In light of several recent reports of exceptional generosity, The Dogwood Daily has been in search of the mysterious benefactor. One recent encounter with a resident known only as “Millie” raised the question: Just who is our local cat lady?
A familiar sight around town, Millie catches strays for The Litter Box, a non-profit cat refuge owned by All Creatures, Inc., a tightly held private corporation with a membership more secretive than a cat’s night out.
Could Millie be the founder of this animal charity? Does her generosity stop at cats? Although she recently refused an interview, it would be interesting to discover the truth: Does our cat lady have angel’s wings?
The nerve of those people! What was their obsession with a few good deeds? Was generosity so uncommon these days that a giver had to be hounded by the press? Didn't laws exist to protect people from nosy reporters?
Emily’s purchase of the old Woolworth’s building was a matter of public record. How thankful she was now that Connor had possessed the foresight to incorporate her and protect her privacy. Only he and his secretary knew of her connection to “the tightly held corporation.”
The front bell rang again, and Lauren breezed in with her briefcase in hand. She scanned the diner until she saw Emily, then waded through the tables to the booth in the back corner.
“Glad you got my call to meet me here. I have so many errands to run for Rog and the kids, I’m not going to have time to breathe today.” She dropped her briefcase and purse onto the seat across from Emily and slid in beside them. “Am I late?”
“No, I was early.”
Annie brought another cup and the coffeepot. “Morning. You two know what you want, or do you need some time?”
“I know what I want.” Emily glanced at Lauren. “Do you?”
“I haven’t eaten here in ages.” Lauren grabbed a menu off the table. “What are you having?”
“Pancakes, eggs-over-easy, and sausage. Breakfast of champions.”
“Breakfast of truck drivers, you mean.”
“Long may they roll.” Emily raised her mug in salute and sipped.
After a moment, Lauren ordered and, as Annie left the table, opened her briefcase. “I have two ads ready for the printer.” She pulled them out and slid them across the table. “Which do you like best?”
“Oh, I’d forgotten how talented you are.” Using computer graphics, Lauren had developed similar advertisements for the benefit auction, prominently featuring the Perittes’ former home and an auctioneer’s gavel, with various items for auction hodge-podged in the background. Color schemes and lettering were the only differences. Emily pointed to one with the fluid gold lettering on an emerald green banner. “I like this one the best.”
“You do? I really like the Tuscany red best.”
Block print lettering in vivid, cobalt blue boldly announced the auction on the red ad, but the green was still Emily’s favorite.
Annie returned with their plates and looked over Emily’s shoulder. “Wow, those are good.”
“Be the tie-breaker and help us decide.” Lauren swiveled the two pages so Annie could see better. “Which one do you like best?”
“This is for Homer and Eloise? Does Clara know?” Before they could stop her, Annie shouted for her boss.
Emily’s jaw tightened, but she forced herself to relax. People would inevitably discover her help in the fundraiser. As long as her picture didn’t wind up in the local paper, she would be safe.
“Well, look who’s graced my humble diner!” Wiping her hands with her apron, Clara emerged from the kitchen and joined them. “You two just don’t come around often enough.” The ads caught her attention, and she picked up the green one. “What’s all this?”
“Lauren’s planning an auction for the arson victims.” The words tumbled from Emily’s mouth before Lauren could respond. “Maybe you’d be willing to post an ad in your window.”
“Once we decide which we’re using,” Lauren added.
“I really like this red one.” Clara’s crinkled cheeks flushed, and her eyes rimmed with tears. “But whichever one you choose, bring a few by, and I’ll put them up myself. I’ll even donate a half-dozen dinner specials to the highest bidder.”
Lauren lit up as if Clara had offered the Crown Jewels of England. “How generous! Thank you.”
“No, it’s generous of you.” She turned to Annie. “Their breakfast is on the house.”
Emily opened her mouth to protest, but Clara waved her off as she headed back to the kitchen. “Least I can do.”
