Cass pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. “Bobby, I don’t understand.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen Princess Athabasca. She’s a big gray cat with golden eyes.” He paused, as if waiting to see if Cass had caught on. “Her breed is very rare and expensive, and she’s a national champion, but she looks a lot like Crudley, even though he’s just a regular cat. I would never get the two of them confused,” Bobby assured Cass, “but someone who’d only seen a picture of the Princess or read a description and knew she would be here this weekend might make that mistake.”

Cass at last began to understand the significance of what Bobby was explaining to her. “So someone did steal my cat,” she summed up incredulously, “because they thought he was someone else’s cat.”

“Mrs. Crosswhite’s,” Bobby repeated. “She’s filthy rich and crazy about her cat. The kidnappers are going to demand a ransom. Only they haven’t got Princess Athabasca, and Mrs. Crosswhite’s not going to know what they’re talking about when they call.”

Cass drew a sharp breath, remembering her own conversation with the office manager. “You mean Mr. Howard and Dr. Bellingham didn’t tell Mrs. Crosswhite someone had tried to steal her cat?”

Bobby shook his head. “No, ma’am. They don’t want anyone to know about it. They don’t want the rich customers thinking their animals aren’t safe here. They even told the police there was no need to make a report since nothing was taken. The chauffeur picked up Princess Athabasca this afternoon and took her home. When the kidnappers contact Mrs. Crosswhite tonight, she’ll just think it’s some prank and ignore it.” Bobby’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Then I don’t know what will happen to Crudley.”

Cass shared his unspoken fears, even as her heart leaped with the knowledge that, for the moment at least, Crudley was alive and safe. “Nothing is going to happen to him,” she said firmly, patting Bobby’s shoulder to reassure him. She turned and looked at the blankly imposing facade of the veterinary clinic. “I’m going back in there and force that weasel Mr. Howard to call Mrs. Crosswhite and tell her what’s going on. Then I’m going to contact the police and have them put a trace on her phone so when the kidnappers call, we can find out who and where they are.” In the space of a few seconds Cass had almost convinced herself that Crudley was on his way home already.

One look at Bobby’s expression reminded Cass her problems were far from over just because she knew the reason for Crudley’s disappearance. “I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “I don’t think anyone in there is going to help you.” He made a grim face. “The old man isn’t interested in anything but the bottom line, and he mostly hires people who can’t afford to be anything but loyal. He doesn’t want any scandal or bad publicity, and he’ll lie if he has to. The official story by eight o’clock this morning was that someone tried to break in but was scared off by the alarms and never got inside. They’ve either hidden the kidnappers’ note or destroyed it, because when I sneaked back into the office during lunch to look for it, it was gone. There’s no way I can prove what I’ve told you, except for this.”

Bobby pulled a padlock out of his pocket and handed it to Cass. “It’s the one I used to lock Crudley in. Unless somebody slipped him a set of lock picks, Crudley didn’t let himself out of that cage. Someone used the key I left on the board.”

Cass stared at the lock. It was all the proof she needed. “I can’t let them get away with this,” she insisted. “And I have to do something to save Crudley.”

“I know. Me, too. I’ve been thinking about it all day, trying to figure out what to do, and I decided we should go to Mrs. Crosswhite ourselves.”

“Go ourselves?” Cass echoed, still trying to formulate a plan of action despite the tumult of emotions swirling in her head.

“Yes, ma’am. I figure if we tell her the story, she’ll want to help. She’s really a nice lady,” Bobby said with the confidence of youth. “I’ve met her when she brings Princess in. She’s a little dizzy, if you know what I mean, but good-hearted. She always pets the other animals and talks to them. She’s pretty cool.”

Bobby’s idea wasn’t half-bad. It was simple and direct, and it didn’t rely on the dubious support of Dr. Bellingham or Mr. Howard. Cass’s mind raced ahead. She would contact Mrs. Crosswhite, explain the situation, ask her to stall the kidnappers and then go to the police for their assistance. “It’s a good plan,” she told the young kennel attendant, “except for one thing. I can’t let you go with me, Bobby.”

Hurt and then indignation flashed across Bobby’s face. “It’s for your own good,” Cass explained. “I can’t let you do anything else that might jeopardize your job. As I recall, you’re going to be putting yourself through school soon.”

The boy nodded mutely.

“You can’t afford to lose this job,” Cass said soothingly. “I can’t take the chance that you’ll be penalized for doing the right thing in coming to me. I want you to promise you won’t say anything about this to anyone else. I’ll tell the police that my information came from a confidential source. With luck, Dr. Bellingham will suspect Mr. Howard slipped up somehow.”

Bobby grinned. That particular possible consequence seemed to make Cass’s alterations of his plan more palatable. “Okay,” he agreed. “Do you know where Crosswhite Manor is?” Without waiting for her answer he plunged on. “It’s not along the Cliff Walk, with the real famous places. It’s out farther, next to Heritage Park. You can’t see the house from the road—Mrs. Crosswhite has acres and acres—but you can’t miss the spot. There’s a high iron fence all around and a gatehouse out front with the name on it.”

Cass nodded. “Thanks, Bobby. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done. If you hadn’t figured all this out and then put your job on the line by telling me about it, I doubt I would ever have seen Crudley again. Now I think there is a good chance he’ll be home very soon.”

“He’s a great cat, Miss Appleton,” Bobby said. “If there’s anything else I can do, you let me know.” He stood up and threw a disgusted look back at the clinic. “I’m gonna start looking for another job, anyway. I don’t like working here anymore. These animals have no class.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his lowslung jeans and exaggeratedly sauntered back to work.

Cass pulled out of the parking lot into rush-hour traffic. She should have taken a back way to Heritage Park, but on impulse she drove toward Bellevue Avenue. Her route would now take her past the renowned mansions Bobby had referred to. Perhaps looking at them first would make Crosswhite Manor seem less imposing.

When she’d first moved to Newport, Cass had behaved like a typical tourist. She’d strolled along the Cliff Walk, enjoying the panoramic ocean view on one side and the incredible architecture on the other. Along this one threemile stretch of Atlantic coastline, she had seen some of the most opulent private homes, built around the turn of the century. The Breakers. Rosecliff. Marble House. The names evoked images of beauty and extravagance, money and imagination indulged and run wild. That had been Cass’s first purely practical opinion.

But although the imitation European palaces, castles and châteaus were undeniably pretentious, Cass had come to think of them as oddly charming. Like the yearly yacht races and tennis tournaments, these flamboyant “summer cottages” belonged to a different era, or at least a different class than the one Cass inhabited. It seemed pointless to speculate about the motives and morality of the people who’d lived in such grandeur.

Except now Cass was forced to ask for help from one of the residents of the great mansions. She fervently hoped that Bobby was right about this specific woman and that she was in fact “a nice person” and “pretty cool.”