Chapter 9 - The Voice in the Garden
That afternoon, before the drive to Richmond, I walked down through the estate’s sunken rose garden.
The autumn sunlight was pale and warm, filtering through the high stone arches covered in climbing green ivy.
Sitting on the sun-warmed stone bench near the marble fountain was Barnaby.
His thick gray coat had recovered its glossy shine, his white bandage was long gone, and he looked every bit the regal, ancient monarch of the Sterling Estate. Sitting beside him, grooming her white front paw, was Duchess.
I sat down on the stone bench beside them, stretching my legs out into the sunlight.
"The police closed the file today, Barnaby," I said softly, looking at the sleeping rose bushes. "Madeline is never coming back."
Barnaby slowly turned his massive head toward me, his yellow eyes bright and clear in the sunlight.
“Good,” the Maine Coon grunted in my mind, his gravelly voice sounding remarkably satisfied. “The woman had terrible taste in shoes anyway. Always clacking across the parquet like a frightened goat.”
Duchess let out a high-pitched chirrup of agreement. “And her perfume smelled like boiled lemons. Lily smells like cinnamon and old paper. Much better.”
"Thank you, Duchess," I laughed softly, reaching out to scratch the black-and-white cat behind her notched ear. She leaned into my hand, purring like a tiny motor.
Barnaby shifted his heavy weight, resting his massive chin directly on my knee.
“You did well, girl,” Barnaby said, his tail giving a lazy, contented thump against the stone bench. “For a human with small ears and no whiskers, you possess remarkable reflexes.”
"I couldn't have done it without you, Barnaby," I admitted, stroking his thick silver fur. "You took on a murderer to protect a child."
“I protected my estate,” Barnaby corrected with dignity, though his purr betrayed him instantly. “The child provides excellent belly scratches, and the tall male buys the expensive salmon from the harbor market. It was an investment in my long-term comfort.”
"Of course it was," I smiled.
From the top of the garden terrace, a clear, happy voice called down out through the crisp afternoon air.
"Lily! Barnaby! Look what I found!"
Sophie came running down the stone steps, her dark hair flying behind her, holding a wooden basket filled with fresh red apples from the orchard. Behind her, walking at a relaxed, comfortable pace, was Arthur.
He wore a dark coat against the autumn chill, his hands tucked into his pockets, his eyes fixed on me with an expression of such deep, unreserved warmth that my breath caught in my throat.
May you like
Barnaby lifted his head from my knee, looking up at the approaching family.
“Go on then,” the cat said softly in my mind, closing his eyes to soak in the golden sunlight. “Your tall human is waiting. And don't forget to tell him about the salmon.”