“Looks like you made her day.” Annie crumbled their bill into a wad. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“I guess we did make her day. Did you see her tear up?” Lauren leaned over the steam of her Denver omelet. “So, have you had any more dates with Scott?”
“No, no dates. But I’m supposed to have dinner with him and his mom Friday night.”
“He’s taking you home to meet his mother? How sweet.” Lauren’s eyebrows waggled.
“I’ve already met his mother. Don’t make anything more of this than what it is. A dinner with old friends.” Emily huffed in exasperation.
“‘Old friends.’ Well, one of them is. The other is what they call a love interest.”
“Would you stop? There’s—” Emily caught sight of Paul Goodrich outside the door. He was late; he should’ve had his caffeine fix long ago.
“You and Scott have a lot in common.” Lauren sliced into her omelet and forked up a mouthful. “You always have. I used to get so aggravated with his shyness.”
“I always thought it was kind of sweet.” Emily dragged her gaze away from the reporter, who made himself at home at the counter. Since he didn’t know who owned All Creatures, Inc., he didn’t really pose a threat. She shouldn’t give him a second thought—wouldn’t give him a second thought. She took a bite of her syrup-soggy pancakes. “Watching his ears grow red when he got flustered. It was so cute!”
“Not when it kept him from asking you out,” Lauren mumbled around her eggs. “You two should’ve been together a long time ago.”
“You’ll have to design some business coupons, you know.”
“Changing the subject?”
“If I don’t, you’ll keep at it until you’ve planned the wedding.”
“You know me too well.” Lauren looked at her watch and then downed another bite of her omelet, chewed fast, and grabbed a sip of coffee. “I have to run. I’ll draft coupons for the diner later so Clara can see them.”
“Clara’s not the only one.” Emily rested the fork and shot her a victory grin. “Scott’s donating five spay or neuter procedures.”
“Oh, that will be fun to illustrate. The auction is really shaping up now, isn’t it?” Lauren looked as gleeful as a kid on a bike. “Come over tonight and let’s do some serious work.”
“Are you planning another surprise date with Scott?”
“You know me. I’m the mastermind of devious plans.”
“Award-winning. What time?”
“Seven thirty?”
“That works.” And it wouldn’t hurt her feelings at all if Scott showed up.
They left a tip for Annie and rose to leave. As they slipped to the front, the reporter idly stirred his coffee while chatting on his cell phone. He might not pose a threat, but Emily couldn’t wait to get clear of him. Being in the same room with him threatened to bring up her newly consumed breakfast.
“I’ll see you tonight.” Lauren gave Emily a quick hug. The cowbell chimed as she exited, and Emily glanced back to see if Goodrich heard. He didn’t turn, but still she hesitated, eyeing the fish net. Maybe she should grab it and run.
“I told you no charge.” Clara appeared from the kitchen.
“I appreciate it.” Emily stole another peek behind her.
Goodrich was concentrating on his breakfast.
She lowered her voice. “I thought I’d take Millie her net.”
“Good idea.” Clara reached for i
t and passed it across the counter. “I tried taking it by, but I kept missing her.”
“Thanks. I’ll make sure she gets it.”
“Excuse me. You know Millie?”
Emily turned and bumped into the reporter. She backed away and collided with the diner’s front door.
“I’m Paul Goodrich, Dogwood Daily News.” He stuck out his hand.
Emily’s face tightened with wariness. She hesitated before taking the proffered hand. “I know who you are.”
He drew her away from the door. “What can you tell me about Millie? Do you know her last name?”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
“She’s not an easy lady to catch.” His smile wore on her nerves—carefully applied, showing just the right amount of straight, white teeth, and as sincere as a politician’s pledge. “I was hoping you could help me out.”
“Sorry. Anything you want to know, you’ll have to ask her.” She shot him an icy glare. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”
He reached into his shirt pocket for a business card. “Maybe you can have her call me. I really would like to ask her a few questions.”
