Well, if I were you, I’d avoid going barefoot.”
“Thanks,” Vaughn said dryly. “Any clue where he might have come from?”
“What’s he look like?”
“Black, with a white diamond on his chest.”
“That could be Franklin. He belongs to the Hockadays, two doors down. But how on earth would he have managed to get in?”
“Probably through one of the big-ass holes in the roof,” Vaughn muttered.
“Beg pardon?”
“Just thinking out loud.”
“Like my Pete.”
“Pete?”
“My sweetie. Pete Lowry. Remember him? Runs Lowry’s Garage?”
“Sure do.” With a silent huff of relief, Vaughn perched on the windowsill. That explained the lube comment.
“And yes, we do enjoy wild grease monkey sex.”
Or not.
“Hazel. I have an idea.” Please stop talking about your sex life. “Mind coming over and taking a look at this cat? See if you recognize him?”
She gave a knowing chuckle. “Sure thing, hon. I’ll be right over.”
Vaughn returned the cat’s wary stare. “Franklin. That your name?” When the cat started working his paws into the tablecloth again, Vaughn nodded. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
He went back across the hall and resumed his quest for the coffeepot.
It took him a few seconds, but he finally recognized that half-buzzing, half-wheezing sound as the doorbell. He set aside the coffee filters he’d discovered in a box marked Cleaning Crap and maneuvered his way back to the front door.
The Catlett sisters stood on the porch, each holding a foil-covered plate, their grins as wide as their makeup was bright. He smiled back, careful not to peer directly into their eye shadow.
The seventysomething Hazel and June, or Hazel and Nut, as some called them, couldn’t have been kinder to him when he was a kid. They’d made numerous trips across his uncle’s yard during Vaughn’s summer visits, toting cakes and casseroles and platters piled high with those round Devil Dog things they called gobs. It wasn’t until after Aunt Brenda died that Vaughn realized the sisters had probably used his growing-boy stage as an excuse to help out his aunt and uncle while they struggled with his aunt’s cancer.
Aunt Brenda’s death had hit Vaughn almost as hard as it had hit Uncle Em. He hadn’t handled it as well as his uncle, though. He’d thrown himself into his job as a patrol officer with the Erie PD, with his sights set on becoming a detective. His visits to Castle Creek had been irregular at best. He wasn’t proud of the distance he’d kept, but it had helped him manage his grief.
“You just going to stand there, Vaughn Fulton, or are you going to give us some love?”
Vaughn started. “My apologies, ladies. Please come in, but watch your step.”
They followed him down the hall and into the kitchen, tut-tutting as they passed the leaning tower of pizza boxes and five buckets of rags that were at the top of his list to go to the dump. The last thing he needed was a fire.
His visitors set their plates on the kitchen table and exchanged nods of approval.
Hazel beamed at him. “Looks like Emerson achieved what he set out to do.”
“It’ll take you weeks to sort this mess.” June lifted her arms. “Hug time.”
Vaughn’s narrowed gaze traveled from Hazel to June and back again. Their sweetly familiar, brightly painted faces made him want to smile, but he suppressed the urge. Coconspirators, both of them.
“You were in on it,” he said sternly.
Hazel blinked her carrot-colored eyelids and pursed her turquoise lips. Vaughn couldn’t help wondering if she’d confused her lipstick for her eye shadow and vice versa. June had avoided that problem by painting both the same color—light purple. Vaughn had to admit it went well with her pink pantsuit.
Hazel patted her short, white hair. “Maybe we were and maybe we weren’t,” she said cagily.
“Oh, we absolutely were,” June said. She wore her silver hair in the same pixie cut as her sister’s. “And we loved every minute of it. Emerson let us take a peek at what people were bringing in and I scored two plastic tubs of summer clothes. I’m going to do a reverse Julie Andrews and patch together a set of curtains out of gym shorts.” Vaughn let loose his laugh and stepped into her hug. She smelled like peppermint, just as he remembered. Nostalgia backed up in his throat as he bent toward Hazel. She pinched his ass.
“You haven’t changed,” he said, stepping out of reach.
“You have. You’ve been working out. That’s one fine caboose you have there, Officer.”
He gestured at the chaos in the hallway behind them. “You can help yourself to anything here, except my caboose.” He saw her expression and rushed to add, “Or any other body part.”
“Fine,” Hazel sniffed. “Then I suppose we should go find Franklin.”
Vaughn led them to the dining room, where he crouched down to see inside the overturned box. When Hazel and June crowded in behind him, the cat erupted from the box. Front paws scrabbled on dust-covered hardwood as he made for the doorway. The back paws weren’t as efficient, and as the cat shuffled past him, Vaughn discovered why. The animal’s rear left leg hung at an odd angle, slowing his progress up the stairs.
“I wonder if he hurt himself getting in.” He pulled out his cell. “Do you know the Hockadays’ number? They’ll have better luck getting hold of him.”
“I do have their number, but I’m afraid that’s not going to do any good.” June’s hand fluttered to her neck. “Sorry, dear, but that’s not Franklin. Your he is a she. And she’s about to have kittens.”
Vaughn staggered back a step. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
Hazel eyed her sister with pride. “Wilmer Fish always said a vet could never ask for a better assistant than June.”
While June preened, Hazel started rummaging through one of the boxes toppled by the cat.
Vaughn pushed a hand through his hair. “Neither of you has any idea who that cat might belong to?”
Hazel looked over her shoulder. “I’m thinking it’s you.”
“The cat seems to be thinking the same thing.” June sidled around Vaughn to select her own box to pick through. “Ooh.” She held up several pads of paper and a stack of multicolored Post-its. “Would you mind?”
Vaughn shook his head. “Anything else catches your eye, please take it. That includes the cat.”
“Nice
