with relief. She'd seen the big gray tabby cat earlier in the afternoon, once when it was snoozing on an easy chair and again when it wandered up the steps just after dinner. She knelt down and said, "Kitty? Kitty?"
“Mrrreow," the cat said chummily.
She picked it up, with a loony sense of comfort.
“Now," she told it, "we're going to go back to my room. Very slowly, very carefully. You can probably see perfectly well in here, but I can't, so I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me if I'm about to run into something."
“Mrrreow." It sounded like consent to Jane in her fevered state.
Another flash of lightning. The cat and Jane both tensed, but it gave her a few more feet of movement. But when the lightning flash was over, there was the flicker of another light. Right in her eyes. Someone had turned on a flashlight, and seeing her, quickly turned it back off.
“Who's there?" she called down the length of the main room.
Her only answer was another rumble of thunder.
This was not good. There might be half a dozen reasons someone else was roaming around the house, but no good reason for not responding when spoken to.
She kept her blind gaze directed at the direction the light had come from and the next time the room was briefly illuminated by the storm, she cast a quick, thorough look around the far end of the room. But there was no sign of anyone. There was so much furniture that whoever it was could have just ducked behind a sofa or chair, waiting for Jane to leave.
Which was precisely what she intended to do. As quickly as possible.
Still holding the cat, which was purring as if nothing were wrong at all, Jane made her way, a few feet at a time, back to the door leading to the hallway where the tiny guest rooms were. She was feeling her way along the left-hand wall, trying to remember which door was hers, when the cat suddenly hissed.
Someone bumped into them and quickly fled. The footsteps were soft, perhaps made by socks or slippers or bare feet, but distinctly footsteps.
Jane, still holding onto the cat, plunged into the next doorway she came to, hoping desperately that it was her own bedroom.
It was.
“Where have you been all this time?" Shelley called. "Jane?" Shelley got out of bed and came through the bathroom. "Good Lord! You're as pale as a ghost. And what are you doing with that cat?”
Jane sat down on her bed and the cat settled inher lap. "I've had a real adventure," she said breathlessly.
She recounted to Shelley how the main door had all but attacked her, her lamp had blown out, the cat had scared her half to death, and someone who would not answer had shined a flashlight at her.
“Jane, are you quite certain your imagination hasn't just gone into overdrive?" Shelley asked.
“Yes, and I'm not finished yet. Out there in the hallway, when I was almost to my door, somebody ran into me. And I didn't imagine it because the cat hissed at him or her."
“Okay," Shelley said briskly. "We'll just get to the bottom of this right now. I'll get my flashlight. Keep the cat in here so we don't trip over him.”
Pajama'd and robed, and equipped with Shelley's powerful flashlight, they set out. There was no one in the hallway, but there was a light shining under the door to Aunt Iva's room. Jane tapped lightly on the door. There was a scuffling sound and some whispering behind the door and finally Iva said, "Who's there?"
“It's Jane Jeffry, Miss Thatcher.”
The door opened a crack. Iva's wig was badly off center. "What is it?"
“Have you been out of your room recently?”
“Of course not. Why would I be?"
“Maybe to get a snack from the kitchen?" Jane suggested. "Did you hear anyone in the hallway here?"
“I did not," Iva said, rudely shutting the door in Jane's face.
“Let's go look over the main room," Shelley said.
The room looked just as it had before the power went out earlier in the evening. At least Jane thought so. But Shelley was more observant. She directed her light along the far
“Mrrreow," the cat said chummily.
She picked it up, with a loony sense of comfort.
“Now," she told it, "we're going to go back to my room. Very slowly, very carefully. You can probably see perfectly well in here, but I can't, so I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me if I'm about to run into something."
“Mrrreow." It sounded like consent to Jane in her fevered state.
Another flash of lightning. The cat and Jane both tensed, but it gave her a few more feet of movement. But when the lightning flash was over, there was the flicker of another light. Right in her eyes. Someone had turned on a flashlight, and seeing her, quickly turned it back off.
“Who's there?" she called down the length of the main room.
Her only answer was another rumble of thunder.
This was not good. There might be half a dozen reasons someone else was roaming around the house, but no good reason for not responding when spoken to.
She kept her blind gaze directed at the direction the light had come from and the next time the room was briefly illuminated by the storm, she cast a quick, thorough look around the far end of the room. But there was no sign of anyone. There was so much furniture that whoever it was could have just ducked behind a sofa or chair, waiting for Jane to leave.
Which was precisely what she intended to do. As quickly as possible.
Still holding the cat, which was purring as if nothing were wrong at all, Jane made her way, a few feet at a time, back to the door leading to the hallway where the tiny guest rooms were. She was feeling her way along the left-hand wall, trying to remember which door was hers, when the cat suddenly hissed.
Someone bumped into them and quickly fled. The footsteps were soft, perhaps made by socks or slippers or bare feet, but distinctly footsteps.
Jane, still holding onto the cat, plunged into the next doorway she came to, hoping desperately that it was her own bedroom.
It was.
“Where have you been all this time?" Shelley called. "Jane?" Shelley got out of bed and came through the bathroom. "Good Lord! You're as pale as a ghost. And what are you doing with that cat?”
Jane sat down on her bed and the cat settled inher lap. "I've had a real adventure," she said breathlessly.
She recounted to Shelley how the main door had all but attacked her, her lamp had blown out, the cat had scared her half to death, and someone who would not answer had shined a flashlight at her.
“Jane, are you quite certain your imagination hasn't just gone into overdrive?" Shelley asked.
“Yes, and I'm not finished yet. Out there in the hallway, when I was almost to my door, somebody ran into me. And I didn't imagine it because the cat hissed at him or her."
“Okay," Shelley said briskly. "We'll just get to the bottom of this right now. I'll get my flashlight. Keep the cat in here so we don't trip over him.”
Pajama'd and robed, and equipped with Shelley's powerful flashlight, they set out. There was no one in the hallway, but there was a light shining under the door to Aunt Iva's room. Jane tapped lightly on the door. There was a scuffling sound and some whispering behind the door and finally Iva said, "Who's there?"
“It's Jane Jeffry, Miss Thatcher.”
The door opened a crack. Iva's wig was badly off center. "What is it?"
“Have you been out of your room recently?”
“Of course not. Why would I be?"
“Maybe to get a snack from the kitchen?" Jane suggested. "Did you hear anyone in the hallway here?"
“I did not," Iva said, rudely shutting the door in Jane's face.
“Let's go look over the main room," Shelley said.
The room looked just as it had before the power went out earlier in the evening. At least Jane thought so. But Shelley was more observant. She directed her light along the far
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