Chapter 16
The next day dawned gray and cloudy, with a bleary sun struggling to see its way through an overcast sky. By mid-morning, it had nevertheless persevered in spots, suggesting that the day might be fair after all.
But Ms. Angela didn’t give a darn about the weather.
She had bigger problems. No, not problems. Concerns.
Matters to take care of. There had been another troubling report, this time from the new night patrol.
A second bizarre encounter with intruders, it had said, although nothing had been taken this time.
Why they had intruded had only made sense when she’d been presented with her clipboard this morning and had seen the brazen threat that had been left on it.
Her left eye had begun to twitch. And that hadn’t happened in a long time.
Not since Daddy had made her promise on his deathbed that she would keep her brother a partner in the family business.
And swear to look after him. Daddy had rightly guessed that she would have cut Angelo loose, the nincompoop, as soon as she took over.
Daddy knew her better than anyone, but his request had surprised her, and his stinging reproach when she’d protested had jolted her.
Angelo wasn’t able to handle problems… matters, like this.
Ms. Angela drew herself to standing and cast a heart-stopping glare at a passing orderly.
He ducked out of her sight behind the staircase, much to her satisfaction.
She rather hoped another one of her employees would pass by soon.
Ms. Angela reviewed her plan as she waited.
She would proceed as usual, she reassured herself.
She hadn’t been caught yet. She would get through this, and come out on top, as she always did.
But she would meet these nosy trespassers as they demanded. To be absolutely sure…
At the Gilded Midden, Katherine and her companions allowed themselves to sleep in and get ready unhurriedly.
Ruben hadn’t taken her hand again overnight, it seemed, or at least he wasn’t holding it when she woke to find him already sitting up in bed, the cats cuddled in a dozy pile on his lap as he gently watched her rub the sleep from her eyes.
Mrs. Chrysler was still sleeping, and Katherine did not rush to wake her.
They had only two days left, including today, but with Ms. Angela almost within their grasp, they could afford to rest. The trio took their time over breakfast and walked leisurely through Burnt Umberland as the hour drew close to noon, keeping to a pace that Ruben could tolerate.
The air was crisp with the approach of winter, and Katherine took pleasure in the warmth of the dappled sunlight on her face, as Ruben shuffled beside her with his cane and her pets trotted ahead over the cobbles, as if chasing the threads of pleasant smells that rose from the shopfronts.
By the time they arrived at their appointed meeting place, though—the bridge at the edge of town—the sky had grown fickle again. Katherine examined the clouds a moment, then turned her attention back to the bridge.
The structure had been built, gods knew how many years ago, over the outlet of a gushy seep that fed into the Burnt Umberland bog, and the road it bore across the flow had led straight into town.
Emphasis on “had.” The old road and derelict bridge were both now overgrown with vines and brambles and mature trees, and obviously had been out of use for quite some time.
The bridge itself looked sturdy enough for traversing on foot, but a cart could not have crossed it anytime lately.
Chunks of the stonework were missing, fallen and decaying tree limbs were strewn upon it, bunched up in a carried-quickly-by-water sort of way, and moss grew thick in the unkempt cracks.
Some distance downstream, upon elevated earthen mounds on either side of the still-flowing water, stood fresh pilings that supported another bridge, made of wood and metal.
It had gleamed in yesterday’s late afternoon sun, and Katherine had seen several people and ponies passing over it.
Today it sat dull and sullen and empty over the water.
“Looks like rain,” Katherine said, as she and her cats stood in a knot in the center of the bridge, surveying the thickening clouds. Mr. Scruffles ruffled her skirt on his way to chase down something squeaky in the fallen leaves.
Ruben took a seat on the logjam, while Mrs. Chrysler scoured the outbound side of the bridge.
Certain parts of the bridge looked less than reliable, but their position in the elevated center of the stonework appeared to be relatively secure.
Thin trees and anemic shrubs on the muddy shoreline offered little to hide behind on either side of the bridge, especially given the nearly leafless time of year, and a broad sightline would reveal anyone coming by the road from a decent distance.
“Nah,” Mrs. Chrysler presently replied, apparently letting optimism outweigh realism. “Not going to rain, Katty.” She rejoined Katherine, where she stood and plunked down her canvas bag. They waited in relative silence, punctuated at times by the slurping of a fastidious cat.
