by Sam Cheever
As I emerged from the trees, I spotted Caphy’s wide, blonde form bounding across the field. She was a mere ten feet away and closing fast. I stepped toward her, holding out my hands. “Caphy, come!”
She sprang toward me, mouth wide in a toothy grin. I kept moving in her direction, arms outstretched. “Come on, girl.
She got within five feet of me and screeched to a halt, her body going stiff.
I tried to reach for her, but she evaded my grip and took off like a shot toward the spot where I’d left LaLee.
“No!” Swinging around, I dug in my heels and ran after her, my heart pounding. “Caphy, no!”
She disappeared into the trees. A beat later there was a snarl, a hiss and a yowl. And, finally, a pain-filled cry.
I ran faster, horrible thoughts flitting through my mind. Caphy was a sweet girl, but when something ran from her she chased it, and I wasn’t sure she had the strength to keep her prey drive in check in the heat of excitement.
I burst through the last line of trees, fully expecting to see a dead cat lying at Caphy’s feet. What I actually saw made my eyes go wide.
LaLee sat much as she had when gracing me with her presence. Her slender legs were straight and close against her body. Her tail wrapped tightly around them. Only the tip of the tail twitched with emotion. Her blue eyes, bright in the dark brown of her tiny face, were filled with hostility, but she didn’t seem overly concerned about the cowering hulk of my sweet pibl a few feet away.
For her part, Caphy was hunkered down, her big body trembling and her ears pinched back as she observed the feline interloper with an uncertain gaze. The tip of her light brown nose glistened with a shiny drop of blood.
“Oh, Caphy girl.” She shivered and her tail gave a half-hearted wag, but she kept her attention on the cat, as if she could keep her locked into place with the force of her gaze.
LaLee was one smart cat. She hadn’t run from Caphy. That had probably saved her life. But more importantly, she’d drawn first blood. If things worked as they generally did in the natural world, her dominance had been settled.
I didn’t like that my dog had been usurped in her own territory. But if it kept them both safe until I could find LaLee a home, I could live with it. I sighed my relief. “Come on, girls. How about we go home now?”
Chapter Twelve
Getting home was slow going, with Caphy and I stepping lightly to avoid startling the cat. Of course, we had different reasons for wanting to keep from startling LaLee. Mine was because I was trying to earn her trust so she’d follow me home.
Judging by the way my dog was trying to insert herself into my thigh, I was guessing she didn’t want to experience the business end of the cat’s claws again.
I reached down and scratched Caphy between the ears, keeping my hand on her head to let her know I’d protect her from the big, bad, ten-pound feline.
I was amazed the cat was following at all, but I could only assume she realized what a close call she’d had when she’d come upon the pack of coyotes.
Obviously, she wasn’t stupid. Only arrogant, opinionated, and stubborn.
When we got back to the house, I was dismayed to realize I’d left the front door wide open. Not too smart given the fact that someone had already trespassed once to kill Penney Sellers and had possibly even come inside the house.
I sent Caphy into the house ahead of me, knowing she’d send out a vocal warning if something was awry inside. Then I turned to see if LaLee had followed us onto the porch. She sat in a dying ray of sun at the very end of the long porch, her gaze locked on mine and filled with suspicion.
“Are you going to come inside?” I asked softly. “It’s not safe out here for you.”
The cat broke eye contact and lifted a dainty paw, licking it as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
Inside the house, Caphy’s nails clicked across the foyer tiles. She stood looking at me, her tail wagging. Apparently, all was well. “Thanks, sweet girl.”
The wagging tail increased its tempo.
I looked at the still-bathing cat. “We’re going inside. I hope you’ll join us.” I felt only slightly silly talking to the cat as if she could understand me. There was something about the feline’s demeanor that made me feel like she could understand at least some of what I was saying. I wondered if her previous owner had talked to her a lot.
I had trouble seeing Penney Sellers as a loving pet owner. But she’d had to love somebody, I guessed. Or something, besides money.
