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“I’m sorry you’re understaffed, but I don’t have time to help, and I have no interest in relocating.” Even if he did, it would be to another city, not to a geriatric community that was about as dangerous as a stuffed animal. Yeah, Uncle Em had made noises about Vaughn holding on to the house, but he’d been well aware his nephew could only take so much quiet. By the end of every summer visit, Vaughn had been twitchier than a teenage girl caught speeding in her daddy’s brand-new Beemer.
Vaughn liked crowds. Traffic. Noise. Action.
“Emerson said you were going to take a leave of absence.” The mayor’s tone bordered on accusatory.
“I did.” Sort of.
“At least let me set up a tour. Show you the facilities, introduce you around.”
“Maybe another time.”
Vaughn ended the conversation and tossed his phone on the table then zigzagged his way back to the living room. After snagging a box cutter off the tattered seat of a bar stool, he sliced open the Kitchen Crap box. Might as well locate the coffeemaker, because no way was he going to check out the second floor without a hefty dose of caffeine. And maybe a shot of whiskey, if he could find it.
In the dining room behind him, something heavy tumbled to the floor. Vaughn whipped around, automatically slapping a hand to his empty hip. Easy. He squinted across the hall and saw that a box had fallen off a stack. Obviously the contents had shifted and gravity had taken over.
Guilt niggled. Had his uncle really counted on his settling here?
He shook his head. Way to let the mayor work you.
Ten minutes later, he was rifling through dish towels and pot holders when he heard another thud. Next came a series of scraping sounds, like something being dragged across a sandy floor. What the hell?
He grabbed the box cutter and strode into the dining room. “Who’s in here?” he demanded.
More thumping, muted this time. He looked to his right. Another box had landed on its side, spilling half-empty bottles of lotion and shampoo. A third carton had fallen behind it. Whatever was in here had to have been inside for a while—the place had been closed up for weeks.
A vision of a rabid raccoon latching onto his jugular while blood sprayed everywhere had him thinking about calling 911. But only for a split second. He couldn’t let the overzealous sheriff lock up another Fulton for no good reason.
With a tight grip on the box cutter, Vaughn carefully skirted the mess on the floor, bent down and peered into the upended box.
A black cat stared up at him while kneading the lace tablecloth Aunt Brenda had saved for holidays. Sheepishly, Vaughn retracted the blade on the box cutter and slid the tool into his back pocket.
“Uncle Em might be smirking down on me, but Aunt Brenda’s trying to swat you with a broom,” he told the cat. The animal yawned and tugged a paw loose from a clinging thread. Vaughn squatted. “How the hell did you get in here?”
The cat hissed and backed farther into the box. Vaughn held up his hands. “Sorry, buddy. Didn’t mean to make you nervous.”
Jesus. He was talking to a stray cat.
He headed back to the kitchen. As soon as he made this call, the entire county would know he was in town. But someone was missing a pet, and he didn’t have time to go knocking on doors.
“Hello, Miss Catlett? This is Vaughn Fulton, next door.”
“How are you, Vaughn?”
“Good. Thanks. You?”
“Better if you call me Hazel, sweet cheeks.”
While Hazel shared the details of her plantar fasciitis, the cheese ball recipe she’d recently tried and something about a new boyfriend and old lube—wait, what?—Vaughn returned to the dining room and checked on his intruder. The cat remained crouched in the corner of the box.
Hazel took a breath and Vaughn took advantage.
“Did my uncle have a cat?”
“No, hon, not that I know of. You have one hanging around outside?”
“Inside, and I have no idea how long he’s been in here.”
“Oh. Well, if I were you, I’d avoid going barefoot.”
“Thanks,” Vaughn said dryly. “Any clue where he might have come from?”
“What’s he look like?”
“Black, with a white diamond on his chest.”
“That could be Franklin. He belongs to the Hockadays, two doors down. But how on earth would he have managed to get in?”
“Probably through one of the big-ass holes in the roof,” Vaughn muttered.
“Beg pardon?”
“Just thinking out loud.”
“Like my Pete.”
“Pete?”
“My sweetie. Pete Lowry. Remember him? Runs Lowry’s Garage?”
“Sure do.” With a silent huff of relief, Vaughn perched on the windowsill. That explained the lube comment.
