by Mary Bowers
“Oh. All right. I’m coming.”
Before I could pass into the shop, Florence lowered her voice and said, “It’s past time we should’ve closed. I think I’ll go home now, if you don’t mind. I’ve closed out the register. Could you just lock up?”
“Of course.”
“And – what about her?” She looked down at the creature she had named Basket. “I’m taking Wicked home of course, but . . . .”
“Oh, don’t worry about her. I’ll figure it out.”
I had some vague notion of taking her back to the shelter and letting her spend the night there, but at that moment the new cat wasn’t my biggest problem. Tina was. We’d been heading for a showdown for months now. I decided to leave Basket in the back room while I had it out with Tina, but as if she’d read my mind, she got up and marched into the shop ahead of me. I stopped in my tracks, staring after her, muttered, “Yeah, fine, whatever,” and went through the curtains.
The black cat waited for me, then made a vertical leap, tapping the top of a dresser along the way and then perching on a high shelf we have running around the shop as a kind of picture rail. Then she settled herself neatly, wrapping her tail around her paws and stared down at us with interest, waiting for the show to start.
I forgot about her the minute I locked eyes with Tina.
Chapter 8
Tina Armstrong was a pushy broad. I’d seen her type come and go over the years. Some volunteers want to help out, some just want to brag about helping out, and some want to take over and order everybody around. Tina was the braggart type, but she’d also started ordering people around and treating the other volunteers like servants. At least three of them had quit because of her in the last year.
“I hear you got a big donation today,” she said. “The Cadbury-Huntington Estate? I had coffee with Michael over at Perks this afternoon, and he told me all about it. I was thrilled. I thought I’d just take a look, before it all gets picked over.”
“It hasn’t been organized yet. Come back on the weekend. We should have some of it in the showroom by Saturday. Listen, Tina –”
“Oh, you can let me take a peek now, can’t you? After all, I am a volunteer.” She batted big blue eyes at me, and raked sculptured nails through her sassy, extremely blond hair. She couldn’t help but look triumphant. I realized that she’d come in knowing damn well that she couldn’t go through Vesta’s things yet; she was here to tell me she’d been spending time with Michael. I felt my pulse get thick and hot.
I tried to take a moment and get a grip. So help me, I really tried.
Tina was an eligible widow with some money, but not nearly enough. Her husband had been an exterminator, and a very successful one. You live in Florida? You’ve got an exterminator. Tina herself had been a nurse, but after her husband’s death, she had collected his life insurance, sold his business, quit her job, and joined the tennis, golf and cocktail set. How far the assets of a successful exterminator go I wasn’t sure, but the way Tina was spending her inheritance, gold-digging seemed like a logical next move.
And there was Michael, handsome, trim, healthy, and newly widowed himself. Someone she could console, cuddle, vamp and seduce, in that order. He had standing in the Tropical Breeze community, which she didn’t really have and desperately wanted, but I sensed that what made him truly irresistible to her was the fact that other women wanted him, especially (in her opinion), me.
She had volunteered at Orphans shortly after losing her husband, and at the time I’d thought she was just trying to keep herself busy while she worked through her grief. But it didn’t take me long to catch on – if Michael volunteered for an event, she did. If Michael wasn’t there, she wasn’t. And when she was there, she was nothing but trouble.
“I’d like to talk to you about your work at Orphans of the Storm,” I began.
She preened. “Oh, there’s no need to thank me, darling. I’m happy to help all those poor little homeless animals.”
“I don’t think you’re a good fit for the organization,” I said bluntly.
She stared at me, open-mouthed, and lifted a hand melodramatically.
I knew the kind of Southern-belle flutters and good-gracious-whys she was about to lay on me, and I was prepared to bulldoze my way through them and get rid of her.
“I think your time would be better spent supporting another organization,” I said. “One where your talents could be of more use. Perhaps someplace that could use the office skills you learned while helping your husband with the exterminator business.” It was a wonderful stream of b.s. I was rather proud of it.
