The Cat Lady's Secret

by Linda W. Yezak

  She sighed. “I enjoyed the day. I’m so glad you were free to come with me.”

  “Wouldn’t have missed it.” He gently pulled her to him and savored the lips he’d been tempted by all during the day. After a long, delicious moment, he pulled back a fraction. Having to stop was a hateful, necessary duty. He breathed in her scent one more time—soap and sunshine—and then cleared his throat. “Want to see the horses?”

  “Sure.” Her voice was husky. She turned off the ignition as he climbed from his seat.

  The crisp evening breeze cooled the fire building within him as he walked to her side of the car. She seemed happy, relaxed, compared to the few moments after Lauren’s phone call. This might be the perfect time to issue the invitation he’d been wanting to offer. He opened her car door and offered his hand. “Micah has something he wants to announce at the church tomorrow night.”

  “Oh?” Her eyebrow cocked and a little smile tilted her lips. “I bet I know what it is.”

  “You know exactly what it is. You caught on faster than I did.” He slipped an arm around her slender waist and guided her toward the paddock.

  “Did he talk to you first?”

  “He did. Mom was with him when he told me.” Scott chuckled at the memory. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her blush so much. Or seem so excited. It’s not like Micah was asking me permission, but I would’ve granted it anyway. She deserves to be happy after all these years.”

  “When’s the wedding?”

  “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow night when he announces.” When they reached the pipe rail fence, one of the Appaloosas nearby bobbed her head and nudged his hand. He rubbed her nose to buy time and then swallowed to dampen his parched throat before asking Emily a variation of the same question she’d been saying no to since her return to Dogwood. “So, you want to come to church with me tomorrow night?”

  It was her turn to swallow, and she gulped audibly. For a moment, he thought she was developing her escape plan again. She rubbed the horse’s cheek. “Did Goodrich join the church?”

  “Well, yes, but I’ll fend him off if he comes near you.” He assumed a pugilist’s stance, legs spread, fists raised. “He won’t get past me!”

  “My hero.” She laughed and shook her head. “I’ll go with you. Besides, I wouldn’t want to miss it!”

  26

  Emily sat on the padded pew, snuggled comfortably in the crook of Scott’s arm. Micah was winding down his lesson for the evening—one she actually got to enjoy once she discovered Paul had missed the service. Her earlier surreptitious glances around the sanctuary in search of the Goodrichs were often met with smiles and curiosity by the regular members.

  Their encouraging looks allowed thoughts of returning to church to enter Emily’s mind. Many of the people in attendance here had been friends once and could be again. This wasn’t Houston. She didn't run the risk of falling for another Wade Coulter—not with Scott by her side. The people she knew here would have no reason to turn on her as those in Houston had. She’d see to it.

  The more she thought of it, the less she could blame her Houston friends for being suspicious of her. They’d had no way of knowing she’d been just as duped as they were. Maybe it was time for her to release that hurt and forgive them.

  As she bowed her head to ask God’s help, Micah bowed his and intoned the closing prayer. Then, before his “amen” died from the airwaves, he said, “Now, before y’all run off, I have an announcement to make.”

  He lowered his bulk down the steps from the dais and extended a hand toward the front row. “Come on up here, Miss Rita.”

  Scott’s arm tightened around Emily’s shoulders, and she glimpsed a teary smile on his face.

  With his hand resting on the shoulder of a blushing Rita Barlow, Micah spoke into his wireless microphone. “It’s no big secret around here that most of the extra weight I carry is from this sweet lady’s good cooking. Well, I’m here to tell you that cooking isn’t the only admirable quality Rita possesses. Y’all know she’s a fine woman of God and a steadfast leader in this church and in the community. I’ve been blessed with her company for a while, and now I’m looking forward to having that blessing full time.”

  He paused dramatically as people murmured and exchanged knowing grins.

  Rita’s smile broadened, and she nudged him. “Why don’t you just tell the folks you proposed to me?” Either she’d intended for her prompting to be broadcast through the speakers, or she didn’t realize how sensitive the preacher’s microphone was, but her question brought cheers from an overjoyed congregation.

