Obsession, Deceit And Really Dark Chocolate. Kyra Davis

      I called Mary Ann on my way back to the city and she quickly agreed to dinner. I had a feeling that she was as interested in Rick as he was in her, which surprised me a little. Men were always asking Mary Ann out but she rarely said yes. Despite her naiveté she was pretty discerning when it came to the opposite sex.

      Getting back to the city took far longer than I had anticipated. I was hit with a major Frappuccino craving but couldn’t find a Starbucks (a problem I hadn’t had since 1994). Then I hit rush-hour traffic, there was an accident on the Bay Bridge, yada, yada, yada.

      When I finally arrived in my neighborhood I only had fifteen minutes to spare before getting to the restaurant. I thought about just going straight to dinner, but I needed to feed my cat and my feet were screaming to be freed from the designer torture devices I had confined them in.

      I ran upstairs to my third-floor, two-bedroom f lat, and went straight to the bathroom, then rushed into the living room, where I pressed the play button on my answering machine and sat down on the arm of my sofa as I began to unbuckle my strappy sandals.

      “I know what you’re really up to, Sophie,” a voice began. I did a quick double take. The voice wasn’t normal. It didn’t even sound fully human. Someone had left a message on my machine using a voice synthesizer.

      “You know what they say, curiosity killed the cat,” the caller continued, “and that would be a shame…because I do…love…cats.”

      And that was it. The whole message.

      I looked down at the one shoe I still had on and tried to make sense of what I had just heard. “Curiosity killed the cat,” I repeated. Was that a death threat or a donation request from the SPCA?

      Where was my cat?

      My heart jumped to my throat. Where was Mr. Katz?

      In a f lash I was on my feet, my gaze quickly moving from the window seat to the couch to the love seat. Not there. Not under the coffee table or under the dining table.

      I opened my mouth to call out to him, but I was too scared to actually make a sound. He had to be here, he just had to be!

      With one shoe still securely on my foot I hobbled into the kitchen. No Mr. Katz. Okay, no need to panic yet. He could be asleep in my bedroom, or in the guest room. I lived in a f lat, not a mansion. I just needed to check the other rooms.

      But of course even that wasn’t necessary. If Mr. Katz was home and able to walk I could get him to come to me. I reached out and, after sending up a quick silent prayer, pressed down on the electric can opener.

      I squeezed my eyes closed. “Give him to the count of ten, Sophie,” I whispered to myself. “One, two…”

      I felt something soft against my ankles. I looked down at Mr. Katz, who was nuzzling me and swishing his tail in anticipation of his next meal.

      “Oh, thank God!” I dropped to my knees and tried to scoop him up in my arms. He evaded me and jumped up on the counter instead. He cast one eager glance toward the can opener, then narrowed his kitty eyes and glared down at me accusingly.

      “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I really do have wet food,” I assured him, my voice shaky with relief.

      Mr. Katz didn’t look convinced.

      I got up and pulled a can of Fancy Feast from the cupboard and waved it in front of him. “See, it’s all good. I have food and you’re here, safe and gluttonous as always. No need to freak.”

      I emptied half the can into his food bowl and then hurried back to my bedroom to change into a cute but much more comfortable pair of Munros, conscious of the fact that my car could be towed any minute.

      The call had been a prank. That’s all. Although, the last time I had gotten a prank call it had been a serial killer playing the joke….

      But this was different. Serious psychos killed cats, they didn’t love them. Everybody knew that the best way to identify which child was most likely to grow up to be a serial killer was to figure out which one liked to torture animals (which didn’t bode well for my nephew, but that was a different issue). The point was, I had nothing to worry about.

      I just wish the caller hadn’t known my name.

      5

      When it comes to men I prefer the strong silent type. The ones who speak annoy me.

      —C’est La Mort

      By the time I got to Max’s, Mary Ann, Johnny and Rick had already arrived and were waiting at a table, Mary Ann and Rick enjoying a glass of cola and Johnny a glass of what looked like Scotch.

      “Hey, sorry to keep you waiting. I had to change and, um, feed my cat. My sweet, very curious cat.”

      I gauged Rick’s and Johnny’s reaction. I couldn’t think of a single reason why either of them would have left that message on my answering machine, but then again I couldn’t think of a reason why anyone else would, either.

      Rick barely even seemed to hear me. He was too busy ogling Mary Ann. Johnny, on the other hand, reacted the way he always did, eagerly. “You’re a cat person! I should have guessed, you look like a cat person. I mean not like a crazy old cat lady or anything, but like you have it in you to provide an animal with care and affection. I’ve always wanted a pet but I’m allergic. But I can always take a Claritin if you want to introduce me to your pussy.”

      As soon as he said it his eyes widened with embarrassment and Rick burst out laughing. “I didn’t mean your—I would never say that! That’s the word my last girlfriend used. For her cat! I really am talking about cats!” He dropped his head in his hands. “I’m seriously messing this up, aren’t I?”

      “You’re just a little nervous,” Mary Ann said, giving him a kindly pat on his shoulder. “I think it’s sweet. Don’t you, Sophie?” She shot me a pleading look. Mary Ann was a little more sympathetic to the embarrassment of others than I was.

      “It’s sweet,” I said grudgingly as I took my place at the round table between Johnny and Rick. “But you don’t need to be nervous, after all we’re all just friends here, remember?”

      Johnny removed his head from his hands and f lashed me a relieved smile. “Thanks for understanding. I get a little tongue-tied around beautiful women, and when that beautiful woman happens to be my favorite author, well, I’m done for.”

      A young waitress approached our table and handed me a menu. “Would you like another Scotch?” she asked, looking down at Johnny’s now-empty glass.

      Johnny nodded eagerly. “That’d be great. It was the Macallan 18.” He pushed his chair back and smiled down at me. “I need to use the boy’s room. Be back in a minute.”

      I watched his back retreat and shook my head in wonder. “Is he always like this?”

      “Not quite this bad,” Rick said with a laugh. “He honestly is very nervous. He’s a huge fan of your work so he’s star-struck. Plus, what he said was true, he has a habit of getting tongue-tied in the company of a woman he’s become interested in. Give him a chance, he’ll calm down.”

      “Without the help of medication?”

      “Yes, without medication. He’s a little naive and inexperienced, but he’s a good guy and he’s sort of like a little brother to me. I’m trying to be a mentor to him at work.”

      “How nice of you to take him under your wing!” Mary Ann said. “And taking him out for his birthday was nice, too.”

      “A whole bunch of people from the office took him out for drinks on his real birthday yesterday but I had other plans. This is my way of making it up to him and apparently I’m being rewarded for my good deed.” He leaned in a little closer to Mary Ann. “I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t think it was right to ask for your phone number at a funeral, but I’ll