by Melinda Metz
“I was teaching high school history,” she told him. “I liked some of it, especially at the beginning. But I got to hate going in. I’d have to have cookies every day at lunch as a little reward, just to get me through.”
“It was bad enough to start a cookie habit? Good thing you got out,” David commented.
“Seriously. And now I’m trying to find myself. Which I know sounds stupid and self-indulgent. My date made that clear. I need to come up with a better way to describe it. But basically, I got an opportunity to have a year to do what I want, and what I most want is to figure out if there’s something I can do that makes me feel like how you said you feel about baking.” She took a sip of her drink. “So, back up. What about you and blind dates? Do you go on a lot of them?”
David shook his head. “That was my second in, well, ever. The first was about a week ago. She turned out to be pregnant, very pregnant, with a boyfriend, a boyfriend who showed up while we were having coffee.”
Jamie groaned. “Oh, man. That might be worse than the first one I had. He seemed great. Really great. I hadn’t wanted to meet him, because this is supposed to be the—never mind. Anyway, I thought we really hit it off. I was looking forward to seeing him again. He texted me about an hour later. I was thinking he felt the same way I did. But nope. He wanted me to find a friend to join us in, let’s say, a romantic capacity.”
The bartender shot Jamie an interested look. David turned on his stool to block her from the guy’s gaze. “I have nothing to say to that,” David admitted. “Actually, I have too many things to say to that, and I’m having trouble picking one. I’m going to go with, what an asshole.”
“Okay, to be fair, he had a cast on his arm and he was worried that he couldn’t give me enough ‘pleasure’.” She drew out the word, turning it into “pleaaaashaaare.”
“Yeah, I was right. Asshole,” David said. He finished his drink.
“Want another one?” Jamie asked. “I would be happy to buy you a drink. You’ve earned it.”
“Tempting, but no. I go to work at five. And drunk baking doesn’t always get the best results. Although I’ve ended up with a few genius new recipes. Which usually I couldn’t remember.”
“I’m going to go, too. But first—” She nodded to the ladies’ room. “Thanks for the drink. You may have at least begun to restore my faith in men.”
“And you, mine. In women, I mean,” David told her. As he left the bar, he wondered if he should have waited for her, maybe asked for her number. But she’d thanked him for the drink, which pretty much ended the conversation.
Anyway, after his blind date—both his blind dates—he was ready for some time with only Diogee for company.
* * *
Mac sat on Jamie’s chest, staring down at her. The mix of scents coming from her tonight was confusing. She seemed to be feeling many things at once. And she almost always put on new clothes when she went to bed. Tonight she’d just fallen down on top of the covers. Something wasn’t right. He’d just to have to work harder to complete his mission and find her a packmate. Humans were strange. Sometimes it took another of their own kind to completely understand them.
He headed out. Tonight there was a scent similar to Jamie’s in the air, a mix of loneliness, and anger, and something else. It was like there was invitation in the scent. He followed it, and ended up at a place he’d been to many times. The house with the bonehead and the lonely man. Maybe that invitation he was pumping out meant he’d realized he needed a human packmate. Since Jamie had that same smell, maybe she’d finally understand that Mac had found her a human he knew would be a good mate for her. He’d bring her things from a few other potential packmates, too, just in case she didn’t agree with him. There were times she didn’t. Mac had never been able to convince her that his food should be provided every time he asked.
Jamie and the man were at the top of his list. But he also had some work to do for the adolescent girl pumping out anger and sadness and frustration. Humans—so many of them needed help.
CHAPTER 10
Jamie opened the door the next morning to get the paper, still in the rumpled clothes from the night before. How could one drink have knocked her out? Maybe she’d just fallen asleep so fast to escape the memory of her horrible date. Although meeting that guy, David, at the bar had made up for it, at least a little.
It took her a second to realize that Hud Martin sat on the front steps, working on knotting a fishing fly. He turned and smiled at her, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses as usual, even though the day was overcast. “Hello, Sunshine,” he said. “Have anything you want to tell me about these?” He patted the pile of stuff that sat next to him. She hadn’t registered it, either.
