Danny took a pull at his beer. “Huh,” he said, not looking entirely happy.
Beast was beside Cate, eyes bright, tongue out, sizing up Zoe and Zelda.
“This is Beast,” Cate said to the girls. “He’s a Bullmastiff.”
“He’s big,” Zelda said. “And he gots slobber on his mouth.”
“That happens when he gets nervous,” Cate said. “He’s very sensitive.”
“Why’s he nervous?”
“Everything is new for him here. I think he’s nervous about meeting you and Zoe.”
Zelda put her nose to Beast’s and looked him in the eye. “You don’t gots to be nervous, doggy. I’m going to take care of you. You can watch television with me.”
“He likes cartoons,” Cate said. “And nature shows, but he’s afraid of lions.”
Zelda wrapped her hand around Beast’s collar and led him into the living room. “I bet you don’t like when the lions go
“Do you come from a large family?” Cate asked Kellen.
“Four older sisters. Plus my grandmother lived with us.”
“Were your sisters overprotective?”
“No, but for a bunch of years I used the next-door-neighbor’s bathroom. We only had one in our house, and it was always occupied.”
Kellen looked around and knew he was going to like the Madigans. Their house was a little worn down at the heels in places, but only because it was well used. It was overflowing with life, love, and family. The way a house should be. It felt a lot like his parents’ house.
Margaret Madigan was working at the stove. She stirred a lump of butter into a pot of green beans and checked the two big deep-dish cast-iron fry pans in the oven.
“Biscuits are done,” she announced.
Everyone grabbed food and marched into the dining room.
Cate took a seat and looked around. “Where’s Amy?”
“She’s upstairs,” Danny said. “She gets sick when she smells food. She’ll be down for dessert. It’s the only thing she can eat.”
“Can doggy sit in Mommy’s chair?” Zelda wanted to know.
“He doesn’t know how to sit in a chair,” Cate said.
“He can sit on a couch,” Zelda said. “He puts his hiney on it like a person’s.”
Jim Madigan buttered a biscuit. “What sort of work do you do?” he asked Kellen.
“Salvage,” Kellen said.
“You mean like a junkyard?”
“No, sir. I work for banks and insurance companies and sometimes individuals. I investigate lost property.”
“Like a private detective?”
“Sometimes the work might be similar. But I’m not a private detective.”
A lightbulb suddenly blinked on in Cate’s head. Kellen was using her to investigate Marty. Marty had something someone else wanted, and Kellen had been hired to retrieve it.
“Omigod,” Cate said, turning to look at Kellen.
“Uh-oh,” Kellen said.
Cate narrowed her eyes. “I just figured it out.”
“Can we discuss this later?” Kellen asked, voice lowered.
“Absolutely,” Cate said. And she kicked him in the ankle.
Kellen dropped his fork and sucked in some air.
“Oops,” Cate said. “Sorry. It was an accident.” She kicked him again. “Oops, again.”
Kellen wrapped his arm around Cate and whispered into her ear. “Kick me again, and I’ll give Pugg your cell phone number.”
“Might be worth it,” Cate said.
“What’s going on?” Danny wanted to know. “Is there a problem?”
“Nope,” Cate said. “No problem. Just playing.”
“So tell us about your folks,” Jim Madigan said to Kellen.
“They’re dead.”
The table fell silent.
“I’m so sorry,” Margaret Madigan finally said. “And your sisters?”
“They’re dead, too.” Kellen cut his eyes to Cate, daring her to kick him again.
“Any dead dogs and cats?” Danny asked.
“A few,” Kellen said, almost smiling.
Cate was in the seat next to Kellen, arms crossed, eyes focused on a spot on the windshield. Beast was in the back, leaning forward, sensing impending doom.
“Not good body language,” Kellen said to Cate. “You look angry.”
“Madigan women don’t get angry. We get even.”
“Do I have more coming to me besides getting kicked in the ankle?”
“You have
“We’re talking about sex, aren’t we?”
“It would have been good, too. I was going to show you wild woman. I was going to do it all.”
“All?”
“Almost all.”
“Gee, that’s too bad,” Kellen said. “I was going to do a lot, too. Want me to tell you what I was going to do?”
“No!”
Kellen turned the Mustang onto Mass Avenue. “I might as well try to explain this while I have you captive. I’m an independent recovery agent. It occurred to me when I was a cop that the police do an okay job of catching bad guys, but do a very poor job when it comes to recovering stolen property. There are a lot of reasons for this, not the least of which are budget and focus. Too much crime, not enough cops. And frequently the stolen item is immediately fenced and passed along without a traceable record.
“Sometimes stolen property can be easily replaced. Sometimes it’s irreplaceable. I go looking for the irreplaceable. Usually I’m employed by an insurance company that has taken a high-ticket hit. In this case, I’ve been retained by an individual who had a one-of-a-kind piece of jewelry stolen and wants it back.”
“And you think Marty’s involved?”
“If I run Marty’s history over the last two years I find seventeen instances of theft occurring at parties Marty has attended. Marty is the only person common to all seventeen.”
“Coincidence?”
“Seventeen is a lot of coincidence. Two weeks ago Marty performed at a charity function in my client’s home, and the next day my client discovered an heirloom necklace had been removed from his safe. I’ve been hired to find the necklace. I was hoping I’d find it in Marty’s condo.”
“So you got friendly with me, so you could search the condo.”
“That was my original plan. It was a lot more palatable than romancing Marty, but after watching you tend bar for an hour I wanted to be friendly just to be friendly.”
“Sounds like a lot of Irish blarney,” Cate said.
“Actually, I’m not Irish. My real name is Kellen Koster.”
“Kellen Koster?”
Kellen had been slowly cruising Cate’s street, looking for a parking space. He found one half a block from the condo, angled the Mustang into it, and turned the engine off. “It was supposed to be
“I’m not most people.”
“I’ve noticed.”
