Two Tall Tails

No More Pussyfooting Around

A Second Chance Cat Story

Sofie Ryan

“Good things are coming your way, Sarah,” Tom Harris said as we watched my cat, Elvis, make his way across Tom’s yard and into mine.

“Aren’t black cats supposed to be bad luck?” I asked.

I smiled at Tom because I’m not really superstitious, although I’d certainly heard about a variety of superstitions and omens from my grandmothers’ friends over the years: everything from spitting on a new bat before using it for the first time—which struck me as being really unsanitary—to standing at a crossroads and reciting a little rhyme to get rid of a sty (trust me, that one doesn’t work).

“Where I come from, a black cat arriving at your house brings prosperity with it.” Tom smiled back at me, and his soft Scottish burr seemed just a little more pronounced. He’d been in Maine for more than fifty years, but he’d never completely lost his accent.

I squinted at Elvis, heading purposefully from Tom’s property, skirting the trees and the rock wall at the back. My 1860s Victorian was only a few blocks from North Harbor’s waterfront. The neighborhood, with its big trees and old houses, had felt like home from the first time I’d turned onto the street. The house had been turned into three apartments about thirty years ago, and it had been let go over time, but my dad had agreed with my assessment that it had good bones and after a lot of work it had turned into the home I’d hoped it would be.

Beside me, Rose Jackson nudged me with her elbow. “I don’t think that’s prosperity that Elvis has in his mouth,” she said. “It looks more like a field mouse or a vole to me.”

Rose was one of my grandmother’s friends. Barely five feet tall with short white hair and kind gray eyes, she also lived in one of the apartments in the house and worked for me at my repurpose shop, Second Chance. In theory, living so close together shouldn’t have worked, but it did. We gave each other lots of space—in truth, Rose had way more of a social life than I did. And she was even having some success in teaching me how to cook, something no one else had been able to do.

Tom took a step forward and craned his neck to get a better look at the cat. He was a small, round man, no taller than five eight or so, with thick iron gray hair and small black frame glasses.

“I think you’re right,” he said. “And while I generally like to take a ‘live and let live’ approach to other creatures, if that happens to be the vole that made several meals of my hyacinth bulbs, I can’t say I’m sorry.”

Rose nudged me again. “Stop scratching,” she said softly, a warning edge in her voice.

She’d seen me trying to wedge a finger under the splint on my left arm. I’d dropped a cardboard box full of old elementary school readers on that arm, injuring a tendon in the palm of my hand a couple of weeks earlier. I had to wear the plastic and neoprene splint for another two weeks and it was driving me crazy. It itched. A lot. Rose had already caught me trying to jam my toothbrush underneath the splint to get some relief. She’d confiscated the toothbrush and I’d gotten a stern speech about mouth germs, skin infections and the four stitches at the base of my thumb. Then she’d given me a bowl of warm rhubarb crisp as a distraction from the itching.

I made a face at her now and she made one right back at me before gently squeezing my arm.

I tucked a strand of hair that had slipped free from my ponytail behind my ear and looked over at Tom’s yard, trying to shift my attention away from the sensation that ants were marching in formation up my wrist. Tom’s lawn was probably the most perfectly manicured one in North Harbor, Maine. Maybe even in the entire state. No weeds dared poke their heads up in the two planters that flanked the front door and ran the length of the house on either side. Tom had replaced the bulbs that had been eaten by the voles with little clay pots of daffodils and paper whites and today had started replacing those with white and pink geraniums.

The grass around his small, gray-shingled story-and-a-half house was mowed to a length of precisely an inch and three-quarters, which Tom deemed the correct height for that particular type of grass. The only incongruity was the small strip of lawn that separated his driveway from the yard of his neighbor, Angie Bates. There the grass had been sheared so short in places there was nothing but bare earth.

Tom followed my gaze. “How can that miscreant be Angie’s family?” he asked.

I didn’t think he really wanted an answer to the question. “He’ll be leaving soon, and Angie will be home,” I said.

The old man gave a snort of derision, and the color rose in his face. “I’m not convinced that ne’er-do-well is even employed. He’s extremely evasive. Even Angie wasn’t clear on what he does for a living, assuming he does anything.” He looked toward the small white Cape Cod–style house on the other side of the choppy strip of grass.

Angie—Angelica Bates—was an anthropologist who taught part-time in the Environmental Education Department at Unity College. The “he” Tom was speaking so derisively about was her nephew, Jason. Angie had no children. She was a bit of a free spirit with a wild mass of long blond curls streaked with gray and her dark-framed glasses always slipping down her nose. When she wasn’t teaching, she was off somewhere in the world on a dig site. I’d taken two classes from Angie in college and was happy to find a familiar face on the street when I’d finally moved in. Every few months we’d get together and she’d regale me with stories about her travels.

Jason was the son of Angie’s older brother. “It’s taking him a bit of time to find himself,” she’d confided recently to Rose and me over tea and biscotti. I’d nodded and said nothing, looking pointedly at Rose as a hint to do the same. Rose had reached for her cup and kept her opinions to herself, although later when Angie had gone home, she’d tartly commented that it might be a little easier for Jason to find his missing “self” if he got out of bed before noon.

“Angie will be out of the hospital in a few days,” Rose said then, laying a hand on Tom’s arm for a moment. “Then things will get back to normal.”

“I don’t think things are going to get back to normal until that young man is gone,” he grumbled. Two furrows had formed between his bushy white eyebrows.

Jason Bates came out of the house then. Like his aunt, he was tall and lean, but that was where the similarities ended. Where Angie was fair, Jason was dark: deep-set dark eyes, spiked dark hair, navy shirt, black jeans. I noticed his eyes flick in our direction but he gave no other sign that he’d seen us. He jumped in Angie’s blue Mini Cooper, backed out of the driveway and sped out of the court.

I glanced toward the backyard again. Elvis had put down the burden he had been carrying in his mouth and was looking back toward Tom’s house, head tipped to one side, almost as if he, too, had questions about Jason Bates. He turned to look at me for a moment, then picked up whatever he’d caught in Tom’s yard and disappeared over the rock wall.

Rose and I walked with Tom back to his house. Standing at the bottom of the driveway, I could see what a mess Jason had made when he’d mowed the strip of lawn between the two houses. The ground had been gouged in a couple of places, and in others the grass was more than a couple of inches high. “Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s grass. It’ll grow.”

Tom didn’t seem the slightest bit comforted by my words. I remembered feeling much the same way when my mother had said those same words—“It’ll grow”—after I’d tried to cut my bangs with a pair of kitchen scissors when I was thirteen.

The old man had been mowing the small piece of lawn between his house and Angie’s for years, even though technically it was her property. Angie had always thanked Tom for what she called the courtesy. I suspected the courtesy was more Angie’s. Tom was finicky about his house and his property, and since the strip of grass was next to his driveway, I had a feeling he felt a bit of ownership, even if the lawn didn’t actually belong to him.

A couple of days previous, Tom had gotten out his push mower, clippers and broom to begin his lawn-mowing routine. He always started with the section of grass between the two houses, working from left to right across the front of the house and then repeating the process in the back. I’d been hanging quilts on the backyard clothesline. It was a slow, awkward process one-handed. I’d just gotten the second quilt in place when I heard raised voices and the sound of Tom’s little corgi Matilda’s agitated barking. I rounded the side of my house in time to see Jason shake his fist at the old man and then shove the lawn mower out into the street before storming back into Angie’s house.

I had hurried over to Tom. He was trembling, his face pale. The front door to his house was open, and I could see Matilda on her hind legs, paws on the screen, barking furiously. She was as protective of the old man as if she were a German shepherd or a Great Dane.

“What’s wrong?” I’d asked, putting a hand on Tom’s shoulder.

He’d turned to look at me and I noticed both of the old man’s hands were squeezed into fists, the skin stretched tightly over his swollen, arthritic knuckles. “That . . . that punk accused me of being a thief!”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “What does he think you took?” It had to be some sort of misunderstanding. Tom was honest to a fault. I didn’t think he’d so much as crossed against the light even once in his entire life.

The old man had gestured to the area of lawn where he’d been about to begin mowing. “He said my cutting the grass was an attempt at a land grab. He called it encroaching on Angie’s property.” He suddenly seemed aware that Matilda was still barking. He’d looked toward the front door and held out a hand, palm facing the ground. “Matilda, sit. Sit,” he’d called.

