Read Online Catwalk by Sheila Webster Boneham - Free Book Online Page B

his comment.
    â€œI’ll bring the salad.” Meaning I would stop at the Scott’s salad bar on my way there. “Should I bring Leo?” I didn’t like to leave Leo home alone, so if I was staying away for the night, the orange guy either came along or stayed next door with Goldie.
    When Tom and Drake had gone, I took Jay to his grooming table in the garage. I pulled a few burrs from his fur, worked rinse-free shampoo into his coat, and blew him dry. I’ll never win a housekeeper-of-the-year award, but even I don’t want my bed, couch, and carpet to reek of wet, muddy dog. When Jay was cleaned up, I took a quick shower, pulled on clean jeans and a light-weight sweater, and sat down to read emails for a few minutes. Tom and the promise of a quiet, cozy evening with him and Leo and the dogs kept creeping into my thoughts, though, and I decided it was time to hit the road.
    Tom was right, it had cooled down a few degrees since the last time I was outdoors. I loaded the boys into the van and went back in to grab a warmer jacket. My laptop screen caught my eye as I scurried past the kitchen. I’d forgotten to shut it down. My inbox was open and before I closed my email program, I cast a quick eye over the new messages. Several newsletters, a couple of ads that should have gone to the spam file, and a couple of emails from actual people. The most recent was from Giselle Swann and carried her usual subject line—“i need to talk to you, giselle.” She never capitalized her name or pronoun, which was right in line with her level of self-esteem. Now, now , whispered Good Janet. She’s working on it and she has come a long way.
    It was true. Giselle had responded to major emotional trauma by losing weight and gaining a sense of personal hygiene and style. She had also enrolled in the nursing program at the IPFW campus, and that seemed to suit her. On the other hand, she was still putting pastel bows in her male dog’s topknot, and making him look like a Shih-tzu instead of a Maltese. Like you’re so perfect , I thought, glimpsing my wild hair in the screen reflection.
    Right below Giselle’s email was another with no subject line. I knew the screen name. AltaWelshies. That was Alberta, invoking herself and her Welsh Terriers. I thought about opening it, but closed the program and shut down my computer instead. They both could wait.

thirteen
    A pickup truck I didn’t recognize sat in front of Tom’s driveway. My headlights revealed that someone was behind the wheel. Probably checking directions or something , I thought as I pulled in behind it. I got Jay out of his crate, slung my purse over my shoulder, picked up Leo’s carrier and the bag with the salad, and struck out across the grass toward the front door. A car door slammed behind us and Jay and I whirled around.
    â€œJanet MacPhail?” The voice had a Southern edge to it. Its owner had an edge of her own. She was nearly six feet tall, boney thin, and a tad stooped, as if she had carried one too many heavy loads.
    That article about predators popped into my head again, and I almost said no, not me as she strode toward us. Even as I fessed up, the obvious question skittered through my mind— how does she know who I am, and more to the point, where to find me? She wasn’t exactly threat ening, but she didn’t smile, either. Still, Jay seemed alert but unconcerned, so I figured I wasn’t in immediate danger. As soon as I confirmed my identity, the woman reached into her fringed buckskin jacket and withdrew an envelope from the inside pocket, pushed it into my hand, and said, “You’ve been served.”
    The truck pulled away, and Tom stepped through the front door to find me gaping at the letter in my hand. I could just read it by the street light and felt a stew of nausea and anger bubble up in my belly.
    â€œCome on, let’s do this inside.” Tom picked up Leo’s