“And yes, we do enjoy wild grease monkey sex.”
Or not.
“Hazel. I have an idea.” Please stop talking about your sex life. “Mind coming over and taking a look at this cat? See if you recognize him?”
She gave a knowing chuckle. “Sure thing, hon. I’ll be right over.”
Vaughn returned the cat’s wary stare. “Franklin. That your name?” When the cat started working his paws into the tablecloth again, Vaughn nodded. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
He went back across the hall and resumed his quest for the coffeepot.
It took him a few seconds, but he finally recognized that half-buzzing, half-wheezing sound as the doorbell. He set aside the coffee filters he’d discovered in a box marked Cleaning Crap and maneuvered his way back to the front door.
The Catlett sisters stood on the porch, each holding a foil-covered plate, their grins as wide as their makeup was bright. He smiled back, careful not to peer directly into their eye shadow.
The seventysomething Hazel and June, or Hazel and Nut, as some called them, couldn’t have been kinder to him when he was a kid. They’d made numerous trips across his uncle’s yard during Vaughn’s summer visits, toting cakes and casseroles and platters piled high with those round Devil Dog things they called gobs. It wasn’t until after Aunt Brenda died that Vaughn realized the sisters had probably used his growing-boy stage as an excuse to help out his aunt and uncle while they struggled with his aunt’s cancer.
Aunt Brenda’s death had hit Vaughn almost as hard as it had hit Uncle Em. He hadn’t handled it as well as his uncle, though. He’d thrown himself into his job as a patrol officer with the Erie PD, with his sights set on becoming a detective. His visits to Castle Creek had been irregular at best. He wasn’t proud of the distance he’d kept, but it had helped him manage his grief.
“You just going to stand there, Vaughn Fulton, or are you going to give us some love?”
Vaughn started. “My apologies, ladies. Please come in, but watch your step.”
They followed him down the hall and into the kitchen, tut-tutting as they passed the leaning tower of pizza boxes and five buckets of rags that were at the top of his list to go to the dump. The last thing he needed was a fire.
His visitors set their plates on the kitchen table and exchanged nods of approval.
Hazel beamed at him. “Looks like Emerson achieved what he set out to do.”
“It’ll take you weeks to sort this mess.” June lifted her arms. “Hug time.”
Vaughn’s narrowed gaze traveled from Hazel to June and back again. Their sweetly familiar, brightly painted faces made him want to smile, but he suppressed the urge. Coconspirators, both of them.
“You were in on it,” he said sternly.
Hazel blinked her carrot-colored eyelids and pursed her turquoise lips. Vaughn couldn’t help wondering if she’d confused her lipstick for her eye shadow and vice versa. June had avoided that problem by painting both the same color—light purple. Vaughn had to admit it went well with her pink pantsuit.
Hazel patted her short, white hair. “Maybe we were and maybe we weren’t,” she said cagily.
“Oh, we absolutely were,” June said. She wore her silver hair in the same pixie cut as her sister’s. “And we loved every minute of it. Emerson let us take a peek at what people were bringing in and I scored two plastic tubs of summer clothes. I’m going to do a reverse Julie Andrews and patch together a set of curtains out of gym shorts.” Vaughn let loose his laugh and stepped into her hug. She smelled like peppermint, just as he remembered. Nostalgia backed up in his throat as he bent toward Hazel. She pinched his ass.
“You haven’t changed,” he said, stepping out of reach.
“You have. You’ve been working out. That’s one fine caboose you have there, Officer.”
He gestured at the chaos in the hallway behind them. “You can help yourself to anything here, except my caboose.” He saw her expression and rushed to add, “Or any other body part.”
“Fine,” Hazel sniffed. “Then I suppose we should go find Franklin.”
Vaughn led them to the dining room, where he crouched down to see inside the overturned box. When Hazel and June crowded in behind him, the cat erupted from the box. Front paws scrabbled on dust-covered hardwood as he made for the doorway. The back paws weren’t as efficient, and as the cat shuffled past him, Vaughn discovered why. The animal’s rear left leg hung at an odd angle, slowing his progress up the stairs.
“I wonder if he hurt himself getting in.” He pulled out his cell. “Do you know the Hockadays’ number? They’ll have better luck getting hold of him.”
