The Cat Sitter And The Canary

11

In the kitchen, I poured myself a glass of orange juice and leaned against the counter, staring at the off-white coating of the refrigerator door. I could feel my stomach turning into a nervous ball of knots.

It felt more like a dream than a memory—kneeling over that poor girl’s body and seeing my name written on that card. How was it even possible? And who could have done such a thing? And why? And the man’s suit and the wig and the mustache and sideburns drawn on her face … Who even knew I’d be at Caroline’s house that day? If the person who’d killed Sara Potts had been the person that left that note, then they must have had information about my schedule. They must have known I’d be arriving at Caroline’s house to discover her body … but who?

I sighed and shook my head slowly. I told myself if there was anyone who could figure it out, it was Detective McKenzie. And then my eyes landed on the little basket at the end of the counter where we keep the mail. Inside was a single envelope, unopened. It had been there for weeks—an invitation to a wedding. Namely, Guidry’s wedding.

Detective Jean Pierre Guidry … If you don’t recognize that name it doesn’t matter, because he’s gone now. But to make a long story short—Guidry was the first person who managed to make his way into my heart after it had been dead for so long, after I lost Todd and Christy. Until Guidry, I’d built a thick wall around myself, wrapped in razor ribbon and thorny vines and concrete as thick and impenetrable as the shell of coconut, safely protected from every man, woman, and child. Somehow, Guidry managed to slide through all that like a sharp knife through butter.

He’d been the lead homicide detective for the Sarasota sheriff’s department before Samantha McKenzie took over. He was smooth and bronzed, with laugh lines that fanned out from the corner of his kind eyes, a beaky nose, and dark hair cut short, with hints of silver showing at his temples. He taught me that I could feel again, that the heart’s table always has room for one more, and that even though Todd and Christy were gone, I owed it to myself and to their memory to keep on living, no matter the consequences.

Of course, that’s easier said than done, especially given how bumpy the road of life is. We hadn’t been together long when a job offer came in from New Orleans, his hometown. The police department there was looking for a lead detective. It was a good opportunity, and his entire family was there. He would’ve been crazy to turn it down, so I didn’t blame him one bit for accepting. I even considered moving there with him … but I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave Siesta Key and all my memories behind. I grew up here. It’s my home.

So, that was that.

I could probably blather on for hours about what Guidry means … or meant to me … but I won’t. The last I’d heard from him, he’d called to tell me he was engaged, which was of course confirmed by that wedding invitation. And, by the way, I’m fully aware it sounds like I’m still pining away for him, but I’m not. Truly.

It’s just … complicated.

I opened the refrigerator and peered inside. Behind the orange juice carton was a six-pack of Coronas, and for a split second I considered popping one open, thinking it might clear my mind, but instead I splashed a little more orange juice in my glass and threw open the french doors to the balcony.

Outside, the air was warm and heavy. I welcomed the sensation of it pouring over my body like molten wax. The birds were in full chorus now, the dark sky having morphed into a field of cotton-candy blue, and perched on top of the Bronco was a small brown squirrel, surrounded by empty shells and munching away on an acorn.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

Michael was beaming up at me from the deck, dressed in jogging shorts and a tank top, standing next to the big teak table our grandfather built. Laid across it was an off-white tablecloth with an embroidered border of blue cornflowers. In the center were two big bowls: one with fresh mango, pineapple, grapes, blackberries, and kiwi, and the other with heaps of crispy fried bacon.

I nearly burst into tears.

“Oh my God.” I took the steps down two at a time like a kid on Christmas morning. “You have no idea how happy I am you’re home.”

He said, “Oh, please. Don’t bullshit me. You’re just happy there’s bacon.”

He turned and started laying forks and knives down on the table as I gave him a bear hug from behind. “Okay, that may be true, but I’m equally happy you’re home.”

He squeezed my hand. “You and me both.”

Michael inherited the same blond hair and fair skin I did, but he’s built like a … well, like a fireman. He’s basically a beefier, hairier version of me, with blue eyes, broad shoulders, and biceps as big around as my thighs. I’ve heard more than one woman call him a hunk, but to me he’s just my goofy older brother.

Like our father before us, he works the 24/48 shift at the firehouse, meaning he works two days straight and then has one day off. Most days he cooks for the crew, which can often be as many as a dozen men and women, but Michael loves it. He’s always been a provider … for as long as I can remember.

I said, “You’re up early.”

He stretched. “Yeah, I woke up thinking about work yesterday, which totally sucked. I couldn’t go back to sleep so I thought I’d go for a jog, but then Paco started making breakfast so I took a shower instead. I didn’t think I’d see you until tonight.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, you were out pretty late. Paco and I were up reading when you got home last night.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I guess it was kind of late.”

