Dogs Don't Lie (18 page)

And I just wanted to quash it. “I’m going to finish my degree soon, Doc.” I’d throw the old man a bone. “But right now, I’m going to reunite one sad kitty and his person.”

The black Persian was asleep when I got to his cage, his breathing regular. His dreams, the little I could pick up, seemed benign. A small feathered thing—either a toy or a bird—hovered just out of reach, but the chase was enticing. His paw pads twitched for a leap.

“Come on, kitty.” I opened the door and scooped up the solid body. “Time to go home.”

“
Home
.” The sleepy cat was slow to wake up, but even so, I was pleasantly surprised by his placidity.
“Home is for pets.”

Something had changed, and for the better. If I had time, I’d have tried to figure it out. As it was, I hoisted the cat into his carrier and hit the road.

***

Wallis bristled a bit when I slammed in, as much from my own noisy entrance, I suspected, as from the black stranger in the green plastic carrier.

“Sorry, sorry.” I swung the carrier up on the kitchen table and shed my coat. Wallis jumped up and, back ever so slightly arched, approached the newcomer. “Wallis, this is…” I paused. I had no idea what the black Persian called himself. Perhaps introductions didn’t matter. Wallis hissed, and the Persian backed up as much as his carrier would allow.

“Okay, maybe this was a bad idea.” I swooped the carrier off the table and looked around for a place to leave it. The air outside was too cold to even consider my car, but from the way Wallis was looking at me, I knew no counter would be high enough. “Hang on.”

I ran the carrier upstairs and left it on my bed, closing the door behind me just as the doorbell rang. “Hang on!” I called again, this time for a different audience, as I raced down the stairs and flung the front door open. Delia Cochrane looked up at me in surprise. Behind her, blocking the light, stood Chris Moore.

“Sorry.” I was apologizing to everyone today. “I just got in and, well, I had to sequester a cat. Please, come in.” I held the door as the couple walked in. Delia looked around, frankly curious about her surroundings, as I ushered them both toward the living room.

Chris, however, was staring at Wallis, who had assumed her sphinx pose on my dining room table. “What a lovely cat.” Too late, I realized his intentions.

“Good cat.” He reached one large hand out.

“No!” Wallis hissed and with a swipe, a line of red appeared on the back of Chris’ hand. “I’m so sorry.” I reached for Wallis, but she’d jumped down. Instead, I took Chris into the kitchen, where he let me wash the scratch. “She’s had a bad day. I had to bring another cat into the house and she’s riled up.” I lowered my voice, not sure where my feline roommate had run off to. “Wallis can be very territorial.”

“I understand.” Chris nodded, but his ordinarily stolid face looked stunned. Not much experience with cats, I figured.

“Well, then, how is everybody?” I led him back into the living room, where Delia was now examining my bookshelf. Too late, I realized, the door to the back room—my office—was wide open. My laptop was in plain sight, open and, as always, on. A quick glance reassured me that the keychain drive was, in fact, attached. “Anyone want a drink? Cup of tea?” Hospitable was the last thing I felt, but there was an odd tension in the air, and I felt guilty first, of having swiped a kitten, and second, of having let Wallis attack Chris.

“Interesting.” Delia pushed a hardcover back into place. “But no thanks. I think we’ll just get my kitten and head home.” She turned with a smile that I guessed was supposed to make up for her snooping. “I’ve had a long day.”

“That’s right.” I fought the urge to apologize again. “How was Mrs. Harris?”

“Nora? She’s a brick.” Delia turned toward me, and I realized she’d made no move to remove her jacket. “But she’s, well, she’s not taking her condition all that seriously. She misplaced some of her gardening tools a while ago. She’s very particular about them—they’re specially made for all the roots and rocks around here—and I guess she felt embarrassed about that. So she drove herself into town to buy new ones, even though she knows I’m there to do her errands. Turns out, she had an extra set of car keys hidden away. We had words about that.” She shrugged. “It’s a process. That dog is a handful, though.”

“Lily’s not misbehaving, is she? Because if she needs any further training, you can call me.” I could feel the tightness of panic in my throat. If Delia couldn’t keep Lily, I’d be hard pressed to find another home for her.

