I spent a pleasant evening eating Fred’s delicious spaghetti, drinking red wine from crystal glasses and trying unsuccessfully to pry information out of him about his relationship with Sophie, his occupation, where he learned karate kicks and how to scan for listening devices—all the usual stuff.
In some ways Fred is like my cat, Henry. Henry appeared out of nowhere one day and took up residence in my house. I have no idea where he lived or what he did before he came to live with me, and he’s not telling. Not that Fred took up residence in my house, but he won’t tell me anything about his life before I became his neighbor.
Fred and Henry even have the same white hair and blue eyes, except Henry has gold markings and Fred doesn’t shed. They pretend to have a haughty disdain for each other, but they have more in common than either wants to admit.
I gave Brandon’s business card to Fred so he could check out the business before I entrusted my car to them.
At ten o’clock I thanked Fred for a wonderful meal, he thanked me for a wonderful dessert, and I headed home. No worries about having a couple of glasses of wine when I could always crawl to my house.
Henry met me on my front porch. I was relieved to see he had no gift for me.
“Have a good evening?” I asked.
He rubbed against my leg and purred. I took that to be an affirmative answer.
“Ready for a little catnip?”
He purred louder.
I unlocked my door and we went inside.
Henry likes his catnip straight, on a plate where he can snort it, lick it and rub his face in it. He’s an addict. I have to keep the bag under lock and key. Well, I keep it in a drawer high enough he can’t open it. At least, he hasn’t been able to open it yet.
I grabbed a cookie and we headed upstairs to bed. There’s nobody around to hide the cookies, so I get to indulge my addiction.
Henry settled at the foot of my bed and I slipped on my comfortable night shirt, also known as an old T-shirt Rick discarded years ago because it was faded and had a hole or two.
The doorbell rang.
I looked at my watch cat. He goes all jungle cat when someone he doesn’t like is at the door. Tonight he seemed unperturbed. I wasn’t sure if that meant my late-night caller was harmless or my watch cat was stoned.
I slipped on my jeans and went downstairs then flipped on the porch light and looked through the peephole. Trent stood on my front porch. That was a pleasant surprise. We don’t usually get together except on weekends, but occasionally, when his work schedule allows, he drops by unexpectedly.
I flung the door wide. “Did you come over to play cops and robbers?” I asked suggestively.
Then I noticed he was not alone. His partner, Gerald Lawson, stood stolidly beside him. Oops.
Trent has brown eyes with traces of green that become brighter when he’s happy. Even in the dimness of my porch light I could see that his eyes were dark brown without a hint of spring. He wasn’t smiling or even blushing at my comment. We were probably not going to play cops and robbers. At least, not the fun version.
“Lindsay, we need to talk to you,” he said.
Lawson, better known as Granite Man, looked grim and said nothing. He does that quite well.
My heart clenched into a tight little knot. I was pretty sure this wasn’t a social call. Cops at my door in the middle of the night could only mean bad news.
My mind raced through a list of the people I loved, the people who could have been hurt…or worse. It couldn’t be Fred. I’d just left him and besides, he’s invulnerable. Henry was upstairs asleep. That left my mother, father, Paula, Zach, Sophie...
“Who?” One word was the most I could force through my lips.
“Do you know a man named Robert Markham?”
Not bad news about somebody I loved. My heart unclenched and I released the breath I’d been holding. “No.”
“He got a to-go order from your place today. Two chicken sandwiches, several cookies, a cupcake, a can of Coke and a bottle of water.”
I started to shake my head then frowned. That order sounded familiar. Robert Markham? Bob? The man who was trying to put his life back together? The man who got a haircut and a shave and a new job? I couldn’t believe he’d regressed and done something so stupid the cops were after him.
“Why are you asking?”
Lawson remained grim and silent.
Trent shifted from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. “He was murdered in the alley behind Death by Chocolate.”
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