  From the back, a tenor voice yelled out over the crowd. “Well, what’d’ya say, Miz Barlow?”

  Rita pressed her hands together and brought them to her smiling lips. Then she held them wide and shrugged as if to ask, what else could I say? “Yes. I said yes!”

  The crowd vaulted to their feet and rushed to the front to congratulate the couple. Much of the cacophony echoed off the sanctuary walls until Micah remembered to turn his microphone off.

  Beside Emily, Scott sniffed and brushed away tears with his free hand.

  Emily wiped her own tears and leaned into him. “You know that makes you a PK.”

  “Preacher’s kid.” He chuckled. “I can’t say as I mind that too much.”

  As the church members disbursed, Scott and Emily went to the front and exchanged hugs and back-slaps with Micah and Rita.

  “I’m so happy for you,” Emily said.

  Rita giggled. “I feel like a kid again.”

  Micah moved between Emily and Scott and draped an arm around each. “When are you two going to announce?”

  Emily’s face flushed with enough heat to melt her makeup, but Scott seemed unfazed as he looked at her. “Soon as I can convince her it’s a good idea.”

  Her lips parted. She didn’t even know he’d been thinking about it. Now! Ask me now! What’s taking you so long?

  But Micah had already reclaimed Scott’s attention. “You two make a good-looking couple.” Micah squeezed her shoulders once more before releasing her. “Get on with it and we can have a double wedding.”

  Scott smiled at his mother. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with Mom’s special day.”

  Rita patted his hand, which rested on her shoulder. “You and Emily want to come over tonight? We’re having coconut cake and coffee at the house for whoever wants it.”

  “I’d like to, Mom.” Scott kissed her hair. “But it’s Dani’s week off, and I have to cover the clinic. Those dogs get ornery when they don’t get to romp in the yard before bedtime.”

  “Well, you two have a good time.”

  “Thanks for the invitation.” Emily gave her a hug and then gave Micah one. “I’m so happy for you. Congratulations!”

  ****

  With the taste of Scott’s good-night kiss still sweet on her lips, Emily drove home from the clinic. She had left her car there instead of asking him to drive to her apartment in town on his clinic-duty night.

  As he drove her from the church to the clinic, she’d hoped he would broach the subject of marriage again, but he concentrated instead on his mother’s happiness and his admiration of Micah. He was right. He should focus on their happiness.

  So should she. If she and Scott were meant to get married, they would, and Emily would be happy to wait. She didn’t want to do anything that might overshadow Rita’s joy.

  Emily slowed near the Queen Anne. Roger and his crew had worked on the kitchen all day yesterday, and she hadn’t had a chance to see what they’d done. Wouldn’t hurt to take a peek at their progress.

  As she pulled into the drive, her headlights flashed across the front porch—and landed on a hooded figure in the process of swinging something through her windows. Glass shattered everywhere. The figure froze where he stood and squinted into the car’s twin beams before darting into the shadows, where she lost sight of him.

  She sat numbly in her car with both feet mashed against the brake peda
l, and her fingers clamped around the steering wheel. He looked like the person she’d seen leaving the fires. Same height, same size, same gray hoodie.

  Was he the arsonist? Was that why he was here? He wasn’t just breaking in, wasn’t just vandalizing a vacant house—had he intended to set her new home on fire?

  She bolted from her car and sprang up the porch steps. The scent of acetone stung her nose; the air was so thick with it, her eyes burned. She didn’t dare open the door—just the scrape of the hinges could spark a flame—but she dashed from window to window looking for a fire. And didn’t find one.

  Her legs quivered under her, and her head swam; she had to sit down. She wobbled back to her car, reported the crime, and called Scott. Then she huddled in the front seat, shaking as if stranded in an ice storm.

  27

  Red and blue lights from fire trucks and squad cars flashed against the Queen Anne, giving it a surreal, carnival atmosphere. So many uniformed officers swarmed the place, Emily worried the rest of the county was without police protection.

