by Linda Reilly
Besides, she and Aunt Fran had nothing to hide. She could handle Inspector Red Sneakers.
She’d dealt with worse.
Much worse.
Chapter Two
Stomach in her throat, Lara returned to the large parlor. The inspector scribbled furiously on her clipboard, her red-ink scratches getting larger with each entry. Outside, a car door slammed. Lara’s gaze darted to the front window. Relief flooded her.
Aunt Fran was home.
The chief had just dropped her off and was already easing his car out of the driveway. Lara heard the door to the kitchen open and close. “I’m back, Lara,” her aunt called out.
Seconds later, her aunt emerged into the large parlor from the kitchen. Lara prayed her aunt would pick up on her worried vibe. “Aunt Fran, this is Mrs. Fray, the health inspector,” she said in a flat voice.
Aunt Fran, her cheeks rosy, her hair fluffed back from her face in soft waves, put on her brightest smile. For a woman in her late fifties, she had youthful skin and sparkling green eyes. She’d always reminded Lara of the way the actress Audrey Hepburn looked in her later years.
“Mrs. Fray, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Aunt Fran said in the kindest of tones. “I’m Fran Clarkson, Lara’s aunt. We operate the shelter together. Can we get you anything? A cold drink?”
Evonda smirked. “Seriously? You’re already trying to bribe me?”
Every muscle in Lara’s body tensed. Something told her this inspection was not going to go smoothly. Fortunately, her aunt piped in before she could utter the reply that was dancing on the tip of her tongue.
“Mrs. Fray,” Aunt Fran said courteously, “I only offered you something because it’s quite hot out today and I thought you might be thirsty. If that’s not the case, please forgive me for being presumptuous.”
For a moment, the inspector looked taken aback. Lara suspected she wasn’t accustomed to being spoken to so directly. Evonda gave Aunt Fran a brisk nod, her mouth turned down in an almost cartoonish scowl. If Lara were to sketch the curve of her lips, they would look exactly like an upside-down U.
Evonda stood there and glanced around for what seemed an eternity. Finally, she jammed her pen over her clipboard. “All right. Now show me the cages. Where do you keep the cats?” She uttered the word “cats” as if it began with an “r” instead of a “c.”
“Mrs. Fray,” Aunt Fran said, “this is not a traditional shelter. It’s a family shelter, with only a limited number of cats. We don’t have cages because we don’t need them. We have an open concept here. The cats have free range.”
It was a spiel Aunt Fran had related to visitors many times. Nonetheless, it irritated Lara that they should have to defend their shelter at all.
Evonda opened her mouth wide enough for a bat to fly in. “You don’t have cages? How many cats live here?”
“Right now, we have six,” Aunt Fran said, with a surreptitious wink at Lara. “But we’ve had as many as twelve.”
Lara smothered a smile. She knew Aunt Fran was thinking of Blue, the Ragdoll cat that only Lara could see. Technically, with Blue, they had seven.
She racked her brain, trying to picture where all the cats might be at that moment. It was close to one o’clock—catnap time for most of the resident felines. Thank heavens, Lara thought, murmuring a silent prayer.
Orca and Pearl had fled their perches at the sound of Evonda’s grating voice. They were probably upstairs playing tumbleweed on Lara’s chenille bedspread. Dolce and Twinkles, who were best buds, typically dozed atop Aunt Fran’s bed during the daylight hours. Munster was a wanderer, always on alert to greet someone at the sound of a new voice. He hadn’t made an appearance yet, which was odd. Had he already sensed that an enemy had barged into their midst?
Snowball was a lovebug, always wanting to chill with a human. She sat on the sofa, her tail switching with agitation as she regarded Evonda with one green eye and one blue. Her white fur stood slightly on end—a sure sign of stress. A clump of it stuck to the tapestry pillow that rested against the arm of the sofa. Lara made a note in her head to give Snowball a good brushing after the inspector had gone.
