Paint the Town Dead (5 page)

Until I saw what he'd set on our antique counter.

Small bags of puppy and kitten chow. Small boxes of puppy and kitten treats. Stainless steel bowls. A plastic pan. Kitty litter. A scooper.

“Subtle, Shoar. Real subtle.” I planted my fists on my hips, glanced at Jasmine. “Did you help him haul this stuff inside?”

She shrugged innocently. “He is the law, Miss Nixy.”

I rounded on Eric, but he held up a hand. “I swung by the alley a while ago. Fred told me your visiting critters were still out back.”

“And he thought I'd let them go hungry?”

“He didn't think you'd have time to get food for them.”

“So you volunteered.”

“The Silver Six were going to do it, but they looked bushed, Nixy.”

“I told you I don't have experience with pets, but I know this. If I feed them, they'll stay.”

“We'll take them to the vet tomorrow. Fred said they've been fixed, so Dr. Sally might recognize them. If not, she'll scan them for microchips.”

Jasmine, who had been avidly watching us, spoke up suddenly.

“I told you I can't take them, but I'll put out the word.” She snapped her fingers. “I know a teacher at the college who lost her cat and dog. Well, not lost them. They died. She might be ready to have pets again.”

I arched a brow at Eric. “Why don't you take them home?”

“My schedule is too erratic, you know that. It wouldn't be fair to leave them alone so much.”

“I'm busy here, so what's the difference?”

“They're just upstairs. You can look in on them easily.”

I had a feeling the critters would be in Fred's workroom rather than confined to my apartment. I gazed at Jasmine, then Eric.

“I'm not getting out of this, am I?”

“Nope.”

Jasmine went home, and Eric and I toted the pet paraphernalia to the workroom.

“You're going to make them stay down here?”

“This floor is linoleum. The rest of the place has original wood floors that you know we've just refinished.”

“I'm sure the cat is litter box–trained if it had an owner, plus I saw both of them do their business in the strip of grass by the parking lot. I cleaned it up, by the way. Dropped the bag in the Dumpster out back.”

“Thanks, but I really don't want these original floors ruined.”

“Tell you what,” he said reasonably. “Let's see if they'll come inside at all. Then I can guilt you into taking them upstairs.”

I gave that remark the answer it deserved: none. But I went out the alley door with Eric to find the cat and dog curled up together in the cardboard box. They immediately came out, stretched in perfect unison, and looked up at us with those sweet expressions.

“You sure seem well behaved. Time to prove that. Come on.” Eric snapped his fingers and went to the doorway.

The critters didn't move. Their gazes shifted from Eric to me. I sighed, made a sweeping gesture at the door.

“Okay, okay. Come on in, you two.”

The cat and dog rose as one and trotted inside, the cat rubbing along the doorframe as she entered.

“See? They waited for you to invite them in. You're their pack alpha.”

“Even I know cats don't do packs. Is it odd that they aren't sniffing around? That would be normal, right?”

He shrugged. “Could be they're more than just well behaved. Could be they've been trained.”

“It's kinda creepy. I mean, shouldn't they be more playful? Inquisitive?”

“They might be both when they feel more secure. For now, they'll be perfect ladies, won't you?” He knelt to scratch each of them under their chins. “Look at it this way. If the doc knows them from her practice, they'll be gone tomorrow. Houseguests for just one night.”

Who was I kidding? Even if I left them alone in the workroom, I'd be up checking on them all night.

“All right, but you're helping me clean any messes,” I said, looking down at all three of their pleading, adorable faces.

“Done,” he said as he rose and crossed the few steps to open my stairwell door. “Come on, critters.”

The preternaturally quiet animals stayed seated.

“Oh, for heaven's sake.” I stood on the first step, bent down, and clapped my hands. “Let's go.”

The cat emitted a gravelly
mreow
, the dog bayed a
bark-aroo
, and both bounded up the stairs.

I threw Eric a frantic, “Oh, no,” and charged up behind them, but they weren't tearing up my apartment. I found them sitting beside the kitchen peninsula, the dog softly
panting, the cat with her tail curled around her. I could've sworn they smiled.

Eric entered with a food bag under each arm, a food dish in each hand. I took the bowls, rinsed them, and opened the bags while he went back down for the next load.

