The Cat Lady's Secret Page 2

  The silence had oozed into her awareness only because Scott had made his house call earlier. Having him at the refuge had been fun, and she’d enjoyed herself. Enjoyed laughing with him. But that didn’t mean she was ready to give up her new lifestyle. She wasn’t lonely.

  To prove it to herself she cranked up the volume on the movie, and then flipped through the mail she’d left on the table earlier. Another money request from a green organization. Would those people ever give up? The bulk of her mail was the same. Send money for this, donate to that. She dropped the unopened solicitations on the floor to toss in the trash later.

  The next envelope held a Houston return address. Another installment check for Deck the Walls... already?

  Emily jumped from the sofa to double check her calendar. The payment wasn’t due until the following month, but who cared? Now she could start house hunting!

  She grabbed the phone. She couldn’t wait to tell Connor about the check.

  3

  “Come here, baby. Come on.” I don’t know why it is my voice goes up an octave whenever I’m calling a critter. Rarely works. No amount of high-pitched here, kitty, kitty will get a feral cat to come.

  But I keep trying. Have to. Just because a new house is in the plans, doesn’t mean The Litter Box will be closed. As long as there’s a stray cat to find, I’m gonna find it—along with anything else of interest.

  This week’s been slower than winter molasses, and I haven’t found another cat downtown since Daisy. That can only mean the downtown area is stray-free, thank you very much, and it’s time to move on. Besides, I haven’t worked the bus station in a month. With all the fast-food dives around here, it’s a prime location.

  I caught sight of this stray a few moments ago, and now I’m on my knees with my backside in the air and my face poked under the driver’s door of a rusty convertible, trying to coax the long-haired gray cat closer. Can’t use my net. She’d dash off like a pit bull’s on her tail, and I’d never catch up with her.

  She stares at me, smoky blue eyes wide and wary, and stays scrunched up against the right back tire. Car engines rumble in the lot, their exhaust mixing with the fumes from the bus idling nearby. I choke on a cough.

  “Come on, kitty. I won’t hurt you.”

  Feminine laughter pierces the air, accompanied by a deeper chuckle, and I see two pairs of legs pass by the other side of the car. Squeezing tighter against the tire, Kitty twitches her ears to the voices behind her. But she keeps her focus on me.

  “Hey, lady, need some help?” A kid with four studs in each ear, a torn t-shirt, and a sweet smile squats down near me.

  I smile at him. “No, thanks. I can handle it.”

  “Suit yourself.” He rises and moves on.

  I look under the car. The cat’s gone. Oh, well. There’s bound to be another around somewhere.

  Using the car door for support, I hoist myself up, grab my net, and hobble past a small group of people to a bench. My feet always hurt, so it’s mighty nice to have so many benches around. This one is covered with advertisements: a real estate office, Down Home Diner, Carter’s Floral Emporium. I sit down and lean back next to Parker Milligan’s face grinning from his insurance company ad. Such a nice man. Kind eyes.

  Another bus pulls up, and its brakes huff a dying breath as it stops. The doors whisk open, allowing four people to file out.

  “Kyle!”

  Racing past me, Annie launches herself into the arms of a young man with dark eyes and a black t-shirt stretched over bulging muscles. He picks her up and swirls her around. The long, loving kiss they share warms my heart. So nice to see folks in love.

  Just behind them, a blonde woman crumbles, weeping into the arms of another who’d just stepped from the bus. “Oh, Mom, he’s worse.”

  “What does the doctor say?”

  “They can’t do any more for him here.” Her sobs draw everyone’s attention.

  Mom wraps both arms around her daughter, shielding her from the curious, and starts the awkward walk to the parking lot.

  Dear Father in Heaven, they look so shattered. As they pass me, I hear the mother shushing and cooing. “Let me drive. You’re in no state. What room...?” Her voice fades as they drift away from me.

  “Hey, Millie!” Annie drags my attention from the two. “This is Kyle. He’s here. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  I push to my feet and give them my best smile, but they don’t see it. They see only each other. “Well, I’m glad you could make it happen.”

