A Tale Оf Two Kitties

chapter 2

As I watched, Leo said one last thing to Harry and walked away. Harry in turn slammed his hand down hard on the top of the rain barrel that sat next to the gazebo. I couldn’t help wondering what the two men had been arguing about. Harry was easy to get along with and slow to anger, and although I’d just met Leo Janes he seemed like a pleasant man. So what had been going on? I turned away from the window and sat down at my desk.

I managed to get the staffing schedule finished up through the holidays and to make a start on going over the circulation stats for the various magazines we offered.

I did a circuit of the building before I left for the night. Mary was at the front desk going over what I was guessing was a reading list of some kind with a couple of teens I didn’t remember ever seeing in the library before. I found Mia shelving books in the young adult section, humming softly to herself.

“I like your grandfather,” I said.

“Grandpa’s great, isn’t he?” she said, her face lighting up. “I’m so happy he finally agreed to come here for Thanksgiving. Before, we always went to see him. My dad bugged him and bugged him and then suddenly one day he said yes.”

I smiled. “I’m not surprised. It’s pretty clear he loves you very much.”

“I love him, too,” she said. Her expression grew serious then. “He’s not just here because of me. My uncle Victor—great-uncle, really—he’s here, too.” She picked at a bit of loose skin on one side of her thumb.

She didn’t like the man, I realized. It was written all over her face, in the way her eyebrows knit together and her jaw tightened. “I met him,” I said, “walking back here at lunchtime.”

“What did you think of him?”

“I didn’t really spend enough time with him to be able to say.” It was the most diplomatic answer I could come up with.

“You didn’t like him,” Mia said flatly. She crossed her arms over her chest and studied me.

“Why do you think that?” I asked. I hadn’t really formed an opinion about Victor Janes.

“You only spent a few minutes with my grandfather but you like him.”

I nodded. “I do. But sometimes you need to spend more time with a person before you can make up your mind about them. At least I do.”

“That’s because you’re terminally nice. That’s what Mary says.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “I appreciate Mary’s confidence in the way I try to treat people but I don’t think it’s true.” And I wasn’t sure Mary had meant the comment as a compliment. “Sometimes I’m mean and petty.”

Mia shook her head. “No, you’re not. You’re nice to people who aren’t nice to anyone else—who aren’t nice to you. I’m not like that.”

I reached over and straightened three books on the shelf next to my shoulder. “Yes, you are,” I said. “You’re thoughtful and kind and yes, nice.” I held out both hands. “Sorry. You just are.”

She didn’t smile. She just shook her head again. “I’m not. Because I don’t like my Uncle Victor. In fact I pretty much hate him. That’s not what a nice person would do.”

I wanted to wrap her in a hug, but I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.

Mia pushed a strand of plum-colored hair back off her face. “My uncle Victor had an affair with my dad’s mom. He didn’t care about them. My grandfather says everyone deserves a second chance but I don’t see why I should give Uncle Victor one, even though Grandpa wants me to. You can’t use the word ‘sorry’ like it’s an eraser and it just takes away all the bad stuff you did.” She let out a breath. “You probably don’t get that.”

“I get it better than you think,” I said. “Someone hurt my dad once very, very much.”

“Who?” Mia asked. She’d been reaching for the books she’d set on the cart but she put them down again.

“My mother.”

Her eyes widened. “I . . . I don’t understand.”

“When I was a bit younger than you are now my parents got divorced. My mom went to LA just for a couple of months to do a soap and I stayed with my dad in Boston.” I remembered the anger that had seemed to eat a hole in my stomach because my mother had been the one to file for divorce. “Mia, I hated my mother for a while. Half the time I wouldn’t talk to her when she called. Then, one day after an angry conversation with Mom on the phone in which I said she was selfish and actually knocked the phone onto the floor, my father came into my room and told me that my behavior toward my mother was selfish.”

Mia frowned. “I don’t understand.”

I swiped a hand over my mouth as if I could somehow go back in time and wipe away all the hateful words I’d said to my mother. “Neither did I, but Dad said that the end of their marriage was between the two of them, that he loved me for caring about him but he didn’t like the way I was treating Mom, who he knew loved me more than anyone or anything in the world.” I still remembered his voice. He hadn’t raised it but I’d had no doubt how he felt about the things I’d said to Mom. There had been a hard edge of anger in his tone although he’d spoken quietly. My father saved the dramatics in his life for the stage and the screen.

