“Kevin Bacon?” Bae’s brows drew together. “What does he have to do with anything?”

Huber’s lips twitched. “It’s a thing, Cam. Kevin Bacon is supposedly the center of the Hollywood universe—no actor is any farther than six steps away from him in movie terms.”

“Exactly!” PJ punctuated the word with a jab of his finger into Bae’s biceps, but then shook out his hand as if he’d injured it. “And I’m convinced Tash is the center of anything crafting in Portland, and for some reason, everyone in Portland is connected to somebody who does crafts.” He turned to Huber. “I bet she knows someone who knows your quilter wife.”

“Fiber arts and paper crafts are really two different spheres,” I murmured, my face heating.

PJ held up a palm. “Please, LaTashia. Your humility is admirable, but I’m convinced that I’m right. If not someone, then someone who knows someone who knows someone who—”

“That’ll do, PJ.” I looked at the cat and bit my lip. “I’m not sure my friend can collect the cat before tomorrow, though. You’ll have to take it overnight.”

“Me?” His eyes widened. “Why not you? You’re the one with the connection.”

“Yes, but I’m allergic. Highly allergic. I’ve been teetering on the edge of a sneezing fit since we walked through the door.”

He huffed out a breath. “Of course you are. Fine.” He glared at Bae. “May we please take custody of the cat?”

Huber shared a glance with her partner, and although I couldn’t detect any obvious communication, she nodded. “Yes. Although why does the cat have a mouthful of teal feathers?”

“Oh.” PJ flipped the end of his boa, which drew the cat’s laser-eyed stare. “She apparently mistook it for a bird. Or else she has a highly developed fashion sense.”

“We’ll need the cat carrier.”

PJ squinted up at me. “How do you know she has a carrier?”

“Vets require cats to be in a carrier for office visits.”

He smirked. “I suppose you know this because there’s a vet in one of your many crafting groups?”

I hiked my purse strap further up my shoulder. “No.”

“No? Are you suuuurrre?”

I glanced sidelong at Bae. What would he think of PJ’s playfulness in the face of Ava’s death? Would he think PJ was callous—or worse, guilty? “Yes. But Evy’s son-in-law is a vet.”

“Ah ha! I knew it.”

I sighed and turned to Huber. “Is it all right if we check the garage for the carrier?”

“Why would it be there?” PJ asked.

“It’s only logical. If you’re taking the cat somewhere in the car—like to the vet—you don’t want to dig through some closet upstairs to find the carrier.”

“Good point. Let us investigate.” He looked at Bae. “If you don’t mind.”

“Sarah. Go with them.”

Huber shook her head, but in resignation rather than denial apparently, because she gestured for me to take the lead. I headed into the kitchen and through the laundry room where the door to the garage was located. Sure enough, the cat carrier was on a shelf in front of Ava’s Buick land boat. I handed it to PJ.

He clutched the handle, then blinked up at me. “Wait. I don’t have any kitty accoutrements at my place. She’ll need food. Dishes. Catnip mice.”

I spotted a telltale green bag next to the single concrete step. “Kitty litter is probably more to the point than catnip mice.”

PJ wrinkled his nose. “Eww.”

Huber grabbed the bag with a definite smirk. “I’ll tell Cam to look for the litter pan.”

PJ watched her retreat into the laundry room. “I think I like her.”

I just sighed. “Come on. Let’s find the cat food.”

We managed to get everything except the cat carrier—and the cat—loaded into the back of Moocher, with Bae looking downright sour after emptying the litter pan.

“Now comes the hard part,” I said. “Getting the cat into the carrier.”

“Don’t they go in automatically?” PJ flung the end of his boa over his shoulder, hitting Bae in the jaw—which at least dislodged the feather in his eyebrow, although it deposited three more in his hair. “I thought cats loved empty boxes.”

“Not this kind. Too many unpleasant associations. Come on.” I had to stiffen my spine to walk back into the house when Ava would never have the chance again. It didn’t help that every step—the marble tiles, the stone pavers, the wooden decking—was hyperbolized by the thin booties.

The cat was still sitting on the table, one hind paw lifted as she cleaned between her claws.

“Good grief,” PJ muttered. “She must be related to Freddy Krueger.” He set the carrier on the floor in front of the table and opened its wire door. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty. Go into the nice box so we can get you out of the murder house.” He winced. “I mean, so you can go on a nice visit to Uncle PJ’s apartment.”

The cat was unimpressed by the suggestion and continued her foot bath. “You’re going to have to pick her up, Peej.” My nose was already twitching with the need to sneeze. “The sooner the better.”

“Oh, fine.” He approached her gingerly, and she stopped licking her paw to stare, unblinking, at PJ’s boa. He edged closer and grabbed her behind the front legs. She went limp in his hands. “Hey. This isn’t so hard.”

But as soon as he got her close to the carrier, she exploded into action, squirming and yowling.

PJ, to his credit, didn’t drop her. “Oh my god, she is an alien! She’s sprouted at least eight more legs. Ow!” A long bloody gash opened on the back of his hand, although I hadn’t seen the blow.

“I’ve got an idea.” I slid over to him on the slick marble tiles and unwound the boa from his neck. I shook it in the cat’s face once, then tossed it into the carrier. She planted her rear feet on PJ’s chest and launched herself onto the floor, then zipped inside. I clanged the door shut and latched it. “There. Piece of cake. Now let’s get out of here.”

I didn’t have to ask PJ twice. He practically leaped behind Moocher’s wheel, leaving me to listen to Bae reiterate his ominous We’ll be in touch when he handed me his and Huber’s cards. I made a mental note to call Huber in the morning to find out if they’d contacted Ava’s daughter, Rebecca. Even if we weren’t allowed to discuss the case with anyone not involved, I wanted to send her a note offering my condolences and ask if I could do anything to help.

As soon as I was belted in, PJ pulled away from the curb. “Thank goodness. I thought we’d never escape.” In the back seat, the cat let out the weirdest yowl. PJ glanced over his shoulder, his eyes wide. “Holy crap, Tash. It sounds like she’s saying Ava.”

A shiver climbed up my spine. “That’s impossible.”

“If we were in—”

“A horror movie, yes, I know. But we’ve got our own horror to deal with now. We don’t need to borrow any from your favorite obsession.”

He sighed and gripped the wheel harder. “I know. And I just realized we can’t get sloshed over at your place. Even if we didn’t have work tomorrow—and Vinh has me scheduled to provision two new servers—we can’t exactly leave the cat in the car.” When I sneezed, he shot me a wry half smile. “And we can’t take her inside your place either.”

I pulled my lace-edged handkerchief out of my purse and blotted my watering eyes. “That’s for sure.”

PJ braked for a red light and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. “Why couldn’t I shut up back there? I mean, I know it was a shock finding Ava like… like that—”

“You think?”

“But every word out of my mouth was as good as a confession. You’d think I’d never seen an episode of Criminal Minds in my life! And did you see the way Detective Hottie kept giving us the side-eye? He definitely thinks we did it.”

I sighed. “It’s been a long and very stressful day. Let’s not make things worse. I know we can’t indulge in gin and tonics, but…” I pointed out the window at a Burgerville.

“Fresh strawberry milkshakes! Yes!”

They weren’t martinis, but after the day we’d had, they were almost as good.