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looking for an easy way to make a buck would have known her place was empty.” His look was earnest. “Craddock’s a real nice place, Ms. Farley, but we got our no-goods like any other town. It seems pretty clear what we had here tonight was intent to rob. Now that the perp knows you’re here, you should be fine.” He gave a brief nod to officers Pierce and Baker and they moved through the doorway. He paused on the threshold long enough to gesture toward the kitchen. “Wedge that chair if you’re nervous. I guarantee you’ll be okay.”

3
    J ugs wrinkled his nose, cautiously sniffed the Walmart sack on the bookcase near the front door.
    Nela inserted a nine-volt battery into a doorstop alarm. When shoved beneath the bottom of the door, the wedge prevented anyone from opening the door, with or without a key, plus any pressure activated an alarm. She didn’t feel she could install a deadbolt in an apartment that, as Miss Webster had made clear, belonged to her.
    Nela felt as though she’d been in the garage apartment for an eon with only the short foray to Walmart as a respite. She glanced around the living room, wished she found the decor as appealing as when she first arrived.
    In her peripheral vision, she was aware of the shattered mirror. Slowly she turned her head to look at it fully. The crystal horse still lay among shards of glass. There was something wanton in that destruction. If she had the money, she’d move to a motel. But shedidn’t have enough cash to rent a room for a week. Besides, the cat needed to be cared for.
    The blond desk held only a few traces of powder. The police technician, a talkative officer with bright brown eyes and a ready smile, had arrived punctually at nine a.m., fingerprinted the front doorknob inside and out, the desk, the scattered drawers, the tipped-over chair, the statuette. He cleaned up after himself. He’d kept up a nonstop chatter. He’d quickly identified Miss Grant’s prints from a hairbrush in the master bath. “Lots of hers on the desk and some unidentified prints, but the drawer handles are smudged. Good old gloves. It takes a dumb perp to leave fingerprints. Usually we only find them at unpremed scenes.” He’d departed still chatting. “…Not too many prowler calls…usually a bar fight on Saturday nights…”
    Now she was left with the mess and her new defense against invasion.
    Jugs batted at the sack. The plastic slid from the table and the muscular cat flowed to the floor. He used a twist of his paw to fling the bag in the air.
    She ripped off the doorstop plastic cover and threw it across the room, a better toy than a plastic sack.
    Jugs crossed the floor in a flash, flicked the plastic, chased, jumped, rolled on his back to toss his play prey into the air, then gripped the plastic with both paws.
    “Pity a mouse. Staying in shape until spring?”
    Ignoring her, Jugs twisted to his feet and crouched, the tip of his tail flicking. After a final fling and pounce and flurry, Jugs strolled away, game done, honors his.
    She stared after him as he moved toward the front door. Every time she saw him, she remembered that searing moment yesterdaywhen their eyes had first met. She blurted out her thought while berating herself for what was rapidly becoming an obsession. “There wasn’t a skateboard,” she called after him. Her voice sounded loud in the quiet room. “They would have found a skateboard.”
    Her only answer was the clap of the flap as Jugs disappeared through the cat door.
    Now she was talking out loud to a cat. Possibly he wondered what the weird-sounding syllables—skateboard—meant. More than likely his thoughts were now focused on a bird, a rustle in a bush, the scent of another cat.
    Anyway, what difference did it make?
    The difference between sanity and neuroses.
    No matter what made her think of a skateboard, there was no connection between the vagrant thought, a pet cat, and the accidental death of a woman who moved fast.
    Nela