I spent most of the afternoon piecing paper on my design board. Finding matching colors was the easy part of this re-creation project. Numbers, letters and other printing, I learned, were difficult to put back together, and I was having little success discovering what “lost” or maybe even “found” message went with the picture.
I’d printed out Sophie’s photo, and though the similarities between her and whatever cat was on this flyer were real, obvious differences had begun to appear. But maybe it was just the difference between Sophie posing on a pillow and the cat I was putting back together, who was sitting by what I’d decided was a fireplace. Finally, my eyes burning, I stopped working.
All three cats were waiting as I cracked the door. I pushed interested noses aside with my palm so I could get out of the room without them slipping inside. They weren’t happy about that. If there’s anything a cat hates, it’s a closed door.
But they were happy to follow me to the bathroom and watch from a safe distance as I took a bath. No splotches of late-afternoon sunlight coming in through the window for them to enjoy today, but the steam from the hot water created a comfortable kitty spa. Merlot spread his huge body out on the marble vanity, not caring that he knocked off toothpaste, cotton swabs and moisturizer as he made space for himself.
I had to laugh at Syrah, who found the cotton swabs wonderful for tossing and carrying off to far corners. Yup, a bath with my friends was just what the doctor ordered. Chablis joined me as I blow-dried my hair. She’s the only one unafraid of the dryer, which always made me believe she might have been a show cat and thus used to being groomed. Who knew what homes these three had lived in before?
Tom arrived at seven on the dot, and I had to admit it felt nice when he told me I had a glow about me despite the rainy, gloomy day.
His driving—he’d arrived in a Prius rather than his van—was nothing like what I’d had to endure with Candace. When we parked a block down from the Finest Catch, Tom said, “You’ve gone quiet on me. Was it my driving?”
I had to laugh at that one. “No. You have no idea how much I appreciated your driving. I’m a little tired, that’s all.”
“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh,” he said as we approached the entrance to the restaurant. “What a great laugh you have.”
He took my hand as we went inside, and though my first instinct was to withdraw, I didn’t. His touch felt warm and strong. I liked it.
After the waitress took our drink order, Tom said, “If you favor bass, they do an amazing job with the largemouth from Mercy Lake.”
“That was easy.” I closed the menu. “Is that what you’re having?”
“Yes,” he said, “but the coffee here sucks. We’ll go to Belle’s after dinner and have a cappuccino, okay?”
“Sounds good. I noticed you say ‘dinner,’ not ‘supper,’ and the way you talk—”
“I was born here, but I left with my mother when I was in grade school. We lived in New York, New Jersey, New Hampshire—all the
“How did you end up back here?” I asked.
Before he could answer, our drinks arrived, white wine for me and Scotch for Tom. The waitress then took our order.
Tom looked at me after she left and said, “All this first-date business is awkward.”
The memory of his hand clutching mine reminded me that despite being urged on by Candace, I felt as if this actually was a date. I liked what I was seeing across the table from me and felt the heat on my cheeks as soon as that thought crossed my mind.
“You feel guilty, don’t you? Like you’re cheating on him?” Tom said.
I nodded. “That is such a cliché. But it’s true. To help me get past it, you have to tell me as much about yourself as you know about me.”
“I already have.” He slugged down a hefty swallow of Scotch. “But I’ll go on. You asked why we came back to Mercy. Because my mother finally found that the twelve steps worked for her and it was time to come home. She’d gotten some money when she divorced her third—or maybe fourth—husband. She bought that little house you’ve been to. I was grown by then, but I have worried about her all my life. I decided I should be close.”
“Sounds like you love your mom a lot,” I said. “She’s an interesting person, that’s for sure.”
“I do love her,” he said. That brought out his smile.
Once we’d moved past conversation about his mother, he opened up about his current job, about how he’d never thought he’d enjoy working for himself but he did, and about how he finally felt, after five years, that he was fitting into the community.
The fish, as advertised, was delicious. Tom had ordered his blackened, while I’d chosen mine broiled with lemon and wine sauce. Unfortunately we never reached a point where I felt comfortable asking him whether he’d been consulted about that wrecked computer. He kept talking about his job and the great fishing here and how he loved the weather while I kept listening.
The rain had slowed to a drizzle as we took the short walk to Belle’s Beans. I decided I needed to give a little information since he’d completely opened up, so I told him about meeting my husband, how we rescued the cats, moved here and thought everything in our little world was perfect.
“Life has a way of doing that—screwing up the perfect times,” he said.
“I was finally getting past the grief and then what happens? I find a body. Never had that on my to-do list.”
He said, “Never thought of it that way, but I understand.”
I said, “I was talking with Daphne Wilkerson today and—”
“Ah, Daphne,” he said. “From what I’ve heard she’s a nutcase.”
I stopped. “She lost her father. I think that’s an especially unkind way to portray her.”
Tom held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say she
We started walking again. “You did. Sorry. I happen to like her, though.”
“You’re getting to know the neighbors, then.” He pulled open the door, and the smells of roasted beans rushed out to greet us.
“I hope it doesn’t take me five years to fit in,” I said with a laugh.
“It won’t. You’re a lot sweeter than me. Cappuccino okay?”
The weather had brought the town in for coffee, but I was lucky to nab a table just as a couple left. When Tom brought our coffee in real china cappuccino cups, I was surprised. “I didn’t know you had a choice between paper or the real deal,” I said.
“You do, but it’s a poorly kept secret—just like everything else in town.” He offered me a choice between a rock candy stir stick and a tiny chocolate spoon. Guess what I chose.
We both paid attention to our coffee for a few seconds, and finally he said, “Seems I have a new calling— police consultant. I think that’s pretty hilarious.” He stirred the rock candy stick a little faster.
“Why?” I said. I’d been tense all night about this very topic and now he’d brought it up himself. Amazing.
“Because Mike Baca, even though we’re friends, doesn’t exactly think I have many skills. He thought all I could do was install cameras. So he was surprised to learn how much I know about computer forensics—but any decent PI has to know that stuff.”
“Baca asked for your help?” Gosh, I felt like such a fake. And I didn’t like that one bit, so I said, “Actually, let me correct that. I heard he asked you to help. I, too, listen to the Mercy grapevine.”
Tom laughed. “Did Candace encourage you to accept a date with me to find out what I learned? Because I know that girl, and she is steaming mad that she’s been pushed aside.”
“She may have encouraged me, but it didn’t take much convincing. I wanted to go out the first time you asked,” I said. “Although maybe I should be worried about Lydia finding us together. You sure she’s not waiting outside?”
His jaw tightened. “I cannot shake that woman. Did you know she and Mike Baca were involved once? She was on him like a fly on sticky paper the first time they met. He’s since dumped her for Marian Mae Temple, the reigning queen of Mercy. Lydia’s left those two alone, so why won’t she give up on me?”
