Hairless Harassment

Chapter Seventeen

For the better part of that afternoon, I thought about all the locals who might benefit from that proposed pipeline. How much did one need to get out of the situation to consider murder a viable option?

I suppose someone unemployed could want a job bad enough to take such drastic measures, especially if he had a family to provide for. But the proposal was still very new, which meant the news hadn’t stretched too far about what could be coming our way. Even though I didn’t follow current events as much as I probably should, I still learned about most major stories via my various social media accounts.

This one hadn’t made the rounds yet. At least not within my network.

Harlow’s murderer had to be somebody on the inside. Someone who paid close attention to the news, or made it even.

Pondering this further, I put a call in to my mom. Unfortunately, it went straight to voicemail. Boo.

I spent some quiet time researching on my laptop but continually came up short. I’d talk to Nan about my conversation with Charles soon, but she had a hard time keeping quiet when she got excited. Her voice would echo like crazy through this giant house, and with Cal still here working in the library, our talk would just have to wait.

After another hour passed, I tried calling Mom again. She would never give up on a story before it reached its satisfying conclusion and, seeing as she was the one who reported the news, she most definitely would know more about the pipeline and even its possible beneficiaries.

Still no luck. Grr. She must have her phone turned off, which was almost never the case with her. Maybe she and Dad had decided to catch a matinee at the new movie theater the next town over.

Agitated and unable to sit and wait any longer, I decided to go see how things were going in the library. Maybe I could find a nice way to send Cal home early so that I could talk my recent finding over with Nan.

“Knock, knock,” I called before pushing my way inside.

The room had grown chilly, and I wrapped my arms around myself as I stepped into the library. Glendale had reached that special time of year where the days were sunny and warm, but both morning and evening temperatures dipped uncomfortably low. The library’s large bay window hung open, its sheer drapery fluttering inward.

Cal wasn’t there, and neither were the two Sphynxes.

Oh no. This was not good at all.

I raced down the stairs, searching for somebody, anybody.

Cal stood outside, loading up his truck. “I’ll be back tomorrow if that’s okay,” he said before taking in my panicked expression. “Uh, is that not okay?”

“Did you leave the window open up there?” I demanded. My voice came out crazed and shrill, which I hated. “The cats are gone.”

He pushed the door on his truck bed up and gave me a pained look. “Shoot. I’m sorry. Let me help you find them.”

Not able to wait any longer, I raced around the perimeter of my yard, hoping to find our two missing house guests while Cal searched closer to the house. He must have informed Nan at some point, because she came outside to help, too.

“I didn’t leave the window open,” he said when our paths crossed again. “I did open it briefly to air out some of the dust, but I kept my eyes on the cats the whole time. When I shut it again, they were still in the room.”

“I believe you,” I said, but that didn’t lessen my worry any. What would Matt say when he found out the cats I’d begged to babysit were now runaways? Whether or not he wanted to keep them, he most definitely would not be pleased that I’d managed to lose one of the last reminders of his mother.

I peered into the forest uneasily. Would I have to brave those woods again? Would Octo-Cat be willing to help? And just where was he anyway?

I spotted a little red sports car in front of the Harlow place. It seemed Thompson was over for a visit with Matt. Hopefully that would keep him occupied long enough for me to safely recover the missing cats. We looked for another half hour, but by that time, dusk had begun to settle in.

“I’m really sorry again,” Cal said when we still hadn’t made any progress. “Is it still okay for me to come back tomorrow?”

“Of course. And seriously, don’t worry about it. I know this wasn’t your fault,” I assured him.

He nodded grimly, then ambled over to his truck and sputtered off.

“I’m going to go start on supper,” Nan announced, giving me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, dear. I’m sure they’ll show up soon.”

I worried my lip while taking another loop around the property. Why were these Sphynxes so good at hiding? And why wasn’t Octo-Cat here to help?

Giving up at last, I trudged up the stairs and went to investigate the upper floors of the house. Maybe they hadn’t gotten outside at all. It was possible they were just tucked into some other cold corner, shivering with abandon. Seriously, what was up with their desire to be cold all the time?

