The Cat Lady's Secret

by Linda W. Yezak

  After a deep breath, I decide to go home. I’ll go back for my net after they leave.

  Paul pushes out the door and looks down the street opposite my direction, and Kevin is right behind him. Neither one has my net. Maybe they don’t know it’s still in the seat.

  Paul spots me and nudges his boss. “There she is!”

  He starts in my direction, and that’s all it takes to kick my feet into gear. There aren’t enough folks on the sidewalk to dodge around, no one to hide behind, and the stores aren’t open for another hour, so I can’t dart into any of them. Best I can do is an off-balanced trot on a sore foot.

  “Hey, lady! Hey!” Paul is a few short feet behind me. “We just want to talk. Why are you running?”

  A red pickup pulls over just ahead of me and the passenger door swings open.

  “Millie! Jump in!”

  I don’t ask questions. I make a beeline for the truck and scramble into the seat without even looking at the driver until I slam the door on those evil buzzards.

  “Are you all right? What’s going on?” It’s Scott Barlow, of all people.

  I can’t worry about that now. “Just drive!”

  He pulls away from the curb and slides back into traffic. “Who are those guys?”

  “Reporters.” I’m huffing like I just ran a marathon and don’t recognize my own voice. I keep my head turned toward the right rearview mirror. The two guys are watching us drive away. Paul’s got a notepad. Bet he’s getting Scott’s plate number.

  “What do they want with you?”

  I clamp my mouth shut. Gotta keep my wits about me. This whole thing is just bizarre, and I’ve never thought out what would happen in a situation like this before. I never thought I’d be in a situation like this. What a mess I left for Annie to clean up! What on earth got into me? Never in my life have I panicked like that—and I hope I never do it again.

  The news hounds disappear into the diner, but I keep my head turned to the side window. For all I know, I look like a crazed old woman. I don’t want Scott to see me like this.

  “Millie? Do you know what they want?”

  He’s rescuing me. I’ve got to answer him—can’t be rude—but the less he knows, the better. “They think I know something.”

  “About what?”

  “About someone in town.” Nip it. Nip it right now. No more questions. “Can you just take me home?”

  Scott circles the town square, backtracking to the old Woolworth’s building. Seems like we hit every red light.

  I want my net. I want those men to leave me alone. I want all this to go away. The closer we get to The Litter Box, the antsier I am to hide in my apartment. I’ve got to think of a way out of this mess, and sitting in the truck with Scott doesn’t make it easier. When he pulls up in front of my home, I jump and run.

  Didn’t even dawn on me to thank him for the ride.

  ****

  Emily splashed cool water on her face. Her heart was still racing over what had happened to Millie.

  What a mess. There was no way Millie could be anonymous now. Paul Goodrich would be all over her like a kitten on catnip every time she went out. And Scott! Emily cringed, not even wanting to think of how close a call that had been.

  She needed to get the entire ordeal out of her mind. She'd bought a house. And not just any house, but the one of her dreams, the launching pad of her new career, the project that would keep her busy and out of sight for many months to come—a thought that carried far more weight now than ever before.

  Time for Millie to retire.

  20

  Things were rolling now. The electrician just left; he had checked the wiring and declared it old, but safe enough. She’d made an appointment with him to rewire the place at a later date.

  A plumber was on his way to make the bathrooms functional again, and Roger’s crew would begin renovations later in the week.

  The safest place for her to work and still be out of their way was the parlor. Fists on her hips, she eyed the room. The ancient gold-flocked wallpaper was cracked and pealing. Spider webs decorated the stained crown molding, and dust caked the baseboards. All the woodwork, including the window frames and the paneling that climbed a third of the way up the walls, needed revitalizing with a good dose of tung oil.

  But without electricity, which wouldn’t be turned on until later in the day, the room was too dark to work in. She tried to move the heavy drapes aside, but they crumbled at the touch. For her to be able to see what she was doing, they would have to go.