“He said, ‘What’s between your mother and me is between us. Don’t put it between the two of you.’ Then he called her and they talked for about an hour, I figured about me.” I gave Mia a wry smile. “A few months later they started secretly seeing each other and then suddenly I was going to be a big sister to twins and they were getting married. Again.” I was probably never going to forget my teenage mortification at the undeniable evidence that my parents had been having sex.

“Are you serious?” Mia asked.

“Yes,” I said. I didn’t add that it wasn’t the most embarrassing thing my family had ever done, either.

“Wow,” she said.

I nodded.

“Are you going to tell me that I should give Uncle Victor another chance?”

“No,” I said. “I’m going to tell you that families are messy. As far as anything else goes I know you’ll figure it out.” I put my arm around Mia’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, and headed out to walk home.

• • •

After a bowl of turkey-rice soup and crackers—cracked pepper for me and sardine for Owen and Hercules—I grabbed my bag and went to pick up Rebecca for tai chi class. It was Rebecca who had originally invited me to try the class right after I’d moved to town. I sometimes wondered if I would have the circle of friends I had now if I hadn’t said yes to her invitation.

When Everett and Rebecca had gotten married he had moved into her small house just across my backyard and sold Wisteria Hill to Roma. I’d been happy to know that I wasn’t losing Rebecca as a neighbor. I was certain Owen and Hercules felt the same way. She kept them both in cat treats. In Owen’s case that meant a steady supply of yellow Fred the Funky Chickens. For Herc it was little dishes of whitefish and the occasional bit of salmon. Everett had just hired Oren Kenyon to refinish the floors and the trim in the small farmhouse, so their furniture was in storage and they were living in Everett’s downtown apartment—or as Rebecca laughingly liked to call it, their pied-à-terre.

Everett’s former bachelor pad was in a two-story Georgian-style brick house that he owned, close to his downtown office in a neighborhood filled with similar, beautifully restored houses. It had crisp white trim and shutters and a wrought-iron fence around a small flower garden between the house and the sidewalk. The garden was one of Rebecca’s touches, put to bed now for the winter.

I pushed open the wrought-iron gate and went down the narrow walkway between the house and its neighbor to the left of the entrance. At the top of the steps was a set of double six-panel doors painted with a gleaming black finish. They opened into a small entryway with another set of double doors. These were half-frosted glass. To the right were doorbells for the three apartments in the building. To the left were three mailboxes.

Everett and Rebecca had the entire second floor. One of the smaller main-floor units was kept for business associates of Everett’s to stay in when they came to town and for family when they visited. Until recently the other had been rented to a cousin of Everett’s assistant, Lita.

As I stepped into the entryway the second set of doors opened and a woman hurried out, pushing past me with a rushed apology. She was gone before I had a chance to say anything. I didn’t recognize the woman. Her head had been down and she’d been pulling up the hood of her navy jacket over a tie-dyed silk scarf as she brushed past me, but I’d caught enough of her face to realize she wasn’t someone I knew and she didn’t look happy. Her lips were pulled together in a tight, thin line and her cheeks were flushed.

I caught the inside door and headed up the stairs. I knocked on the apartment door and Rebecca opened it right away. She had one arm in her jacket.

“Hello, dear,” she said. These days she was wearing her silver hair in a short, layered cut, which showed off her neck and cheekbones.

“Hi,” I said, reaching over to hold the front of the coat so she could get her other arm in. “I’m sorry I didn’t ring the bell, but your visitor was just leaving so I just came up.”

“I didn’t have any visitor,” Rebecca said, pulling down one of Ella King’s scarves from the wooden coatrack and wrapping it twice around her neck. She frowned for a minute and then her expression cleared. “It must have been someone visiting Leo.”

“Leo?” I said slowly. “You don’t mean Leo Janes, do you?”

“Yes, I do,” she said, smiling at me. “Simon’s father. Have you met him?”

I nodded, reaching for the tote bag that I knew held her shoes for tai chi and a towel. “Just a little while ago. He drove Mia to work.”

“He used to live here in Mayville Heights,” Rebecca said. She stopped to lock the apartment door and we started down the stairs together. “He hasn’t been back in—goodness, let me think—it must be more than twenty years.” She adjusted the scarf at her neck. “When Everett heard that Leo was coming to spend some time with Simon and Mia he offered him the apartment.” She made a gesture in the direction of the front unit.

