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hadn’t had any time to decompress between coming back from the cabin and picking up the claim forms for the chief to sign that morning. He thought of Erin, the one bright spot in an otherwise mostly depressing day. It was definitely worth finding out more about her. Whatever it took, he would do. Short of acting like a stalker.
    The windshield wipers were slapping at raindrops when he pulled into his space in the condo’s lot. He took a minute to find a plastic bag under the seat large enough for the envelope with the photocopies. The bag went inside his jacket as a fail-safe to protect the contents. With his free hand, he managed to hoist the large wrapped watercolor of the wild horses. He had to set the painting down to unlock the door of his condo.
    Inside he put the plastic bag on the coffee table and then lifted up the painting onto the fireplace mantel, promising himself to unwrap it later and look for a framer’s tag on the back, another possible lead to follow, in case someone at the Art Walk committee was reluctant to give him Erin’s contact info and last name.
    A partially muffled but decidedly impatient yowl came from the direction of the living room’s sliding glass doors, followed quickly by the sound of claws on mesh screen. Without hesitation, Bannon altered his course toward the rear patio where a tiger-striped tomcat stood on his hind legs, demanding admission. Bannon took one look at flattened ears and wet fur spiked by the steady drizzle, smiled, flipped the lock, and slid the door open.
    Immediately the cat came down on all fours and padded into the living room, grumbling his irritation at being kept waiting when he passed Bannon. “Like you would melt in the rain,” Bannon scoffed.
    A pair of golden eyes sliced him a look. In the next second the cat sprang onto the stretch-limo-sized black leather couch and proceeded to rake his tongue over his wet fur.
    Bannon watched him for a moment. Big and muscled, the tomcat resembled a boxer—right down to the tattered ears. A year ago, his brother Linc had handed him an open cardboard box. Inside was an injured, scrawny kitten, half-wild.
    â€œHe was getting the short end of a fight with some big tom when I rescued him,” Linc had told him. “I thought you two could recuperate together. You know what they say—misery loves company. Meet Babaloo, your company.”
    Compared to Bannon’s, the cat’s wounds had been minor, so Babaloo had recovered more quickly than he had. As for the company part, Linc had known what he was talking about. But Bannon wasn’t likely to ever admit that to him.
    Leaving the cat to his grooming, Bannon doubled back to the kitchen where he opened the refrigerator and surveyed the shelves. Slim pickings. There was a chunk of cheese with suspicious white spots and a wrinkly apple. He picked up both and tossed them into the garbage, then took out a leftover cooked salmon steak wrapped in foil.
    Babaloo strolled into the kitchen, nose twitching.
    â€œI take it hunting wasn’t very good today.” Bannon unwrapped the salmon, cut off a piece, and tossed it in the cat’s food bowl.
    The cat demolished his share in two gulps and licked his whiskers appreciatively when he was done.
    Bannon grinned. “You were hungry.” He put a dollop of mayo for dipping on a paper plate, then cut the salmon steak in chunks. Cold protein. It would do. He didn’t feel like cooking. But he looked at the plate and added a few slices of tomato from a lidded container, for his health.
    Taking a bowl from the cupboard, he filled it with ice and jammed three unopened bottles of beer in. It had been a long day; he was entitled.
    Back in the living room, he cracked open beer one and set the bottle on the floor to guard against a spill. Next he separated the copied papers from the photos, then sat down and spread them out on the coffee table.
    He skimmed.
    The wistful quality of the little