"No," he lied.
Patrick left Olivia at her building door. Grace was on the porch, and he knew better than to pass her. Before they parted
, he tried to get Olivia to tell him why she was asking about the black dog. She wouldn't.
Had she seen a Cwn? That seemed most likely. She'd spotted one in Chicago and realized it was no ordinary pet--and no ordinary omen.
If she had truly seen a Cwn, that meant . . . well, it meant trouble. For her. For Gabriel. For all of them.
CHAPTER FOUR
My landlord, Grace, sat in her usual place--a folding chair on the front stoop. She looked like one of the town's many gargoyles, a wizened imp scowling at the world, daring it to cause trouble.
I said a quick hello as I reached for the doorknob.
"Scone?" she said.
"What?"
"You were at work, weren't you? Where's my scone?"
No, not an imp. A troll. A gray-haired lump of a snaggletoothed beast, guarding her gate, one gnarled hand raised for the toll.
"I forgot," I said. "I'm sorry. I'll grab you two tomorrow. With coffee."
Her beady eyes narrowed. "What's wrong, girl?"
"Nothing."
"If you're apologizing and offering me extras, something's wrong."
"I'm just . . . off today."
I opened the door and stepped through.
"Well, get some rest and eat something. You're too pale. You look like you've seen a ghost."
Maybe I have, I thought as the door closed behind me.
--
When I swung into my apartment, TC was perched on the back of the sofa. I dropped my bag with a clunk and he only snarled a yawn, his yellow eyes narrowing as if I'd disturbed his rest. Then he hopped down and wound around my ankles, completely oblivious to the fact that I was racing to my bedroom.
"I'm changing it to DC," I muttered. "Damn Cat."
TC wasn't a name, as I was quick to point out to anyone who asked. It was an acronym for "The Cat." I refused to name him because I was not yet resigned to the possibility I might actually be stuck with him.
TC was a black cat, which should have given me all the ammunition I needed to get rid of him. Except in some parts of the world, including Cainsville, they're considered good luck. And it wasn't as if I'd "let" the beast into my home in the first place. He was a stray who'd zoomed in after a mouse and refused to leave.
The suitcases I'd brought from home sat in the corner, still packed. I tugged one onto its side, took out each piece, and stacked it. Then I lifted TC--protesting--off the second bag, pulled out my dresses and wrapped shoes, and made absolutely sure I hadn't stuffed any other clothing in there. Then I looked at the piles surrounding me, searching for something specific, something I wasn't seeing.
When I found that corpse in my car, I'd paid little attention to what she was wearing--not surprisingly, perhaps. Seeing those missing person posters brought it back, though. I'd noticed the corpse had been wearing a green shirt. I'd packed a green shirt. Now it was gone.
As I twisted, my gaze caught on the row of shoes. Four pairs. Trainers, heels, pumps, and boots. There was one missing. My Jimmy Choo green lace-up sandals. Completely impractical, but I loved them, and I was absolutely certain I'd packed them.
I took out my cell phone. Then I set it down. Picked it up. Set it down. Finally I gave in and hit speed dial.
The phone went straight to voice mail and I remembered why I wasn't starting my new job with Gabriel today--because he had business at the courthouse.