Chapter 13 #2
“Oh dear!” Mrs. Chrysler snapped back upright and looked Splint deeply in the eyes with extreme worry.
“I do hope you’re not allergic to Atlantean spiders, dear.
” She gave Katherine a meaningful look of equally deep concern.
“Only I believe I saw one bite him just now, then scuttle away, making for the petunias. I mean, whatever that potted plant is over there.”
Katherine quashed a smile and frowned gravely. Petunias, indeed. Another one of their floral code words: Amplify to overwhelm. “Imogene, everyone’s allergic to Atlantean spiders,” she said grimly. “They’re venomous.”
“What? V-venomous? Are you sure?” Mr. Splint’s ankle was in his hand in an instant, and he was rubbing the pinprick, which was growing redder by the moment as he buffed it in his agitation.
“Oh, I’m certain I saw it,” Mrs. Chrysler said. “But I didn’t realize everyone reacted to their bite.”
“Yes, Imogene. We’d better move fast if we’re going to get an antidote for him.”
“A-an antidote? Why do I need an antidote?”
“Oh dear.” Mrs. Chrysler shook her head in distress.
“Are they deadly?” Mr. Splint had gone a silken white.
“No, no, not usually,” Katherine said, not wanting to take the ruse too far. “But they will give you horrible spasmic tremors.”
“Spasmic tremors, yes,” Mrs. Chrysler agreed, nodding solemnly.
“And you will feel very nauseous.”
“Very nauseous.”
“And you may wet yourself.”
“You may other things yourself, too.”
“Yes, quite embarrassing.”
“My foot feels all tingly,” Mr. Splint gasped weakly. “Is that normal?”
“Oh dear.” Mrs. Chrysler fretted visibly, drunk on her own power of suggestion.
“The venom’s spreading fast. Here, why don’t you have a lie-down, keep your foot low, and we’ll get help.
You probably shouldn’t want to go outside for a bit.
” She immediately stood and guided him over to the sofa, making a show of fluffing its limp pillow while also surreptitiously drawing the stamp out of her pocket behind his back.
“The antidote for Atlantean spider bite is made from roses, isn’t it, Imogene?” Katherine asked, to confirm her suspicions. Roses. Total knock-out.
“Roses, yes. Roses,” Imogene said, raising the stamp higher as Mr. Splint unwisely closed his eyes in anguish. His hands clasped over his mouth to quell his nausea and he eased himself down on the sofa.
“How would a venomous spider even get in here?” he wailed hysterically from behind his fingers.
“Any wooden crates been shipped in recently?” Katherine asked. “They like to burrow in the planks.”
And with that, Angelo Splint fainted dead away.
The two women looked down at him in surprise.
“Well, no need for roses after all, Imogene.”
Mrs. Chrysler dropped the notary stamp harmlessly down to her side and waved a hand over his unresponsive face. “All right, then. Quick, before those workers get back—I’ll go through his coat pockets while you search his drawers.”
“Imogene!”
“His desk drawers!”
“Oh. Right.” Katherine pulled them out one by one, but had little hope for them, given how structurally slight the desk itself was.
When she came up empty, she made for the ficus and gave the planter a slight shove so that she could more easily access the closet door behind it.
It was locked, but she and her bangles soon changed that.
“Ooh, lookee here, Katty,” Mrs. Chrysler said, bending over Angelo Splint and waving a fistful of racing forms she’d pulled from his suit jacket. “Somebody likes to play the ponies.” She sifted through the forms carefully before putting them back. “This many, though, cannot be healthy.”
“That explains the horse sounds his employee made outside,” Katherine said as she opened the closet.
“Must not be a secret.” She was just about to inspect the closet’s interior when a rapid slapping of sandals on tile caught her attention.
Beyond the back office’s window, she saw Ruben eagerly hoofing his way through the cubicles, the cats following excitedly in his wake.
“Ruben, we told you to wait outside,” Mrs. Chrysler said, swiftly drawing the blinds closed and standing in the doorway to block his view from the lobby.
“Yes, but,” he said breathlessly, “Mrs. C., Caterina, someone’s coming! One of the employees that we saw leave before.”
“Oh, drat.” Katherine looked back over her shoulder at the prostrate Mr. Splint.
Ruben followed her gaze and angled for a peek around Mrs. Chrysler. “Good gods, is he all right?”
“Never mind him, Ruben.” Mrs. Chrysler looked up sharply as she heard the knob turn at the front entrance. “Just get rid of them, will you?”
“How?”
“You’ll think of something. And take the cats with you.”
