The Cat Lady's Secret

by Linda W. Yezak

  “Tell you what.” He draped his arm across her shoulders. “If someone gets too inquisitive, you just give me the nod. I’ll ride up on my white steed and rescue you.”

  “Your white steed or your red truck?”

  “Whichever is closest.” He gave her a gentle nudge toward the crowd. "You'll be fine."

  She laughed and let him guide her to the buffet. Maybe his mom’s chicken would settle the buzzards circling in her stomach.

  ****

  “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.” Emily settled her skirt around her legs on Lauren’s blanket and grabbed a sandwich from the plate of finger food she’d managed to score between comments from old friends.

  Good to see you ranked most frequent, right before the nerve-stretching, So nice to have you back, to which she simply smiled. She wasn’t about to explain that she wasn’t “back,” wasn’t going to add hypocrisy to her list of sins. The question that had made her wish for the white horse, though, was When will we see you in church? She hadn’t known how to respond, especially since Scott’s mother was the one who’d asked. Emily had mentally crossed her fingers: Soon.

  “You should’ve been back long before now.” Lauren shook a fried chicken wing at her. “We’re not ogres, you know.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Roger popped a fist to his chest and belched.

  His wife withered him with a glare. “Nice. Really nice.”

  Scott took a swig from his soda and then turned his attention to Emily. “I saw Millie walking about early this morning. You kick her out of the apartment?”

  Lauren looked from Scott to Emily. “Who’s Millie?”

  He’d seen her? Emily was certain she’d been careful. “She’s...a friend. From Houston. And, no, I didn’t kick her out.”

  “I’ve seen her around, but I keep waiting for you to introduce me to her formally.” Scott turned to the others. “Millie’s kept me in business with cats since she came to town.”

  “I don’t understand.” Lauren wiped her hands on a paper napkin and focused on Emily. “I thought you were the one with the cat mission.”

  “She helps.”

  “Yeah.” Scott smirked. “She’s the one who does the actual catching.”

  “All right, fine.” Emily conceded the minor point. “I help her. She does all the work.”

  “You’ll have to bring her over some time. I’d love to meet her.” Lauren’s gaze shifted. She nudged Roger and pointed at something behind Emily. “Trey and Carla are cute together, don’t you think?”

  Finally. The subject landed on someone else for a change. Emily turned to look. The two walked shoulder to shoulder with their heads tilted toward each other as if exchanging lovers’ secrets. They did look cute together.

  “Yeah, cuter than pet store puppies.” Roger hefted himself up with a grunt. “Reckon there’s another chicken leg over there?”

  “Let’s hope there’s at least two.” Scott rose with only a smidgen more grace and then propped his arm on Roger’s shoulder. “C’mon old buddy. I’ll hobble over there with you.”

  Lauren watched them leave. Then she scooted closer to Emily. “Now spill it.”

  “Spill what?”

  “Don’t be dense.” Lauren slapped her shoulder. “How’d it go last night?”

  Heat rose to Emily’s cheeks. “It was great. We had a wonderful time.”

  Lauren clapped her hands. “I knew you would! Whatever took you so long? Admit it”—she pointed at Emily and gleamed with victory—“you like him, don’t you?”

  Of course, she liked him. She’d always liked him. But he’d seen Millie and was curious about her—and, what was worse, he made Lauren curious about her, too. Emily couldn’t let either of them know the truth about Millie.

  The truth about Millie. The truth about herself. So many secrets to keep from those who loved her. But would anyone love her still if they knew what she’d hidden in her heart?

  18

  Scott reached across the truck’s console for Emily’s hand, and she hesitated just an instant before wrapping her fingers around his. By the time they left the picnic, the sun was sinking below the horizon. She was tired from the heat, full from multiple trips through the buffet line to nibble on leftovers, and happy about spending the day with friends—some of whom she hadn’t seen since she’d left for college. She simply wanted to enjoy Scott’s company a little longer. She’d worry about his curiosity later.

  He squeezed her hand. “You have a good time?”

  “Once I got over my nerves.” And no one seemed to know about her past, a plus in itself.

