Janet Evanovich - Wicked Appetite

“Eep,” Carl said, hands folded in front of him.

“I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t just seen it,” my father said.

I spooned potatoes and beans onto Carl’s plate, and I gave him two small pieces of steak. Carl picked a green bean up with his fingers, smelled it, and ate it. When he was done with his beans, he popped a piece of steak into his mouth and chewed. His lips curled back, his mouth opened, and the half-chewed piece of steak fell out.

“Guess he doesn’t like steak,” my father said.

Carl looked at his mashed potatoes, and he looked over at me. “Eeee?”

“Mashed potatoes,” I told him. “Do you like mashed potatoes?”

Carl shrugged.

I ate a forkful of potatoes. “Mmmm,” I said. “Good.” I handed him his fork. “You try it.”

Carl vigorously shook his head no.

“It’s easy,” I said to Carl. “You just stick the fork in and scoop up potatoes.”

Carl looked from the potatoes, to me, to my father. He looked at the fork and tested a prong with his finger. “Eeh.”

“If you can work a DVD player, you surely can manage a fork,” I said to him.

Carl sucked his lips in and squirmed in his seat.

“Be a man,” my father said to him. “Eat your potatoes!”

Carl squared his shoulders, forked up a glob of potatoes, and concentrated. He got the potatoes almost to his mouth, the fork twisted ever so slightly, and the potatoes fell off onto the floor. “Eeep!” Carl narrowed his eyes and dug into the potatoes again with the same result. “Buh!” He flipped my father the bird, threw the fork across the room, grabbed a handful of potato, and shoved it into his mouth.

My father dug into his food. “This is like eating with your brother.”

After dinner, my dad and Carl settled onto the couch and tuned in to the ball game while I cleaned the kitchen with Cat keeping me company.

“This is a real pain without hot water,” I said to Cat. “First thing tomorrow, I’ll call a plumber and get an estimate on a new water heater.”

Cat fixed his good eye on me and didn’t say anything.

“I love my house, but I didn’t have this problem when I was renting,” I said to him. “I paid my rent, and that was it. I guess you wouldn’t know about that if you’ve always lived here with Ophelia. I suppose you’ve had your own problems, what with your eye and tail and all, but at least you’ve never had to find money for a plumber.” I put a pot of hot water on the stove to heat. “And by the way, I never thanked you for saving me from Hatchet. I really do appreciate it. That was very brave of you.”

Cat sat statue still.

“Are you really a ninja?” I asked him.

No answer.

“I guess I didn’t expect you to tell me,” I said to Cat. “It’s all pretty far-fetched anyway.”

I finished the kitchen and went to the living room with a clean quilt and pillow for my father. I looked out the window and checked the street. No Spook Patrol. No Hatchet. No Diesel. I told myself it should feel good to be free of Diesel, but truth is, I missed him. Thank goodness he wasn’t around to hear me think it.

“How’s the game?” I asked my dad.

“Tie, but Baltimore’s gonna win.”

Carl gave my father the finger. Carl obviously wasn’t an Orioles fan.

“Maybe you shouldn’t tell Mom about Carl,” I said to my dad.

“Too late. I already sent her a picture. I got a new cell phone, and it’s got a picture function. It’s magic. It’s your brother who’s gonna be upset. You just replaced him as family goofball.”

“He worked for years to keep that title.”

“Yep,” my father said. “And you just kicked him to the curb. All his tattoos and loud motorcycles and bad table manners can’t compete with your monkey.”

“I was afraid you might not understand.”

“What’s not to understand? You have a monkey who gives people the finger.”

“He’s only temporary,” I said.

“Your brother will be relieved.”

Carl burped and scratched his butt.

“It’s like he’s human,” my father said.

“If it’s okay with you, I’m going to skip the game. I have work to do on the computer.”

“Don’t stay up late. I know you go to the bakery early. And don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine here on the couch.”

“One more thing. My water heater conked out today. I’m getting a new one tomorrow, but in the meantime there’s no hot water.”

Rain drummed on the roof and ticked against the window over my desk. I’d put in a solid hour of work, and I’d finished the final edit on the part of the cookbook dedicated to entrees. I’d answered some e-mails from friends in New York, and I’d read through two news sites. Cat was curled in the worn-out easy chair alongside my desk. He looked relaxed and asleep, but his ears were pricked forward in listening mode.

“Bedtime,” I said to Cat.

His eyes opened, and he stood and arched his back in a stretch. He followed me out of my office and into my bedroom. The television was still on downstairs, so I closed my door to muffle the noise. A sticky note had been left on my pillow.

Be extra careful. I’m not there to protect you.

The mystery wasn’t who wrote the note, but how the heck Diesel got it onto my pillow and then left the house without being seen. I looked in my closet, under the bed, and in the bathroom, checking behind the shower curtain, just to make sure he wasn’t lurking somewhere.

Ten minutes later, I was in bed, and Cat was sitting on my chest.

“I suppose you’re protecting me ninja-style,” I said to Cat. “Or maybe you’re just trying to keep warm. Either way, I can’t breathe. You have to get off my chest.”

He didn’t move, so I lifted him off and set him next to me. When I woke up the next morning, he was back on my chest.

“You’re killing me,” I said to Cat. “I’m lucky I didn’t die in my sleep. Maybe I should cut back on the cat food. You weigh a ton.”

Cat stood and did the back arch thing again. He stepped off my chest and sat at the bottom of the bed. He didn’t look like he was worried about his weight. And either he knew an idle threat when he heard one, or else he didn’t understand a word I was saying. If he was a ninja, maybe he only spoke Japanese.

I skipped my morning shower, opting to wear a ball cap rather than attempt to wash my hair in frigid water. I dressed in my usual jeans, T-shirt, and sweatshirt, and I quietly walked down the stairs and sneaked into the kitchen. I poured out some kibble for Cat and gave him fresh water. I could hear my dad snoring on the couch, and I assumed Carl was with him. I started making coffee and then thought better of it.

“I don’t want to wake my dad,” I whispered to Cat. “I’m going to eat breakfast at the bakery.”

Cat was hunkered down in front of the back door. I approached the door, and Cat growled at me.

“I fed you,” I said. “And you can’t go out.”

Cat didn’t move.

I reached out to move him, and he slashed at me.

“Bad cat!”

I shoved him with my foot and squeezed past him, out the door. The last thing I saw was his face in the window, and the last thing I heard was Hatchet calling me a stupid wench. And then everything went black.

The room was cool and quiet. Lights were dim. The walls were taupe. Across the room was floor-to-ceiling black glass. Some of the mind fog lifted, and I realized I was on my back. Not hurt, but disoriented. There was nothing between my kitchen and this room. I had no idea how I’d got here. No memory of capture, but I knew I’d been physically moved to an unfamiliar place. I had a rush of panic and then a flash of insight. Wulf. I couldn’t see him, but I had a sense of him. This wasn’t the warehouse that Lenny and Mark More had described. This place felt serene and was fully furnished.