Scarborough Fair and Other Stories by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

table.”
    â€œWell, thanks, I guess,” Mustard told them. “I seem to recall something about the picnic table too. Guess I’d better check it out. Could be the scene of the crime.”
    A recent rain had washed the table clean, but the sealant on the wood was old, and so maybe small particles of the poison might have sank into the cracks.
    He trotted back to the door and asked into the room beyond. “How long ago did Blackie start getting sick?”
    The old girl was just beyond the door. He could hear her scratching the bald spot on her head against the sill. “I dunno, let me see, I saw him rolling around yesterday afternoon. Susan noticed he was sick last night and took him to Tony’s. Er—unless my memory fails me.”
    There was the sound of light, delicate paws landing on the floor beside the door. “No, that’s right, okay. I asked him when he came in what was wrong. I could tell he wasn’t himself right away. He was grumpy and kind of groggy and he smelled funny.”
    â€œFunny in what way, Kitten?” Mustard asked.
    â€œLike that nasty stuff Susan sprinkled all over the floor at Christmas—that stuff that made you all act crazy. I was scared.”
    â€œYou’re always scared—“ the old girl’s growl began. At a warning hiss from Mustard she moderated it to, “or maybe I should say, overly cautious. That was nothing to be scared of. Just catnip.”
    Catnip! Of course! He raced to the table and sniffed—the rain had done a good job. And there might be fine particles of nip in the cracks, but he couldn’t see them. He jumped under the table and put his paws on the supports and sniffed the undersides. His lips curled at the edges. Nip yes, and another smell, a smell he had not really noticed except as one of the subtle vintage differences in ‘nip, but now that particular difference made him feel nauseous.
    He streaked up the street to Diane’s house, to the cabin at the back of it, the one Diane rented to Drew.
    Sadie barked a warning, but Mustard ducked past her and over to a window where he scratched at the glass. No response. Then he looked through the pane. The inside of the cabin no longer contained Drew’s books and bed, the little arrangements of Christmas lights he made, or Moonshadow’s dishes. It was totally empty and almost odorless.
    He was about to ask Sadie where his friend had gone when he heard the sound of Dr. Tony and Jeannette’s van pulling into the driveway. Diane met them at the door and ushered them inside. Sadie, kept bouncing and barking.
    â€œShut up!” Mustard hissed. “What happened?”
    â€œIt’s Moonshadow. He’s been laying in the cabin for the past two days while Diane was gone.”
    â€œDead?”
    â€œNo, but close. Oh poor Moonshadow! He’s been so lonesome since that Diane made Drew leave.”
    â€œWhy did she do that? Drew was nice.”
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe he peed on the rug.”
    â€œHas he been around the last couple of days?” Mustard asked.
    â€œYes, Friday the 13th it was, day before yesterday. He came to pick up his things. I heard him yelling it through the door to Diane but she wasn’t here. He petted us, gave Moonshadow some catnip, and left.”
    â€œCatnip!” Mustard exclaimed, and bolted out of the house and back down the street again, to the front door. “Kitten! Old girl! Are you there? Where is Susan anyway?”
    The kitten’s voice answered in a plaintive mew. “She went to get Drew to come and stay with us while she goes to visit her friends in Copperton. She doesn’t want us left alone with all this cat-killing going on.”
    Mustard twined back and forth across the ridges that held the cat flap. He was agitated and had no idea what to do now. Except to say, “Look, don’t either one of you let him near you. Don’t eat food he puts out or touches,