I ducked through the door and bent to kiss Caphy’s wide head. “Let’s go clean that scratch, Caphy girl.”
With a final glare at the door, she fell into step beside me. Five minutes later, I saw the long, low shape of the Siamese cat easing past the kitchen door. I finished filling Caphy’s water bowl and hurried to close the front door before LaLee could go back outside.
When I turned back around, I twitched in surprise.
LaLee was sitting right behind me, staring at me through her expressive blue eyes. I got the sense she was letting me know she could have escaped if she’d chosen to.
“Okay, message received. You’re an alien from another planet, and you’re smarter than anybody,” I told her, frowning. “Now, do you think you could bend that stick in your butt enough to follow me into the kitchen and eat?”
She opened her mouth and gave a throaty yowl. I decided to take it as agreement. I knew when she came into the kitchen because Caphy stopped licking her bowl and scooted under the table, laying her head on her paws and watching the cat as if she were a ninja warrior sent to eradicate all pibls from existence.
“You two need to get along. Just for a little while.”
LaLee yowled again, her tail held high and twitching with irritation.
“You’re wrong about Caphy, Miss LaLee. She’s a very sweet girl.”
The cat’s response was nearly a growl it was so low and grumbly.
I pulled a can of soft cat food out of the cabinet and opened it, scooping some into a bowl and placing it in front of LaLee. She looked at it and then smacked the edge of the bowl with her paw, making it rock and nearly tip over.
My cell phone rang. I grabbed it off the counter. It was Arno. “Hey.”
“Hey, Joey. I was just calling to find out what you ended up doing with that cat.”
“Why? Feeling guilty?”
“Joey.” His voice was filled with disgust, but the beats of silence that followed told me I’d hit the nail on the head. “I do feel bad that I can’t do more.”
“Can’t or won’t?” I asked. I knew it was kind of mean, but I couldn’t help twisting the knife a bit. He’d been such a jerk about helping me.
“Can’t. I wasn’t lying, Joey. I’m not set up to take in stray animals.”
LaLee gave the bowl of food a tentative sniff and then tapped a bit of it out onto the floor with her paw. She sniffed it again and then, with obvious reluctance, tasted it.
It didn’t come back out again, so I guessed she didn’t hate it. “Whatever. She’s here with me. Caphy’s already got a hole in her nose.”
He sighed. “I guess I could take her myself.”
LaLee lifted her head, narrowing her expressive blue eyes at me as if she understood what we were discussing. A wave of sadness made my chest tight. “It’s nice of you to offer…”
“Well, I don’t want Caphy to get beat up.” His voice held a note of humor, and my lips twitched.
LaLee’s eyes narrowed another fraction. I frowned, wondering why I wasn’t jumping at the chance to unload her. For some reason, the idea didn’t appeal. I realized how hard it would be on her to be moved again. And it was highly doubtful Arno would understand her unique temperament. I pictured them in a standoff, eyeing each other with hostility across the room.
I sighed, shaking my head. “No. Thanks for offering. But I’ll keep her for now. I think we’re starting to come to an understanding.” I glanced at Caphy—still hunkered under the table, watching the cat—and silently wis
hed for her forgiveness.
“You sure?”
LaLee started to eat again. It occurred to me she might be an alien after all. “Yep. How’s the investigation going?”
“Not great. Our suspect pool is large.”
“Yeah. I got that feeling from the few people I spoke to. Ms. Sellers was not a popular woman.”
“No. And I don’t get what she was doing, trying to list everything in town. She couldn’t possibly have buyers for all the homes and businesses she wanted to list.”
“Hal and I had the exact same thought. I guess she wouldn’t necessarily have to have buyers. The article in the paper and the new subdivision are bringing a lot of potential buyers into Deer Hollow. It would have been a calculated risk.”
“Yeah. I guess. I don’t get the sense from her partner that she knew what Sellers was up to though. Don’t you find that strange?”