  “Who do you think changed the most since the last time you were here?”

  “Oh, that’s easy—Camille Beauchamp. Last time I saw her, she was a chubby, pimple-faced kid with braces on her teeth. Puberty wasn’t kind to her.” Now, she was a stylish brunette with no sign of the teenager Emily had known.

  “I knew you’d say that.” A grin split his face. “Guess what she’s doing now?”

  “No clue.”

  “She’s a dermatologist, married to a dentist. They live in Tyler.”

  “Good for her!” Some of the school kids had been cruel to Camille, even some of the church group were unkind.

  “The best revenge is to live well.”

  “And it sounds like she did just that.” Emily mulled the thought over. She wasn’t particularly interested in revenge. Wade had ruined her reputation in Harris County, and there was little she could do about it. Revenge against him certainly wouldn’t put her back in the good graces of Houston society. But living well—living instead of hiding! The thought was so appealing that for a moment, she’d forgotten the consequences of not protecting her anonymity.

  Scott slowed to turn left toward her apartment but came to a complete stop when the wail of a siren pierced the air. Flashing red lights passed in a blur from the direction of The Litter Box and continued for several more blocks to their right.

  Emily’s lips tightened. Another fire. Another family victimized. Another set of memories and treasures consumed by the monster’s insatiable appetite.

  Shaking his head, Scott turned the truck toward Emily’s home. “I can’t believe this guy is still at it. I thought the city was bringing in the FBI.”

  A young man in a gray hoodie passed under the street light, and Emily was struck with a vague sense of recognition. He climbed into a small car in the shadow of an elm. The area was so dark, Emily couldn’t identify the make, much less the color, of the vehicle.

  “Here we are.” Scott parked in front of Emily’s apartment, and her heart quivered in her chest. If the walk to her door was like last night...

  He helped her from the truck and draped an arm around her shoulders, an arm he didn’t remove once they’d reached the door. Instead, he turned her to face him. In the soft glow of the street lamp, his intention was clear. She caught her breath and watched through half-closed eyes as his lips drew nearer to hers. His arms were firm and secure around her, his kiss gentle and probing, and for one tender moment, she floated on gilded clouds. Her body ached in protest when he broke the spell and rested his forehead against hers.

  When he spoke, his voice was husky. “I’d better get moving. Dani’s off tonight, and the animals need to be fed.”

  Unable to trust her own voice, Emily nodded.

  “I’ll call you later.”

  Again she bobbed her head, but as he turned to go, she found her tongue. “I had a great time. Thanks for taking me.”

  He smiled and then strode to his truck.

  She watched him drive away. Then she let herself into her apartment. Leaning back against the door, she brushed her fingers across her lips. If living well was the best revenge, kissing Scott Barlow was living well.

  ****

  With the last of his canine patients back inside from their nighttime romp in the yard, Scott flicked out the lights in the clinic, locked the door, and returned to his pickup. An orange glow pulsed in the distan
ce near Dogwood’s historical district. Another home had gone up in smoke. Lauren and Emily would have another family to add to their list for the benefit funds.

  Emily.

  He hadn’t thought about her in—what? Five whole minutes? And thinking of her now brought an ache to his chest. He missed her. He’d still be with her if Dani hadn’t taken the night off, leaving him responsible for the animals. Probably for the best, though. If he was still with Emily, he couldn’t promise he’d stop with the kissing. Just that one soft moment had been enough to heat him through winter—and they had a long way to go before winter.

  He pointed his truck toward home. When he arrived, he pulled into his usual spot beside the house. Spencer Milligan’s gray car was parked near the barn, still ticking off its heat. Scott strolled across the yard to the paddock, where the young man stroked a grooming brush along Scotch Bonnet’s neck.

  “Hey, Dr. Barlow.” Spencer grinned over the horse’s back. “Bonnet’s doing good, isn’t she? Is she better?”

  “She’s on the mend. Gained about forty pounds since I got her.” Scott propped a foot against the lower rail of the paddock fence and crossed his arms over the top. “You and that horse get along fine. You reckon your dad’ll let you have her?”