Evonda shot a look at the white cat. For a single moment, Lara thought Evonda’s gaze softened. Then her voice cut through her like a hatchet. “I’ll start with the kitchen,” she announced.
Lara nodded. “Follow me.”
Evonda trooped behind Lara into the kitchen, while Aunt Fran stayed behind, probably to ward off any feline invasions.
In the kitchen, Lara felt her mouth go dry. The inspector poked and prodded every possible corner and cranny. She even ran the faucet in the sink and opened the door to the freezer, which Lara felt was far beyond the limits of her authority. She still wasn’t sure why the woman was here. Nonetheless, Lara bit her tongue, praying Evonda would leave them alone after she was through.
Evonda wrinkled her nose and frowned. “It smells in here.”
Stay calm, Lara cautioned herself. She smiled at the inspector. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it? It’s that wonderful new lemon-scented cleaner we’re using. Smells so fresh.”
Evonda deadpanned her but didn’t respond. After making more red scratches on her clipboard, she demanded to see the rest of the house. She swept her ruthless gaze over every room, while Lara stood by and fumed.
Orca and Pearl must have sensed that they were under some sort of uninvited scrutiny. They huddled together on Lara’s bed, quieter than she’d ever seen them.
Twenty minutes later, Lara felt as if she’d been squeezed through a laundry wringer and then run through a clothes dryer. She was hot, sweaty, and more than a little annoyed. Oddly, the inspector hadn’t even asked to see the meet-and-greet room—the place where people and cats were introduced to one another. What kind of an inspector was she?
They all reconvened in the large parlor.
“Miss Caphart, Mrs. Clarkson, I’ll make this short and sweet—well, maybe not so sweet. I’m going to cite you both for running a cat café without a license.”
“Wait a minute. What?” Lara sputtered. “We don’t run a cat café! What gave you that idea?”
“Mrs. Fray, that is totally incorrect,” Aunt Fran said tightly, coming over to stand next to Lara. “We do not sell food or drink here. We never have, and we never will. Our function is to match people with cats. Period.”
Evonda sneered at her. “These people who get matched up with cats—do they pay for such a privilege?”
“No, they do not,” Lara said. “They pay an adoption fee, but only if they apply to adopt a cat and their application is approved. We couldn’t operate this shelter if we didn’t have the funds to care for the cats, which includes top-quality veterinary care.”
“So, you admit it, then,” Evonda said, a jubilant gleam in her eye. “Money does change hands.”
A sick feeling wended its way through Lara. It didn’t matter what she said or how she responded. Evonda Fray would twist every word and use it to her own advantage.
Lara started to craft a retort, but the inspector held up a hand. “Before you both start yammering at me, be aware that I’ve already spoken to several people who’ve adopted from this shelter. They all confirmed that drinks and cookies were served to them in your so-called meet-and-greet room.”
“Served, but not sold,” Lara protested. “And you never even looked in that room. If you did, you’d know we keep it spotless.”
Ignoring her, Evonda went on, tsking under her breath. “Very unsanitary. Giving people cookies with all that cat hair and God knows what else flying around. I’m surprised someone hasn’t picked up a disease.”
Lara felt as if she’d stumbled into an alternate universe. What on earth was she talking about? Every cat owner ate in the same house with their cats. Why would eating a cookie in the meet-and-greet room be any different?
Aunt Fran moved closer to
the inspector. Lara noticed that her aunt’s fingers had curled into fists. “Mrs. Fray, we will not stand for this. This is harassment, pure and simple. If you cite us for operating a cat café, I assure you that we will take you to court. You’ll have to explain yourself to a judge, and quite frankly, you don’t have a leg to stand on.”
Only a giant red sneaker, Lara thought uncharitably.
Evonda grinned. “Go ahead,” she said. “That would truly make my day. In the meantime, I’m giving you twenty-four-hours’ notice to cease and desist. I’ll be stopping by in the morning with your official order.”
“You can’t do that,” Lara said, feeling her blood rise to the boiling point.
After a final glance at Snowball, Evonda winked at her. “Oh yeah? Watch me. I’m shutting you people down.”
