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Nora sniffs and gives a small shrug. “No. I just notice things. That’s all. I’m a noticer. One who notices. I notice lots of things about lots of people, not just you. For example, did you know that Allana Quaker has a secret addiction to rabbit sausage and buys up the entire supply at the co-op every time they restock? She waits by the Bountiful Farms freezer like a predator every Thursday morning. I’ve started to think she’s part wolf.”
I shake my head. “Why would I know that?”
“You wouldn’t,” she shoots back. “Because you’re not a noticer. And that’s okay, but it’snotokay to accuse people who are noticers of being stalkers. That’s an ugly word.”
“My sister said you used to stalk me in high school,” I say, the words out before I think better of them.
Nora pales. “What?”
“She didn’t tell me about it when it was happening,” I amend. “She didn’t say anything until a few years ago. One night, I was over at her place, complaining about my shitty love life. She said it was my own fault for not noticing the quality people who have shown interest over the years. People like…you, for example.” I hold her gaze as I add, “So, maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m not a noticer.”
“Great,” she whispers, her cheeks pinker than they were before. “I never told anyone I had a crush on you. I thought that was my private, silly teenage girl secret. Apparently, I’m easier to read than I thought. How mortifying.” Her lashes flutter. “Almost as mortifying as the fact that I didn’t recognize you that day with the squirrel. I still haven’t told Starling that I knew you back when we were kids and didn’t realize it until I saw you with Christian at the Ren Faire. I’m too embarrassed.”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” I say, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut. “I’ve changed a lot since high school. As far as the other stuff is concerned, Melissa is my twin. She pays a lot closer attention to my life than anyone else. And she has a sixth sense about who likes who. Except when it comes to her own love life, I guess.”
Nora’s lips turn down at the edges. “Is she still having a hard time with the divorce?”
“Her husband left her for another man.”
“But that doesn’t mean Ben didn’t love her with all his heart,” Nora says. “Love and sexuality and relationships aren’t nearly as black and white as people make them out to be. And coming out in a small town can be hard and scary. I don’t blame people for stuffing their true selves down and trying to fit in. That pressure is still very real.”
I grunt. “I know. I just wish Ben had figured it out before he and Melissa had a kid. Then, she could have made a clean break instead of being forced to interact with the man who broke her heart every day until Chase turns eighteen.”
“But Chase is the cutest little guy,” she says. “And without Ben as his dad, Chase wouldn’t be Chase. You wouldn’t want that, right?”
“How did we end up talking about my sister’s failed marriage?” I ask, irritated for reasons I can’t quite explain. Maybe it’s because she’s right. Maybe it’s because we’ve gotten off track at a time when I can’t afford to waste a second of clusterfuck containment time.
Because it’s not just the altercation with Wimpy I need to smooth over.
I also have to break into The Cupcake Factory and clone their ancient hard drive, gathering the last of the digital evidence I need to tie up this investigation. And I have to return my recently liberated hostage to his owner and convince Wimpy and the rest of the Sweetwaters that I’mnotthe one who liberated him. If they think I lost them this score, I might be the next person they decide should contract a deadly case of Salmonella.
As if on cue, a loud belch sounds from the trunk. It’s muffled by the black fleece blanket I threw over the top of the carrier, but still plenty loud enough for Nora to notice.
To notice, and to quickly put two and two together to realize we aren’t alone in the vehicle…
She cringes closer to the dashboard, darting freaked-out glances into the back as she hisses beneath her breath, “Who is that? Who’s back there?”
She’s answered by a plaintive meow, followed by another cavernous belch, far too loud to have been made by a tiny Persian cat.
But itwasmade by a tiny Persian cat, a cat who’s become insanely famous over the past year. Clyde the Belching Kitten has over a million followers on social media and the burping toy based on his uniquely tiny body, huge paws, and big blue eyes is set to be this season’s hottest gift. People who were lucky enough to scoop up an early release of the Clyde doll are already making big bucks reselling the toys on the gray market.
If a person—or say, a crime family—were to gain control of an entire region’s supply of Clyde dolls, they would stand to make hundreds of thousands of dollars. And said crime family wouldn’t be above doing underhanded things to get their hands on those toys. With the fake purse and designer shoe market sagging in recent months, branching out into toys right before the Christmas rush is actually pretty brilliant.
Kidnapping the actual Clyde and holding him for ransom until a toy drop-off is made seems less brilliant, but I’m sure Cassie Ann has a plan for making sure Clyde’s owner isn’t able to track the resold dolls back to her organization.
She’s a brilliant woman.
Her only mistake was leaving her idiot family members in charge of watching Clyde while she left the country.
Before I can decide how much of that to tell Nora—or whip up a believable lie about how I came to be in possession of Clyde, or what I plan to do with him—a louder, juicier belch rumbles through the SUV.
A moment later, the sickly-sweet smell of cat vomit blooms in the air.
Chapter Three
NORA
My hand flies to cover my nose as a rancid, yet somehow flowery, smell fills the vehicle. “Oh my God, Matty. What is that? What’s back there?” I demand again, but Matty isn’t listening.