“No, she’s fine. She’s fine.” Delia stepped toward me. “She just seems a little needy right now. She cries, if you can call it that. But it’s a new place, and Charles….” She left the sentence unfinished. “She’ll settle in. But right now, between Mrs. H. and the dog, I’m wiped. My kitten?”

“Oh, of course.” I hadn’t had a chance to ask Wallis where the kitten was hiding, and I didn’t think such a query would be welcomed now, even if there weren’t human witnesses present. “Let me just see where she’s gotten to.”

I motioned toward the sofa, but neither Delia nor Chris sat. Instead, they watched as I went into my office, chirping and calling for the kitten. No sign of her, and I used the opportunity to close my laptop as I walked by. “She must be upstairs.”

Inwardly, I cursed my own haste. Not only had I missed a chance to have the kitten packed up and ready to go, if I hadn’t rushed the Persian inside, I could have asked Wallis to treat the visitor kindly. Maybe she’d have been able to find out more about the black cat and his distant owner.

I checked the second bedroom. With my bedroom door closed, I thought Wallis might have come in here to sulk, but her usual place on the windowsill, right by the night table I’d used all through grade school, was empty, and there were no felines of any kind under the bed. She and I were going to have to talk later.

For now, I opened my bedroom door. Sure enough, the orange kitten was on the bed reaching toward the black Persian in his carrier. This time there was no hissing, only a strong sense of curiosity. I stood watching, and heard Delia behind me.

“Oh, isn’t that adorable.” She stood beside me, both of us watching as the two cats touched noses. “Tulip has made a friend.”

“What’s up?” Chris still moved like the athlete he had been. I hadn’t heard him come up the stairs.

“Look.” Delia nodded toward the scene. I stepped into the room, as curious about the feline dialogue as I was ready to move these two humans on.

“So, look, I can lend you a carrier for Tulip.” Stupid name. I picked up the kitten and got a sense of dislocation. The tiny kitten had been enjoying the larger cat.
“Stay here?”

“No problem. I can hold her.” Delia reached for the kitten. I hesitated. Cats can react badly to cars or sudden movements. But, then, I was hardly in a position to protest, seeing as how I’d lifted her kitten.
“Pets?”
At least the kitten didn’t mind.

“So, you’re not going to have a problem keeping her now?” I hadn’t bought her story about why she’d brought the kitten over to Charles. “You don’t need me to find another home for her?”

“Of course not.” Delia lifted the cat to her face and nuzzled it, her own tawny mane falling over the orange and white fur. “
Delia! Pets!”
The kitten started purring. Her person looked up at me. “What gave you that idea?”

I didn’t get a chance to answer, and hearing the kitten’s enthusiastic reaction to the embrace, I’m not sure what I would have said. Instead, I was distracted by Chris, sprawling across my bed. “Hey, buddy.” He reached to unlatch the carrier door.

“That cat isn’t used to people.” I reached for him, not wanting to see a guest scratched twice in one day. But if I expected the kind of reaction I’d gotten when I’d first started seeing the black Persian, I was proved wrong. The mellow mood of earlier seemed to have continued, despite the drive and the run-in with Wallis, and the large black cat came out willingly, letting Chris heft him into his lap.

“Wow, that’s amazing.” I watched as the Persian strained his head up into Chris’ large hand. “That cat’s been having some behavioral issues.”

“Not anymore, are you buddy?” Chris’ face was turned down, but I could see the cat’s paws reaching out to knead the air with pure pleasure.

“That’s so strange.” Two cat lovers, two happy cats. Something was off here.

“Not really.” Chris looked up, as happy as the cat he held. “I’d seen this guy in the shelter, when Delia was looking for her kitten. I’ve been visiting him.”

I nodded. “Good to know. I’m supposed to be reuniting him with his owner. However, if that doesn’t work…”

“We have Tulip back now.” Delia’s words were more for Chris than for me, and with a sigh he placed the large Persian back in his carrier. “Thank you so much, Pru.”

I followed them back down the stairs. I’d been hoping to have some more private time with Delia, but maybe some of my questions had just been answered. Clearly, she was planning on making a life with Chris, whatever the story of her pregnancy. I watched them head out, Chris holding the door. Delia tucked the kitten inside her suede jacket for protection. She’d probably be a good mother, much as I didn’t like to admit it. Then it hit me. All those first few days, that kitten had been crying for her “mama.” But she hadn’t said anything like that when Delia had picked her up. Maybe she was young enough so that she’d already forgotten the woman who’d adopted her. Maybe the parent she was seeking wasn’t the blonde charmer at all.

