by Linda Reilly
The plea in her aunt’s voice tore a hole in Lara.
The sudden roar of an engine made them both jump. A car had pulled into the driveway, its motor growling like a bear.
Lara leaped off her chair. She peeked outside, and her insides curdled. In the ambient light, she saw the outline of a behemoth car idling in the driveway. It looked like the one that had nearly picked off a pedestrian that afternoon near the coffee shop. Her own car, the rental, was parked on the opposite side. She’d purposely kept it out of the way in case any more police vehicles decided to pay a visit.
Lara thought about flipping on the porch light, but then nixed the idea. It might attract the interloper’s attention—the kind of attention she definitely didn’t want.
“Aunt Fran,” Lara said, trying to keep her voice from rattling, “I don’t want to alarm you, but there’s a car here, and I’m pretty sure it’s the same one I saw this afternoon after I left the coffee shop. The driver almost ran a woman down, and I witnessed it. Maybe you should go in another room while I get rid of him.”
And hope he’s not here to get rid of me.
Aunt Fran scraped back her chair. “Absolutely not,” she said, latching onto her cane. “I won’t put up with anyone coming here and threatening my niece.” She rose, went to the window, and stood next to Lara. “Should I call nine-one-one?”
Lara felt her heart hammering. “No, honestly, Aunt Fran, this guy could be a nutcase. I really wish you’d go in the parlor and let me handle it.”
Her aunt started to protest when the unwanted visitor suddenly doused his headlights and shut off his engine. Lara’s mouth felt like a wad of cotton. Instinctively, she pushed her aunt gently to the side, away from the door.
The driver’s-side door to the monster car opened, then slammed shut. A man got out. For a few moments, he paused and looked around, as if confused. Then he started walking toward the porch steps, clutching something in his hand. It looked like a box of some sort, tied with string or twine.
At least it isn’t a gun, Lara thought. Unless there was a gun in the box.
Something about his shape was maddeningly familiar.
And then she got it.
Now he was climbing the steps.
Her blood reaching the boiling point, Lara flipped on the porch light and whipped open the door. The man jumped back and let out a startled squeal.
“Luca Calabrese! Get your butt in here so I can kill you.”
Chapter 23
Luca stepped gingerly over the threshold, his expression a mixture of fear and defiance. “Okay, I know what you’re gonna say, and I’m sorry! I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry I almost ran over that old lady.” He glanced at Aunt Fran and blushed. “No offense.”
“I don’t know who you are, young man,” Aunt Fran said in a voice that would send Godzilla packing. “But you need to sit right there, lower your voice, and explain yourself.” Using her cane, she pointed at her vacated kitchen chair.
Luca clutched the box—a pink bakery box—to his black leather jacket and backed into her chair, dropping onto it sideways with a thud. He tossed back the lock of raven-black hair that dangled over his right eye.
“So you admit it,” Lara said, seething. “You nearly ran down an elderly pedestrian.” She’d save the stalking part for later. “By the way, Aunt Fran, this is Luca, my landlady’s grandson. Luca, this is my aunt Fran.”
The young man looked visibly rattled. For one crazy moment Lara thought he was going to burst into tears. “I didn’t mean to,” he muttered, pouting. “I just got so, like, freakin’ ticked when I saw you huggin’ that guy at the coffee shop.”
Lara felt her jaw drop. Aunt Fran gave her a curious look.
“You were watching me? Through the glass?”
“Not exactly. Well, yeah, kinda, but not at first. I was gonna go in and ask someone for directions. I couldn’t find the sign for High Cliff Road. Anyhow, I was halfway through the coffee shop door when I saw that guy with the briefcase huggin’ you. Freaked me out, like, totally. You never said you had a boyfriend in New Hampshire.” He gave her a hurt look. “Anyhow, I went back to my car and sat there, kinda just watchin’. When you popped out of the place, I was afraid you’d see me so I took off. I know I was going too fast. I…wasn’t thinkin’, I guess. Is that old lady okay?” he said, in a meek tone.
If Lara hadn’t been a proponent of nonviolence, she’d have smacked him. Up one side and down the other.
