the room was the collection of knickknacks and photos on the mantle, including an ugly cat figurine with bulging eyes. The pictures were clearly from a time long gone, a time when you had to pull out an actual camera and hope you’d remembered to buy film.
Most of the pictures seemed to depict the various stages of Joey’s life. There were the obligatory school photos, a couple of him laughing at a birthday party, and one of him in the backyard, holding a scowling white cat. Valerie followed my gaze. smiled, and then meandered over to the mantle.
Walter, clearly sensing a disturbance in the atmosphere, ambled in through his doggy door. He blinked at us for a few moments and made a beeline for his water bowl. After drinking his fill and slopping water on the floor, he collapsed on the multicolored rug, displaying his belly for optimal scratching pleasure. I knelt and obliged, wondering if my dog curse was broken or if Walter was just too lazy to care about my bad juju.
“This is for you.”
I glanced up to see Valerie holding out the strange-looking cat figurine. I rose, and she pushed it into my hands. But I didn’t get you anything super weird in return. “Err. Thank you?”
“His name is Mr. Scribbles. I named him after Joey’s treasured cat.”
“Oh.” I was fairly certain my mouth made a little o shape to match the sound. Mr. Scribbles’ bulging yellow eyes told me exactly what he thought of my judgment. “You really, really shouldn’t have.”
“If you’re going to be the man to solve this case, you’re going to need Joey close. Now let me find Milo’s card for you.” She bustled over to the overstuffed credenza and looked at it for a moment with her hands on her hips. “I’m not quite sure where I could’ve put it, but I know I kept it.”
I was still stuck on Mr. Scribbles. “Need Joey close….” I looked at the cat statue again, resisting the urge to hold it at arm’s length. “Wait, what’s in this thing, exactly?”
“His ashes.” She beamed. “Of course, I’m going to want that back when the case is over.”
“Of course,” I said faintly.
In the end, I left with an armful of things I hadn’t asked for—the weird cat statue containing Joseph’s ashes, a loaf of bread that smelled divine, and a tempting jar of honey. The label read Apis with a cute bee on the top. She’d also found the thing I needed, which was Milo’s business card. Thanks to her hoarding tendencies, I now knew that his last name was Wakefield. He also worked at a pet shop nearby, which was my next destination.
I was halfway there when my phone dinged with a text from Chevy. I waited until a red light to check, and the message read, Have you seen Alexander Gilroy yet?
I frowned even as I texted back a quick no. A picture came through a few seconds later. The young man was leaning on a Firebird, arms folded, a big grin on his face. He looked to be in his teens or early twenties, with fine-boned features and honey-blond hair. His hazel eyes gleamed with amusement.
He looked a whole hell of a lot like me.
Despite Joseph confusing me with Alex, I’d been hopeful that the resemblance wasn’t quite so strong. Hopefully delusional. Valerie’s startled expression and her statement, ‘You just look like somebody that I used to know’, filtered through my mind again.
Doppelganger? Chevy texted with an emoji rubbing his yellow face, deep in thought.
I responded with a question mark and a heartfelt, Thanks. You’re the best.
Don’t state the obvious, doll, it’s beneath you.
Despite my unease, her response made me chuckle as I put my phone back in the cupholder. I could only hope that a little thing like having a doppelganger wasn’t about to become a very big problem.
Chapter 9
It took me twenty minutes to get to Doggone Good Stylings. I walked in to find Milo mid appointment, busy grooming a small Yorkie. He was surprised to see me—Milo, not the Yorkie—but he was cooperative, which was my favorite kind of witness. He continued to work as we talked, going to town on the dog with a tiny pair of scissors.
Milo was on the smaller, shorter side, but he knew how to work with what he had. He showed off his lithe body in ripped jeans that looked like they’d fly off him if he breathed too heavily, paired up with a gray