“I do have their number, but I’m afraid that’s not going to do any good.” June’s hand fluttered to her neck. “Sorry, dear, but that’s not Franklin. Your he is a she. And she’s about to have kittens.”
Vaughn staggered back a step. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
Hazel eyed her sister with pride. “Wilmer Fish always said a vet could never ask for a better assistant than June.”
While June preened, Hazel started rummaging through one of the boxes toppled by the cat.
Vaughn pushed a hand through his hair. “Neither of you has any idea who that cat might belong to?”
Hazel looked over her shoulder. “I’m thinking it’s you.”
“The cat seems to be thinking the same thing.” June sidled around Vaughn to select her own box to pick through. “Ooh.” She held up several pads of paper and a stack of multicolored Post-its. “Would you mind?”
Vaughn shook his head. “Anything else catches your eye, please take it. That includes the cat.”
“Nice try, hon. Our Baby Blue would foam at the mouth if we tried to expand our little family. Schnauzers aren’t usually superpossessive of their owners, but ours certainly is.” Hazel patted him on the cheek. “We need to go. We have a fund-raiser to finalize. Good luck with the house. I’m sure you’ll get a fine price for it after all the repairs are made.”
Vaughn frowned down at her. “I know about the roof. Don’t tell me there’s more.”
“I’m afraid so.” June hugged to her chest the office supplies she’d scavenged. “Your uncle had an electrical fire upstairs a few months ago, and there’s a problem with the plumbing in the master bath.” She squinted up at him. “He didn’t tell you?”
Vaughn shook his head. What else had the old man kept from him?
Hazel grimaced. “The way the market is around here, you’re not going to find a buyer if they have to invest in major repairs.”
Vaughn barely refrained from rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. His halfhearted search for Uncle Em’s whiskey stash had now become critical. He didn’t have the money to invest in major repairs. His chances for getting a loan weren’t good, either. Not when he was already stretched thin. Rent ate up most of his pay.
He thanked the sisters again for the food, apologized for not being able to offer them coffee and walked them out, then shut the front door and glanced at the second floor. That cat could be up there having kittens right this moment. In his bed.
Oh, hell, no. Vaughn grabbed his cell and headed for the stairs. Why hadn’t he asked June for the vet’s number? Before he could do a search on Wilmer Fish, he noticed a text from Whitby.
Forgot to mention it’s a paid position. Let’s talk salary over dinner. Cal’s Diner @ 7? I’m buying.
He hesitated on the top step. As his thumb hovered over Reply, his ringtone blared into the silence. With a sigh, he lifted the phone to his ear.
“Hey, Mom.”
“You said you’d call.”
“I got caught up in something.” He worked his way toward the room Aunt Brenda had assigned him during his summer visits. So much for hoping the second floor wouldn’t also be packed to capacity. It was standing-room-only up here. And it reeked of mothballs.
He stopped in the doorway of the guest room and exhaled. Even his bed was piled high with crap. Though maybe that was a good thing, considering the twin-size mattress looked about five times smaller than he remembered.
His mother gave a disapproving huff. “Do whatever it is you need to do and spend the rest of your break with us. Your father has someone he’d like you to meet.”
Vaughn tightened his grip on his phone and swung toward the master bedroom. “I thought I made it clear. Enough with the ambushes.”
“Don’t be stubborn. So we scheduled a few dinners. You have to eat.”
“Mom. I have a job waiting for me in Erie.” At least, he hoped he did. “I’m not changing my career.”
“Plenty of people your age and even older have made the decision to steer their professional lives in a new direction. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed, I’m resolved. I’m proud of what I do. I plan to continue doing it.”
“Vaughn.” His mother’s voice gentled. “You know your father and I would rather you find a job with actual earning potential. We’re trying to look out for you. Don’t you want to be able to afford a house someday? A family? Don’t you want to have money to travel when you retire?”
He did have a house. His uncle’s house. But it was only partly his, and it wasn’t in Erie. Not for a moment would he consider staying.
As his mother talked about the trips she and his dad had taken and all of the places they planned to go, Vaughn peered into his uncle’s bedroom. Score. The bed was empty. No junk, no cat in labor.
He propped a shoulder against the doorjamb and listened to his mother describe the luxury car he could afford if only he earned a decent paycheck.