The house itself had dropped a few degrees since my last pass through. Much to my chagrin, I found that I’d left the bathroom window wide open following my chat with Charles. I eased it shut again, finally deciding I’d earned a break. I could search again later with fresh eyes. First, I just needed to sit a while.

As I approached the stairs, a shadow shifted at the end of the hallway. I squinted for a closer look, wondering if at last I’d found the Sphynxes, and just as I was about to give up the search, too. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the cats—just my poor, overworked imagination. Keeping my eyes on the beautiful stained-glass windows in the foyer below, I stepped down and directly onto Octo-Cat, who hadn’t been there even a second earlier when I’d glanced down to ensure I had a clear path.

He let out a terrible, twisted yowl, and I quickly adjusted my weight to avoid hurting him any further. This adjustment caused me to lose my balance and tumble down several steps before catching myself halfway down.

“You tried to kill me!” I shouted, clutching my throbbing head. I’d hit it—I’d hit everything—on the way down. “You really tried to kill me!”

Octo-Cat widened his eyes in horror. “It was an accident,” he insisted, hobbling down for a closer look. I could tell he was hurting, too, but he’d live.

Me? I’d almost been murdered by my cat, and I had no idea why.

Nan came rushing in. “Angie, goodness! Is everything all right?”

“Octo-Cat tried to kill me,” I screamed again. How could this be real?

“No, Angela, no!” he continued, not even flicking his tail or making any of his usual irritated gestures. “It was an accident. There was a shiny red dot. I didn’t mean to—”

Suddenly, the front door burst open. My mom stood there, backlit by the setting sun, her hair wild with twigs sticking out of it at odd angles. “Get in the car now!” she told me. “Mom, your keys!” she told Nan.

“I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it!” Octo-Cat cried, but I could deal with him later. I ran down the steps as fast as I could and hopped in the passenger’s side seat of Nan’s sexy red sports coupe.

“What’s happening?” I cried as Mom joined me and jammed the keys in the ignition.

The engine roared to life and she pushed the car into high gear, creating a giant cloud of dust behind us. We took off so fast, the momentum whipped me back against the seat hard. My head began to throb again, but the physical pain was nothing next to the morbid curiosity I had for whatever came next.

“Mom!” I shouted, holding on tight to the dashboard as we flew down my driveway and turned onto the road ahead. “What is happening?”

“I saw who tried to kill you,” she said, and for the first time I noticed she was panting with exhaustion. “I was in the woods and came running the second I saw him slip out of your window. He killed Harlow, and now he was trying to kill you. My little girl! If I catch him before the cops do, he’s dead.”

“Mom!” I screamed again just to ensure I could be heard over the roar of the engine. She made another sharp turn, and Nan’s hot little ride fishtailed onto the main road that ran through Glendale. “Who? Who tried to kill me?”

She gripped the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turned white, but she only gunned the gas pedal even harder. We crossed the train tracks, and Mom practically lost control of the vehicle. Still, we were moving forward at speeds faster than any car should even be able to drive.

“C’mon, c’mon,” she muttered, her jaw set in a determined line.

Sirens wailed behind us, and I recognized one of the county patrol cars as it pulled up behind us and quickly gained speed.

“Mom!” I cried. I still didn’t know what was happening, but it felt like I’d been saved by one murder plot only to wind up right in another one. “Stop! The police are behind us!”

“Good,” she said, taking another deep breath as she accelerated even faster. The speedometer edged dangerously close to the one-hundred and sixty miles per hour mark. How was this possible? Why were we even doing this?

Panic gripped me hard as we continued our wild ride. Oh my gosh, someone had tried to kill me, and now I was going to die at the hands of my mother’s crazy driving!

“Where would he go?” Mom shouted at me. “Where would he go next?”

“Who?” I screamed again. I still didn’t understand anything.

“Your boss,” she ground out, changing lanes with abandon. “Richard Thompson.”