“It is strange.” I frowned, thinking of the slamming door when I went to visit the realtor. “Is there a third realtor in that practice?” I asked.
“Not that I know of. Why?”
“No reason. I just thought maybe another opinion on that would be helpful.”
I thought of Hal’s speculation after visiting Scott Abels. “Did Hal tell you about the title theft angle?”
“He did. I’m looking into it now. I have to tell you. I’m shocked by how easy it is to steal someone’s home title.”
“That’s not very comforting.”
“No. It’s not. When things slow down, I’m going to look into title insurance myself.”
“Do you think that’s what Penney Sellers was into? She certainly seemed to live above a realtor’s salary.”
“Could be. But not necessarily. She was a very successful realtor.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. I did some background on her. She was the leading real estate salesperson in the state of Indiana for the last five years. She sold a lot of properties. My understanding is a large part of her success came from cold-calling homeowners like she’d been doing here.”
“I can’t believe that worked for her.”
“Well, I’m guessing it worked better in the city than it would down here in Bumpkin town.”
I chuckled.
“Is your boyfriend there? I need to speak to him about something.”
“Hal’s not here. I just spoke with him though, so you can probably catch him if you call.” I hesitated a minute, knowing he was going to shoot down the request I was about to make, but unable to stop myself from making it. “What do you need? If you want him to question someone, I’d be happy to help.”
“Nice try, Joey. I’ll see you around. Stay out of trouble. And I mean that literally.”
I stuck my tongue out at the phone after he disconnected. It was childish, I knew, but it made me feel better. Shivering, I realized the kitchen had grown cold since the sun went down. I tugged a sweater off one of the hooks near the door and wished I could remember where I’d left that second leash.
I came up with nothing. Rehanging the sweater, I decided to opt for a long, hot bath instead and headed upstairs to my room.
Maybe if I stopped trying so hard, the memory would come back to me.
True to his word, Hal showed up the next morning with bagels and cream cheese and fresh fruit in the form of mixed berries and melon.
I greeted him at the door with a smile and snatched the bag of bagels, opening it to inhale the sweet, doughy fragrance. “Mm, I’m starving.”
He grabbed the bag and tugged, and since I wasn’t letting go unless my life depended on it, I came with it, bumping up against his broad chest and giving a surprised little gasp of pleasure.
“Morning,” he said in a husky voice. His lips found mine and lingered there, curling my bare toes and making my stomach jump with pleasure.
When he broke the kiss, I stood with my eyes closed for a few beats, just letting the deliciousness of his greeting flow over me.
The mood was broken by the sound of paws thundering across the upstairs floor. My eyes popped open as Caphy, a devil-eyed feline hot on her tail, bounded down the steps, tail tucked and ears pinned back.
She leaped off the bottom step and threw on the brakes, skidding across the foyer floor and into Hal’s jeans-clad legs. If he’d been a smaller man he’d have gone down under the assault. As it was, he wobbled slightly and then reached down to wrap his arms around my dog, hefting her off the ground as the cat slid to a graceful stop mere inches from his feet.
LaLee gave a throaty yowl and snapped her tail a few times before changing direction, rubbing against my calf as she headed toward the kitchen.
I looked at Hal and my quivering pibl. I grinned. “You’re pathetic, Cacophony.”
She whined softly, licking her lips and then swiping a wide, pink tongue over Hal’s cheek.
He scowled. “I’m drenched.”
Giggling, I motioned toward the kitchen, hugging my bag o’ bagels. “Come on. She’ll feel better after she has a bagel with cream cheese.”
Hal settled Caphy back onto her feet and followed me.
Not an easy task, given that he had seventy pounds of pitty glued to his legs.
Chapter Thirteen
“Where are we off to today?” I asked Hal as I speared the last piece of watermelon from my bowl.
He wiped his fingers with a napkin and sat back. “I’m thinking we should talk to George Shulz.”
