Page 69 of Something Borrowed

“He’s gone.”

“Probably,” Cal agreed.

“Do you mind staying a bit longer, in case I can get it to come back?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She smiled up at him. He was so sweet and kind. Earnest. Yes, that was the word that came to mind.

“Okay.” She slapped her thighs decisively. If she was going to try, she was going to give it her best shot. “I suspect this guy won’t be summoned by the click of suitcase latches.”

Cal laughed.

“But what about sardines? Are they stinky enough to get a cat’s attention?”

“I think so—you have sardines?”

“Yeah, I love them on buttered toast.”

“Mm, me too. Or just out of the can.”

“Yeah! Totally. I just didn’t want to admit my savage side right off the bat.”

Vic strode back to the kitchen, Cal on her heels, and rummaged through the kitchen’s “Practical Penelope.”

“And hey, now we have insider information about how to lure each other if we’re ever lost. Just crack open a can of sardines,” she said from deep in the cabinet.

A moment later she popped up, holding a can—but not the kind she’d mentioned.

“Tuna will have to do,” she said.

“Well, the good news is that tuna’s pretty stinky too.”

“Fingers crossed it’s stinky enough.”

Vic slid into fleece-lined crocs, pulled a jacket on, then opened the door to the porch.

“Are you just going to leave it outside? It might freeze.”

Vic scrunched her nose. “I have an idea.” She felt silly saying it out loud, but it was what she was hoping, so why not? “Maybe if I put out a couple little tidbits, it’ll follow them to the house. According to Audra, and judging by its footprints, the cat’s been all over this porch. It seems pretty comfortable here.”

“Good thinking.”

She emptied half the tin into a bowl that she left inside the door, then walked to the porch rail with the rest and threw a chunk of tuna as close to the hedge as she could. It wasn’t very close. Then she threw another little piece and another one. Next, she put a few little chunks on the railing. Finally, she sprinkled a trail of flecks to the door. Worst-case scenario, if the cat didn’t eat them, birds would—or they’d freeze, and Vic could just sweep them off the deck.

This is never going to work, she thought.

Cal stepped into the house again, out of her way.

“Here, kitty-kitty-kitty-kitty,” she called tentatively, the rhythmic chant that used to bring Buffy running when she wasn’t playing cat dress-up. “Here, kitty-kitty-kitty-kitty.”

You’re being ridiculous, Devil sneered. You’re such a child.

So? she snapped back and that seemed to shut the ever-critical voice up.

Vic moved to follow Cal, then stopped, shocked.

A black blur streaked up the steps—coming from the opposite direction that she’d just laid the supposed-to-be-tempting bits of food.