Not sure how much to feed the critters, I read the directions on the bag, estimated their weights, and scooped the food with a measuring cup. The dog and cat perked their ears as soon as the nuggets hit the bowls, but they waited until I put the dishes on the floor under the window to calmly walk over. One sniff, though, and they dug in.

Eric caught me smiling at them as he filled the water bowls that had been outside and set them near their food.

“Told you it wouldn't be so bad.”

“They've been here five minutes.”

“Five good minutes. I like your place. I didn't realize the kitchen would be so big. What's your square footage?”

“Twelve hundred, give or take. I feel like I'm rattling around in here compared to sharing an apartment.”

“The place is more modern than I thought it would be, too. Did you update it?”

“Sherry did when Vonnie and her husband leased the building. She did the bathroom, too. You've never been up here?”

“Never had the occasion to be, and that's a good thing considering my line of work.”

“True. Well, the Vances took good care of the place,” I said, absently caressing the rounded edge of the stone-look countertop on the peninsula. The darker browns in the fake vein complemented the dark hardwood floor.

“Will you show me around? You need to decide where you want the litter box.”

“Definitely not in the kitchen. Where do you suggest?”

“Bathroom?”

“I don't know. The stacking washer and dryer are in there,
and that takes up floor space.” Plus I wasn't keen on facing a litter box every morning and night.

I opened the door that accessed the bath from the living room, and immediately noticed I'd left the other door open. The one that led to my bedroom. At least I'd picked up my clothes and made my bed.

I knew the minute Eric spotted the bed because he stilled, and I was thrown deep in one of those awkward moments.

I heard a snuffling rustle and the dog trotted in via the bedroom, plopping down near the claw foot tub. An instant later, she was followed by the cat, who hopped up onto the sink and broke my too-aware-of-him spell.

“Looks like they're taking the tour with us, doesn't it?” He turned back to the living room. I followed. So did Cat and Dog.

“Anywhere else that will work for the cat box?” he asked, talking a mile a minute, “How about over there.” He pointed at my would-be dining room. “Whoa, that is some amazing craftsmanship.”

He strode past the boxes I still hadn't unpacked to the paneled back wall of the dining room, and almost reverently ran his hand over the wood. “This can't be original to the building.”

“The story is that my several times Great-Aunt Sissy had it built when she lived here in the early 1900s,” I said, grateful for the subject change. “And it's not just ornamental. Watch.”

I pushed on a section and it sprang open to reveal deep shelves.

“Great storage. There are shelves down in the store, too, aren't there? Behind where y'all set up the antique counter with the glass front and top.”

“Yes, that's where the downstairs lift access is.”

He blinked. “The what?”

“These two panels hide a lift.” I gave the two middle
panels a quick push, and doors popped open to reveal an ornate iron door. “I don't know exactly how old the lift is, but it's in perfect condition.”

“And this is how you get furniture up here. Through the store, up the lift, and through this dining room. That Aunt Sissy of yours was one forward thinker.”

I grinned at his enthusiasm.

A squeaky
meow
interrupted us. We both looked down into green eyes.

“Uh-oh, do you think she needs to go?”

“I don't speak cat, but let's set up her litter in here for now. You can always move the box.”

He went to the kitchen peninsula, where he'd left the critter supplies, and I followed. He added the box liner, opened the litter bag, and poured slowly to minimize the dust. I carried the pan to the dining room, set it down near a wall, and backed away as the cat came to inspect her toilet. When it looked like she was going to do her thing, I turned and found the pup sitting a foot away, big golden brown eyes pinned on me.

“I suppose she should go out, huh?”

“I bought a collar and leash.”

“Of course you did.”

“And a halter and leash for the cat.”

I sighed. “Of course you did.”

Eric used his pocketknife to first cut the tags off the turquoise collar and coordinating leash. I snapped my fingers and the pup trotted right to me. No squirming when I fastened the collar, although the cat came over to sniff and then rub her cheek against it. Then, when Eric handed me the now tagless halter that matched the dog's collar, Cat stood on her hind legs for a better look.

“Yes, this is for you,” I told her. “I'm not sure how to get you in it, but we'll figure it out.”