The little corgi stopped barking and sat down, but kept her nose pressed against the screen door.

Tom shifted his attention back to me again. “I’m not trying to steal any of Angie’s property,” he’d said. “I would never do something like that. I was just trying to be a good neighbor.”

“I know that,” I’d said, “and so does Angie.”

I’d glanced over at the professor’s house and found myself wishing, selfishly, that Jason Bates would go home. I knew, if anything, he’d probably be staying longer this visit. The day after Jason had arrived, Angie had caught her foot on a loose edge of carpet at the top of the stairs and fallen, dislocating her shoulder and breaking her collarbone. The broken clavicle had required surgery. She should have been home by now, but she’d developed an infection after the operation—a bug the doctors thought she’d brought home from her last dig in the Honduran rain forest—and was still in the hospital.

I was standing with my arms folded across my chest and my shoulders hunched, I realized, muscles tight from the memory of Tom’s altercation with Jason Bates. I took a breath and let it out, feeling some of the tension let go.

Tom was still eyeing the mangled section of grass. I touched his arm. “I’m going to see Angie as soon as they’ll let anyone who isn’t family visit,” I said. “Once she’s home, things will settle down.”

“I think you have a higher opinion of human nature than I do,” the old man said. “I hope you’re right.”

Rose and I headed back to the house. She went inside to get her sweater and pack one of the tote bags she carried to work. Her bags reminded me of those little clown cars in the circus—the amount of things she could stuff inside seemed to defy the laws of physics sometimes.

I took a seat on the veranda in one of the two wicker chairs that my best friend, Jess, and I had found at a flea market. Jess, with her with her eye for space and orientation, had insisted both would fit in my SUV and she had, in fact, managed to wedge them both into the back of the vehicle. I’d cleaned the chairs and painted them a sea foam green. Jess, who was a talented seamstress, had made seat cushions from some navy canvas.

I slid down in the chair and propped my feet on the veranda railing, pulling the elastic from my dark hair and letting it fall loose to my shoulders. Jess was away in Vermont teaching a weeklong sewing workshop. I missed her. I remembered how she’d helped Tom fix the trellis on the side of his garden shed the previous fall, while Matilda, who generally disliked strangers, had followed her around the yard with a look of adoration on her furry face.

“I like Tom, he reminds me of Pops,” Jess had said, referring to her late grandfather.

I tried to imagine what would have happened if Jason had tried to bully the old man when Jess had been around. I couldn’t help smiling. It wouldn’t have gone well . . . for Jason.

Rose invited Elvis and me for supper that evening. Cooking wasn’t my strong suit at the best of times; one-handed was beyond my limited skills. We moved out on to the veranda for dessert: Rose’s berry cobbler for the two of us, and a chopped sardine for Elvis. He licked his whiskers and seemed to smile at her as she set the bowl on the railing in front of him.

I had just eaten the last spoonful of berries when Katie Burns came around the side of the house. She lived across the street from Tom with her husband, Matt, and their four-year-old, Molly.

“I just wanted to bring this back,” she said, holding out a blue bubble glass plate to Rose. “And say thank you again.”

“You’re welcome, my dear.” Rose took the plate and set it on the floor next to her chair. It had held two dozen peanut butter chocolate chip cookies that Rose had made when the pregnant Katie had confided that she was craving peanut butter cups but they gave her heartburn. “Did they help with the cravings?”

Katie smiled and put a hand on her belly. “Yes. Thank you.” Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her bangs pushed to one side. With her glowing, creamy skin and bright eyes, she looked like an advertisement for having a baby. “Have either of you seen a pink and purple striped foam ball about this big?” she asked, holding her rounded hands about three inches apart.

I shook my head.

“No,” Rose said.

Elvis cocked his head to one side and crinkled his nose, which I decided to interpret as him not having seen the ball, either.

“My mom got it for Molly, and now it’s disappeared,” Katie said.

“We’ll check the yard,” Rose said. “And I know sometimes Molly plays with Matilda in Tom’s backyard. “The ball could have ended up over here.”

Elvis immediately jumped down from his perch and started down the veranda steps. When he reached the grass, he stopped, looked over his shoulder at Rose and meowed loudly.

Rose got to her feet. “And as Elvis has just pointed out, there’s no time like the present.” She followed the cat across the yard. “Let’s check the flowerbeds first,” I heard her say.

Katie watched them and grinned. “Sometimes I’d almost swear your cat knows what we’re saying.”

“Rose says he’s smarter than some people she knows.”

Katie’s grin got a little wider and she nodded. “You know, I believe that.”

I didn’t add that the cat also seemed to be able to tell when someone was lying. Of course, being a cat, he only demonstrated that skill when he felt like it.

We watched Rose and her furry sidekick make their way to the far end of the yard. She was checking out the wild rosebushes while he walked along the top of the rock wall sniffing the ground almost as though he were trying to sniff out a clue.

Katie rested a hand on her baby bump. “I’ve always wondered, why did you name Elvis, Elvis?”

“That wasn’t me,” I said, getting to my feet and moving off the veranda to join her. “Sam named him.” Sam was Sam Newman, owner of The Black Bear Pub and my late father’s best friend. “He claims the cat is a fan of the King.”

“Hey, me too,” Katie said.

Katie told me all about Molly’s upcoming role as a daisy in the Spring Fling concert at the four-year-old’s preschool while Rose and Elvis checked the yard. There was no sign of Molly’s ball.

“Thanks for looking,” Katie said.

Elvis bobbed his head and made a soft murp sound, almost as though he was saying, “You’re welcome.”

The next morning right after he’d had his breakfast, Elvis went to the door, meowed insistently and looked over his shoulder at me. Translation: “I want to go out.”

I let him into the hall and he moved purposefully toward the back door, almost as though he was going back out to look for Molly’s ball again. I shook my head. Elvis was a very smart cat, but not that smart. I opened the back door for him. “We’re leaving in a little while,” I said.

A soft “Mrrr” was the only answer I got.

A half an hour later I was back at the door. Elvis was sitting on one of the wicker chairs. When he lifted his head, I realized there were two burdocks stuck in the fur just below his left ear. The cat had come home once before with the prickly things stuck to his tail. It had taken an hour, an entire can of sardines and a lot of grumbling on both our parts to get them out.

I sighed softly. We were going to be late getting to the shop.

Elvis shook his head as though he was trying to shake the burdocks away. Then he lifted a paw and swatted at one of them.

“No, no, don’t do that,” I said. “Stay there.” I held up a hand, feeling a little foolish because, well, I was talking to a cat.

However, Elvis seemed to understand. He dropped his paw and made a sound a lot like a sigh.

I went back to the apartment and got two sardines from the can in the refrigerator, along with the wide-toothed comb I used on Elvis when something got knotted in his fur, the gardening gloves my brother Liam had given me as a joke and a little peanut butter, just in case.

The cat hadn’t move from the chair on the veranda. I crouched down next to him and set the plate holding the little fish on the seat cushion.

Elvis craned his neck to check out the plate of fish, whiskers twitching.

“How did you get those things in your fur?” I asked, reaching out to stroke the top of his head.

“Mrr,” the cat said, looking—it seemed to me—just a little sheepish.

“Poking your nose in somewhere it shouldn’t have been?” I raised an eyebrow and he ducked his head almost as though he was embarrassed. He really was a beautiful animal. The long scar that cut diagonally across his nose gave him a kind of rakish, devil-may-care look that made just about every visitor to the shop want to stop and stroke his sleek black fur and fuss over him a little.

Elvis turned his attention again to the plate with the sardines. I reached for the gardening gloves and pulled one of them on to protect my right hand. The left one was healing and I was slowly getting strength and range of motion back, but I didn’t dare take the splint off. I was going to have to do this one-handed.

“You have one of those sardines and I’m going to try to work those burdocks out of your fur,” I said.

Elvis bent his head over the little fish and I studied the burdock closest to his ear. It was snagged firmly in his black fur. I felt the ridge of another old wound under my fingers, and wondered, once again, who or what the small cat had tangled with before he’d come to live with me and what the other guy looked like.

Holding the burdock—which was rather like holding on to a tiny cactus ball—between two gloved fingers, I worked carefully to get the fur out of it. As if he understood what I was doing, Elvis stopped eating, head hovering over the plate when I came to an especially stubborn spot.