I wasn’t surprised. Everett may have been relentless when it came to business but he was a softie when it came to anything related to family. I remembered how he’d flown in Rebecca’s son, Matthew, from a remote job site in the Canadian far north, where he was working as a geologist, to surprise her on their wedding day.

“Mary told me a little about the family,” I said.

Rebecca glanced sideways at me. “So you know,” she said, not phrasing her comment as a question.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“The whole thing is just so sad.”

I moved ahead of her to open the door to the entryway.

“Hold on a minute, dear,” she said. “I need to check the clock.” She moved to the left side of the stairs and I noticed there was a small mantel clock settled in a niche in the wall. She checked the clock face and then nodded. “It’s still running. Good.”

“I never noticed that before,” I said.

“The clock came with the house,” Rebecca said. “It’s been there for a good fifty years, but it’s temperamental.”

I nodded, reaching for the door handle. “I know. My father has one just like it at home. Do you keep the key taped to the back?”

She nodded. “In a little envelope. Before I did that I misplaced the darned thing twice.”

I held the door and we stepped into the entry. I waited while Rebecca locked up.

“Maybe if Meredith hadn’t died things would have turned out differently,” she continued as we headed down the walkway toward the truck. “Maybe Leo could have forgiven them both. That doesn’t mean I’m excusing what she and Victor did. It’s just that sometimes we don’t get a do-over in life, a chance to fix our mistakes, but I think it would be nice if we could.” She sighed softly.

I thought about what Mia had said to me about the word “sorry” not being an eraser.

• • •

When Rebecca and I got to tai chi Taylor King was waiting for her, sitting on the bench beneath the coat hooks, a brown paper shopping bag at her feet. Her long red hair was pulled back in a French braid and she was wearing a black T-shirt and black-and-gray-patterned leggings.

Rebecca smiled when she caught sight of the teen. “Look at your hair!” she exclaimed.

Taylor got to her feet, a huge smile spreading across her face.

Rebecca made a circular motion with her index finger. “Let me see the back.”

Taylor obligingly turned around.

“Excellent,” Rebecca said. “I knew you’d be able to do it.”

The teenager looked at me, a flush of pink in her cheeks. “Rebecca taught me how to do a French braid. She’s a hair ninja.”

“That she is,” I agreed, grinning at Rebecca as I slipped off my jacket. She’d been a hairdresser and she kept current as far as new styles and techniques went. She’d fixed an ill-advised pixie cut I’d gotten before I came to Mayville Heights and gotten me through the awkward growing-out stage fairly painlessly. Now my dark hair almost brushed my shoulders.

Rebecca gestured at the paper shopping bag. “You brought the bags,” she said to Taylor, her smile widening.

The teen nodded. “I brought two and if you don’t like either of these I have a couple of others that might work.” Taylor collected and sold vintage purses. She’d turned a hobby into a little business that was going to help pay her way through college.

“A possible Christmas gift for Ami,” Rebecca said to me. She sat down on the bench and set her own bag at her feet. Taylor joined her and pulled out a small, black lace evening bag with a gold clasp and black satin strap.

“That’s pretty,” I said.

“It came from an estate sale in Pucketville,” Taylor said. “Oh, and Mom said to tell you she got the yarn for your scarf, so she’ll probably start it this week.”

“Tell her thank you,” I said.

Ella King was a talented fiber artist. She was knitting a linen stitch scarf for my sister, Sara, for Christmas.

Rebecca was holding the evening bag on her lap. She looked up at us. “Do you think Ami would like this?” Ami was Everett’s only grandchild. She was away at college studying voice and piano. Ami adored Rebecca, and I knew she would be happy with the paper shopping bag if it came from her.

“I think so,” I said, stepping into the canvas shoes I wore for class.

Taylor pulled out another evening bag. This one was a beaded silver-tone clutch with a silver chain strap.

“That’s beautiful, too,” Rebecca said. “How on earth am I going to decide?”

I leaned down toward her. “We both know you’re going to buy both of those bags,” I whispered.

She winked at me. “Well, of course I am, but I want to be able to tell Everett that I tried to pick just one.”

I smiled back at her. “Your secret is safe with me,” I said, heading inside. I walked over to join Maggie at the small table she had set up for tea.

She smiled. “Hi. Did Rebecca and Sandra have any luck figuring out who any of those photos might belong to?” Her hands were wrapped around a blue pottery mug and I could smell spices and oranges.