  She moved a six-foot ladder Roger had left for her, propped it in front of one of the four windows, and climbed to muscle the rose velvet valance off the wall. The heavy rod and material dropped in a heap below her, and she cautiously stepped down, coughing as she eased into the cloud of dry-rot and the throat-clogging mustiness of antiquity.

  One done, three to go.

  With her lip between her teeth, she stood back and considered taking down the lace sheers. Of course, they’d probably crumble at the touch too, and the room was stuffy enough after the first valance. Besides, if the window was bare, the afternoon sun would make the parlor too hot for work.

  She moved the ladder over a few feet, climbed it, and wrestled another fleur de lis-tipped rod from its perch and then sent it and its heavy velvet load cascading down. By the final window, her arms were quivering with fatigue as she struggled to work the last cantankerous rod off its hook. Amazing what a lack of exercise could do to a girl’s biceps. She freed the rod with a final jerk and lost her balance. The valance sank, the ladder crashed to the left, she fell backward and landed with a breath-wrenching thud on the unforgiving hardwood floor.

  “Emily!” Heavy footfalls echoed through the room, bringing Scott to her side. “Are you all right?”

  She wheezed in one breath and desperately gulped for another. The room spun like an off-kilter carousel. Closing her eyes didn’t stop the spin.

  “Is anything broken?” Scott probed her ribs with a confident gentleness he must have used on injured animals in his clinic. “Can you move your feet?”

  She wiggled her tennis shoes and drew an easier breath to answer him. “I’m fine, really. Nothing broken. Just a little dizzy.”

  “Got the wind knocked out of you, huh?”

  “Yeah.” But there was no pain when she breathed. Thank the Lord she hadn’t broken a rib. She cracked open an eyelid and looked at Scott. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be de-worming dogs or something?”

  “I’ve been trying to call you. Can you sit up?” He held her arm, slid a hand under her back for support, and helped her ease into a sitting position. “Still dizzy?”

  She rolled her head on her shoulders and rubbed her neck. “No, I think I’m all right. When did you call?”

  “I tried most of the morning. I was going to spend my lunch break driving to The Litter Box when I saw your car here.”

  “I turned off my phone and must’ve forgotten to turn it back on.” Her fingers found a tender spot on the back of her head. She was in for one doozy of a knot. “So, what’s so important you were willing to ride halfway to town?”

  He sat back on his heels and draped his arms over his knees. “I’m worried about Millie. Did she tell you what happened?”

  “Yeah, I know about it.”

  “Good. Then will you tell me?” He flipped his hands out. “All she said was the men after her were journalists wanting information about someone she knows. I assume that ‘someone’ is you.”

  Emily turned her head. “Yes.”

  “Is this about Houston?”

  “In a way.”

  Air shot through Scott’s teeth with an audible hiss. “Why can’t you tell me what you’ve told her?”

  “I didn’t tell her anything. She just knows.” The frustrations of the morning hiked Emily’s temper and tumbled out in her tone. She took a breath and reeled herself in before continuing. “Millie was there with me. She lived it with me.”


  “Lived what with you?”

  “Stop! Just stop asking me, Scott. I’m not ready to share this with you. Can’t you understand? Can’t we just enjoy each other and let this go?”

  A blend of pain and sorrow flickered across his face, but he nodded. He stood, helping her up as he did. The motion caused her head to throb for a moment, but the pain eased as soon as her feet were steady under her.

  “Mom called this morning and told me to invite you over Friday night. She said she’d make your favorite cheesecake.”

  “Double chocolate almond swirl?” Only the best cheesecake on the planet, prepared by the world’s best baker.

  The heaviness of their previous conversation hung in the air and mingled with the settling dust, but she didn’t want it to come between them now that they’d finally advanced their relationship.

  Judging from the hope apparent on his face, he didn’t either.

  “What time?” she asked.

  “Seven OK?”

