by Linda Reilly
Downstairs, Lara made herself a cup of peppermint tea and went into her studio. She’d ignored working on her watercolors for way too long. It felt as if she hadn’t painted in a week.
She set the painting of the wildflowers in Deanna’s yard back onto her easel. She gathered her supplies and went to work. After a few haphazard strokes, she pushed all of it aside.
I can’t concentrate, she thought glumly. This just isn’t coming together.
The Willoughbys would be by in the morning to pick up Bootsie. Lara removed her colored pencils from the drawer in her worktable. Her mind skittering in different directions, she sketched a five-by-seven likeness of Bootsie’s furry face, emphasizing the cat’s big green eyes. It worked up quickly. This type of sketch always did. When she was through, she slid it into a cardboard mat and then into a plastic bag. If the Willoughbys opted to have it framed, an inexpensive standard size would fit.
Lara went over to the shelf where she’d tucked the Wild Carrot Society leaflet. She’d never had a chance to finish reading it. She turned each yellowed page with care. It was apparent that it had been written solely for men. A key paragraph jumped out at her:
Your flower, when worn, is a symbol of safe harbor. Wear it proudly and often, as you may be approached one day by a woman seeking asylum. Yes, asylum. Make no mistake—no man has the right to strike or abuse his wife. The police will dismiss it as a domestic dispute, but you may not. If approached by a woman in fear of her husband, assure her of safe harbor. We will assess her needs and quietly arrange for her relocation, and that of her children if need be.
Safe harbor, Lara mused. This was serious stuff, especially for the 1960s. When did places like women’s shelters first become available? She wasn’t old enough to remember that far back.
The pamphlet also encouraged members to recruit others, but with a careful eye toward true sympathizers. For sure it had been a secretive group, even if their purpose had been a noble one.
Wilbur Tardiff had been a visionary, Lara decided. Ahead of his time. Back then, some might have called his views extreme. But how did he recruit members? How did he know that a new member might not be an abuser himself?
Maybe that was why the group disbanded. Without the internet and other social media, communication among the members would have been dicey—limited to written notes, or telephone calls, or secret meetings.
Wait, though. What did Uncle Amico tell her?
The man who started it died, and no one wanted to pick up the ball. His death seemed like a bad omen.
A bad omen. What the heck did that mean? Why had the others been afraid to carry the so-called ball?
Lara sighed, frustrated. She closed the leaflet and tossed it on her table.
She reached for her mug. Her tea had already cooled. She started to loop her fingers around the handle when it tipped over onto the floor. A puddle formed, minty and fragrant.
“Ach,” Lara said, adding a few curses to the mix. “Now how in the heck did I do that?”
She reached for the roll of paper towels she always kept in her studio and sopped up the tea. No harm done, just another mess to clean. The wood floor needed refinishing anyway. A project for another year, she thought.
Lara felt something breeze past her ankles. She looked down, but saw nothing.
“I’m definitely going nuts,” she muttered to herself. “Or maybe I’ve already arrived.”
Chapter 25
Sherry looked like a different person when Lara went into the coffee shop at seven the next morning. “You made it!” Sherry squealed. “I thought for sure I wouldn’t see you again till all the drama with Deanna Daltry was over.” She set a steaming mug of coffee in front of Lara, along with a bowl of half-and-half packets.
Lara stared at her. Her friend’s black hair fell around her face in a shiny, stylish bob. Her makeup was more subtle than usual, applied in earth tones that emphasized her cheekbones. It was the first time in a while Lara had seen Sherry care about her looks. She’d always been a take-me-or-leave-me kind of person.
“Sher, your hair came out great today. Very pretty.”
Sherry shrugged. “Kellie told me it was time to ditch the railroad spikes. I decided to give it a try. Truth be told, this ’do is a lot easier to take care of.” A flush crept up Sherry’s neck and into her cheeks.
“Well, it’s very becoming.” Lara didn’t want to make a big deal of it. Sherry was sensitive about receiving compliments. She’d always suffered from lack of self-esteem. Plus, Lara suspected Sherry’s new friend had something to do with her makeover.