  The acrid smell of acetone had dissipated, thank heavens, but two apparently empty cans of it were now tagged as evidence.

  She drew closer to Scott, thankful for the strength of his arm around her, and tried to concentrate on Sheriff Bailey’s questions. Illuminated by the headlights of his vehicle, the man appeared to be in his late fifties. Even in his boots, he was barely an inch taller than she was and no bigger around than her thumb, but the square cut of his jaw and the deep command of his voice left her with little doubt of his authority.

  “What time did you arrive at the house?”

  “Not that long ago. Right after I left the clinic. Around eight?” She glanced up at Scott for confirmation; he nodded.

  Bailey surveyed the surroundings. “No street lights here. Did you leave the porch light on?”

  “No. I hadn’t planned to come tonight.”

  He poised a pen over a small pad. “Tell me exactly what you saw.”

  Emily did.

  “And your headlights landed right on him? Could you make out who he was?”

  “No, I couldn’t tell for certain. It happened so fast, and I just wasn’t expecting—”

  “But you could see him, right? You saw him?”

  “I saw a figure in a gray hoodie. That’s all. He was just...shadowy. Then he took off around the house. It was all so fast.”

  “Could you tell how tall he was, how much he weighed?”

  Emily stared at the nearest pillar on the porch. The height of the post was at least ten feet, and the hooded figure probably hit just over halfway. But her imagination could have been playing tricks on her. “He wasn’t real tall, and he seemed fairly slender, but I don’t know. I just can’t be sure.”

  One of the officers called to the sheriff from inside the house, and he thanked her before striding to the door.

  As Emily watched him leave, a flash blinded her eyes and she squinted in pain. She opened them to the sight of Paul Goodrich standing in front of her with a concerned look on his face and a camera strapped around his neck.

  “Hello, Emily. Scott.” He greeted them as casually as if they’d crossed paths in the grocery store. In a sympathetic tone, he said, “Sorry about the vandalism. Is the house yours?”

  Emily tightened her grip on Scott’s arm. She shouldn’t lie, but she couldn’t answer. If Goodrich discovered she owned the house, it wouldn’t take him long to discover that All Creatures, Inc. belonged to her, too, and everything would fall apart. She couldn’t imagine what would happen. Didn’t want to.

  As if reading her thoughts, Scott edged forward and shielded her from the reporter. “How did you find out about this?”

  “Police scanner. The journalist’s favorite tool. Emily, did you see who broke out the windows?”

  “She just caught a glimpse of him,” Scott said. “Like she told Bailey, she didn’t get a good look at him.”

  Paul turned to face the house. “Which way did he go?”

  “She didn’t see, but I’m sure he’s long gone by now.”

  The deputies moved away from the front of the house, and Goodrich fingered his camera.

  “I need a few more pictures before I turn this story in.” He gave Emily a smile. “Looks like you prevented another fire. That’ll be in the headlines.”

  She withered where she stood. Despite Scott’s protectiveness, she’d landed in the spotlight, and the very publicity she’d sought to avoid barreled toward her like a one-ton truck.

  Scott circled her in his arms again, and she sank into them gratefully. “It’s bad enough he’s been hounding Millie for information,” he mumbled against her hair. “I don’t want him hounding you, too.”

  A familiar figure stepped into the beams of the headlights. “Hey, lovebirds! I reckon God smiled on you today.”

  “Roger! Why are you here? How did—”

  “I called him,” Scott said. He extended his hand in greeting. “Did you bring the plywood?”

  “It’s in the bed of my truck. When’s everyone going to clear out of here?”

  “Soon, I reckon. They’ve already been here”—Scott glanced at his watch—“almost an hour. Can’t imagine what else they expect to find.”

  Emily glanced over her shoulder.

  Paul had apparently finished with Sheriff Bailey and was heading back into the murky shadows he’d come from. Within moments, he paused his car at the curb beside them. “Front page news. Y’all be sure to get a paper in the morning.”

  Scott watched him speed away. “I know the man’s just doing his job, but I’ll be glad when he finds some other bone to chew.”

