My heart plummeted as I realized I was now trapped by the person who had killed Lavinia. I hugged my knees to my chest, put my head down and cried.

***

“Meow.”

I lifted my head from the crook of my elbow, and brushed away hot tears. Did I just hear a cat? I thought about Pandora and my heart twisted.

Looking out at the edge of the darkness, I saw something slinking about. It was a cat. Not Pandora, though. This cat was white, with mocha colored markings.

“Here, Kitty,” I put out my hand and made clucking noises.

The cat turned to face me, her pale blue eyes studying me intently as she crept closer.

She snaked her way throughout the bars and came to me, rubbing her cheek against my hand.

“Hi, there. Who are you?” I wondered. Was it Derek’s cat? Now that I knew Carson was the killer, maybe Derek had been telling the truth. I wondered if Derek had been involved, too.

“Oh, well, what does it matter now?” I asked the cat as I found comfort in stroking the silky fur behind her ears.

As the cat’s purring relaxed me, I worried what would happen to Pandora if I didn’t make it out of there. I was glad she was safe at the animal hospital. If not for the break-in, she would have been at the bookstore with me and who knows what might have happened to her.

This brought my thoughts to what had happened in the store. It had all been about that old book. The book Lavinia had told me to protect.

I remembered how Bing had wanted the book, but I thought he was the enemy and ran from him. My stomach twisted … I’d practically delivered the book right into Carson’s hands, and now if something bad happened because of it, it was all on me.

I couldn’t just sit here and let that happen. I had to do something.

I stood suddenly, causing the cat to let out a startled mew. I rushed to the door of my cell, the cat trotting in front of me, seeming to know where I was going before I even got there. I pressed my face against the bars, above the lock and looked down, trying to get a look at the lock opening.

The Bates mansion was over three hundred and fifty years old and the cell had probably been here for that long. The lock was original—a simple device that could be opened with a skeleton key. My years as a crime reporter had garnered me a lot of skills, not the least of which was basic lock picking.

I knew how to pick one of these. I just needed something long and straight. I searched my pockets, coming up empty.

“Damn!” My arms fell against my sides in frustration.