Chapter Nineteen

One cat down, one to go. I called Eleanor Shrift’s number, wondering what kind of program she’d go for, and left my number on her machine. The Persian, meanwhile, had curled up for a nap in his carrier. I couldn’t leave him in that forever. If his person was on another business trip, things might get crowded here. For now, though, he looked so peaceful, I decided not to disturb him. Instead, I went downstairs to make peace with Wallis—and make sense out of those files.

It took a while, and I wasn’t entirely successful on either front. On the plus side, by the time Wallis emerged, I’d done what I should have from the start. I’d copied the files on the keychain drive to my own computer and begun to look through them in earnest. What Creighton had said was disturbing, but not surprising. Charles probably paid my bills because they were some of the smallest on there. That, and maybe he cared more for his dog than for his suppliers or distributors, whoever they were. But if I was going back to the cop shop, I wanted to know for sure what was up. Businesses go belly up lots of times, even those founded on great ideas. Nobody ends up dead.

“No one you know, anyway.” Wallis landed by the keyboard with a thud.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.” I’d been staring at a screen too long, and her sudden appearance had startled me.

“What, land abruptly?” She began licking one paw. “Or read your thoughts?”

“Either. Both.” I pushed the laptop back. “I’m having a hard time making sense of any of this.”

“Maybe because there’s no sense to be had.” She stared down at the keyboard, and I remembered our previous fight. I needed to change the subject.

“Wallis, I wanted to ask you about the kitten—and also about the black Persian.”

She sniffed and started closing her eyes. “You’re changing the subject.”

“I need the break. And I did mean to ask you. Wasn’t it odd how the kitten greeted Delia Cochrane?”

One eye opened. “I wasn’t in the room. Remember?”

Actually, I hadn’t been sure where she was. “Well, it was. After all those days of crying ‘Mama,’ the kitten called her ‘Delia.’”

“Who knows? I got a whiff of that woman. Her perfume is enough to knock the sense out of anyone. Maybe the kitten got over her. After all, we’ve been taking care of her.”

Had Wallis begun to soften toward the marmalade kitten? She shot me a look. “Forget about it.”

“Sorry, but what about the Persian?”

She shifted, a stalling technique that I recognized. “What about him?”

“Why the abrupt turnaround? He’d been grooming himself bare less than a week ago, and now, well, you saw him.”

“We didn’t exactly converse.” I remembered the hiss. Maybe this wasn’t a good topic, but Wallis didn’t let it drop. “He was lonely. I got that. Someone had broken his heart. You know the type: always ready to fall again. A real lap cat.”

I looked over at the tabby and realized again how alike we were. “Maybe that’s not a bad way to be.”

She tucked her nose into her tail, giving me one last green-eyed glance. “It’s a sucker’s life.”

I had no answer to that one. “Well, he’s bunking down with us until I can get him home.” I didn’t mention that I’d closed the bedroom door behind me. She’d find out soon enough. Perhaps she already knew, because she turned away and went to sleep.

Me, I went back to work. An hour later, Eleanor still had not called, and I was still clueless. I rang her again, kicking myself for not asking whether this was a landline or a cell number.

“Eleanor, it’s Pru again. Would you call me? Anytime.” I hung up, wishing I could’ve worked some more warmth into my voice. I both wanted her and didn’t want her to claim the big old boy I had upstairs. If she would give us both the time, I thought I could make it work. He deserved a home. Hell, he deserved better than to be abandoned.

With that in mind, I went up to check him out. He was still sleeping, though he’d shifted around some, and so I left him to it and returned downstairs to scrounge around. Although I sensed Wallis watching me, I grabbed one of her cans and a couple of bowls. Food, water, a makeshift litterbox. It was the least I could do, seeing as how I’d sprung the black Persian from the shelter without making any other plans.

Without waking the big cat, I opened the latch on the carrier door. For a moment, I considered reaching in. Perhaps with a touch I could get something. Listen in on a dream. But just then the feline shifted and sighed. He’d been through enough. He deserved some privacy. Instead, I returned to my office and those financial files. Why had Charles put this on Lily’s collar, and had it gotten him killed?

