Dying to Read (29 page)

The next call came that afternoon. Cate stiffened when she heard the name. Roger Ledbetter, Amelia’s lawyer. “You’re working for Cheryl now?” she asked warily.

“No. I’m not the kind of lawyer Mrs. Calhoun needs at the moment,” he said in that smooth lawyer way that warned her that even if Cheryl wasn’t his client, he wasn’t about to supply confidential information. “This call is about you and the cat. Octavia, I believe it is.”

Octavia was at that moment curled around Cate’s neck. Cate gave her fluffy tail a stroke. “Octavia is fine, thank you. Have you decided on a price for her?”

“The probating of Amelia’s will won’t be complete for some time yet, and recent events add new complications. But I thought I should talk to you now. As you know, I am executor of the will. And the will makes specific provisions for Octavia.”

He explained that Amelia’s will gave him the task of finding a caring, responsible owner for the cat. In doing this, he had considered what Cate had done in providing a home for Octavia when the cat’s welfare was threatened, and how she’d offered to purchase the cat. Plus there were the satisfactory results of an investigation into her character and personal life.

The word
investigation
clicked in Cate’s head. “You mean
you
sent that guy around asking the neighbors nosy questions about me?”

“I believe that was part of the private investigator’s procedure, yes,” the lawyer agreed without apology. “So I’ve concluded that you do meet Amelia’s qualifications for ownership of her beloved companion. I’ll issue a transfer of ownership to you.”

“I don’t have to post bond? Furnish fingerprints? Pass a written exam?” Okay, snide, she admitted. But this was the guy who had someone poking into her trash.

“The will didn’t make those stipulations.” He sounded as if he took her facetious questions seriously, although he did add, his tone still businesslike, “Although you might have to sing something from that
Cats
musical.”

“Okay. I’ll start practicing.”

Octavia now decided the back of Cate’s ear needed a good tongue washing. Ah, the joys of cat ownership.

“There is an additional provision in the will. It says that whoever qualifies for ownership of the cat also, in order to provide a suitable environment for her, acquires the house, along with—”

“The house? You’re saying the
house
comes with Octavia?”

“That’s what the will specifies, yes. Along with funds for home upkeep, cat food, et cetera.”

Now Cate understood Cheryl and Scott Calhoun’s desperation to get Octavia back. They apparently hadn’t known at first what the will said about Octavia. When they found out, they were frantic to get her back so they could also get ownership of the house. Which also explained Scott’s comment about the ironic situation with her, the house, and the cat. And why he was quite pleased to include her in his murderous plans for Willow and burning the house.

“There are some provisions, but nothing you’ll find onerous, I believe.” While Cate was still working on
onerous
, the lawyer added, “Of course, there is the complication with the house itself.”

“Toast.”

Small silence as he apparently digested the word. “Well, yes, an apt description. Toast. But there is adequate insurance, and we can work together on the rebuilding. Something that will be suitable for Octavia. And you, of course,” he added, as if her wants were a minor afterthought. “I’ll be in touch to discuss this.”

“A house,” Cate said to Octavia after the phone call ended. “You and me, we’ll have a house.”

Mrrow.

Cate went back to job hunting, but it was a halfhearted effort. Because she knew now what she wanted to do with her life. She went to Uncle Joe in the rehabilitation center. He’d just returned to his room from a physical therapy session, and he was not in a good mood.

“They give you a new hip, and then the first thing they do is try to wear it out,” he grumbled.

“Uncle Joe, I want to be a private investigator. Full-time. Permanently.”

Uncle Joe inspected her thoughtfully. “You can’t get a PI license until you have, I think the requirement now is 1,500 hours of investigative experience working under a licensed private investigator, and also meet various other requirements. Until then, you need an interim license.”

“I want to do that. Whatever it takes.”

“I was beginning to think you were never going to ask.”

She blinked. “You were waiting?”

“I figured it was a decision you had to make on your own.”

“What do I do now?”

“Look at the files in my desk drawer. We’ll talk about your next assignment.”

“But you’re retiring—”

He finally smiled. And gave her a wink. “That’s just what Rebecca thinks. Welcome aboard.”

Cate and Mitch drove to the burned house that evening. She’d told him about the lawyer’s call concerning the house and Octavia. She hadn’t yet told him about her conversation with Uncle Joe. The yellow crime scene tape was gone, but the scent of burned wood and soggy ashes remained. The chimney stood like a lonely sentinel in the midst of the destruction. Would a proper feng shui arrangement have avoided this? Cate doubted it. Not unless Scott Calhoun had stumbled over a properly placed chair and hit his head on the mantel before he set the house on fire.

This visit to the house had a purpose, although Cate had little hope of success. They clambered through the debris to where two walls of Willow’s bedroom remained. And yes . . . a corner of a warped medicine cabinet clung to one wall. It wouldn’t open, but Mitch yanked it free and smashed it with a stomp of foot. Inside, a metal box, misshapen with heat. Mitch had to stomp it too, to get it open.

Inside, the contents were unidentifiable crumbles. But within the crumbles . . . a ring! A wedding band, two rows of diamonds, four stones in each row. Still bravely glittering.

They took the ring to Beverly that same evening. Cate offered Willow’s apologies, which Beverly chose to believe meant Willow had taken the ring accidentally, and Cate didn’t try to argue her out of the belief. “I do miss that girl’s meat loaf” was Beverly’s final declaration.

Mitch took Cate home. At the door she turned to him. “There’s something I guess I should tell you. I’m going to start working full-time for Uncle Joe. I want to be a private investigator. A real one.”

“I thought you might.”

“But you don’t approve?”

“Wait here. I have something for you.” He ran back to the SUV, dug in the glove compartment, and returned with an oblong box and handed it to her.

She opened the box. A pen resting on white velvet lay inside. “That’s nice, Mitch. Really nice.” She was pleased but puzzled. It was a lovely blue pen, but she had a pen. Everybody had pens.

Mitch picked it out of the box. “It’s a special pen. With video and audio. I thought it might come in handy.”

A spy pen! “How does it work?”

“Beats me. But we’ll figure it out.” He touched her cheek. “I admit it. I don’t necessarily approve of the whole PI thing. But I can live with it.”

Cate stretched up and kissed him. “Just what every PI needs.”

“The video pen?”

“I was thinking of a guy always ready to gallop to the rescue.”

“Anytime.”

Lorena McCourtney
is the award-winning author of dozens of novels, including
Invisible
(which won the Daphne du Maurier Award from Romance Writers of America),
In Plain Sight
,
On the Run
, and
Stranded
. She resides in Grants Pass, Oregon.

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