Лори Касс - Tailing A Tabby

“His rabbits,” I said.

Dr. Joe made a noise that didn’t sound quite like a laugh. If I hadn’t known Joe to be a large African-American man in his mid-forties with a wife, three children, and a thriving veterinarian practice, I would have said he giggled. But the idea of a six–foot-three, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man giggling was so unlikely that I pushed it to the outside edge of probability.

“Oh, you know about the bunnies?” Dr. Joe asked. Then he giggled.

“I was introduced last night,” I said. “Greg showed me his new litter and I was wondering how old they were. He couldn’t quite remember,” I lied, “but he said you were out there that night.”

“Yeah, held his hand more than anything else. Weird way to spend a Friday night.” There were a few keyboard clicks and he gave me the date of Carissa’s murder.

For a brief second, I considered the possibility that Greg had bribed Dr. Joe to lie for him. Then I discarded the idea. I’d once overheard Dr. Joe berate his youngest son, who worked at the vet clinic after school, for not telling the complete truth about cleaning a dog cage. This was not a man who would lie for a client.

“The little bunnies,” I said, “they’re really cute.”

“Cute, sure.” Dr. Joe chuckled. “I keep trying to come up with the right phrase, only Plassey’s name doesn’t rhyme with any rabbit breed I know about. Greg, either, come to think of it.”

“Phrase?” I asked.

“Like for a headline. Hey, you’re the librarian. I bet you could come up with something good. No, wait, I got it. Baseballer’s Bunnies! No, wait, here’s a better one: Pitcher Plassey’s Penchant for Plush Pets.”

He laughed loud and long, and though I’d basically rolled my eyes at Greg’s assertion that he’d never be able to live down the jokes, I was beginning to understand the isolated house and the tall fence. If Dr. Joe, a man who loved animals of all shapes and sizes, was laughing at Greg’s much-loved pets, the response of an average Joe would be even worse.

Having a fortune might be nice, but I was suddenly very, very glad I wasn’t famous.

• • •

That evening, as I was finishing up the dinner dishes of a plate, knife, and fork and tossing a foam container from the Round Table into the trash, my cell phone rang with the Scrubs theme song.

Eddie, in his new favorite sleeping spot of smashing himself against the window while perched on the top of the dining bench, twitched his tail at the noise.

Smiling, I picked up the phone and thumbed the phone on. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Tucker said. “Are you doing anything? Thanks to coming in yesterday when I didn’t have to, I have an unexpected night off.”

Still smiling, I sat down and gave Eddie a few pets. Immediately cat hair shot straight up toward the ceiling, then drifted about while deciding what object it was going to grace with its final resting place. “Well, I had a busy night planned. I was going to finish reading a book, watch the sunset, then go to bed with a brand-new book.” I watched as a majority of the Eddie hair wafted down onto my navy blue T-shirt.

“Hmm. You sound swamped. Is there any way you could be persuaded to modify your plans?”

I started to cite the quote of “I might, rabbit,” but changed my mind. There were enough rabbits in my head without adding a cartoon version. “I’m certainly willing to listen to another offer.”

“How about the same basic plan, but replacing the reading with some quiet conversation?”

It sounded wonderful. “I think that could be worked into my schedule.”

“Excellent.” His voice sounded odd. I heard a knock and looked up. Tucker was standing at the screen door, flowers in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other, and my picnic basket at his feet.

Grinning, I went to the door and swung it open wide. “What would you have done if I hadn’t been home?” I took the flowers and gave Tucker a kiss.

“Donated the flowers to the hospital and saved the wine for another occasion.”

“Clever man.” The houseboat’s storage capacity didn’t provide room for extras like flower vases, so I trimmed the ends of the colorful blooms and popped them into a white mixing bowl while I told Tucker where to put the picnic basket. “There,” I said, putting the flowers in the middle of the dining table. “They look happy there, don’t they?”

“Eddie doesn’t look so sure.” Tucker nodded at Fuzz Face, who was reaching out with a paw to touch bright pink petals.

“Hey,” I said, pulling away the bowl. “Not a cat toy.”

Eddie gave me a look of pure disgust and flopped himself onto the seat.

Tucker laughed. “Did you see that look he gave you? I swear he understood what you were saying.”

I turned and scrounged through the kitchen cabinet for the stemmed glasses Kristen had given me last summer so she didn’t have to drink her wine out of plastic cups. “I’m just afraid of the day when he starts talking back.”

Tucker looked at Eddie. Eddie looked at him. “Yeah,” Tucker said. “I see what you mean. Knowing exactly what he’s thinking might not be comfortable.”

I handed Tucker the corkscrew and he popped the cork out of the bottle with an efficiency Kristen would have smiled to see. Wineglasses in hand, I pushed the door open with my elbow and headed out. Tucker paused. “Can Eddie… ? Oh, wait. Never mind.”

Having scooted out between Tucker’s feet, Eddie was already outside and choosing which chaise he’d lounge upon.

“It’s fine,” I said. “We’re often out here.” I took the Eddie chair. Tucker sat on the edge of the other and poured the wine.

“To summer nights,” he said, holding up his glass.

“Long may they last,” I said.

“Mrr,” Eddie said.

Tucker blinked. “You’re sure he can’t… ?”

“Absolutely not,” I said firmly. “He’s a cat. He can’t possibly understand human speech.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” Tucker reached forward to give Eddie a cautious pat. “His fur is so soft. Do all cats have fur like this?”

My eyebrows went up. “Eddie is the first cat you’ve ever touched?”

“My parents were dog people. I must have had friends who had cats, but I don’t remember petting one. Maybe I did.” A breeze blew at Tucker’s hair and he pushed at it with his free hand. Which, I noted, now had pieces of Eddie hair on it. “Doesn’t seem possible that I could be thirty-five years old and never petted a cat.”

“I’m thirty-three and I’ve never petted a llama.”

“Well, there you go,” he said. “We have a lot in common.”

I smiled and he smiled back. This was a good thing, being able to be silly with each other. A very good thing. This was extremely good compared to every other relationship I’d ever had. Most times I’d had to repress my silliness for fear of being mocked, but maybe this time… just maybe…

“I hope I’m not getting sick.” Tucker sniffed, then rubbed at his eyes. Scratched at his face. Rubbed the palm of his hand against the edge of the chaise. “My eyes are watering like crazy.”

And, just like that, the pieces fit together, tight and snug. I pulled Eddie into my arms and stared at Tucker. “You’re not sick,” I whispered. And he hadn’t been sick the other night, either. “You’re allergic to cats.”

Chapter 16

Tucker had denied reality until his skin had started to turn a splotchy red. Even then, he’d said he’d be fine. It was the steady stream of eye and nose drippage that sent him home.

Eddie had been nestled in my lap throughout Tucker’s ordeal, saying nothing but blinking every so often, almost as if he were calculating.

I looked over at him. Over and down, to be exact, since he was in his cat carrier on the floor of the bookmobile. Ivy had pulled the carrier up against the bottom of the passenger’s seat, and her legs were draped over the top of the carrier.