“Between the two of them they recognized the people in eight of the pictures,” I said. “The only way we’re going to figure out who’s in all of the other ones is to somehow get people into the library to look at them.”

She took a sip of her tea. It smelled so good I was almost tempted to make myself a cup. Almost.

“Hey, guess who I met?” she said. “Simon’s father. He came into the shop and bought a tea set. He had such a warm energy around him.”

“He drove Mia to work. He’s a nice man.” I glanced across the room. Roma had just come in with Eddie. I raised a hand in hello and they started over to us.

Maggie followed my gaze. “I love a happy ending,” she said softly.

I nodded. “Me too.”

It was wonderful to see Roma so happy. She was getting married. After insisting she was too old for hockey player Eddie Sweeney and ending their relationship, she’d realized that how she and Eddie felt about each other was more important than the number of years between them. So she’d proposed to him in the middle of my kitchen and he’d happily said yes.

“Hey, Eddie, are you going to stay for class?” Maggie asked.

Roma tipped her head to one side and smiled up at him, her dark eyes sparkling. “Are you?” she asked.

He made a face at her. Then turned to Maggie. “Thank you for the invitation, but no. The hockey team has practice.” Now that Eddie was retired and living in Mayville Heights he was helping coach the girls’ hockey team. The girls’ team because of a nudge from his daughter, Sydney.

Eddie’s expression grew serious. “The strangest thing happened to us on the way down here,” he said.

Roma’s smile disappeared and she nodded.

“We were followed down the highway by a drone.”

“Followed?” I said.

“For a close to a mile,” Roma said.

“It was definitely deliberate,” Eddie added, running a hand over the stubble on his chin. “The road turned twice and the drone stayed with us.”

Maggie set her mug on the table. “The same thing happened to Brady on the weekend.”

“When?” Eddie asked.

“Where?” I said.

Maggie let out a breath. “Saturday evening, maybe seven o’clock. But he wasn’t on the highway. He was out past the marina.”

“And something similar happened?” Roma asked, her forehead creased into a frown.

“Very,” Maggie said. “Brady said the drone followed him for about a mile and then veered away toward the bluff.”

“That’s dangerous,” I said. “Someone could have an accident just from being distracted.”

Eddie nodded. “Or the drone could hit a car.” He shook his head. “I thought I’d talk to Marcus when he gets back and see if there’s anything he can do.”

I automatically started to smile. “He’ll be back around supper time tomorrow.”

“I can wait until Thursday.” Eddie grinned and I felt my face get red.

I turned to Maggie. “Isn’t it time for class to start?” I asked.

Maggie smiled. “Yes, it is.” She stepped out into the room, clapped her hands and called, “Circle.”

Eddie planted a quick kiss on the top of Roma’s head.

“I’ll tell Marcus you want to talk to him,” I said.

“Thanks,” he said and he was gone.

Roma and I took our places in the circle. Maggie had that gleam in her eye that told me she was going to work us hard. And she did. Ruby and I paired up to work on our Push Hands and Maggie spent some time watching and refining our technique. By the time we finished class with the complete form, the back of my neck was damp with sweat.

Roma and Eddie were giving Rebecca a ride home. “Eddie has some papers that Everett wants to look at,” Roma said, watching him hold Rebecca’s jacket for her. I noticed that Rebecca was carrying the brown paper shopping bag and Taylor was empty-handed, which told me that Rebecca had decided on both vintage evening bags. “Everett is interested in Eddie’s idea for a hockey school.”

I held up two crossed fingers. “I’ll hold a good thought.”

Roma hugged me and said good night. I sat down to change my shoes. One more day and Marcus would be home. Seeing Roma with Eddie made me realize just how much I’d missed him.

It had taken quite a while for the relationship between Marcus and me to move beyond friendship, even though at times it had felt like the entire town was playing matchmaker. It didn’t help that we’d first met when I was briefly a person of interest in one of his cases. I’d stumbled on the body of conductor Gregor Easton at the Stratton Theatre. Marcus had suggested that maybe I’d been at the theater to meet the conductor—who was older than my father—for a romantic liaison. I’d taken offense at what he’d been insinuating, and he’d taken offense at what he saw as me nosing around in his case. I’d had no idea he’d turn into my happy ending.