The second burr was harder to remove, snagged even deeper in the cat’s thick black coat. I reached for the peanut butter and smeared a little in Elvis’s fur. Bit by bit I managed to work the spiky seedpod loose, and then used the wide-toothed comb to make sure all the tiny bits of the burdock were out. Elvis sat upright, patient and still as if this was something he’d had done before, and when I was finally satisfied, he almost seemed to smile at me before giving the area a good wash with his paw.

I got to my feet, stretched and decided to make a quick circuit around the yard to see if I could spot the burdock plant Elvis had tangled with. The cat climbed up on the railing, looking as though he were supervising as I searched.

I found no sign of the prickly plant. I knew there were burdocks growing behind both Tom and Angie’s property. I glanced in that direction in time to see Jason Bates come out of Angie’s house. Tom was in his yard, clipping the dead blossoms off his potted geraniums. Jason walked across the grass to the older man and pointed at the copper birdbath on the grass next to the side of Tom’s garage. In the pan sat a gleaming silver gazing ball, a gift from Angie after the squirrels had chased away the birds and begun using the birdbath as their personal hot tub.

I couldn’t make out what Jason was saying but I could hear his tone: belligerent and angry. Tom leaned heavily on his cane and shook his head. Jason gestured in the direction of the birdbath again. The older man continued to stubbornly shake his head.

Jason strode back across the grass and paced off a distance from Angie’s garage to the copper lawn ornament. He stood beside it and said something to Tom. Then he shook his fist at Matilda. The corgi barked loudly at him, pulling at her leash. Tom bent and picked her up. Jason swung around, bumping the birdbath. The silver gazing ball hit the ground, shattering into jagged pieces.

Tom’s body went rigid. He said something to Jason that I couldn’t catch. I did hear Jason’s reply, though. “Screw you, old man,” he shouted. He grabbed the birdbath with one hand and flung it out into the street, then he turned and stalked into the house.

I closed my eyes for a moment and exhaled softly before heading next door. I didn’t like the way things were changing on the street, although I had no idea what to do.

Matilda had stopped barking. Tom was stroking her fur, talking softly to her. His hand was shaking.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. The little dog nuzzled his chin. “But the next time I see that young man, he won’t be.”

Katie joined us then, one hand holding on to Molly’s little hand, the other on her rounded belly. There were tight lines around her blue eyes. “What was that all about?” she asked.

I glanced at the pieces of the broken gazing ball in the driveway. It was hard to miss the symbolism. It felt as though our neighborhood was splintering into pieces.

“The birdbath.” Tom gestured toward the street but didn’t turn to look in that direction. “He said it was encroaching on Angie’s property. I told him it wasn’t, and it isn’t any of his business even if it were. That house belongs to her, not him.”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Jason’s a . . . challenging person.”

Katie looked over at Angie’s neat little house. “I can’t . . . if he’s going to be living here all the time, I don’t know if we can stay here.” She glanced down at Molly, who was talking to Matilda.

I didn’t know what to say. I reached over and gave Katie’s arm what I hoped was a comforting squeeze. How had things gotten so bad so quickly?

Tom looked down at Molly. “Sweetie, could you take Matilda for a walk around the backyard, please?” he said. “She needs to stretch her legs.”

The little girl’s eyes lit up and she looked at her mother. Katie nodded.

Tom set the corgi on the ground and handed Molly the leash. She took it in both of her hands. He patted the dog’s head and slipped her a treat. “Good girl,” he said.

Molly headed for the backyard, the smile on her face showing how proud she was to be doing such an important job. Once she’d disappeared around the side of the house, Tom looked at Katie. “Tell Sarah what you told me,” he said, his gaze flicking across the driveway for a moment. “About the carpet.”

Katie chewed the edge of her bottom lip and cleared her throat. “Angie had new carpeting put in her spare bedroom a couple of weeks ago.”

I nodded. I remembered seeing the carpet installer’s van in Angie’s driveway one morning when I was leaving for the shop.

The young mother leaned sideways and waved at Molly as she came past the end of the house, walking in a wide circle in the backyard, both hands still clutching Matilda’s leash. “I asked her about it because we’ve been thinking about putting carpet in the baby’s room.” She put her other hand protectively over her abdomen. “She took me upstairs to show me what the carpet looked like, and when we were coming back down, she told me that they even fixed the place on the stairs where the runner was loose.”

Once again Tom’s gaze moved to the house next door before coming back to Katie. “It doesn’t make sense that Angie fell on a loose edge just after it was repaired,” he said.

“The carpet on the stairs was fine the day I was there,” Katie added.

Tom and Katie were suggesting that Jason was behind Angie’s fall. Was it possible?

“People don’t always do a good job when they fix something,” I said, feeling a little odd to be defending Jason.

“And other people can undo good jobs,” Tom said, the set of his jaw telling me that he had already made up his mind.

The sun had gone behind a cloud, and I suddenly felt a chill. I folded my arms over my chest. “I don’t like Jason,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “but do you really think he would go that far? For what reason?”

“Money,” Tom said. He smoothed a hand over his hair. “Angie asked me to recommend a lawyer when she redid her will. Jason and another niece are Angie’s only relatives, and she told me that they would split her estate when she’s gone. He can’t seem to keep a job. If something happens to Angie, he won’t have to.”

“It just seems so . . . extreme,” I said.

I looked at Katie, who was twisting her wedding ring around her finger. “I don’t know what to think,” she said, narrowing her blue eyes. “But I know what I saw and there was nothing wrong with the carpet on the stairs.”

“That young man is bone lazy,” Tom said. “He acts like an honest day’s work is beneath him, and he has a nasty streak—we’ve all seen it.”

Katie nodded.

The old man’s lips were pulled into a tight, pale line. “He bumped my birdbath on purpose. He wanted to break the gazing ball.” His eyes shifted over to the jagged pieces littering the driveway. “He wanted me to see that my friendship with Angie doesn’t matter.”

“But it does matter,” I said. “When Angie comes—”

He shook his head. “No. Don’t tell me that once Angie comes home, everything will be fine.” He pointed at the house. His Scottish burr was getting more pronounced. “He’s not going anywhere, Sarah. If we don’t stick up for ourselves, that pillock is going to bully us all into hiding inside with the curtains drawn.”

I exhaled softly. “Please, Tom, promise me you won’t do something you’ll regret.”

He almost smiled. “I promise you that anything I do, I won’t regret.”

There wasn’t anything else to say. I helped Tom pick up the pieces of the shattered gazing ball. Thankfully it seemed to have broken into large pieces for the most part. I put them in the garbage can, swallowing down the sour taste at the back of my throat as I remembered the day Angie had given it to the old man. Katie swept the driveway with Tom’s push broom, and I used a leaf rake to get the last few small broken bits of glass out of the grass. I had a spiteful urge to leave the few pieces that weren’t on Tom’s property right where they were, but I pushed the feeling away and cleaned up everything. I didn’t want Matilda, or Molly or Elvis, to get cut.

“Let me take that,” I said to Tom, gesturing at the copper birdbath. “I think I know someone who might be able to fix it.” Cleveland, one of the trash pickers I regularly bought from for the store, had repaired a metal railing for me. I had a feeling he’d be able to get the dent out of the birdbath.

He smiled, but the warmth didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thank you,” he said.

Tom retrieved Matilda from Molly and headed off to the post office with the little corgi. I walked back across the street with Katie, Molly skipping happily ahead of us.

Katie looked over her shoulder at Angie’s house. “I don’t like to think that Tom is right about . . . what he’s thinking, but I don’t like Jason.”

“It’s hard to believe he’s related to Angie,” I said. I remembered the set of nesting dolls—a brightly painted family of woodland animals—that the professor had brought back from her last trip for Molly.

“I think he took Molly’s ball,” Katie said. “You know, the one I was looking for the other day. That afternoon it had gotten away from us and rolled over into Angie’s driveway. When I went to get it, Jason didn’t say anything but he gave me that look—you know what I mean.”

I nodded. Jason’s scowl seemed to be the only expression he had.

“When I went out after supper to bring in the toys, the ball was gone. I know it had been in our front yard, but I couldn’t find it anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. I knew it wasn’t really about the ball. It was about someone being nasty enough to swipe a child’s toy.

