Kara’s car wasn’t in the driveway when we got back. When I asked Candace whether she knew where Kara was, she said she remembered Kara popping her head in to say she was leaving.

Tom had followed me into the roomy study so he could program the new tech device and then I could receive my cat-cam videos.

“Where did she go?” I handed Candace the bag containing the burger she’d asked for and the side of fries I knew she wouldn’t refuse.

Candace stood and took the bag. “She didn’t say, even though I asked.”

“Maybe she’s meeting with Brandt, which doesn’t make me all that comfortable,” I said.

“She’s a big girl, Jillian,” Tom said.

“I know, I know,” I said.

“Jillian should worry. Kara’s a little overconfident, if you ask me,” Candace said.

Tom looked quizzically at Candace. “Why don’t you like her?” he said.

Candace’s face reddened. “I like her just fine. But she busts into town and shows up at the police station like she owns the place. That’s what I don’t like.”

“Sounds like you’ve got the confidence problem-in the opposite direction,” Tom said. “Come on, Candace. You know how good you are at what you do, right?”

“He’s right. You’re a great cop, Candace. The best Mercy’s got,” I said.

“That’s the absolute truth,” Tom said. “Don’t think Kara-or any reporter, for that matter-can investigate better than you can.”

“Okay,” Candace said with a small smile. “I surrender to the superior judgment of Jillian and Tom. But, please, Tom, promise me you won’t share any case information you hear with Kara.”

“You want me to recite the Boy Scout laws?” he said. “Trustworthy is one of them.” He looked at the ceiling and smiled. “But you know what? I can’t remember honesty being on that list.”

“Don’t be a smart aleck,” Candace said. “I’ll tell you both what I just found out, and it goes no further than this room for now. Right?”

Tom said, “Right.”

“You know I don’t tell secrets to anyone besides my cats,” I said.

Candace set down the bag of food, placed both hands on the desk and leaned toward us. “Guess who got arrested and then kicked out of college for chaining himself to a campus truck shouting that the ferrets in his father’s college lab should be set free?”

“Evan VanKleet,” I said.

Candace looked deflated. “How did you know?”

“I can’t see Brandt, the law student, partaking in civil disobedience before he’s had a chance to graduate.”

“Why are you so excited about learning this?” Tom said.

“That means he’s an activist-or maybe a wannabe activist. There were others involved in that little campus temper tantrum. And this was at the school where Evan’s father used to work. Maybe his activities took a different form when he found out that his father was researching pet food at the farm,” Candace said.

“You think Evan took those cats?” I said. “Or maybe even killed his own father?”

She said, “Maybe. It’s a jump in logic, I know, but-”

“You got that right,” Tom said.

She smirked at Tom. “Thanks for the encouragement. Anyway, it’s a place to start. By the time I finish, I’m gonna know what Evan eats for breakfast and when he goes to bed. The chief said he wasn’t cooperative and seemed to care less about his father. And he claims he was alone the night VanKleet died. No one in that family has an alibi.”

“One thing’s for sure. Evan didn’t come here, tie me up and scare my cats to death,” I said. “Not the right build; not the right eyes. And even though the bad guy was whispering, I’d still recognize his voice. Nope. Not Evan.”

“You told me activists usually don’t work alone, Jillian,” Candace said. “Evan could have had a partner. He never could have taken all the cats by himself.”

“Ah, the partner angle makes sense,” Tom said. “I worked on a case once where a group of young people decided to bomb a mosque right after 9/11. All bright, articulate kids. And after I’d interviewed each one, I was positive not one of them would have planned that bombing alone. I like to call it collective terrorism.” He’d moved behind my desk so he could use the computer.

Candace picked up her food and laptop and moved aside. “You need to work here. Will the Wi- Fi be down?”

“Yup. Give me twenty minutes,” Tom said. But when he turned on my computer’s monitor, his eyes widened. Then his jaw tightened. “This is him. This is that gutless asshole who-”

“I meant to shut that down. Sorry,” Candace said.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I want to see this, want to study every move, every nuance. Because if I ever see this guy-”

“Can you call me when you’re done, then?” My mouth had gone dry. That attack was the last thing I wanted to see.

Tom looked at me, and whatever he saw on my face made him hurry around the desk. He wrapped me in his arms and kissed the top of my head. Then he said, “I’m sorry.”

“And I’m outta here,” Candace said with a smile. She carried her laptop out of the room, shutting the office door behind her.

Tom held me close for a few seconds, and then he took my face in his hands and kissed me tenderly.

By Monday evening, I’d absorbed about all the informa tion I could handle concerning my new smart phone. I practiced over and over how to make and receive calls and could bring up my cat cam videos with ease. Tom wanted me to learn the texting thing, too, but my brain was tired. By then it was dinnertime and Kara still wasn’t home. She hadn’t called, either. Maybe she didn’t realize I’d replaced my phone and still had my old number.

Tom asked for a rain check on the pizza I’d ordered. Since news of the murders had spread, he’d had at least a dozen calls to set up security systems and was meeting with a potential customer.

Candace, Merlot and I were finished with the pizza-Merlot adores pizza-and she was ready to get back to work, when the doorbell rang.

Candace and I both got up.

“Hang on. Don’t answer that yet,” she said. She went to the hall closet, where her uniform hung. And her gun belt. She tucked her very large weapon into the waistband at the back of her jeans as I watched from the edge of the foyer.

Of course she had her gun. She always had her gun. But it hadn’t registered until now that she might need it.

The doorbell rang again, and Candace nodded in the direction of the door and whispered, “Go ahead. I’m right beside you.”

I checked the peephole and saw Evan VanKleet standing on the porch. “It’s okay,” I whispered before I opened the door.

The evening air, rich with the promise of more rain, washed over me when I greeted Evan and invited him in.

The sarcastic attitude he’d worn like a flak jacket earlier today seemed to be gone. He looked troubled and then surprised when he saw that Candace was with me.

“Um, I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said to Candace.

“You never know where I might show up,” she answered.

“Come on in.” I started walking toward the living room, and Candace made sure to fall in behind Evan. “Can I get you something to drink? A Coke? Tea?”

“Nah, I’m good,” he said. He looked around the room for a few seconds. His jeans weren’t the baggy kind he’d worn earlier, and his pale green shirt brought out the color in his eyes. But I noticed that those eyes were wide and that he seemed almost scared.

I took John’s chair, and Evan finally sat down on the couch. Candace chose the overstuffed chair right across from him.

“I-I didn’t come here to talk to the cops-I mean police,” Evan said. He looked at me. “I thought that since you volunteer at the station and you seemed so… I don’t know… nice… that I could explain some things to you.”

“Things you didn’t want to tell us directly?” Candace said.

“Yeah. I guess I thought Jillian could pass it along,” he said.