“As for the drama,” Lara said, plopping half-and-half into her mug, “I’m hoping that part is over. The kittens seem to be doing well. Deanna invited Aunt Fran and me to lunch yesterday, but I had a lot of other things going on, so I asked for a rain check.”
“But the cops haven’t caught the killer yet!”
“I know, but I can’t do anything about that, right?” Lara crossed her fingers under the counter. The fibs just kept on coming. “I’m going to have to eat and run, so can I have a blueberry muffin? I’ve got a family—a dad and a little boy—picking up Bootsie this morning, so I need to get back.” She felt tears push at her eyelids.
Sherry’s face fell. “Aw, sweet little Bootsie’s leaving?”
“Don’t say it that way. She’s going home with some lovely, kind people. She’s on her way to a happier life.”
“How’s Fran taking it?”
“Right now she’s fighting a cold, but she took the news pretty well. She knows it’s our goal to place cats in loving, forever homes.”
“But she still doesn’t feel well?”
Lara took a sip of her coffee. “Her cold spiked yesterday, but I noticed this morning she was breathing better. I think she’s on the mend.”
Sherry scooted off to give her mom Lara’s muffin order, then came right back. The coffee shop door opened, dispensing three telephone workers. Sherry waved to them, and they tipped their hardhats at her. “It’s getting busy,” she said, “but you and I still need to chat. You haven’t caught me up on how the G-man is doing.”
“The G-man?”
“Yeah, I decided that’s a good name for Gideon.”
Lara laughed. “I’m sure he’d love that moniker,” she said, hoping to deflect the question.
Sherry shot a glance at the door. “Maybe we can talk later, after work. What’s your day looking like?”
“Adoption this morning, then Kayla, our new gal, will be working today. I want to sit with her and go over some ideas I have for the shelter. Since she’s studying for her vet tech degree, she’s the ideal person to bounce things off of. And she loves cats more than any other animal.”
“I can’t wait to meet her.” Sherry lifted her gaze toward the door, slumping when a pair of white-haired seniors strolled in.
“Does he come in on Mondays?” Lara asked in a low voice.
Sherry looked at her for a long moment, then sagged. “He has for the past three weeks. Thing is, he doesn’t really have a set schedule. He’s in sales and has different routes every week.”
Lara didn’t want to pressure her friend with more questions. Sherry’s luck with men had been about the same as Lara’s, at least until Lara started seeing Gideon. “Well, I hope he comes in today.”
Sherry’s face brightened with a shy smile. “Yeah, me too.”
Daisy Bowker rushed out of the kitchen and plunked Lara’s muffin down on the counter. “Hi, Lara! Give my love to Fran! Gotta run.”
“That’s another thing,” Sherry said, leaning over the counter. “Mom and I have been arguing over hiring some help. We’re doing this all ourselves, every day, and it’s killing us. Even if I wanted a life, when would I have time for it?”
“Your mom disagrees?”
“Yeah, she doesn’t want to spend the money on an employee. We do ok
ay here—we keep the bills paid—but we’re not exactly rolling in money. I get what she’s saying, but at some point I want to have a life. The thing is, she works her patoot off every day. I guess she expects me to do the same.”
Lara’s heart went out to her. Sherry worked hard every day, too. She needed and deserved time for herself.
“I wish I could help,” Lara said.
“Ah, don’t worry about it, cat lady,” Sherry said lightly. “I shouldn’t even have whined about it.”
They agreed to talk later and plan a date for an evening out.
Lara gulped the rest of her coffee, shoved in the last crumbs of her muffin, and headed back to her aunt’s.
* * * *
“Well, good morning,” Aunt Fran said. She sat at the kitchen table, a cup of tea and a slice of dry toast in front of her. Dolce, the perpetual lap cat, rested in the folds of her summer nightgown.
“Hey, you’re up already?” Lara said. “I was going to bring some breakfast upstairs for you.”
“I wanted to get out of bed,” Aunt Fran said. “I can’t stand being so idle.”