• • •

It was much quieter than usual at the library the next day. As promised, Harry came in first thing and assembled the shelves and storage unit. Midafternoon I decided to start putting up the Thanksgiving decorations. I’d hung a conga line of dancing paper turkeys across the front of the circulation desk, but they were crooked, looking as though the big birds were slipping downhill. I took several steps backward to get a better perspective and bumped into a warm, solid male chest. I turned around to find Marcus smiling at me, all six feet–plus of brown-haired, blue-eyed handsome.

He looked around. “Is anyone watching?” he asked, then before I could answer he swept me into his arms. “I don’t care if they are,” he said, pulling me into a long kiss.

For a moment my legs lost the ability to hold me up, so I held on to him, which wasn’t exactly a hardship. This public display wasn’t like Marcus. Not that I minded.

“I missed you,” he said. He was wearing a gray sweater over a light blue T-shirt and smelled like coffee and the spicy aftershave he always wore.

“I missed you, too,” I said, finally breaking out of his embrace. “What are you doing here now?”

“We got out early.” He smiled. “Get your things.”

“I can’t,” I said. “I’m not done until supper time.”

Susan walked through the door then, grinning at me and making a shooing motion with her hands. She was wearing an origami flower fastened to what looked to be a swizzle stick in her hair.

“Go,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows at me. “I’ll take care of the rest of your shift. Just because I’m an old married woman doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about romance.”

“You did this,” I said to Marcus.

“Guilty,” he admitted.

Susan tipped her head in the direction of the stairs. “You’re burning daylight. Go!”

I hurried up to my office, grabbed my jacket and purse and left everything else. Downstairs, Marcus and Susan had their heads together. She was gesturing emphatically, the flower in her topknot bouncing as she talked.

“I’m ready,” I said.

“Have fun, children,” Susan said with a knowing smirk.

Marcus caught my hand and we started for the main doors. I turned back and mouthed “Thank you” to Susan. She gave a little wave.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Your house,” he said as we started down the front steps. “I’ll follow you. And don’t worry about Micah. I’ve already been home to check on her.”

I glanced in his SUV as I started for my truck. There was a cooler bag that I recognized as belonging to Susan on the backseat.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“A surprise,” Marcus said. He caught my arm and pulled me back to him.

It had to be something from Eric’s Place, the restaurant that Susan’s husband, Eric, owned. I have great friends, I thought, and then Marcus was kissing me again and I forgot how to think at all.

• • •

Eric had sent lasagna, salad, chocolate pudding cake for dessert and even some steamed salmon for Owen and Hercules. It was delicious. By nine thirty Marcus was yawning.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I swear it’s not the company.”

“I know,” I said. We’d been curled up on the sofa but now I sat up and stretched. “You’ve had a long day.”

“But a good one,” he said, pulling me back down against his chest. I tipped my head back and gave him an upside-down kiss. Then I sat up again and stood up, pulling him to his feet as well.

“Are you okay to drive?” I asked.

He nodded, wrapping his arms around me. We walked out to the kitchen that way. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I promise I won’t fall asleep driving home.”

“I went to check on Micah this morning,” I said. “But she must have been happy to see you and was probably a bit annoyed when you left again.”

“I missed the little furball, too,” Marcus said with a grin. “I’ve gotten used to fish breath waking me up.” He pulled on his jacket and once again pulled me close for one last kiss. Or two.

I wanted to say, “Stay,” but Marcus was surprisingly old-fashioned about some things.

“Breakfast at Eric’s?” he asked.

“Mmm, that sounds good,” I said.

He pulled away from me and was gone.

• • •

I woke up early the next morning—before Owen had a chance to breathe his fishy kitty breath in my face or poke me with a paw. Even though I was meeting Marcus for breakfast I made coffee. In my book there was no such thing as too much coffee.

Owen wandered down while I was getting the coffeemaker ready. There was no sign of Hercules. I gave Owen his breakfast and after he’d finished eating and washing his face he made a beeline for the back door.

“I’m leaving in an hour,” I said. “Make sure you’re back.”

The only response was an offhanded murp.

I was washing the dessert dishes from the night before, singing along to Ultimate Manilow since Owen—who wasn’t a fan—wasn’t in the house, when I heard him meowing at the back door. He was on the top step and my heart began to pound the moment I saw him. There was a long scratch across his nose and another on his right front paw, but the most serious injury was a tear in his left ear that was matted with blood. He seemed to be more angry than anything. He looked back over his shoulder and his tail whipped across the step.