  Spencer snorted. “No. Of course not.”

  “Won’t know unless you ask.”

  “Dad hasn’t been too good at saying yes to anything lately. Especially not to me.”

  “Too bad. That horse takes to you. You two go well together.”

  “I know.” The young man’s face lit up. “What if I just buy her anyway and keep her here? Dad wouldn’t have to know, and I’ll be glad to take care of her. What do you think? Would that work?”

  “Can’t do that, son. I don’t have enough stalls to board her and the sick horses, too. I can keep her in the pasture for a while, but I’ll have to find a home for her.” Scott rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Besides, I won’t be a part of going against your father. If he says no, it’ll have to be no.”

  Spencer flung the brush toward the barn and stalked to the fence, glowering at Scott with an anger deeper than Scott had ever seen in him before. “Y’all stick together, don’t you? Everyone your age. Your generation. You think you have a right to tell people what they can and can’t do. Where do you get off, huh? Where do you get the right?” He balled his fists and stood wide-legged, geared for a fight.

  Scotch Bonnet tossed her head and skittered away to the far fence, but the horse’s fear didn’t register with Spencer. He was focused on Scott.

  Scott’s heart pounded against his ribs as he tried to think of how to calm the boy. The last thing he wanted was a skirmish with a kid. He lowered his foot off the rail so he could stand steady, never diverting his attention from Spencer's glare. “Spence, I don’t claim to have a right to tell you what to do. But I also don’t have the right to go against your father’s wishes. This is between you and him.”

  For a moment, the only sounds were Bonnet’s hoof pawing the packed earth and Spencer’s breath heaving from his lungs.

  Scott didn’t know what else to say to Spencer to settle him, but the boy was riling a nervous horse, and Scott needed to get him out of the paddock.

  “Come on, buddy. I bet I’ve got some of Mom’s left-over chicken and apple cake. Maybe even a meat loaf. She came by yesterday and stocked my fridge with far more than I’ll ever eat by myself. Why don’t you come on in and we’ll have us a little snack. What do you say?”

  Slowly, Spencer’s hands relaxed and the anger melted from his expression. “I’ve got to put the groomin’ kit up.”

  “Don’t worry about that now. Let’s eat. My stomach’s just about growling.” After a day-long picnic, Scott was far from hungry, but he got Spencer out of the paddock and safely on the other side. Scott ruffled his hair and, with a hand on his shoulder, walked to the back door.

  The soft spot Scott had for Spencer was probably derived from his own abandonment. But Spencer was lucky. Parker was still around, still loved him.

  But whenever parents split, the kids had it rough.

  Scott knew that first hand.

  19

  Breakfast was so good last week that I figure a Monday morning repeat would be better than dew on dandelions. A young man comes out of the diner and holds the door open for me. With my net in one hand and a newspaper in the other, I smile my thank you at him and hobble inside.

  Annie and Clara have their heads together over a paper on the countertop. They look up as I approach, and I give them a little wave. “Mornin’, you two. Annie, just give me what I had last time.”

  “Sure thing, Millie.” She whispers something to Clara, and Clara whispers back. Both grin at me.

  I find my booth and drop my net on the seat, sliding in beside it. Then I spread my own paper out flat on the table.

  The fire yesterday was the Wellingtons’ Tudor manor. Burned almost to the ground. The fire chief says the arsonist used an accelerant this time, but doesn’t say what kind.

  “Milk, Millie?” Annie calls from the counter. She’s got a sweet smile this morning. Clara’s smiling at me, too. Both of them are grinning like cream-thievin’ cats. Like they’ve got a secret.

  “Milk sounds good.” The way they’re looking at me makes me squirm.

  I flip the page in the newspaper and catch the headline: “Mysterious Benefactor Strikes Again,” by Paul Goodrich.

  Annie brings my glass of milk and then taps the article with her finger. “Clara got some cash yesterday, too.” She says with a knowing look. “She caught a glimpse of someone with gray hair darting away from her window.”