A few clicks and I found my way back to that first spreadsheet, the one that seemed to function as Charles’ checkbook. Now that I knew my way around, I was able to make sense of more of the expenses. Monthly deductions—I was guessing heat and hot water—showed up in red, as did the odd twenty or forty dollar withdrawal. The running averages were to the right. Once I got the hang of that, I clicked over to the next file. The numbers were definitely bigger here. Some of them, quite large—and most of them in black or a glowing green that made me think of speculation. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have wondered if these were projections, the kind of puffed-up estimates that entrepreneurs mock up to show investors. “In the first year, we expect one hundred and thirty percent return,” and all that. This kind of hard sell didn’t fit with the Charles I’d worked with, the Charles who wanted to stay small—stay in control—and that made me think of Mack. Were these numbers that he had thrown out? Pie in the sky plans designed to entice Charles to go public or seek out venture capital? Pitches for cash that Charles didn’t want, but that Mack might have waited for like payday?

What was Mack’s role in all of this anyway? Beauville was a small town, but I still had trouble seeing the smooth-talking townie with the geek.

As if on cue, the phone rang. Wallis woke and jumped off the table. I grabbed the phone. It was Mack.

“Hey, babe.”

When did I become his babe? “Hello, yourself.” I scrolled down the spreadsheet. If I could get him talking, maybe more of this would make sense. Then again, I’d tried that the other night and ended up with a hangover.

“You doing anything?”

“No,” I lied. Nothing I wanted to tell him about.

“Wanna come out and play?”

Wallis woke up. We made eye contact. “Play,” we both knew, was synonymous with the hunt. “Happy’s again?”

“Nah, I’ve got someplace classy in mind. Why don’t I pick you up?”

“You know where I live?” Wallis lashed her tail.

“This is a small town, babe. Everyone knows everything here.”

***

Two hours later, Wallis butted up against me to alert me to a car pulling up outside. I’d painted my face, as much as I ever do. I refused to change out of my jeans, despite the look Wallis gave me.

“Too late now.” I reached down to stroke her sleek head as the doorbell rang. Then, remembering to close the laptop, I went off to greet my date.

***

“You look scrumptious.” I’d opened the door to find Mack moving in. I stepped back automatically and kicked myself for it.

“Let’s get some dinner, I’m starved.” The man didn’t understand subtle.

“Not going to show me around?”

I’ll confess the high wattage smile started to thaw my resolve. But when I heard a thump coming from my office, I came back to my senses.

“I have a cat. You don’t like cats.” I nodded toward the door.

“Whatever made you think that?” He looked down, and I followed his eyes to see Wallis approaching. “They like me well enough.”

“Wallis!” I scooped her up before she could reach him and got a quick flash.
Put me down, fool. Let me do my work.

I almost dropped her after that, startling Mack who, finally, backed up toward the door.

“Whoa, watch it.” He stepped away as Wallis, her dignity affronted, began to groom. “Well, shall we?”

“Sure.” I motioned for him to lead the way and reached back to lock the door.
He didn’t pet me, did you notice?
I nodded once to her. “Later,” I said.

***

We made the kind of small talk people do, when they’ve nearly had drunken sex behind a bar but don’t really know each other.

“Nice place you got.” He was driving into town, and I wondered if he’d changed his mind about Happy’s.

“Thanks. I grew up there.” This was very small talk. I was really thinking about the significance of what Wallis had said.

“Yeah, I remember you.” That got my attention. “You were a few years younger, but you had a reputation.”

“Oh?” Wallis had nothing on me when I wanted to freeze someone out, but Mack only laughed.

“Relax. I’m talking kid stuff.” We drove through the night. “Still, it got my attention. I guess that’s why I decided to look you up when you came back to town.”

I turned toward at him. This was news. “
You
decided to look me up?”

“Yeah, babe.” He turned toward me, smile at full power. “You think I always hang out at Happy’s?”