Katie played with her wide gold wedding ring again. “What kind of person takes a child’s toy? Or throws a birdbath into the street? I don’t want to raise my children around people like that.”

“Angie’s getting better and she’ll be home in a few days. Things will get back to normal,” I said, hoping I wasn’t making empty promises.

Katie smiled then. “Molly is making a card for her. Lots of purple and lots of glitter.”

I smiled back at her, glad that the conversation had taken a lighter turn. “I’m going to see Angie as soon as she’s allowed to have visitors. I can take it to her if you’d like.”

Molly had reached the front yard ahead of us. She was kicking a pink soccer ball across the grass.

“Backyard, sweetie bug,” Katie called just as the child’s foot connected with the ball, sending it tumbling across the street into my yard. It came to a stop at the edge of the driveway, where Elvis had been sitting watching the goings-on at Tom’s house. Now the black cat dipped his head and butted the ball, rolling it across the pavement toward Katie and me. I bent down and caught it. Molly came racing over, blond pigtails bouncing, and I handed her the ball.

“What do we say?” Katie prompted.

“Thank you,” Molly said.

“You’re welcome,” I replied, smiling down at her.

“Backyard,” Katie reminded her daughter. Molly nodded and ran toward the house. Katie turned to look at the cat, who was still sitting at the bottom of the driveway. “I’ve always been more of a dog person,” she said. “But Elvis is turning me into a cat person.” She glanced in the direction of Angie’s house. “I like him better than some people.” She smiled.

I smiled back at her. I didn’t say anything, but the truth was, I liked Elvis better than certain people, too.

I repeated my promise to take Molly’s card when I went to visit Angie, and I headed home. Elvis followed me up the driveway. He waited by the door while I got my purse and a bag of vintage Good Housekeeping magazines. Rose had left very early to help get ready for a bake sale at the library.

Elvis settled himself on the passenger side of the SUV and turned to look over his shoulder. “Thank you for getting Molly’s ball,” I said, reaching over to stroke his fur. I was certain whoever the cat had lived with before me had driven around a lot with him. Elvis was a bit of a backseat driver, looking attentively at the road through the windshield and making grumbling noises if I tried to stretch a yellow light.

I backed out of the driveway and started for the shop. “I’m afraid Tom is going to do something stupid,” I said as we reached the stop sign at the corner.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Elvis glance away from the street ahead of us and look over at me, green eyes narrowed as though he somehow understood that I was worried. “Mrr,” he said.

I’d considered calling my friend, Michelle Andrews, who was a detective with the North Harbor Police, but I didn’t really know what she could do. Jason wasn’t breaking any laws. He was just a jerk.

I’d even thought about asking Nick to stop by. Nick Elliot and I had been friends since we were kids. He was a big man and he could be intimidating if you didn’t know what a teddy bear he really was. But Nick was away on a two-week course for his job as an investigator with the medical examiner’s office.

“I don’t like the way things are changing,” I said with a sigh. “Liz would say I’m an old fuddy-duddy.” Liz French was another of my grandmother’s friends. She was part Terminator, part Fairy Godmother, in elegant and impossibly high heels.

“Mrr,” the cat said again, crinkling his nose so it looked like he was disagreeing with me.

I laughed. “Oh, so you don’t agree? Are you just trying to charm me so you can have another sardine?”

“Merow!” Elvis exclaimed loudly.

“You’re not exactly subtle,” I said as we started up the hill.

I pulled into the parking lot at Second Chance and climbed out of the SUV. “Remind me to call Cleveland about Tom’s birdbath,” I said to Elvis.

“Mrrr,” he replied.

I leaned over and scratched the top of his head. He nuzzled my splint with the side of his furry face.

“Even with sardine breath, I really like you better than some people,” I said.

He gave me a wide-eyed stare as if to say, “Why wouldn’t you?”

That afternoon I called the hospital and found out that Angie was finally well enough to have visitors. After supper I went over to get Molly’s card. The little girl had copied the words “Feel Better” in purple marker on the front and drawn purple flowers on the rest of the page. Inside was a drawing of a smiling face with yellow pigtails and “Molly” carefully printed below it.

“That’s you,” I said, pointing at the face.

The four-year-old beamed at me. “That’s so she won’t feel lonesome.”

“No one could feel lonesome with a smile like that to look at,” I said.

Molly flung her arms around my legs, hugging them tightly. “And this is a hug for her.”

“I’ll give it to her,” I promised.

I got to the hospital about three the next afternoon. Angie’s room was on the second floor of Northeastern Medical Center. “Left, left and straight through the double doors.” I repeated the directions I’d been given at the patient information desk silently to myself as I got off the elevator.

Angie was sitting on the edge of her bed in pajamas and a rumpled hospital robe, her left arm in a sling when I tapped on her door. Her face lit up when she saw me.

“Oh, Sarah, it’s so good to see a familiar face,” she said. “I was just sitting here trying to figure out if I could tie the sheets together and rappel down to the parking lot.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner,” I said. “Tom and Katie say hello and Molly made you this.” I handed over the card.

Katie had slipped it into a large brown envelope. Angie pulled out the folded sheet of construction paper and smiled. “She made this all by herself?”

I nodded. “That’s a self-portrait inside so you won’t feel lonesome.”

Angie looked at Molly’s drawing. “It looks like her,” she said. “Do you think Katie and Matt would let me give her art lessons for her birthday?”

“Maybe you could start with some art supplies,” I suggested.

I set a china cup and saucer down on the tray table next to the professor’s bed. It held a small green and white Haworthia plant. We sold the tiny arrangements at Second Chance, and they seemed more like Angie’s style than an arranged bouquet of flowers.

“Sarah, that’s beautiful,” Angie said, turning the saucer in a slow circle on the table.

“I’m glad you like it,” I said. “Oh, and I almost forgot.” I leaned over, careful to avoid Angie’s injured arm and gave her a sideways hug. “That’s from Molly, too.”

“Better than any medicine,” she declared. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid and I could see the edge of a bandage peeking out of the neck of her pajamas.

“How does your shoulder feel?” I asked.

“Pretty good, actually,” Angie said. She gestured at my splinted left hand. “How’s therapy going?”

“Not as fast as I’d like,” I said. “But it’s been suggested that I’m a little impatient.” I looked around the small room. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

Angie nodded. “Please. Or I really might start tearing up the sheets.”

We headed down the hallway together and Angie explained the surgery that had repaired her broken clavicle. A nurse in lavender teddy bear scrubs passed us, smiling at Angie.

She caught the woman’s arm. “Could I go outside to the garden?” she asked.

“I’ll stay with her,” I offered.

“All right,” the nurse said. “But don’t overdo it.”

“I won’t,” Angie said. “Thank you.”

The garden was a small outside terrace at the end of the hall, with benches and raised planters. Angie turned her face up to the afternoon sun and sighed happily. “It feels so good to be outside.”

I steered her over to a bench, mindful of the nurse’s admonition not to overdo.

“I’m so glad you came,” Angie said, pulling the wrinkled blue robe a little tighter around her. “You’re my first visitor since the surgery.”

Jason hadn’t been to see his aunt, I realized, even though family had been permitted to visit Angie from the beginning.

“Tell me what I’ve been missing,” she urged.

I told her about Elvis having dispatched the vole that liked to eat Tom’s flower bulbs and how I’d used peanut butter to get the burdocks out of his fur. I didn’t say anything about Jason’s interactions with Tom and Katie. There was nothing the professor could do, and I didn’t want her to worry.

“I hope I can come home in a couple of days,” Angie said, shifting on the bench. I noticed her wince and guessed that the shoulder was a bit more painful than she was letting on. “Jason is between jobs at the moment so he’s offered to stay and help me for a while.”

My heart sank. I hoped my face didn’t give my feelings away. “Are you going to have the carpet taken off the stairs?” I asked.

Angie nodded. “Jason is going to do that for me. I don’t have a lot of faith in that installer. He was supposed to have fixed that loose edge but I think he just made things worse. Not only was that section still loose but Jason said there was a small nail that hadn’t been hammered in all the way.”

Katie had said that the carpeting on the stairs had looked fine to her. Could she have been mistaken or . . .

“Jason thinks I should sue,” Angie was saying. “But I have to take some of the blame.”