  Uh-oh. My pulse is pounding so hard in my ears that all I hear is the rush of blood, but I keep my cool. “You don’t say? I wonder who it was?”

  Annie’s smile broadens. “Don’t know, but I bet it’s the same person who brought Kyle to me from Waco.”

  “Now, wouldn’t that be something!”

  “Wouldn’t it?” She winks. “I’ll get your breakfast. You need anything right now?”

  I shake my head, and she grins again before heading toward the kitchen. Has she figured it out? Have both of them figured it out?

  I give myself a little shake. Nothing I can do about it if they have. I smooth out the paper and give it a look. The article isn’t much. Mentions the Chapmans getting an envelope of cash. Don’t know who told him, them or that chatty Hayley. I’m positive he didn’t see me over there, but the fact that Clara may have seen me—and Scott did see me out somewhere—means I gotta be more careful.

  In the article, there’s a bit about the Sawyer boy—he came through his surgery fine—thank you, Lord—and some farfetched speculation about where the funds came from that doesn’t even come close to the truth. Which is good. Let that ol’ buzzard bait speculate.

  The bell on the door jingles and Goodrich himself walks in with that editor of his. They nod to me as they sit in the booth just in front of mine.

  Annie comes over to the next table. “Can I get you gentlemen some coffee?”

  They place an order aside from their coffee request and then sink into a conversation they must’ve started before they came in. Before long, Paul’s voice rises and crests on a wave of frustration. “I don’t even know where to start looking. The Sawyers didn’t have any idea who’s paying for all this. They got the message from the hospital’s CEO and didn’t bother to ask questions about where the funds came from.”

  “Someone who’s got that kind of money shouldn’t be hard to find.” Kevin sounds like a boss in no mood for excuses. “It’s not like Dogwood’s the Who’s Who of the rich and famous. Take a look around and see if you can’t figure it out.”

  “You’re acting like I haven’t been trying.” Paul’s brows scrunch over his nose. “He’s not likely to be wearing a neon sign.”

  Kevin says something too low for me to hear, and Paul’s lips droop at the remark.

  “You’re pushing pretty hard for something th
at doesn’t amount to anything more than a human interest story.”

  “Folks will want to know who the soft touch is around here.” Kevin jabs a finger across the table. “And I want you to find out. Soon, before this story cools off.”

  Soft touch? They want to know who the soft touch is? The story should be about God’s love. Or miracles granted through God’s generosity. Or at the very least, one human’s concern for all of humanity.

  Soft touch?

  I squint my eyes shut and picture a line of con artists stretched out to the horizon, all rubbing their hands together like the evil, mustache-twisting villains in silent movies. I picture Wade Coulter lying in wait, ready to get his revenge.

  Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve got my fists planted on the table and I’m halfway out of my seat. “Leave her alone!”

  Kevin turns and stares at me.

  I scoot out of the booth, knocking over my milk and bumping into Annie. She drops my breakfast with an echoing clatter of dishes and silverware. Oozy eggs-over-easy slip into the milk I spilled all over the floor.

  I lock my gaze on Kevin. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”

  “What do you know about her?” Paul twists in his seat. He looks like a hound on the scent. “Who is she? Where can I find her?”

  My heart thumps hard as a treed ’coon’s with each question he barks at me. What have I done? Everyone is staring, forks and coffee cups suspended in their paths toward parted lips.

  Clara circles the counter and heads toward me.

  Annie reaches out for me, but I whirl away.

  Kevin’s almost to his feet.

  “Leave her alone!” I surge toward the front door like a dog’s on my tail.

  Behind me, Clara’s voice is stern. “Not before you pay your tab, young man.”

  I shoot a glance over my shoulder as I push out of the diner. Clara and Annie are blocking the two men from catching me. Bless their sweet souls.

  I forgot my net. It’s still in the booth. I don’t know whether to go back for it or to let it be. I turn to go to the diner, but then I turn the other way again. I can’t seem to move one way or the other. I’m standing on the sidewalk with my fingers over my mouth, trying to get my brain to work.