Double Booked For Death

He passed Jake, who was sitting on the stoop finishing off another cigarette. So much for her friend’s latest attempt at quitting, Darla thought, though after tonight’s events she wasn’t about to fault her. Reese paused long enough to exchange a few words with the woman, and then headed off. Darla waited until she was certain he was on his way, and then took the few steps down to join her.

“You ready to call it a night?” she asked sympathetically.

Jake sighed and shook her head as she stared out onto the darkened street in the direction of the accident scene.

“I think I’ll spend awhile on the computer looking for pictures and video of the event. We still need to find out who your Lone Protester is. Even if your religious friend doesn’t face any charges, chances are that girl is looking at some jail time if they find proof she shoved Valerie. And since I’m the only one who got a good look at her face, I’ll be giving Reese a hand on this.”

She paused and glanced Darla’s way. “Any luck finding Hamlet?”

“The little beggar’s still on the lam,” she replied, drawing a faint smile from her friend, “but he’s a big boy, so I’m not going to agonize over it any more tonight. I’ll check out back one more time, and if he’s not back inside by then, that’s his tough luck. I’m going to go to bed and pull the covers over my head until morning.”

“He’ll be fine. Text me if you find him all snuggled up on the sofa, would you?”

“Will do.”

Darla started to rise, only to pause again as Jake put a restraining hand on her arm.

“Listen, Darla, you don’t know how sorry I am about all this,” the older woman said, her usual brassy tones heavy now with contrition. “I did off-duty security lots of times when I was still a cop, with crowds two and three times the size of what we had tonight. Believe me, nothing like this ever happened before.”

“Don’t worry, no one blames you,” Darla hurried to assure her, echoing Mavis’s earlier sentiment and knowing just how her friend felt. “You and Reese had everything down to a science. Not to point fingers at the victim, but if Valerie had just stayed put, she’d have been riding off in that limo with the rest of them right now. It’s her own damn fault for getting into a shoving match. Truly, it’s Marnie who I feel most sorry for, even if she is a wackaloon. She’s got to live with this.”

Jake, however, seemed unconcerned with the churchwoman. She shook her head, shaggy curls bouncing. “I swear, kid, I don’t know how it happened. I all but frog-marched your protester back across the street. I can’t figure out how she got back over on this side again without me noticing.”

“Might have been the fact there were four hundred ninety-nine other girls all dressed in black capes standing around on that same street. Do you think the police will be able to track her down and get any sort of confession out of her?”

“It’s the age of Twitter and cell phone cameras,” Jake said with a shrug. “That many teenagers around, odds are good someone snapped a picture or took a video that caught at least part of the action. Between YouTube and Facebook, something’s bound to show up . . . assuming there is something.”

“Okay, that’s the same thing that Reese said.”

She left Jake and headed back into the store, where she finished her closing routine more quickly than usual; then, after another look in the courtyard and then setting the alarm code, she slipped through the side door connecting to her private hall and locked the shop door behind her.

As she mounted the first stair, she half expected Hamlet to go flying between her feet in his typical kamikaze kitty routine. In fact, tonight she would have welcomed his bad behavior. But she made it up both flights unhampered by fleet paws trying to trip her. Neither was he sitting at the top of the main landing trying to open the door by pure force of his cold green stare.

The little beast is probably lounging by the refrigerator, she reassured herself as she turned the key. But once inside her apartment, a quick sweep through the living room and kitchen did not reveal Hamlet in any of his usual spots.

“Hey, boy, I’m home,” she called out experimentally, even though she would have fainted on the spot had she received a cheerful meow in return. Hamlet never greeted her when she came home. He waited for her to come to him bearing food, water, or the occasional catnip mouse. Coming when called was something that lower forms of life, like dogs, did.

“Fine, stay outside all night,” she muttered into the resulting silence and headed toward her bedroom. If he was still gone come morning, she’d enlist Jake’s help and slap up a couple of “lost cat” signs in the neighborhood. Otherwise, she had enough troubles without having to worry where Mr. Prince of Darkness, Jr., was going to lay his feline head this night.

That decided, Darla flipped on the bedroom light, glanced at her bed, and let out a muffled shriek.