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Heading over, he found the door already ajar about a foot. He pulled it open enough to slide in, relieved it barely squeaked. With his flashlight, he shined it around, leaning down to check under boxes and cabinets, anyplace a cat could find to squeeze into.
Ten minutes later, he was convinced that the shed was Oscar free and was about to slide back out when he heard someone cursing softly across the lawn. He froze.
When he was sure he hadn’t been detected, he peered out. A female figure in bright white sneakers was walking around the perimeter of the backyard much like he had as she made chirping noises and whispered, “Oscar. Here, Oscar.”
He didn’t need any guesses as to who the visitor was as Waverley’s voice was soft and distinctive. Her presence only confirmed his earlier suspicions that she was the one who’d put up the pink flyers.
What the hell was the woman doing? She wasn’t a detective, and he doubted she had any self-defense training in case she ran into a shady character out here all alone.
Yes, this was Blue Haven, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any crime. Like any town, even the smallest town in America, there were always going to be some people with bad motives. The sooner Waverley learned that, the better for her safety.
It only seemed fitting that he helped her figure that out, and he stepped back farther into the shadows and waited. Okay, he wasn’t being creepy. He was just trying to show her how easy it was for someone to take her by surprise was all.
A minute passed before her footsteps were at the door of the shed. She paused at the open door before tapping the flashlight on her cell phone for light and stepped inside.
He wasn’t going to jump out at her or anything. That would be too cruel. Questioning her presence in a steady, calm voice would do the trick just as well.
“You know—” was all he got out, however.
Because as soon as his voice reverberated in the walls of the shed, the woman emitted a quick, high-pitched squeal as she flashed the light on him and, without hesitation, took one step forward and kicked mercilessly out at him, catching him in the gut.
He could only be grateful she wasn’t a petite woman or her aim would have been permanently disabling.
All the same, he grunted in pain and put his hand out defensively just as she was raising her foot for another kick. “Wav-er-ley. It’s…me.”
Her leg stopped midair. “Reynolds?”
“Yeah, what the hell are you doing?” he asked, gasping for air.
She returned her foot to the ground. “I could ask the same thing. Are you trying to give me a heart attack hiding in here like that? What are you doing here in the first place?”
He didn’t have a ready response for that one.
“Wait. Are you here looking for Mrs. Dolowitz’s cat? The same cat you said you didn’t have time to look for because of your priority cases?”
He was seeing one of her again, and the pain was subsiding as he straightened to his full height, touching his gut for any permanent damage. “I don’t need to explain myself to you. You, however, have a lot of explaining to do since, by your own admission, you did hear me when I said Cavanaugh Investigations wasn’t taking this case. From your presence here tonight and the flyers hanging around the neighborhood with my phone number, I’m guessing that you disregarded my decision.”
She managed to look guilty as she looked away. “Okay. You’re right. But it seemed harmless to try and help. It wasn’t much, just a few flyers.”
“And your presence tonight? Should I assume you’ve been skulking around the neighborhood for the past two or three nights? Do you know how dangerous that could be? What if someone saw you lurking in their backyard and shot you, waiting to ask questions after you’re lying in a pool of blood?”
This time her face paled. “I-I hadn’t quite thought of that. But I did let Mrs. Dolowitz know that I’d be around checking her yard. What about you? Couldn’t you just as easily be shot?”
He was getting annoyed by her reasoning. “I have more experience at this than you. I was a cop.”
“I don’t know. I seemed to take you down pretty thoroughly a minute ago.”
He could hear the humor in her voice. She had a point, not that he was going to admit it.
A loud mewling sound drew their attention over to the deck.
There, tugging at one of the sardines in the can, was the cat who looked identical to the cat on the flyers.
“It’s Oscar,” Waverley whispered, excitement in her voice as she stepped out of the shed.
“Easy,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “You don’t want to alarm him and send him running again. Just keep your voice conversational so he doesn’t think anything’s wrong.”
They were walking along the perimeter of the grass, both of their gazes on the cat who was now sitting in the middle of the deck, chomping down on a sardine with frenzied hunger.
