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Evie reappears with a broom that she juts through the open door without crossing the threshold. I take it from her and march to the bed. Everyone’s eyes are on me as I get on my hands and knees and shine my phone’s flashlight under the bed until I land on beady little eyes.
A mouse darts past me, then another, and I jump to my feet. Evie and Georgia squeal, but I’m on the hunt.
The mice run in opposite directions, so I zero in on one and stay patient. I let his confusion get the best of him until he darts in my direction again.
That’s when I spring into action. I bring down the broom’s bristles hard enough to trap him without smashing him. Then Isquat down and lift the broom enough to grab my prisoner by the tail. Once I’ve got a hold of him, I drop the broom and hold up my prize for everyone to see.
Bear’s not smiling anymore.
But I am.
If he’s disappointed I’m not also squealing, well, that’s his problem.
Although it’s not disappointment I read in his eyes. It’s guilt. He not only won’t look at me, he won’t meet Georgia or Adam’s eyes either, which are also pointed at him. He’s shifting back and forth with the tiny movements of more than one criminal I’ve interrogated.
And I have a strong suspicion he’s behind this mouse mob-rush.
I guess Bear doesn’t know I’ve taken down criminals bare-handed. I’ve kept my cool when threatened with a gun. I’ve been in high-speed chases that ended in the getaway car crashing while I’ve walked away without a scratch on me or my cruiser.
I was scared in every one of those situations, but I showed no fear.
So does a mouse scare me?
Maybe a little.
But nobody else needs to know that. Especially Bear.
The mouse—probably as scared as I am—goes still as I carry him across the room. I keep my glare sharpened to a fine point as I walk toward Bear. When I reach him, I hold the mouse as close to him as possible.
Bear flinches, shrinking away from the dangling mouse.
“You’re not afraid of a little mouse, are you Bjorn?”
He straightens, puffs out his chest, and slowly shakes his head. “Not afraid of either of you.”
We stare each other down while everything goes silent. Then I walk out the door.
I carry the mouse toward the field behind the shop. At one point, I nearly drop him when he wriggles, and I have to force myself not to shriek. When I get to the field, I set the mouse down, and he runs away.
Then I walk back to the studio. The door is closed, and everyone is standing outside of it, but I go inside to wash my hands. When I come back out, I notice my suitcase is there too.
“Bear is leaving to get traps right now,” Georgia says, while Bear looks everywhere but at me. “Hopefully, we can get this taken care of in a few days. In the meantime, you can stay with Zach and me for a little longer until we know the mice are gone.”
“One night should be good.” I grab the handle of my suitcase and look Bear directly in the face. “I’ve got an idea of how to handle this problem.”
I’m not gettingacat.
I’m getting a lot of cats.
One as a pet. The rest as mousers. As many as I can find.
This is farm country. I may be a city girl, but I’ve heard of barn cats. There’s got to be somebody around who’s willing to give me some. Or at least loan them out. I’m not really sure how that works. But I’m a detective. I’ve solved the case of who let the mice in, and I’ll solve how to get rid of them.
Then I’ll bring the perpetrator in to pay for his crime.
If Bear doesn’t like cats now, he’s about to find out just how much he hates them.
Chapter 8
