I picked up my pace, in no need of additional ghosts.
Inside, I fired up the single-cup coffee maker and set a mug beneath the drip. Then I went to the pantry in search of kibble.
“All right,” I said. “Your turn.”
Pellets fell to the floor as I carried the bag of cat food toward the bowls I’d chosen for Raisin.
“What on earth?” I turned the bag in my grip and found a hole near the bottom. “Shoot.”
I groaned at the new mess on my clean floors, then set the bag beside the bowls. The cat food would go stale without a way to keep it fresh.
I rooted through the cabinets in search of freezer bags to protect the kibble.
Raisin scratched at the bag behind me, casting food onto the floor with every pass, by the sounds of it.
“I’m hurrying,” I promised.
He appeared beside me, and my muscles stiffened at the sight of him, because the scratching didn’t stop.
A slow turn in the direction of the bag revealed the reason.
A short scream wrenched through me at the sight of a small gray mouse. “Ah!”
I clambered onto the countertop and Raisin joined me. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Get him!” I pointed to the rodent eating his food, in case he hadn’t noticed. “Attack! Or chase him away or something.”
I’d never had a cat—neither Dad nor Robert tolerated pets—but I knew what cats did. Cats ate mice!
Raisin looked at the mouse, then back to me. And he nipped my arm.
“Hey!” I slapped a hand over the red spot near my elbow, then stretched to reach the broom propped against the wall. “Go away!” I called, waving the broom at our unwanted guest. When the critter didn’t budge, I climbed down and whacked the floor a few times, hoping to scare the rodent away. I didn’t have it in me to hurt him, but he couldn’t stay.
The thumping worked, and the mouse ran off with a cheek full of kibble.
“Jeez!” I said, sweeping the loose kibble into a pile. “Why didn’t you do anything?”
Raisin jumped onto the floor, walked to his still-empty bowl, and waited.
“Too good to eat food straight from the floor?” I guessed. “Won’t chase mice. Only dines from a bowl. Maybe Mom should’ve named you Mr. Fancy Pants.”
I lifted the food bag and gave it a closer look, unsure it was safe for Raisin’s consumption after a mouse had been inside. “Hold on.” I chucked the bag into the trash, along with the contents of my dustpan, then selected another bag from the pantry.
When I finished feeding Raisin, I put all the cat food into a big plastic bin and hoped mice wouldn’t eat through my boxes of pasta and mac and cheese.
I addedget rid of miceto my mental list of objectives. I couldn’t bake here until the house was free of rodents, which meant no extra cash. A double whammy.
I missed baking, and I needed the money. I had only a few days left to get Mom’s delinquent property taxes paid before the house was auctioned off. I hadn’t found her bankbooks or any indication she had anything other than debt, so I had to make saving the house the day’s priority.
I worked in the living room until dehydration set in and my vision blurred.
Definitely time for lunch.
I carried a plated BLT and handful of strawberries onto the patio, deeply grateful for the groceries Camilla delivered the day before. My backside had barely hit the seat before I caught sight of the open trailer door.
Had I not closed it securely behind me this morning?
I carried my sandwich to the potential crime scene, snacking as I walked, too exhausted to protest if I found someone mid-burgle.Take it,I thought.Take it all so I don’t have to figure out what to do with it.
In fact,take me.