  “Seven’s fine.”

  “Good. Now, how ’bout lunch? Have you eaten?”

  “Not yet.”

  If he hadn’t mentioned his mother’s cheesecake, she would’ve done just fine skipping lunch. Now she felt like she hadn’t eaten in a week.

  “Want to run to town with me?”

  She looked down at her work clothes, already coated with dust and bits of velvet. “Like this? I don’t think so.”

  “How about I just go to the deli and get us both a sandwich?”

  “That’s a plan. Make mine a meatball sub.”

  He gave her a quick kiss and ran out the door. While he was gone, she bundled the drapes and hauled them to the front yard to be carried off later.

  Every time he asked about Houston, her stomach knotted. Guilt, no doubt. If they were to continue in a relationship, she should tell him what had happened. Fairness dictated it. He had a right to know if the woman he dated was marked for murder by an angry con-artist—if she was. But the rest of it? She shuddered at the thought.

  Maybe she’d never have to tell him.

  By the time he returned, toting two plain brown paper sacks and a couple of sodas, she had cleared the disturbing thoughts from her mind and the downed drapes from the parlor floor. She was struggling to raise a window as he entered.

  “Hey, let me help you with that.” He put down their lunch and came to her side. With a couple of well-placed whacks along the frame, he managed to get the window up with relative ease, and a breeze rustled the dry lace sheers.

  “How’d you do that?”

  “It wasn’t too hard, just loosened it up a bit.” As he looked at her, his smile slipped. His gaze changed. Softer, darker. Desire smoldering in their depths. He rested his hand along the side of her neck and with his thumb, rubbed what must’ve been a smudge off her cheek. “Someday, you’ll trust me enough to talk to me.”

  Before she could even think of a response, he smothered her lips with his own. His arms slid down her back and pulled her to him as he deepened a kiss she was all too hungry for. She felt his muscles under her hands and loved the raw power in them. Right now, she’d tell him anything...

  Someone cleared his throat at the parlor’s arched entry, and Scott and Emily jumped apart like two teenagers caught by their parents.

  The stranger, with “Jason’s Plumbing” stitched on the pocket of his blue coveralls, shuffled his feet and grinned at them. “Hate to break y’all up, but if you’d just point me to the bathroom, I’ll be out of your hair and you can get back to it.”

  Emily’s face burned with what must’ve been the reddest blush in the spectrum.

  Scott, bless him, took charge and led the plumber down the hall to the first floor bath, while telling him of the other two upstairs.

  Not knowing what to do with herself, Emily paced in the parlor until he returned.

  Scott stood in front of her and rubbed her arms. “You all right?”

  “Oh, sure. Mortified, but all right.”

  “Nothing to be mortified about.” He gave her a light peck. “I’ve got a one o’clock appointment with a black lab and her sore tooth, so I’d better go. See you Friday. Don’t back out!”

  ****

  Scott took a bite of his sub-club sandwich in one hand and steered with the other. Sheriff Bailey had warned him against eating while driving more than once. But most times, if Scott wanted lunch, this was the only way. At least he didn’t have a cell phone at his ear.

  Emily was making him nuts. How long did he have to wait before she’d open up to him? How many times did he have to prove himself trustworthy?

  The idea of asking Millie about Houston had popped into his head an instant before she’d jumped from the truck. Next time he saw her, he wouldn’t think twice about it. In fact, he had stopped at the cat refuge on his way to the deli, but if she’d been inside she hadn’t answered, and an extra trip around the downtown area hadn’t awarded him with a glimpse of the gray-haired eccentric.

  His first introduction to Millie left him even more curious. In spite of her limp and her hair color, she looked younger than she appeared from a distance. But she’d only afforded him the occasional glance at her face before they’d arrived at the refuge and she’d taken off like a cat up a tree. He knew Millie was a bit secretive—like Emily—but he never realized just how much.

  And it all tied back to Houston somehow.

