7:00 a.m.

The next morning, after three to four hours of sleep max, I awoke with a ballsy idea. It would take skill and speed—two of my best attributes—but I wasn’t certain Lolli would play along.

Nadine’s ear-piercing scream sliced the silence in the room, and I sprang out of bed, my eyeballs bugged from the sockets. Shifting my weight from one leg to another, my head bobbed like a velvet dog statue on a dashboard. “What happened? Are you all right?”

With an erect finger at Lolli who, amazingly enough, didn’t wake, she planted a fist on her hip. “Who, pray tell, is this? And why is she in my bed?”

I scooped Dexter off the comforter, bundled him in my arms. “Yeah, about that…”

“For cripes’ sakes, how long have I been out?” Arm extended as if the cat might chew off a limb, she stroked Dexter’s head. “Aww, she seems sweet.”

“He.”

As usual my correction flew right by her. “I heard Siamese cats can be temperamental.”

“Doesn’t seem it. C’mon, let’s talk in the other room.” Similar to a shadow, and almost as close, she followed me into the den-type-area. Before I filled her in on the events of last night, I took a moment to be there for her. Finding out about Christopher couldn’t’ve been easy, especially with his choice of playmate. “Don’t you just love his crystal-blue eyes?”

“Yeah, she’s gorgeous. What’s her name?”

Dexter meowed, if you could call it that. The strangest noises came out of that cat…rahhh, raaow, rahhh, raaow.

“Dexter, no. Shhh…please.”

Rahhh, raaow, rahhh, raaow.

Pacing back and forth across the carpet, I swayed him in my arms. Not unlike the way one might soothe a bawling infant. I even tried bouncing him on my hip til the absurdity of the situation dawned on me.

Rahhh, raaow, rahhh, raaow.

“Please shut up. You’re gonna get us thrown out.”

Rahhh, raaow, rahhh, raaow.

Nadine peered over my shoulder, startled me, and I nearly dropped him. After all that transpired, I could only take so many jolts to the ticker.

“She might be hungry.”

Rahhh, raaow, rahhh, raaow.

“Or maybe, he’s pissed off about being called a chick.”

“Oh, he’s a boy?”

“No, Nay. He’s a hermaphrodite. Of course he’s a boy. How many girls do you know with the name Dexter?” With a long exhale, I slowed the rage coursing through my veins. “I’m sorry. I’m beat and I still have a long day ahead. I shouldn’t’ve snapped at you.”

Rahhh, raaow, rahhh, raaow.

“You’re apologizing?” With the back of her hand, she felt my forehead. “You feelin’ all right?”

Through gritted teeth, I said, “I’m fine. Now, can you please try to find somethin’ for him to eat before he gets us kicked outta the hotel?”

“Well, excuse me for caring. I bet if we had those Swedish massages, you wouldn’t be so stressed out.” As she ambled into the kitchenette, she tossed over her shoulder, “But hey, no one listens to me.”

Oh, my effin’ head. Maybe if I’m lucky, the hacker will take me out too—put me outta my misery once and for all. “While you’re in there, can you grab me a coffee please?”

She popped her head out the archway. “They have French vanilla in the Keurig.”

“Really? I’m all over that like white on rice.”

Her nose crinkled. “What does that even mean?”

Rahhh, raaow, rahhh, raaow, rahhh, raaow.

“Nay, the cat. Stop drillin’ me with questions and hurry. Please.” To cover Dexter’s incessant meowing, I fake-coughed so many times my throat acted like I’d gargled with sheetrock dust.

“Fine. Not another word outta me.” With two fingers she motioned to zip her lips, and I didn’t buy it for a second. Nadine Couture didn’t possess the ability to remain silent for more than thirty seconds. As much as I adored her, keeping her trap shut was not one of her strong suits. In fact, the ability was nowhere near her wheelhouse. Around age seven, she’d blasted the skill into a galaxy far, far away. Which made her more of a walking oxymoron, considering she worked as a librarian.

Rahhh, raaow, rahhh, raaow, rahhh, raaow.

I set Dexter on the floor, and he vocalized even louder. I tried rubbing his head.

Rahhh, raaow, rahhh, raaow, rahhh, raaow.

My fur-babies loved their back stroked, but it had zero effect on Dexter’s incessant yapping.

Rahhh, raaow, rahhh, raaow, rahhh, raaow.

With my half-bitten fingernails, I scratched right above the base of his tail, and his feet danced, savoring the moment. The second I stopped… rahhh, raaow, rahhh, raaow, rahhh, raaow.

This cat will be the death of me.

I no sooner considered gagging him when Nadine returned with a bowl of tan mush. As she squatted to set the food in front of Dexter, I flung out my hands. “Wait. Was is that stuff?”

“Oatmeal. I brought a few packets to save money on breakfast.”

Why didn’t that surprise me? “How do you know cats can eat oatmeal? What if he starts kibbyin’ on the floor?”

“Honestly, Shawnee. Do you really think I’d give him something that could kill him?” She tsked her tongue. “I read an article about it. Oatmeal is actually really good for their diet.”

“Where was this article, exactly?”

“PetMD.”

“And why were you on PetMD? Did something happen to Berkley and Katie McGuire?”

Rahhh, raaow, rahhh, raaow, rahhh, raaow.

“You’re so paranoid sometimes. Do you wanna keep him quiet or not?”

“Do your thing, Doctor Doolittle. Apparently, you’ve got this all figured out.”

“Thank you.” She set the bowl on the floor, and Dexter dove right in, but now, the bizarre meow was replaced with laballlabballlallbala nominominoma. Pause. Purring, he rubbed his body against Nadine’s legs, and then ran back to the bowl. Laballlabballlallbala nominominoma. Pause. Now over to my legs. Back to the bowl. Laballlabballlallbala nominominoma. Over and over he repeated this never-ending cycle, all the while his voice boomeranging through the suite.

What the hell happened? Last night he seemed so normal. Jaw and eyes agape, I wasn’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or flee. With all this racket, it was only a matter of time before the neighboring guests complained. Who knew Siamese cats were so loud? If only Lolli mentioned that little tidbit before I smuggled Mr. Chatterbox into the hotel.

Laballlabballlallbala nominominoma, laballlabballlallbala nominominoma.

I cradled my forehead in my palm. Karma’s a cruel bitch.

“So, you gonna tell me why there’s a strange woman in my bed?”

“Did you make coffee?”

“Yeah, one sec.” She hustled into the kitchenette and returned with a mug from home. “Here ya go.”

“You brought mugs too?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Might as well be comfortable while we’re here.”

“Whatever. I’m done tryin’ to figure you out.”

“You’re welcome by the way.”

“Sorry. Thank you.”

“So, the woman?”

French vanilla filled my sinuses when I set my lips on the ceramic rim. Heaven. Too bad she didn’t add a shot of Jack Daniels to the mix. Kidding. Sort of. “Her name is Lolli McGarret.” Briefly, I explained how she was a surviving victim of the Ford case. “Because we couldn’t book a room at that hour—some policy bullshit—I stuck her in your bed for one night. What else could I do? Levaughn’s in mine.”

Laballlabballlallbala nominominoma, laballlabballlallbala nominominoma.

She jabbed her chin toward Dexter. “And him?”

“We couldn’t leave him in her condo. What if the hacker killed him to make a point?”

Laballlabballlallbala nominominoma, laballlabballlallbala nominominoma.

A smile broke across her face. “He’s really lovin’ that oatmeal.”

Someone pounded on the door with the intensity of a scorned lover.

“Aw, shit. Here we go.”