Her eyebrows were up by her hairline, but by the time she had them lowered she was smiling like a cat. “How kind,” she purred. “I haven’t been dumped so sweetly since Bobby Wilson told me in 9th grade that I was too good for him.”
Suddenly, I was very tired. “All right, Tina. We’re both all grown up, and I may as well level with you. You haven’t been much help as a volunteer, and when you do show up, you distract the people who are working hard, then send them off somewhere to get you coffee.”
She gave me a shot of blue-eyed innocence. “I always gave them extra money to get coffee for themselves, too.”
I plowed on. “When we were setting up for the Christmas auction, you waited until I was out of the room, took apart everything I’d done and ordered the other workers to set up in a completely idiotic way. We were still trying to repair the damage when people started showing up for the party! And then when you should’ve been manning the cashbox, you were off at the bar, flirting.”
That really made her smile. “That wasn’t my fault, Taylor, honey. Michael insisted on buying me drink after drink.”
“That’s not what he told me. He said you fastened yourself onto him like a barnacle and he couldn’t scrape you off. He said you almost followed him into the Men’s room.”
“Is that what he said? After he nearly dragged me –“
“Forget the party! The fact is that the other volunteers have had it with you, and so have I. You are out of the organization, is that clear?”
“I see you’ve been going through Vesta’s things.” She was gazing at the cat pendant hanging around my neck.
Warmth flooded my face. Damn it, she was right. I knew going into this that she was better at playing games than I was, and I wasn’t letting her get control of the conversation: I was ending it conversation right now, and on my terms.
“Tina, if Michael told you about it this afternoon, you had the best opportunity in the world to look at the Cadbury donation first-hand. Why didn’t you come out to Cadbury House and help us pack it up? If you had wanted to go into those hot cabins and help us, you would’ve been more than welcome, but don’t come barging in here now and try to get first dibs on something after all the hard work of packing it up is over. Now get out.”
Tina was still smiling.
She came to me, stroked my bare arm, and got very close to my face. “You’re upset, darlin’. I can see that. Let’s not fight over a man, of all things! I tell you what I’m gonna do – I’m gonna give you a day or so to cool off. Michael also told me about that trip you made to that grubby truck-stop for a dead cat or something, and all before the break of dawn. You must be exhausted! You go home and get some rest, and I’ll pop in this weekend to look at Vesta’s stuff.”
I wanted her dead.
Fifteen methods of homicide exploded through my mind, but before I could get my hands around her neck the blasted door opened and somebody else walked in.
I turned, barking, “We’re closed,” but she ignored me and came inside anyway.
“Diana!” Tina said, in that way women who hate one another do -- all sugary and air-kissy. “What on earth! I didn’t know you were a volunteer.”
Diana glared at her like she wanted to make a hole in her forehead. “I’m not. I’m just here to get a receipt for my donation. I forgot about it earlier. The whole point is to take a tax deduction.”
&nbs
p; “Oh, I see,” Tina said wisely.
Diana did a double-take at her, then ignored her. She looked at me. “Just scribble down anything and sign and date it. Michael will handle the rest at tax time.”
“I’ll have to copy the inventory,” I began.
“I don’t have time. I’m meeting Graeme at Thirty-Nine, and I’m late.”
“Thirty-Nine? Mind if I tag along?” Tina said. “I haven’t tried it yet, but it sounds like just what Tropical Breeze needs – a really decent restaurant, with God-help-us, an actual wine list.”
“I can mail the receipt to you, if you like,” I said.
Diana looked from Tina to me and back again, not happy with either one of us.
She chose to address Tina. “If you don’t mind, Graeme and I would like to share a private dinner tonight. He wanted to hide at home and brood, but I couldn’t stand another minute. It’s been – traumatic. You understand, dear, don’t you? After all, we are in mourning.”
“Oh, darling, of course! And what better place to mourn than Thirty-Nine. I’m really so, so sorry about Vesta. I know how close the two of you were. Just like mother and daughter.”
