The Pretender by Kathleen Creighton

because his mother wasn’t going to talk to him about personal stuff, particularly anything having to do with Sam.
    And whilehe was considering, his mind half elsewhere, he heard Rachel say something about Sunny’s cat.
    He jerked his attention back to the table, just as J.J. remarked, “Well, you shouldn’t have let her out so soon.”
    Sunny shook her head. “I didn’t. She was out earlier to go to the bathroom, but I live in an apartment, so she’s never been an outside cat. I left her in my room with the doorclosed and went to take a shower, and when I came out, the door was open and she was gone.”
    J.J. made a sound that pretended to be laughter, the kind of sound a cop makes when a suspect tells him stories he doesn’t believe. “Oh, right,” he said as he forked up a bite of salad, “so I guess she opened the door all by herself.”
    “I believe she did,” Sunny shot back, not a bit intimidated.
    Sage had to hand it to her; the sheriff could be a pretty intimidating guy. When she went on, her voice was low and vibrant, with a resonance that seemed to find corresponding harmonies in him, the way a cat’s purring sometimes made his chest hum.
    “She’s tried to, before. She can’t manage a doorknob, but the French doors have those handles you just pull down on. Anyway.” She liftedher head and stared him down. “Who else could have opened it?”
    “Maybe,” J.J. said equably, pushing back his salad plate, “you only thought you shut the door.”
    “I know I shut it.” She held up her bandaged hand. “I know my cat. And I’m not stupid.”
    Watching her stand up to the sheriff like that, looking like a queen with her head high on that long graceful neck, and her eyes sparkinglike flint on steel, he felt a rush of something that was almost exhilaration, like a fine cool spray of water on a hot day that could make him gasp and whoop with the sheer pleasure of it.
    He heard his own voice say, “I’ll help you find her. She’s somewhere in the courtyard. She’ll keep until after we eat.”
    Josie came through the door just then, juggling a platter heavy with roastbeef and vegetables and a small bowl containing cheese and deviled eggs for Sunny. He got up to help her, so he didn’t see Sunny’s face as she murmured a breathy, “Thank you.”
    But the sound was like warm fur on his ears.
    The evening had turned unexpectedly cool, after the heat of the day. A breeze had come up, carrying with it the scents of growing things Abby didn’t recognize andmaking the long arching wands of climbing roses dip and wave as if they danced to music she couldn’t hear.
    She stood on the veranda, hugging herself and rubbing her arms, thinking again how quiet it was. Though not silent; there were sounds: the shushing of wind through distant trees, the rustling of leaves closer by, the musical trickle of water in the central fountain, the mooing of acow somewhere far away. The rhythmic chirping of some sort of creature—frogs, crickets—how would she know? But these sounds were soft…gentle…peaceful, so different from the sounds of a New York City night. There, the night would be noisy with the muted roar of traffic, the wail of a siren, horns honking, someone’s radio thumping, people shouting—angry, impatient, hurrying, frantic sounds. Shefelt a sudden wave of homesickness for the craziness of the city—and how did that make sense, when she so did not want to go back to it?
    She heard a light tapping at the door to her room and went to open it. Sage loomed, silhouetted against the light in the alcove behind him, seeming bigger, somehow, than she knew he really was. Her heart quickened.
    “Hi,” she said, her voice breathless.
    “Hi,” he replied, his voice soft. “She come back yet?”
    “No.” She stood aside to let him in. “I thought she’d come if I went out there, but…I even tried calling her, not that she ever comes when I call.”
    Sage’s laugh blended well with the gentle night