  Annie looks at me brows raised. “I didn’t do it. I don’t know how it happened. Two days after I talked to you, he calls and says he got a bus ticket in the mail. A bus ticket and a check.”

  “Isn’t that nice.”

  Kyle flashes his crooked-toothed grin. “The check is for more than what was stolen from me.”

  “Much more,” Annie says. “Enough that we can open our restaurant.”

  “A&K’s Barbecue.” He puffs out his impressive chest like a cartoon rooster.

  “And you come by whenever you want, Millie.” Annie lays a hand on my arm.

  I pat her fingers. “I’ll be your first customer.”

  Smiling and beaming love at each other, the two walk to the parking lot, their arms wrapped around each other so tight dust mites wouldn’t fit between them.

  I sigh and watch them ride cloud nine to the parking lot. Kyle opens the door to their old red pickup, and Annie leaves his grasp long enough to jump in. When he plops down in the driver’s seat, she leans over for another kiss.

  I grab my net and hook the tote bag on my shoulder. Time to stop ogling the lovebirds and go for a walk.

  ****

  From the bus station to the hospital is a long five blocks—a miserable walk anytime, but especially in the mid-morning heat. My net is too short to use as a staff, so the best I can do is just limp along.

  The hospital entrance doors slide open. Frigid air from inside blasts out, evaporates the sweat on my face, and feels heaven-sent.

  People stare as I cross the polished gray floor to the elevator bank, same as they stared while I walked over here. I greet them head-on. I know I’m a sight. Who wouldn’t stare at an old woman in a bright green t-shirt and baggy plaid pants? Can’t blame them for that.

  The elevator dings and the glossy doors split. I walk in and lean against the wall across from a couple who look to be in their late thirties.

  “Down?” The man asks.

  I nod.

  He looks gray and crumpled, crinkled all over like he’d slept in his clothes. The woman with him looks worse. The dark rings under her eyes would spook a goblin.

  I take a closer look at her. She’s the crying lady from the bus stop. Just who I was looking for. God saved me from a room-to-room search.

  With another ding, the doors slide open again, and I follow the two out, juggling my net while I fish change from my pocket. I may not have caught a cat at the bus station, but I did come up with a few quarters.

  Although yummy scents tempt me to turn left to the cafeteria, I go right, following a few steps behind the couple. Just ahead is a wall of vending machines. Their backlit blues, reds, and greens shimmer like semi-precious stones. I’m parched, so the only one that interests me is the one with the water. Give me good ol’ water anytime.

  “Mama wants cheese crackers.” The woman stops at the snack machine next to me. She frowns and whispers to her husband. “I don’t care what we have to do. If they find out he can be helped in Dallas, we’re going to Dallas.”

  “I’m not arguing with you.” His voice is low, weary. He drops some change into the chip machine and makes a selection. “But I have to figure out...”

  I look from the vending machine to the three quarters in my hand and back again. A bottle of water is a buck and a half? Highway robbery! Where’d it come from? The fountain of youth?

  “There must be a way. He needs to go, and I need to be with him. I’ll drive to Dallas and live in the car if I have to
.”

  “No, I can’t let you do that.” His change clinks in the slot, and the machine spits out another selection. “Maybe I could take out a second mortgage on the house.”

  With another quarter, I could buy a soda. Why is water more expensive than sodas? Doesn’t matter. I don’t have another quarter.

  “A little short?”

  I drag my gaze from the unattainable blue bottles. He has such sweet gray eyes. Pained. Hurts me to see that in anyone.

  I nod.

  “Water?” He digs in his pocket and pulls out more change.

  “Yes, please.”

  He feeds the robber an entrée of coins, pokes the button, and smiles at me. “There you go.”

  “Thanks, Mister...?”

  “Sawyer. Milt Sawyer. And you’re welcome.”

