“Got a couple of Monte Cristo Specials in the kitchen.
How’s that sound?”
“Perfect.”
Robin laughed. “Sounds good to me, too, Dad. We’ll eat downstairs.”
“Good.” Mr. Findlay turned as Brooke brushed by in the hallway.
“What’s the matter, honey? You don’t look too good.”
“Nothing,” she said, “just a headache.” The bathroom door closed behind her.
Mr. Findlay bustled downstairs to put the finishing touches on the Monte Cristo Specials. Robin started to change from towels to clothes.
“Tell me, Camilla, why you looked so guilty when I asked about the cats.”
“No reason. Nothing to feel guilty about.”
“Out with it,” she said.
I hesitated, not wanting her to know about the cat in her fragile state.
She sat on the bed, turning white. “Oh God! You’ve let them all escape.”
“No!”
“Tell me what it is before I flip.”
“One is…I mean, one of them, um, died.”
She sat down on the bed. “Died? Which one?”
“The little tabby.”
“Dahlia.”
I bit my tongue before I could say “whatever”.
“How did she die?”
I looked straight into Robin’s blue, blue eyes and said, “Natural causes.”
She blinked. “Well, of course. But what natural causes?”
“I don’t know. We’re talking about a cat. I didn’t have an autopsy done.”
A tear trickled down her cheek.
“I’m sorry. I know you loved your cat. But maybe she had some congenital disease that strikes without warning. I don’t think there’s anything either of us could have done.”
“You’re right,” she said. “She was just a little stray, but I loved her.”
I patted Robin’s bare arm.
“So sorry,” I said.
“I’ll be okay. I don’t want Dad to see me crying. Let me pull myself together. But it’s like losing a friend, you know.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
Later, as we hovered over the French-toasted cheese the Findlays all call Monte Cristo Specials, Robin had pulled herself together. But I could tell we’d be dealing with her grief for Dahlia for a while.
“What’s the matter, Robin,” Mr. Findlay joked as he served up chocolate layer cake, “cat got your tongue?”
Nineteen
It was Saturday night, but what the hell. I’d stirred up a little action with the various suspects and spending a night alone gloating with the cats seemed like just the thing.
As I rolled down into the parking garage, a man jumped from the shadows and loomed towards me. I stopped gloating and started backing up. He ran faster.
“Camilla,” he shouted, “I need to talk to you.”
Richard.
A wave of weakness swept over me, and some of it remained in my knees.
“Richard,” was all I could say. But I did roll down the window.
“I want to talk to you,” he said, bending over. “What’s the matter? Did I scare you?”
“You bet,” I said.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize. I’ve been waiting, because you don’t answer your phone here or at your office, and I wanted to talk to you.”
“Talk.”
“Here?”
“Here.”
“Okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about the way I acted the other night. But I felt used and betrayed. I thought you’d gotten me over to your apartment so that your, um, your, um…”
“Employee,” I said.
“Right. Your employee could scavenge around the Harmony without me catching him.”
“Hmm.”
“I can’t stand that guy. He’s caused me problems every time I’ve tried to reach you at the office.”
“Right.”
“So the point is, I acted like a jerk and I’m sorry, and I was willing to sit in my car in front of your apartment for as long as it took to tell you.” He squeezed my hand, which was only slightly less shaky than my knees. “Can I see you again?”
“Okay,” I exhaled. “But not tonight. I’ve got a commitment.”
I didn’t mention that the commitment was to myself. As much as I was attracted to Richard, particularly now that he was properly apologetic, I didn’t want to spend an evening with him when I was distracted by having to develop a strategy to stay alive.
“Sure,” he said.
“Maybe tomorrow.”
He nodded.
“But listen, I have an idea. Walk me up from the basement, I’m a bit skittish, for reasons I’ll explain later.”
Richard hopped into the passenger seat and we drove down into the garage. A place I never give any thought to. Tonight, it seem filled with shadows and bad possibilities. Every square concrete column seemed large enough to conceal Denzil Hickey.
As Richard and I strolled toward the elevator, he was whistling. A creak in the corner caused me to jump.
“Relax,” he said. “Maybe you should cancel your commitment and just rest tonight. You’re very jumpy.”
“You’re right. Maybe I’ll do that.” I said as the elevator took us to the first floor.
He turned, smiling.
I melted under his hug.
“I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me too,” he said, kissing my forehead.
“Tomorrow,” I mouthed.
Still smiling, he waved back. Tomorrow.
On the sixteenth floor everything looked suspect. The strands of hemp in the wallpaper seemed to reach out and tug at my hair.
Pull yourself together, I told myself. You created this situation by stirring the pot, now you’d better cope with it without falling apart. I scuttled along the hallway with my keys held between my fingers like a weapon.
Relief, relief, relief when I reached my door. Until it swung open.
I found myself rooted to the floor, unable to move.
Mrs. Parnell humped out, using her walker.
“You stay there, cats,” she said. “I told you I’d be back later to check.” She pulled the door closed behind her and I heard a meow of outrage.
We both gasped in unison.
“There you are,” she said. “We’ve been worried sick.”
We?
She inclined her head toward my door, from which sounds of protest could still be heard.
“I’ve been busy.”