Morian carried a tray into the dining room. “Anne’s boss quit last week, and that was a blow to her. And the sharpest financier they had was fired a month ago. Anne says the men who have taken their places are loud, hard to deal with, and really don’t know what they’re doing. Sloppy, she said. Or maybe worse. Files have disappeared, some records have been changed. Twice, Anne was blamed for important files being lost.”
Olive began clearing books off the table. She didn’t seem to notice that her notebook was open, though when Melissa came in it had been closed. “What a terrible thing to happen. Anne loves Meyer and Finley. That poor girl. I guess I was so interested in the research, and my sister Clara being sick—and my having to run down the Peninsula to be with her—I haven’t really talked with Anne much.”
“It’s all happened pretty quickly. Anne’s about ready to quit. She’s so upset she imagines they
“But this Lillith firm—where has it come from?”
“Anne says they have holdings in several states, in diversified corporations and in land. The strange thing is, Anne says they put a large percent of their profits into charity.”
“Here, come sit down, Mor. Why would they be so heavy into charity? Are they religiously backed?”
“No, Anne looked into that. They have no connection with any church, or with any other charity. They’ve set up soup kitchens and free hotels down on Mission and in several other areas of the city and down the Peninsula: one at Half Moon Bay, one at Stockton, several up around Mendocino. They have a big ranch in Mendocino, supposedly a training center for staff. But they send indigents up there, too. Men who need work. The men get bed and board for a few hours’ work a day.”
“That’s very—altruistic.”
“It’s very strange,” Morian said flatly.
Olive rose, startling Melissa. But she only went to refill the teapot. The rum cake smelled delicious.
Morian said, “I guess Anne’s needed to talk to someone. I haven’t been much help, except to listen. Lillith holds controlling stock in some Washington state businesses—a Puget Sound salmon fishing and canning operation, and some farming land.”
Olive said, “Anne has checked them out pretty carefully.”
“It’s the charity thing that puzzles her. She’s convinced Lillith is bent on destruction of the smaller Bay area firms. But why the charities?”
Olive poured more tea and passed the lemon. Melissa stretched out flat under the couch, trying not to sneeze from the dusty cloth mesh that covered its underside. Not until Olive rose to open the front screen door did she grow tense. When the yellow cat strolled in, she backed deeper under.
But the big cat didn’t seem to see her; he headed straight for the table and stood sniffing as if drawn by the scent of rum cake. When he leaped onto a dining chair and stared across the table at Olive, the old woman laughed. “Pippin, the gourmet. He’s been here almost constantly since Tom—since Tom grew so strange toward him.” She put some rum cake on a plate and set it on the chair before the big golden cat. Melissa watched him tear into it, eating at Olive’s dining table as if he were master of the house.
And Braden thought she was spoiled!
She had decided Pippin didn’t know she was there when the golden cat, finished with the rum cake, jumped down and headed directly for her. She backed deeper under. He flopped down at the edge of the couch, staring in at her, his yellow eyes merry, his tail flipping. She looked back at him warily. And she realized for the first time that his eyes were not those of an ordinary cat. His gaze was far more aware and searching than a common cat, far more questioning.
Chapter 42
The golden tom stared under the couch at the calico, his eyes glowing with curiosity, his tail twitching in a semaphore of interest. She felt her own tail twitch in response. She was filled with a dangerous feeling of communion with this cat. She wanted to help him; she was certain he was more than an ordinary cat. And she dared not help him to shape shift. They gazed into each other’s eyes unmoving until long after Morian had left and Olive had put her supper in the oven and gone upstairs. Pippin’s expression was so filled with questions, she was certain he didn’t know what he was. He seemed filled with distrust of her yet drawn to her as if longing to know what
She approached him and sniffed at him, then padded on past him. As she approached the door, she glanced back at him. He hadn’t moved. He watched her with wide yellow eyes, but didn’t attempt to follow her. She pushed quickly out through the screen, leaped off the lighted porch and underneath it, into deep shadows.