I frowned. “What makes you say that?”

The professor gave me a wry smile. “I was so sleepy that night I could barely keep my eyes open. Jason and I were having tea and I almost dozed off there at the table. I was on my way up to bed when I caught my foot on that loose piece of carpet. Maybe if I hadn’t let myself get so overtired, I might not have lost my balance.”

“It’s good that Jason was there,” I said. Even though the sun was warm on my head and shoulders, I gave an involuntary shiver.

Angie nodded, her hand going to her injured shoulder. “I know Jason can be”—she shrugged—“well, a bit of a jerk sometimes. He’s just like my brother James. But I don’t want to think what could have happened if he hadn’t been around to call 911.” She ducked her head and studied her hands for a moment. “I feel a bit guilty.”

“What about?”

Angie looked up at me then. “I had been planning on amending my will and leaving less of my estate to Jason because he’d never really seemed that interested in staying in touch. But then he stepped up after the accident and he offered to stay for a while to help out. So I decided to leave things the way they were.” She shrugged. “I guess you can’t always tell what people are capable of.”

I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly what Jason Bates was capable of.

When I got home, I half expected to find Elvis sitting on the veranda railing, but there was no sign of the cat. Liz had offered to bring Rose and Elvis home, and I realized he was probably in Rose’s apartment.

She was feeding me again and I hated to show up empty handed so I went to the front of the house to cut the last of the narcissus, arranging the stems in a mason jar of water and tying a length of wide green paper ribbon in a bow around the neck. I was about to head for Rose’s apartment when I heard shouting from outside.

I went out into the hallway. Rose was standing in her doorway, a yellow-flowered apron tied at her waist. Elvis was at her feet. “What’s going on?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know.” I opened the front door.

We heard a shout. “Help! Somebody help!”

“That’s Tom,” Rose said.

I bolted across the grass, through the gap in the hedge, into the Tom’s backyard. He was crouched on the lawn, leaning over Matilda. The little corgi seemed to be having a seizure.

My chest tightened. “What happened?” I said, bending down next to the old man.

He looked up at me, his face ashen. “I don’t know. I was just throwing the ball for her. She was bringing it back to me when she suddenly stopped. She took another step and then she just fell over and started shaking.”

I put a hand on his back. “I’m going to get the car and we’ll take her to the vet.”

Rose was behind me. “What happened?” she whispered.

I gave my head a little shake. “I don’t know.”

Rose dipped her head in the direction of my SUV. “Go,” she said. “I’ll stay here.”

I ran back to the house, grabbed my purse and keys and hurried back out to the SUV. I pulled into Tom’s driveway and grabbed the blanket I kept on the backseat. “Here,” I said to Rose. “Wrap her in this.”

Rose swaddled Matilda in the blanket and I helped Tom get to his feet. The corgi’s eyes were open and she wasn’t seizing anymore but she seemed lethargic and disoriented.

Rose was still holding the little dog. Tom put one hand on the blanket and they moved toward the car.

“Matilda may be little but she has a big heart,” Rose told the old man.

Elvis had followed us over to Tom’s yard. He made his way to the knobby red ball Matilda had been chasing and craned his neck to sniff at it. Then he made a face and turned to look at me.

“I’m sorry. I have to go,” I said.

Elvis gave the ball a nudge in my direction, meowed loudly and looked at me again. There was something about that ball he wanted me to see. I hesitated and then pulled a nylon shopping bag from my purse, picked up the ball carefully between my thumb and index finger and dropped it in the bag. That seemed to satisfy the cat.

Rose was just reaching around Tom to fasten his seatbelt. Matilda was on his lap, wrapped in the blanket. I pulled a key off my key ring and held it out to Rose. It was Tom’s spare that I kept in case of an emergency, which this definitely was. “Would you lock up Tom’s house, please?”

Rose took the key, turning it over in her fingers. Of course, dear,” she said. “I hope Matilda will be all right.” She pressed her lips together.

I nodded. “Me too.” I slid behind the wheel, started the car and backed out of the driveway. Beside me Tom was talking softly to the little dog. As we drove by Angie’s house, I noticed Jason watching from the living room window.

When we got to the animal hospital, Tom and Matilda were taken to an examining room right away. I dropped into a chair and took several slow, deeps breaths. Rose was right. Matilda might have been a little dog but she did have a huge heart.

I’d been sitting there for maybe five minutes, watching the door, hoping Tom or someone would come out and tell me what was going on, when Dr. Davenport came in from outside. She was dressed in jeans and a chambray shirt, which probably meant that this was her farm visit day. She smiled when she caught sight of me.

“Sarah, hi. What are you doing here?” she asked. Abby Davenport had been Elvis’s veterinarian from the day Sam conned me into taking the cat. I got to my feet and gave Abby a hug. “My neighbor’s dog, a corgi, had what I think was a seizure. I drove them over.”

Abby gave me a reassuring smile. “Ben’s working today. Your neighbor’s dog is in good hands. I promise.”

I reached for my purse on the chair behind me. I didn’t stop to decide whether or not what I was about to do was a good idea or not. “Abby, I may just be way too suspicious, but I think it’s possible someone may have put something toxic on Matilda’s ball. She was playing with it right before she got sick.” I pulled the nylon shopping bag out of my purse and held it out.

“This is it?” the vet asked.

I nodded.

Abby opened the bag. The sharp chemical odor on the knobby plastic ball was impossible to miss.

The veterinarian’s eyes narrowed. “May I take this?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“I’ll see what I can find out.” Abby gave me a reassuring smile and headed for her office.

Tom came out to the waiting room about twenty minutes later. Relief had smoothed out the lines on his face. “She’s going to be okay,” he said.

I smiled at him, the good news making my legs feel wobbly for a moment.

“Dr. Kessler thinks she ate or drank something that made her sick, but he can’t say what at the moment.” Tom ran a mottled hand through his hair. “Matilda has to stay the night but she should be able to come home tomorrow.” He smiled at me. “I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t been there.”

“I’m so glad everything is all right,” I said, giving him a hug. The metallic chemical scent from the red ball had seemed to linger in the back of my throat, and along with it was the feeling that things weren’t going to stay all right for long.

Tom was quiet on the drive home. “It’s my fault,” he finally said.

I knew he meant what had happened to Matilda. “You said the vet didn’t know what made her sick.” I glanced over at him in the passenger seat. His expression was grave, and he was picking at one of the buttons on his yellow golf shirt. “I don’t think you did anything.”

“I let her have some of my Chinese takeout for lunch—duck with orange sauce. All that fat and MSG can’t have been good for her.”

“Don’t blame yourself for something that might not be your fault,” I said gently. I thought again about the ball I’d given to Abby Davenport. There would be lots of time to tell Tom about it once we knew if there was anything to tell.

Rose was sweeping the front steps when we got home, a make-work job, I suspected, so she could keep an eye on the street. We pulled into Tom’s driveway and Rose walked over to join us. “How’s Matilda?” she asked, concern evident in the lines around her mouth and eyes.

“She’s going to be fine,” I said, taking back the spare key that Rose held out to me. “They’re keeping her overnight just to be safe, but Tom can bring her home tomorrow.”

A smile spread across Rose’s face, and the tension in her body seemed to sink down into the ground as her body relaxed. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear that.”

“Thank you for locking up for me,” Tom said, giving her a tired smile.

“That’s was nothing,” she said. “I have bread pudding in the oven.” She glanced back at the house. “I’ll bring some over in about half an hour.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Tom said, “but I confess I’m glad you did.” He turned to me and caught my good hand in both of his own. “Thank you so much, Sarah.”

“Anytime,” I said. Tom headed for his front door, and Rose and I started toward our place.

Rose looked back over her shoulder in the direction of Angie’s house. Her body tensed again, her shoulders hunching forward. “He did something,” she said, lowering her voice.

I knew she meant Jason. “Why do you say that?” I asked.

She folded an arm over her midsection. “He came outside right after you left. When he saw me standing at the bottom of Tom’s driveway, he walked over to me. I don’t think he realized that I already knew what was going on.” She took a breath and let it out slowly. “He said Matilda ate something and was dead.” She glanced back again before returning her eyes to meet mine again. “Why on earth would he say that unless he knew something—unless he’d done something? I think we should investigate.”