I bent down and checked him over carefully. I didn’t see any other injuries but I was still worried. Owen had been in altercations before, but just minor scuffles, one with another cat and one with the Justasons’ dog when he was just a kitten. That little skirmish was the reason the dog had given him a wide berth ever since.

I picked Owen up and carried him into the kitchen. I pulled my cell phone out of my bag and called Roma at home.

“It looks like he was in a fight with some other animal but I don’t think it was the Justasons’ dog. I didn’t hear him bark and, anyway, he tends to bolt if he sees Owen,” I told her.

“Yeah, he is kind of a big chicken,” Roma agreed. “It sounds as though Owen’s injuries aren’t too serious and his shots are all up to date, although he might need stitches in that ear based on what you described.”

My heart sank at the word “stitches.” Owen was an uncooperative patient at the best of times. To say he was going to overreact to having to get stitches was an understatement.

“Are you sure?” I asked, looking down at the cat in my lap. He reminded me of a boxer who had just taken the match by a knockout. Although he was injured, there was something cocky in his posture.

“Not until I see him,” Roma said. “And yes, I know what you’re thinking, but if Owen needs stitches I can make it work. I’ll see you at the clinic in a few minutes.”

I ended the call and felt a wave of relief roll over me. Owen was watching me, his golden eyes narrowed.

“I know you don’t exactly like Roma,” I began.

He gave a sour-sounding meow of confirmation.

“But she needs to fix your ear.”

Owen immediately shook his head and winced a little. I had no idea how he understood what I said but I had no doubt that he did, and given the whole invisibility thing it wasn’t really that unbelievable.

“She needs to fix your ear and so you need to go to the clinic and be nice.”

He didn’t make a sound but the glare he gave me made his opinion very clear.

I got to my feet, nudging the chair back under the table with one foot. I wasn’t sure I could trust Owen not to pull a vanishing act over this.

I bent my head close to his. “Okay, furball, here’s the deal,” I said. “You have to go to the clinic but you don’t have to be nice and when we get home you can have an entire can of sardines. All to yourself.”

Owen immediately swiveled his head to stare at the cupboard where I kept the cats’ food. I walked over to the cupboard, grabbed the oblong-shaped can and set it on the table. “Deal?” I asked, feeling a little silly over negotiating with a cat.

“Mrr,” he said.

I grabbed my purse and managed to tuck my phone inside one-handed. I didn’t even try to put on a jacket, trusting that my heavy sweater would be warm enough. I didn’t want to set Owen down and take a chance that he’d bolt.

• • •

Roma and I both pulled into the clinic’s parking lot at the same time. I’d settled Owen next to me on the passenger side of the truck, knowing if I tried to get him in the cat carrier that I would have a mutiny on my hands. I got out and lifted him from the seat.

Roma walked over and leaned in to look at Owen. She didn’t make any attempt to touch him. Neither cat dealt well with being touched by anyone other than me. It was just another one of their idiosyncrasies that over time I’d gotten used to.

“Not too bad,” she said. She smiled at the cat. “I have a feeling the other guy looks worse.”

Owen straightened up in my arms as though this was a point of pride for him.

Roma laughed. “I swear he knows what I just said.”

“I think he knows a lot more that anyone would believe,” I said.

I followed Roma inside and she got us settled in one of the examining rooms. “You can set him on the table,” she said to me.

I put Owen down on the stainless-steel surface. “Think sardines,” I whispered. He immediately sat down and looked up at me, all the picture of innocence.

Roma ended up giving Owen a tranquilizer, which made working on him a little easier. She checked him over carefully, cleaned his scratches and managed—with me holding him—to put four stitches in his ear.

“That should do it,” she said finally.

Owen sat on the exam table wearing a green fabric collar, looking slightly loopy.

Roma pulled off her gloves. “The fabric collar is adjustable and it’s more comfortable. I think Owen will put up with it a bit better than with a plastic cone.” She smiled down at him and he almost seemed to smile back at her, although his golden eyes didn’t quite focus.

I had already called Abigail, who once she heard what had happened, had offered to open the library for me. I’d also called Marcus to tell him I wouldn’t be able to make our breakfast date. Now I hugged Roma before carefully picking Owen up. “Thank you for coming in early,” I said.

“For you, anytime,” she said. “You should bring him back tomorrow so I can take a look at those stitches.” She frowned. “Did you leave the carrier in your truck?”