For an instant, she considered leaving without accepting his card but changed her mind. It would’ve been rude, and as far as Paul Goodrich knew, she didn’t have a reason to be rude to him. She took it and slipped it into her purse. “I’ll see she gets it.”
****
At Chapman’s Home Improvement Center, Emily parked and threw Millie’s net into the trunk. The last thing she needed was someone else questioning her about the cat lady. Just one busybody’s call to Paul Goodrich could make her life miserable. Perhaps the thought hinted of paranoia, but she wasn’t about to risk being the focus of his attention again.
Inside the store, she grabbed a cart, wheeled it past a display for home winterizing, and hunted supplies to strip the wallpaper in her parlor. Soon, with her basket full of the things she needed, and some she didn’t, she headed toward the checkout stands.
“I can get you right here,” said a freckle-faced teen—Spencer Milligan, according to his name tag.
She pushed the cart to his register. “Are you related to Parker Milligan?”
“My dad. You know him?”
“Just bought my homeowner’s policy from him.” As he checked her things, she pulled her credit card from her wallet. “Do you know where I can rent a floor sander?”
“We’ve got the top of the line sanders.” He scanned the last item and then accepted her card and studied it. “We can even deliver it to you, Ms. Taylor.”
“Well, I’m not ready for it quite yet, but it’s good to know I can get it from here when I am.” She signed, slipped her card back in her purse, and smiled. “Time for me to get to work.”
As she loaded her car, the clean air of a norther brushed her cheeks, and the sun winked from behind wispy clouds—a perfect day to raise the windows on the old house and begin her work. A quick run to her apartment to change clothes, and she’d be ready to strip some walls and whatever else she had time for before heading for Lauren’s this evening. She cranked her engine and pulled out of her parking place.
Fifteen minutes later, she parked at the curb in front of The Litter Box, and a black sedan pulled up behind her. Paul Goodrich emerged from inside. She frowned. He was everywhere these days. She should gun her motor and race away, leave him in her dust. But she hesitated just a moment too long. He rapped on her window and then moved aside so she could open her door.
“What a pleasure to run into you again.” His smile appeared genuine, but as she allowed him to help her from her seat, she gritted her teeth at the humor in his voice.
“Have you been following me all morning, or were you just waiting here?”
Spreading his hands in innocence, he broadened his smile. “Pure coincidence, I promise. You’re here to deliver Millie’s net? Why don’t I walk you to the door?”
Before he could touch her again, she squirmed away to open the trunk. He mustn’t learn she lived here, she’d never have a moment’s peace. Yet, here she was—trapped. What could she do but allow him to escort her? She clamped her hand around the net and without a backward glance, marched down the sidewalk toward the entrance and pressed the doorbell.
Paul stopped beside her, shoulder to shoulder. His very presence made her muscles tighten across her back.
“This is a public place, isn’t it? An adoption agency for cats?” He tried the door, found it locked, and then peered through the crack in the curtains on the storefront window. Emily would have to pin that shut. After pressing the bell again, he hammered his fist on the door.
“She’s obviously not home,” Emily said.
“Give her a minute longer. She’s crippled, you know. Has that limp.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Do you know how she got it?”
“She’s not home.” Emily turned on her heel and strode back toward her car.
Paul matched her pace, hands in his pockets as if he was taking a casual stroll. “You know, strikes me funny you haven’t even asked what I want to talk to her about. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
“I try to mind my own business.” She shoved the net back into her car and slammed the trunk. “Perhaps you should do the same. Excuse me.” She brushed past him and slid into the driver’s seat.
“I wouldn’t make a good reporter if I minded my own business.” He slipped up behind her, closed the car door, and flashed a good-natured grin at her through the side window. “I’ll catch her before long, and you can read all about it in the society page.”