“First of all, who I choose to hug is none of your business. None. Do you read me?” She pointed a finger between his eyes. “And by the way, that man asked for permission to hug me. He’s an old friend I hadn’t seen in ages.”
Lara saw her aunt suppress a smile. Had she suspected it was Gideon who’d hugged her at the coffee shop?
“Okay, okay. I hear ya.” Luca flushed to the tips of his ears and then plopped the pink box on the table. “Before I forget, Nana said to give you these. They’re the macaroons you like, the ones with the sliced almonds.”
“Tell her thank you,” Lara said, itching to dig into the box. “But I’m not finished with you. Do you know that women do not appreciate being followed? Did you know stalking is a crime?”
Luca groaned. “Come on, Lara. You can’t seriously call that stalking. I brought you cookies, didn’t I? Besides, I was only doin’ what Nana told me to do.”
Very deliberately, Lara sat down opposite Luca and stared him down. “Are you telling me that Gabby asked you to drive all the way up here just to give me cookies?”
“Nah. She told me to drive up here to give you this.” Luca unzipped his leather jacket and pulled out a large white envelope, folded in two. He tossed it on the table in front of Lara. “Nana thought it might be important, so she told me to bring it to you. And she said to tell you that she misses you, but to take all the time you need. All she cares is that you’re comin’ back.”
That annoying lump filled Lara’s throat again.
“Well, tell her thank you,” Lara said raggedly. She looked at Aunt Fran, who was leaning on her cane, her sharp gaze focused on Luca.
Luca gave a quick nod and moved to the edge of his chair. Lara could see he wanted to bolt. “I better go. I told my buddy I’d have his car back by seven, so I’m, like, already—whoa! Hey there, little guy! Where did you come from?”
The look of surprise on Luca’s face was nothing short of comical. Munster, who’d been lurking under the table, had apparently decided to check out this stranger.
“That’s Munster,” Aunt Fran informed him. “It appears you’ve made a friend.”
Luca took Munster’s head gently in both hands and gave him a good rub. “Dude, you are like, some cool cat. Aw man, I wish I had a cat like you.”
Lara smiled and shook her head. Luca loved cats?
Munster settled in Luca’s lap and issued a steady purr. Lara felt her mood soften. “Hey look, Luca, I appreciate your driving all the way up here with the letter.”
Luca shrugged. “Yeah, whatever. Nana thought it might be important. But would you do me a solid, Lara? Don’t tell her about me almost runnin’ down that old dame, okay? Otherwise I’ll have to hear about it for the rest of my frickin’ life.”
“I won’t, but I want you to think about what you did, Luca. That could’ve turned out bad. Seriously bad. You were lucky that woman had a little oomph in her step. She made it to the curb in the nick of time.”
“I know.” His face paled. “If you find out who it was I almost creamed, I promise I’ll send her the biggest box of chocolates I can find, okay?”
Lara stuck out her hand. “Deal.”
Luca shook her hand weakly, then stood with Munster clinging to his jacket. “Sorry, Munster, but I gotta split, okay?” He set the cat gently on the chair he’d vacated.
Aunt Fran had tottered over to the fridge and was fussing with something on the counter. “Wait just a minute, young man,” she ordered. She handed him a bottle of water and a brown paper bag. “I
made you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for the road.”
His eyes lit up. “Sh…oot, that’s my fave. Thanks! Nana’s always making me sandwiches with salami and prosciutto and stuff like that. I never get to just be a kid anymore.”
And that said it all.
As for Aunt Fran—Luca had frightened them both half out of their wits, and she still sent him on his way with a snack.
Lara stood at the screen door, peering into the darkness. She watched as Luca backed his car carefully out of the driveway. This time he was driving about seven miles an hour.
“Well, at least I got my adrenaline rush for the day,” Lara said wryly.
Her aunt sat down again. “He seems infatuated with you. How old is he?”
“Twenty-four. Going on sixteen.” Lara rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “Now, first things first.” She snapped the string on the pink box and opened the lid. Inside was a batch of plump, golden-brown cookies graced with sliced almonds. Lara snatched one up and invited her aunt to do the same.