Jamie leaned down so she could study the pile—another pair of boxers; two T-shirts, one much larger than the other; a neon-orange Speedo; a nose-hair trimmer; one sock, purple with tacos; a well-worn toothbrush; and a leather belt with a silver KISS belt buckle. “I have never seen any of that before.”
Hud didn’t reply. Just raised his eyebrows.
Jamie rolled her eyes. “If I stole it, why would I leave it on my front porch? You don’t need to be an evil genius to know you should hide your stolen goods.”
Hud didn’t answer. He kept working on the fly.
“If you want to investigate this, that would be great. I mean it. Like I told you, ever since I moved here, weird things have been appearing on my doormat,” Jamie blurted out to fill the silence. “My theories are: someone who has something against Desmond, who used to live here, maybe an angry ex-boyfriend. Or that I’ve picked up some freak stalker, which seems unlikely.” She had to pause to take a breath. “Honestly, it’s starting to scare me. If you could figure it out, I’d be grateful. I truly would.”
Hud attached the finished fly to his vest, then stood and propped one foot up on the top step. “Interesting that you never brought up these theories before.”
“Why would I?” Jamie snapped. “You’ve made it clear you suspected me from day one. Or me in cahoots with Ruby.”
“I keep an open mind until I catch the criminal. Which I always do. But I also don’t ignore the evidence. And you seem to be in possession of many items that don’t belong to you, as you yourself have admitted.”
“I’m not ‘in possession’ of them. They’re just sitting there,” Jamie burst out.
“On your property,” Hud answered.
“Yes, my property. Where you’re standing without my invitation,” Jamie shot back. She knew she shouldn’t let him get to her. He was just an aging actor trying to relive his glory days. But he made her nuts with his insinuations and his stupid fishing vest. The thing looked like the closest it had gotten to a body of water was a swimming pool.
Hud nodded. “I’ll be off. But I won’t be far.” Jamie watched him until he turned the corner at the end of her block. She’d half-expected him to set up a surveillance station on the sidewalk in front of her house.
It was time for her to get to the bottom of this herself. Tonight, she’d keep watch on the front porch. By tomorrow morning, she’d know exactly who kept leaving all this crap.
* * *
Jamie woke up with a start. James Corden was on the TV, but the last thing she remembered was watching Colbert. Clearly, she’d fallen asleep on the job. She stood and stretched to try to get the cramps out of her back. Her sofa was great for lounging, but not for sleeping.
She hurried over to the door and cracked it open. Nothing on the mat. Good, she hadn’t slept through that night’s delivery. She went to the fridge and got out a big bottle of Dr Pepper, not bothering with a glass, then pulled a chair up near one of the front windows where she had a good view of the walkway leading to the house.
Before she’d even had the chance to sit down, she saw something moving across the lawn. “What?” She dropped the soda bottle on her toe, but ignored the jab of pain. That was Mac out there! Outside! She’d figure out how he managed to escape later. First, she wa
s going to find out what he was doing.
Jamie slipped outside and followed her cat though the quiet neighborhood. He trotted up to a house that made Jamie think of hobbits. Without hesitation, he raced to the dog door. He didn’t use it to go in. Instead he positioned himself to one side. A few seconds later, Jamie heard wild barking and a dog’s head—a very large dog’s head—poked out. Mac gave his snout four fast whaps with the paw, which got the dog crying and jerking his head back into the house.
My cat is a little bully, Jamie thought, mesmerized as Mac immediately darted over to a large tree, climbed up to a window that was partway open, and disappeared inside. Less than a minute later, he reappeared—with something in his mouth.
“Oh no,” Jamie whispered. “Oh no. Mac is the thief. He’s a cat burglar.”
Mac trotted across the lawn, jumped to the top of the fence, then down to the ground. He walked over to Jamie and dropped the object at her feet. It was a jockstrap. It felt moist. Her cat had just brought her some strange man’s recently worn jock.