My stomach clenched. We meant The Angels, aka Charlotte’s Angels, the detective agency Rose, Liz, their friend Charlotte and Rose’s gentleman friend, Mr. P., had started after their friend Maddie Hamilton had been accused of murder. We also included me, because no matter how hard I tried to stay out of their cases, somehow I always managed to get pulled in.

“Jason has a mean streak,” I said. “But what you’re suggesting goes beyond that. The vet did some tests. I think we need to wait to see what they show before . . .” I pressed my lips together for a moment. I wanted to turn and look at Angie’s house, but some instinct told me that Jason was at the window watching us so I didn’t. “. . . before we do anything.”

Rose exhaled slowly. “All right,” she agreed.

“And it’s probably a good idea to stay away from Jason for now.”

She nodded. “I had the same thought,” she said. We’d reached the driveway. “I should go check that bread pudding.” She smiled at me. “You didn’t have any supper, dear. I put the lasagna in the fridge. It will only take a few minutes to warm that up.”

I leaned against her, resting my cheek on the top of her head. “I love you,” I said.

Rose reached up and patted my hair. “I love you, too, sweetie.”

I straightened up, and as I followed Rose up the steps to the front door, I finally glanced in the direction of Angie’s house. Jason was standing in his aunt’s driveway. I watched him look around, and when his gaze reached me, there was something smug in his expression that made my stomach hurt all over again.

I had an appointment with the hand therapist the next day. Katie offered to take Tom to pick up Matilda.

“What would I do without the two of you?” the old man said.

Katie smiled at him. “What would we do without you?”

“Did you find Molly’s ball?” Rose asked. “I checked all the flowerbeds and the front yard, but I didn’t see it.”

“Did Molly lose another ball?” Tom said.

Katie nodded. “The one with the pink and purple stripes. Now that we can’t find it, it’s suddenly become her favorite. Four-year-olds can be very stubborn.”

Tom patted her arm. “So can eighty-four-year-olds, my dear,” he said.

We all arrived back in the court at the same time. I couldn’t help smiling as Tom got out of Katie’s car and set Matilda down on the grass. The little corgi seemed like her old self. I walked over to say hello.

Molly was crouched in the grass talking to the dog.

“Say good-bye to Matilda,” Katie told her. Molly put her arms around the corgi and gave her a hug. “Gently,” her mother reminded the little girl.

“Thank you,” Tom said.

Katie smiled. “Anytime.”

I bent down to stroke the top of Matilda’s head. The little dog nuzzled my wrist. “What did the vet say?” I asked as I straightened up.

“He’s still waiting for the results of the blood tests,” Tom said, looking down at his furry companion. “But he thinks she may have eaten something toxic.” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have given her any of that duck.”

“You don’t know it was that,” I said. It was difficult not to look over at Angie’s small white house.

My cell phone rang as I was unlocking my apartment door. It was Abby Davenport.

“Was I right about the ball?” I asked, hoping that I wasn’t, while at the same time some gut instinct told me I was.

“You were,” the vet said. “The ball was coated with an insecticide.”

I leaned against the kitchen counter. Elvis watched me from his perch at the top of his cat tower. “I was hoping I was wrong,” I said.

“It’s good that you got her here when you did,” Abby continued.

“Tom’s not the one who exposed her to the insecticide,” I blurted out. It suddenly seemed very important that the veterinarian knew that. I didn’t want Tom to be blamed for something I knew he would never do.

“I believe you,” she said. “I talked to Ben Kessler. He told me how upset Mr. Harris was.” She cleared her throat. “In theory, it could have been spilled on the dog’s ball by accident.”

“But you don’t think that’s what happened.”

“It’s a bit of a stretch.”

“Tom doesn’t use anything like that in his yard because of Matilda and because there’s a four year-old across the street.”

Abby sighed and I imagined her in her blue scrubs sitting on the edge of her desk. “We still don’t have all of the dog’s blood work back, but depending on what it shows, I may have to call the police.”

“I understand,” I said.

Abby said she’d be in touch and we said good-bye. I looked at the phone. Now I was second-guessing my decision not to involve Michelle. Unfortunately, she’d gone to visit her mother for a couple of days.

I worked late that evening, sanding a china cabinet that I was certain was in good shape under all the layers of paint on it. I got home to find a police car in the court. Tom and Jason were at the bottom of Angie’s driveway with a uniformed police officer. Tom was talking to the officer, gesturing with one hand. Jason stood there with his hands in his pockets, feet apart. There was something cocky about his stance.

When Tom noticed me, he beckoned me over. I squared my shoulders and made my way toward the men.

“Officer Sullivan, this is my neighbor, Sarah Grayson,” Tom said. He held himself stiffly and I noticed he avoided looking at Jason. Instead he fixed his gaze on me. “Sarah, will you please tell the officer about Matilda’s seizure and the ball you took to the vet.”

My surprise must have shown on my face because Tom added, “Dr. Kessler called me.”

I turned to the police officer. He looked to be just this side of forty, stocky with hair cropped close to his scalp and kind brown eyes. “Matilda is Tom’s corgi. She had a seizure yesterday. I drove them to the animal hospital. I grabbed the ball she had been playing with and took it with me. I, uh, I thought it had a funny smell.”

I could feel Jason’s eyes on me, and this time I shifted my gaze and met his full on. If he thought he could intimidate me, he was wasting his time. His expression was appropriately serious, but it seemed to me that there was a hint of a smug smile around his dark eyes.

“What did you do with the ball, Ms. Grayson?” Officer Sullivan asked.

“I gave it to one of the veterinarians at the clinic, Abby Davenport. It turned out that there was insecticide on the ball.”

“Which he put there,” Tom said.

His voice was calm and steady, which made me nervous.

“I didn’t touch your dog’s ball,” Jason said. “I’m sorry the thing was sick, but I had nothing to do with that.”

He was good. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have believed him.

“There’s a bottle of insecticide over in the garage,” Tom said, inclining his head in the direction of Angie’s house. “Molly’s ball is there, too.”

“Who’s Molly?” Officer Sullivan asked, frowning.

“The little girl across the street,” I said.

“Look,” Jason said, holding out both hands. “The truth is I have no idea what’s in the garage because this is my aunt’s house. I’m just here for a few days to help her once she gets out of the hospital.”

“Mr. Harris, how do you know what’s in your neighbor’s garage?” the policeman asked Tom.

“Because I looked. Because he tried to kill my dog.” He gestured at Jason. “Because he tried to kill Angie. He’s after her money.”

I caught Tom’s arm. He’d said too much.

Jason turned to the police officer. “Like I said, this is my aunt’s house. I don’t want to make trouble, but I don’t feel right about people being on her property without permission.” He turned and pointed to the strip of lawn between the two driveways. Several four-by-four cedar posts were stacked on the grass. “I’m about to start on a fence to give my aunt a little more privacy.”

I tightened my grip on Tom’s arm but the older man didn’t speak. He just continued to glare at Jason and shake his head.

“Mr. Harris, I understand you’re upset about your dog,” Officer Sullivan said. “I get that. I have two dogs myself. They get sick and it’s almost like your kid getting sick.”

He’d fallen for Jason’s act.

“My two, they get into everything. I have to lock up the trash cans because otherwise they’re rooting around in the garbage.”

“Matilda doesn’t eat garbage,” Tom said through clenched teeth.

“Good for her,” the officer said. “But my point is you don’t know what your dog could’ve eaten that made her sick. You’ll probably never know. But you can’t go trespassing on someone else’s property.” He indicated Jason. “Mr. Bates here is a reasonable man so we’re just going to forget about everything—this time. But I want your promise that you’ll stay off his property.”

Tom nodded slowly. His eyes never left Jason’s face. “I promise you, Officer, I will stay off Mr. Bates’s property.”

I noticed his choice of words. Mr. Bates’s property. The policeman didn’t seem to catch the distinction.

He turned to Jason. “Thank you for your patience, Mr. Bates,” he said.

Jason smiled. “No problem,” he said with a shrug.

The officer wished us a good evening and got back in his cruiser. Jason started back to the house and then turned and looked over his shoulder at us. Once again there was a cocky smile on his face.

“I’d like to wipe that smirk of that little piker’s face,” Tom said. He was still clenching his teeth and his shoulders were rigid.

“Please don’t do anything he can use against you,” I said.

