Double Booked For Death

“If I do get you in, promise me you won’t tell anyone who you are. You think Koji’s butt is in the fire? Just wait until you get introduced to the CEO of Ibizan as the person who killed off their golden goose.”

While Darla pictured that last unpleasant scenario and Hillary settled herself in the limo, a red-eyed Mavis extended a large pale hand in Darla’s direction. “I appreciate your kindness tonight,” he said in a tone so low that she barely made out the words. “And ignore Hillary. Don’t worry, no one blames you for any of this.”

“Thanks, Mavis. I appreciate it,” she replied, most sincerely.

By then, however, he already had folded himself into the limo, dragging his wheeled makeup kit in next to him. Everest gave her a polite “Ma’am,” and after closing the rear door, took his seat behind the wheel. She heard the soft purr of the stretch vehicle’s engine, and then the limo made a smooth merge into the late-night traffic. Its twin red taillights gleaming in the darkness reminded her of Hamlet.

“Oh my God, Hamlet!” So saying, Darla rushed over to where the blue sawhorses that earlier extended down the sidewalk had now been gathered into several neat stacks for the barricade guy to retrieve come morning. Jake had just finished chaining the lot together against theft in the interim, padlocking the final length of chain to the wrought-iron railing in front of her basement apartment. She was brushing her palms against her black-denim-clad hips to knock off the worst of the grime as a breathless Darla joined her.

“I forgot about Hamlet,” she hurried to explain. “Valerie said he was out in the courtyard with her the first time she took a smoke break. He was probably still there the second time she went out, too. Damn it, and she left the gate wide open. I need to make sure that he didn’t wander out after her. He’s never left the courtyard before . . . but then, the gate has never been left open for him, either.”

“Go ahead,” Jake told her. “I’ll take a look out here, just in case he snuck around the front. Reese can take your statement later, if need be. It’s not like we don’t know where to find you.”

With a quick word of thanks, Darla took off at a run toward the store. With luck, Hamlet would be lounging in a darkened corner of the courtyard prepared to treat her with lordly disdain once she found him and fawned over him in relief. That, or she’d find him skulking about the alley looking for something furred or feathered he could chomp on. She didn’t want to think about him wandering the streets of Brooklyn, where chances were he’d meet Valerie’s same fate beneath some vehicle’s tires.

“Gotta find the cat,” she told James and Lizzie as she scrambled beneath the counter for a flashlight. “Back in a minute.”

Reese, who was chatting with Mary Ann, half rose out of his chair at the sight of Darla flying past him, flashlight now in hand. Whatever he might have called after her, she did not hear as she slipped into the dark courtyard and snapped on her light.

Its feeble yellow beam did not so much pierce the shadows as bounce right over them. Making an annoyed mental note to see about adding a security light over the door ASAP—that, and buying new batteries—she waved the flashlight in a regular pattern from corner to corner of the enclosure. An oversized glass ashtray sat in the table’s center, filled with several lipstick-stained cigarette butts. Even with the passage of a few hours, the odor of stale cigarette smoke hung heavily in the air, and she suppressed the sneeze that threatened.

“Here, Hamlet! Kitty, kitty, kitty.”

She was certain Hamlet would not deign to come to her on command—particularly not if she called him “kitty”—but with any luck he’d shoot her an evil glare that would reflect back to her should the flashlight’s beam happen to skim over him.

“C’mon, fellow,” she urged in a slightly louder tone, trying not to sound desperate.

She’d always heard that animals were experts at sensing fear. Mr. Beelzebub in Fur Pants was probably a black belt in fear detection and would doubtless laugh his cat self silly if he thought she was worried about his safety. While she’d gotten used to the obnoxious beast, Darla could not in any honesty claim to be fond of him. But he had been Great-Aunt Dee’s beloved pet, and he was a store fixture.

Consider it keeping tabs on inventory, she told herself as she searched the final shadowy corner. Other than a few scuttling roaches and spiders, she found nothing.

Muttering a curse, she turned her beam on the gate. It was still just as she and Koji had found it when they’d gone in search of the missing author: wide open so that any vagrant could slip in. Or any cat slip out.

Damn that woman! The least she could have done was shut the freakin’ gate, Darla silently fumed as she peered into the alley again. Odd, though, that a presumed cat lover such as Valerie would have left Hamlet in such potential peril. She must have been revved up, indeed, to have gone storming out without realizing she’d left her new feline friend at risk.