Kat’s cell phone rang early the next morning. Since it was Saturday, she had planned to sleep in for as long as the cats let her. So much for that idea.
Groping on her nightstand, she managed to locate her phone without opening her eyes. “Hello?”
“Kat? It’s Jessie.”
A ping of alarm penetrated through Kat’s sleep fog. “What is it?”
“I thought you might want to know that stray cat is back.”
“Oh.” The knot in Kat’s chest loosened. So Jessie hadn’t called about Aaron after all.
“He’s in the back alley, near the kitchen entrance,” Jessie said. “I’ll try to lure him inside with some food scraps, but I’m not sure he’ll come.”
“Give me five minutes to get dressed, and I’ll be right over.”
“Thanks, Kat. See you soon.”
Kat set her phone back on the nightstand. Tom, who was lying beside her, rolled his head upside down and peered at her.
She scratched his chin. “Looks like I’m going to have to leave you for a while. Another cat beckons.”
Tom grabbed her hand with both paws as though to hold her there.
“Don’t worry. If all goes well, I should be home in an hour or so, possibly with a guest.”
Matty trotted into the room and jumped onto the mattress. Kat made sure to give the tortoiseshell some attention before standing up to throw on a pair of jeans, a turtleneck, and her sneakers.
After distracting the cats from her early exit by sprinkling a few treats on top of their kibble, she grabbed a cat carrier and slipped out the door.
Jessie’s Diner wasn’t open this early. Kat bypassed the parking lot and pulled into the alley out back. She spotted Jessie’s car and parked behind it.
Jessie pried the back door open before Kat had even stepped out of her car. “I got him to come in,” Jessie said, beaming.
“That’s great.”
The warmth of the restaurant felt fantastic. Kat placed the carrier on the floor and pulled off her mittens while Jessie secured the door.
“He’s over there,” Jessie said, pointing.
The orange tabby was hunched over a paper plate near the dishwashing station. But instead of eating the leftover meat Jessie had set out, he was watching them. His yellow eyes looked a bit cloudy, increasing Kat’s concern that he might be sick.
“He’s skittish, but if I don’t move quickly and stay relatively quiet he seems to be okay,” Jessie said. “I’m guessing he had a home once.”
“Let’s hope he’s just lost and his owner didn’t dump him,” Kat said.
“Yeah.” Jessie leaned against the metal counter that stretched along the center of the kitchen. “Kat, can I ask you something?”
There was a tremor in Jessie’s voice that put Kat on alert. “Sure.”
“You know what that reporter was saying? About Aaron Moskowitz?”
“You mean how she thinks he was murdered?”
Jessie worried her lower lip. “I found something, and I’m not sure what to make of it.”
“Okay,” Kat said slowly.
“I’ll show you.”
Leaving the orange tabby to his breakfast, Kat followed Jessie into the front of the restaurant. The lights were off except for the row that illuminated the aisle behind the counter.
Jessie walked to the far end of the counter and stopped. “There.”
Kat inched closer, her sense of dread building with each step. She was so convinced she would see a dead body or something equally horrific that it took her a moment to realize Jessie was pointing to a simple glass jar.
“What is it?” Kat asked.
“Look at the label.”
Kat bent lower. Her insides tightened when she saw the words ‘Peanut Oil’ printed in bold, black letters.
“I didn’t put it there,” Jessie said. “We have no use for oil up front except for the olive oil we use for dressing. But that’s kept by the salad station in cruets. All the cooking oil is stored in the kitchen. And we don’t even use peanut oil. I’ve never seen that bottle before in my life.”
Having worked at Jessie’s, Kat already knew all this, but she let Jessie tell her anyway. Jessie seemed to be struggling to understand how the oil had ended up where it had. Kat could sympathize. She was struggling with the same thing.
Noise from the rear of the restaurant distracted them.
“Sounds like the cat is up to something,” Jessie said.
Kat started for the kitchen. “I’d better go see if I can catch him before he gets into too much trouble.”
She found the orange tabby near the walk-in cooler. He didn’t look at her, his focus on something in front of him. Cocking his head to the side, he lifted up his right front paw and batted at the object. It skittered along the floor, coming to a stop three inches from Kat’s feet. The tabby started to chase it, but he froze when he realized he had an audience. A split second later he spun around and bolted.
He need not have worried. Kat wasn’t paying him any attention. She was too busy staring at the item he had been playing with.
An electric current scorched down her spine. There was no mistaking the cat’s toy. Its name was printed right on its side.
It was an EpiPen.