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fool.
    “It’s not too late to turn around. We’ll tell Tolbert to go
get a dog from the pound,” Fab said.
    “In college, a friend got a one year internship, and asked
me to take care of his cat. Nine months later, he showed up wanting ‘Cat’ back.
I told him too late, we’d bonded, go to the pound, get a twin, and give it the
same ridiculous name. He never spoke to me again. Instead of a cat, he got a
pit bull.” I dreaded my meeting with Tolbert. “Who knew I’d be any good at dog
ownership? Sure caught me by surprise.”
    “Animal or person that comes to your house, you take good
care of them. My guess is Tolbert might share.” Grover had moved behind Fab,
hanging his head out her window. Somehow, when she snapped her fingers, he
stopped barking and didn’t blow her off like he did me.
    “Pigeon Key is a far drive for dog visitation. I hope Jazz
is going to be okay with the loss of his bed.”
    “When are you going to mention to Zach that Creole stops by
the house whenever he pleases? I’d like to be there.”
    “Creole’s on a case right now and, besides, he spends more
time with Mother. She fills the Elizabeth void for him. I know she loves the
extra attention.” I stared out the window, enjoying the unobstructed view of
the turquoise-colored Gulf waters on one side and the crystal blue Atlantic on
the other. “Zach and I are getting along good these days, once I promised less
drama.”
    “Zach needs to calm down. He’s a lot nicer since the two of
you got together. He actually laughs once in a while, better than the humorless
bastard he used to be. How are you going to keep your promise, now that you
want a PI license?”
    “I weaseled out of an answer. I almost asked him if I could
do what I want and he could stop by for sex. He did ask me out for margaritas
and bowling, but that got canceled at the last minute.”
    We turned off the Overseas Highway. Fab braked hard right,
swinging down the dirt road, bouncing over the gravel. “What’s this place?” Fab
pointed to the arch overhead that read “Wild Bird Farm.” Brightly-colored
green, black hooded wild parrots packed the cement overhang. Turning down the
long driveway, there were several hundred of them in the palm trees that dotted
the drive and across the electric lines. 
    Grover stopped window hopping and barked excitedly. When I
opened the door, he took a flying leap, running straight to Tolbert. Grover
stood on his hind legs and licked his face. Tolbert hugged him back, almost
losing his footing.
    “Looks like Grover’s made it official,” I said, squeezing my
eyes closed, adjusting my sunglasses.
    Tolbert waved. “I have iced tea up on the porch.” The old
spacious plantation style home sat on several acres with an abundance of hundred-year-old
oak trees, weeping willows and a large pond towards the back of the property.
The house, with its white chipped paint, had a certain elegance, and a wide
veranda that ran the entire front.
    “Do not let me cry,” I said to Fab. “Instinctively, I knew
Grover was Tolbert’s dog but I hoped.”
    Old white wicker furniture, piled with faded pillows that
had once blasted a rainbow of color, filled the porch. On one of the chairs
slept two extremely fat white cats. An old wicker tray on the table held a
pitcher of tea, and several glasses with ice already in them, small bowls
filled with brown sugar cubes and lemon slices.
    “You brought him back,” Tolbert said, tears in his eyes.
“Where did you find him and where’s he been? I want to thank whoever took care
of him. He looks, well, heemahortis.”
    “What does that mean?” Fab asked.
    “I made it up. When I can’t think of the right word, I use
the word with authority and no one questions me.” Tolbert said with a laugh.         
    I told him about rescuing Grover and that he’d been living
with me and a cat named Jazz.
    Tolbert filled the glasses with tea and handed one to Fab
and me, when gunshots rang out, coming