“When you’re sick you need to rest,” Lara scolded.
“I’m better today. I can feel the cold slinking away. I only wish it would run away instead of taking its time.”
Munster strolled into the kitchen and gazed up at Lara. She lifted him, covered his face with kisses, and set him down again.
“Today’s the day, isn’t it?” Aunt Fran said, her face creased in sadness.
Lara sat down at the table adjacent to her aunt. “I know, but it’s a good day,” she said gently. “Thanks to your taking her in as a rescue, Bootsie has known love and a safe household. Now she can be the only cat for a family who wants desperately to lavish her with even more love.”
Aunt Fran sniffled. She dabbed her eyes with her napkin. “I know. Logically, I get all that. It’s just so hard—”
Cold germs notwithstanding, Lara rose and hugged her aunt. “Get dressed and meet the Willoughbys this morning. You’ll feel better about the adoption when you see them with Bootsie. By the way, where is the lady of the hour? She disappeared right after she ate this morning.”
“When I came downstairs she was in the large parlor. She was sitting on the arm of the sofa, staring at the door to the back porch. Isn’t that strange?”
She knows it’s her special day. She knows this is the day Bruce and Petey are coming for her.
“Cats do have a sixth sense,” Lara said.
Aunt Fran smiled. “I’ll get dressed. I can’t meet Bootsie’s new people in my bathrobe, can I? A quick shower might refresh me, too.”
Her aunt finished her tea and went upstairs to shower and change. Lara went into her studio. On her tablet, she logged onto the administrative folder she’d created for the shelter. Thanks to the new app on her tablet, she was able to print out the particulars of Bootsie’s history, along with her medical records.
With Kayla now on board, Lara thought it might be time to invest in a laptop dedicated solely for shelter use. Her aunt didn’t find the tablet easy to navigate. Besides, they needed something that new employees—trusted ones like Kayla—could also use.
The Willoughbys arrived at the shelter promptly at nine-thirty. Petey’s face glowed with anticipation. He held up a bag of cat treats. “I’ll give her one in the car, and more when we get home,” he said. “Right, Dad?”
Cat carrier in hand, Bruce Willoughby grinned and ruffled his son’s hair. “Right, buddy.”
Lara felt her eyes tearing up. She handed Bruce the folder containing Bootsie’s records and the colored-pencil sketch.
“You did this?” he said, staring at the sketch.
“I did. I’m an artist by profession,” Lara explained.
“This place gets more awesome by the minute. Cat lady, for sure,” he said with a chuckle.
“Let me grab my aunt—and Bootsie. Aunt Fran is the original cat lady, and she’s anxious to meet you. And…Bootsie’s been waiting as well.”
Bruce quirked a look at her.
The moment Lara opened the door, Bootsie shot into the room like a feline projectile. Petey dropped to the floor, and Bootsie leaped onto his lap, rubbing her furry face against his rosy cheeks. Lara had to swallow back the boulder in her throat.
Aunt Fran came down the stairs just as Lara started to go up. Dressed in lightweight summer pants and a loose-fitting blouse, she looked classic and charming, even if her face was a bit too pale and her nose a bit too red. “They’re here,” Lara told her in a hoarse voice.
They both went out to the back porch. Lara made the introductions, but her aunt refused to shake hands. “Summer cold,” she told Bruce Willoughby. “I’m probably not contagious any longer, but I don’t want to risk it.”
“Totally understand,” Bruce said, holding up a hand. “My son is so happy,” he told the women quietly. “I can’t even explain how much this has meant to him. To both of us. I mean, I know there are lots of cats that need good homes, but Petey and Bootsie—look at them. They’re like soulmates.”
“They are, aren’t they?” Aunt Fran said, her eyes shiny. She reached out and scratched under Bootsie’s chin one last time.
After the Willoughbys had tucked Bootsie into her new carrier, Bruce handed Lara a check. “You said you had a sponsor covering the adoption fee, so this is a donation.”
Lara glanced at the check, her heart skipping. The check was for double the normal adoption fee.