Ember obediently began trotting back out among the cubicles, but Tilly was transfixed by her interest in what Katherine was doing and suddenly found herself swept up in Ruben’s arms. Mr. Scruffles darted away into Splint’s office through Mrs. Chrysler’s legs, and, unnoticing, she closed the door behind him.
Ruben turned to face the front door, stroking the struggling purple cat in an unconscious effort to soothe her. Katherine and Mrs. Chrysler peeked surreptitiously through the blinds as they stood stock-still in Splint’s office.
“Sorry, honey,” the entering worker said as she stepped inside and made for her desk. Tilly froze and blinked out of sight.
“Honey?” Katherine mouthed incredulously to Mrs. Chrysler, who shrugged with similar disbelief.
The worker was continuing: “I forgot my… sandwich… coupon. Oh, who are you?”
Ruben’s sweaty face broke a sheepish grin. “Oh, um, I’m Brother Hoode. I’m just waiting.”
“Waiting?”
“Yes, for Mr. Splint to not be so busy. I thought I could catch him free on his lunch hour. But he’s busy now. So I’m just waiting.” He grinned more confidently this time.
“Oh. Have you tried knocking?” The young woman moved to approach Splint’s door.
“Yes, yes,” Ruben replied hastily, angling himself between her and the door. “No good. No good. Told me to wait. Very grumpy.”
“Oh. Well.” The woman looked past him with dismay at the drawn blinds of the office, then she turned back to Ruben. “Maybe I can… help you?” She took in his greasy robe, the threadbare animal on his shoulders, and his manic stroking of apparently empty air.
“Well, maybe… Yes. Yes, you can, actually. I’m taking donations, you see. Alms. Going up and down the streets collecting. For my cat rescue sanctuary?” He lifted the invisible Tilly higher in his arms. “Just look at this poor creature.”
The perplexed worker, of course, saw nothing at all.
She smiled pityingly. “Oh. Well, I can pretty much guarantee you, you won’t get a bit out of Angie, er, Mr. Splint.
But, um…” She looked around herself and nabbed a slip of paper from her desk.
“Here. You can have this.” She forked over the coupon she’d apparently been seeking.
“One free double-decker deluxe at Tony’s Hoagie World?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Thank you, my child. This will help immensely.”
“It will?” she asked.
“Yes, every little bit does.”
The young woman nodded, adjusting her collar self-consciously.
“Well, good. I’m, uh, heading out again.
” She jerked a thumb toward the entry. “It’s my lunch break still.
I don’t think Mr. Splint will be too thrilled to find you here, honestly.
Why don’t you leave with me?” She beckoned kindly and Ruben bundled the invisible Tilly more securely against his chest before gathering up his cane and following her out.
“Thank you, my child. You’re very kind.”
Katherine and Mrs. Chrysler exchanged glances, eyebrows raised in impressed appraisal.
“We may make a proper thief of him yet,” Mrs. Chrysler whispered as she listened for the sound of the front door closing, then continued her delicate excavation of Angelo Splint’s garments.
Katherine shrugged—anything was possible—and returned her attention to the small closet.
Inside, a broom and dustpan leaned against one wall, and a hook on the back of the door held a coat presumably belonging to the young Mr. Splint.
The rear wall was set with more hooks, over which draped an array of even more bulky coats.
“How many coats does one man need?” Katherine said, pawing through them.
The door to Splint’s back office burst open, and Mrs. Chrysler and Katherine jolted.
“She’s gone,” Ruben said, poking his head inside, then drawing back apologetically after registering their expressions.
“Yes, yes. Good job,” Mrs. Chrysler said, ushering him back out. “Now go wait outside again and keep a lookout.”
“Yes, Mrs. C.”
“My gods.” Mrs. Chrysler wiped a hand across her forehead as Ruben left with his entourage of cats. Except for Mr. Scruffles, who was still sniffing around in corners.
“So… maybe not a proper thief, then,” Katherine said with a chuckle, returning to the coats.
She stuck a hand in each of the pockets, searching for a key or some other clue to a secret hiding place for files and records.
Mr. Scruffles ambled over and began sniffing the luxuriously fringed cuff of a dangling sleeve.
“Mr. Scruffles, stop that,” Katherine said and moved to usher him out of the way—until his ears pricked toward the rear of the closet and he resolutely marched right through the back of it, slipping through the wood paneling like smoke.
From what sounded like very far away, Katherine heard a scrabble, a scuffle, and then a meow of triumph.
Tendrils of cold air began coiling round her feet.
“A false wall. Of course.” Katherine rolled her eyes, rapped her knuckles on the wood behind the coats, and it gave way.
Mr. Scruffles sprang gleefully from the opening with a limp gray prize in his mouth and darted right out of the office with it.