Part 30 (1/2)

”Are you okay?” she asked, her brow furrowed in concern.

”I'm fine.” Aside from the small matter of my heart almost bursting through my chest.

”Great!” she said. ”Then you can sign this release form.”

I now realized she was carrying a clipboard, which she thrust through my car window.

”Pet Palace is not responsible for any accidents in the parking lot,” she informed me. ”It says so on all the signs in the garage.”

What a touching tableau, n'est-ce pas? Clearly the royal treatment at Pet Palace was not extended to humans.

I signed the release form and pulled out into the street.

”I hope your kitty likes her collar!” Muriel called out to me as I drove off.

Oh, well. At least she had some shred of empathy.

”Because it's not returnable!” she added with a jaunty wave.

I was sure that whoever hurled those carts at me was the killer, trying to put the fear of G.o.d in me.

And it worked.

I drove home, blood pressure soaring, knuckles white on the steering wheel, checking the rearview mirror every few seconds.

Before long I noticed a black Jeep on my tail. I tried to see the driver's face, but the Jeep was just far enough away to keep everything a blur. I was certain it was the killer, out to finish me off for good.

In a panic, I reached for my cell phone to call 911. But just then, the Jeep turned off onto a side street.

Thank heavens. A false alarm.

My blood pressure returned from its trip to the stratosphere, and I continued on my way home.

At last I arrived at my street. But as bad luck would have it, there were no parking s.p.a.ces near my duplex, so I had to park at the other end of the block.

When I got out of my car, I saw something that sent my blood pressure soaring again. I took a look at the car in front of mine and realized I was parked right behind a big black Jeep! For all I knew the killer had taken a shortcut and was lying in wait for me at this very minute.

My heart pounding, I sprinted as fast as could (which isn't saying much) back to my apartment, fully expecting someone to jump out from every pa.s.sing bush.

I puffed my way up to my front door and, with shaking hands, managed to let myself in.

Quickly flipping the deadbolt, I leaned against the door to catch my breath and then collapsed onto the sofa.

”Oh, Pro!” I moaned. ”I just got attacked by a caravan of supermarket carts!”

She gazed down at me from her perch on the bookshelf.

Perhaps someone up there is punis.h.i.+ng you for taking away my diamond collar.

Oh, foo. In all the Sturm und Drang of my cart attack, I'd forgotten about Prozac's Kitty Katz Kollar and had left it in my car. No way was I about to go back outside and get it. What if the killer was lurking in my neighbor's azalea bush, just waiting to pounce?

”I bought you a new collar, Pro. Much nicer than that old Tiffany thing. And I'll give it to you first thing in the morning, I promise. But in the meanwhile, won't you please come down? I'll rub your belly for as long as you like. And I've got pepperoni on my breath,” I added pleadingly. ”You always like that.”

But she just rolled over and showed me her tush.

With a weary sigh, I headed for my bedroom and got undressed. Then I brushed my teeth and climbed into bed, but not before checking to make sure all my windows were locked.

I tried watching TV, but even an ancient rerun of Ozzie and Harriet, usually a sure fire sleep aid, failed to quell my racing brain.

I couldn't stop thinking about the Attack of the Shopping Carts and wondering who was in that hoodie. It all happened so fast, I hardly even saw my attacker. As far as I knew, it could have been a man or a woman.

Was it Travis, Joy's database thief? Alyce or Barry, her disgruntled clients? Was it wacky Aunt Faith? Or Greg Stanton? Now that I knew about his true credentials as an ”artist,” had he made up his mind to scare me into silence so he could marry Lady Penelope Ashford?

And what about Ca.s.sie? She'd been wearing sweatpants when I stopped by to see her earlier that day. Had she shoved on a matching hoodie and been following me ever since?

But why? As far as I could see, Ca.s.sie simply didn't have a motive to kill Joy.

I turned out my bedside lamp and tried to go to sleep, but my cavalcade of suspects kept buzzing in my brain.

Just when I was convinced I was going to be tossing and turning all night, I looked down and saw a lithe little shadow creeping into the room.

Prozac!

My heart flooded with relief as she jumped up on the bed and nuzzled me under my chin.