I just hate waiting around for something to happen, Tilly said between noisy licks.
Mr. Scruffles was preoccupied with the amblings of a beetle by her toes. That’s why I never wait long… for anything! He dove for the beetle and, missing it as it scurried behind her, collided with the purple cat. She swatted him invisibly, albeit claws in, and Ember moved to separate them.
Now, now, she scolded gently.
“Settle down, kitties,” Katherine directed, her eyes still on the sky. Tilly faded back into view and gave Mr. Scruffles a grouchy hiss.
Soon a light mist began to kiss all of their faces, and Katherine withdrew her telescoping umbrella from her pack.
“It’s just spitting, Katty. That’s all. It’ll be fine.”
But Katherine had her eye on a dark patch of clouds hustling their way, as if on some pressing errand. “Um, that looks like a squall line, Imogene.”
“Don’t worry about it. Here she comes.”
Katherine looked down and followed Mrs. Chrysler’s gaze. A small, dour carriage with “Ralph’s Rent-a-Cart” emblazoned on the side was steadily approaching now, pulled by a somber-looking mule and driven by a coachman in a slicker and large tricorn hat.
“We told her to come alone.”
“Seems she’s hard of readin’.”
Ruben leaned on his cane and eased himself to standing, shuffling up to watch what was happening from the more secure position of behind Katherine and Mrs. Chrysler.
The coach stopped short of the bridge and the door promptly opened, its fender kicked down with vigor by the thin, high-heeled boot that then landed upon it, carrying a cross-looking Ms. Angela down to the ground.
She wore a brown suede cape with a high collar over a silver-trimmed, blood-red dress, and the crook of an umbrella handle was slung over one arm.
Her dark towering hair seemed even higher than before.
Katherine watched the woman scan the bridge and the group that stood upon it with a penetrating gaze, then give her driver the “wait here” sign before stalking onto the stonework.
She stopped several paces from them, within shouting distance, and stared.
“Never speak first,” Mrs. Chrysler counseled quietly. “Retain the air of mystery.”
So the two parties stood there for some moments, with a softly whispering wind subtly filling the silence, coupled with the quiet rush and gurgle of water under the bridge.
Then, the breeze began to strengthen, and Ms. Angela put up her umbrella in one deft movement.
Katherine followed suit, but alas, her umbrella could not shelter everyone.
The sky erupted, like a pouch unzipping, and dumped a blinding load of loud, fat, soaking raindrops.
Dried leaves whispered harshly as the rain first struck them, and boughs began to sigh and creak as the drenching gust swept through them. The rain continued to pour.
Ms. Angela apparently had had enough of the wet standoff, and Katherine could see her mouth moving agitatedly, but the wind and rain were stealing her words away.
“What?” Katherine shouted over the din.
This elicited more agitated but mute yelling from Ms. Angela, and Katherine turned to her companions to see if they understood.
Mrs. Chrysler shook her head “no,” and the cowering Ruben merely shrugged, to Mouser’s mild chagrin.
Katherine had tried to angle the umbrella over them too, but they were now quite soaked.
The small cat leapt down from Ruben’s shoulders to shelter under Katherine’s skirts with Tilly and Mr. Scruffles, while Ember stood out in the rain, letting it vaporize to steam above her.
Ruben put up his cowl, which was already sopping, and Mrs. Chrysler let the downpour just soak right through her.
Presently the squall passed and the rain settled into a more measured tempo, continuing to send little rivulets down the edges of the bridge and tiny cataracts over the sides.
“Who are you?” Ms. Angela said, possibly for the third time.
“We are some concerned senior citizens,” Mrs. Chrysler said, “looking out for our peers.”
Ms. Angela’s furious eyes landed on Ruben, peeking now over Mrs. Chrysler’s shoulder, and she pointed angrily. “Ruben Hoode!” she said. “The troublemaker. I’ve been looking for you… How did you get out?”
“It doesn’t matter!” Mrs. Chrysler shouted impatiently. “He’s with us now.”
Ms. Angela seemed to consider this a moment. “And what do you want?”
“We want… the Eagle Heights Active Adult Living Community. Gods, that’s a mouthful. Or, rather our client does,” Mrs. Chrysler said.