Page 128 of Evil Bones
Then my heart threw in a few extra beats.
A black swath bordered the jamb. The gap wasn’t wide. Just big enough to accommodate a cat.
Shit!I may have cursed out aloud.
Had Birdie followed the call of the wild and ventured forth?
I hurried outside, whisper-calling his name to avoid disturbing the neighbors.
“Birdie?”
No cat.
I tried again, louder.
Louder.
I kept at it for several minutes before giving up. The night was warm. The grounds were reasonably safe. It wouldn’t be the first time the cat had overnighted outside.
Moments later, back in bed, I couldn’t help but wonder.
HowhadBirdie made his escape? Had I left the back door ajar when I’d returned from searching for Ruthie? Had Ryan? Had a breeze blown it open?
Had someone entered my house?
How?
Who?
The killer?
My upstairs toilet drips. It always has.
The next morning, after another lecture about locking my doors, arming my security system, and watching my six—which I assumed meant staying aware of what was happening behind me—Ryan said that something called a flapper needed replacing. At nine, he set off in search of the part.
When he’d gone, I made another loop of the grounds. Spotted no sign of Birdie.
Returning to the Annex, I phoned Katy.
Got voice mail. Guessing she’d already gone to the center, I left a message asking if Ruthie had turned up.
After brewing coffee, I booted my laptop, determined to make a dent in the dozens of emails I’d been ignoring over the past several days. Weeks?
Focus eluded me. My mind kept going to Ruthie and Birdie.
At ten, the hated task only partially complete, I took a break to give another shoutout to the errant feline. He remained AWOL.
I tried Katy again. Still no answer.
Ruthie. Same result.
Wondering if Slidell had made any progress finding Quaashi Brown’s killer, I dialed his mobile.
Strike three.
I was out.
Disconnecting with an irritated thumb jab, I winged my mobile onto the counter.
