Chapter 26

“Now order the ranks, and fling wide the banners, for our souls are God’s and our bodies the king’s, and our swords for Saint George...!”

-Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The White Company

I retrieved my mail and trudged up the three floors, my mind whirring like a mixmaster. Auntie Elizabeth, a/k/a La Dragon, opened the door of Glendy and Lucille’s apartment and peered out. She rushed out to greet me, followed closely by Cavalier.

Auntie pointed at my outfit and shrieked. “Lass, aye reckon frae an ill oor!”

In times of shock or crisis, Auntie rattles off her favorite ancient Scots phrases. This one meant the doom is bound to come. I guess she meant my doom. I didn’t ask for clarification.

“Nothing’s wrong, Auntie. I’m perfectly all right. I’ll get my regular clothes back in a day or so.”

She soothed down somewhat but insisted that I follow her to the twins’ place. “We must have a blether,” she whispered, linking arms.

“Auntie, before we have a chat, I’ve got a million things to do. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“No, DD. We must confab now.”

“Auntie, why are you here alone? Where are Glendy and Lucille?”

“They’re no here right now. You must come along.” She steered me next door. “I’ve much of import to impart.”

Cavvy followed, giving me repeated licks. Somehow he knew I had been through an ordeal. I wondered what he could smell on this jailhouse outfit. Cavvy, a blue pointed ragdoll, gazed at me with his spectacular china blue eyes. I picked him up and tickled his ears the way he likes best.

“Thanks for taking care of him, Auntie.”

“He’s a great guid lad,” Auntie declared. “Brave and true. Did these ragdoll cats originate in Scotland?”

I had to be careful answering this. It was a hot potato. Auntie thinks everything she likes must be of Scots origin. We almost came to blows when I told her that her beloved bagpipes most likely originated in Egypt not in Scotland. She still hasn’t forgiven me. I hoped I could thread the needle on this one. If not, Cavalier might be in serious trouble.

“Auntie, there’s a lot of murky waters in the development of the Ragdoll breed. They aren’t strictly Scottish. They come from a cross of some Birman and Burmese with white Persian. Persian did originate in Eurasia about a million years ago, and Eurasia does include Scotland, but I wouldn’t call them strictly Scottish.”

“Never ye mind. I ken he had some kinship with the Scots. He warned me of someut commotion outside your door.”

She uncorked a bottle of Glenlivit and poured a wee dram for each of us. I wasn’t going to say no.

“Here’s to embracing your Scottish heritage, DD. You came out of the womb Scots, an’ be proud of it.”

I took a tiny sip. “Somebody was outside my door? So what happened?”

“Naturalish I peeked out to see what was amiss, an’ a man was standing at your door.”

“What was he doing?”

“That I couldn’a tell. A man’s mind is a mirk mirror. But as ever he saw me, he bolted doon the stairs.”

“You didn’t know who it was?”

“I dinnae ken. But I got a fair glance at him a’fore he turned tail. I called out ta him, but he scurried. I’d not have heard a sound but for Cavalier.” She petted him as he sat beside her, listening intently. I swear he likes her better than me.

“What I always say, DD is that a thief may not always steal, but always be on guard against him.”

I hurried out to inspect my door. Maybe it wasn’t the stalker this time. Maybe it had something to do with Tom and the Grange diary and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Jack the Ripper. I suddenly felt dizzy.

Nothing looked amiss on the door, the jam or the double locks. There was no sight of wood shavings on the hall carpet or scratch marks on the door you might expect if someone had tried to pick the locks. I listened, my head to the door. Everything was quiet. Then I unlocked both locks and pushed in the door.

There on the floor was another white envelope.