Tom finally turned his attention to me. “Why didn’t you tell me about the ball?”

I let go of his arm. “I’m sorry. I should have. I was waiting to be sure that what was on the ball was what had made Matilda sick.”

“It was him, Sarah,” he said. “I know it was.”

I nodded. There was no use pretending I hadn’t been thinking the same thing. “Wait for the results of the blood tests.”

“He’s going to get rid of that bottle.”

“If you get arrested for trespassing, no one is going to believe you,” I pointed out. “They’re going to dismiss you as a crazy old man. Please just stay off Angie’s property until I can figure out what to do.”

Tom’s mouth moved but he stayed silent.

“Please,” I begged.

Finally the old man nodded.

I made my way back to my own house. Mr. P.—Alfred Peterson, Rose’s gentleman friend—was at the front door wearing Rose’s flowered apron over his brown trousers and long-sleeved navy golf shirt.

“I was coming to get you and I saw the police car go by,” he said, smoothing down the few tufts of gray hair he had left with one hand. “Is everything all right?”

I sighed. “For now.”

He patted my arm. “Rosie told me what’s been going on. Young Mr. Bates doesn’t sound like a stellar member of society.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s because he isn’t.”

“Come have supper,” Mr. P. urged. “I made shepherd’s pie.”

“Is that what smells so good?” I asked. Elvis had already disappeared into Rose’s apartment.

“Not to be immodest, but it is one of my best recipes,” Mr. P. said with a smile.

I followed him into the apartment.

Rose was setting the table. Elvis was sitting in the doorway to the living room washing his face. “Is Tom all right?” she asked.

I nodded. Rose gestured at a chair and I took a seat while Mr. P. bustled around getting me a cup of tea. Everything Rose and her cronies did was done with copious cups of tea. I brought the two of them up to date on the police officer’s visit.

“We have to do something.” Rose set the salt and pepper shakers on the table with a bang.

“Angie should be home in a day or two,” I said.

“I’m not convinced that’s going to make any difference.” I knew that determined glint in Rose’s gaze meant trouble.

Mr. P. set a cup of tea on the table in front of me. “Thank you,” I said.

He smiled. “You’re welcome, my dear.”

I took a sip from the cup and then turned my attention to Mr. P. “You said Rose has told you what’s been going on. What do you think?”

“I think that blood is thicker than water, Sarah,” he said. “Angelica Bates is a very nice person, but that young man is family, and if she has to take sides, I think that’s the one she’ll take. Wouldn’t you?”

I glanced at Rose over by the sink. She and Alfred and the rest of their merry band were family as far as I was concerned, and when push came to shove, I always took their side.

“We’ll come up with something,” Mr. P. said, his voice warm and reassuring. “We always do.”

Rose had moved to peek into the oven. “Alf, I think this is ready,” she said. She reached for the oven mitts. One of them slipped off the counter and skidded across the floor.

Before I could get up, Elvis had moved across the floor and picked up the quilted mitt in his mouth. He made his way over to Rose.

“Thank you, Elvis,” she said, bending down to take the oven mitt from him. Then she looked at Mr. P. and smiled.

I turned to him as well, narrowing my gaze. “Did you have anything to do with that?” I asked.

“Elvis is a very smart cat,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Merow,” the subject of the conversation added.

“You taught him to pick things up,” I said.

Mr. P. nodded. “It took very little effort on my part. He’s extremely intelligent.”

I looked over at the cat, who looked rather pleased with himself, it seemed to me.

“Being a cat, he only does it when he feels like it, of course.”

“Of course,” I echoed.

Mr. P. got to his feet. “Are we ready to eat, Rosie?” he said.

Rose had been staring at the cat, a pensive expression on her face. She started and shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was wool-gathering. Yes, we’re ready to eat.”

Mr. P.’s shepherd’s pie, made with a sweet potato topping and a spicy ground beef base, was delicious. As much as I enjoyed the company, I couldn’t help yawning as I sat with a cup of tea and a dish of Rose’s leftover bread pudding.

She came up behind me and put her arms around my neck. “Go home, darling girl,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”

“I’ll just load the dishwasher before I go,” I said.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Mr. P. said. He got to his feet and hiked the waistband of his pants up a little higher than it already was. “That’s my job.”

I knew better than to argue. Rose sent me home with a dish of fruit salad and another of the pudding. I was putting the food in the fridge when my phone rang. It was Nick.

“Hi,” he said when I answered. “I’m just checking in to see how your wrist feels.”

“Let me guess,” I said, dropping onto the couch. “You talked to your mom and she thought I looked tired.”

Nick laughed. “Busted.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Between your mother, Liz and Rose, it’s not like I’m doing anything.”

“Good,” he said. “I think Mom still has that hammock in her garage. When I get back, I’m going to hang it in your backyard and you can go out there and just do nothing.”

“Because I’m so good at that,” I teased.

“Does Tom Harris still have that little dog?” Nick asked. “She could pull a wagon and bring you coffee and muffins from McNamara’s.”

I thought about the small corgi seizing on Tom’s lawn.

The silence went on a bit too long. “Did I say something wrong?” Nick said.

“No.” I leaned against the sofa pillows. “It’s just that Matilda—that’s the dog’s name—had a seizure a couple of days ago. She ingested some kind of insecticide.”

He exhaled loudly. “I’m sorry. People don’t seem to remember how dangerous that stuff can be.”

“No, they don’t,” I agreed. “But the good news is Matilda is okay.”

There wasn’t anything Nick could do. I had to figure out some way to deal with Jason Bates myself. Right now, I just wanted to think about something else.

“So how’s the class going?”

“Good, “Nick said. “We’ve done a couple of mock crime scenes. I got to play a guy with an ax stuck in his head.”

“Are there photos?” I asked. “Because it’s not too early to plan my Christmas card.”

“Very funny,” he said dryly.

We talked for a few more minutes and then said good night.

Leftover bread pudding and coffee would make a fine breakfast, I decided the next morning. The sun was shining, and I pulled on a T-shirt and leggings and took my mug and bowl out onto the veranda.

Jason was out bright and early working on the fence. It struck me that he was trying to goad Tom into doing something.

And just after ten thirty, it worked.

Tom came out of the house and made his way over to the younger man, putting himself between Jason and the hole he was digging in the strip of lawn. I took a deep breath and began to make my way to them. If the police were called again, Tom could end up being arrested.

“I know you took it,” I heard Tom say.

“Why the hell would I want some old watch?” Jason asked, wiping a dirty hand on the front of his jeans.

“You want it for the same reason you’re here pretending to care about Angie,” Tom retorted. “Money. You think I don’t know it was you? You were too lazy to take off your shoes so you tracked dirt and sawdust into my kitchen.”

“What’s going on?” I asked as I reached the two men.

“He took my watch,” Tom said. “My father’s railway watch. I went to the store this morning, and I guess I forgot to lock the back door. When I got back, I noticed some dirt and bits of sawdust on the kitchen floor. The watch was in my dresser upstairs. It was gone.” He turned back to Jason. “Give it back to me, or I’ll make you wish you had.”

“You’re crazy, old man,” Jason said.

Tom swung at him, but Jason had the advantage of youth. He sidestepped the punch, raised his arm and knocked Tom into the driveway.

I stepped in front of Jason. “Stop it!” I said, anger sharpening my voice. My heart was pounding in my chest. I bent down to Tom, keeping my eyes locked on Jason’s face.

“He swung at me first,” Jason snapped, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. “I’m allowed to defend myself.” He punched 911 into the phone and gave Tom a mean-spirited smile. “You’re going to jail, old man.”

Rose must have heard the commotion. She joined us, a look of determination on her face that any of her former students would have realized meant trouble was ahead.

Tom had dirt on the knees of his pants and he’d scraped the skin on his left hand. We helped him to his feet. “You useless diddy,” he shouted at the younger man.

I held on to Tom with both hands. “Don’t,” I said softly.

Jason gave us an arrogant smile. “Want to take me on, old man?” he asked. He turned his head to one side so the curve of his jaw was facing them. “C’mon, give it your best shot.” He made a come-here gesture with one hand.

Rose reached out and slapped Jason’s hand away. His eyes widened in surprise.

“Are you going to knock me down?” she asked. “That might be a little harder to explain to the police.”