Chapter Three
Lara stood at the front window seething as she watched Evonda’s red Camry back out of the driveway. The Camry’s wheels spun far too fast for this quiet residential street. She wished the chief had been here to witness it.
“Well, that couldn’t have gone any worse,” she told her aunt. “Do you think she’ll really shut us down? Can she do that?”
Aunt Fran’s eyebrows dipped into a deep V. “I’m not sure, Lara. We’re going to need some legal advice on this. I certainly didn’t expect the woman to get so…combative.”
“That’s one word to describe her. I can think of a bunch of others.”
Lara went over to the sofa and scooped Snowball into her arms. She dropped down and snugged the cat under her neck. “Know what I think? I think she knew before she even got here that she was going to issue that order. It’s like she had it in for us from the get-go.”
“I had that feeling, too,” Aunt Fran admitted. “Still, let’s try not to read too much into it. We’ve learned the hard way that making assumptions is never wise.”
A text pinged on Lara’s cell, which was tucked in the pocket of her shorts. “Oh, thank heavens. It’s Gideon,” she said, reading it. “He’s on his way over with our lunch.” She thumbed a quick response and stuck the phone back in her pocket.
Aunt Fran’s face relaxed a bit. “Good. Maybe he can help us sort this out.”
“Uh-oh. I just remembered. There’s a message on the shelter’s landline I never got a chance to play.”
She also hadn’t gotten a chance to surprise her aunt with the new door. The health inspector had swept in first and sent them both into a tizzy.
Propping Snowball on her shoulder, Lara went into the kitchen. She started to press the Play button on the answering machine when a familiar—and welcome—voice sounded from the doorway.
“Hey, everyone. I come bearing food.” Gideon stepped into the kitchen holding a large paper bag.
“That was fast.”
He grinned. “I was in the driveway when I texted.”
Lara ran over, threw her arms around his neck, and hugged him. “We’re so glad you’re here. We’ve got problems, big ones, and we need your advice.”
“Uh, can I put the sandwiches down first?”
“Of course.” Lara chuckled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lunge at you like that.” She took the bag from his hand and set it on the kitchen table. “It’s just…oh, we’ve had an awful day.”
His face creased in concern. “Are you okay, honey?”
“I’m fine. I’m not sure about the shelter, though.”
Aunt Fran came in, and Gideon greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll get some plates and some iced tea for you two,” she said. “Sit. Eat your lunch.”
Gideon pulled two paper-wrapped sandwiches from the bag, along with a large bag of kettle chips. “Two BLTs on tomato-basil wraps, one with provolone.”
Lara smiled. “You remembered my cheese.”
“Of course! Now tell me what’s happening.”
While they ate, Lara and Aunt Fran related the events of Evonda Fray’s so-called inspection. Gideon listened thoughtfully, interrupting only with an occasional “hmmm” or an “oh boy.”
When they were through, Lara took a deep breath. She’d barely touched her BLT. The tiny bit she’d consumed sat like lead in her stomach.
“You should have seen her face when she was leaving,” Lara said, crumpling her napkin. “It was like…like she’d triumphed over some evil enemy and was getting ready to reap the spoils.”
Aunt Fran looked pained. “I hate to say it, but Lara’s right. The woman clearly enjoyed lording it over us. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so cantankerous.”
Lara looked over at Gideon. “She can’t shut us down, can she? Please tell me she can’t.”
Gideon’s face turned serious, and he leaned forward. He’d eaten his entire wrap, save a few stray pieces of lettuce. “First of all, you said she used the phrase ‘cease and desist,’ but she didn’t say from what. That sounds to me like she was hedging. Did she mean cease and desist from operating the shelter? Or just from serving food on adoption days?”
“How can we know?” Aunt Fran said. “She didn’t specify, but she did say she was going to shut us down.” She looked at Lara. “After that, it got a bit…contentious, I guess you’d say. She left looking like a cat who’d swallowed a whole pint of cream.”
