Well Read, Then Dead(65)
“Poor Bow. Do you think a sweet kitty who loves to roam free will be happy living in the turret with us?”
Bridgy shook her head. “First things first. Let’s find a vet, make sure Bow’s healthy and get her cleaned up. And we need to pick up a new ribbon. Do you think we can find one the color of Delia’s special dress?”
Bridgy’s sense of fashion never failed.
We hid Bow, still in her carrier, in our little office behind the kitchen and prayed the health inspector wouldn’t be making his rounds today. I put another plate with some bits of tuna next to her milk and went back to work. When I checked her a half hour later, she was curled up fast asleep.
Finally the morning hustle died down. Bridgy and I were sweeping and scrubbing in anticipation of the lunch crowd. Just as a retired couple from Kentucky visiting for the season walked out the door hand in hand, Cady walked in.
“I heard Delia’s cat showed up. I bet Miss Augusta will be happy. What did she say?”
I automatically picked up the coffeepot and nudged him in the direction of Robert Frost. He started to decline, but I said, “Fresh. Made ten minutes ago. And Ophie just took some corn bread out of the oven.”
Bridgy went into the kitchen and came back with a couple of slices of corn bread with a healthy dollop of honey butter on the side. She set it down in front of Cady, and then she and I sat on either side of him.
Cady groaned as his eyes slid back and forth between us. He picked up the butter knife and set it down again.
“Okay, let’s have it. Get all your questions out of the way, and then I can enjoy my corn bread and coffee.”
“Questions?” I was all wide-eyed innocence but could see that he wasn’t buying my act.
“Questions. You know by now I’ve spoken to the sheriffs and the Medical Center about Skully and you want me to tell you the absolute latest information.”
I feigned indignation.
“You came here specifically to ask us about Bow. We didn’t ask you anything.”
“Bow?”
“Miss Delia’s cat.”
“True, but I can see now that wasn’t my best idea. You two have curiosity written all over you.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you don’t care about Bow? She’s merely another part of your story?” My indignation was rapidly becoming real.
Cady’s face told all.
“Aha! Hoist on your own petard.”
Always the grammarian, he responded, “Actually, the line is ‘hoist with his own petard.’ Hamlet, you know. It means . . .”
“I know what it means. Now stop dithering and tell us what you can.”
Cady’s shoulders slumped momentarily, and then he decided to make the most of being the center of attention. He took a sip of coffee, broke the corner off a slice of corn bread and slathered it with honey butter.
He took a bite and chewed for what seemed like forever. It was bread, for goodness’ sake, not an overcooked steak. He knew I wasn’t a patient woman, and yet he chewed on.
Cady swallowed, took another sip of coffee and said, “Tell me about the cat.”
I wasn’t used to him trying my patience, but I went along with this information “trade.”
“She was hungry and bedraggled. Ryan said they found her next to Skully. She clawed and spit at anyone who came near until someone from Animal Rescue lured her into a carrier.”