“We are not taking this home,” Jamie told him sternly. “You’re a bad kitty. Bad.” Mac began to purr loudly. He’d never had a problem with being called bad. Sometimes, like now, he even seemed to enjoy it.
She looked down at the jock. What should she do with it? Just throw it back into the yard? That should be okay.
She gingerly picked it up, but before she could launch it, she was caught by an eye-searing beam of light. She squinted into it, and saw Hud pointing a flashlight at her, the biggest flashlight she’d ever seen. “This is what you mean by knowing nothing about the stolen items, Toots?” he asked.
“I didn’t do it!” Jamie cried. “It was him!” She pointed down—but Mac had disappeared.
“Are you going for an insanity defense?” Hud asked. “That rarely works, doll baby. And I’ll testify that you and I have had several lucid chats.”
“My cat. He must have run off. But that’s what I meant,” Jamie exclaimed. “My cat took this.” She waved the jockstrap. “He dropped it in front of me, and I picked it up. Then you came at me with the Flashlight of Doom.” He still had it trained on her. She shielded her eyes with one hand. “Does it have a lower setting?”
“I think I should be asking the questions here,” Hud told her. “Exactly how many—”
The door to the house swung open, spilling soft yellow light from inside. “What’s going on out here?”
The man’s voice sounded familiar. Jamie turned and squinted at him, but couldn’t make out his features. Her eyes might be permanently damaged by the industrial-strength flashlight.
“I’ve got absolute proof of the identity of the Storybook Court thief,” Hud said, his voice ringing with triumph. “I caught her. Just like I’d catch a fish if this danged job ever let me get to the creek.”
The man snorted. “Aren’t you tired of saying that yet? How many episodes was it?” He opened the gate and stepped into the circle of light thrown by the flashlight.
“David?” Jamie exclaimed.
“Jamie?” David—it was David—sounded as surprised as she was. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here. Not right here, obviously. But in the complex,” Jamie answered. “I moved in a few weeks ago.”
“You know Toots here?” Hud asked. “And she lied to you about where she resides?”
“I didn’t lie. It just didn’t come up,” Jamie protested. “He didn’t tell me he lived here, either.”
The dog door clinked, and a huge dog wearing a pink collar slunk through. He cautiously moved over to the man’s side. David pushed him back into the yard and closed the gate. “You’ve got to stay there, dude,” he said. Then he looked from Hud to Jamie. “Can one of you tell me what’s going on?”
“Take a look at the item in her hand,” Hud suggested. “I believe it’s stolen, and most likely it was stolen from you. I caught her with it right here.”
Jamie realized she was still holding the jockstrap. She hurled it to the ground. “My cat went through your bathroom window and got it.”
“Clearly, you’ve trained the cat to be your accomplice,” Hud accused. He turned to David. “I think PETA needs to be notified, along with the police. She also managed to involve Ruby Shaffer in her crimes, someone who has never shown criminal tendencies before.”
“Wait. A cat?” David said, looking around.
“He ran off. He shouldn’t have been outside in the first place. He’s an indoor cat,” Jamie explained in a rush. “He’s obviously found an escape route. I’ll have to check the house.”
“I’ll handle this from here,” Hud said to David. He took Jamie by the elbow and she shook him off.
“There’s nothing to handle,” she snapped.
“Then you wouldn’t object to a search of your abode for other items you’ve stolen—with or without the assistance of your cat or Ms. Shaffer?”
David bent down, grabbed the jock, and shoved it in his pocket. “No matter what exactly happened, it’s hardly grand larceny. I’m not planning to press charges, so like Jamie said, there’s nothing for you to handle,” he told Hud.
“You’re clearly thinking with the wrong part of your anatomy,” Hud said. “I’ll be tracking down the other victims to see if they feel the same way.” He walked off, whistling.
Jamie and David stared at each other in the dim light coming from his house. “Thank you for that,” Jamie said. “I swear, my cat . . .” She shook her head. “It sounds too ridiculous to repeat.”
“You want to come in and have some coffee or something?” David asked.
