Catnip (Dunbarton Mysteries Book 1) Read Free

Dunbarton?”
    “No, they’re back in Toronto with
my parents. Penny’s completing her M.A. in Anthropology at the University of
Toronto. Angela’s studying television journalism at Ryerson and Connie is in
Veterinary Science at Guelph. She wants to be a horse doctor. I moved here a
couple of years ago to join the law firm.”
    “And how old are you?”
    “Thirty-three.”
    “Thirty-three? Hmph! It seems to
me young man that if you want to get ahead in this world, you’d be better off
back in Toronto, not burying yourself here.”
    “You sound like all my fast-track
friends. I’ll tell you what I told them. There are many ways of ‘getting ahead’,
Mrs. Dunbar. I had the rat-race of Bay Street for eight years. It wasn’t for
me. I only stuck it out that long for my parents - they were so proud of their ‘wonder-boy’.
But in the end you have to live the life you want and I couldn’t see spending
the rest of mine somewhere I hated doing a job that left me daily more cynical.
I learned a lot in those eight years. Much of what I learned about people and
the ways of the world I’d like to be able to forget.” He looked her in the eyes
and added firmly, “I wasn’t running away or hiding when I came here. I wanted a
cleaner life, air that I could really breathe, and space. I mean to buy a
house, when I find the right one, marry a nice girl, when I find the right one,
and raise some kids. I’ll never be rich or powerful. I’ll never decide the fate
of people or nations. And that’s just fine with me!” He took a deep breath,
feeling a little foolish, but he was tired of having to justify his decision in
leaving a top, multi-faceted law firm and the high-powered lifestyle that went
with it, for a country practice in a small, farming community.
    She met his look steadily and he
had a strange feeling that his future was being decided in that look. After a
further moment of scrutiny, she nodded.
    “Well, as I said, I think you’ll
do. For that matter, you’ll have to, since David Jukes is a nincompoop and I
never could abide the sight of that Conroy fellow.”
    He smothered a smile and looked
at her expectantly. Such was the force of her personality that it was then, for
the first time, he realized she was ill. The roses in her cheeks owed more to
art than nature. The eyes were as bright and as sharp as those of a much
younger woman, but there was pain in them, and a pinched look to nose and
temple that showed the strain this meeting put her under.
    As if she read his thoughts, she
went on quite matter-of-factly. “Mr. Mallory, I’m dying. No, don’t say anything
kind or soothing. There’s nothing to say. Facts are facts. It’s my heart. I
need surgery but the doctors feel I wouldn’t survive it. There is nothing more
that can be done. I can’t say that I mind. I’m eighty seven and I’ve had a full
life. I married a man I adored and we raised two fine sons. Our oldest, Robert
junior was killed in an automobile accident which James, fortunately, survived.
Well, my husband’s been dead for over twenty years now. My brother and sister
and all of my old friends are gone too, anyone who remembered me when I was
young, the person who I was then and still am in my mind, not the stranger I
see in the mirror.” She sighed. “Old age isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, Mr. Mallory.”
Then she straightened and looked at him sharply. “You’re too young for me to
keep calling you Mr. Mallory. What’s your first name?”
    “Chris,” he said, smiling.
    “Hmph! Well, Christopher, before
I go I want to change my will.”
    “That’s easily arranged,” he
assured her. “If you will just tell me what changes you want made I’ll have
them processed and ...”
    “NO! That’s just what I don’t
want! This must be done immediately, in the utmost secrecy. I don’t want one
word of what I’m doing to get back to my family. Do you understand? I’ve
written my own will and have arranged for Wilf Mitchell