“The lawyer who handled the sale of Uncle Dev’s cabin to you?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
Hal sipped from his steaming mug of black coffee. “Because he might know where Devon is. Max’s words stuck with me. She’s right. If Devon thought Penney Sellers was a threat to you, he’d do just about anything to stop her.”
“Including murder?” I asked, incredulous. “I don’t believe that.”
“I’m not sure you really know him.”
Irritation flared, but I held my tongue for a minute, forcing myself to consider his charge. As the initial anger passed, I realized he was right. I’d never known the real Devon Little. He’d been a figment of my childhood impressions and then, after my parents died, a gossamer thread that tied me to their memory. “Okay. I’ll give you that. Still…”
He settled his mug on the table. “I’m not saying I believe he did it, Joey. I’m just saying it’s worth exploring. If nothing else, we can rule him out as a suspect.”
I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t fault his reasoning. “Okay. Let’s go see George Shulz. I have to admit, after seeing Max grimace when you said his name, I’m kind of interested in meeting him.”
“Yeah, well, don’t get too excited. You’re going to want to pinch his head off after five minutes.”
The lawyer’s office was located on one of the short, dead-end streets that jutted from Main Street in Deer Hollow. It was a tiny, yellow clapboard house with a winding brick sidewalk leading to a dark green door.
The yard was well-trimmed. The house was freshly painted, and the sidewalk looked new. Still, the house gave off a slightly shabby air. Like, if it had shoulders they’d be rounded and drooping. And if it had hair, it would be lank and stringy.
A large, gold and black sign in the yard proclaimed it the Shulz Law Practice, with George Shulz’s name and letters spelled out in six-inch-high letters.
Like the house, the sign looked as if it might have barely survived a zombie apocalypse, its body tilting ever so slightly windward, scarred and chipped.
I couldn’t help wondering if the owner of the practice would be equally weary-looking.
Hal slid me a look as he opened the front door. “Gird your loins,” he murmured softly.
I grinned, wondering what it was about George Shulz that made him such a difficult character to be around. I had my suspicions. But I was about to learn how wrong I could be.
George Shulz wasn’t your typical arrogant, condescending lawyer type. He was more a mix of the grumpy neighbor and Hanni
bal Lecter.
The interior of the office looked like the site of a level five hurricane. Papers mounded every surface, interspersed like fillings on an ugly sandwich between binders dressed in a thousand hastily scribbled stickies.
The walls were covered in a mismatched array of bookshelves, some wood and some metal. Some of the shelving looked new. Some looked like it might have made the trip to the continent on a Viking ship, with unidentifiable stains and a tattered appearance consistent with that impression.
The room smelled like cat urine, mildew and other even less pleasant things. The reason for the first of those smells was easily uncovered as a fat, black and white feline wandered past, turning to glare at us and voice its displeasure that we’d intruded on its sanctuary. From high atop the worst looking example of book-shelvery, a thin, gray cat groomed its paws and ignored us completely. A strident hiss drew my attention to the coffee maker on a battered old cabinet across the room, where an orange striped feline observed us with a level of hostility I was pretty sure we hadn’t earned.
In the small, equally cluttered conference room through the door to our immediate right, two more cats lounged on a claw-scarred wooden table, and another was draped over one of the stained kitchen chairs shoved beneath it.
Hal sniffed and then sneezed several times violently, until I was worried for his safety. I touched his arm. “Maybe you should wait outside.”
He shook his head, pulling a hankie from his pocket and loudly blowing his nose. “I’ll be okay as soon as the antihistamines kick in.”
I looked around with a frown. “Where’s Mr. Shulz?”
A flushing noise offered a disgusting response to my question, and a door beside one of the metal shelves opened with a bang.
I flinched, my OCD kicking in. There definitely hadn’t been enough time between the flush and the opening of the door for the man blinking at us from the doorway to have washed up. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans in self-defense.
No way was I shaking his hand.