“God, how I’ve missed these,” Lara said. “I swear, since I started working at the bakery, almond paste has become one of my favorite food groups.”
Aunt Fran tested a cookie. “Delicious,” she pronounced after she’d swallowed a bite.
“Okay, back to business,” Lara said around a mouthful of her second cookie. She picked up the envelope and peered at the label. “Huh. It’s from a Wayne Lefkovitz. Louisburg Square, Boston.”
“Someone you know?”
“No, I have no idea who he is.” Lara pulled on the tab and ripped it open.
Inside was a one-page letter, printed in an elegant font on a sheet of pale gray stationery. Lara read it once, then once more—just to be sure she hadn’t misread it. A twinge of excitement rushed through her.
Her aunt read her face and smiled. “Good news?”
“It’s…unbelievable news. Remember the pics of the three watercolors of Boston I showed you? Well, this man apparently saw them in the gallery where they’re on display. He wants to buy them, but only on the condition that I paint three additional watercolors with the same theme. He wants to choose which Boston landmarks he’d like me to paint. Apparently he’s a private collector with his own personal gallery.” Lara jiggled in her chair. “Aunt Fran, look at what he wants to pay me!” She held up the letter for her aunt to read.
“Oh, Lara, this is fantastic news,” Aunt Fran said, skimming the contents of the letter.
In his letter, Lefkovitz mentioned that he’d located Lara’s address through her Web ste, since the gallery owner had refused to give him her contact info. Lefkovitz urged her to call him as soon as possible so that they could discuss details.
“I’m impressed that this guy took the time to write a letter and overnight it to me,” Lara said. “He could just as easily have shot me an e-mail through my Web site.”
“Personally,” Aunt Fran said, “I think it’s a sign of good old-fashioned courtesy.”
“I’m going to call Mr. Lefkovitz and assure him that I will accept his offer. He seems anxious for me to start work on the paintings.”
While she was thrilled about this latest development, she knew it added one more twist to her already jumbled plans.
Lara climbed into bed that night, her mind like a clothes dryer tossing around ideas until they fell into a muddled heap. Izzy nestled into her neck, while Pickles tucked herself behind Lara’s legs. She was floating into dreamland when a faint brrrpp drifted from under her bed.
Aunt Fran was right, she thought. Ballou had been finding refuge there.
“Good night, Ballou,” she called softly. “Always remember, you’re safe here. Safe and loved.”
Chapter 24
Feline cleanup was getting faster and more efficient with every passing day. Lara now had the litter box scooping/scrubbing detail down to a science, and could zip through it in under an hour.
Today was Sunday. The house smelled so much better than it had when Lara had arrived on Wednesday. She’d decided that, later today, she’d experiment with making her own air fresheners. If she could get her hands on some inexpensive cardboard cutouts and scented oils, she could make some that would look adorable—and smell nice at the same time. It would mean another excursion to Jepson’s for supplies, but she didn’t mind. It was her debit card that was screaming, No, please! Not again!
She had enough gas in her rental car to get back to Boston. That, at least, was a relief.
Shortly after she’d read Wayne Lefkovitz’s letter the night before, she’d given the man a call. He’d been delighted to hear from her, and was anxious to give her a deposit on the newly commissioned artwork. Their verbal agreement firmly in place, he also promised to purchase her first three paintings from the Marlborough Street gallery.
Was her career finally taking off? Was her artwork going to gain some recognition? The idea thrilled Lara. It motivated her to get back to her painting, something she’d neglected for the better part of the week.
But something else was germinating in her brain.
That morning, when she’d cleaned the litter boxes in the closed-in porch at the back of the house, it had struck her that the space was rarely used. Aunt Fran preferred the large parlor—or the spot in front of her bay window in her bedroom—for relaxing with a book or watching television.
It is a shame, she thought. The porch had insulated windows and screens on one side, with a perfect view of the yard and the meadow beyond. It was ideal for enjoying summer breezes during the balmier months. In the colder weather, the heat that came from the old-fashioned floor grate infused the room with a cozy warmth.