With a little coaching from Eric, I held the halter
correctly, and then knelt hoping I wouldn't have to wrestle Cat into the contraption. I didn't. She daintily stepped right into the thing and stood still as I snapped it closed. Maybe this pet deal wouldn't be so bad after all. In the short term, that is.

“Uh, Nixy, do you have any plastic bags?”

“Under the sink. Why?” Then I got it. Dog poop. Oh, joy.

*   *   *

Eric and I walked the dog around a block away from the square where there were more houses, and where grass grew between the sidewalk and the street. The dog could do her business without being in someone's yard proper. It was nice, walking through the town at dusk. With Eric. Even if he was carrying a bag of dog poop.

The cat trotted right beside of her canine BFF, both seemingly proud of their new accessories. Striding next to them as we strolled, I realized the dog's shoulders came about to my knee. The cat was shorter by about six inches, but she kept up with her taller friend.

Eric offered to pick up some takeout and then help me unload some boxes. I took him up on the burgers and fries, but turned down unpacking the boxes. I was too worn out to make sorting and stashing decisions.

After he left, I got on the floor to play with the critters. Just for a few minutes. Not like I was getting attached, although calling them Dog and Cat was wearing thin. Naming them? That seemed permanent, but hey, it was practical.

“All right, you two, listen up,” I said as the critters lounged, bellies up on either side of my outstretched legs. “I feel stupid talking to you, but I'd feel more stupid not talking. I mean you're right here, and it's not your fault I've never had a pet.”

They flipped over and cocked their heads at me like they were really listening. It was adorable, and talking to them suddenly seemed more natural. I forged ahead.

“I also feel lame calling you Dog and Cat. You need names. Just temporary ones, of course.”

The animals looked at each other, then back at me, cocking their heads in the other direction. A little whine burst from the dog. I could swear their eyes twinkled.

“So I found you two in the alley, but Alley and Cat? Clichéd, don't you think?” The dog sniffed and I swear she shook her head. “Okay, how about Amber for your golden eyes?” The dog barked and licked my hand. “Amber works for you?”

She barked again, wagged her tail. Not to be outdone, the cat crawled into my lap and put her paws on my chest. Her three little claws caught on my emporium shirt and her purring rumbled pleasantly.

“Yes, yes, I'm getting to you, and watch those claws.” I caught one of her paws in my fingers and her three little toes splayed. “You're a tri-claw cat. How about T.C. for tri-claw?”

The cat rumbled even more deeply and licked my chin with her rough tongue.

“Okay, Amber and T.C. it is.”

As I scratched my newly named companions, a hand on each furry head, a wave of both calm and sleepiness came over me. Time to crash.

I forgot to close the bedroom door, and emerged from the shower to find the animals curled up together on the foot of my bed, Amber spooned around T.C.'s smaller body. I started to move them to the living room, but figured my comforter was easy enough to dry clean. Hopefully, there'd be no accidents. There was plenty of room for all three of us in the bed.

Besides, they'd be forever gone if the vet knew them and their owner.

*   *   *

I immediately liked Dr. Sally Barklay when I met her early the following morning. Yep, her real name.
About my age, she was slender in her animal print scrubs, her short ash blonde hair giving her an impish look. She ran her one-doctor office with a receptionist, an assistant, and students interning in veterinary medicine.

On the downside, Sally didn't recognize Amber or T.C. from her practice, and a scan showed they hadn't been chipped. On the upside, she confirmed that both critters had been fixed, and pronounced them in excellent health except for minor cracks in their paw pads. This condition, she told Eric and me, was likely because they had wandered for a week or more, walking on hot road surfaces. If a surface was too hot for bare human feet, it was too hot for paws. She applied a balm to their pads and gave me a sample to continue applying several times a day.

“Did you groom them?” At my blank stare, she added, “Did you brush their coats, pick out burrs, anything like that?”

“Nope. They showed up looking like they'd walked down the block, not walked for days.”

“They've done a good job of grooming themselves, then. Or each other. There is no sign of them having been mistreated, either. Certainly not in the recent past,” she said, stroking Amber's back. Amber gave her an adoring gaze. “Your dog is probably a German pinscher. That's an unusual breed for around here, but she may have a dash of coonhound or something else. I don't think she'll get much larger, especially if she was the litter runt.”