A Bird in the Hand by Dane McCaslin Read Free Book Online Page A

dark-clothed figure had joined them, apparently coming from the front of the house. He held a long wand-like apparatus in one hand and a large container of something in the other. It hit me then like the proverbial brick, something my poor head did not need. They were animal control technicians, there to remove every one of those mangy animals from the house. I almost laughed aloud in relief, and might have done so if it hadn't been for my slumbering bedmates just down the hall. I'm careful to guard my alone time in the morning and had no desire to share it with a bumbling, stubble-ridden spouse—even if he had saved me twice yesterday—and a demanding dog.
    I had just decided to find a comfy spot in which to read the morning paper when another movement caught my attention, and this time I had no doubt about what I was seeing. Mrs. Grayson was now struggling with the coffee-drinking technician—or burglar, or whatever he was—as he forced her through her back door, a cloth held to her nose, followed by the second man, who glanced over his shoulder before he followed his buddy and my neighbor into the house.
    Now what? Did our local animal control offer other services of which I was not aware? Or had I just witnessed a crime in the making? Mind made up, I bolted from the kitchen and galloped down the hall, almost colliding with a yawning Gregory.
    "Quick!" I gasped out, "Call the police! The Cat Lady's being…" Here I broke off. She was being what? Burgled? No, that only happened when the owner was not present. Robbed? Perhaps, although who'd want to abscond with a houseful of cats I had no idea.
    "Don't just stand there!" I shrieked. "The HOA has taken the Cat Lady hostage!"

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    A few years ago, when our youngest godchild was about three or four, I discovered what terror feels like. It is almost a living thing. It settles over a room like morning fog and blurs common sense. It leaves a nasty, metallic taste in the mouth. Knees refuse to anchor legs in an upright position, and it's nigh impossible to string together either a complete thought or a coherent sentence.
    In a moment, in the blink of an eye, I had lost a child who was in my care. And I was terrified.
    When our nearest neighbor discovered him playing contentedly in a garden shed, sifting dirt and rocks into a series of buckets and old margarine containers, I discovered that joy had hazel eyes and blond hair and mud smeared across its snub nose.
    And while I certainly wasn't investing the same level of anxiety over my neighbor, I did find my heart beating a little faster than normal.
    Gregory, having lived with my many incarnations for nearly two decades and possessing the ability to know when I am exaggerating (most of the time) or withholding information (occasionally), took the time to peer over my shoulder at Cat Lady's house. He glanced from the window to me, and back again, and I could tell I'd have to sell this one if he was going to believe me.
    "Look, Greg. I know what I saw."
    He is not given to eye rolls, but I could tell from the steady look on his face that I was a concussion on legs from his point of view, and for all he knew I was experiencing a leftover hallucination.
    "Hold on there, little lady." He put one hand on my shoulder, his eyes searching mine for signs of head trauma.
    I generally love it when he does his John Wayne impression, but I was just the other side of nervous at the moment, and I wasn't finding the drawl as heart-warming as I might have over, say, a cup of coffee and a plate of chewy sugar cookies. The kind that come lined up in a plastic container, with frosting an inch thick and enough food coloring to warrant a warning label from the FDA and CDC combined. I held the phone out of his reach and gave him my best glare, not that easy to do with a battered face.
    "What?" I snapped, jerking my shoulder out of his grasp. "If you aren't going to do anything, I'm calling the police."
    Suffice it to say that I love it