I began to consider pushing both of them out into Locust Street so they could scratch one another’s eyes out somewhere else, but before I could, something happened.
The cat, Basket, came out of nowhere, settled on the display case near the front door, and looked from Diana to Tina with unblinking eyes. Then she looked back to Diana and tilted her head inquisitively.
“What’s this?” Diana demanded. “I thought you kept the animals in a kennel or something.”
“This is our new shop cat, Basket.”
“You leave it in the shop overnight? Alone?”
“I’m taking her home,” I said. It was the first I’d heard of it, and I was surprised myself, but didn’t let it show.
There was a beat of silence as the cat assumed the center of things and continued to regard Tina and Diana as if she were thinking something very definite and might speak, if she felt like it.
Then Diana snapped out of it and turned to me. “Well, if you can’t pull it together quickly, I guess I’ll just have to come back and pick it up tomorrow. Get it ready for me.” She turned to Tina and got sugary. “I’m sure you understand, honey. Graeme and I just need some time alone. I’ll let you have my review of Thirty-Nine the next time I see you, and then you’ll know if you should put it on your list.”
“Oh, I think I’ll come along with you and just sit at the bar. I’m dying for a Chablis.”
They stalked off together and I locked the damn door.
I turned and looked at the cat. “I guess you’re coming with me.”
As if she understood, she made a floating leap to the floor, landed noiselessly, and walked toward the back room.
Chapter 9
On the drive to my house, Basket was calm, almost bored. I had put her in a pet carrier (I always have them stacked in my SUV), which she had stepped into with disdain, glaring at me.
I got into the driver’s seat and was annoyed to realize that I was shaking. I can handle people like Tina; I just don’t like confrontation.
Back at my house, I realized that I was going to need some cat food and a litter box, so I pulled up in front of the shelter first. Being the type who lectures pet owners about leaving their pets in the car, even for a short time, I grunted at the inconvenience of bringing Basket’s carrier in with me, then went ahead and did it.
As I walked in, I heard the tail end of a conversation going on at the reception desk.
“So she finally went ahead and killed her,” Angie was saying.
I veered. “Say what?”
Angie is a paid employee, not a volunteer, and she works the reception desk and phones. She was packing up to leave for the day, and Stacey, a teenaged volunteer who lives up the dirt road from me, was about to take over. Stacey comes in after dinner and does her homework in the shelter; it’s a win-win – she gets away from her brawling siblings to a quiet place for a few hours, and the shelter has a bit more coverage before being left unmanned overnight. Sometimes one of the animals will need medications every few hours, and then I’m setting my alarm throughout the night so I can take care of that, but in general we can’t afford round-the-clock coverage. Stacey, bless her, keeps a human presence for a few extra hours.
Angie grinned and said hello, then started asking about the donation from Cadbury House.
“Who killed who?” I said, getting her back on track. I enjoy her cheerful insouciance, but it’s not always easy to keep her focused.
“Oh, you know. The whole town knows. Diana Huntington. She finally killed her mother-in-law.”
I looked at Stacey, who looked away, trying to swallow a grin.
“Is that what people are saying?”
Angie leered at me. “For a lady your age, you are so innocent. It must because you’ve never been married.”
I didn’t bother to correct her, since I’d only been married for a few months, years ago, in another lifetime.
“I’m barely 60,” I told her, “which is the new 30, in case you didn’t know, and my marital status has nothing to do with it. We can’t have that kind of loose talk around here, Angie. Diana Huntington is hell on wheels. She might just start suing people if the gossip gets back to her.”
“So let her,” Angie said gaily. “What’s she gonna get? My 15-year old trailer home and my 12-year old car? Maybe she’ll garnish my lavish pay from my three jobs. One thing about having nothing – they can’t take it away from you.”