  He turns to his wife, who gives me a strained smile, and the two of them walk back to the elevator. I want to holler out that I’ll be praying for them, but that would be admitting I was eavesdropping. Not that I could help hearing, since we were standing right next to each other at the machines.

  I cradle my net in my elbow, twist open the bottle, and chug until the cold water gives me an ice-cream headache. But it’s not ice cream. It’s water. Just plain old, can’t-believe-it’s-a-buck-and-a-half water.

  Making my way back to the elevators, I keep my brain busy running the man’s name through my head. Seems like a Sawyer landed in the paper not long ago.

  The doors open at the same time my memory does. I snap my fingers and shout, “Mitchell Sawyer!”

  People look askance and sidestep around me as they leave the elevator. I smile at them as I enter and poke the button for the first floor.

  Mitchell Sawyer. He was in the paper just this past Wednesday. Bald head and all. His friends were crowded around him, each sporting chrome domes and grinning at the camera. Brain cancer, the article said. A promising football star and the only child of an electrician and a secretary. Just sixteen.

  4

  “That’s a tall order, Em. Do you realize what you’re getting yourself into? The expense involved will be massive.” Connor regarded her from over the half-moons of his glasses. “Don’t the Sawyers have insurance?”

  “I’m sure they do, but deductibles and co-pays alone can send them into bankruptcy.” Although she tried to maintain a calm demeanor, her hands were locked together in a death grasp in her lap. The burgundy-leather client chair in Connor’s masculine, spacious office was comfortable enough, but she perched primly on its edge, convinced he would try to talk her out of her plans.

  Connor was right about the cost, but she desperately wanted to help this family. True, they could take out a second mortgage, but if Mitchell survived, they would need to build up his college fund. And if he didn’t...she couldn’t bear to think of that. But he’d have no chance at all if they couldn’t send him to Dallas, and she was determined to get him there. “Don’t I have enough in the charities account to cover his bills?”

  Connor’s fat, ruddy cheeks puffed with a breath he quickly expelled. “I don’t know. Too much factors into it. We may be able to get the ball rolling. Medical bills don’t usually come in until the patient is released, so that buys time. If we have to, we can feed the account with your wallpaper royalties.” He rubbed the deep creases in his forehead, studied her bank ledger, which sat open on his glossy mahogany desk, and grumbled to himself. “It may be doable depending on their insurance...I’ll have to look into it. See what I can arrange. Maybe the hospital can offer a discount.”

  With every mumbled word, Emily’s hope rose. If there was any way to get this done, Connor would find it, she felt certain. If not for his own soft heart, he’d try harder to dissuade her, but even though he was a grizzly of a man on the outside, inside, he was just a teddy bear.

  He leveled his piercing blue eyes at her. “You’ll have to stay out of this account until all his bills are paid. Do you think you can handle that?”

  Emily’s spirits lifted as if suddenly inflated with helium. “I can. I promise. Cross my heart!”

  “That means you’ll have to turn down anyone else in need for a while. I’ve never known you to be able to do that.”

  “I’ll behave. If anything else comes up, I’ll take it out of my personal account.”

  Connor scowled at her. “You have to go easy on that account, too. You’re going to buy a house, remember?”

  “Oh, I can put that off.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “My apartment is comfortable.”

  “Yes, but I worry about your safety. I’d like to see you get out of the downtown area.”

  “You and Scott both. He’s afraid the graffiti painters will hit my building next.” Although she resisted the urge to roll her eyes, the attitude was evident in her voice.

  “Well, he could be right—or it could be worse. He’s a good man. You should listen to him.”

  She jumped from her seat to circle the desk and give Connor a hug. “You’re a good man, too. With you advising me, who else could I possibly need?”

  He chuckled and then raised a hand to her cheek. “You are your mother’s child. You have her heart. She would’ve been proud of you. Both your parents would.”

  Her breath hitched. No other words could touch her more. She kissed his balding head, whispered a thank you, and swept from his office before her tears could escape.