  He was almost tempted to find out who the reporters were who were chasing her and pump them for what they knew. But if doing so would hurt Emily, he couldn’t risk it. He’d waited too long for her.

  At the clinic, he shoved the last bite of sandwich in his mouth and wadded the paper. Parker Milligan’s maroon SUV sat in the parking lot, meaning Chica, the Labrador Retriever, was waiting to get her tooth fixed. He grabbed his soda and went inside.

  Parker stood and thrust a hand toward him in greeting. “Dani already took Chica back, but I wanted to talk to you before I left.”

  “Sure. Come to my office.”

  Scott cleared a box of medicine samples off a straight-back chair and nodded for Parker to sit. “What can I do for you?”

  “You’re already doing it.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Spencer told me about the horse and being at your place last night. He really looks up to you.”

  “I’m sure he looks up to you, too.”

  “No, not the same way. I’m his dad, and at his age, I’m just the natural enemy. He’s got so much anger in him these days. Probably because Melissa and I split up, but there’s more to it than that, and I just can’t get to the root of it. Do you know?”

  “I wish I could help. You’re right about him being angry. It doesn’t take much to spark his temper these days. Guess that’s what makes him so good at baseball.”

  “Yeah, well, now that the season’s over, he doesn’t have much of an outlet. Do you think having that horse will help him?”

  Scott squelched his excitement, not wanting to appear overeager. He didn’t want to push Parker into a decision. “Animals help all the way around. They have a calming effect on folks, and owning a horse will give Spencer a sense of responsibility, something he’ll have to take care of on a daily basis—something to look forward to every afternoon.”

  Parker nodded and rubbed his forehead as he thought. “This is going to cost some serious money, isn’t it?”

  “The horse herself is free. She’s a rescue. But her hay and stall won’t be cheap, and I can’t keep her stabled at my place after she’s healthy again. I just don’t have the funds.”

  “She’s healthy aside from being a bit underweight?”

  “Seems to be.”

  Parker’s jaw worked as he stared out the window.

  “Take your time and think about this,” Scott said. “I’ll keep her for another week or two, so you don’t have to make up your mind right now.” This wasn’t a decision to be made in a day.

  “Thanks.” Parker stood and extended his hand. “Don’t tell Spencer I�
�m considering it. I’d hate to get his hopes up.”

  Scott agreed and shook the man’s hand. Had his own father ever agonized over him this way? Probably not, but he’d like to think so.

  21

  Next morning, Emily was in a booth by eight-fifteen. The Down Home Diner hopped with the early crowd of hungry citizens. At the table in front of her, four silver-haired men drank coffee and laughed at each other’s jokes. Loners clad in business attire sat at the deli tables and the counter, all with coffee mugs in one hand and books, reports, or newspapers in the other. Emily shook open her own morning paper and smiled at the waitress as she poured the coffee.

  “You ready to order?”

  “Not yet. I’m waiting for someone.”

  “Well, I’m Annie. Call me when you’re ready.” She turned to the next table.

  The cowbell on the door clanked. Emily watched someone she didn’t know enter and then glimpsed Millie’s fish net propped against the wall behind the cash register. Thank goodness Paul Goodrich didn’t have it—and she couldn’t risk him getting it. He’d hold it for ransom. Sure I’ll give you the net, just answer one little question. Or two, or ten. No, she couldn’t risk it. She’d grab the net before she left.

  She sipped her coffee and flipped through the paper. The police and fire chief still hadn’t discovered who was burning all the houses and couldn’t draw a connection between the victims to determine a motive. But they did know the fires had been started with a highly volatile accelerant. At this point, they were offering a five thousand dollar reward for productive tips. What a blessing no one had been injured in any of these blazes. Surely, a witness would step forward with information before the arsonist hurt someone.

  She flipped to the society page and caught sight of a chatty article with Goodrich’s byline.

  Who is Dogwood’s Cat Lady?