Part 3 (2/2)

She shook her head. ”I think the flying pig pretty much said it all.”

I stuck out my tongue, which only made her laugh.

While Maggie walked around in a circle, studying the ceiling by the hall doors, Roma and I gathered the empty boxes, stacking them by the parking lot entrance. By the time we had our coats and hats on, Maggie walked back over to us. I knew by the distracted look on her face that she had more than one idea brewing in her head.

”We'll drop the boxes at your studio and I'll drive you both home,” Roma said.

Maggie smiled. ”Thanks.”

”I think I'll walk,” I said, grabbing an empty carton.

”You sure?” Roma asked. ”It's cold.”

”It's always cold,” I said, putting on my boots. ”I did paperwork all day and I could use the walk.”

”You want to have breakfast at Eric's in the morning?” Maggie asked.

I yawned and nodded at the same time. ”Sorry,” I said. ”Long day.”

Maggie turned to Roma. ”Can you make breakfast?”

Roma looked up from lacing her boots. ”Can't,” she said. ”I have a couple of surgeries in the morning.”

We clattered down the stairs and stepped into the parking lot. I put the box I was carrying into the back of the SUV.

”Thanks, Kathleen,” Maggie said, wrapping me in a hug made puffy, thanks to our heavy coats.

”You're welcome,” I said. ”I'll see you in the morning.” I flapped my mittens at Roma. ”See you, Roma.”

I cut diagonally across the parking lot. I hoped Harry had met up with his sons. And I couldn't help wondering where Agatha had gone. I pulled the hood of my jacket over my hat and stuffed my hands down into the pockets of my parka.

The cloudless sky was shot with stars, but I knew snow was still coming. My left wrist ached with a bonedeep tenderness. I'd broken it last summer, and lately it seemed to ache right before we got snow. I was getting good at knowing the weather in my bones.

By the time I'd made it up Mountain Road I was happy to see my little house. I banged my heels together before stepping into the porch and kicking off my boots. Then I unlocked the kitchen door and stepped inside, flipping on the light. I didn't even have to yell, ”I'm home.” Owen stuck his furry gray head around one side of the doorway to the living room. Hercules, on the other hand, walked in languidly, as though he hadn't missed me at all; then he sat in the middle of the floor and began to wash his face.

I hung up my coat and set my hat and mittens over the heating vent. Roma's roll of duct tape was still on my arm. I slid it off and stuck it in my jacket pocket.

”How was your evening?” I said to Hercules as I pa.s.sed him. The little tuxedo cat looked up, almost seemed to shrug and went back to cleaning his face. Owen was still watching me, looking a bit like the disembodied head of Alice in Wonderland's Ches.h.i.+re cat.

”Want a piece of toast?” I asked.

”Merow?” Owen said.

”Yes, with peanut b.u.t.ter.” He came galloping into the kitchen to supervise. Hercules abandoned all pretense of face was.h.i.+ng and sat expectantly by the table.

Once the toast was made and generously slathered with peanut b.u.t.ter, I sat at the table and broke off bites for each cat, occasionally taking a bite for myself. Roma had warned me more than once not to give Owen and Hercules so much people food.

In my defense, they weren't exactly ordinary cats and the rules didn't exactly seem to apply to them.

”I saw Harrison,” I said, licking peanut b.u.t.ter off my fingers. They both lifted their heads and looked at me. ”He's fine,” I said. ”The boys were at an auction. Harry was . . . well, he was out doing something.”

I leaned forward and offered Owen another crumb of toast. He took it from me, set it on the kitchen floor and sniffed suspiciously, the way he did with every piece of food before he ate it.

”Remember the woman from the other day?” I said to Hercules.

He lifted one paw and shook it.

”Yes, the woman who carried you up the driveway so you wouldn't get your feet wet.”

Hercules made huffy noises in his throat.

”Her name is Agatha Shepherd. She was Roma's teacher.” I yawned. ”Roma was a juvenile delinquent,” I said. ”Well, almost.” Owen looked at Hercules. Hercules looked at Owen, and I swear they were grinning just a little. Roma was not their favorite person. Because they'd been feral, just giving them shots and basic medical care was an ordeal. ”I figured you'd like that,” I said. I probably talked to the cats too much. It wasn't that I really thought they understood me. But they were good listeners.

It made me really uncomfortable to think about Agatha picking up Hercules. The cats didn't normally let anyone other than me near them. If a cat could have a crush on a person, Owen certainly had one on Maggie, but he didn't let her touch him.

The first time I'd met Harrison Taylor, I'd been flabbergasted when both cats had climbed onto his lap. Then Rebecca, my neighbor, told me Harry was dying. It made his encounter with the boys all the more unsettling.

Both Harry and Agatha were old and clearly not well. Did Owen and Hercules know something, or was I just being paranoid?

Owen reached over and patted my leg with his paw, his way of saying More toast, please. I loved the little fur b.a.l.l.s, but somehow I couldn't quite believe they knew who was going to live and who wasn't. Granted, they had some unexplainable talents, but I just didn't think that Death Psychic was one of them.

Owen woke me in the morning, about a minute or so before the clock went off. I opened one eye and stared into his wide golden ones. ”I'm awake,” I said. His response was to head-b.u.t.t my forehead. There was no point in trying to sneak in an extra few minutes.

I sat up and stretched. ”I'm up,” I said to the cat, who still stared at me without blinking. ”Happy?” It seemed he was, because he dropped back to the floor and padded to the door.

Both cats were sitting by the refrigerator when I went downstairs. I fed them, leaning against the counter as they ate. Owen took a morsel of food from his dish and carefully moved it to the floor, the way he always did. Hercules was about to eat when he suddenly stopped and looked up at me, his eyes going from where I was slouched by the sink, to the table and back to me. He meowed softly, tipping his head to one side.

”I'm meeting Maggie for breakfast.”

He looked at the dish of food in front of him and covered his face with a paw.

”Oh, come on,” I said. ”You know I can't take you to Eric's. How would I explain taking a cat out for breakfast? People would think I was crazy.”

Hercules continued to stare at me. Owen being Owen, he didn't pay any attention at all; he continued taking food out of his bowl one bite at a time and then eating it.

”You have a perfectly good breakfast in front of you.” I rubbed the back of my neck. I already was a crazy cat lady. Someday, someone was going to catch me having a conversation with the cats and my secret would be out. Of course, as far secrets about the cats went, the fact that I talked to them like they were people was pretty tame compared to some of the other things I was hiding about them.

Deciding he'd won the stare-down, Herc dropped his head and started to eat.

I zipped around the little house, tidying up, while the cats had breakfast. Then I pulled on my boots and jacket and grabbed the broom to sweep away the snow that had drifted onto the back stoop.

Owen came up behind me and started down the side of the house. ”I'm leaving in fifteen minutes,” I said. His ears twitched, which either meant he'd heard and would be back in time or he'd heard and was ignoring me.

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