Three Bedrooms, One Corpse - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,52

quietly eating.

At last, I gathered myself together and put some cauliflower in my mouth, making myself chew and swallow.

I was going to have to keep busy while Martin was gone.

After a while I said conversationally, “So you’re leaving this afternoon?”

“About five o’clock. I’ll have a meeting first thing tomorrow morning, and it may go on all day. Then I meet with another group Thursday. So I’ll stay over that night and catch the first flight out Friday morning. Will you cook for me Friday night?”

“Yes,” I said, and smiled.

“And Saturday night is the realtors’ thing?”

“Yes, the annual banquet. We’ve booked the Carriage House, so at least the food will be good. There’ll be a speaker, and cocktails. Usual stuff.”

“You handled that situation at the Athletic Club with great ... aplomb,” he said suddenly. “I don’t think I’ve ever said that word out loud. But it’s the only one that fits.”

“Um. I figured I could rescue myself this time.”

“Let me do it next time. My turn, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, and laughed.

He took me back to the Athletic Club to pick up my car, and we parted there in the parking lot. He gave me the phone number of his hotel and made me promise to call if I saw Sam Ulrich again. Then we kissed, and he was gone.

Chapter Eleven

Madeleine had a checkup at the vet’s office scheduled the next morning. I got out the stout metal cage Jane had bequeathed me and opened the little door. I put one of Madeleine’s toys inside. I set the cage, door open, on the kitchen table. I put on gardening gloves.

I had profited by experience.

Madeleine knew the instant the cage came out. She could find places to hide you’d swear a fat old cat could never squeeze into. I’d quietly gone upstairs first and closed all the doors while Madeleine was in plain view on the couch, and even closed off the front downstairs living room and the downstairs bathroom. But still, Madeleine had disappeared.

I groaned and started searching.

This time she’d wedged herself under the television stand.

“Come on, old girl,” I coaxed, knowing I was wasting my breath.

The battle raged for nearly twenty minutes. Madeleine and I cursed at each other, and very nearly spat at each other. But after that twenty minutes, Madeleine was in the cage, staring out with the haunted expression of a political prisoner being filmed by Amnesty International.

I dabbed some antibiotic ointment on the worst scratches and pulled on my coat. I was bracing myself for the ordeal to come.

Madeleine wailed all the way to Dr. Jamerson’s office. Nonstop.

Sometimes I loathed that cat.

“Oh, good, Madeleine’s right on time,” said Dr. Jamerson’s nice receptionist with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. I returned a grim nod.

“Let’s see. What does Madeleine need today?”

She knew damn good and well.

“All her shots.”

“Charlie’ll get his gloves,” she said, heaving a resigned sigh. “He’ll be with you in just a minute.”

Charlie helped Dr. Jamerson with the really difficult animals. He was a huge cheerful young man, working at the vet’s office until he had enough saved to go to college full-time instead of part-time.

“Is she here yet?” I heard Charlie asked the receptionist apprehensively. A moment later Charlie stuck his head out into the waiting room.

“Right on time, as always, Miss Teagarden! And how is your kitty today?”

Madeleine yowled. The Labrador on the other side of the room began to whine and pressed his nose against his owner’s leg. Charlie winced.

“Better bring her back,” he said with false assurance. “Doctor’s waiting.”

I struggled with the heavy carrier, knowing I’d have to heft it myself, since Madeleine had found out last time that her paw could fit through the mesh door nicely, even with her claws fully extended. Dr. Jamerson had all Madeleine’s shots laid out ready, plus a generous supply of cotton balls and antiseptic. His jaw was set, and he gave me a grim smile.

“Bring her on, Miss Teagarden. We got through her neutering before, we’ll get through her shots now. Thank God she’s a healthy cat.”

That thought certainly gave me pause. If Madeleine was like this when she felt good— “Oh, dear,” I said.

I pulled my gloves back on. “Are you ready?”

“Let’s do it,” Dr. Jamerson said to Charlie and me, and we all nodded simultaneously. I unlatched the cage door and pulled it open.

Fifteen minutes later I emerged from the vet’s office, lugging the cage with the cat screaming triumphantly inside. She’d had her shots. And we’d pretty much had ours, too.

“He didn’t