I took a deep breath and eyed her steadily. “I can’t duct-tape your mouth,” (she lit up like a chandelier), “but I’d rather not have people coming in here and catching drifts of conversations like that one. It would probably be just like Diana to sue Orphans instead of you.”
“Oh. Yeah. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“So – how are things in the shelter tonight? The new kittens settling in with Sally?” They were. “Any new adoptions?” One. “Anybody drop an animal off?” No.
Angie threw her backpack over a shoulder and came away from the desk while Stacey set her books down and sat. Only then did Angie notice the pet carrier I’d left on the floor.
“New customer?” she asked.
“No. Mine. She showed up at Girlfriend’s today, and I decided to bring her home and keep her.” Angie and Stacey were shocked, then thrilled; I was standing over the carrier looking down at the cat with misgivings. “Florence named her Basket.”
“I knew you’d break down one of these days!” Angie said. “It’s unnatural to have an animal shelter and not have at least one of your very own.”
I thought about my last personal pet, good old Homer, a Shepherd mix whose sad brown eyes I’d been able to make sparkle. But because of his cancer, I had had to let him go, and I never wanted to do that again.
Aloud, I said, “I think of all of them as my own. If I brought home every beautiful animal I saw, I’d have fifty of them in the house before I knew it, so I just concentrate on saving as many as I can.”
Angie was shaking her head. “You missed your calling, Taylor Verone. You were meant to be the crazy cat lady. You should’ve just rolled with it.”
“That wouldn’t have been fair to anybody,” I said briskly. “Good night, Angie.”
At the door, she turned and said, “Oh! Go back and see Shiloh, will you? She’s sad today.”
“Will do.”
Shiloh is a Shepherd mix, but mixed up a different way than Homer had been. She’s sort of a problem dog, unadoptable because she’s food and toy aggressive and doesn’t tolerate other dogs. She nips at people and gets overexcited easily, so we have to keep her in her suite all day. One day we may find that magical combination – an alpha-owner who’s experienced with strong-willed dogs and wants to have only one dog – but until that day, she’s ours.
I went back into the area where we keep the dogs and let myself into Shiloh’s
suite. I got down on the floor with her and told her all my problems, while she gave my face an occasional sympathetic lick. We were both sad, I guess, and in our own cross-species way, we comforted one another. As I murmured into Shiloh’s warm, furry neck, I realized that we were not alone. Stacey was standing outside the suite, watching us.
She knelt down, swinging her long chestnut hair down almost to the concrete floor. Her hazel eyes were in the same range of light brown as her hair, and she still had the lanky thinness of a teen who’s shot up without filling out yet.
“Let me guess,” she said. “Rough day? Talk to Stacey. She’s a good human.”
I smiled. Hugging Shiloh, I told her about my confrontation with Tina. Then I waited for the lecture on how the leader of an animal shelter should behave, and how I shouldn’t be driving off volunteers.
A smile slowly bloomed on Stacey’s face. After a full minute, she said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you! From all of us – and I mean ALL of us – thank you! That woman needs a good spanking. We’re all fed up with her treating us like dirt. Now,” she said, scooting up until she could scratch behind Shiloh’s ears, “tell me about it again from the beginning, especially the part where she went all Scarlett O’Hara on you.”
Basket was remarkably at ease in my house, glancing around curiously, like a tourist on a house walk. After a quick dinner for both of us, I went into the living room and collapsed. Basket followed me, choosing a large wing-back chair and enthroning herself.
“Now what?” I asked.
She tilted her head and stared at me. Strange. The animal never blinked. I had missed having a pet, and having this big, beautiful cat in the house should’ve been a comfort, but it wasn’t. She made me uneasy.
For about fifteen minutes I half-heartedly channel surfed the TV, but with Basket staring at me, I couldn’t concentrate. When a commercial’s hyped-up voice-over repeated an 800-number for the third time, I came to and wondered why I didn’t just go to bed. I’d been up for almost seventeen hours. When I stood up, Basket came down from the chair she had commandeered and preceded me into the bedroom, tail in the air.