Jason muttered something I didn’t catch under his breath, but I could already hear the police siren getting closer. I was betting he wouldn’t try anything now.

When the cruiser pulled up, it was the same police officer as the previous day. I saw the arrogant smile return to Jason Bates’s face when he realized that.

Tom repeated his accusation. Once again Jason was pleasant and agreeable, explaining how Tom had taken a swing at him. “Hey, you’re welcome to take a look around my aunt’s house,” he said. “I don’t have the watch.”

I wanted to swat the smirk off his face.

“Look in the garage,” Tom said to the officer. “That’s where he hid Molly’s ball. It’s probably where he’s hiding my watch.”

Rose had been studying the policeman’s face; now she smiled sweetly up at him. “How are you, Charles?” she asked.

“I’m fine, Mrs. Jackson,” the burly young man replied, returning her smile.

Rose turned to me. “Charles was one of my best students.”

The officer shifted from one foot to the other, a little uncomfortable at the praise, it seemed to me. “I don’t know about that, Mrs. Jackson,” he said.

“Nonsense.” Rose waved away his words with one hand. “You were a silver medalist in the State Math and Science Challenge.”

“And you were a great teacher.”

Rose beamed at him. “Charles, could you take a look in the garage?” Her gaze flicked to Jason for a moment. “Maybe that would calm everyone down.” She held up her cell phone. “I have Angie Bates’s number. I’m sure if we called her, she’d say yes.”

Jason looked at the policeman. “I’m not hiding anything in the garage.” There was an edge of exasperation to his voice. He threw up his hands. “Look, if it will put an end to this, yeah, go take a look.” His eyes darted to Tom. “You’re not going to find anything.”

“Let’s go then,” Officer Sullivan said.

We followed him across the grass to Angie’s garage. Jason went to pull up the door, but the policeman stopped him. “I’ll do that, Mr. Bates,” he said.

Jason shrugged. “Go ahead.” He took a step back and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Search the entire garage. Like I said, you won’t find anything.”

The officer rolled up the garage door and took a couple of steps inside. The space was tidy by anyone’s standards, with rakes and shovels hung from hooks along the left wall and floor-to-ceiling shelves across the back. He made his way to the back, giving the shelves a quick once-over.

My heart was beating so hard, I glanced down at my white T-shirt almost expecting to see it move with each thump. Rose put her hand on my arm. She didn’t seem worried at all.

The officer stopped. Something had caught his attention. “Mrs. Jackson, do you know what color the child’s missing ball was?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Pink and purple,” Rose said. “With stripes.”

He lifted a rake down from its hook, moved back to the shelves and used it to swipe at an object I couldn’t see. I heard something hit the concrete floor and then Molly’s favorite ball rolled toward us. I bent to pick it up and couldn’t resist turning to look at Jason.

“He put it there,” Jason immediately said, moving toward Tom.

“Mr. Bates, please stay where you are.” Officer Sullivan’s voice had taken on a less friendly tone. He looked around the garage, spotted the stepladder and took it to the back of the space. Since he hadn’t told Tom or Rose or me to stay where we were, I moved a few steps closer so I could see what the policeman was doing with the ladder.

He was trying to reach something stuffed on the top shelf in the corner. He managed to grab whatever it was, climbed back down and walked back to us. He was holding a small cloth bag in his hand. He undid the drawstring and pulled out a gold pocket watch.

“That’s my watch,” Tom said. “Look inside. It’s inscribed with my father’s name: Reginald Thomas Harris.”

The officer looked inside the watch. Then he looked at Jason.

“This is a setup,” Jason declared hotly. “He put it there.” He pointed at Tom.

The policeman looked at the old man leaning on his cane.

Jason followed his gaze. “Then she did,” he said, pointing at me. “Or the woman across the street.”

Tom gave a snort of derision. “Don’t be ridiculous. Sarah couldn’t climb up there. She’s been wearing that splint for the last two weeks.”

I held out my left arm so the officer could see the bulky brace.

“And if by the woman across the street, you mean Katie Burns, she’s seven months pregnant,” Rose said. “She couldn’t get up to that shelf any more than I could.”

There was something else in the little fabric bag. Officer Sullivan shook a small pill bottle into his hand. It was an over-the-counter sleep aid.

“Those are sleeping pills,” Tom said.

We all turned to look at Jason.

“This is a freakin’ setup!” He looked at the officer. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He pointed at Tom, jabbing the air with his finger. “He did this and she helped him.”

“Angie told me she felt sleepy before she fell down the stairs,” I said slowly.

Jason was becoming more agitated. He raked a hand back through his hair. I wasn’t the only one who had noticed his behavior.

“Mr. Bates, I’d like you to come down to the station with me,” Officer Sullivan said. I noticed he didn’t say “please.”

Katie had been watching from her yard. When the police cruiser drove away, she came over to join us. Tom explained what happened and she hugged him. I gave her the striped ball I’d been holding on to since it had rolled across the garage floor.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why did he let the police look in the garage when that’s where he was hiding everything?”

“Arrogance,” Tom replied.

“It’s been more than one person’s downfall,” Rose added.

Rose decided we needed a cake to celebrate and went home to start making one. Tom took Matilda and Molly to the park after he and I set a time to visit Amelia at the hospital that afternoon.

“Between the three of us, we can help her when she gets home,” Tom said.

• • •

I found Elvis perched on the veranda railing, eyeing the backyard like a king surveying his domain, when I got home at suppertime. I got the last sardine from the refrigerator for him and a piece of Rose’s celebratory cake—golden cake with strawberry filling and coconut frosting—for myself and joined him on the veranda. The cat eyed my plate, narrowing his green eyes as though he disapproved.

“Hey, I don’t criticize your dinner choices,” I said, gesturing at the half a sardine still on his plate.

I heard a noise behind me and turned to see Rose standing in the doorway. “Hello, dear,” she said. “I thought that might be you. Would you like a cup of tea?”

I licked a bit of strawberry filling from the back of my fork. “Please,” I said.

“I’ll be right there.” She disappeared inside but was back in a minute with a cup of tea for me and one for herself. She handed me the cup and then took the chair beside me.

“This cake is incredible,” I said, gesturing with my fork.

Rose smiled at me over her tea. “I’ll teach you how to make it.”

Rose had been teaching me how to cook for months. After a lot of false starts and disasters, I was finally beginning to master some things. “Okay,” I said, nodding slowly. I wasn’t sure I was ready to tackle something so elaborate, but it occurred to me that eating my mistakes could be fun.

Before I started thinking about making cakes, there was something I needed to clear up. “Rose, how did those things end up in Angie’s garage?” I asked. “That was really stupid, even for Jason.”

“Well, it was crystal clear to the police that Tom couldn’t have planted that watch on such a high shelf,” she said, “and neither could Katie or you. Or me. Who else could it have been other than Jason?”

“Elvis could climb up there,” I said slowly. “He picked up your oven mitt.”

Rose reached over and patted my cheek with one hand. “You have a very vivid imagination, my darling girl,” she said.

I looked at the cat again. He licked a bit of fish oil from his plate and then licked his whiskers. I shook my head. No. Elvis was a very smart cat, but thinking he’d been coached to put Tom’s watch and that bottle of pills up on the shelf in Angie’s garage . . . it was a ridiculously far-fetched idea, I realized.

“I almost forgot,” Rose said. “Charles called. Jason finally admitted to drugging Angie with sleeping medication in exchange for not being charged for the thefts. He claims he never meant for her to get hurt. He just wanted her to fall asleep so he could swipe some of her jewelry.” She eyed my plate. “Is that your supper?”

“Not . . . exactly,” I said.

“How about some chicken fried rice and an eggroll?” She reached over and confiscated my plate and napkin. Then she got to her feet and started for the back door, not waiting for an answer. Elvis jumped down and headed off with her.

As Rose reached for the doorknob, the crumpled paper napkin slid off the plate onto the wide deck boards. Elvis immediately turned, picked it up in his mouth and padded back to her. Rose leaned down and Elvis dropped the napkin in her hand.

“Thank you,” she said, stroking his fur before straightening up.

I watched them disappear through the screen door, Rose talking to the cat, Elvis making little murps as though he was taking part in the conversation, and in the back of my mind the thought began to slowly spin that maybe my idea wasn’t so far-fetched after all.