  ****

  Thirty minutes later, all the official vehicles disbursed, leaving only Scott, Roger, and Emily standing in the front yard.

  Roger strode to his truck. “Let’s get those windows boarded up. I don’t want anyone stealing my equipment in there.”

  Scott followed him, and Emily, still a bit shaky, walked toward the pale glow of the porch. The light from a pair of sixty-watt bulbs glinted off crystalline shards of glass and the once-painted floorboards. Now the paint peeled and buckled and stuck to the bottoms of her shoes because of the acetone. The full-length, etched window to the right of the door gaped open with sharp glass teeth reflecting the light. Adjacent to it, two of the three beveled-glass bay windows snarled at their own shattered condition. Replacing those panes wouldn’t be cheap. Hopefully, Parker wouldn’t balk at being called upon so soon.

  28

  Ten o’clock Monday morning, Emily burst into Connor’s office and tossed a newspaper on his desk. “Have you seen this?”

  True to his word, Paul Goodrich had run her picture on the front page with the caption, “Good Samaritan Thwarts Fire Attempt.” Line one of the article named Emily Taylor as the good Samaritan.

  Connor adjusted his glasses over his bulbous nose and peered at the grainy photo. “It isn’t a very good likeness of you, is it?”

  “It’s good enough.” Her hand trembled as she pointed at it. “Wade will be able to find this. Able to find me. If he gets paroled today, he can come for me!”

  “I was going to call before you came barging in here.” He laid his glasses on his desk and leaned back. “Wade wasn’t granted parole. The decision was delivered at 9:00 AM.”

  Emily lowered herself onto the cushion of a client chair. “Great. Now he has that many more months to build up his anger toward me.”

  “Or let it settle down.”

  “Maybe.” She sighed. “Well, at least I’m safe for now.”

  “You’re safe, period,” Connor said in a stern voice. He delivered an end-of-argument glare.

  She wanted to believe he was right, to take comfort in his words. But she couldn’t. “Don’t they have computers in minimum-security prisons? With this article in the paper, I’m just one web search away from discovery.”

  Connor studied her a moment longer as if taking stock of her fear. “Come around here. Let�
��s just see how vulnerable you are.”

  As she stepped to his side of the desk, he fired up the computer and landed on his homepage. He typed her name into the search bar and hit enter. “Emily Taylor” was not an unusual name. A photographer, a golfer, even a director of some office in Washington, DC, were among the results of Connor’s search, but nothing current about Emily Taylor of Deck the Walls fame, formerly of Houston, Texas.

  “Maybe The Dogwood Daily News hasn’t updated their site yet. Maybe that’s why it’s not on the Internet.”

  “Let’s see.” Connor navigated to the paper’s website. Sure enough, her picture was on the site in full color. “You’re safe, Emily. You’re just being paranoid.”

  She offered a weak smile. Perhaps he was right. Maybe she was being paranoid. But Wade’s snarl in the courtroom continued to niggle at her memory, and she could imagine it growing more evil with each day he remained locked up. Yes, she could consider herself safe, for as long as she stayed out of the camera’s eye.

  ****

  Outside the Victorian, a table saw, manned by a muscled construction worker, squealed through the silence as it sliced a one-by-four in two. The noise decibels dipped only slightly as the man tossed aside the cut boards and prepared another to hit the blade. Emily gritted her teeth against the high pitched wail and skittered into the house, which proved unable to mute the racket from outside.

  The sharp acetone odor no longer hung in the entry, but thanks to the strong chemical, whatever varnish that hadn’t worn off with age now cracked and flaked beneath her feet. Because of the plywood covering the windows, the entry itself seemed shrouded in gloom. She’d talked to Parker about replacing them earlier, although she wasn’t certain she wanted the new glass installed until the arsonist was caught.

  She turned toward the light cascading from the bare windows in the parlor and surveyed the room with its naked walls and dull woodwork. She needed to sand off any old wallpaper glue and prep the walls for new paper, a chore she’d begin as soon as she talked to Roger.