“I just put him on the seat,” I said. “I didn’t even think about the carrier.” I felt a little embarrassed. Roma had pointed out a couple of times that Owen and Hercules would be a lot safer in the truck if they traveled in the carrier. And I knew she was right. It was also impossible to do a lot of the time, since Owen would just disappear and Hercules would walk right through the side of the bag.

I had just gotten Owen settled on the passenger side of the truck when Marcus called.

“How’s Owen?” he asked.

“He has stitches, but other than that, he’s fine. We’re just about to head home.”

“I’ll see you there,” Marcus said. I could feel his smile through the phone.

Owen and I had just gotten out of the truck a few minutes later, when Marcus pulled into the driveway behind me. He was carrying a take-out bag from Eric’s Place.

“Breakfast,” he said, holding it up.

I stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

Owen meowed loudly. Translation: “Pay attention to me.”

Marcus looked down at him. “Why no plastic collar?” he asked.

“Roma said this one is more comfortable and it’s adjustable. She’s hoping Owen might actually keep it on.”

“Well, not everyone could make that collar work, but you can,” he said to the cat as we started around the house. “Do you have any idea what the other guy looks like?” he asked me.

I handed him my keys so he could open the back door. “I don’t even know who or what the other guy is,” I said. “I’m just hoping it’s not the Justasons’ dog.”

Marcus unlocked the door and I set Owen on the floor just inside the kitchen. He stretched, made his way over to the table and meowed loudly. The tranquilizer Roma had given him seemed to be wearing off with no aftereffects.

“I kind of promised him a plate of sardines if he didn’t bite Roma,” I said to Marcus.

“You get the sardines, I’ll start a fresh pot of coffee,” he said.

I was just putting the plate in front of Owen when Hercules wandered in from the living room. He made a beeline for his brother. “Mrr?” he said softly.

The two cats looked at each other for a long moment and it almost seemed as though they were communicating without making a sound. Finally, Hercules looked over at me, tipping his black-and-white head quizzically to one side.

I crouched down so I was level with him and he put one white-tipped paw on my knee. “Owen’s fine,” I said. To my right the subject of the conversation was carefully sniffing the sardine he’d taken off the plate and set on the floor, just the way he always did with his food.

Herc made a noise that almost sounded like sympathy. I gave the top of his head a scratch and straightened up.

I could smell the coffee Marcus had started. While he got plates and mugs from the cupboard I got Hercules his breakfast. He murped a thank-you and began to eat, eyeing his brother from time to time.

“What time do you have to be at the library?” Marcus asked.

I raked a hand back through my hair. “I don’t have to worry about opening—I called Abigail and she’s doing that for me.” I looked over at Owen again. “Do you think he can be trusted not to try to get that collar off?”

“Of course not,” Marcus said, putting the sugar bowl and a small carton of cream in the middle of the table. He moved around me to get the sandwiches he’d warmed up in the microwave, dropping a kiss on the top of my head as he went past. “I don’t have to go back to work until tomorrow. I’ll stay here.”

“What are you going to do all day?” I asked.

“We were going to paint your spare bedroom this weekend. I can at least start. I mean, if you trust me to start without you.” He raised one eyebrow.

“I trust you,” I said, taking the plate he handed me. I sent a pointed look in Owen’s direction.

Marcus laughed. “I’ll keep a close eye on him, I promise.”

“The paint is on the workbench in the basement and you can eat whatever you find in the refrigerator for lunch. There’s some pulled pork and some coleslaw.”

Hercules had finished his breakfast and carefully washed his face and paws. Instead of coming and sitting next to my chair the way he usually did at breakfast time, he made his way around the table to the place Marcus had set for himself.

I laughed and shook my head as Marcus poured me a cup of coffee. “I don’t think you’ll have to eat by yourself,” I said, gesturing at the little tuxedo cat sitting next to his chair. “‘Lunch’ is Hercules’s favorite word, tied with ‘breakfast,’ ‘supper’ and ‘snack.’”

The cat loudly meowed his agreement.

I took a drink from my coffee and watched Marcus as he tried to be discreet about sneaking a tiny bit of Canadian bacon out of his sandwich to the cats. He really was handsome, with broad shoulders, dark wavy hair and a smile that came slowly but lit up his face when it finally arrived. Both cats liked Marcus, which was a good thing because I was crazy about him. I was uncomfortably aware that I had to tell him everything about them soon.