“Please, don’t compare that woman to a cat,” Lara begged. “She’s more like a…a…monitor lizard, or a troll.”
Gideon looked pensive as he took everything in. He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “All right, at this point here’s what I’m guessing. I think Mrs. Fray felt unsure about the limits of her authority. She had to know you already had a license to operate the shelter. I’m sure she reviewed it at the town hall before she came here. That might be the reason why her threat, for lack of a better term, was somewhat hazy.”
Lara sagged in her chair. “So, what do we do now? Just wait for the other shoe to drop?”
Gideon tapped his fingers on the table. “Lara, can you bring me your iPad? I want to check something in the statutes.”
“You bet.”
She left the kitchen and returned a minute later with her tablet.
Gideon set it down in front of him. “Give me a few, okay?” he said, tapping his fingers over the keys.
“Sure. I’ll clean up the table.” Lara wrapped up her barely eaten BLT and tidied up Gideon’s area.
“You hardly ate a thing,” Aunt Fran said to Lara.
“I know, I’m sorry. My appetite sort of ditched me, thinking about that inspector.”
“Okay, here’s what I was looking for,” Gideon said. “This is from Chapter 143-A, Section 3, which defines food service establishments. I won’t read the whole thing, but one of the definitions of a food service establishment is ‘a private or public organization or institution, whether profit or nonprofit, which routinely serves food.’”
Lara blinked. “Are you saying our shelter falls into that category?”
“Well, now, that’s the question, isn’t it?” Gideon said.
“Please, Gid. Don’t go all lawyer-y on us. We just need to know if we’ve been doing anything wrong.”
“Honey, I understand, but bear with me for a moment. If you analyze that definition”—he held up a hand and ticked off the points on his fingers—“the shelter is a private institution, and it is a nonprofit.” He paused.
Lara felt her blood pounding in her ears. “Go on.”
“The question we need to answer is, does it routinely serve food?”
Lara pondered his question. When she and Aunt Fran had first opened the shelter, they felt strongly about offering refreshments to prospective adopters. It gave people a sense of how they might interact with a cat in their own homes, especially if they were about to be first-time cat owners. It also eliminated the guilt some people felt at a traditional shelter, where furry faces stared out at them from behind the bars
of steel cages. At High Cliff, the cats had the run of the house. If they were passed over for adoption, they continued to lead contented lives in an environment filled with love.
At last, Lara said, “Well, we routinely supply cookies and liquid refreshments—nonalcoholic, of course—to anyone who visits on adoption days. Only if they want it, though. Lots of people refuse refreshments. They just want to meet the cats.”
Gideon nodded slowly. Lara could almost see the gears turning inside his brain.
“I’m sorry, but I’m really getting frustrated here. Are we violating the law or are we not? That’s all we want to know.”
He blew out a breath and folded his hands in front of him on the table. “Honey, I’m not trying to be evasive, but the law isn’t black or white. Most areas of the law are like an amorphous gray blob, able to change shape with each individual interpretation. That’s why we have judges—to interpret the law. As you can probably guess, no judge ever interprets the law exactly the same way.”
Lara dropped her head into her hands and rubbed her eyes. Snowball chose that moment to climb onto her lap and issue a muted purr. Lara pulled the cat close, unable to suppress a smile. Cats always knew when their humans needed that special feline touch.
“Gideon,” Aunt Fran said quietly, “what do you suggest we do now?”
“You said Mrs. Fray was going to drop by in the morning with her cease-and-desist order. Let’s wait to see what it says. Who knows? She might even change her mind before then. Once she’s had a chance to think about it, she might soften her position. Maybe she’ll realize she was just being a jerk.”
“I can’t imagine that happening,” Lara said evenly. “There is nothing about the woman that’s soft. She’s hard-hearted and hardheaded. One thing I’m sure of: the milk of human kindness does not flow through her veins.”
“Lara, we don’t really know that,” Aunt Fran put in, her tone a mild rebuke. “We don’t know enough about her to make that judgment.”
