*CHAPTER 5*

The crash had me jolting up in my bed, heart racing. I leaned over the mattress, lifting up a part of my blinds to squint into the darkness. Part of me--the small, scared part of me--half expected to see a dark figure looming beneath the streetlight wielding a giant butcher knife. But no, the street stood empty. Nothing but hushed, tense stillness--like the night air was holding its breath. There was nothing there. At least not anything I could see perched where I was in my bed.

With my heart in my throat, a shadowy fluttering of movement drew my gaze. A dark shape shifted on the patio of the house next door. George's house. As I continued to watch, barely breathing, the body of a graying tabby cat raced along the window near the front door, long curving tail flicking at a knocked-over garbage can.

Mrs. Nisbitt.

George's cat had made her way back. She meowed pitifully into the darkened street, clawing at the front door of George's house. My throat tightened at the sight of George's poor cat pawing expectantly at his front door. I wonder if she knew that George was gone or if she'd be scratching at the door all night waiting for him to come bring her inside.

Something in my heart twisted and before I had the chance to really think it through, I was out of my bed, grabbing the baseball bat from the corner of my room, and scurrying down the stairs. I slid on a pair of sandals at the door and crept out into the familiar oppressive heat that didn't let up much even at night.

The street was dark and silent save for Mrs. Nisbitt's bellowing meows. I picked my way across the rocks separating mine and George's house, only stubbing my toe on a loose rock once as I found my way through the oppressive dark to emerge at the base of George's driveway.

"Mrs. Nisbitt," I called to her, voice hushed, not wanting to scare her away, "Here kitty." She turned her head in my direction as I got closer. Yellowish cat eyes reflected the flash of light coming from my house next door.

She meowed another pitiful crying sound. I peeked back over my shoulder at the empty street before risking another hesitant step, closing the distance between us. "It's okay, kitty, come here. You remember me, don't you? I'm your neighbor, Kassie."

I'd never had a pet before. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to talk to her or not if it would calm her down. It seemed to be working, though. I took another slow step. I was close enough to grab her. I awkwardly tucked the baseball bat under my arm, crouching down in front of her. I stuck my hand out between us, letting her sniff my hand.

"It's going to be okay, I'm not going to hurt you." I cooed to her in as soothing of a voice as I could muster. She sniffed me for another moment, blinking up at me. "I'm going to pick you up now," I warned her.

Just as I was reaching out to wrap my hands around her furry waist, she turned her head sharply to the side, something catching her attention from the back of the street. With a hiss, she sprinted out of my grip. The suddenness of it all knocked me over from where I was awkwardly crouched in front of her. I landed with an oomph on George's front porch.

The cat was gone in a flash, sprinting on her little cat feet off of the porch. She skittered around the corner into the small walkway around the side of the house.

"Mrs. Nisbitt," I hissed after her, "Come back here." I stumbled to my feet, taking off after her. hoping she hadn't gotten too far. My sandals slapped on the concrete as I followed, not wanting to lose sight of her in the dark.

I plowed my way around the corner only to run headlong into a wall.

Or what felt to be a wall. My nose crunched, cheek scratching on something sharp. My exposed skin slapped into what felt to be leather. I hit it so hard that I was knocked off balance and to the ground again for the second time that night, my baseball bat clacking loudly where it hit the concrete.

The wall swore colorfully.

Not a wall, then. A body. A very tall, very solid body looming over me in the dark. My heart took off at a sprint. I bolted back onto my feet, stumbling a step away, and raising the baseball bat in the air. Adrenaline had me feeling like I could knock the absolute crap out of them.

"What do you think you're doing?" Came a masculine voice. As my eyes adjusted, I could make out more of his features. Tall, muscularly built, light-colored hair glinted in limited light. His face was twisted with annoyance. He was clad in a black leather jacket and black jeans--a weird fashion choice considering the fact I was wearing a tank top and shorts and was already sweating.

I wrenched away from him, scuttling back a few steps, raising my baseball bat higher between us, "I could ask you the same question." I was glad when my voice came out strong, not even shaking a little even though my insides were shaking like a leaf.

"I'm not the one skulking around a crime scene, assaulting people with a baseball bat." His tone came off as bored, stance casual, but the skin around his forehead tightened, eyes sharpening.

I jerked away in my surprise, hands clammy around the leather handle of the bat, "I didn't assault anyone. And I'm not sneaking around, I live here."

"You live here? In this house."

"I live next door. Who are you? Like you pointed out, this is a crime scene." I slowly lowered the baseball bat, keeping my grip on the handle tight.

He pursed his lips, sizing me up and down like I was a gnat and he was wondering if it was worth the effort to swat away, "I'm here investigating the scene."

"You work for the police?" I sounded as disbelieving of that fact as I felt. He looked too young to work for the police. Probably not many years older than me. I didn't know much about how long it took to become a police officer, but he didn't look like any police officer I'd ever seen.

"Something like that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

With another long-suffering sigh and a sharp impatient look my way, he reached into his back pocket. With long deft fingers pulled out a small card and held it out in the space between us, motioning for me to take it. Hesitantly, I snatched it out of his hand, squinting to see what it was in the nonexistent light.

It was a tiny black card— a business card, thick white ink embossed on the front read: Malcolm Black, CCMA Private Investigation. There was a strange symbol in the corner, a shield separated into four sections each with an image embossed into it. A flame, a shining teardrop shape, a swirl, and a rough-looking circle.

"I'm a private investigator," he explained as I read, looking over his card. "I was hired to look into George Morelli's untimely passing."

"His murder you mean?" My voice was more biting, more bitter than I'd meant for it to be.

"Yes, his murder," his head tilted to the side like a bird of prey, eyebrow raised, "Now explain to me again what it is you're doing. A young girl running around in the dark, with a weapon no less, where a man was recently murdered."

I grimaced, "I was looking for a cat."

He blinked, clearly not expecting that, "A cat." He deadpanned.

"George's cat." I sighed, "Mrs. Nisbitt. She was out here, and I didn't want her to be alone after...well after everything."

"Where's the cat now?"

"Something scared her, she took off around this way."

"Is it possible that what scared her was a girl pointing a baseball bat at her?"

I glared at him, "A murder happened here last night, I'm not coming out here without something to defend myself with," I rubbed a frustrated hand across my forehead not sure why I felt the need to explain myself to this person. "Anyway, I need to find her before she gets too far." I clutched the baseball bat a little tighter, giving him a wide berth as I went to move around him and into George's backyard where I'd seen Mrs. Nisbitt flee to.

He gave a long-suffering sigh, turning with me as I moved around him. "Wait. Before you go, since you knew George well, I have a few questions."

I wanted to groan. I'd already told the police everything I knew earlier. And after today, my nerves were feeling exposed and raw, and standing out here with wet hair in my pajamas wasn't helping things on that front. The only thing I wanted to do was crawl back into my bed and have this day be over.

"What makes you think I knew him well?" I turned back to face him.

"You knew him well enough to know what he named his cat," he shrugged as if it were obvious.

"What is it you want to know?"

"Did George have anyone coming over to his house? Anyone he frequently met with?"

I shrugged, "As far as I know, he mostly kept to himself. I'm not here all of the time, though, so maybe."

"Any strange people hanging around the neighborhood lately? Anyone you don't recognize?"

My eyes narrowed, eying him over again, "The only strange person hanging around is you."

He matched my narrowed look with his own. His lips parted to respond when his eyes flashed to the space above my shoulder, to something behind me. Shock flashed across his face and he swore under his breath.

Then, he shoved me into a shrub. Hard.