“But what’s Ethan’s car doing here?” He glanced over at the carport. “I thought I heard his car leave right after you got home.”

I said, “Oh,” and then racked my brain for an explanation.

The night before, when I’d pulled in with Deputy Morgan following in his squad car, I had breathed a huge sigh of relief the moment my headlights lit up the carport. Michael’s truck was on the left in its usual spot, Paco’s Harley was parked next to it, and Ethan’s Jeep was right next to my spot.

Of course, I’m always happy when the boys are home, but this was different. It meant I had a whole stableful of big strong men to protect me. Not that I needed it, but I knew if Deputy Morgan thought I’d be spending the night alone, he’d try to convince me to check into a hotel or stay with friends, at least until we figured out why my name had been on that card.

Luckily, he waited just long enough to make sure I got Gigi safely up the stairs and inside, and then he turned around and drove back down the lane toward the main road.

I said, “Oh. That was nobody.”

“Nobody?”

“Yeah, or a tourist. They saw me turn in and followed me up to the house. I think they thought it was an access road to the beach or something.”

“That’s weird.”

I shrugged, trying to change the subject. “It’s that time of year. Just yesterday morning a couple pulled up in a big SUV and walked all over the property.”

“Lost tourists?”

“That’s what I thought at first, but no. They were searching for property to build on. And they looked like they could practically afford to buy the whole island.”

Just then Paco emerged from the main house, balancing a platter of sand-dollar-size pancakes in one hand and a coffee carafe in the other. His hair was tousled and he was still in his pajamas: a white tank top and cotton pants printed all over with little cowboys. As he shuffled by, he gave me a kiss on the cheek.

He said, “Hi, sexy.”

Where Michael is fair and muscled, Paco is slim, dark, and handsome, with olive skin and a regal profile, not unlike a prince right out of the pages of The Arabian Nights. He’s an agent for Sarasota’s Special Investigative Bureau. He and Michael have been together so long—almost fifteen years now—that he feels like family.

Paco circled around Michael and put the pancakes and coffee down on the table.

Michael said, “Hey, don’t I get a kiss too?”

Paco rearranged the silverware on the table. “Nope.”

“Why?”

“You’re in trouble.”

“Huh? What did I do?”

He straightened up and leveled Michael with his dark brown eyes. “Well, who made breakfast?”

“Um. You.”

Paco nodded. “That’s right. And when I make breakfast, what are you supposed to do?”

“Um, take a shower?”

Paco rolled his eyes. “No. Guess again.”

Michael said, “Um, sit around and look handsome?”

“Very funny. You’re supposed to get the paper.”

Michael grimaced. “Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

I said, “I’ll get it.”

Paco said, “No, you sit down. I’ll get it.” He rolled his eyes at Michael again and set off down the lane.

Michael loaded up a plate and handed it to me. “Must have been a good party last night. You look beat.”

“It wasn’t a party. One of my clients had a … a thing they had to go to, so they asked me to stay late is all.”

I drizzled a little syrup on my pancakes, conscious of Michael’s eyes on me. The older he gets, the more I see our father in him, which of course is sweet on the one hand and annoying as hell on the other, but I can’t exactly blame him. Our grandparents gave us the happiest and safest childhood anyone could ever hope for, but Michael has felt responsible for me ever since we were little kids. In all honesty, I’m grateful, but sometimes it makes me feel like a perennial teenager.

Michael said, “We had a big fire down on Turtle Bay. Some fool fell asleep on his boat with a kerosene lamp and kicked it over.”

I winced. I hate knowing the details of Michael’s job. Picturing him running around in a fire makes my stomach hurt.

“That’s terrible. Is he okay?”

“Yeah. Smoke inhalation, but he managed to make it to the dock before it got out of control, so he’s fine … can’t say the same thing for his boat, though. Or the two boats he was moored next to. One of them sank and the other looks like a big floating hunk of charcoal now.”

I shook my head. “Ugh. I can’t stand thinking about it. Let’s talk about something else.”

Paco came back up the driveway with the paper tucked under his arm and a distant look on his face. He sat down in silence opposite me and unfolded the paper.

Michael stifled a grin. “So, how was your walk?”

“Fine.” He turned the page without looking up. “The magnolia tree is blooming.”

Michael said, “Nice.”

“And it looks like we’ve got a family of rabbits living at the base of it.”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

Paco nodded. “Mm-hmm. I’ve got some carrot tops I might take down there after breakfast.” He turned the page again. “Oh, and there’s a sheriff’s deputy staked out at the top of the driveway.”

Michael’s jaw dropped open. “A what?”

“A sheriff’s deputy. Dixie, any idea what he’s doing there?”

He lowered the paper so I could see his eyes.

I said, “Huh?”