The first number I’d called was Sylvie’s, but I'd gotten a recording saying to leave a message. So I did. I’d asked how she was, which felt odd, since she couldn’t reply. Then I’d given her my number, explaining that I’d picked up a cell phone this morning, and asked her to call when she was free.
And she’d replied with a text.
“Well, what does it say?” Clarence looked at the phone in my hand.
“What does what say?” I stuffed the phone in my pocket as I’d seen others do, except it felt large and awkward. I should have ignored the salesperson and gone with the smaller phone.
“The text message you just got from Sylvie. You’re the cell phone newbie, Geoff, not me. That was a text message.”
How did he know? Of course, the only person with my new number was Sylvie. The smell of perfectly crisped bacon brought my attention back to the stove. “Bacon?”
“You can’t distract me with crispy pork fat. What did she say?”
“So, no bacon.” I shoveled all three pieces on my plate, then cracked an egg in the pan. Granola and yogurt weren’t cutting it today. Not when I’d skipped my usually early breakfast for an emergency phone-shopping trip.
“Whoa, wait now. I didn’t say no to bacon. The answer is always yes when the question is bacon, but I still want to know what she said.”
Maybe he’d have some insight. Clarence was much more acclimated to the modern world than I was. Decision made, I retrieved my phone and read the message aloud. “‘Thanks for last night.’ But she spells it with an x. And then, ‘Talk later today.’ That’s it.”
Clarence picked up his front paw and started to groom himself.
My frustration bubbled over after approximately five seconds of whisker grooming. “So?”
He swiped his paw across his face again. “So what?”
Frustration wasn’t my favorite emotion, but it was becoming a close companion since I’d met Clarence. “So, what does it mean?”
“Where’s my bacon?”
“Too hot to eat.” I already knew what a greedy kitty and a sizzling piece of bacon meant, and it was bad news.
He proceeded to groom his whiskers.
I stalled by retrieving one of the small plates reserved for Clarence’s use and cutting up a slice into smaller pieces, but it was still hot when I set the plate down on the ground.
“Was that so hard?” He gulped two small squares and then yowled.
Rubbing my ears, I said, “Yes, Clarence, it was.”
He spat and hissed, all the while keeping a close watch on his bacon lest I take it back. When his mouth had cooled, he asked, “Was there an exclamation point?”
“What?”
He stabbed a small piece of bacon on the tip of a claw, but managed to pause before chomping it just long enough to say, “The text, Geoff. Was there an exclamation point?”
Did that matter? But I retrieved the phone from my pocket and checked. “No. No exclamation point. What does that mean?”
He stabbed another piece of bacon and shoved it into his mouth—then shrugged.
“You don’t have any better idea than me.” I rubbed my twitching left eye, because that was what I got for taking advice from a cat. The morning stretched out before me like a long wait at the dentist’s office. “When we’re done with breakfast, we need to stop by Tamara’s.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Visiting a witch—one I was convinced was something more—had its own set of traps and hazards. Tamara seemed pleased enough with the bouquet I’d brought her. I’d landed on odds and ends from my own garden, because I thought that was the most genuine expression of gratitude I could make. But to be welcomed into the witch’s kitchen and find a gaggle of women congregating—that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“Good morning Lilac, Sylvie. Am I late?”
“What he said. Are we late?” Clarence tugged on his leash, pulling toward the table and the scent of food.
I’d tried to convinced Clarence to stay home, but I’d have tried harder if I’d known Sylvie was going to be here. A glance showed her looking surprisingly composed for a woman who'd just heard a cat speak for the first time.
“Lilac and Sylvie called earlier and asked if they might come by for coffee.” Tamara indicated the pot. “Would you like a cup?”
“Ah…” The feeling of being ambushed made me edgy. Who knew what was in that coffee pot? Who knew what they’d been talking about? What did women usually talk about? Had I come up? And if so, in what context and what light? I waited for those warning bells in my head to clang with a loud warning, but they were silent.
Tamara waved a hand dismissively. “No harm, Geoff, I promise. We’re just sorting out some of the problems that have cropped up recently, and sometimes that’s best done with like minds.”
“And I’m not like-minded.”
Tamara shrugged. “You’re a man.”
Sylvie frowned. “Geoff’s not like that.”
Nodding, Lilac said, “Right. Geoff’s cool.”
Flicking my gaze between the two women, I wasn’t certain whether to be thankful they were defending and including me, or concerned that I’d somehow unknowingly let down my gender. When I saw Tamara’s amusement, I landed on my answer. “Thank you. I appreciate your support.”
Now I had to wonder what concerns Lilac and Sylvie had expressed about me before my arrival that Tamara felt the need to unite them in their acceptance of me. I was betting it had something to do with my previous employment.
Maybe my occupation as death—one of the deaths—had been better kept under my hat.
Tamara clasped her hands together. “Now, if you ladies are ready to proceed . . . ?”
“Hey! What about me?” Clarence had kept a low profile up to that point. Which was admirable, no matter the limited duration.
“You’re welcome as well, Clarence, so