Seething, Emily pulled away from the curb. Would he stake out the place until he got what he wanted? What was she supposed to do if she couldn’t get into her own apartment?
22
From the stop sign a block away, Emily glanced left toward The Litter Box. Paul’s black car was still parked at the curb. Good grief. Had he been there all day?
She’d had to buy some used clothes from the thrift store just so she could work in her house. Now, she was sweaty and dirty and smelled of wallpaper stripper. She wanted—no, she needed a shower, and she didn’t want to have to fight him off to get one.
Her lips tightened, and she pulled forward. Instead of turning toward her apartment, she drove around the block and came up the back way. She pulled into her usual parking place and headed to the back staircase leading to her apartment. She’d always entered the refuge from the front so she could check on the cats before going up, but the back entry would have to do today.
She tiptoed up each cast-iron step to keep the stairs from ringing and alerting Goodrich of her presence. Once on the landing, she flipped through her keys, unlocked the door, and pulled.
Nothing.
The door hadn’t been opened in years, and it cantankerously refused to budge now.
She yanked again, with the same results. Finally, she put down her purse, planted a foot against the wall next to the doorframe, and tugged with all the force she could muster. The abrasive squeal of the rusty hinges sent shivers racing down her back and set her teeth on edge. She shot a glance over her shoulder and scanned the parking lot. The entire staff of The Dogwood Daily News must have heard the shrill grating of metal on metal.
When no reporters materialized with cameras and notepads, she ventured another pull on the door and opened it wide enough to enter. Finally, with it closed securely behind her, she leaned back against it and released a heavy sigh. She might as well keep some lubricating oil handy. Now that the snooping journalist was staking out her place, she’d be using this door more often.
After a quick bite and a shower, she changed into a clean pair of jeans and ran downstairs through the refuge to peek out the window. No black car. The man did have his limit after all, and it apparently hit around supper time.
Still, all the way to Lauren’s house, Emily couldn’t help but to check the rearview mirror, and once there, she surveyed the street before pulling into
the driveway. Scott tapped on her car window. She’d been so intent on watching out for Paul, she hadn’t even noticed him approach. Climbing from the driver’s seat, she offered a smile.
He leaned in for a quick kiss. Then with his arm around her waist, he guided her toward the house. “What were you looking around for? You hiding from someone?”
“That blasted reporter. He’s been hanging out at the apartment, trying to get an interview with Millie.”
“Got you feeling a bit paranoid?”
“A bit.”
“Then it won’t make you feel any better to hear that he called me.”
Emily stopped in her tracks. “What?”
“Yeah. I don’t know how he associated me with Millie, but he had a ton of questions.”
A knot formed in Emily’s stomach, and she pressed her hand against it. “What did you say?”
Scott shrugged. “What’s there to say? I don’t know anything.”
Roger appeared in the doorway with a soda in hand. “You two gonna hang out here and talk, or are ya comin’ in where the work is?”
“Neither.” Scott dipped Emily in the classic pose of a dramatic kiss and then smacked her lips good and loud before letting her up again. “We’re gonna start some neighborhood gossip.”
Giggling, Emily tugged down the front of her shirt and patted her hair back in place. “Right now, I can’t afford any gossip. Why don’t we get to work?”
Inside, the kitchen table had been stripped of its napkin holder and salt and pepper shakers and redressed with a thick stack of Tuscany-red flyers and matching envelopes. A stamp dispenser and a few sheets of computer-generated mailing labels completed the ensemble.
“Sweet tea or soda?” Lauren asked. Her hair was swept up on the back of her head, giving her a sophisticated look undermined by cut-off jeans and a pink pull-over.
“Tea,” Scott said. “What’s with the do?”
Lauren patted the knot protruding from her crown. “Michelle wanted to fix my hair for me. Not bad, huh?”
“Not good, either,” Roger grumbled.
Lauren poked him in the ribs.
The Cat Lady's Secret Page 12