We rode in silence after that, and at some point, Mack flipped on the radio. There was a college station in the area, and he tuned in some blues, low and mournful. I liked it; it helped me think. We parked in front of a glass storefront that had held a hardware store when I was growing up. By then, I was ready to start again—with our conversation if not with my queries—but Mack walked me up to the glass door, and I realized that in place of tools and sundries, the storefront had turned bistro, its plate-glass window blocked halfway up with thick curtains and its fluorescent aisles now occupied by small, candle-lit tables. We stepped inside and a young waiter, apron wrapped around his waist butcher style, came up and escorted us to a deuce. We’d just given him drink orders—red wine for me, a beer for Mack—when Mack excused himself. I contented myself with reading the menu. A free meal is a free meal, and I liked the look of this place. The menu convinced me that Beauville hadn’t changed that much. The steaks and chops might come with pedigrees, but this was meat and potatoes, fancy trimmings or not.

Don’t get me wrong. I love a good burger, and I used to be able to put away a steak that would scare a full-grown man. But ever since I’ve started being able to hear what animals say, I’ve had problems with the obvious cuts of meat. Wallis would laugh at me, for sure, if she knew. She was one of the reasons I still cooked with ground meat and brought home the occasional chicken. On my own, however, I preferred to avoid the issue. I scanned the menu. An eggplant lasagna seemed to be the one vegetarian offering, a sop to former city folk like me. I resigned myself to something thick and tasteless and closed the menu to wait for Mack’s return. As if on cue, Officer Creighton appeared and took the seat opposite me.

“Good evening, Officer. Are you going to be our sommelier tonight?” Maybe it wasn’t witty, but it was the best I could do.

“Don’t get mouthy with me, Pru. I’ve been trying to talk with you.” He leaned forward and I fought the urge to pull back.

“I said I’d come in tomorrow, Officer.” I emphasized my words. He wasn’t going to see me quake. “Now, if you don’t mind?”

“I do, actually. I heard that one of the activities that was keeping you busy was scaring poor Mrs. Harris half to death.”

“What?” I was pissed now. “She’s a tough lady. She was out digging in her garden before I left.” Not exactly true, but close enough. Another thought struck me. “Who’s been telling you these things?”

“Delia Cochrane.” As he spoke, I saw Mack come up behind him. He heard enough to suss out what was going on.

“Ah, Delia.” I forced myself to smile. This was beginning to make sense. “And you and Delia are close?” Behind Creighton, Mack smiled for real.

“Delia’s a good girl, Pru. She’s not out to cause any trouble.”

I raised my eyebrows at that one, but Mack took his cue. “Delia’s a real sweetheart, Jim. But if you’ll take my advice, you’ll stay clear of that particular honeypot. Now, if you’ll excuse me?” Only Mack could be menacing with such charm. Whether it was the bigger man leaning over him or his own sense of propriety, I couldn’t tell. Creighton stood up and nodded to me. “My office, first thing.”

“Good night, officer.” I waggled my fingers at him.

“Can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?” Mack took his chair back. “Now, where are our drinks?”

***

An hour later, I was warm, full, and mildly astounded. The lasagna had proved a treat, with good cheese and a zingy tomato sauce that played off the eggplant nicely. More to the point, Mack had proved to be better company than I’d expected. I’d learned the hard way that sexy men who are fun in bars don’t often clean up so well. But here he was, acting charming and like he was very interested in me. That, in fact, was the big sticking point. I’d been hoping to get some more out of him, but he’d managed to turn it all around. I was a bit of a legend, the way he saw it. The wild child. The joyrider who busted up her mom’s car and still managed to graduate top of the class. With a free pass to college and the city, I’d gotten away clean, and yet here I was, back in town. He gave me a look when I pulled out my mom’s final illness as my excuse. He sensed something else had driven me from the city. By the time coffee came around, he was probing, both at our shared slice of pie and my defenses.

“So you were this close to your degree, and you came here?”

“I needed a change anyway.” I shook my head, turning down a forkful of spiced apples.

He ate it, chewing more thoughtfully than the filling merited. “Who was he?”

I nearly laughed with relief. “There was no ‘he.’”

His eyebrows went up. “She?”

“No, I mean, I’m no nun. But, honestly, that’s not why I left.”

“Cause I have noticed a certain reticence about intimacy.” I must have made a face. “And yes, we do use words like ‘reticence’ out here. Or was it ‘intimacy’ that got you?”

I was chuckling out loud by then. He
was
charming. And we’d drunk a fair amount of wine. “It was my cat.” Maybe I wanted to tell someone. I didn’t think he’d get it.