The porch contained a folding card table and chairs, along with a vintage pullout sofa. It was a refuge of sorts for old furnishings that didn’t fit anyplace else. The walls needed a paint job—a task that could be done in a day. The windows had plain white shades, and were devoid of curtains or valances. The dull, gray carpeting—the kind that used to be called indoor-outdoor—was worn in several spots.
But it had possibilities.
What if Lara fixed up the porch and turned it into a casual sitting area? On designated days, maybe between one and four, visitors could stop by and have tea and snacks while they visited with the cats. If her aunt served the refreshments free of charge, it wouldn’t be a true eating establishment, like many of the new cat cafes that were springing up.
It would simply be a shelter. Stop by. Enjoy some treats. Bond with cats.
Adopt a cat.
Lara sighed. She knew it wouldn’t be that easy.
Right now, Aunt Fran was deeply attached to all of her cats. Nonetheless, Lara felt sure she would allow the kittens, at least, to be adopted into loving homes. With the early days of winter nipping at their heels, it wouldn’t be long before other cats that needed rescuing would come along. Feral or not, every cat deserved care and love.
Lara had to give it more thought, she knew, before she sprang the idea on her aunt. She’d first have to check the state laws for establishing a shelter. They’d also need to work with Aunt Fran’s veterinarian to provide neutering and shots. Establish adoption fees. Devise a way to evaluate those who applied to adopt. They’d need a ramp to make it accessible to everyone. And a separate parking area to be set out.
Oh boy. It was a lot, now that she analyzed it. Would it be biting off more than they could chew? Could Aunt Fran handle it when Lara wasn’t there?
Lara would be in Boston, but maybe she could find her aunt some help. Lara still intended to visit at least once a month. Instead of lugging art supplies back and forth, she’d buy more and leave them at her aunt’s. If she could persuade Gabby to give her more flexible bakery hours, she might squeeze in an extra day in New Hampshire here and there.
The kicker was the generous fee she’d be getting from Wayne Lefkovitz. His offer had stunned her. It would be the most she’d ever earned from her artwork.
She could use a chunk of it to renovate the porch, and to pa
y any legal fees needed to establish the shelter. Lara grinned. She just happened to know a lawyer in town who might be willing to help.
But she needed to think. She needed to plan.
It couldn’t be done all at once.
Grinning as if she’d discovered a vein of platinum in her aunt’s yard, she scurried up the stairs to fetch her art supplies and her tablet.
Lara considered setting up her workspace on the back porch, but then instantly rejected the idea. Munster, ever the considerate helper, would no doubt want to inject his artistic notions into her work. She pictured him jumping onto the table and sticking his paws in all the paints. For sure, he’d try his paw at painting something. He might even be a better artist than Lara, which would be truly embarrassing.
Chuckling at the mental image, Lara carried the card table from the back porch into the small parlor. She’d spent so many hours in that room when she was a girl. The cats, for some reason, rarely went in there, so it would be the perfect place to paint.
Aunt Fran had been unusually quiet at breakfast. She’d asked Lara if they could attend the Sunday noon service at Saint Lucy’s, and, naturally, Lara had agreed. After that, her aunt had excused herself and headed upstairs to shower and get ready for church. Lara suspected she needed some private time, so she’d left her alone.
Today, Lara wanted to paint another watercolor of Blue. The first one had been good, more than acceptable. But today, after studying it in a different light, she found it lacking. She decided to start fresh.
New day. New painting.
She still wasn’t sure the fluffy Ragdoll was her Blue. If she were honest with herself, she’d say it was unlikely. The new Blue was probably a descendant of the original one—a genetic doppelganger with ancient memories passed down from her kitty mom.
Lara set up her paints and brushes and got to work. She made a quick sketch of the cat, then began to fill in with color. It was coming along nicely until she began painting the ears. She wasn’t getting the color right. Darn! She wanted a rich chocolate brown, but the shade wasn’t right—it was edging toward charcoal. She’d mixed in too much black.
