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I placed my hand on his arm.“We’ll find your grandpa, Chase. And when we do we’ll invite him to spend Christmas with us.”

“Thanks,” he said, his voice a little husky. “I would like that.” He cleared his throat. “How are things with your cats?”

“My cats? My cats are fine. A little annoyed with all the snow, which is why they won’t be venturing outside anytime soon.”

“I thought I saw them as I came looking for you.”

“You saw them? Where?”

“Outside your dad’s office. They were just heading inside.”

“My dad’s office?” I remembered they’d been worried about Bambi not showing up that morning. Was it possible they were out looking for her? If they were, maybe it would do them some good. Being cooped up inside all winter wasn’t healthy. Especially for Max, who had a tendency to gain weight if he didn’t get his exercise.

“You know, I heard the weirdest rumor the other day.”

“Oh?”

“Someone told me that the Poole women could talk to their cats. It’s, like, a tradition.”

I tried to look as innocent as possible.“It’s the first I’ve heard of that tradition.”

He glanced over.“So it’s not true?”

“Of course it’s not true! Cats can’t talk. That’s just crazy.”

“That’s what I thought. People tell me the weirdest things. Do you think it’s because I’m new in town? That they think they can make a fool of me by trying to sell me this ridiculous gossip?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me, Chase. They must think you’re pretty gullible to believe a bunch of nonsense like that.”

“Yeah. I told him I wasn’t buying it, and he seemed offended.”

“Who told you this?”

“Some guy that came in this morning to file a complaint about a customer who refused to pay his bills. Wilbur Vickery. He runs the Vickery General Store.”

“I know Wilbur,” I said.

“He even told me that his own cat likes to chat with your cats, and that he’s pretty sure they exchange information, which makes its way into your articles. I told him you don’t need any cats to be the ace reporter that you are.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing, babe. Nobody is going to make a fool of me and accuse you of using a crew of feline sleuths.” He laughed. “Simply the idea!”

“Yeah,” I agreed as I swallowed away a lump of uneasiness. “Pretty ridiculous.”

“What pisses me off the most is that Wilbur would think I’d fall for that crap.”

“Yeah, he probably figures you’re pretty thick.”

“Which I’m not.”

“No way. You’re former NYPD. You’re the smartest cop in town.”

“Absolutely. Imagine I wouldn’t know you can talk to cats.”

“Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.”

I stared out the window, biting my lip. Damn that Wilbur Vickery. He must have had too much eggnog, spreading rumors like that. Most people in town knew about the Poole women’s abilities, but didn’t mention it to outsiders. I would have to have a little chat with Wilbur. Remind him to keep his mouth shut. The other option was for me to come clean to Chase. I glanced over at the cop, taking in the sweep of dark hair as it dangled across his brow, and the rigid set of his face. This was not a man who believed in fairytale stories about talking cats. This was a man who relied on reason and logic to solve his cases, not feline intuition. There was no way he was ever going to believe me.

Just like he hadn’t believed a word Wilbur Vickery had told him. And a good thing, too.

Chapter 5

Chase parked his car across the street from where his grandfather lived. It was an old apartment building in downtown Brooklyn. It had once been brown, but was now all blackened from years of decay and exposure to the elements and big city smog. An old dog lay on the steps to the front door of the building, which was ajar, and looked up when we approached. It opened its mouth to bark, and I saw it was missing several teeth. Its hide was mottled and he did not look healthy. I crouched down to tickle it behind the ears but Chase pulled me back up.

“Don’t. These dogs are riddled with all kinds of pests and diseases.”

“Poor creature,” I said. “Someone should take care of him. Or her.”

“Someone should take care of the people that live here, too, but nobody does.”

His face had taken on a grim expression and I could see why. If my grandfather lived in these squalid conditions I wouldn’t be too happy either.

“How old is your grandfather?” I asked as we headed inside.

“Old. Well into his eighties.”

“How come he’s not in a retirement home?”

“You know how much those cost? His pension will never stretch far enough. And neither,” he added when I opened my mouth to make a remark, “will my paycheck. The only option is that I take him home to live with me, but since I’m still shacking up with your uncle, that’s not possible either.”

“Have you had any luck finding your own place yet?”

“Not yet, but I’m working on it. You wouldn’t believe how expensive Hampton Cove is.”