“They’re fine,” Diesel said. “They’ll figure it out.”
“Yes, but . . .”
YEOWL.
EEeeeee!
Cat pounced on Carl, and Carl went postal. There was a lot of screeching and hissing and growling and monkey bitch slapping. I dove under the covers, and I felt Diesel roll over me. I peeked out and saw he had Cat and Carl by the scruffs of their necks, holding them both at arm’s length.
I switched the light on, and Diesel marched out of the room, still holding Cat and Carl. Minutes later, Diesel returned to bed and shut the light off.
“Is everything okay?” I asked him.
“I have Carl on the couch in the sleeping bag, and Cat is in his bed in the kitchen.”
“Was anybody bleeding?”
“Not that I could see.” There was a beat of silence. “Now that I’m back in bed, would you like me to demonstrate some of the things we shouldn’t be doing?”
“No!”
Carl and Cat had saved me from doing something stupid. And it had the added bonus of seeing Diesel with the light on. Sweet dreams tonight.
I was snuggled into Diesel when I woke up. He was still asleep, so I carefully eased away from him and shut the alarm off before it rang. Cat had returned to the foot of the bed. No sign of Carl. I grabbed clothes and tiptoed into the bathroom. I showered and dressed, and Cat and I went downstairs.
Four hours later, I was in the bakery kitchen helping Clara make meat pies and Diesel strolled in, carrying the painting wrapped in the bedsheet.
“I need you to babysit this,” Diesel said. “There’s a problem I have to solve, and I don’t want to leave this unguarded in your house.”
“Put it against the far wall and make sure it’s covered. I’m up to my elbows in bread dough and meat filling here.”
“I’ll be back before you leave today,” Diesel said, propping the painting against the wall. “Call me if there’s an issue.”
He went out the back door, closing and locking it behind him.
“What’s under the sheet?” Clara wanted to know.
“A painting. We sort of borrowed a Van Gogh yesterday.”
“A real Van Gogh?”
“Yeah.”
“Borrowed?”
“Yep.”
“Borrowed what?” Glo asked, coming in from the front shop.
“A painting,” Clara said. “It’s under the sheet.”
Glo pulled the sheet away, and we all looked at the painting.
“It looks like wallpaper,” Glo said. “My grammy had wallpaper like this in her bedroom, but it wasn’t 3D.”
“What do you mean 3D?” I asked.
“Well, there’s the branches and flowers, and then in front of them, there’s writing and some bells with numbers and musical notes, and then a man’s name.”