“Where do you want this?” he asked, getting to his feet.
“Just on the other side of the tree, I think.”
We put the food and water on a flat worn-down patch of grass and moved all the way back to the steps by the side door of the old farmhouse. I sat on the top step and Marcus sat beside me, leaning forward with his hands between his knees.
“What does the cat look like?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
“A bit like Owen, only ginger instead of gray,” I said, scanning the high grass and tangle of wild rosebushes for any sign of movement that might signal the little cat was nearby. “Roma calls him Micah.”
“Did she put out the cage?”
I shook my head and pushed my bangs off my face. The cage was a humane trap that we used if we had to collect a cat to take it down to Roma’s clinic for medical care. They all reacted with fury to being trapped. “Roma was afraid she’d end up catching Lucy or one of the others. She’s been trying to figure out some other way to get this one.”
Over time all the cats in the colony had been captured and neutered, then brought back out and released. Unlike Owen and Hercules, they were never going to be anyone’s pet. In fact Roma believed the boys had probably been abandoned shortly before I found them and had never actually been feral.
Marcus leaned sideways and nudged me with his shoulder. “Look. Right there.” He pointed to a tangle of grass. I leaned forward and caught a slight waving of the tall blades.
Neither one of us moved. The grass fluttered again, almost as though it were the wind slipping around the tree, and then I saw the cat. Micah was tiny, the same color as the marmalade Rebecca had made last Christmas. He came forward slowly, looking around cautiously, whiskers twitching at the scent of the food.
He saw us and paused, one paw about an inch off the ground. I thought he would run, but after a long moment he started toward the base of the tree. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
The cat ate quickly, looking around after every couple of bites. Marcus and I stayed immobile, like a couple of stone statues on the steps, his arm still against mine. After the cat had eaten, it darted back to the cover of the long grass. I waited another minute before getting up to retrieve the dishes. The food and the water were all gone.
“We have to find a way to get her to eat with the others,” Marcus said as we walked to my truck.
“I don’t think that’ll happen,” I said, unlocking the door and setting the bags on the floor on the passenger side. I turned around to look at him. “Wait a minute. You said ‘her.’”
He smiled. “Uh-huh. The cat’s a she.”
I brushed my hands on my jeans. “No. Roma said Micah is a he. She is a vet.”
He leaned against the truck’s door. “Well, I think I know boy parts when I see them, or when I don’t, and Micah is definitely a she.”
He glanced down at his watch. “When are you on the schedule again?”
I tried to picture the list on the front of the refrigerator. “Wednesday,” I said. “With Thorston, I think. I’m taking some of Harry Junior’s shifts.”
He nodded. “I’ll check and trade with whoever it is.”
“Why?” I said, pulling my keys from my pocket.
He gave a half shrug. “Because I know you’re going to hang around after and try to feed that cat again. You can’t be up here by yourself. You can’t even tell a boy cat from a girl cat.” He smiled.
“Okay . . . umm, I’ll see you Wednesday morning.” I hesitated. “Good luck with Hannah. Don’t—”
“—do anything stupid.”
I smiled. “I was going to say don’t do anything I’d do, but I guess that’s the same thing.”
“Would you tell your friend Andrew to get in touch with Detective Lind and tell her what he saw?”
I studied his face. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“I will.”
He opened his mouth and then closed it.
“What?” I said. “You were going to say something. What was it?”
He shifted from one foot to the other. “I was just going to ask you if you’ve told Everett whether you’re going to stay.”
“He said it could wait until the theater festival is over.”
Marcus nodded. “That’s probably a good idea.” I waited for him to tell me to stay, to sweep me into a kiss complete with a dramatic dip, even though Maggie insisted that was bad for the back.
Of course he didn’t do either of those things. He just said, “Have a good day,” and walked over to his car.
I got into the truck and started it. I’d been watching way too many old movies with Maggie if I thought that Marcus would actually sweep me into his arms and kiss me until I swooned. Not that I was exactly the swooning type.
On the other hand, I couldn’t help wondering just exactly what I would have done if he had.
14
I was sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs in the backyard when Andrew arrived. Hercules was perched on the chair’s wide arm.
“Hey, Kath,” he said when he came around the house and caught sight of me. “Am I late?”
“No,” I said. “I was ready early and it was just so nice I decided to wait out here.” There were some streaks of cloud across the deepening blue sky and I had a feeling it was going to be warmer than usual for the end of September.
Andrew walked over as I got to my feet. “Hey, cat,” he said to Hercules.
The little tuxedo cat gave him a look of disdain that Andrew completely missed. Herc didn’t like being called “cat” as a form of address. He glanced at me, green eyes narrowed. I took that to mean I should remind Andrew of his name.
“Hercules,” I said.
“After the Greek god, right?” Andrew said, looking around the yard.
Hercules didn’t exactly roll his eyes, but he came pretty close.
“Um, Roman, actually,” I said. As played by the very yummy Kevin Sorbo in the campy TV series, to be exact, but I didn’t see any point in mentioning that.
“Where’s the other one?” he asked.
The other one? Hercules looked at Andrew like he was the dust-covered head from one of Owen’s funky chickens. He made a huffy sound through his nose, jumped down and headed across the lawn toward Rebecca’s backyard, placing each foot down carefully on the damp grass. That he was willing to chance getting his paws wet showed just how annoyed he was.
Hercules and Owen seemed convinced that they were—if not people—then certainly not someone’s pets. And they expected to be treated accordingly.
Andrew pointed across the yard. “How old is the gazebo in your neighbor’s yard? I’ve never seen a design quite like it.” He walked partway across the lawn to get a better look.
I went over to stand beside him. “I’m not sure,” I said. “I could ask Rebecca for you.”
“I’d love to know how he worked out the overhang,” he said, squinting at the gazebo roof. “I don’t suppose there’s still a set of plans around anywhere.”
I smiled and shook my head. “No. There never were any plans. Harrison Taylor built that gazebo and the only plans he had were in his head.”
Andrew turned to look at me. “You’re kidding.”
I tucked my hands in the pockets of my sweatshirt. “No, I’m not. I’d take you to meet him, but he’s out of town.”
He glanced back for another look as we walked toward the driveway. “I’m sorry about that. The guy’s good.”
I thought about Harry Senior, who always reminded me of Santa Claus. “Yes, he is,” I said.
“So are we going to Eric’s?” Andrew asked as we walked around the side of the house.
“I thought I’d take you over to Fern’s Diner this morning.”