I’ve a bag with enough food and litter for several
days in the bedroom.” I filled a mug with tea. “Remind me to get them before
you leave.”
“Will do.” He smiled. “It’s hard to believe she was
out of my sight for more than five minutes without crying. This is the first
time for months.”
“How are you doing?”
“Coming to grips.” He sighed. “Considering a drastic
change. Hope you don’t mind being used as a buffer when I tell Dad. He has his
own ideas about my future.”
His mention of Lars brought my uneasiness to the fore.
“We need to do something about your father, but I can’t think of anything.”
“The police?”
My knowledge of what happens when a person is missing
is limited. There was something I’d heard about twenty-four hours or more
except when a child was missing. I think there were other factors like age and
mental status.
“I’m not sure they can do anything yet. We don’t know
how long he’s been gone.”
His shoulders slumped. “Hours, but he could have left
just before you arrived.”
“We need professional advice, but I don’t know anyone
here. Are you acquainted with any of your local police officers?”
He straightened. “I know who to call. Ramona’s cousin,
Rafe. He’s a former cop and does some investigative work for Dad. He’ll know
where to begin.” He strode to the living room.
My knowledge of this area was based on books. What I
knew about my friend’s life here was limited. Though we indulge in bi-weekly
phone calls, our conversations center around family and mutual friends. As I
sipped the tea, a shroud of helplessness settled over me.
Lars, where are you?
Consuela stored the rest of the groceries and joined
me at the table. “Senor Lars has given me the vacation while you are here. He
said you would take good care of him. If you wish me to stay, I will.”
“There’s no need. He’ll be home soon.” I had to
believe Lars would walk in the door and tease me about my fears.
“Now let me show you where things are kept. Then I
finish my work and go.”
She opened the door to the pantry and showed me the
staples. Then we entered the laundry room that opened into the sun room. In the
kitchen, she opened cabinets and drawers. Stoneware canisters on the counter
held flour, sugar, tea and coffee.
As we passed through the living room, Don covered the
phone with his hand. “I’ll be here a bit.” He pointed to the couch where Megan
and the kitten were curled on one end, asleep.
Consuela beckoned and I followed. Now that I wasn’t
frantically searching for Lars, I could appreciate the paintings in the hall
and on the bedroom walls. Some were Don’s, but other artists were represented.
“The linen closet,” Consuela said. “Here are the extra
blankets, sheets and towels. In your bathroom, you will find all you need for
the bath.”
I nearly lingered in the office to look through the
papers on the desk. There might be some clue, but I had no idea what I wanted
to find.
Consuela paused in the hall. “I will finish with my
work and go. Do not worry. Senor Lars will come.”
I leaned against the wall. Did she know something
about his disappearance? Intent on asking, I followed her. A cold draft eddied
around me. I dashed into the foyer. When I reached the door, my eagerness
turned to disappointment.
“Daddy, we have to talk.”
Lars’ beautiful and willful daughter had arrived.
MY Places
http://wwweclecticwriter.blogspot.com
http://www.bwlpublishing.ca/authors/lane-walters-janet-romance-fantasy-usa/
