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AS SEPTEMBER RETURNED to Angela’s house, Shadow made concentric nose prints on the rear window. He pawed at the door and woofed softly.
She knew he wanted the window rolled down. Shadow relished cold more than she did. “Okay, just a crack. I’m still cold and don’t have fur like you.”
He eagerly stuck his nose out the two-inch opening, drinking fresh air like a parched runner gulping Gatorade. He needed another run at the dog park, too, and she debated stopping now. Maybe after she met with Angela. And took a closer look at Chris’s investigation before she picked up Tee from the train platform at South Bend Airport.
The bag of research on the front seat begged for attention. She’d agreed to turn over the material to the police, but wanted to read through Chris’s research before Tee arrived this afternoon. Despite the continued snow, the roads weren’t terrible. Indiana road crews knew how to manage the weather, but Tee planned to catch the 12:20 South Shore train and arrive at the South Bend airport about 4:00.
September took the same parking spot in front of Angela’s house. She didn’t see any fresh tracks in the drive. Where the hell was Angela? “She begged me to come visit, and now she’s a ghost on the phone.”
Shadow whined and thumped his tail, agreeing with anything she said. “You’re just hungry for my breakfast sandwich.” He licked his lips at the word and September laughed. She’d stopped at a drive-through after leaving the bank and had already eaten one sausage and egg croissant, but had saved the second to share with Shadow and Macy when they got home. A giant steaming container of coffee balanced in the cup-holder.
She dropped the take-out food and her phone into the bag with Chris’s research, and slung the bag over one shoulder, balancing the coffee in the other hand. Shadow leaped out as soon as his door opened and raced to the front door. September slowly followed, careful not to fall in the slick snow. She hesitated when she saw Shadow’s hackles bristling, and his stiff-legged posture. He tipped his head from side to side, eyes glued to the door.
“Good dog, Shadow. Wait.” Angela must have returned after all. Instead of unlocking the door for him to check-it-out and search the premises, she knocked first, then rang the bell. It wouldn’t do for Shadow to scare her hostess before they’d reconnected. After waiting, and ringing a second time with no response, she called Angela’s cell.
No answer. It again went to voice mail. “I don’t know where you are, Angela, but I’m back from the bank and waiting at your house. I also found out that Brad Detweiller, the man mentioned in Chris’s files, has killed himself.” She didn’t hide the exasperation in her voice, still shivering on the front steps in the icy temperatures. “I’ve had enough. I’m giving all the paperwork to the police this afternoon. So if you still want to meet up, call me back. Soon. Meanwhile, I’m packing to go home.”
More than irked, September thrust the key in the lock and swung open the front door. Without being told, Shadow bounded into the first room and raced around the perimeter, his tail waving with excitement. He woofed as he returned to her, nose-touched her hand, then surged past into the next room.
She heard his thumping paws gallop up the stairs, and listened to his progress from room to room. September quickly shut the front door behind her, and dropped the bag of research next to the coat closet. “Good boy, Shadow. Hey baby-dog, good check-it-out. Where are you, boy?” She sipped her coffee, grimacing at the scalding temperature, and hurried up the stairs. Shadow met her at the top, whining, fur still bristled, but having found nothing.
The door to the guest bedroom stood open the width of a cat. “Macy?” Crap, he could be anywhere in the house. At least he’d come when called, if she used the right enticement. “Hey Macy, want treats? I’ve got treats for Macy.” She waited, listening for his eager meow and padding tread. Nothing.
She turned to Shadow. “Where’s your cat? Find Macy.”
He bounded past her back down the stairs and she followed more slowly to avoid spilling her coffee. Macy had already taken his heart medication this morning and acted fine. But his condition could blow up at any time. Stress could tip him over his threshold. She should have left him behind with Lia, safe and secure, rather than put him through the rigors of travel. She’d wanted to show him off to his breeder and alert her to HCM if she didn’t already know about it. It often affected entire lines of Maine Coon cats. “Macy-cat, where are you, buddy?” Please let him be safe!
Shadow’s claws clicked on the floor in the nearby kitchen and she hurried to join him. He’d searched every other room in the house.
Macy loved to open cupboard doors and lounge on top of refrigerators. The lever door handles proved irresistible and he had three to choose from in the small kitchen: a door to the garage, a walk-in pantry, and into the back yard. September held her breath as she scanned the room for evidence of the cat.
The back door stood open. “Oh no!” She’d closed and locked the door last night. Hadn’t she? Had Angela’s housekeeper returned?
Shadow pressed his nose to the base of the pantry door, paw-scratching the entry with a low bubbling growl deep in his throat. But September had already hurried to the open back door. A dark green ribbon of fabric the same color as the cat’s eyes nested in the blowing snow on the back steps. Macy’s collar.
“Oh no! Shadow, find Macy, seek!” She prayed he’d find Macy crouched and shivering under one of the snow-covered lawn chairs. At least the tiny back yard’s tall fence would keep the cat safely confined.
But Shadow still whined at the pantry, probably eager for his food bag she’d left inside. Impatiently, she repeated the command. “Shadow, seek!” Her voice cracked with authority, and he obediently bounded out the back door to sniff the discarded cat collar.
A gloved hand reached past September, slammed shut the door, and trapped Shadow outside. He barked and snarled, throwing himself against the door.
September reflexively ducked and whirled away. Her knee cried out in protest. She gritted her teeth, hoping the old injury wouldn’t betray her. A long, mournful meow sounded from the garage. Macy!
The silent man before her wore a ski mask. He produced a gun, silencer attached, with the dexterity of a magician.
“No!” September tore the lid from the coffee and threw the scalding liquid into his face.
He screamed with pain, struggled to strip off the scalding wet fabric.
September dodged towards the garage. Her foot kicked a jangle of keys as she pushed open the door and they spun through it. She slammed the garage door and leaned against it. Her mouth dropped open.
Angela hung from the rafters. Macy yowled below.