“Thank you, Bruce. This is very generous. Once Bootsie is settled in, send us a pic of her in her new home and we’ll post it on our board.”
“You got it.” He gave them a thumbs-up and waved his son toward the door. Lara paused in the doorway and watched Petey skip out to his dad’s car. His little feet barely touched the ground.
“If only there were more homes like that for cats,” Aunt Fran said, her fingers pressed to her eyes.
“They’re out there, Aunt Fran,” Lara said and slid her arm around her aunt’s shoulder. “It’s our job to match ’em up, like we did today. So far, I’d say we’ve done a pretty good job of it.”
Aunt Fran sniffled. “You’re right. Don’t mind me. I’m going to wallow a bit today while I get used to Bootsie being gone. In fact, I never even read yesterday’s paper. I think I’ll peruse it while I have another cup of tea.”
“Great. I’m going to work on some projects for a while. Kayla should be here by eleven.”
They parted ways, and Lara went into her studio. She grabbed a pad of lined paper—something she rarely used—and dug a pen out of her supply drawer. There were three shelter matters she wanted to work on.
The first was the feeding of the cats. She’d been reading more about multi-cat households, and wondered if she should create a feeding station. Right now, none of their cats had health issues, and none were overweight. But if a cat with special needs came into the mix, it was something they’d have to consider. Plus, the kittens ate food designed specifically for them. It wasn’t unheard of for one of their adult cats, usually Munster, to sneak a sample from their dishes.
Lara wrote it down as one of the matters she wanted to discuss with Kayla.
The second item was that of household and outdoor toxins. Doing the research on Queen Anne’s Lace had made Lara more aware of plants and other everyday items that could be deadly to cats. Even the most devoted feline lovers weren’t always in tune with every poison that was out there. With Kayla’s help, Lara wanted to draw an easy-to-read cheat sheet, complete with colored sketches of the offending items.
Last of all—and most fun, Lara thought—was creating a program where kids could read to cats. Trista’s visit had sparked the idea, and Lara was anxious to run with it.
She was adding the task to the list when her cell phone chirped and flashed a familiar number—Deanna’s.
“Hey there,” Lara greeted the actress.
“Hi, Lara. How was your day yesterday?”
“Yesterday?” Strange question, Lara thought. “It was fine, really busy. This morning one of our adult cats was adopted, so Aunt Fran and I are still getting used to it. Bootsie had been with us for nearly a year.”
“Bootsie. Yes, I remember her—a sweet little girl. I hope she went to a good home.”
“An excellent one,” Lara said, grateful for the prompt. “Speaking of good homes, how are the kittens doing?”
“As adorable as ever, and happy, too,” she added quickly. “They have the run of the upstairs now, but don’t worry—I watch them carefully. As I mentioned, I hope to introduce them to the downstairs this week. As you might have guessed, this is a big place. And you’ve barely seen any of it! Which brings me to the reason I called. Do you and Fran have a busy agenda today? I told Nancy to hold off making that quiche until you and Fran were free to have lunch with me. I was hoping you could both make it today.”
Darn. This was exactly the opportunity Lara had been looking for to get back to Deanna’s, but now Aunt Fran was sick.
Lara had questions, so many questions she wanted to pose to the actress. Truth be told, she also wanted to see for herself that Noodle and Doodle were thriving. And though she was anxious to do some planning with Kayla, a day’s delay wouldn’t hurt.
“Deanna, I could definitely make the time today, but Aunt Fran’s been fighting a cold. I think she’d prefer to wait until she’s back to her old self.”
“Oh, that’s a shame.”
The note of desperation in Deanna’s voice sent an alarm through Lara. Was she that lonely in that big old place? Or was it something else? Maybe she’d grown fearful of Nancy Sherman and needed to confide in someone she trusted.
After a long pause the actress said, “Lara would you come alone then? I, well, I have kind of a surprise. I called that tealeaf reader, and she’s coming as well. Nancy will supply the food, and Joyce—Joy—whatever her name is, will supply the tea. You and I can schedule another lunch next week when Fran’s feeling better.”