  ****

  The next day on her way to the Barlow Animal Clinic, Emily slammed on the brakes hard enough to leave rubber on the road. She shifted her convertible into reverse and backed up to an ancient house with a For Sale sign posted in a yard riddled with weeds. A quaint Victorian in the Queen Anne style, painted in the pitiable shades of pea green and beige, sat on roughly two acres of a once-landscaped lawn. It was the kind of house that would be appealing only to someone with degrees in interior decorating and architectural history. Someone like her.

  When she’d left Connor’s office yesterday, she’d decided to put off looking for a house, in spite of his worries about her safety. He and Scott were being silly. She was perfectly safe in her apartment. Of course, she wanted a house of her own someday, but for now, she needed to see what she was in for with the Sawyers.

  But today, she saw the Queen Anne.

  She never would’ve believed she’d find the house of her dreams so quickly—and totally by accident. Her brain kicked into gear, analyzing the condition of the Victorian before she even put the car in park.

  This house design was most popular between 1880 and 1910, and since Dogwood was founded in 1893, Emily wouldn’t be surprised if this was one of the original homes. So why hadn’t she seen it before? Granted, today she’d followed a different route from what she usually took to Scott’s clinic, but surely, sometime in her life, she’d driven past it.

  Didn’t matter. The best time for her to find it was right now, with its “for sale” sign planted in the lawn. She grabbed her keys, cast a glance at the caged calico in the passenger seat, and stepped from the car, continuing her analysis as her foot hit the cracked sidewalk.

  The Victorian was at least twenty-five hundred square feet. One turret, two gables, and a balcony off the second floor. Gingerbread trim. Beautiful etched-glass bay windows. Twin chimneys pointing at the clouds. Shingles missing.

  She waded through shin-deep grass and weeds to the back. The porch was a three-quarter wrap-around. One of the pillars in the back tilted to the right. The steps looked rotten, too. On the left side, a breezeway led to a three-bay garage/storehouse with a sagging roof. A stripped-paint carriage house deteriorated on the back of the lot.

  Perfect.

  Now she needed a peek inside. She completed the circuit around the house, looking for an uncovered window. No such luck.

  Back at her car, she poked the realtor’s number into her cell and drove to the animal clinic while she waited for a response, but she got a recording instead. After leaving a message, she disconnected and sighed her disappointment. Remodeling a Queen Anne
would be a dream come true. Stately old houses like that one demanded color and grandeur. And she possessed the talent and ability to bring it back to its original glory.

  Even with her promise to help the Sawyers, she may be able to afford a modest house—and judging by the deterioration, maybe this one was modest enough. She couldn’t wait to find out.

  A quick calculation based on what she believed the house to be worth in its current condition and what she could afford for a down payment—not to mention a few repairs and renovations to make the place liveable—and she determined an offer that would be fair to both seller and buyer, and still leave her with grocery and utility money until the next installment from Deck the Walls.

  By the time she reached Scott’s clinic, she was practically giddy with plans and had already run several color schemes through her mind. She parked the car in the lot, grabbed the pet carrier, and went inside.

  In back, cats and dogs meowed and howled their protests, but silence reigned in the reception area. “Hey, Dani. Slow day?”

  “Steady.” Scott’s receptionist peeked at the calico. “Millie at it again so soon?”

  “She always is, just got lucky twice this month. She found this one near the hospital yesterday.”

  “I thought I heard your voice.” From the hall behind Dani’s desk, Scott followed on the heels of a bright-eyed boy holding a bandaged ferret. The boy continued out the front door, and Scott stopped beside Emily. “What have you got for me?”

  She lifted the cage so he could look inside. He released a low whistle. “This one’ll be a real beauty with a little meat on her bones.”

  “And a bath,” Emily added. “Got room for her?”

  “Sure. Come on back.”

  He took the carrier from her and led the way to the cats’ side of his practice. Felines either eyed them suspiciously or lounged on their sides and ignored them altogether. Some slept off their anesthesia, while others hissed at the newcomer. Noise always hummed in the patients’ holding room.