Chapter Two“Here kitty, kitty, kitty!” The shadows were getting longer now and Myrtle devoutly hoped that Pasha was simply hearing Myrtle’s calls and not deigning to respond—that she was just being cat-like and not hurt...or worse.
She dropped the tuna can and made a face as it splattered all over Lula Franklin’s driveway and Myrtle’s sensible SAS shoes. “Shoot,” muttered Myrtle. Then she called hopefully again, “Kitty, kitty?”
Unfortunately, the only response her call solicited was a gruff, “Hey, Mama.”
She turned toward the street to see Red in his police cruiser. “No luck?” he asked, with a sigh.
Myrtle shook her head. She was furious at the tears pricking her eyes and gave a ferocious sniff.
“I was getting reports of a confused-looking elderly woman trespassing in yards and talkin
