Free Crossing the Lion (a Reigning Cats and Dog) (2010) by Cynthia Baxter

things.
    One was that I had walked in my sleep—something I’d never done in my life—and taken advantage of my mobility to do a little redecorating.
    The other was that someone had come into my room in the middle of the night while I was in a deep sleep.
    Impossible!
I thought, instinctively pulling the covers up to my chin.
    My eyes darted over to the bedroom door. It was closed, exactly the way I’d left it.
    That didn’t mean someone couldn’t have opened it.
    Gwennie?
I thought.
Could she have gone traipsing through the house last night or early this morning, quietly opening the drapes in each room so the guests would wake up to views of this fine day?
    While it wasn’t a great explanation, I decided it was the one I’d stick with.
    I rolled over, figuring now that I’d solved that puzzle, I’d check my travel alarm clock to see if it was time to get up.
    I was surprised to see it was later than I’d thought—almost nine. But the shock of the glowingred numbers was nothing compared to what else I saw on the night table beside me.
    Someone had left me a present.
    I reached for it, not sure what it was.
    It wasn’t until I held it close that I saw it was a little doll made out of yarn. It had yellow hair, cut about the same length as mine. And its clothes, fashioned from bits of fabric loosely sewn together with uneven stitches, were the same color as the ones I’d worn yesterday.
    In other words, from the looks of things it was supposed to be me.
    And around her neck, pulled tight, was a piece of cord made of black leather.

Chapter 4
    “I know when it is necessary, how to leave the skin of lion to take one of fox.”
    —Napoleon Bonaparte
    V
oodoo?
I wondered, dropping the doll on my pillow like the proverbial hot potato.
    And if someone is attempting to cast an evil spell on me, who is it?
    I jumped out of bed, scarcely noticing how icy the wooden floor felt beneath my bare feet. I was suddenly extremely motivated to figure out if Linus Merrywood really had been murdered—and, if so, who was guilty.
    I was equally interested in finding out if the killer was the same person who had left me this souvenir.
    Tentatively I switched on the lamp next to my bed, curious about whether the electricity had come backon during the night. Fortunately, it had. I dressed quickly, tucking the voodoo doll into my pants pocket, where it was out of sight but not out of mind.
    While a shower would have been refreshing, I wasn’t in the mood to wrestle with a plumbing system that I suspected would turn out to be as unreliable as the electricity. I was also desperate for coffee. While the little gift I’d found on my night table had done wonders to wake me up, I wasn’t in the habit of facing a new day without the assistance of caffeine. Contemplating the idea of a morning without that all-powerful cup of coffee was a horror show all its own, one more reason I was ecstatic that the electricity had come to its senses.
    In fact, it was the intoxicating smell of freshly brewed java that led me to the right spot. Breakfast was being served in the dining room, the same place in which we’d all had dinner the night before.
    I thought daylight might make the dining room look cheerier, despite the relentless rain. It didn’t. The grayness outside made for a gray atmosphere inside. Even in the light of day, the dour-faced men and women in the oil paintings stared down at me as if they were waiting around for something fun like another slew of witch trials.
    However, I was much more interested in the food. Cook had set out quite a spread. Several silver chafing dishes, containing bacon, sausage, and hash browns, were lined up on a sideboard. Fresh croissants and bagels were piled high on a platter, while a fruit saladprovided at least some color in the otherwise dreary room.
    Yet despite the abundance of breakfast goodies there for the taking, only one other person was in the room.
    Someone new.
    The man appeared to be in his mid-