“I wouldn’t mind sitting down for this conversation,” Jamie admitted.
“Come on.” He opened the gate. Jamie stepped through, and immediately staggered backward under the weight of two saucer-sized paws.
“Diogee, down!” David ordered. The dog kept his paws planted on Jamie and gave her a lick that went from chin to hairline. “Sorry,” he said. He grabbed the dog’s collar and yanked him off.
“Not a problem. I’m not one of those cat people who dislikes dogs.” She gave the dog a pat on the head and was almost taken out by the frantic tail wagging that followed. “You go first, Diogee,” she said, then said, “Diogee? What kind of name is that?”
“D. O. G.",” David explained.
“Ah,” Jamie said as they walked inside. “Clever, and yet unimaginative at the same time,” she teased.
“What brilliant name did you come up with for your cat?” he asked.
“Fluffy,” Jamie answered, trying, and failing, to keep a straight face. “No, actually, his name is MacGyver. But it’s looking like I should have named him Robie. After the—”
“Cat burglar Cary Grant played in To Catch a Thief,” David finished for her.
“Exactly!” Jamie said. “I love that movie, especially all the rich colors. That green in the night scenes.” She smiled. “I’m gushing. I love pretty much all Hitchcock, black-and-white or color.”
“If you love movies, you gotta love Hitchcock,” David answered. “He influenced so many of the next generation of directors. Tarantino wouldn’t be Tarantino without him.”
“The suitcase in Pulp Fiction—classic McGuffin,” Jamie agreed. “McGuffin could be a great cat name. I could have a McGuffin and a MacGyver. Except I don’t think MacGyver would tolerate another cat in the house. Too used to having things his own way.” Jamie ran out of words, remembering that she was standing in David’s house because her cat had been stealing from him.
David shoved one hand through his hair. “I guess it’s kind of late for coffee. Or are you one of the continuous coffee drinkers?”
“I don’t need anything. Except another chance to apologize and thank you for not letting Hud take me away,” Jamie told him. David dropped down on the sofa and was immediately joined by Diogee. Jamie took one of the armchairs. “Since you let me in, I guess you don’t think I’m some kind of deranged stalker. That’s something,” she added.
&n
bsp; “Considering I didn’t tell you my last name and you had no way of knowing where I lived, I think I’m safe,” David answered.
“I thought maybe I had a psycho stalker,” Jamie admitted. “Random stuff kept showing on my doormat. I guess Mac, my cat, brought it all. So if you’re missing anything else—socks, a T-shirt, a shoe, a Speedo. What else? Nose-hair clippers. Basically, if you’re missing any smallish items, let me know and I’ll search through the stuff that’s been left. Or you can come by and take a look.”
“No to the Speedo, but some of the other stuff is probably mine,” David told her. “I thought Diogee might have eaten some of them. I even called the vet.”
Jamie winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize Mac had found a way out. I still can’t believe he’s been doing this. He used to bring me the occasional dead bug as a present, but—” She lifted her hands, then let them fall in a gesture of helplessness. “I should go. It’s late. You’ve been really great about this. Thanks again. Just come by whenever to look at my cat’s ill-gotten goods. I live in the house that looks like Snow White’s cottage, next door to the Defranciscos.”
“Okay. I will.” He walked her to the door. “I need to meet this cat burglar of yours.”
* * *
The next afternoon, as soon as he got home from work, he let Diogee drag him around a few blocks, then took a shower. “Guess I’ll go get my stuff back,” he told the dog, who began to wag frantically at the word “go.” Diogee wasn’t the smartest dog on the block, but there were a few words that seemed to be directly hardwired to his tail. “Sorry. I didn’t mean you.” The wagging slowed, but kept up a hopeful back-and-forth swing.
David grabbed a biscuit from the enormous plastic jar on the kitchen counter and tossed it to Diogee. “I’ll be right back.” The tail drooped, and David heard one long, extremely pathetic howl as he left the house. But he knew Diogee would be snoozing on his king-size dog bed before he got to Jamie’s.
