Canapés for the Kitties by Marian Babson Page B

whisper in her ear. “Too many people around. I’ll fill one of those little plastic tubs and leave it outside the back door. You can pick it up on your way home.”
    â€œWonderful!” Lorinda beamed at her gratefully and went to meet her new editor unburdened and with a moderately clear conscience.
    By the time she was able to get away, the party was breaking up. Freddie and Macho were nowhere in sight. The local catering staff had also disappeared and only Betty Alvin and Gordie Crane were still on duty, looking tired and tight-lipped, collecting up the used glasses as soon as they were set down and carrying them away to the improvised pantry behind the screens. A clear signal the party was over.
    Plantagenet Sutton’s wavering gaze did not quite focus on Lorinda as she thanked him for a delightful party and made her escape.
    Outside, she hesitated. The night seemed extraordinarily dark and a chill wind was rising. The moon was hidden behind thick clouds, presaging rain, and trees and bushes rustled ominously. She shivered involuntarily.
    The streetlamp marking the turning into the narrow aperture that was Coffers Passage seemed to have burned out. No wonder the night seemed so much darker.
    It took her a long moment to argue herself into taking the short cut. Yes, it was dark. Yes, it looked sinister. Yes, it was the sort of thing she groaned about when one of the colleagues sent the heroine into such a foolhardy venture. But this was real life; this was Brimful Coffers, not some urban jungle with danger lurking around every comer. Of course, it was a perfectly safe thing to do and it would enable her to pick up the cats’ treats and get home so much more quickly.
    She was halfway down Coffers Passage when she heard the faint echoing footsteps.
    They were so faint... even furtive ... that she could not tell whether they were behind her or in front of her.
    She looked over her shoulder. Nothing moved in the long dark alley behind her. Nor did anything seem to be looming menacingly in the shadows ahead.
    There was a perfectly simple explanation. The last guests were still leaving the party, she was hearing their footsteps as they walked along the pavement outside Coffers Court. Sounds carried strangely in the still night air, often distorted and seeming to come from a different direction.
    Nevertheless, she quickened her own steps, instinctively tilting forward onto her toes to minimize any sounds she might make. The end of the passage seemed an endless length away; she moved toward it steadily, forcing herself not to run.
    As she reached the end of the passage and turned into the back street, she realized that the footsteps were no longer audible. The relief that swept over her left her feeling silly. There had never been any threat in them – why had she allowed them to disturb her so? The dark night and restless wind preying upon her imagination probably, not to mention the lavishness with which the catering staff had dispensed the champagne.
    She walked purposefully along the vine-covered wall that enclosed the back garden of Coffers Court and opened the narrow wooden door set discreetly into the wall. It was usually kept locked, but not tonight; the caterers and delivery people would have needed access all evening.
    The little round white plastic carton was waiting in a corner of the top step, right where Elsie had promised it would be, just visible in the dim glow of the light from the windows looking onto the garden.
    It was heavier than she expected, Elsie must have crammed it full. Just as she began to pick it up, there was a sudden high-pitched burst of unamused laughter from somewhere eerily close at hand.
    Lorinda nearly dropped the carton. As it slipped, she heard a faint clink – what else had she dropped? Her groping hand encountered something small and flat and cold. Automatically, she gathered up the object and squinted at it in disbelief.
    Pince-nez ... gold-rimmed pince-nez